The Repeating Theme of Numbers Has Become Bland

Hello, again. As the title implies, I've become horribly bored with the constant use of numbers as the title of my blogs. Therefore, I will continue title with phrases that suit its contents.

The picture to the left is "Weep" by James Jean. For the past three posts, I've been putting art. There is no purpose, if you were curious at all.

I really need to figure out what I want, who I want. When things finally get handed to me on a fucking silver platter, I push it away, I don't want it anymore. I feel like I don't deserve anything, anyone.

Everything would be a hell of a lot easier if I stopped thinking things a million times over, examining and re-examining every possible fuck up and how to solve it. It really sucks having a need to be sensible, rational.

I've never really understood when people told me to listen to my heart, what the fuck does it say? All I hear is beating, all I feel is beating. The only thing that makes sense is when I listen to my mind, do what I know is right, what's safest.

I don't want anything. I don't want anyone. Makes sense, sounds right, feels safe.

XVI.

My birthday is rolling in too soon. I've never dreaded the arrival of a new age so much; it's frightening.

<-- This, this. This... Is the work of Alex Pardee. He is also a wonderful painter, who I envy greatly. If I ever get to paint, I would really love to paint in that style. However, I have no talent. Whatsoever.

I am waiting for Invictus to come out; the date is December 11th 2009.

I was actually planning to write something along the lines of profound, at least in my point of view, but as you see I am emotionally blank.

Thanksgiving is coming up, I am thankful for Taylor Hermann, and all her works. Haha.

I'm watching House Hunters on HGTV, it makes me want to buy a home with my rocker husband. I want to look for a home with an extra room for my art supplies and your guitar. I want a small room for my kittens litter box, because you hate how I keep it in bathroom. I want a large backyard, because we love to spend time outside. I want a medium size master bedroom, so we have an excuse to buy a smaller bed and sleep closer together. It has to be close to a forest or mountains, because we love to hike and explore. Lastly, I want an attic, with a circular window right in the center front. It would be wonderful. Also, I want a study. I'll keep my books there, and a large love seat.

UnoCinco.

Hi, my name is Christina B_______ G_____ and I completely fail at life.

OneFour.

I've run out of languages to title my posts; I apologize.

Isn't Esao Andrews wonderful? This one is title "Thought". He is, by far, my favorite artist.

I actually have a purpose for this post, sort of. I am, once again, going to go through what I like to call "Improvement Movement". It is an "Autumn Alteration".

The Master Plan:

1)Once again, make an attempt at pescetarianism.

2)Exercise, you heard it right, exercise!

3)Cut down on the electronics use: less computer, less phone, less video juegos, less TV.

4)Pick up on progressive hobbies. I plan to: paint, (finally) learn to crochet, learn to knit, finish writing a fucking novel (and not bullshit myself and say it's a "short-story"), finish all the books I own, start reading the "classics" I'm planning to start with Tolstoy.

5)Spend absolutely no money on "non-necessities".

6)Try and be happy for once, and not make silly excuses why I shouldn't be.

7)Actually write a journal entry a day, like I originally intended.

8)Stop worrying.

9)Stop being bitchy.

10)Do homework on the day it was assigned.

Sounds like a good master plan, right? Let's hope this can be implemented, followed through. I will not tolerate failure anymore.

XIII.

RE: Melting into cement

I've been thinking about it, and it sounds nice. I mean, it wouldn't be much of a change from now. If you catch my drift.

Good Night,

This blog was unnecessary, but I was still compelled to write something.

Dodici.

There is no direction, no master plan, I apologize for my ramblings.

I have this habit of reading through my blog posts, or journal entries, and having a strong impulse to delete them. I'm always so ashamed of myself, of my past. I'm ashamed of being ashamed, if you catch my drift. Note to self: break this habit. I heard somewhere that you must love yourself before you can love others. Bull shit, if you ask me.

I just got back from this party. I hated it, I don't enjoy social events. Why did you go then, dipshit? I know you're wondering that. Well, you see, I have this mother who just loves society and all its works. She loves how popular she is, unintentionally she brags about it to me. Constantly, I am pushed to be popular too. She says I need to make more friends. I'd rather have a pond of faithful fish than a sea of strangers, if you catch my drift. Back to the original point: It's really hard to fill her shoes, to be instantly adjusted when thrown into a social function. She adapts. I panic. I never understood how to mingle. Can someone teach me?

I looked into a mirror today. I realized this: I hate mirrors. I want to completely forget what I look like. I want to imagine someone better. End of story.

I relate to pennies quite well. Unused, unappreciated, about to be forgotten entirely. End of transmission.

Sometimes I lay in the concrete and hope to melt into it. That's impossible, you are stupid. Yeah, you're probably right. End of dialogue.

My goal in life is to become wonderful, because unlike the rest of you I wasn't born it. I guess I will die with unfulfilled hopes. End of desire.

I'm going to stop now. After this next one, I've completely run out of anaphoras tonight. End of blog.