bits and pieces

Most people tend to have a stock supply of stories, the tales they tell when they invite you over to their house for dinner; the ones every person in your family knows because each of them have been told the story at least once, and some more.

People have begun to bore me. People I used to know; whose company gave me pleasure, or, at the very least, entertainment. I wonder exactly how snobbish I will grow to be, with this new-discovered disgust of repetitions. I will move out of the house because I cannot stand to be around my mothers complaints of the world at large (because I can quote them in my sleep) and I will stop talking to most of the engineers I know (because if you have heard one of them talk you have heard them all) and I will


I have always had a problem letting things (oh, and people) go.

I have been searching for people.
The old ones who would stop by and pretend to be interested in my witty recollections of mundane events. I beg your pardon, they probably did enjoy them - I know I did.

The T's life has been unusually full of adventure lately. She wishes she could stop and tell everyone, but she's been having trouble with her words of late.

However, in other news, she's feeling much better about other miseries of her tumultuous life. Part of this is because she is certain sombody else will come along who will understand who carroll and kent are, and