Sold Your Soul Yet?

[lyric]

Dear Journal

What is the point of these things? Really? ... I have no idea. Why am I writing it one that I found randomly? No idea. Maybe I'm going crazy. Do crazy people write in journals, or is that lonely people? ... I guess it's better to write down things in a journal to talk to yourself out loud. Anyways, I'm rambling now.

The reason I even bothered to steal a pen (and it is a pretty colored pen) to write in this is because I decided that sometimes I hate like. Like, a lot. And I needed a place to rant properly about my infinite hatred of things. It isn't really hatred though. Just... an empty feeling that starts in the back of my throat and tastes bitter in my mouth.

Nonetheless, I don't like much of anything. It’s not really fair, though. I ran into this Fulsi the other day who said he was Ven (although I don't know if I believe him yet, but he did know an awful lot about me) and he made me take a trip down memory lane. I'm pretty sure I'm still emotionally sore from that little expedition. It was hell, and I'm still pissed off over it... the entire thing was... I don't know. Different? Straining?

And I still have a couple bee-stings because I didn't feel much like Healing them. Whatever. I've got to go now. And guess what? It's snowing again outside. Yippy. I may've been born in Russia, but this cold isn't particularly pleasant. I hate winter, sometimes, unless I have a nice warm heating system. All there is here are camp-fires and ratty blankets. Glad the Keepers gave me this second shift. At least lynxes have thick fur... really have to go now. Enough of this ranting... if I spend the rest of the day bent over this stupid notebook people are going to start giving me weird looks. Not like they already do.

Love

Lyric Shikov