LOL I LIED THIS IS MY LAST POST!

Revolutionary

LOL I LIED THIS IS MY LAST POST! I totally realized I did not, in fact, have a resolution. Naturally the year won't be complete without one. I won't even go the typical route about how no one ever keeps them anyway, so there's no point. Nay, I won't even consider that. I'm so original.

So basically I can't think of anything that I've done for the last year that I could actually see myself changing this year. Last year I did not, in fact, acclompish my goal, but I don't care anymore so who cares? Wait, that sounded redundant. Anyway, I'm trying to avoid the traditional (for me, at least) "I WILL GET HIM TO TALK TO ME THIS YEAR!" cuz wait, that's pathetic. And everything else about myself that I don't like is not going away just because the months have changed.

So I guess I'll make the easiest resolution to keep, ever: at some point in the following year, I will straighten my hair. In public and stuff. I mean, not straighten it in public, but have it straightened in public. Revolutionary, I know.

Ooh, and also, I should probably make it a resolution to finish Nix by the end of the year...

I mean, I HOPE it takes less than a year anyway, but...yeah.

Yeah.

Nostalgia, and other assorted goodies.

Science labs are the scourge of the Earth. No really. I have over a page of questions to answer for ONE SECTION of the lab, and all of the answers must be written together in paragraph-form. Please kill me.

Oh, and my dad has a blog. Behold it. Marvel in it and stuff. See, I didn't say anything about it before because I figured he wouldn't want a bunch of high schoolers as an audience, but he said he didn't care, so...woo. I think it's pretty dapper, especially considering he called my blog fascinating...tee hee. Because it is, of course.

So it's New Year's Eve! I suppose I should spend this time being reflective and shit, but I can't focus on anything because of the science lab. Including the science lab. Hold on, I have to clean up the remnants of my soul which are dripping out of my finger tips in a fetid pool of misery. And that is my year. Next year, all the individual numbers in the year add up to 4. And 4 is a magic number. So there.

I'm currently looking at my first post of 2010, considering this will most likely be my last. Unless I make a troll post that says LOL I LIED THIS IS MY LAST POST! Yeah, I could see doing that. Anyway. It seemed a requirement to be nostalgic, so here we go: I talked about death and posted lyrics to Paper Thin Hymn by Anberlin. 4 people commented. I expect four people to comment on this as well, you know. If you see four people have commented already, don't comment. Save it till next year, yo.

Let's see. Let's look back on the year. Have I done anything particularly meaningful? No, not really. I've spent the last fifteen minutes or so, instead of working on my lab like a good student, going through my entries looking for the one where I stopped liking Basil. I remember the day it happened. I remembered what I wrote, because I was afraid if I went around announcing it I'd fall right back into the trap again. I just don't remember when, or what the title was. I don't know why it's important to me how long I have till it's been a year, because the point is that I don't any more, but it feels like it is--important to me. Like it's a milestone, sort of. Even though it's not. Even though it doesn't matter anymore...

I wrote an entry in February that I think fairly well articulated the same thoughts I have now, but at the same time seem entirely separate from the thoughts I have now...

I remember, now. I made it past the two-year mark with him, so it was definitely after February 13th. Darn; I was kind of hoping this could be my first year without that poisoning everything. Sigh, now I'm all depressed because I was thinking about Basil.

Yeah. Nothing exciting happened this year. It was--it was gashnic. Just gashnic. Well, I guess starting high school is something. But it's not as monumental as I thought it'd be, you know? It was like, oh, look, here I am. Great. And that was all.

So I'm done being nostalgic. That was a fail. Happy New Year's and stuff!

[Maybe I'm Just Tired--As Tall as Lions]

This is my theme song for 2010. And it makes me sad.

Thursday.

So yeah, I haven't posted since Monday. But I actually have done stuff! Woo!

