Re-reading almost a year's worth of my LJ entries (on the 25th or so I'll have had this blasted thing for a year. Now I feel old. And geeky. Mostly geeky).
And then I take a look at the people who are like that. And I can't imagine what it's like... NOT to have these stories, these constantly unfolding and evolving worlds in your mind. NOT to know what it's like to create and draw and write and have people appreciate it. I suppose... if I couldn't do that... I wouldn't want to live. of course, I probably wouldn't know what I was missing, but it's still disturbing and I can't help equating going through life like that to living in a coma, unable to truly take part in life at all. "
Heh. yeah. Hrm. I cringe at my own old typos.
I haven't stayed up this late for no reason in months and months.
I'm only through September 25, too. Jeebus. I write too much...
I just hope my mother lets me sleep in. An hour or so would be nice. I'm not counting on it, but it'd be nice.