As mentioned above in the apt and eloquent title, I feel that continuing to write a journal would be a splendid and fulfilling thing to do, however nonsensical and superfluous my drivel may be.
Life is a little while away at the moment. Either because of sleep (lack thereof), or the chemical miasma in my brain, I often feel like there's a few centimetres between myself and the world I'm watching go by. A little like a dream I suppose.
Speaking of dreams, I had a poignant one last night. I was part of a large and well organised murder mystery party. We were organised into groups and given an information booklet to read and film clips to watch, except while my group mates were working on it I was walking around talking to people, revelling in my swagger and what I perceived to be other's perception of me. One person in particular I remember talking to was one of the organisers, who asked me to take off my tie so he could show me a magic trick. I was watching intently, and saw him put it up his sleeve, but decided to feign delight when he pulled it out nonetheless. After a sojourn of hobnobbing, some time had passed and it was time for people to hand in their answers (with attached reasoning) on pieces of paper. I, of course, had absolutely no idea. It was about that time I noticed that the prizes were Neon Genesis Evangelion figurines, and I remember myself saying "aw...I want a toy!" By that point, however, it was too late, and as hard and quickly as I tried to read and figure out whodunnit, it was all to no avail. I don't think I even handed in an answer.
Back to where we were before. Distance from reality seems to me a matter of contrast. A fire doesn't seem so warm once you've touched the sun.
Bah that's it for now. There's a heap of other things milling around my mind but I can't remember them right now. Serial monogamy, camera lenses and the flame of human consciousness. Wishy washy mish mash.
Maybe later.
Love you long time xo.
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