On Tuesday (afternoon), I went over to Kerm's house and we had a SLEEPOVER. Hollah. I finally watched Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, which wasn't as good as I thought it'd be. We dresses in our costumes for our fan-tacular movie called Nix, which we are totally making, and did poster-shots...all of mine were terrible. Haha. I play Catherine Carey, a deeply disturbed girl, and she plays Nix, a deeply disturbed fairy. Hell to the yeah.

We also played Jojo's Fashion Show World Tour, which was awful and amazing at the same time. I can never decide with those games.

And now that I think about it, I'm not sure what else we did, haha :D I straightened my hair. It was awesome. I have officially used both my straightener and my crimpy.

Of course, it's already Thursday (D:) and I have a science lab report to finish *shudders*. That's always, of course, the best thing I could ever do over a weekend. Naturally. Because I enjoy three hours of soul-sucking torture. Euch.

I also went over to Vera's house on Wednesday, so I guess that's something. Eh. We just played Wii and I stuffed myself on bite-sized chocolate cookies her mom made.

And...that is it. Ha ha. Ho ho. HUR.

Monday!

So I remember, like, snippets of this epic amazing dream I had last night and I CAN'T REMEMBER ALL OF IT. It was a really effing good one, too. Spanned a long period of time, I think. WAS AWESOME. But I CAN'T REMEMBER IT.

See, I was listening to Only the Good Die Young by Billy Joel, and it pretty much hit me. Which is weird, cuz the dream and the song really have nothing to do with each other. BAH WHY CAN'T I REMEMBER IT?!?!

[Over My Head--The Fray]

See, I'm listening to all these butt-old songs because I decided to listen to all the songs on my iPod, in alphabetical order. I'm currently on the O's. I only have, like, 423 songs on there...hah...

[Over You--Daughtry]

I really have nothing to say, naturally. Winter break. Woo! It's gonna go by too fast, of course, especially if I keep pissing the day away--oh! I woke up at 10:30 this morning. Seriously. I NEVER sleep in that late. The latest I've ever slept was 11, and that was because I went to bed at 5. I kind've felt like I'd wasted half the day...but, I mean, it's not like I was planning on doing anything anyway.

[Overweight--Blue October]

I am in desperate need of a shower. Yeah. I should go now.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

So, pretty good haul this year :) I could share with you the delights of my morning, but instead, I'll just tell you what presents I got:

• A camera! It's a Kodak-something-or-other, and is lavender, and is NOT battery charged, woo :) See, the old one mysteriously stopped working one day, and I [strongly] suggested we get a new one. And we did! And I love it!
• Makeup! Technically, I'm not allowed to wear makeup outside the house until I'm 16, but my mom got it anyway for me to practice. And I love that, too! The makeup includes: probably the best mascara EVER, three different shades of eyeliner (black, sparkly blue, and sparkly purple), two sets of eyeshadow, foundation that actually matches my freakishly pale skin EXACTLY, blush, and three shades of lip gloss (purple, pink, red--yeah. wut.) It's pretty much awesome.
• Two shirts from Hot Topic, both The Hunger Games themed! Yeah, haha. One is white and says DOWN WITH THE CAPITOL! and the other is, oddly, the exact same one Kerm got for Christmas as well, except in black as opposed to purple. Yeah. Awesome. I know.
• A WIRELESS MOUSE AND NEW MOUSEPAD!!! None of you could possibly now the joy of this gift until you've experienced the horror that is (or, rather, was) my old mouse set. It had a wire. And it was awful. I could barely move it, which is NOT helpful when I'm trying to take pictures of some Sims character giving birth and accidentally hit the "Ultra Speed" button, or when I hit "Punch in the Face" instead of "Kiss Romantically", or some other crap. And the mousepad? I didn't have one for the first two (or so) years I had the compooter, and the one I finally got was stolen from the downstairs computer when we got a replacement and was old, and disgusting. Yeah. I'm happy about this gift.
• A hair straightener/hair crimper. I admit, I don't do a lot with my hair, but maybe that's because the hair things I had were AWFUL. Oh, and I say hair crimper instead of hair curler because...well...it crimps instead of curls. We played with it earlier today, and my hair is now wave-tacular. What.
• A $15 iTunes gift card. I don't really know what can be said about this, except yay :)
• Various other stocking stuffers, including that L'Oreal 360 Clean or whatever it's called, which is awesome, and socks.
• Pajamas! I actually got this on Christmas Eve, as is the tradition, but I'll desribe them anyway: pretty much the comfiest pajama bottons ever, really soft, and black with white hearts and multi-colored peace signs...yeah, I'm stylish X); a bright green blanket made of the same soft, plush material as the bottoms, and a bright pink tank. It is comfortable. And I have worn it all day. Boo-yeah!

