i've used many things to shut me inside before - a movie, a cd, a webpage... even people. it always comes out of nowhere, and it usually takes me a while to recognize what is happening, but even when i do i rarely make myself stop.

i realize this could be labelled as obsessive behaviour, but i don't really care. it just.. happens.

sometimes it means watching the same movie repeatedly. sometimes i need to hear a song for hours every day for a week. or i'll eat the same thing 13 nights in a row because it's the only thing that comes to mind when i feel hungry.

for the past 2-3 weeks i've kept myself completely occupied with this journal. not that the entries would tell you that, or perhaps the shortness of the entries have told you just that.

every morning i've gotten up at 10 am to make sure i get the computer i want at the library. every day i've sat here for about 8 hrs tweeking code and images, letting myself go with any idea that pops up. i've been brief and distant at talkers, in e-mail, entries, phonecalls and conversations.

i've spent hours looking for webrings to join because suddenly i want to be read, yet i've only applied to one because i don't like the idea of actually trying to get an audience - it just seems like such an egotrip, and despite my claims on having an ego the size of russia, it's more like a small suburb in monaco. part of me wants to be linked and read and reviewed, but part of me also wonders what the hell for? i guess i'm just another tragic case of "please love me!!"

i don't aspire to be a writer. at least, i don't think i do. i go through periods where i don't feel i'm saying much in the entries i've put up, but then i also go through periods of feeling extremely satisfied with something i wrote and being all proud.

yet i guess i want to be read? it seems so wrong to feel bad about thinking of ways to get more readers when i, at the same time, feel a bit jealous of people who do have a lot of readers, or get invited into exclusive webrings.

i went downstairs to see if there were any new movies i could get (there weren't) and suddenly my mood lifted. perhaps because i got fresh oxygene. more likely because my ass got a rest. it's a sad, sad sign when you get used to your butt aching because you've been sitting down too long.

as i walked down the steps i caught a glimpse of myself mirrored from the glass put to keep people from falling out either the side and had to laugh. for some reason i look like a porn star today. a very low-budget porn star at that.

i guess there really is a certain age after which one cannot have a ponytail by each ear combined with makeup and not look funny. i suppose the pink lip gloss and smudged black eyes isn't helping either.

i don't think too many porn stars wear rolled down socks with dogs on them, though. especially not with worn out slippers that click-clack loudly and sloppily when you walk.