Thoughtssssssssssss.

So today in World Civ. we actually breached on an interesting subject; if only the people in my HONORS class weren't so damn uninspired. They have such typical, insipid opinions on things like freedom, revolution, and natural law; things a person could discuss and define for hours.

Admittedly my definitions weren't very advanced, but only because we had, like, five minutes to write them. I'm glad we're finally starting the revolution unit, because, you know, I could get some ideas :) Anyway, it occurs to me that there is no such thing as freedom. None. Social freedom would be anarchy, but then it would cease to be social freedom, for concepts like 'social' wouldn't need to exist, and we would then be subjected to natural law. Nothing is free from natural law. I defined it, as quickly as I could, as "the connection and duty of all things to exist,"--if that makes no sense, it's because I couldn't finish it. If it does make sense, then congratulations; you're somewhat insane.

Anyway. I digress. If you go with the theory that everything is essentially made up of energy, then natural law would basically mean all this energy was equal. That doesn't make sense, you see, because science says all energy is not equal. I suppose it's actually more equality in nature, a balance of spiritual and physical awareness. Wow, this is making no sense. Stupid rambling head. What I mean to say is, in more poetic terms, is that everything is a balance because everything is inherently equal; the sun pulls the Earth and the Earth pulls the moon; the lion eats the antelope and the lion dies, his body absorbed into the ground, and the antelope eat the grass from the ground; the rapid deer could not survive without the immobile tree. People tend to forgot that humans are still subject to these laws, because humans are able to define these laws in their own bumbling language--humans are aware that there exists a balance that can never be broken, and therefore forget they there are just as bound to it as a bird is to the sky and a fish to water. And that's my main argument for why true freedom can never exist; all things are bound to natural order. I may jump, but gravity will always pull me down. I may swim through the ocean a million times and back, but I will never grow gills. I may imagine a million worlds in my head but they will never exist. I may pave over every tree in the world and yet still life would go on. The only absolute freedom is to transcend this order, which, as far as we are concerned, is impossible; the essence of oneself can never be changed or tampered with. Furthering that idea, it would be the duty--a duty to which every being is bound--to not try to tamper with the natural order, as that would only serve to destroy oneself, as all are a part of it.

Huh. That was rambling. What else did I write? I believe what I wrote for 'reason' was the acknowledgement of order, but I don't have much else to say about that.

Okay, now I remember what I was going to say; revolution is a natural attempt to restore natural order. Well, that came out wrong, because I thought this amazingly brilliant thought BEFORE I wrote the previous exorbiantly long paragraph, but let's see if I can recall it...In social terms, revolution is a movement towards freedom of oppresion, oppression being the antithesis of freedom; regardless that there is no such thing as true freedom--but I've argued that already. Okay, this isn't turning out well. I'm going to give up, and let other people argue this for me, because I completely forget the amazing thing I had to say about this =.=

So today pretty much sucked. It was just long. And boring. Plus I pretty much barely get the science lab, because math is HARD in science, and actual math was boring since it's SO easy, and English was spent doing vocab I ALREADY KNEW. But, apparently, there's some freaking awesome Health activity tomorrow, which Mel will not give us any information on. I'm a little scared, because tomorrow officially starts our "family life" (sex ed.) unit.

So I think I'm gonna go write. EVEN THOUGH I DON'T HAVE TO, YESH!

Public Service Announcement

I don't think this qualifies, but I'd like to take this moment to announce I have, indeedy, completed NaNoWriMo and written 50,000 words. HELL YEAH.

Yay for me. Wooo.

Waiting for the end...

...of this story.

[Waiting for the End--Linkin Park] [<--HELL YEAH]

So I like big font. Sue me.

I mean I'll probably go back soon, since big font also incredibly bothers me, but for now...enjoy the bigness! I can't wait till these damn characters falls asleep so I can get on with the day and the revolution-ness, because right now they're SO caught up in relationships and it really bothers me, because that's not the only thing the story is about. Oh, and I've decided John's icy cool exterior hides an extremely angry, troubled man. So basically his options are distant or pissed. Sucks to be him.

...

...

...Nah, I still love him :)

HOLIDAY TIDINGS.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends! No turkey for us tonight, since my mom is working, but we'll have all that on Saturday. I actually know what I want to get Kim and Shari for Christmas already! Excitement! Not that they read my blog anymore, but I won't disclose just in case. I'm actually not sure about Kim's gift, but hell, who really cares? :)

The reason for my cheerfulness--considering I've been pretty out of it these past few days--is that I am MORE than caught up in NaNoWriMo, clocking in at 42,105 words as of now, with more to come. I've actually been consistently past the goal since Monday, which is awesome. Currently in what I've written tonight, there's been a lot of yelling and crying. Oh snap. Let me share with you a sentence from the story:

“GET THE F*CK OUT!”

Hell yeah. Sorry to all you sensitive people out there, but that's just the line in the story. Personally I think it's a masterpiece. ENGLISH LANGUAGE FTW.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm using quite a large font. I think it's exciting. *sniffs*

So I kinda can't get over how much I love John, the character in my story. He's so awesome. In the last five pages alone he's beat the sh*t out of some jerk, pushed someone down the stairs, made out with the protaganist (Emilia), unabashedly admitted his love for said protaganist, put said protaganist before the entire country because he loves her, cried about his sister's death, and defied his jackass of a leader. He's a damn badass. Plus he has a house in New Jersey which makes us SIMILAR. Yeah, I love him. I might actually love him more than Aden, my fairy-with-a-dark-side whose not afraid to show his feelings. The similarity between them is that they're both not afraid to cry in front of their girlfriends. CUZ REAL MEN CRY, BOOYAH.