I got my mom a cookbook that is awesome, and my dad a journal that is awesome :D I made sure to save those for last, since they are just SO awesome. So yeah. Excitement. I love Christmas :D MERRY CHRISTMAS FOLKS! WHAT'D YA GET?

I feel like I should be talking about Christmas, it being Christmas Eve and all, but I really can't think of anything to say. I actually feel kind of down, by this point. Not because of Christmas. Definitely not!

Instead of writing some cheery post about the joys of the holiday, I will instead not grace you with a picture of holiday cheer. See, I was going to, but I couldn't find one. And I didn't feel like writing something else. Ta-ta.

Joy to the world.

So, with two questions let on my science lab, which is due tomorrow, I took a break (hah) to set up the Christmas tree, which we [FINALLY!] got last night, after much searching...but I won't get into that...anyway, I started with the lights. I always start with the lights. Who doesn't start with the lights? So I start with the lights. I'm putting a lot of lights. We have about six different strings of lights, seriously. Two colored, four white. Maybe more. I put up the colored first, but the tree seemed too sparse, so I put up some whites...still sparse and all...so I grab my next string of lights, and holy hell, there is a knot in it the size of Montana. That took my twenty minutes to get out. I kid ye not, friends; twenty minutes. Maybe more. So I start hanging it up, only to discover THREE MINUTES LATER that there is ANOTHER knot also roughly the size of a state. Not Deleware, either. And I'm just like, haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaail no. So I come on here and look at the science lab again and flounder hopelessly. My phone just kind of left me. It currently has a message on the screen that says "DEMSBL BOOT Loader for MSM6298" and I don't know what it means, and regardless I can't call anyone, which makes me feel more lonely and cut-off from the outside world than I already am--what with Dad being at work and Mom being asleep. So someone answer this question:

In one reaction, you tested a gas that was produced and heard a "pop" which implied the identity of the fas. Which Part? The "pop" itself was also a chemical reaction [a seperate reaction from the one that made the gas in the first place]. What type of reaction was the second reaction? Write a balanced equation (with states of matter) for this reaction. Did any of your careful observations of the inverted tube support the presence of the products of this reaction? (Note: the second reaction is NOT the same reaction that generated the explosive gas in the first place).

Yeah. Someone answer that for me. Please.

Science labs seriously suck out your soul. Alliteration. Really, though. My soul is in FRAGMENTS, and it's only a "semi-formal." Ugh.

TWO YEARS TILL THE END OF THE WORLD. FIRE WILL RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN FROM THE SKY!

The stars were bright all through the night.

So I actually submitted something to Demogorgon! Woo, I feel special. Silver and I had some discrepancies about the wisdom of an immortal dude jumping off a cliff after the woman he loves, but, who cares? I think it's damn good.

Today I went to the mall with Happy! Happy never goes to the mall. Ever. Her mom is afraid of the world, or something. But anyway. It was fun! I got Sanguine a present, and it is a ring. I think I'll drop to one knee when I give it to her, haha. Just for funsies.

Of course, I still need a present for: Mom, Dad, Gem, Kim, Silver, and Happy. I have so many friends. Haha. Not really. That was redundant. ANYWAY. I saw this fantacular bracelet at Hot Topic. It's my new favorite thing. AND this locket-necklace thing at Nordstrom, which I can't find a picture of. It's pretty much my favorite thing ever.

