I just want to be in the loop.
I don't know why I'm writing this. Not really. Nobody reads this, and it's probably better that way.
There are better things to read than my angst-y-sixteen-year-old-self's-blog. Isn't there more than enough angst in the world?
Yesterday, in therapy(I go twice a week, did you know that?), I started crying. Because I was talking about my brother and what a horrible time he had in high school. Somehow Danielle came up. And I can't help reliving that whole day and so I can't help crying. My psychologist thinks I'm angry about it. How can I be angry? Who is there to be angry at? She was in pain. It wasn't her fault. But I can't help it. I just cry.
To a happier subject, I'm in love with MT Anderson. I mean what's not to love? His turtle-shell glassed? His thin head of hair? His amazing books? I'm reading Feed, which I totally am in love with and just read The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing
.
I mean, come on. I restate my previous statement: What's not to love?
I also Nick Hornby with a similar passion. But there's a difference. I love Nick Hornby's style of writing and his humor is genius, but from what I've read of MT Anderson(which, I'm ashamed to say, is not much), he doesn't have one style. That is probably because he wrote one of his books in the future and the other in the past. Nick Hornby is more contemporary.
Feed, you should know, reminds me of Fahrenheit 451. It has the same bleakness, like the stupidity of man taking over.
I'm listening to Lucy Wainwright-Roche who like her parents, has a beautiful clear voice. I love all the Wainwright's though. I love Rufus and Martha, and have a love/hate relationship with Loudon. His song, Homeless, is breathtaking but he was so horrible to his children. Yeah.
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The Thinking Woman Updated: 4 hours ago
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