First entry.
I hate deja vu. I cannot express how genuinely annoying it is. I feel like I'm losing my mind every single time it happens... Like I know that that exact girl in this exact class walked out of that exact room wearing that exact shirt and got those exact compliments from those exact people in that exact voice. I know that happened. I was there. I remember it. Why did they do it again? Sometimes I feel like people do it on purpose, because surely if I remember it they must aswell right? It's been happening more and more, constant deja vu.. constant loop.. November 8 2024
I like typing. Computers give an odd very happy feeling to me. Typing feels so authentic. Any kind, buttons on a physical calculator, a tv remote, a keyboard, a laptop keyboard, the few times I got to use a typewriter, my label maker. Typing is so natural and real and it gets my best thoughts out. Because unlike writing where my wrist cramps and my pen runs out of ink(i only use pen, I hate pencil, I may talk about that later) I dont have to worry about the physical of it and I can just say whatever I want, and I don't have to use my voice either, god I hate talking. And the feeling and texture of physical buttons, they're so.. I can't find a good way to describe it besides real. The feeling of pushing down a button and feeling a click and then something happening has some form of intense certainty that is so comforting to me. I love typing. November 8 2024
I like using computers in the sun. Because it is hard to see. The sun blurs it out just enough that the screen becomes reflective and I can see perfectly how my hands and clothes and necklaces look in the reflection of the screen, yet I can still see what I am typing. And every once in awhile the sun will hit the screen just perfectly and it'll blur the shadows of my face but still show color, making me look like one of those smooth faced monsters. I wish I could be faceless, theres a reason I've made that my online identity, it speaks to me. November 8 2024
I love writing. I love literature. I don't like reading yet I love it somehow? I hate the process of reading but if/when I find a genuinely good book that I really enjoy reading it is the most peaceful thing to ever happen. Like I love reading classic novels and old poetry, I could(and plan to, eventually) make a whole page deticated to analyzing shakespear and Edgar Allen Poe because that is genuinely what I enjoy doing in my freetime. Oh and how I adore writing. I have so many thoughts but I despise talking I hate the feeling of my vocal cords vibrating I hate hearing my voice and I hate the thought of other people comprehending what I've said. Yet I still want to get my brain out of my head. I have countless, hundreds of thousands probably, unfinished and partially unstarted novels and short storys and so many unwritten screen plays I've imagined in my head, notebooks and journals filled with poems and lyrics I love writing. I love vocabulary I love literature. All my life thats what I've been best at. I could never speak well but I had a good vocabulary and I read on the highest level out of anybody in my classes during school, and I could spell words nobody I knew even knew the meaning of. My teachers gave me awards for writing and congratulated me on pieces and had other students read what I wrote out loud as I can't speak to large groups I can barely speak at all but I had words to be said. So I wrote them. I could pick one topic or one prompt and write several full length novels on them I can write a metaphor deeper than the sea and can make paragraphs jump out of a page like a hyperactive child I know I can and I know I have to because I know theres no other way to free my brain. I have so many thoughts. Admitedly many of which are very stupid but I do I do have psychological and philisophical thoughts and ideas and I overthink every text every phrase I analyze grammar to depict the exact hidden meaning of everything I consume my brain is so crowded I get headaches any time I'm not sleeping my brain tries to get them out by sending me intensely detailed dreams pushing thoughts and ideas away from me but they just inspire me more. I need to free up the storage in my brain so I would speak I would rant but god knows that vocal communication is the wworst thing possible, at least to me. So I write. Now granted this is a bad example as this is a rant and has very little grammar and many run on sentences but I assure you I can write, and I can read, and I need to if I want to be able to think and I have no brain if I do not think. November 8 2024.