I guess it's never too early to start thinking about what clothes I'm buying next summer, heh. I made a system, so it is impossible for me to have a bad outfit. Because that totally works. But now I'm anxious for summer to get here. In the middle of winter. Not that I wouldn't be anxious for this year to end, anyway...sigh...

I have a science worksheet due on Monday, and apparently on the same day we're having an in-class writing assignment on The Sound of Waves, which is an awful book. Really, it's just awful. But on Tuesday, I will gorge myself on brownies in Latin and Health, and on Wednesday, I will gorge myself on brownies in Health. Hell to the yeah, mofos. Okay, so I won't gorge myself. But damn, I love brownies.

I'm rambling to such an extreme extent by this point that I'm not sure why I'm even still writing...

In Hot Topic some girl I think goes to my school, who works though, complimented my shirt. A few months ago, I had been in their with a different shirt, and the same girl complimented that one too. Apparently, this girl likes my shirts.

....CHRISTMAS. ONE WEEK WOOOO.

Twopah et unsenta.

I believe words cannot express how endlessly grateful I am that it's the weekend, especially since I actually have PLANS--yes! I'm not just sitting around playing Sims all weekend again! I'm as surprised as you are. Even better, I really don't have that much homework. Hell to the yeah, biyatches.

I'm currently trying to write another short story that doesn't deeply offend every wit and sense I possess, but alas, I'm failing...you know. In this one I'm just making up words, like promme, and Genrie Heri, and Cate Demoire, because I can. Because I can. I mean, the capitalized ones are just in another [fake] language, but "promme" is completely made up. Unless it's a word that I'm not aware of. It's a type of dress, by the way.

Now I look for gifts for people. ONLINE WOAH.

A hoobj of fun.

I take the time to share with you now: The Adventures of Strawberry and Gem, a.k.a. The Bus Chronicles. For those of you who are forgetful, or just, you know, slow, Gem is my bus-buddy. Hurrah. Sometimes we just sit there in silence and listen to our iPods, and sometimes we just have a hoobj of fun. Hoobj, I tell you.

Today we kept a tally of how many times I said (excuse my French) f*ck for no reason in a single trip, breaking my previous record of 12, except we didn't actually keep track. Though she managed to say "That's bitchin'," a grand total of 3 times. We saw how many times people would wave back to us when we waved like frantic maniacs from the window. I won. And I made a fat face :)

Of course, the highlight of this 40-minute gleeride, and the entire point I'm feeding you this exaggerated spiel, is because she said she loved my hair, and it made me squee :)

I just finished a freaking amazing sandwich, and now I'm sad that it's gone :( I actually found wheat bread that I like, hoorah!

Yeah. I have a headache. I have nothing else to say.

Short!

Hallo! I am currently trying to think of reasons why love at first sight exists, that can actually be proven. Wish me luck!

My fingers are cold, so GAOBIII!

What?

I've graced you with more mildly depressing, "deep"{?} thoughts.

Ender's Game is an amazing book. See, I was going to curse there, but I didn't. But really. It may actually be one of the best books I've ever read. I don't even know what to say about it except that it was amazing.

Yesterday I went to Silver's house! Except towards the end I got a monstrous headache, slept for an hour-and-a-half when I finally got home, and threw up (twice) all of the 30-some almonds I ate. It was pleasant. But today I was A-okay!

SKIP TO THE EXCERPT AHEAD, IF YOU WANT TO AVOID THE AFOREMENTIONED THOUGHTS.

I suppose I should have something significant to say, after a several-days hiatus from blogging--unintentional, of course--but now, like then, I still have nothing to say. That was a clumsy sentence. I can't wait until I'm old enough for Psychology classes. I mean, I REALLY can't wait. Some things I see people do, and I think I understand them, but I can't fight the constant sensation that I'm only just skimming the surface of what how the human brain works--and I am. Of course. I doubt most psychologists do more than that, but I still want to know what I can, and now. And, you know, it's not just about understanding other people--I guess I want to understand myself too. And I want to write. Believably. I want to know what my characters are doing, and why. I can never know them well enough, with my feeble grasp on how they work, to write them to the caliber I want to write them--to make them destroy themselves. Why is it that, in every story I create, my characters destroy themselves? Or there was never a self to begin with.