Okay, I wouldn't blame you if you skipped over that paragraph. Haha. Now I write. HAPPY TURKEY DAY Y'ALL.

How could you not love this face???

556

Because last post was 555, which is cool cuz it's repititive.

I CAUGHT UP IN NANOWRIMO. YEAH. I ACTUALLY WROTE OVER 2000 WORDS, AND DID ALL MY HOMEWORK, WHICH INCLUDED AN ESSAY THAT TOOK TWO AND A HALF HOURS! I AM THE BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMB!

Of course now I'm struggling to reach the normal day's amount, so...haha.

I have other things to write about, I guess, but I can't think of any of them.

So....

Goodbye...

This is the crappy writing I've done:

Can I write 2000 words in thirty minutes? No. No I cannot. But this is what I've written so far, on the subject of riots, which I have no experience in, but hell. Enjoy my choppy, repetitive crazy-bad thing some people are generous enough to call writing.

I ran. Excitement thrilled me; I was free, I was alive. Soon I would be caught in the crowd; the ebb and flow, the push and pull, the pulse and the motion and the fire of the crowd—that was what I wanted. That feeling of defiant helplessness—that was what a revolution was. You could feel it in your bones, in your veins; you could taste in the air, the fundamental change of human nature—if only for a moment. I had been in a riot before, and I had never felt angry—never vengeful—only free. Like I was changing the world just by existing.

If only.

The streets vanished behind me; I gave no more thought to Tracy and Katie and Steven, because I could not afford to have ties when I threw myself into the mob. I could get hurt, I could get killed, and it was so much easier to take that risk and be completely free and open and wild—flying, really—when I had no thought of the family I could leave behind. It was easier that way.

Soon I heard the roar of the crowd, and knew they were not yet at the White House—they were taking their time, destroying everything they could. Even the places that weren’t run by the government—although, what wasn’t run by the government nowadays? But perhaps they just wanted to make a statement; they wanted to show how far they were willing to go. Or they were so, so angry that it didn’t matter to them what they destroyed, as long as they could watch it burn.

I ran.

I saw them—spilling into the museum district, the tourist destination, that prized jewel of American history and splendor—the Smithsonian, the Lincoln Memorial, the Mall, and the White House, packed into a space less than a mile wide, and about to be burned. I saw them, screaming things—just screaming, deafening, mindless, wordless screams, and yet one could feel the meaning in them, could feel the anger and the oppression and the rebellion and the voice.

I reached the back person, brandishing my arms; I felt myself be swallowed by the crowd and I lost myself with a wave of fists before my eyes.

The energy passed through me, and I felt weapons in my hands—weapons of fire, of spirit and strength—and I threw them to the heavens. I felt the motion of bodies around me, even though the closest were nearly four feet away, chanting, screaming—demanding a sacrifice, I imagined, for the crimes done unto them. It moved forward, ever down the street, and I was suspended between people, and unable to act on my own accord. It didn’t matter in the slightest; even if I were capable of moving myself through this crowd, I would be in the same place; I would be singing the same song.

They moved around me like a river torrent, and I moved with them, a single lone body caught in the thrashing sea. But now—now I was not trapped in it; I was not sinking below the surface—I was riding the brilliant undulating waves on a board made of fury—of rage, of passion—and yet I felt none of it; I was above that, above the world—I threw my head back, and tasted the salt and bitter cold on my face, and let the violent water drench me through and through, and screamed and cried and thrashed; I could not be focused on this, not here. This was not a goal to be accomplished, or a battle to be won; this was a life to be lived.

I could make that life possible. I had to believe that; I had to feel it in the core of my veins. If I did not than I had wasted everything.

Did I? I had to.

Yeah, woo, I totally did not proofread this; I just want a distraction from the rest of my writing, which there is pretty much no way I will finish tonight. In other news, I wrote a kickass essay. Damn you, essay, for taking time away from NaNoWriMo! Damn you!

So I can't decide if I like a guy.

Which I guess sounds wrong.

Damn.

Wow.

I'm afraid if I say I like him, I actually won't and it'll fizzle out before I can actually like him.

Well, really, I'm afraid I don't like him that much.

I just happen to like him more than other people at the time.

I don't likelike him.

....Do I?

....Why do I want to?

WHY DO I WANT TO? That's a remarkably good question.

Why do I feel the necessity to like someone? Especially even though it always--always--ends badly. I'm just not the type of person, physically or mentally, guys fall for. Especially not guys like him; I can tell that from a mile away. And yet, even though I know this--completely and utterly know this; there's no qualms here--I still want to like someone. Some could theorize that it's been a part of my identity for so long that I feel unlike myself not to like someone. I just know I have nothing to look forward to, no goals to acclompish; and yet at the same time I still feel the pain, if not as acutely, of being rejected. My heart spikes when he's online, but I'm not compelled to stay online until he's off, just to make sure I don't miss anything. I kind of love reading everything he writes (though I still haven't read any fiction; damn). I'm jealous of his friends. Okay, I'm jealous of everyone's friends. I'm a jealous person. That doesn't count. I wish I was partners with him in more school projects so he could get to know me and decide I'm not the weirdest/ditziest person on the planet (which I'm pretty sure he thinks I am.) Ugh.

