Oh gosh.

FUCK IT. My internet went down around one o'clock Sunday morning, so I wasn't able to post this, or Sunday's post. I wrote them, though. Posting now. (The timestamp's even on this one to prove it; I started it before the internet died.)

Funny, too; everyone in our dorm was dying from the lack of connection. We were all slowly driving ourselves insane.

...

I think I'm a bit backwards. I love typewriters and Polaroid cameras. Technology is awesome, but old gadgets make me nostalgic for the generations before my time.

...

I think my subconscious keeps trying to reveal my horrible little embarrassing secret to him.

"Whoa, I'm already up to seventy-four entries."
"Cool. Know how many I have?"
"Does it rhyme with schmero?"
"No. It rhymes with schone-hundred-and-five."
"You have a blog and didn't tell me? Is it on Blogger? Gimme the URL and I'll read it."
FUCK. "Can't, I made it private."
"Well, why would you make a blog if nobody else can read it?"
I am totally lying. "I dunno, it's easier than keeping a physical journal."
"Okay, whatever. You're weird."

...

I get really really fucking sensitive around this time of year, I think.

I hate crying. It's another loss of control. But it also gives me an emotional release to which I am unaccustomed; I hold things in so much that I never feel free of my own restraints.

Stupid Christine. So nice to me I started sobbing.

...

I am such a hopeless romantic. For instance, I'm a total sucker for the ballroom scene of Beauty and the Beast. Been watching too many Disney movies these past few days, and only my sarcasm's been saving me from turning into a complete sap.

(Hopeless romantic: Because I'll never actually do anything, but I'll keep wishing that something will happen anyways.

...

Anyways. Not looking forward to tomorrow. It makes me a bit weird in the head. But oh well. Good night.

Olivia