![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Day of Days.
Saturday, 14 February 2009 12:18 amHappy Valentine's Day, kids.
How depressed and lonely are you today?
How depressed and lonely are you today?
Has it struck anyone else as ironic that the Holiday of Love can be shortened to VD?
O_o
It continues to be more depressing that, even though I know I won't get a card or anything, tomorrow (and I know there are some w00bs on here who would consider plying Interflora with the cold, hard stuff to make friends feel better, so let me just say don't unless you have a motive less atruistic than plain generosity), I don't even have a crush on a real person (Patrick Stump, at this point, does not constitute a 'real person'. Give me a couple of hours to hang out and tag-quote The Lost Boys with him and maybe, but right now? No. Nonononononoonnononononononononotwatnononono. NO. He's just a little chunk of pretty in a slightly ill-advised hat) and won't be sending or even considering sending any.
My life is so bereft of excitement in the realm of inter-personal communication that I can't even muster the interest to send a Valentine's card. Has it really come to that, man? *head desk*
Once upon a time, it would actually have been a sense of depression I could at least wallow in and write wistful drivel about. Somewhere along the line I got too bored (dare I say, mature?!) to deal with the emotional side of Emo. Instead, I have apathy. Which is worse.
*kicks nearest bin over*
Oh, look! And get to deal with comic pretense of rage at the situation, as well, when in fact I couldn't bring myself to care enough to lift a foot far enough to bother kicking a bin over if you fucking lined it up in front of me.
Me: [urge to be angry. spot bin. lift foot half a centimetre. grumble, ruffle new hair.] ehhhfuckit. [wander off.]
I'm surprised I found the impetus to write that.
Dear Universe:
Happy fucking Valentine's Day. Next year, I want the receipt or just about anything else, including syphillis, instead.
No love,
Rosie.
(Is being 24 supposed to feel like this, man? Because I'm bored already.)
O_o
It continues to be more depressing that, even though I know I won't get a card or anything, tomorrow (and I know there are some w00bs on here who would consider plying Interflora with the cold, hard stuff to make friends feel better, so let me just say don't unless you have a motive less atruistic than plain generosity), I don't even have a crush on a real person (Patrick Stump, at this point, does not constitute a 'real person'. Give me a couple of hours to hang out and tag-quote The Lost Boys with him and maybe, but right now? No. Nonononononoonnononononononononotwatnononono. NO. He's just a little chunk of pretty in a slightly ill-advised hat) and won't be sending or even considering sending any.
My life is so bereft of excitement in the realm of inter-personal communication that I can't even muster the interest to send a Valentine's card. Has it really come to that, man? *head desk*
Once upon a time, it would actually have been a sense of depression I could at least wallow in and write wistful drivel about. Somewhere along the line I got too bored (dare I say, mature?!) to deal with the emotional side of Emo. Instead, I have apathy. Which is worse.
*kicks nearest bin over*
Oh, look! And get to deal with comic pretense of rage at the situation, as well, when in fact I couldn't bring myself to care enough to lift a foot far enough to bother kicking a bin over if you fucking lined it up in front of me.
Me: [urge to be angry. spot bin. lift foot half a centimetre. grumble, ruffle new hair.] ehhhfuckit. [wander off.]
I'm surprised I found the impetus to write that.
Dear Universe:
Happy fucking Valentine's Day. Next year, I want the receipt or just about anything else, including syphillis, instead.
No love,
Rosie.
(Is being 24 supposed to feel like this, man? Because I'm bored already.)
Spooks, Nukes and... Emo.
Monday, 12 February 2007 07:51 pmSo. Stuff, then.
Went on a Paranormal Investigation on Saturday/Sunday at the Clink Prison museum. By a weird fluke, the curator was someone I remembered from primary school. It was very strange. I walked home with Steve, who used to be in the Gay Psychics thing with me and Ian (Steve was one of the team leaders on the day) and the walk back to Trafalgar Square was fricking bizarre.
