Re-reading my old blog posts makes me wonder where that girl has gone. The one who approached every new thing with wonder; didn't just sit there passively, letting all the entertainment wash over her. The one whose primary time-suck wasn't that ridiculous website where you don't even need a brain to scroll down and find something funny and/or droll.
She loved to read, and to recommend books to friends.
She'd be ashamed to find that every single book she'd bought in the last six months was lying in her room, unread and unloved.
She loved to write, and imagined wild scenarios, with axe murderers and witches, demons and princesses, and, of course, little kids going on adventures.
She'd be sad to realise the last couple of months the only thing open in a word processor was coursework-related. No original ideas, no time devoted to actually hammering out some stories.
She was big-mouthed and opinionated, and passionate about the books/movies/tv shows she watched. Not someone who googled for every silly thing, but who composed her own thoughts, and sat and wrote them down for the world to refer to.
She'd be depressed when she knew she hadn't had a new thing to say on her blog for months now, except for her (extremely shitty) love life, and rice cooker recipes.
Ah well. Depression comes and goes. I should know.
Laters,
Katze.
