It's my 'how the hell...' day. First of all, I was drinking Anglia Shandy (because my ma told me to drink smthg cooling due to my sore throat XD) and noticed blood trickling down my hand. Small, but painful thus interfering with dialy activities, a bloody 'chilli padi' and I had no idea how I got it. Kezia suggests that I eat more salt? Apparently if a body lacks salt, you could cut yourself and not feel anything until the obvious appears.
I better eat more salt or else someone will take advantage of my 'numbness'.
How the hell... no 2. : Waking up at 5am on my bed with no recollection of getting into it. My work was still undone on the table and I was hugging my bag that was thrown on bed when got home from coll. And for you dirty minded peeps, I was fully clothed, thankyouverymuch. But I think I'll avoid any future beer parties. Just to be safe =P.
Also, my dummy is in a different position. you know, those wooden dolls used by artists where one can manipulate the arms, legs, etc? Well, yesterday I had it in a sitting pose. Why the heck is it in a kungfu pose when I woke up? Two arms raised at the sides and a raised knee. How the hell...?
Feeling rather depressed today. I was speaking to my friend today about a betrayal, kind of, that happened to me. It was years, years ago, and it's not often that I think about it. but when it was formed into words, somehow my heart ached hard. I nearly cried, even though my lips was smiling. i didn't though. It's silly, really, to still feel the pain after these years.
One time, there was a very interesting forum topic i stumbled upon. describing yourself in metaphors. I was 'a porcelain vase' =)
Who am I? A weirdly shaped vase that compliments its surroundings. Random flowers in the vase are mostly still buds, yet there are a few that has bloomed. The water is blue tinted but clear and it sparkles in the sunlight. The smooth porcelain surface reflects its surroundings, light bouncing off the surface, illuminating the area. There are traces of glue on it's surface... A closer inspection will tell that this object had been broken before, more than once and had been put back together with the greatest care. There are some missing chips. It is not perfect but it's okay.
I have this weird habit. Sometimes I look into the mirror, or clasp my hands, it's a feeling of 'hello, i'm made of matter. these are my hands'. My name is Gianne. Speaking them aloud I find those words that was usually familiar to me sounding... strange. It's like meeting someone for the first time, and you study their features, but only that the stranger is yourself. It becomes a third person scenario thing. Over the body I call mine, the questions 'I' whisper, who are you? what is your purpose?
is all that you've gone through enough to be sure of your existence? this vast universe.
maybe other people don't really exist.
welcome to my melancholy world.