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 contemplative |
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-She's hanging out in her bedroom, wearing pink pajama pants and a white tshirt, a bowl of popcorn sitting on her lap, watching tv through half closed sleepy eyes. She's eating slowly, and most of the popcorn is falling on her chest, so sleepy her hand can't even make it to her mouth. She yawns, and stands up , looking down and raising an eyebrow when the popcorn falls and scatters on the plush carpeting. With a quiet sigh, she looks around for the DustBuster, and sees her laptop sitting open on her desk. She smiles and heads over to it, scattered popcorn forgotten, and plops down in the chair, opening up the journal client, rolling her shoulders once as she sets her fingers on the keyboard, tapping the "A" key, thinking, then typing.-
You know what strikes me as kind of crazy? The phrase "ordinary day" as in "Today was an ordinary day."
I find that weird. Every day is the chance to start over, a new opportunity to make things right, to fuck things up, to live, to breathe, to sing, to swear, to stare, to smoke, to kiss, to hug, to love, to hate. Every single day is a crazy kind of miracle.
Every time the sun rises a new day is born, and the sun sets at night, and so it dies. Kind of like people do. We're born, we live, and then we die.
Sometimes, I think I think too much.
Sometimes, I don't think I think enough.
Maybe the sun is going down, but only in my head.
Then again, maybe not.
~B~
-She reads over the short entry and laughs softly at her tired musings, clicking the "update" button quickly, before shutting down the laptop and closing the top, and heading to bed, for sleep.-
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accomplished
amused
weird
angry
bouncy
drunk