Sometimes writing seems so very redundant...
August already, this summer is slipping by so fast; tired, badly in need of a holiday, thank god it's only one more week & then I'm off.
At least managed three morning runs again this week.
Had dinner at my sister's Wednesday, came home, threw up and felt vaguely nauseous the next two days,
Finally had my hair cut on Tuesday & henna-dyed it today. Am very red-headed now.
Half-way through Dostojewskij's Crime and Punishment, and finally, after two hundred pages or so that were rather hard to read, very much intrigued.
Continued to write my Wesley vignette thingy, which is really just an exercise in procrastination considering it takes me months & a lot of dvd watching to come up with 2000 words. But the fact that I can actually write anything fictious at all, even if it's only fanfic, is still something of a pleasantly surprising novelty and kind of nice...
I've been going through my old paper diaries recently & thinking about the past, the whole M.-related drama. Probably not a good idea, thoroughly embarrassing, and too, too long ago in any case. Still... despite everything, part of me, the part that isn't shit-scared of going through these emotional ups and downs - mostly downs, really - again, longs for this intensity of feeling.