So part of me thinks it's just my incapibility to feel things strongly. Like there's fuzz around my heart and every emotion is filtered through that. Like things aren't really happening. I've felt like that forever. Because I feel something that feels like like, but it's not strong enough for me to go declaring it to all my friends. Ugh. UGH.

So now I can't decide if I like a guy, and part of me wants to, just to feel fulfilled, and part of me doesn't want to, because everything sucks anyway; why make it worse? Ugh. I'm going to bed.

And now you'll be mad at me.

[Hysteria--Muse]

So this is what I've done today: homework. That's pretty much it. A science lab and a PowerPoint in English that was, you know, SUPPOSED to be a group effort. Whatever, it wasn't particularly hard. I also wrote 2000 words for NaNoWriMo, which STILL makes me 1000 behind, so damn. Plus I have an essay due tomorrow, which, shocker, I didn't do. You know what? I don't even care. I am so TOTALLY not interested. I mean I'll do it tomorrow, obviously, but I don't care. Of course I guess it's sad that I've already reached the point where I just want to say f*ck it and not do any homework, because usually that's in the last week of school, but hey...this sucks. This just sucks. School sucks. I mean, I've said school sucks before, but this is just a whole new level.

[Feeling Good--Muse]

So I feel like being political. So here we go:

Religion--I don't care. I just don't care. Do you think religion is stupid, and everyone who follows one is a moron? Good for you. Have you find your way through Jesus/Buddha/whoever the hell else? Good the hell for you. You do that. You be happy there. But GUESS WHAT. I DON'T CARE. I DON'T CARE I DON'T CARE I DONT CAAAAAAAAAARE. I NEVER EVER EVER WANNA HEAR YOU. KAY?

Health Care--Stop being selfish and give universal health care. Not everyone is middle f*cking class. Yeah, the economy's bad. You know what else is bad? Your selfishness. What now, are you gonna cite examples about people who don't deserve health care? I will shove your 'what if?'s down your throat. WHAT IF HE WAS DRUNK DRIVING. WHAT IF SHE'S ON WELFARE AND DOESN'T HAVE A JOB/DOESN'T CONTRIBUTE. Well, guess what? What about the people who have a shitty job and can't afford 50,000 dollars for a broken arm? What about the people who work 12 hours a day and got suckered into a shitty plan? What, did I just throw those 'what-if's back in your face? Because, SHOCKER, not everyone who's poor is the scum of the earth. Get a soul.

Democrats vs. Republicans--Here's a tip for you: there is no Democrat and Republican. There is only scumbag and scumbag. Some politicians are worse scumbags than others. Their level of evilness is not correlated to whatever the hell they decide to call themselves. Believing there's a difference is a delusion, and you are delusional. Is that clear, now?

Gay Marriage--I'll repeat the same argument I have for religion: who cares? Really, who cares? Why is it personally affecting you if two dudes get hitched? WHY are you so SELF-RIGHTEOUSLY PIG-HEADED that you would DARE call this a sin? Yeah, guess what else is a sin? Judgment. Foundations of marriage? Really? Have you heard of DIVORCE? Yeah. Stop pushing your beliefs on other people. No one cares what you think. NO. ONE.

Abortion--Oh, come on. I won't say 'Who cares?' because obviously this is more serious than gay marriage, because this involves an actual life. Instead I'll say this: what gives you the right? Is abortion murder? Fine, then; you pay for baby clothes, baby food, diapers, education, doctor visits, toys; and then pay for college, too, while you're at it. What, you don't want to? You can't afford it? You can't give that child the quality of life it deserves? You're not willing or able to disrupt your entire life to take care of it? Now throw some 'what-if's at me. What if some girl's a slut and uses abortion as birth control? Oh damn, yeah, that's terrible. What if some girl is RAPED? What if they know they're going to have a seriously disfigured child, physically or mentally, that they are unable to take care of and would have a terrible life anyway? What if the baby is ill and probably wouldn't survive the full pregnancy? Now what? You stutter and say murder is a sin, regardless? Obviosly abortion is never a positive. Obviously there are situations where it's misused. But YOU--you, you self-righteous hypocrite--YOU have no right to tell someone if they can have an abortion or not. None at all.

Geez, what else is there? I can't think of any. I don't feel like it. Actually I guess I didn't feel like being political; I was just in a bad mood. Now you get to read it and be mad at me for disagreeing/being insulting/cursing. Just pick one. I'm tired. I'm going to write.

I'm not breaking down, I'm breaking out.

'Despairant' is not a word. It should be.

Well! Today has been supremely uneventful. I did a worksheet. That's pretty much it, homework-wise. I still have to make a PowerPoint on whether or not Shakespeare wrote his works, and type up a lab report that was apparently due Friday. So, woo. Plus Sharicus and I were talking about going to the mall, so woo even more. But just because I feel like I have no time whatsoever. Not because it's not awesome going with Sharicus to the mall :)

I saw Harry Potter today! Yeah, I must say, it was pretty awesome. SO much better than the sixth movie, which sucked ass. I won't even apologize for my garish cursing right there, because it's true. The sixth movie sucked ass. But this one was great, haha. It just annoyed me SO MUCH, because I felt like I was only watching half a movie...yeah. Haha.

