GoooOOOooooOOoooaaaAAAAaaaaaaAAAaaaaaaaaaL!

Brazil (who I am still calling Brasil, damn phonetics and evil English spellings.) won the Mundial today. (I have completely given up trying to call it the World Cup. The World Cup is a stupid name.) This proves that there is, in fact, a god, and the whole universe agrees that Brasil (there I go again...) is the best ever and we love them.

(I am abusing my parenthetical statement privileges. I wish the damn footnote codes worked in livejournal.)

Tov called me from Mexico city so that I could gloat. I can't believe that he thought Germany had a chance in hell. I also can't believe how well he knows me, kinda scary, that it is.

Gods in heaven, I am speaking Kenshin-speak. I end this now, before anyone gets hurt.

Because it's Sunday and I still haven't cleaned my room

( The Name is google spam; a survey; a few random quizzes )

Whine, whine. Someone shut me up.

Must stop whining. Must. Stop. With. The. Whining.

I’m sitting in bed, and I’m feeling melodramatic. (At least I think that’s the word I want. It could also be “nostalgic” or “poignant” or… Blast, I don’t know the word. But it’s out there, and it’s taunting me with its very existence.)

It’s scary, now that my Contingent’s all gone and not coming back anytime soon, to see how much I relied on you. My other 3/4. I’m a shadow of my former self and all that.

I dislike the person I’ve been since April- she’s a part of myself that I didn’t know about. My inner Kira, if you will. You know Kira Kate. Explain to them. (I find the use of this name creepy but fitting.) She (I think it’s odd how easily I can refer to sides of my personality as if they were independent beings… Let there be no doubt in anyone’s mind that I’ve got the multiple personality thing going on.) isn’t really a bad person- not really. But she is needy. And she cries.

Glumph. I don’t cry. And I’m not needy, damnit! I don’t want to go about calling people up just to say “I love you.” (For that matter, I don’t say “I love you.”)

I feel weak (if that’s the word), and I don’t know if I can blame a late adolescence, or the whole Reed fiasco (That really broke my heart. Which is another thing that I don’t do! Broken heartedness? Not a Qai sort of thing. Not at all.) or maybe it’s just another person sharing my skin who’s been here all along.

Not crazy about that. I want her to go away and soon. Because it’s going to be a looooong time before I see you again, and I’m sick of her already.

I am not a “clingy” person. Not, not, not. But I miss you, ya big lunkhead. You ought to be here, watching the Mundial with me and sleeping out in the tree house. No one here speaks Pig Greek/Gibberish Spanish, or wakes me up (on a regular basis) by jumping though my window at two in the morning. (Other people jump through my window, but not regularly, and never at two. Cowards.)

I miss our crazy-funny-bizarrely-strange non-ship. I miss it, and I miss you, and you, my fine young friend, had the unmitigated gall to call me tonight, and tell me that you miss me. (What time was it in Italy anyway? Pffttt. Where exactly do you find the time? I know you and I know you’re out there; wandering around Europe in general and Italy in specific, and indulging yourself in long political debates and coffee and lack of sleep.

And it’s worse because we both know that it’s my fault. You asked, and next time (we both know there will be a next time) I’ll attempt not to wimp out.

To sum up- nice as it’s been to get this off my chest and let “Kira” speak (even if I did have to reign her in a few times)- I must stop whining.

Must. Stop. With. The. Whining.

I think I’ll leave it there.