"Worthwhile" is a relative term, red text above this box.

I'm uncertain as to what really goes in journals. So I'll ramble. Rambling is always worthwhile. It's 2:30 in the morning here, while I'm too lazy to really do anything. I want to write a poem, but the topic is something my feelings haven't sorted out enough to write about, and the "blahblahblah" which I translate incomprehensible emotion into doesn't make for that wonderful a poem.

Not that I write all that wonderfully even when I can understand what my brain is telling me. /emoemoemoemo.

I don't like to write about my very feminine feelings, because I tend to perceive my emotions as weak and irrational, and other people call me out as simply being a lover of self deprecation. In my silly little head, other people are allowed to feel; they have reasons. But I can't. Oh, I am a failure, Mr. Spock? BEAT MEEEEEE.

Insert hawt masochistic sex scene between Mr. Spock and I here, I s'pose? Ugh. It's three o'clock, and I've become mildly loopy without writing a single poetic word. This is how most nights go, and that's not necessarily a good or bad thing.