[Hysteria--Muse]

I love this song. Actually, I love that line that I have as my title, which comes from this song. Like, seriously, it's epic. I want that line on a shirt and I will wear that shirt EVERY DAY. And it will be so epic, no one will care that I've been wearing the same shirt everyday, because it's SO EPIC. I'd be like, "What? What? You think I'm gonna BREAK DOWN because everything sucks? Eff you. I'm BREAKING. OUT." And that's exactly how it would be.

See. See there. I did NOT use the f-word. Even though it would've been SO much more effective to get my point across. SEE.

[Sing For Absolution--Muse]

I also love this song. No really. Now I'll get back to NaNoWriMo, cuz I'm damn far behind.

The woooooooooooorld is eeeeeeeeeeeendiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

Okay not really. But the WEEK is. Tomorrow is Friday! And then the weekend, and then another week, and then the weekend, and then so on...and so forth...

I am totally avoiding NaNoWriMo right now, like I do every day. It depresses me how skeletal and baby-like this story is. The message is either all at once so it loses it's meaning or nonexistent. And because I'm writing it from the point of view that I am--that is to say, a young woman in a rebel group who has by this point completely forgotten that she killed a guy and is only focuses on important things in giant paragraphs of death while everything else almost has nothing to do with the point of the story--it's hard to focus on the message. It's hard to write the message. Although some could say her personal insanity--or at least, the insanity that keeps fluctuating becomes sometimes I just don't damn feel like writing like a crazy person--represents the shitty way the world is going, and her deep devotion to protecting her niece is a parallel for the deep patriotism and revolutionary spirit she feels--but I digress.

So basically, once I get to the end of the month, I'm going to completely change the format so it's in short, 10-20 page chapters, and start it before she ever shoots the guy. I'm probably also going to really map out the plot line and develop the character's past more, get rid of some superfluous details--like their double names; that's just bad writing right there.

Actually, now that I think of it, I could probably do a Before/After type of thing--as shooting the President is supposed to be some huge tipping point in the revolution, which should really have been going on for awhile, but seems to have just started when I started the story, which wouldn't make sense at all. It should really be a pivotal moment for Emilia, too; not just something she freaks out about for awhile until more important plot lines come up.

Normally I'd start writing this right now, but I feel like I have to finish this version--this very, very bad version; I don't know why. But I'll probably start planning everything out tonight...yeah...

Of course it will be fun rewriting 100 pages. Woo damn.

Wednesday.

It is. All day I've felt like it should be Tuesday, and all day yesterday I felt like it should be Thursday. Stupid days.

I feel like a slogan for NaNoWriMo should be: NaNoWriMo. Writer's block isn't an option. Cuz seriously, I have been unable to come up with ANYTHING yesterday and today, and now I'm 3,000 words behind, and that number doesn't seem to be going down. I have the focus of a squirrel when I'm not writing a part I like--which is now. But it's getting to a part I do like, so I have to go through it. Dammit.

I have Model UN tomorrow, and this is how much I want to go: 0. I hate staying after. I hate the late bus. I hate getting home at 5--especially for a twenty-minute meeting. At the same time, though, I kind of have to go--that whole responsibility thing and stuff. If I staid home one week, I'd stay home every week.

I really have nothing to write about. I'm just avoiding NaNoWriMo.

Sigh.

And people wonder why I get headaches...

So this is my day:

[Geometry] Period 1- I hate Uglyskirt. This class is boring. This class is easy. TRIANGLES REALLY? I hate Uglyskirt. SHE JUST REPEATED HERSELF AGAIN HOLY HELL. I WILL SHOVE A RUSTY HOT POKER DOWN HER EYE. Can't wait till health...stupid triangles...

[Latin] Period 2- I hate these people. I hate these people. I hate these people. No, wait, I'm apathetic about these people. Latin is mechanical. Small Door is nice. Stupid people.

*now, walking down the stairs, is when I feel my trademark apathetic despair, and consider asking Kim and Sharicus if they ever feel like running screaming out of the classroom, or punching everyone in the face, and shoving pencils into soft, furry things, but decide against it*

[Health] Period 3- Woo health. Daniel! *blushgiggle* HEY SHARICUS AND KI--oh wait lecture. Damn. HEY SHARICUS AND KI--oh wait end of the class. Damn.

*at this point, walking with Kim to the F-wing, I wish longingly to join Small Engines and chill with Wezzers, but alas...no...*

[Lunch] Period 4- I hate lunch. I hate lunch. I don't even EAT lunch. No one is talking to me. Sanguine is drawing and being sad. I AM BEING SAD TOO.

[English] Period 5- Woo home stretch! Oh wait...English. This isn't so bad. THIS SUCKS. This isn't so bad. THIS SUCKS. Damn essays.

*at this time I despair that I am going to world civ.*

[World Civ.] Period 6- Good God is this class over yet?

[Art] Period 7- This is fun! Except for the teacher. Man, she's anno--WHAT CLASS IS OVER ALL READY?

*I hate science. I hate science.*

[Science] Period 8- IhatescienceIhatescie--OHHAI CLASS IS OVER WOO.

And then I go home.

I am totally avoiding my lab right now. Pretty much half of it is really easy and half of it is hard, the hard part being the Sources of Error, Conclusions, and Background. Damn, the background. It's worth 15 points and pretty much takes up half a page just in explanation. I'm waiting for someone to get online (and answering lab questions, of course) so I can just copy off of theirs...:D...and find out the difference between a cold and hot flame, which I vaguely remember. Sigh.

Stupid art.

Taking me five damn hours; that's just cheap. I would post a picture or something of my amazing handiwork, but that would require effort.