Okay, now I'm just rambling again. I suppose, giving the (sad) lack of traffic on my last deep, heartfelt entry, it's not really what people want to hear. Never mind, I know it's not what they want to hear. And I don't blame them, because sometimes I'm just incapable of articulating things well; when I'm not writing about something shallow or vapid or pointless, it always comes out wrong, and people get confused, and when people are confused they get afraid. I don't believe in anyone anymore. Not even on that shallow level that everyone always assumes--that everyone lies, or everyone is stupid--but because none of it matters. Nothing matters. The best I can do to combat this is just to focus on something else--a smaller ring of importance, shrinking inward with every step. A thousand levels of thought, culminating in the firm belief that everything, everywhere, and everyone, means nothing. But I can forget that; I can pretend that societal laws are important, and revolution is important, and the order of the world is important, and that the universe beyond Earth is important, and that writing a book is important, and that love is important--and in a smaller level, on a personal basis, on a humanity-level basis, it is.

Damn, I just can't stop with my pointless rambling on my damn contriving thoughts. I should talk about something stupid now, like how I went to 3-D Art today instead of lunch, because that's so important--and I should recount every stupid joke I made today, and every time I forgot how unhappy I should feel--because I'm not unhappy, I just wish I was, so I have something to complain about. So I can legitimately discuss my despair with all humankind, and not feel like a hypocrite because of how many times I laughed today, forgetting that exact thing. It's an easy thing to forget.

I can see my future, spread out before me, but it doesn't seem real--it never seems real--that one day I could be there, in that place, and not here, in the place I've always been. I can see my past, clawing at me from behind--or maybe I'm clawing at it, because I'm incapable of forgetting, and it's sitting like a dead thing behind me--wasted, unimportant, yet still so heavy--and I can't believe I was once there, and not here, in this place I've always been. I can only see the present, and not a moment before or after; it is the only thing that exists for me, but I can't feel it--I don't feel many things--and nothing ever occurs to me, or is realized--because the future doesn't exist and the past is just a dead thing, and the present is a step beyond transient, and verging on nonexistent. So I don't feel it. Everything is just where I am and where I've always been, and nothing ever changes, because change doesn't exist, only where I am and where I've always been. And with these thoughts I shouldn't feel fear, and I shouldn't be able to stop walking--I've tried it before, though, and I'm always able to stop walking, but even more so I'm able to keep walking, and that's the thing that makes me remember that nothing ever ends, and time never stops, more so than the transience of the days, of the hours, of the weeks--I'm able to keep walking. Everything in the universe could boil down to that for me; I'm able to keep walking.

But then, it always loops back around, to say that if I'm able to keep walking--if I can always take another step, further, closer to the destination that isn't a destination--than nothing really matters. Everything is concrete, and everything is fleeting. It all depends, really, on what sphere you're looking at; but the greatest sphere, the sphere you can't look beyond, or see past, because it encompasses everything and holds true of all things, is that nothing really matters.

I wish I could speak this all, instead of just writing it. And I wish people would read it. And tell me something that makes sense.

So I guess now I have an excerpt.

