Considering it's tax season, I've been busy scanning receipts for both my parents and my brother.
This scanning of documents requires I use the old desktop I have completely abandoned in my recently-converted-homegym. It just so happens to be that this computer contains all of my short stories, as well as my first digital photos ever taken.
It is EMBARRASSING SHIT to go through those nuggets of teenage-early 20's stupidity.
Well... it's not so stupid, just embarrassing to see the photos I'd take (selfies, let's be clear here) as a teen. The short stories aren't stupid (for the most part) or embarrassing... they're just... the feelings that resurface after reading the short stories are somewhat difficult to deal with. The fact that I was sitting in the same chair and in the same position as I would be whenever I'd be on-line back in the day (I enjoyed home internet for the first time at 15) made the uneasy feelings amplify.
I don't know what to discuss-- the photos or the stories.
I feel like sharing a little bit of both, but as previously stated, they sort of embarrass me.
... Then again, I did learn a lot from sorting through these memories.
1. I have a ridiculously distorted self-image.
2. I really DO overuse the term "got."
3. I'm naive as FUCK.
4. I'm super uncool.
5. Fantasy world? Fantasy-fucking-universe... border-lining lunacy.
I'm also now much more disenchanted about life... that's pretty depressing.
I think I'll start with the photos, but later today, since it's already two in the morning and I have to be out and about in five hours. I also have to take the photos from the desktop and add them here.
They're MORTIFYING, but for the sake of shits and giggles, I'll post them.
P.S. I can safely say that anyone who stuck around after meeting me anytime between 2000 and 2011 is my fucking hero and I can't help but feel an infinite amount of gratitude... what huge hearts they have, certainly much larger than my bitchass (I always wonder if I'd be friends with someone like me, and after seeing and reading all this shit, the answer is one HUGE HELLfuckingNO).
This scanning of documents requires I use the old desktop I have completely abandoned in my recently-converted-homegym. It just so happens to be that this computer contains all of my short stories, as well as my first digital photos ever taken.
It is EMBARRASSING SHIT to go through those nuggets of teenage-early 20's stupidity.
Well... it's not so stupid, just embarrassing to see the photos I'd take (selfies, let's be clear here) as a teen. The short stories aren't stupid (for the most part) or embarrassing... they're just... the feelings that resurface after reading the short stories are somewhat difficult to deal with. The fact that I was sitting in the same chair and in the same position as I would be whenever I'd be on-line back in the day (I enjoyed home internet for the first time at 15) made the uneasy feelings amplify.
I don't know what to discuss-- the photos or the stories.
I feel like sharing a little bit of both, but as previously stated, they sort of embarrass me.
... Then again, I did learn a lot from sorting through these memories.
1. I have a ridiculously distorted self-image.
2. I really DO overuse the term "got."
3. I'm naive as FUCK.
4. I'm super uncool.
5. Fantasy world? Fantasy-fucking-universe... border-lining lunacy.
I'm also now much more disenchanted about life... that's pretty depressing.
I think I'll start with the photos, but later today, since it's already two in the morning and I have to be out and about in five hours. I also have to take the photos from the desktop and add them here.
They're MORTIFYING, but for the sake of shits and giggles, I'll post them.
P.S. I can safely say that anyone who stuck around after meeting me anytime between 2000 and 2011 is my fucking hero and I can't help but feel an infinite amount of gratitude... what huge hearts they have, certainly much larger than my bitchass (I always wonder if I'd be friends with someone like me, and after seeing and reading all this shit, the answer is one HUGE HELLfuckingNO).
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