I really have to get back to NaNoWriMo, and in leiu of a better topic, I ask: What do y'all think I look like? I was just wondering that, because, being Internet-cautious and all (I stole that phrase from Kim), I've never posted a picture, so you have no idea. Haha, I could be a creepy old guy for all you know! HAHA!

I have so many Muse lyrics I could post as a title...

And yet I won't. How sad for you.

Never mind I've been listening to the same Muse album for the past...what...four days now? Something like that. I cannot get over how amazing Muse is. Seriously, go listen to their music, and just TRY to tell me it's not amazing. You won't be able to. I would be listening to them, but I have a headache roughly the size of the state of Montana, which I guess means I shouldn't be blogging, but alas, here I am.

So basically, these were the things I thought about today: Up, the eventual downfall of The World (capitalized to to symbolize--hey that rhymes--'the world as we know it', or 'the world that exists RIGHT NOW AT THIS VERY MOMENT), and how I would never ever ever wanna try coke, heroine, etc--you know, all that crazy stuff. Seriously, though, if I was going to do drugs, it would not be something that only gave you a high. I would never do drugs regardless, but if I was forced to by some weird unexplained turn of events, it'd be something really trippy so I would go on some kind of writing extravaganza and publish a book made up of entirely the following characters: WOAH THE WORLD IS SHINY WOAH, and title it: The World is Shiny; My Adventures with Crazy Trippiness. That was a run-on sentence.

Yes, so. Back to my list. As for The World, writing about a revolutionary (NaNoWriMo; I'm 2,000 words behind, ugh) has, naturally, inclined my thoughts to more of the revolutionary sort. I go on and off with that. I've tried to make the story reflect how I think the world will turn out in however-many years: there's the Government Religion act, which would probably be titled something less conspicuous, which mandates Christianity as the only truly accepted religion; there's the Renewal of American Values, which pushes modest living, marrying young, and low aspirations; there's the banning of books that reflect America or Christianity in a negative light; there's the Wealth Distribution Act which allows the government to take a mandated fee from "all" citizens to give as an "economic boost" which may or may not have the "trickle-down effect"; there's the reinforcement of the Patriot Act which is basically a glorified version of the one we currently have now (unless that's been demolished...I'm not sure), and includes random sweeps of homes and other buildings, and the immediate seize of property, including bank accounts, with no warrant; there's the draft, the age of which was lowered to 16 and raised 40; and finally the mandatory 25% of every family's income that goes to government-funded projects, such as the war. Damn, that's a handful to read; sorry. You see, I've thought in my head for awhile about The Way the World Should Work (also capitalized, for the same reason) and I really should start writing it down, but, alas...

And finally, Up, who I may or may not like. I haven't decided yet. I'm worried if I decide I do and I don't yet, it'll fizzle really quickly--and yes, I guess I do want to like someone, even when there's no hope of them ever returning the feelings. I feel like any guy I could have a crush on is held to impossibly high standards of crush-dom, since the last crush I had was a pretty all-consuming thing, and crushes aren't really supposed to be all-consuming--damn, I am rambling today. But it's hard to feel little things, you know, once you've felt something big, if that makes any sense. And since it's hard to feel that little thing, it's hard for it to grow into a big thing. It's like a giant flower, even if it's dead, still blocks out the sun for a tiny seedling trying to poke it's head out of the ground. Even if that sun is pretty darn acrid, and that seedling is going to grow up to be a weed just like that damn giant flower.

Okay, I'm definitely rambling now. I have an unheard-of amount of homework, including the joyous task of recreating an Edward Hopper painting using watercolor, which somehow we're supposed to do in two days, and a science lab. No more needs to be said for those. But I'm probably going to use this picture:

Something about it is just really relatable to me, even though it's not very compelling, at least in my own opinion. I want to say it is, because there's something somewhat stirring about it, but not unsettling--I guess there's not a huge, dramatic feel to it, because it's very simple--a woman looking out the window--and there isn't a huge bright point, and nothing really draws my eye to any one place, except for the girl--only a little, though, because she has such a similar color scheme as the rest of the painting--so my eyes are kind of free-roaming about it, not really able to focus on anything. It's not really lonely, either; while obviously she's a solitary figure, the painting is too generally light-colored to feel sombre or sad. I'm trying to see what the green thing on the table is, but alas, I'm failing.

So this is pretty long. And about nothing. My cat is so goofy-tacular. He keeps walking back-and-forth on the keyboard, and purring even though I'm not actually petting him. Aw, gawsh darnnit, he's so cute!

Two pictures in one post! You guys are really living the good life, huh?

Yes, well, now he's lying on me. Behold him. Behold his goof-tacular-ness. Imagine that blue-tastic bed sheet is my lap, and you will have in your head a picture of Marco.

Why have I written so much? I would say I'm cheerful, which isn't necessarily true; or talking to people just inspires me, which also isn't necessarily true; so I guess it'd be a combination of the two...either way, I expect bitchin' long comments for my bitchin' long entry, yahear? :D

Honesty is, after all, important.

Okay, if I'm being honest, today was depressing. Just overall depressing. I've found myself on the edge of tears a grand total of 4 times today, and now I really just wanna say fuck it and not care about anything. Like my grade. That'd be nice. Just not care about my grade. Or, better yet, make magical essays fly off the tips of my fingers at will. Or not care about people. Ever. At all. Or about my future, or whatever you wanna call it. Or the world. Just not think about the world at all. Because right now it feels about a million tons, and I doubt it's gonna be lifted any time soon.

