As in feeling down. My flu is worse, which of course means I am feeling better. (“There you have it Flu, don’t mess with me ’cause I’ll treat you BAD!!”) Still not alright though. And for all you guys reading this, YES, it is that time of the month. Hah, you laugh all you want, I’m grumpy.
Tried some writing, only got some 500 words. It was ok writing, got a new idea and all. Still just couldn’t do it.
At my way home from work this guy tried flirting or something with me. Would have been more flattering if he hadn’t kept shaking the whole time, asking me about my opinion of marihuana.
As for the opinion, I’ll just say it’s everyones own business. Me, I’m crazy enough as it is, put me on drugs and the whole world will go insane.
Expect of course those prescription ones. But they are supposed to make me calm, not see things.
I’m kinda naive when it comes to drugs, always have been. Already in elementary school they talked about the dangers of drugs and how even in our small city everyone knew where to score some. I always wondered why no one had asked me, or if I just wasn’t part of “everyone”. I would opt for the latter. Anyways, now I live in the capital, and I still to this day have no idea where I should go if I wanted any illegal drugs. I’ve never bothered to find out, ’cause as I said, I’m crazy enough as it is.
This guy told me all these stories about these women that had treated him badly. This “I’m am just a kind guy, why do women always want bad guys”-rutine.
I guess I attract guys like that, ’cause I’m this not so beautiful looking plump thing, not even close to looking “correct”. Liking colors when it comes to my clothes and hair, I strive to be original-looking more than beautiful. But my clothes are also more comfortable than correct, and I never seem to be able to keep my hair in place. Put too that a tendency to get all lost in thought and keeping to myself, I guess I look like an easy target to come to with sob-stories.
Well, I don’t mind as long as there is no touching. And no, I’m not as nice as I look. As I was smiling and listening to his tries, my head was full of thoughts trying to “analyze” this guy, trying to learn as much as possible of another human being so that I by that can increase my knowledge and maybe use it in my writings.
Later I realized I already have this guy in my story, a big dreamer who turns to drugs. I haven’t written that much about him, but he is there. I have more concentrated of his fathers point of view though.
Are writers selfish when studying others to learn more about human behavior and getting ideas to books?