She said

The Japanese Fan Girl says: What the hell, Clamp? You are a mindfuck and need to stop these crossover in xxxHolic and Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle! And these new revelations that so-and-so character is actually a clone are making me angry. Kill a character and keep 'em dead!

The Psuedo-Fashionista says: Is anyone else not impressed by the new Alexander McQueen line? This is heartbreak.

The 14 year old in me says: I just bought season one and two of Dawson's Creek for ten bucks each, and I'm not ashamed to admit so. In fact, there is pride.

The recluse says: I just bent down to pick something off the ground and heard the inevitable RIIIIPPPPPPPP! sound that comes after wearing a part of PJs for one year too long. Good bye plaid pink pants, hello nudity.

The sleep deprived girl asks: Why do you marathon shows in one sitting? Okay, it might have only been a 13 episode series at 20 minutes a piece, but why did you start at 10pm and then stayed up a few more hours watching interviews on youtube?

I've been trying to be more focused in these posting, as in sticking to a single subject and soapboxing my heart on the topic. But lately, it's been a no-go. Which means a few things: a) I really don't care about blogging; b) my life is not that interesting; c) my life, actually, is interesting but by the time I sit to write about it, I don't care anymore; or d) Writing (publicly) is not fun anymore.

Writing is my way of coping with the world. I keep diaries, dream journals, and notepads full of random thoughts, which are all very private things. And the blogosphere is a not-so private place that I've been having trouble treading about lately. For when I blog, it seems to be at my most-for lack of a better term-passionate moment. When I'm most angry, excited, annoyed, you pick the emotion I'll peak at. Naturally, I had my fair share of such emotional standpoints these past few months that back in my high school days would have me racing for my keyboard. Except that now, I'm not in high school and I can't really point fingers at people that have broken my heart, disappointed me, or made me reach for that shotgun under my bed out of anger because chances are, they might be reading. So I've reached that existentialist impasse most blogger reach but would never coin the phrase as such: Why blog at all?

To be a blogger, you have to be egoistic at some level. Why write for the world to read, to post pictures for the world to see, upload songs for---you get the picture. For human connection, to derive an emotion out of someone else? Uh, sure. I've yet to reach an answer, nor reach a state of self-confidence to admit I'm pretty fucking egoistic. So again, why do the blog thing? Because it's a form of virtual hedonism and you all are Internet voyeurs for peeking behind web browsers to read my silly words. So let's continue the way of instant gratification as I'll still stand on the soapbox and perhaps the new year will see a better me. And by that, I mean, a better blogger me as I already know 2009 will be a continuation of fuck-ups, fuck you's, and fuck me's.