I wonder how I'm incapable of talking to my best friends when I'm actually upset about something...not like I don't trust them, but like I don't trust anyone, and it's reflexive to keep things inside--partially because I can never find the words, you know, and partially because deep down I feel like they don't care, and partially because yes, I feel like I can't always trust people, even though for some reason people think I trust implicitly, which is not true--but now I'm rambling--so--goodnight.

So it seems...

World Civ. essays are brutal, and it's so very easy to get behind in NaNoWriMo. Stupid school. Getting in the way of important things. Yeah, but I've never actually had to write a history essay before, and for my first one this sucks balls. Yeah, I went there. It's so incredibly bad that it makes me want to shove hot pokers in my eyes, so I never have to look at it again. So I'm debating: hope some miracle of literary genius happens by Friday so I turn in something stunning then, or turn it in tomorrow for 2+ extra credit? I'm leaning towards tomorrow, just so I don't have to think about it. Stupid world civ.

So Ani (yeah, that Ani) IMed me on Facebook, and apparently I walk really fast, move my eyes around a lot, and "look different." Whatever that means. Hehhh....awkward.

Oh, and I wrote a poem for Demogorgon! I would share it here, but it's not my favorite ever. Plus I have to catch up in NaNoWriMo, and write an essay. And stuff. Ugh.

So does anyone ever feel so mind-numbingly despaired at the world at they wish, just for a moment, it would stop existing entirely? No? Anyone? Just for a moment, you know, so you could collect your thoughts, and steel yourself back up again before going back in.

Actually, I wonder what the world will feel like after just nothing--if you could even stand it. Yeah, I wonder that. Okay. Off to write a conclusion and stuff.

Have fun with that.

So today I've pretty much done nothing except go on a two-hour writing block (and write 3000 words! :D) and sit around. I'm reading Beautiful Darkness in Barnes-and-Noble (by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl--the book, not the store) and it's, like, I don't want to put it down, but I have to because I don't get to go to B&N till late. I don't even know if the writing's good, but the storyline is so engaging and I really can't wait to see what happens. Yeah.

On the agenda (vocab word!) for tomorrow: write an essay. I've already pretty much mapped it out, and written down every single quote I could possibly use, so it'll probably take an hour if I'm focused or two hours if I'm not. So yay. It's better cuz I'm pretty much caught up in NaNoWriMo, because, as I previously mentioned, I spent two straight hours writing 3000 words, and am now clocking in at: 10,187. I was writing Emilia being crazy. That's always fun. Her sister and nephew are missing, and her brother-in-law is freaking out, and her niece is all like whaaaaa- and her BFFL4EVR John is bleeding to death. All in the first 15 pages! Hoo-rah!

So I like John. The character. That I made up, yes. He might actually be my second-favorite character, because no one will ever take the place of Aden, my bad-ass fairy with feelings. Yeah, he's not afraid to show his sensitive side. Are YOU? Haha, so John, yes. He's quite smart, and quite practical, and somewhat cold, but more in an impassive way than an outright mean way. I haven't decided if he should have a crush on Emilia or not, because he does try to protect her even though he doesn't really know her, and I feel like he would naturally like her, but at the same time I don't want to go to the typical route and make everything a love story. I know they won't end up together in the end. In fact Emilia really ends up nowhere in the end, although John takes over everything after Benjamin is dead. Everything sucks for her in the end, really. I think I'm going to make her spend her time taking care of Kaitlyn. And Tracy is going to die. Yeah, I just decided that. Not sure about Steven, though. I don't want to kill him, but I need to think of something to do with him. Haha, none of you have any idea what I'm talking about.

So I think I'll share an excerpt of Emilia being crazy. I'm not really sure how a crazy person thinks, but this might be close.

We had just gotten him situated when it started—the thing that arrested me in my place, because I instantly recognized it—because I had heard it before.

The marching.

Brandon glanced to the distance, while already starting to hobble John along. “What is that?”

Horror sunk through me, turning my legs to jelly. “Soldiers.”

John stopped immediately, eyes like planets. “Oh, God.”

“What? What does that mean?” Brandon was still moving at a snail’s pace, by this point trying to drag both of us along. It was not enough. I broke into the closest thing I could to a run, pulling both of them behind me till they managed to catch up.

Oh, God. I had been here before. I had smelled the fire and the blood. I had tried to run, but I couldn’t—I wasn’t fast enough—I was dying, dying; I was sinking; I was four feet tall; I was trying to run through honey, and with every step I became slower; I was seven years old; I was sobbing; I was screaming—the world was crashing around me, and I was dying, I knew I was dying, I collapsed into a puddle of blood; I drowned in it…

Blackness seemed to overtake me, but I had to run—if not to save myself, then to save John, to save Brandon. I knew I could not save myself, not anymore. Not this. There was a glow in the distance, but this time it was not a museum; it was a pack of wolves.

“Leave me!” A voice his voice John’s voice—“Sarah, you have to leave me!”

“NO!” I screamed with a force I no longer felt capable of; John broke into a run besides me, as did Brandon, and as did I. We ran. We ran into the night, ever forward, and I thought I might’ve been screaming—or I was in a dream, and the world around me was dead, and I was sinking into oblivion—along with them. Their eyes as my guide lights. They voices calling the way. I had to follow them this time, because I hadn’t followed them before.

