The Mick Fleetwood autobiography keeps making me cry. In public places. And I’m only an eighth of the way through the book.
Ender’s game was among the best books I’ve read in my memory. I finished it yesterday.
My mind is talking circles around itself, and only serving to make me want to climb under my desk and cry, or open the sealed windows and find out if I can fly. It’s not that I want to jump, fall, die… it’s just that I want to fly away. And I keep wanting to cry.
Still feel completely disconnected from the rest of the world I know. Time for a new world to appear from the ashes. I don’t exactly burn bridges anymore… I just leave them to rot and fall apart. I don’t want to go backwards anyhow… I want to move forward. I want to stop coasting. Wanting doesn’t get me far though. I wish someone would take me and tell me what I have to do… I’m too lost this way, I don’t know where to go, and I just feel hopeless all the times when I’m not distracting myself.
Speaking of distracting myself… Final Fantasy is tonight.