So yeah, not that long ago I found out that Deviant-Art has started a wonderful new thing of deleting past journals, I understand the reasoning behind this. They have to have more bandwidth to showcase art, that is what this website is about anyways. I only wish that they would have given some kind of warning. They might have... who knows. I never really pay attention on here anymore. It's possible I only missed that bulletin.

Well I guess the reason for this journal is to pour my heart and soul into my former self. My 'ublic' writings just aren't what they used to be. Maybe it's because I am no longer screaming for attention in the warm gooey way that melts deep in the recesses of your pockets like I used to. The way that made me feel enlightened and witty. Reading through those past journals attempting to snap off a piece of my old self like stale jerky, chew it up like a meat sack filled with splinters and chug it down with a sweet glass of irony.

It's funny how you never really see yourself change, it just kind of happens. I know that I am in no way shape or form who I was 3 years ago. I am a foreigner without being a stranger. I read things that I have written in the past few years and I feel a yearning to know the person behind the pages, almost as if she is a figment of my imagination. I fear this, because although I loved being able to fondly know strangers and be social in such unattached ways, I miss being able to strike up a conversation over the phone with someone I had barely seen once, maybe never even seen at all. I feel as though my people skills are declining.

Something that has boggled my mind for years, the one thing in me that remains from my childhood. A want for everyone's story. I have always had this unbelievable urge to want to know everything about a persons life from the time I was a child. And I don't mean select things or select people, I would be perfectly content and happy just listening to someone speak about there life to me. Anyone. I have always wanted to listen. I want to know everything. Where they were born, first memory, childhood, bad experiences good experiences, relatives, desires, first 'experiences' the things that I want to know are so broad that it's almost too intimate for some peoples comfort zones, not to mention if you are a private person. I am such a social moron too. I just can't help it I feel as though I sometimes come off rude or suggestive because of my thirst for this knowledge.

I feel as though I have been totally incapable of getting people to talk too. I feel as though it's an interview instead of a story, me asking a question, them answering. I wouldn't even mind a conversation about experiences and your life. I love you.

I have to say as well that with my changes I feel as though I have lost something. Like something may be lacking. My episodes of forgetting language are becoming more frequent.

I also wanted to mention that I recently discovered an ad from the 50's recommending housewives sweet smelling Lysol for douching...