“I loved someone, once.” That tone in which she spoke it! I loved someone, once—upon a time, I wanted to add, because that was the impression her voice gave; she did not laugh or smile, but stared at the rising sun as if thoughts she could not comprehend or turn to fruition were burning just behind that high, pale forehead of hers. I remembered, somewhat guiltily, that I had once believed her incapable of love—but now, to hear her speak this negation of my previous thoughts, I could not believe otherwise. I saw it in the distance of her eyes. She had loved someone, once.
At once the look had passed from the rising sun, and turned instead to the heavens, eyes alight with strange fervor and despair. “Does the sky not mock me, Abraham?”
“The nature of your love—”
“Was obsession.” She closed her eyes, then, and that strange and small smile she so often wore showed itself on her exhausted face. “No, not obsession, but destroying, Abraham, destroying.”
“Destroying of self?”
“Destroying of all things.” She buried her hands in her hair, her dark and windswept hair, which was so long it brushed the calloused ground beneath us. “I would have destroyed everything for this man, Abraham—everything in the world. For a man! What an inconsequential word, but then, when I was near him—what an inconsequential world!”
“That is not uncommon for lovers to say, Rele.”
She laughed with viciousness, but viciousness towards self. “You do not comprehend my words, then, Soul-Seer. I am disappointed. Have you not been with me long, now?”
Shame tinged the edges of my voice, like feathers just brushing against—I was ashamed of the truth of her words. “I have been with you long, yes.”
“And yet you do not understand the nature of my love. In fact, I would go so far to say as you thought my incapable of such a violent thing—I have read it on your face. I can read you better than you me. Is that not sad, Abraham?”
I turned out to the sea, which was below us, far below us—and the sun, red and brighter than all things of the world, and reflecting on the sea so it was aflame with the reflected light. And I looked to the sky, clear and pale and translucent in nature; towards the ever-glowing sun that was burning just as bright as the sea below it, reflected; it was all shades of brilliance. And I looked behind us, to the craggy rocks and jumbling path that led its way to this spot, this fierce, lonely, wild spot, to which Rele had led me; thick with the decayed foliage of a winter past, and yet becoming brilliant in the warmth of the rising sun. Have I painted a lovely picture? And Rele, she became as part of it as the sea below our feet, or the sky above our heads; she shone with the orange and pink brilliance of the sun, and cast her shadow far across the weathered earth behind us.
“It is sad, Rele.”
She opened her eyes again, and did not blink away the light of the sun; she absorbed it. “I have lain here, tormented, but never willing to throw myself down this sheer cliff face, to a most certain and terrible death. And now, when I am peace, it occurs to me how effortless it would be to do so, how simple—and not permanent at all, as I have thought in younger years, but rather liberating. Almost painless. Do you not think so?”
I could not help the clenching of my muscles, and the tightness of my throat, as I imagined her body, ever graceful, flying towards the sea—embracing it—like a bird in flight, ascending to the heavens just as she was descending to the torrid earth. A torrent of grace, and yet bearing the finality of sorrow—I said, with a quiet tone, “I do not think so, Rele.”
She peered at me, soft gray eyes—gray as the underside of a dove’s wing—revealing no alarm, and no surprise. “Would you leap after me, Abraham?”
“It would not matter,” I answered quickly, unable to meet her eye, for her eye was like a dagger to my soul, gentle in its bloody victory. “I am immortal.”
“But would you, Abraham?”
I was silent. I watched the space between the edge of the cliff and the sea; a breathtaking distance, and eternal. She smiled at me with the same slight smile.
“You have been charged with watching me, Abraham; you have been charged with revealing my soul, and understanding it. Why is that, Abraham?”
“You were in need of it. My task is not one to be questioned.”
“And my place is not to be, either. Abraham, your name possesses meaning only because it is yours. That is your charge, your sacred duty, and yet you do not understand me at all. Can I tell you why I think that is, Abraham?”
I did not answer; I did not need to. She answered for me. “It is because you love me, Abraham, and we never understand that which we love.”
I stared to the rising sun, though it burned my eyes; to look upon her would be much more pain. “On the contrary; it seems to me that that which we love, we would understand perfectly.”
“It is not the case.” Her fingers found mine, but only her fingers; they were soft as wings caressing the air. We were connected, only for a moment. “It is never the case.”
I felt her slipping away from me, before I felt it, and her fingers were not with mine. There seemed a perfect moment, perfect in its infinity, in which our skin was apart by only a breath of a breath, in which I understood her, and she understood me, and the whole world could be encompassed in the space between our skin. She slid from the cliff face with perfect grace and, with brilliant eyes closed, fell to the sea. I could not watch, though I felt her every peaceful breath resounding like a thousand deaths through my soul.
I could not watch. Instead I leapt.

