Are some people just naturally always happy? Or are they pretending too? I oughta rethink gifting anymore copies of the PostSecret book. For those who find too many of the featured secrets relatable, the intriguing read--which is impossible not to go through cover-to-cover in one sitting--may well leave us suicidal. I apologize to two friends who received this as Christmas presents if they've too been brought down.
This year has left me really tired. Tired of maintaining. Tired of searching. Tired of trying at all. It's not living if you don't experience all that you can and remember all the sheer joy and stabbing pain from those experiences, right? That's been my belief all along, anyhow. But I'm officially too old for roller coaster rides.
New years used to bring thoughts of hope, previously unknown possibilities, answers, the thought that whatever's the present may just be perfect. But through time, everything's become too much like a worn-out drug. The only thing that provides temporary escape is music. The only emotion that could be experienced full-fledged is, coincidentally, my favorite color.
For too long I've spared my blog from my disturbing reflection of this world (though it may have appeared otherwise). It's time I release my ghost. It's my party, I can cry if I want to. No more facade. All I'm still capable of being now is genuine.
Hello, 2006.
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