I'm sitting

Listening to: some Talvin Singh track... I can't be bothered to check which
Currently: trying to function with a substantial part of my brain shut down

Numbing up my fat butt. Waiting for... some white, puffy indefinable thing. I don't know. My thoughts are all a flutter. They are dancing and singing and whirling in the wind. Sweet wind. I'm playing my "trance" mp3s. Which are just a gas. I'm feeling all trance-y. Whee. I don't think Talvin Singh (the track I'm listening to anyway) even counts as trance. Gak, I hate all this compartmentalizing of music into specific genres. It's confusing. And offensive. I don't know why.

I'm so drab. Lia is drab. My parents went off to New York/Vancouver some days ago. They tell me it's very nice. My dad called up a few days ago to check up on us and to inform me that he was going to take advantage of my mother's shopping-absence to watch canned-hotel-adult-films. It was... very uncomfortable. Awkward-like. Met up with a friend to watch a bit of some Korean film fest. Watched My Sassy Girl. Which was pretty in a adolescent-boy's-dream kind of way.

I've been thinking about friends. And sex. I've been thinking about sex too. Friends are beautiful creatures. Landscape of memory. Cats on hot tin roofs. Slinking about in teeny fog feet. Or something. My brain is going whirrr, and then a small pfffft follows. I've been trying to organize my quote-unquote library. And it's just a bucket of dizzy spells is what it is. Realized I've killed too many an hour being sucked into putrid, trashy romance novels. It's just shameful. Is this my life? Stacks of paperback romances arranged by author and preference. I'm such a snob. I wish I could turn my nose up at me. Friends make me want to cry. They make me want to hide. Sometimes I don't feel like seeing them. Sometimes I just want to hide out in my self-proclaimed ivory tower and busy myself with the quacks and pffts of my delusions. But cutting off strings is scary.

I'm miserable, aren't I? Right.