Записи без темы (список заголовков)


I used to stupidly believe that not thinking about you would be easy. That I would miss you just as much as I miss all our other friends. But today it's even harder than 11 years ago.



I used to stupidly believe that not thinking about you would be easy. That I would miss you just as much as I miss all our other friends. But today it's even harder than 11 years ago.



Alcohol is bad for you. Obvious, right? And yet, people keep doing it. Because it dulls and dumbs down.
Why else would a guy with an IQ of about 150 proposition a girl way below him intellectually? He's drunk, of course. See? A guy like that wouldn't get laid in a million years if he didn't dumb down his frontal cortex.
Sad, really.


Fanfic cancellation

I'm not applying. Nothing comes together, just some pathetic odds and ends, and I really have no time to hone. And I haven't even started looking for a beta. Bad timing, I guess, I'll stick to reviewing for a while. Maybe in another four years I'll ask riftintime for a bunny. Maybe he'll be my beta in next life. I suppose I should take down all the sketches and studies on all my blogs. Or maybe not, I doubt anyone will want to knick anything.

Чучка не писатель, а все-таки читатель.



I will never change. I will never grow up. Will I ever stop hurting?


We are built for longing (C) Murder Ballad

He'll leave and go back to her. And you're gonna be alone. And I can't see you hurting. But you're hurting anyway.


TV shows

Every time leukemia pops up I think about 1996. About I. How he was fighting after graduation. And then he wasn't. How we were never even close. Hardly said two words to each other in three years of high school, and how the news hit me like a wall of bricks. How I couldn't look at anyone from his group in school. How I had a meltdown in the restroom. And how none of it matters because he will always stay dead.



Forty-seven today. Yanka, Lena Filaretova, and Katka kinda make up a single cluster in my mind. I think of one, the other two pop up. And I never even met Yanka. Only records. Lena touched so many people, I hardly knew her but she was so open-hearted, generous, kind, and so brilliant, the briefest of contacts was bound to leave a deep lasting impression. And Katka... Well she was special. Whatever unspoken rivalry may have been there, I never meant to cause her any pain but I did and for that I'll always be sorry. But I always admired her talent and her music. Besides, she was such an angel, there was no choice but fall in love with her.


I wonder if my mother ever regretted having me.



Знакомый однажды спросил, почему я делаю записи на английском. "Ты что, думаешь, что ты так спрячешься, что ли, что тут никто по-английски не понимает?" - нет, не так, конечно, но в таком же смысле.
А ведь если подумать логически, то как это я прячусь, выкладывая записи в открытом доступе? И как это я прячусь за английским, если по-английски читают примерно 90% моих подписчиком, а по-русски порядка 50%.


Sneeze and die

My dad nearly gave me a heart attack just now. By sneezing violently.


Ah well

She's happy and she's in another country. Means it's gonna be so much more difficult to make time for each other whenever she visits.


Glee 421

They say if two people truly love each other, things inevitably work out. Probably like H. and J. Both got dumped, but the way I see it, getting dumped was the best thing ever happened to the both of them because they could be together.
And I hope me dumping him who shall remain unnamed was a good thing because it brought them right into their significant other's arms. Oh, that's so slushy romantic I'm nearly making myself nauseous.

So I guess that's what didn't work out. The two of us didn't truly love each other. They were just lying through their teeth, and I was deluding myself into buying it. Best deal ever. You get the whole girlfriend experience without any underlying feelings. Sort of like in Surrogates with Bruce Willis.

Yeah, tonight's bootie call dissolved into nothingness. I don't know if I'm disappointed or releaved. I should have probably told them I'm leaving soon for three months. Nah, I don't want anything to influence their regular day-to-day choices. I'm done pressuring, manipulating, setting traps, chasing after or ensnaring men into any sort of relationship with me. If they don't want it, I'll just enjoy the spare time. Spend it on posting bitter pointless entries in my dozen blogs. Ironically, it's not the worst thing I can do with my time.