I think I'll go post something embarrassing to Facebook.

You shouldn't read this. I'm just rambling.

Whoa, so, I just happened to be reading the post after the 8th grade dance, and there's like three Anonymous comments that I never noticed there...that are somewhat, eh, bothersome. I would respond more in depth, but it was so long ago, and none of that matters anymore. So, yeah. I don't know why I'm writing this at all, actually.

Yesterday I hung out with Silver at 3-D art! Hah, I forgot to mention that. It was fun. Pretty much any day I don't go to lunch is a good day.

It's very hard to type now, because my knees are bent against the desk, and the dog is lying between my legs and stomach. So, yeah. I really have nothing to say here. Today is Friday! Not that I have any plans for the weekend, but at least it won't be school. That just makes every day better. Speaking of that, though, I feel like I'll just be sitting around the entire weekend, especially since I pretty much have no homework. And that's ALWAYS fun.

So I really don't like the whiny teenage girls who complain that no one understands them. They're not that complex. I mean, hell, I'll be the first to admit that I'm pretty straightforward: simple things make me happy, and simple things make me sad. I'm needy, I'm proud, I'm shy. I like fighting for things. I like being right. Anyone who knows me knows me well. However, at the same time I'll say that sometimes I wonder if anyone who doesn't know me knows me at all, or if they have some ridiculous misconception about what I'm thinking and who I am based on the very little I do or say around them. See, I don't know. I can't really go up and ask someone what they think of me.

I mean, do people think I'm weird? Do people think I'm desperate? What image do I portray? I'm not naive enough to think it's positive, but I'm really as outcast-ish as I seem to be. I mean, yeah, my hair's unkempt, and I wear the same two hoodies every day, and I'm uber-pale, and I'm not the skinniest person ever, and I'm shy, and I don't know how to talk to people--but none of those sum up my character. None of that could tell someone if I'm smart or not, or honest, or loyal. That doesn't tell people that I write, or that I secretly want to be a revolutionary, or what I love, or what I hate. I feel like, as a whole, most people don't know anything about me, and when they have to assume they assume wrong.

Okay, I'm totally upset about that comment I never noticed. I mean, hell. I want to say Basil destroyed me, even though it's not supposed to matter. I want to, but I don't know if it's true. Why couldn't I have turned out the same if I had never met him? If I had sat at a different table in math? I mean, by saying that I could just be looking for an excuse as to why I'm such a God-damned loser. Being so all-encompassed with him made me forgot to notice other things, like how I was becoming, among other things, a social pariah of sorts. I wonder what they all thought of me. I mean, I know what they all thought of me. I wondered if they misinterpreted what they say, or if I really was that pathetic. All my friends thought so. Everyone thought so. How could I not see it? Or, when I did see it, why did I let it become me? I could say I'm not really that pathetic, but obviously I was. If I wasn't really anything I didn't want to be, then I wouldn't have done a single damn thing I regret today. And I regret everything. I regret things that happen yesterday. All the regret wells up inside, eating away at everything I do; the only solution I have is blocking out everything. Just everything. Every single stupid thing I've ever done. Every single thing others have done that hurt me. I just want to scream at people that that wasn't me, and I'm so normal, so just like everyone else. I want to take them by the shoulders and make them look at me and tell me what's wrong with me. There's nothing good about being this. I'm hyper-aware of every fault, but if I can just block everything out--block out my torrid memory, block out my all-consuming self-disgust, block out the grim and constant knowledge that I will never be like them, no matter how normal I am--then at the very least I can pretend not to care. Everything seems to speak to my own inadequacies.