“This way!” John was falling behind, panting, gasping—I grabbed him, some part of him, his hand—and I dragged him, forward, in some direction I thought would lead me somewhere I could see those eyes, and hear those voices—and there was a fence, and I dragged him over it—it left a trail of blood. A storm cellar, an old familiar scene; I fell into it again, and there was nothing but dirt and darkness. This was not their place, shining bliss—this was mine. Dirt and darkness.

Brandon—he was gone. He had followed them then, and gone into the light—done what I never could. But then he returned, holding a tiny child—Kaitlyn, Katie, my darling niece—and collapsed with her beside us.

“My wife and my son,” he cried, sobbing, convulsing with his daughter in his arms. “My wife and my son!”

I flew out of the cellar, and upstairs; I knew this house, I knew where the food and the medicine was; but that sound, it was getting closer; its fire was razing everything; we would be consumed. I felt the death toll number on my head—a million, a million dying souls—I heard them—boom boom boom boom—like a million sharp explosions, or like the ticking of a clock—a timer on our lives. I didn’t know what I grabbed, or if it would help John, or if it would matter in the end.

So, yay. Death and destruction. Basically this is what's happening: a riot broke out, and to get it under control a bunch of soldiers were sent in to march through the streets and set fire to everything. Not everything everything, but most things. Emilia is freaking out because that is the exact same thing that happened when she was seven and her parents died. Yeah, I don't love it, but you know, I guess the point here is just to write and to revise later. So, have fun with that.

You make me sick, because I adore you so.

[Citizen Erased--Muse]

Well! Sometimes I actually do have something resembling a life, such as last night/today. First off: Kim's house! Epic movie fest with Kim and Silver! Only we only got through V for Vendetta, Airplanes, and about half of 300 before falling asleep. Haha, we're lame. And then today I went to the zoo with Silver, which was zootacular naturally. I love red pandas. Adore them. They're the most fluff-tacularly adorable creatures on the PLANET. Seriously, how can you not love this face?

Love me. Looooooooooooove me.

They're too cute for words, it's true.

And then there was pizza, and then I went home and wrote 2000 words for NaNoWriMo, and yet I'm still 2000 behind. Fudge. I'm pretty sure I have homework too, but...ugh. No. I have a Machiavelli essay on the 12th and I don't even know what kind of essay due at some vague future point from English...ughhhh. I'll do those tomorrow. Or something.

[Micro Cuts--Muse]

I think I need to repeat that Muse is 100% my favorite band, ever. Really.

Oh yeah, and I also need to write my 'scribo' in Latin. Too bad half the words I wrote in the story I don't actually know in Latin...=.= Internet, you are a beautiful thing.

[Space Dementia--Muse]

Oh, and I wrote a poem, but I won't share. Har.

We'll destroy this world for you.

[Space Dementia--Muse]

Have I ever mentioned that I love Muse? They're only the greatest band EVER. Seriously, Muse is so amazing. Just. So. Amazing.

Anyway! I have been a neglectful buttface :D On Halloween, I went to Sharicus' awesometacular party, and I was a ghost of some kind, and yay.

Is anyone else doing NaNoWriMo? CUZ I AM WOOT. So far I'm up to about 3,000 words, which is both bad and good, you know. I am three days behind schedule and all that. My last excerpt was my story for it, and I was TOTES DISAPPOINT in the lack of comments...people. Gar.

And now there is a four-day weekend, and I must get back to writing. Ta-ta!

Excerpt woot!

10:00:00 p.m.—

The night was still. I did not pause to dwell on the irony—it would catch up to me eventually. All the lights were off in my sister’s old brick home—naturally. Naturally. The door was locked, but I thought I heard the drone of a TV. I thought I heard my name. Maybe. It was too soon to tell.

The door was locked. That made sense. I stumbled to the back of the house, to the storm cellar, which was never unlocked—and it wasn’t. Good. That was good. I think I fell into it, because there was a crash, and my body ached—ached, as if I were set on fire and thrown into the Arctic sea. That’s what it felt like. There was dirt under my nails. There was dirt everywhere.

I curled myself into a ball. What else was there to do? It was pitch black. Entirely. There was nothing in front of me or around me. Just empty space and the beating of my heart. Why was it still beating? How was that possible? I thought I tasted salt in my mouth, salt and blood, but that was impossible. That would mean I was crying. Was I? I couldn’t tell.

The sounds in the house were clearer now. There was a TV on, in the kitchen so I couldn’t see its light from the front of the house. Footsteps on the floor. The drone of the TV. It was on the news, though what station I couldn’t tell. There was a name. Not my name. A name all too familiar to me, though.

Glass dropping. It shattered on the floor in a million pieces, and I fancied the shards falling through the floor and falling through my flesh. Right through my bones, right through me, through the Earth’s crust and through the Earth itself, until it was consumed in the core. No shards came. Footsteps. Running. Then they disappeared.

Outside. They moved outside. And the door to the storm cellar flew open, and I could feel my soul flying out with it.

She saw me. I was haggard. I looked like hell. Her face—pretty, clean, spotless face—was caught between blame and shock. I guess mine was too.

“Emilia.”

I smiled crookedly at her. That wasn’t my name anymore. That could never be my name anymore. I had thrown it away with both hands; I couldn’t take it back now.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Her face was white. Ghost white. Stone white. Did her lip quiver? Were her eyes rimmed with tears? If I was not already in a jumble on the floor I would have collapsed. My demented smile faltered and died on my lips, leaving a stain.

