werty

A Cure
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Ezoic
2010-02-16 06:36:11 (UTC)

Dear Diary, ( that was intentionally cliche, thank you for noticing )

I am a self-proclaimed insomniac. So basically, I have
way too much time on my hands. It's not like I haven't tried
all those inane methods my mother is always telling me
about. I've tried everything from counting sheep to sleeping
pills ( which happened to almost kill me, in case you've
never experienced it anaphylactic shock is not what I would
perceive as pleasant. )No matter, every method I've tried
always ends up in the same way, me in bed, doing absolutely
nothing. I like to believe I have an over-active mind. Maybe
the reason my thoughts never seem to stop is because I'm in
possession of the next great mind. How hunky-dory would it
be if I say- cured cancer or something. Yeah, yeah, I know.
Highly Unlikely.
Veering back on topic now. My pseudo-possible insomnia
is the reason I've started this diary (journal, blog, w/e.)
It's a way for me to get my thoughts out on paper so that
maybe (just maybe) I can get a decent nights sleep.
I'm sure you're wondering (Ha. Yeah, right)why I
decided to make this diary online (versus the usual methods
of composition books/silly little books that can be locked
with those annoying mini-keys/five stars.) This is because I
hate doing things that feel useless. Why write a book that
nobody will read/a movie nobody will see/ a thought nobody
will know/etc? I realize that the vast majority of people
won't care. People have a tendency to be narcissistic, most
times without even realizing it. No worries, I don't
consider myself exempt from this, oh quite the contrary. I
have been often known to ask a question just to give my own
answer, or start a topic of conversation just to give my own
personal opinion. So obviously this isn't my only motive for
having this online versus in one of the aforementioned
mediums. But ( I know, I KNOW, NEVER EVER start a sentence
with but or you will die a most uncomfortable death by way
of a humpback whale coming through your mind and repeatedly
stabbing you with pitchfork, after pitchfork, after
pitchfork... ) somehow knowing that someone may possibly
stumble upon this little poor excuse of a diary and read it,
if not for any other reason than to kill time, I will feel
much better rather than just writing in an old book that
nobody will ever read EVER AGAIN ( including myself. )
However, I must admit, if I had actually found a
composition book to write in than I would be doing so.
Fortunately ( or unfortunately, however you prefer to see it
) for you I couldn't. And my lazy rear end couldn't bother
to make the five minute trip to Wal-Mart to get one so here
we are.
I think I've done enough rambling on about nothing.
This is the point in my diary entry ( I think, I haven't
actually ever had one. I know very surprising. I was never
bitten by this odd little bug that seemed to have bitten
every other grade school-er and their little pink books with
those dumb mini-keys that irk me so )where I'm supposed to
make a remark on a significant event that happened today or
share a cunning anecdote that relates somehow ( eerily ) to
EVERYONE'S life ( like those fan pages on Facebook. ) Sorry
folks, but if that's what you were expecting, I warn you,
Turn Back Now.
My day today was about as eventful as cottage cheese. I
woke up, after three hours of sleep ( at 2 PM .) I dutifully
skipped breakfast ( I am absolutely against this ghastly
meal. And no, I do NOT have an eating disorder. Believe me,
if you could see me, you would know I do NOT have an eating
disorder. I just don't like the food offered for breakfast
food. Grits? ew. Cereal and Milk? No thank you. Scrambled
Eggs? Is that a euphemism?.) Went over to a semi-friend's (
you know the kind of friend I mean. You've known them too
long and too well to be an acquaintance, but you'd only ever
hang out with them if it were an assigned project in a class
that none of your real friends took ) house to work on a
project. Came home. Read a book. Marked it on Goodreads
because like I said I hate doing things unless at least
somebody, somewhere in the world, knows I'm doing them. Ate
dinner. Listened to some music. Here we are.
What an interesting person I am, aren't I?
- yours truly,
Werty


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