Failure...

Ok, so that didn't play out as I had hoped.
I have gained one reader, but that's about all that's come out of this situation. Now that she reads what I'm writing, I suppose I should modify my content, but I set out to use this as a forum for what I thought, so I will not censor myself...
Thinking back, I don't know what led me to believe that there might be something there, other than a fools hope that if I build it, they will come... (If I ask people out, eventually, someone will have to say yes). Regarding the censoring, we'll still stay the same kind of friends we were before this whole debacle, so I guess I'll spare you the details. I just hope that when we meet again, every thing will be just as it was the last time we met. Obviously, there will always be this little bit of information in the back of our mind that tells us that something happened. Words cannot be unsaid, nor thoughts unthunk.
This will not turn into a tirade, so I'll stop right here.

I just wrote one of the longest emails I have ever written to my friend that's moved away. It started out short, but now, in its fourth (or so) iteration, we're sending eachother, what can only be classified as, essays. (wow, lots of commas there, don't write like you talk).
It's alot of fun tho. Expression via the written word is something completely different than via voice. Much like expression via music, it holds a different dimension. The ability to drive a point home without getting sidetracked is nice. I also find that now that I have no more letters on my keyboard, my writing speed has increased alot. When I don't have the ability to look down at the letters anymore, I can concentrate on the content more, and I find that my typing speed is up to how I'd probably sound vocally if I was explaining something to a preschooler...
I just got so carried away when writing this email. The letters and digits just flowed out of me like a stream in springtime. It feels really good to write. I have done this once before, when I was tired and listening to music and about to go to bed. When you start writing, and get up to a certain speed, no matter what you're typing, the content just kind of flows in by itself. Like in "Finding Forrester", with Sean Connery. You start with someone else's word in a paragraph, and before you know it, you've written ten pages of your own, without even thinking about it. (I also got complimented on my english writing skills last night, which was cool. And from a person with much more editorial skill than myself, none the less. I think there was a question about where I had learned all this (since it's not my native tongue), but it got lost somehow... The answer atleast.

This kind of immersion, I think, might be my way into writing properly. Of course, with my previous experiment, the result was only so much garbage, but it felt really good to write.

And now, I've lost it. Damn it, what is it with family members?!
I sit here with my headphones on, typing like there is no tomorrow, and they come in and talk to me about totally unnecessary things, non-sequitur like you wouldn't believe. You'd think that after 26 years, they'd learn to see when I'm doing something and not just fucking about. My parents especially, they have no fucking tact WHAT SO EVER!
Sure, I'm living with mom for the summer while I'm working, but that doesn't mean I relinquish my private live, just because she's paying for dinner!
I fucking hate it! It's like whatever they have to say, no matter how useless, is always more important than what I'm doing at the moment. Like the other day, I'm in the bathroom, shaving, stark naked, just out of the shower, and my mom thinks this is a great opportunity to change some liquid soap or whatever that we have in the bathroom. She has ALL FUCKING DAY to do this, and she chooses to go in there, not once, but twice, as I'm in there. No fucking sense of privacy. No wonder this world is going to hell in a handbag with people from that generation pulling the strings. If it's one thing that gets me riled up, it's the horrible social skills that my parents (and probably all parents) have. It's like they have no inner monologue. "Wow, this now has sound" (the computer beeped), "I wonder where this goes", "what shall I make for dinner tonight", "I wonder when work starts tomorrow". If we were engaged in a conversation, this would be ok, but just walking around the house talking to herself can be mighty annoying when you're trying to do something. Be it type up an entry, like today, or watching a movie.

I remember a few years back, I was home alone, watching "I am Sam". A beautiful film with alot of emotion. Dad comes home, and starts just fucking about in the kitchen, trying to talk to me from the other end of the house, expecting ofcourse for me to drop whatever it is I am doing (even if it had been open heart surgery) to come and listen to his mindless ramblings.
I have being interrupted. All these interruptions are enough to make one mad, mwihahah. Go now, and leave me to my work... (So I might have played more than my fair share of Diablo I & II).

Ok, the stream of words are gone, I might aswell pack it in for this entry.

Out throwing a frisbee around today in the field with my brother and two of his friends. That's going to be my contribution to the human race today.

Yeah, not my best post with regards to composition. I could always write, but composition wasn't something I was ever very good at. Will have to work on it.

-- Markus out.