How much space am I allowed?


I’m trying to decide exactly how to handle this diary thing.

I have all these spontaneous thoughts that just call out for their own page in this journal, but how do you reconcile fifty pages a day? Of course, if I only enter the REALLY interesting/thought provoking tidbits, I could probably wheedle it down to sixteen or seventeen, but I’m sure you catch my drift.

Why do people write journals as if someone is actually listening. I mean, that last sentence “You catch my drift” implies that I’m captivating enough for people to actually take the time to read.

I feel like that big-haired girl on Felicity. (I think her name is….Felicity) Except I’m not prattling on and on on a tape recorder, I’m typing…more like Doogie Howser, I suppose.

Mmmm. Neil Patrick Harris. He kicked ass as Mark in RENT. Anyhow, I think I spotted some kind of archive action, so I’ll probably sort things by week or something equally brilliant.

I’m discussing my filing strategies with a computer. How sad is that?


Some unrelated, but interesting links:

The Onion
Weekly Organic Wonder
The Hunger Site
Green Peace
Martin Luther King Junior Papers Project
Sparks Notes
World Vision Canada
Friend Finder
Internet Movie Database
The Practical Hippie
Jay’s Gourmet
Vegan Outreach
Vegan Porn
Adult Christianity


About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets,, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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