
i don't know why but i'm feeling quite odd today.
very contemplative.
a bit pensive.
and that void inside is beginning to make itself known. my heart is stinging. my eyes are dry. my mind craves oblivion.
yet, something's bothering me.
a little something came out and bit my muse, forcing me to think like Tezuka. so i'm doing a bit of creative writing. *snorts* more like a brain fart. But the Fuji!muse is insisting on a Tezuka-centric drabble (from Prince of Tennis) before working on anything else, including WoW. so it's halfway done and all crap.
i feel a bit of existentialism creeping in. It's time like these when I actually crack open The Elegant Universe and read more on string theory. it's that personal goal to go past page 37 in the book that drives me. nutty, i know. i don't remember what other books i have in my library that i open during one of these moods. probably The Art of Kissing by [i forget his name. will edit it in later when i get home and glance at the spine] and The Art of Doing Nothing by Veronique Vienne. something lazy and non-thought inducing.
i feel so....blah. *looks at the sky imploringly* why?