Funny part about used books

Found this in my Advanced Math book, I guess this is one of the advantages of used books.

Blank

Yep, title says it all I am totally blank today. I guess I'm just getting numb in preparedness for kidding, which I'm not freaking out about by the way. I'm just anxious and overly impatient this year, which isn't much better. Dreams are the funniest part, especially when Caramel has six fat yellow lab puppies. Better than the stupid grocery shopping dreams I've been having. Now you can be convinced that I've lost my mind, but I sort of lost it a long time ago anyway. Wonder if I'll ever be able to find it again......

So in my moments of bored-blank-dumb-somtimes-stupid-numbness, ok I can't see where I was going here. Oh, I find myself writing poetry for some reason, which is so weird for me especially since I hate poetry. Its mostly dark disturbing poetry though which I probably won't ever show anybody, so I guess I don't really see a point in writing it but its actually sort of fun. My Chemical Romance, Three Days Grace and 30 Seconds to Mars really help to fuel it. Now I just wish I could get my regular writing skills back.

So I finished reading Fyodor Dostoevsky's Demons. It was a bit of a drag but it was a really good book. Gotta love the typical Russian ending: pretty much most of the main and minor characters get murdered, go crazy or commit suicide.

So I got contacts the other day, they are really awesome. I'm surprised I'm not subconsciously rubbing my eyes like I do when I have mascara on.

Its snowing........again............

Clinging to sanity

So lets see, kidding starts as early as next week, so this will sort of be a goodbye post to the three readers of my blog. After kidding starts, I am the most composed and in control person........when I absolutely need to be. Otherwise, I'm a total complete wreck(nobody sees that of course, haha)

I hate how I can't really put my thoughts out in the way I want. I mean, I've got so many thoughts and some of them are good but I just can't quite put them into words. Its really frustrating. I think I'm going to start writing my unmoderated thoughts in a private journal. Then in twenty years if I feel like it maybe I'll publish it. This really sucks because sanity leaving isn't helping my thought process. I seem to be bitching a lot lately, then again I seem to bitch all the time. I must be a born bitcher.

So a couple weeks ago I finished a book that a friend lent me called The Picture of Dorian Gray. Basically its about a guy who has a picture painted of him in his youth, he falls in love with the portrait and sells his soul for eternal youth. In turn, every time he does something wrong, the picture ages and his image turns horribly ugly, while he stays eternally youthful. As the picture becomes more and more hideous Dorian realizes what he is becoming. You could say the portrait has taken on the appearance of his soul.

I was thinking, I think it would be so interesting, if we had a portrait of ourselves that showed what our souls truly looked like, would we try and strive to be better and stay beautiful? If we realized the ugliness that sin imprints on our souls, every ugly mark it makes, would we try to be better and to stay spiritually beautiful?

So now I've gotten all religious and started preaching, dammit. That book really got me thinking though, awesome book, ending is even better.

Ok, so to my faithful three readers, I say so long for now, I will return somewhat(but not really) normal in a month or two. Hopefully. If I haven't been eaten by baby goats.

Solitude

I came across this poem the other day when I was cleaning my room. I was something that I copied back when I was little. My mom used to get me poetry books from the library and I would sit for hours on end just copying poems. I threw most of these copied poems away, but I happened upon this one in a notebook the other day. Its always been a favorite of mine, and I think its a poem that everybody could live by or take something from.

Solitude
By Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has troubles enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many,
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is a room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.