Mas suggested we invite ourselves over to the Chernestkies.
I didn't pay much mind first, seeing he was still high from the concert. But then he brought it up again. I tried to turn it into a joke, but I may have hurt his feelings. Well, I'm not good at fast thinking! I can't dodge bullets or anything. Also, this is not the first time Mas throws something like that at me while under the influence of alcohol or good music. It was easy the first time because his claim was so out of this world, it was utterly unthinkable and as such easy to dismiss. But going to friends together is not that far-fetched, people do it all the time.

Ok, don't panic. He said he was willing to take Oleg as a chaperone. Yeah right, like Oleg doesn't have a company to run or a large family to spend time with. What is Mas gonna say, "Hey, Oleg, I want to take this piece over to the Chernetskies, and she's being a complete arse and asking for a chaperone, so are you free?"

Take. A. Breether. It's just hit me anawares, is all. It'll go away as the new week starts. Mas never brought up the unthinkable thing again, and he most likely won't bring this up either. God I hate this double life sometimes. Why can't I just not hide myself from the world? Why can't I say proudly, this is what I am, if you don't like it, you can just shove it! Why do I always second-guess how things are gonna look, what people will think, how they'll judge me if I don't fit in their stupid boxes?



I think I just told an unattached eligible and, most importantly, willing guy that I was only interested in him professionally and sent him off with a 26-year-old. And not just any guy, but the guy who I had a humongous crush on back in 2005. And almost eight years later fate brings him back to my apartment and I pack him in his coat and kick him out? WTF is wrong with me?


I like

I like to keep things clearcut and simple. Bam. Wham. Over. Done with.
But this is nice, too. Lingering on the edge, dangling over the precipice knowing that even a meteor could not push me over. So I'm just grateful that he doesn't act like he senses my willingness. I'm grateful he acts oblivious to the fact that the sound of his voice reverberates up and down my spine to the point where I can hardly understand what exactly he is saying, just revelling in the vibration. And when our toes touch I awkwardly move my foot away millimeter by millimeter. And when he playfully pats the back of my head in a bigbrotherly way, I relax into the touch and close my eyes and just hope he doesn't notice how my breath catches.

It's daunting but at the same time it's safe. There are moments when my brain wants to scream, "Just cut the crap and take what's on offer! To hell with this rigamarole! Do it!" - but it passes pretty quickly, because suppose he did, then what? There is no revelation, no magical world beyond this looking glass, it breaks and all you get will be just sharp shards.



Have just skyped Sergey. Met his three-month-old son. The elder one is six now. He sees Oleg about once a couple months. Why is it that I always ask about the boys first and have to buildup courage to ask about A.? This is stupid. Why does my heart halt every time I ask about him? Why does it sting when Sergey talks about A's wife? AP had a relapse on Women's day. Didn't show up for work after the long weekend, reportedly. Why does it make me wanna cry? What is this residue? I guess I just miss him is all. I guess I'm still jealous of whoever he talks to, or performs for, or you know, generally graces with his presence. I want to be that person again. I want to be there. Sometimes it gets so bad I even start to believe I'd even be willing to deal with his addiction. I am so going to hell for this. But he is worth it. He is that good.



There's this wierd unpleasant tug behind the breastbone that makes you wanna reach for the phone and find *the* contact and just push the call key. But you don't. Because that's all there is to it, just a tug. Have a cookie and move on.



I watch him on Youtube or wherever and my chest gets constricted. I just want to find some semblance of solace in the circle of his arms, pressed up against his chest, nuzzling his clavicle. Feel his fingertips on the nape of my neck. His breath against the shell of my ear. That's all I want. No drama, no comlications, just simple human comfort.

I know that for that wish alone every respectable religion (and most irrespectable ones) on the planet will hurl me to every imaginable hell for all eternity. And then and there, burning for the rest of time, I'll probably be too out of this world to remember why it happened. But in the here and now I sin again and again with no trace of repentance and can't stop my little black sinful damned-for-all-time heart from going to him.


Another abbreviation

The guy I thought I was in love with
Please don't tell me there is no such code in contemporary sms-English with its proclivity for alphabet soup.