Post by Jimmy Neutron on Jan 13, 2006 22:06:37 GMT -5
The problem with a photographic memory and high I.Q. was the way things carried over. The thoughts or plans for an invention Jimmy had would follow him. A flaw or potentionally problematic tic in his work would come back to retake his thoughts and remind him of his mistake. It was so with his moods.
He was literally incapable of forgetting the reasoning behind his emotions. After a particularily draining day, he could lie awake for hours at night, wishing and willing himself to sleep, but the unvacillating events of his previous eighteen hours spent would replay in his mind, each as fresh and crisp as the prevenient and each respective penchant or animosity as poignant and ardorous as when it first surfaced. Each excruciating detail would haunt his restless mind in unrelenting admonition.
It was a terrible enough plight beforehand. Every word enchanged between he and Cindy in their latest fight would echo in his perfect memory, prepossessing his entirety, but he was always able to quelm them with the pretense of disrelish they were thesping.
One could see how this was impossible to do now.
With the masquerade at an end, he no longer had the excuse of I-don’t-care-and-she-doesn’t-either to rid himself of guilt. And so, with nowhere else to go, the last words he’d spat acidically at Cindy, (His dear, sweet Cindy, who’d done nothing more than what she normally would have.) the distraught, heartbroken way she had looked up at him, (In another setting on another day, the feeble provoking would have been nothing more than flirtatious banter.) the cold way he had abandoned her, (The ends of the curving line met in a perfect circle, and the Fates laughed scornfully as their dalliance struck a solid blow.) all remained and, with the gnawing doubt Cindy’s forgiveness would be granted, corroded his insides.
It all came back to him – a full circle – and there was no escape from it.
He might not have cared when it first happened, but he certainly cared now.
He started to etch at his desk angrily with a pencil, wondering why everything in the world was so stupid and senseless, most of all himself.
{
I have no idea where this came from or what the hell it is. I was just listening to a playlist of sad, random songs, and it came! I need to get depressed more often, because, where ever this came from, it came FAST. I couldn't highlight-shift-F7 quick enough. (My way of spell-checking, by the way, since my computer is retarded and doesn't have a proper spell check.) Anyways, I'll probably post again somewhere else or just meet you (Cindy, Halfa, Allie-poo) somewhere and start with the awkward, mumbled apologies.}
He was literally incapable of forgetting the reasoning behind his emotions. After a particularily draining day, he could lie awake for hours at night, wishing and willing himself to sleep, but the unvacillating events of his previous eighteen hours spent would replay in his mind, each as fresh and crisp as the prevenient and each respective penchant or animosity as poignant and ardorous as when it first surfaced. Each excruciating detail would haunt his restless mind in unrelenting admonition.
It was a terrible enough plight beforehand. Every word enchanged between he and Cindy in their latest fight would echo in his perfect memory, prepossessing his entirety, but he was always able to quelm them with the pretense of disrelish they were thesping.
One could see how this was impossible to do now.
With the masquerade at an end, he no longer had the excuse of I-don’t-care-and-she-doesn’t-either to rid himself of guilt. And so, with nowhere else to go, the last words he’d spat acidically at Cindy, (His dear, sweet Cindy, who’d done nothing more than what she normally would have.) the distraught, heartbroken way she had looked up at him, (In another setting on another day, the feeble provoking would have been nothing more than flirtatious banter.) the cold way he had abandoned her, (The ends of the curving line met in a perfect circle, and the Fates laughed scornfully as their dalliance struck a solid blow.) all remained and, with the gnawing doubt Cindy’s forgiveness would be granted, corroded his insides.
It all came back to him – a full circle – and there was no escape from it.
He might not have cared when it first happened, but he certainly cared now.
He started to etch at his desk angrily with a pencil, wondering why everything in the world was so stupid and senseless, most of all himself.
{
I have no idea where this came from or what the hell it is. I was just listening to a playlist of sad, random songs, and it came! I need to get depressed more often, because, where ever this came from, it came FAST. I couldn't highlight-shift-F7 quick enough. (My way of spell-checking, by the way, since my computer is retarded and doesn't have a proper spell check.) Anyways, I'll probably post again somewhere else or just meet you (Cindy, Halfa, Allie-poo) somewhere and start with the awkward, mumbled apologies.}
