yaaaawwwwwn
Aug. 14th, 2005 09:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
impyThings that should be obvious, but aren't. Obviously. :p
Work goes by much faster when you spend the first hour wandering around goofing off with friends. :D
Work also flies by if you then break up the night by having icecream and chatting with the other employees more often than you are actually working.
Despite that and my habit of reading magazines instead of working on someone else's break, I still got my work done on time. o_O And I had to hunt for each vitamin instead of just slapping up a "B1G1F!" tag. And I still got done with the whole lot of 'em. Something ain't right, man.
Kay, off to find the Gabby Chronicles and then pass out. Stalking and annoyance later.
eta: Found Chronicles o' Gabby. Wow. What crack was I on that I thought they were good? Except for the ideas and certain lines. I wonder if I have the lack of sanity enough to clean them up? I hope so, since Gabby wandered by yesterday and demanded I finish her story up OR... you know, continue it.
She still looked confused for a second but then it dawned on her. "Oh yeah. You're that guy," she said, tactfully not mentioning that I was 'that guy who chopped himself up.'
"That guy?" I asked, wondering why she was being polite about it.
"That guy," she repeated and tapped her index finger on my wrist, which housed countless little scars. "You still doing that?"
Jake, on his shitty writing skills:
So yes, my arms are my diaries I think. So what if most normal people actually write things down. This way the combination of pain and bright red blood remind me of each and every scar, seen or unseen. So what if I'm not all that individualistic in my approach to mutilation, not everyone can be. The greats have come and gone, lost to their own sorrow and misery or the right prescription for a dulled lifetime. All they've left us with is a small reminder that the pain never fully goes away and that if we're lucky some light will blow into our lives and chase away the cobwebs. If we're not, well, we become those cobwebs in someone else's memory. It's not so bad in the end.
Serious amounts of crack, I tell you. Depressing is what it is.
Work goes by much faster when you spend the first hour wandering around goofing off with friends. :D
Work also flies by if you then break up the night by having icecream and chatting with the other employees more often than you are actually working.
Despite that and my habit of reading magazines instead of working on someone else's break, I still got my work done on time. o_O And I had to hunt for each vitamin instead of just slapping up a "B1G1F!" tag. And I still got done with the whole lot of 'em. Something ain't right, man.
Kay, off to find the Gabby Chronicles and then pass out. Stalking and annoyance later.
eta: Found Chronicles o' Gabby. Wow. What crack was I on that I thought they were good? Except for the ideas and certain lines. I wonder if I have the lack of sanity enough to clean them up? I hope so, since Gabby wandered by yesterday and demanded I finish her story up OR... you know, continue it.
She still looked confused for a second but then it dawned on her. "Oh yeah. You're that guy," she said, tactfully not mentioning that I was 'that guy who chopped himself up.'
"That guy?" I asked, wondering why she was being polite about it.
"That guy," she repeated and tapped her index finger on my wrist, which housed countless little scars. "You still doing that?"
Jake, on his shitty writing skills:
So yes, my arms are my diaries I think. So what if most normal people actually write things down. This way the combination of pain and bright red blood remind me of each and every scar, seen or unseen. So what if I'm not all that individualistic in my approach to mutilation, not everyone can be. The greats have come and gone, lost to their own sorrow and misery or the right prescription for a dulled lifetime. All they've left us with is a small reminder that the pain never fully goes away and that if we're lucky some light will blow into our lives and chase away the cobwebs. If we're not, well, we become those cobwebs in someone else's memory. It's not so bad in the end.
Serious amounts of crack, I tell you. Depressing is what it is.