“Emi—”

I couldn’t stand that name. It wasn’t mine anymore. It was someone else’s. “No. No, don’t call me that, Tracy.”

Her lips fell apart, but her eyes seemed almost to retreat back into her skull. From me. She didn’t want to look at me, but her eyes were stuck like glue. I tried to stand. It didn’t work.

“That’s not my name anymore, Tracy.”

“It will always be your name.” Her voice—quiet, terrified, determined—I smiled again. Sugar-sweetly. I felt evil.

“Do you blame me, Tracy?”

She shook her head. Her eyes fell closed on their own accord. She would’ve collapsed if she hadn’t been gripped the rail of the stairs leading down to the cellar. “Why would you come here?”

“Did they say my name?”

“Not yet. You have to leave.”

I guess I felt disappointment. I could not have expected her support. It was not in her nature. It was in mine—this fire. Now it was burning us all. I faltered again.

“You’ve put my children in danger, Emilia. You have to leave.”

Her children. It was only natural she would want to protect them at any cost. Even the cost of her sister. I nodded slowly. Natural. It was natural. Her children had done nothing wrong…

“Are you listening to me?” Her voice was higher. Angrier. The mother coming to life, I suppose.

“I have nowhere to go, Tracy.” My voice was quiet. I was sinking. The darkness was pressing. My fingers trembled, and so did hers.

“You’ll have to find somewhere, then.” When I was silent, she continued. And I was silence. “What about him? I know you did this for him. Has he abandoned you?”

I was silence still. I thought. I wanted to cut something. I wanted to dig my shaking hands into the Earth. I wanted to set the world on fire. It didn’t scream. But they did. Child. They all screamed.

I wanted to cut her. He was my life now. My only life. My only hope and reason. Her voice rose and she asked again, “Has he abandoned you?”

The Earth shook beneath me. Blind tension, it surrounded me—cut my brain from my mouth. With daggers for teeth I snapped, “Not like you have.”

She was silent. Stone silent. His voice was in my ears, now. His promises. He wanted me to lose fear. Was I still afraid? I couldn’t tell.

Silence. There was no air anywhere. We were both suffocating. But then she pulled out of it and said, like ice, “Get out.”

I closed my eyes. Shut out her face. Rage. This wasn’t worth it. My face relaxed. I thought I could sleep—sleep here, forever. But I couldn’t.

“I’ll be gone before they know who did it, Tracy.”

“That’s not good enough.”

I couldn’t see her face, but I could imagine it. Like mine. Mirrored. But where she turned to ice, I turned to fire. Where was the fire now? I couldn’t fight with Tracy. Not her. I had been fighting too much already.

They screamed. Their screams echoed. I ran with lightning in my breath.

“He’s controlling you, Emilia.”

Him. My life. My future. I wanted to shut her out. I believed in him, because he was me—reflected. I said, “If he has, it’s because I’ve let him.”

“Then you admit it.” I opened my eyes and saw her face. Melancholy. That’s what she was. “You’re like a cult. You’ve gone too far.”

I sighed. “No. No, I’ve done what I always promised I would. This isn’t him.”

“You’re just a desperate, delusional—”

“Tracy, listen to me!” I sprung up. My future. “Listen to me. I know who he is. I know who I am.” My throat closed together. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think—I was nothing. I thought I saw tears on her cheeks. Sirens in the distance. I could hear them now. I could feel them, on the back of my neck, calling for me…

My sister heard them too. Her face darkened. She was darkness. “Leave. Leave now.”

“I have nowhere to go.”

Glowering. That’s what she was. And I was defenseless beneath her. “Go back to him. I don’t care. But you’re not staying here.”

I sighed. How had I come here? My fingertips still shook—I was still terrified. My heart still beat irregularly. Did I want to be caught? Could I go back to life after this?

I took stock of the cellar. It was all dirt, with a few cans of tomato soup and ratty blankets in the corner. Useless. Why was it even built? In the middle of the city, with two feet of grass between this house and the next one? Who put a storm cellar in the city? But it was here, and I was here, and my sister was here telling me to get out of her house. I looked behind her, and saw the stars—muted by smog and clouds. But they were still there. And I was still here, more or less in one piece.

A fence. I would scale the fence. The house behind it—did it have people? I should’ve found this out. Chills overtook me; I almost sunk back to the ground, but remained balanced on my feet—miraculously. Tracy stared me down. She was waiting for me to make a move. But I had already made one, so monumental that it could never be forgiven or repented for.

“Do you want me to admit it?” I asked her. “Because I want to admit it.”

She was incredulous. Or surprised. Or frightened. I laughed. I was slaphappy. I wanted to laugh. I thought I could fly. “I want to declare it. Look at what I’ve done! You know, if they ever find out my name, they’ll never forget me? That’s a scary thought.”

Her eyes were microscopes, and she was dissecting me. I laughed in her face. I laughed at my sin. “I will declare it. Let them find me! They won’t be able to prove a thing.” I laughed again. I was giddy. I thought it to myself—they screamed! Children, they screamed! That was a terrible thing, a hideous thing. But I laughed, as if their blood was dripping from my fingertips.

No, no, I wouldn’t hurt children—no. I was remembering wrong. No, it was only one, that one man, so vile, so evil—surely I could be forgiven. Surely.

“I will declare it,” I repeated. “I will declare it.” I laughed. “I killed the President.” I laughed. “I killed the President of the United States!”

***

Yo, just so you know, haha....Emilia is completely batshit crazy. At least for now.