People always trash-talk blogs. There could be a countless number of reasons why that is, and maybe they're entirely correct in thinking blogs are a waste of time. However, I imagine that if I were ever to get into a conversation with someone who thought they were infinitely better than another person because they have better things to do with their time than to read and write blogs, I would simply agree with them. Yeah, I don't have anything better to do than read blogs. What of it? I fucking like blogs. Whatever. This person probably never believed in Santa Clause either.
I keep looking behind me suspiciously because I'm using a computer that is randomly set up in the hallway of one of my lecture halls. I was able to log on and there's no one around, so I'm assuming I won't get into trouble for using this computer for non-scholastic purposes. Every time someone passes by, I try to "play it cool," but I think my brief moment of panic when I hear someone walk down the hall in my direction is entirely readable on my face, probably even by someone who is blind. Also, the vending machines behind me keep making strange noises that cause me to jump and turn my head at a ferocious speed. Each time, still a vending machine.
Anyway, every successful blog I've ever read seems to have some sort of central theme or purpose. Truth is, I'm not sure what this one's purpose is yet. Right now it will most likely serve as another form of communication with This Guy. He's my boyfriend. Anyway, we live a billion miles apart because I thought school would be doubly fun if I put as many miles between us as possible. (I was terribly mistaken. Fuck miles.)
Every time something worth telling This Guy occurs, I am never really able to tell him on the phone, usually because I either forget about it by the time we talk or because I am completely overcome with laughter and cannot form the words required to have a comprehensible conversation with someone. This is usually what happens, almost daily.
Step #1. Roommate and I have a hilarious moment in which we either said something terribly stupid, made fun of someone to the point of cruelty, or one of us suffered a physical blunder.
Step #2. Roommate and I laugh hysterically and are barely able to compose ourselves hours later.
Step #3. This Guy calls me after work or school, eager to talk to me about what a wonderful day I had, including every single, solitary moment that Roommate and I have shared.
Step #4. This Guy gets really frustrated with my fits of laughter and the six approximate "words" I have managed to squeeze out between them. The story has then lost all of its comedy and he no longer cares to hear about it.
Damn vending machines.
I'm pretty certain now that I shouldn't be using this computer for blogging. People are starting to look at me weird.
Also, I should probably study.
I'll work on finding a purpose for this blog that is better suited for the general public, although the antics of Roommate and I are pretty fucking funny.
- Christa
No comments:
Post a Comment