(no subject)

A smart thing every day.

I think that's important. To live a happy life. To be understood. To leave something behind. Say a smart thing every day, for someone to hear. I think that's what this journal is good for. I used to look for friends so desperately sometimes. A new stimulating acquaintance whom you can tell your thoughts and experiences and get their views in exchange. And then I used to get so sad when there was no one around to listen to me. Of course one could write it all in a journal, but... I don't know about you, but I personally just never saw the necessity to do such a thing. Why write it down when nobody wants to see it? E-mail were a good idea, but then you once again depend on others. I must have saved thousands of online discussions on my hard drive, just because of the things I've written. Like the diary I never keep. I used to have a friend, a good friend who no longer talks to me because of some stupid fight, who always write his experiences down in an online journal. I never understood that. I thought: How stupid! How can you share such things with others? He then always used to tell me that this is the only reason a person keeps a diary. To have people understand him, should he be no longer around to tell. I didn't understand this then. But now I do. I used to be so secretive about myself.

These days are over now. I know I've got a beautiful heart, so why not let it out? So I'll try to do it... a smart thing every day.

(no subject)

My cat, the loser!

I ask you, dear friends and sisters, why does a human being usually keep a cat? To catch mice, of course! Then I ask you: why did my father crawl on the floor of out guest's bathroom today, trying to catch the terrified mouse my dear car and brother has brought into the house? That was quite an experience. My mom leaving the living room, shrieking: "Oh my God! There was something swishing through the corridor! I think that was a mouse!!!" and she ran into the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind her. I looked at the place where my cat was rummaging, pulled the box aside and there it was, this poor frightenend mouse. Sherlock grabbed it and carried it away, to the stair's landing, but was stopped by my dad's yell who had arrived at the crime scene by now. Sherlock dropped the mouse and it ran towards me. I took a decision and opened the guest's bathroom's door. The mouse zoomed inside and I locked the door. Sherlock slammed against the door, growled and spat. My dad took the wiggling bundle and locked him into the living room. He then returned to the bathroom, armed with a glass and a piece of cartboard. I backed him up as he slid into the room. Then I heard him shout and the clattering and crashing inside. By that time Sherlock had freed himself from the living room and joined our battle again, peering through the crack at the side of the door to see what was going on. All the while my mom was still screaming in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, my dad had won the fight and emerged from the bathroom with a very cute and very scared wee little mouse. We wanted to show it to my mom, but she threatened to do something we'd all regret, if we came any closer. So we released the mouse into freedom.

Now I know: my cat is a loser and absolutely incapable. But gee, do I love him!