geekyangel

Sat, 15 Oct 2005 08:05:50 GMT

I keep forgetting to write here again. I always believed you should stick to what you started, and a diary ought to be good for me pulling myself together, but too often I can't decide whether I have too much to say or absolutely nothing.

Anyway, I've been reading George Martin; I kept hearing good things about him so I decided to try. These are good books, I think... but sometimes they make me feel sick. Not all sections equally. I'm okay with reading sections about characters who can do something and make things happen. Even if bad things happen, they can manage. But Sansa... I definitely feel sick reading about Sansa. They could do anything to her. Absolutely anything, whatever they wanted to...

Thu, 09 Jun 2005 19:45:57 GMT

Why do I have to talk to anyone about my sexual orientation? I don't want to, and yet it's beginning to seem like it's something wrong to me. There's nothing to discuss, and nothing to compare with. It's just me. Why does anyone else care?

Fri, 28 Jan 2005 17:17:52 GMT

I love anime (shoujo anime, that is) and manga precisely because it's so unreal. It's like those princesses my sister used to draw, all huge eyes and flowing locks. And it's not just the impossible prettiness of all the characters (except some evil ones. It's the plot made of childish fantasies too - anyone can be brought to another world and turn out to be a powerful mage and fall in love with a handsome prince, or any schoolgirl can live on her own or with friends, etc. It's a very strange and heady feeling, to see your own absurd dreams on paper or film; it gives them some reality. The same reality I used to find in writing out fantasy names and titles for myself, at least for a second, before I blacked them out carefully.

Thu, 06 Jan 2005 07:48:55 GMT

I always have to remind myself that I have no right to be jealous. Jealousy suggests ownership. I can call no person totally mine to be jealous of him or her. I'm not even certain it is possible to call someone else your own at least in some senses.

So I'd better be grateful for what I do have...

Sun, 05 Dec 2004 19:14:14 GMT

I haven't written here for a while because I did not want to whine. I tried whining once in my life, and it doesn't make things better, so I just refuse to do it even to myself; and I couldn't manage anything else.

I've been rereading Left Hand of Darkness. I think I'm in love with Estraven. Or maybe the whole book too, but Estraven definitely. He's just so... whole, and rounded, and I love the not-told backstory since it gives me more of a sense of him than if it were all explained, and... Oh well. I can do some things well, but I'm definitely not good at explaining myself in writing. Or in any words at all.

Now I started reading Robin Hobb, and while it's very good, I can't figure out if these books make me happy. There are good books and then there are books that make me happy, and the two do not necessarily coincide.

Thu, 29 Jul 2004 22:33:26 GMT

I want to go to London. Alone. Or even somewhere... Just so that I'd be able to walk anywhere alone without anyone asking me why or worrying that I'm tired or anything. But I don't think I'd ever be allowed to travel alone. And I could understand why they are afraid, but I'm not. They don't see how illogical it is to fear strangers, but I don't think I can ever explain it aloud why it's stupid to be afraid of strangers.

Oh well, we *will* go somewhere, just all of us together, and the rest of the time I can be alone in my room - no one will say anything if I'll lock it.

Fri, 23 Jul 2004 20:10:56 GMT

One thing I always regretted in Ash was Angelotti dying. WHy did he have to die? Or is it stupid and childish, wishing your favourite characters alive and happy?

Fri, 23 Jul 2004 18:12:59 GMT

So, I started a journal. I'm not yet entirely sure about this — it seems strange to write where everybody can read me. And yet it's anonymous and nobody knows who I am. I could be anybody. Strange thought, isn't it? Usually I like being who I am, but right here being nobody in particular seems freeing.