While we were in there, it had rained enough for drains to flood. We walked back along Embankment and at one point distinctly heard the sound of footsteps running along wet pavement behind us. I turned around and there was no one there. We kept walking. As we got to Cleopatra's Needle we were talking casually, as psychics are wont to do, about the ghost stories associated with the area - in particular the naked man said to bolt across the road and launch himself into the Thames, where he's said to have drowned. Imagine the looks on our faces, then, as, just as we reached the western edge, there was a colossal splash.
Something like: O.O
It was one freaky-ass experience. Especially when we then we were shortly gifted with a thunderstorm.
Anyway: Ian just asked me to join them at Kelvedon Hatch, as a member of the team. He'd already acted as if I was a member of the group at The Clink - advising people to come to me to close down from the meditation we'd started with, if they needed to leave for any reason (I know fuck all about Chakras and hate meditation because I'm too restless, so that was a bit of a shock - I'd better do some reading up). Today he emailed me and said he loves my psychic drawing (read: my scribbling) and asked if I wanted to come along as a member of the team. They're trying to sort out transport, so I said yes.
I'm officially a Ghostbuster again. Well. I've got the bust, they've got the ghosts, so...
I wanted to go to Kelvedon Hatch when Ian first announced it. It's one scary-ass place, from what I've heard. It's where the country would have been run from if the world have come to nuclear war. During the contruction of the place, it's said that a man fell into the cement. He's still there. Or, what's left of him is. People have paid to spend a week living down there and not lasted a night. It's one scary-ass place... I don't know if I mentioned that. However, that's all I know about the place. I don't know whether to read up on it or not - I don't want to taint my perception of the place, but I don't want to go in blind. I'll think about it.
The other stuff I felt like mentioning was a realisation I came to yesterday, while considering the fact that Valentine's Day approaches apace... More depressing even than unrequited love at this time of year, is a life so fucking lonely than there isn't even anyone you want to send a card to.
Went on a Paranormal Investigation on Saturday/Sunday at the Clink Prison museum. By a weird fluke, the curator was someone I remembered from primary school. It was very strange. I walked home with Steve, who used to be in the Gay Psychics thing with me and Ian (Steve was one of the team leaders on the day) and the walk back to Trafalgar Square was fricking bizarre.
While we were in there, it had rained enough for drains to flood. We walked back along Embankment and at one point distinctly heard the sound of footsteps running along wet pavement behind us. I turned around and there was no one there. We kept walking. As we got to Cleopatra's Needle we were talking casually, as psychics are wont to do, about the ghost stories associated with the area - in particular the naked man said to bolt across the road and launch himself into the Thames, where he's said to have drowned. Imagine the looks on our faces, then, as, just as we reached the western edge, there was a colossal splash.
Something like: O.O
It was one freaky-ass experience. Especially when we then we were shortly gifted with a thunderstorm.
Anyway: Ian just asked me to join them at Kelvedon Hatch, as a member of the team. He'd already acted as if I was a member of the group at The Clink - advising people to come to me to close down from the meditation we'd started with, if they needed to leave for any reason (I know fuck all about Chakras and hate meditation because I'm too restless, so that was a bit of a shock - I'd better do some reading up). Today he emailed me and said he loves my psychic drawing (read: my scribbling) and asked if I wanted to come along as a member of the team. They're trying to sort out transport, so I said yes.
I'm officially a Ghostbuster again. Well. I've got the bust, they've got the ghosts, so...
I wanted to go to Kelvedon Hatch when Ian first announced it. It's one scary-ass place, from what I've heard. It's where the country would have been run from if the world have come to nuclear war. During the contruction of the place, it's said that a man fell into the cement. He's still there. Or, what's left of him is. People have paid to spend a week living down there and not lasted a night. It's one scary-ass place... I don't know if I mentioned that. However, that's all I know about the place. I don't know whether to read up on it or not - I don't want to taint my perception of the place, but I don't want to go in blind. I'll think about it.
The other stuff I felt like mentioning was a realisation I came to yesterday, while considering the fact that Valentine's Day approaches apace... More depressing even than unrequited love at this time of year, is a life so fucking lonely than there isn't even anyone you want to send a card to.