afraclose (afraclose) wrote,
  • Mood: bloggy
  • Music: Miss Jones


About a week ago, I ended up sifting through some old LJ entries looking for a bit of information. I don't think I realized it at the time, but I did write some funny shit back then.

Maybe there's hope for me yet.

It's about time I sat down, took a long, hard look at my computer, and decided what to do with my online life. I had a conversation with someone about this just recently. Where's everyone hanging out these days?

The real question is, if I get some good information, will I use any of it before it's outdated and everyone's moved on to somewhere else? I get the feeling that I need to start from scratch, though. Sort of rebuild everything from the ground up. Nobody cares about book reviews that were written for defunct websites five years ago.

Oh, and I won't be doing it on this laptop. My husband got hold of a couple of Windows Surface tablets to test for work, and he loaned me one since I wanted to try it so badly. Sad to say, they suck for actually using on one's lap. <^U^>

Hmm. I haven't made an elf emoticon in so long...You know, I almost named my blog "The Emoticon Forest." But then I started receiving books for "The Unnamed Forest" and I realized I was sort of stuck with it, even though I'd finally settled on a name.

Just got done watching Bridget Jones's Diary, since I was craving a viewing. I realized too that I miss carrying around hardbound, blank, leather journals. I miss drawing. I miss feeling free on paper.

My son and I painted rocks on our front walk to welcome spring. (And yes, I'm really proud of this and blab it to everyone, because it makes me sound like a good mommy even though I never, ever think of fun stuff like this to do. For someone who's been told she's creative all her life, it sucks how absolutely UNcreative a mom I'm turning out to be. My son has no imagination, and I'm sure it's my fault.) It's washable paint, but I sort of wish it wasn't. I had a lot of fun just blending the colors. It's weird how the smell of tempura just comes back and floods your system, making you miss paint stained cement floors and the dusty corners of art studio space.


I had dinner in a house today that I felt I completely belonged in. The house wasn't mine.

I don't know how to make my house look like that house. It would require a lot of money. A lot of antiquing. A lot of care.

I don't think I'll ever have that within reach. I wish I could accept that. I'm doomed to live in a suburban home forever and always live paycheck to paycheck. Destiny sucks sometimes.

Its got a lot of nice stuff sometimes. A lot of love and unexpected niceness to be grateful for. But the irony of the parts you can't change is just so bothersome. A sign of the modern times, I suppose. A week of reading books about the Depression and I still can't just feel happy with my suburban miniature comfort zone. (I would say "paradise," but lets not take it that far. Although it really IS to some degree. Most people don't have it so good. Gah, I'm an ungrateful whine.)

Why yes, I was treated to a few rum and cokes while we were at that house. Why do you ask?
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