I have so much I would love to write about.
I don't normally have a pen, or a keyboard when the greatest ideas come to me, though. So they form in my head. It's like, every night before I go to sleep, a book is being written. The words form in my mind. Then before I know it, there's a fucking movie playing in my head. And all these thousands of movies that have been formulated due to my over creative and analytical imagination never seem to make it, well, to the outside world.
And I often ask myself why. Then I explain to myself, irritated, well, Vanessa, you don't possibly have time. Additionally, I don't find myself capable of recreating something so complex and great after the fact. That's why I sometimes force myself to either carry a notepad or sketchbook with me at all times. Anyway! It's really a shame, because I'm proud of some of the things I've come up with. These stories, scenarios, peole, places, situaions, images, these other universes, animals, the list goes on.
My computer sucks. It's older than my dog. I'm afraid this post will never been seen by anyone.
But who's going to read it besides Ankit anyway, what the fuck.
Or maybe by some of the shitty pothead girls who dislike me so much as to read into my life. But that's a whole other subject.
It's so late and I want to write something beautiful.
I'm so tired.
And full of doritos.
If that doesn't create a desirable image in your mind I'm not sure what will.
Maybe tommorow or sometime soon I'll write about how much I love some of things that I, well, love. I could start with wolves, move on to Keira Knightley, follow her up with Rome, uh no actually, that would take too long. Not to mention I recently did my ninth re-write of my college essay on that topic and I feel as if writing about it now wouldn't do it justice.
I Love my bed. I can't wait to go in it. I'm not sure why I capitalized love. Maybe all that poetry analyisis has had an affect on me. Maybe I'm turning into Sylvia Path. I really hope not.
Bye!