And then I just want to ask people, God, someone hear me. I know it's my own fault. I know I'm expecting people to read my mind, because I never say it loud enough for other people to pay attention. Even my own friends. When I actually did talk about myself, I talked about him, because he made up the only part of me that mattered. Now they don't want to hear my talk about myself. I can't bring it up, I can't say it out loud. I love them to death, but if I didn't have them I would have to just bear it, and get through the day, and I would manage exactly the same way I do now. I let them talk about themselves. I encourage it. I want to help them. I want to go to Paris with them, and cry together, and laugh together. But I don't want it to seem like the things I care about are trivial, or shallow, because I squeal when I saw them, and act emotional--I'm not even emotional. I feel cold as ice all the time, because what I do portray as emotion is just so damn fake. It's what they want. It's what they expect, and I can't escape from that. I'm not "dying on the inside" or some crap, I just pretend so hard that I forget what I am and become something else. What they expect. Or rather, not, because what you do and who you are are the same thing; that's who I am, and it's pathetic, and if no one expected it then I wouldn't be it. I can never blame myself. Damn it. It's not others' fault that I am the way I am, but I want to say it is, because I can never be as real as I am when I'm alone. It's like, if they were filling in the blanks of who I am, they figure out most of the right words, but then the ones they have to guess they always get wrong. I'm so damn inconsistent. I'm all made up of nouns and adjectives. Where there should be a verb there's just a wish.

The funny thing is, if I had to go into the living room and talk to my parents, I'd be fine. Completely collected. I don't do it on purpose. I don't have a thing aganst showing emotion. Or maybe I do. Maybe I don't want pity. Maybe I feel like they wouldn't understand, or maybe, more likely, I just don't want to show them. It never occurs to me that I don't want people to see my cry, but it must be true. I don't know what the thought process is there. It's just instinctual; when others are around I wipe my tears and try to hold them in. Or I pretend I scratched my eye. Or I have allergies. Maybe deep down I'm afraid they don't really want to know, or it would just add to the whole "outcast" thing. I don't do it on purpose. But I must care, or I wouldn't do it.

Months ago, last year, I got into a fight with Kim on Facebook, and just started bawling. I couldn't even say where it came from. I never can. I just sobbed. People tend to blame me, in some situations, because I'm never the victim, I'm never the one crying, or the one who's hurt, because I'm the one doing the hurting. But I hurt all the time. Even when I don't feel it, I feel scarred from the inside out; scars that will never heal, because I don't know how to make them. And my mom heard me sobbing from the living room, and asked what was wrong, and I managed to stifle my tears for a moment and say I was fine, and run upstairs when she came in to check on me, or go to the bathroom--whichever it was--because I was afraid the red blotchiness on my face would give me away. I didn't want to have to explain it. I didn't want to face that I was crying, or I didn't want to remember why, or I just didn't want my mom to know. It breaks out, out of nowhere, but always when I'm alone; with others I feel just as pathetic as people have told me I am my entire life.

No, no, that's not true. I can't blame people. Some things are nobody's fault. Some things are my fault. But I can't blame other people on things that only affect me. I'm determined not to be a hypocrite, but it never works out that way. I don't even know what I am. And I guess that my question is, if I don't know, how can anyone else?

Okay. I'm done with this. Internet, swallow my thoughts. I have some questions to ask.

CARIA LOVES JACQUES LOVES ADELE.

Today I watched 'To Kill a Mockingbird', and my favorite part was when, after they had lost, Atticus was leaving the court room, and the Pastor told Scout to stand up, because her father was passing. That was a brilliant moment, right there. Real moving and stuff. Heh.

I'M WRITING ANOTHER STORY, BASED IN FRENCH CIRCA THE 1800s, EXCEPT NOT REALLY.

Today I did not talk to Up at all, which shouldn't really make me sad, but it does.

And.......

That's all. Folks.

I WILL CONQUER THE WORLD, DAMMIT.

SO WHAT HAVE I BEEN UP TO? Besides the usual nefarious schemes (which is of course what I was doing to be grounded in the first place), I have: done homework. Played the Sims 2 every. day. Eaten. Slept [I've felt surprisingly rested the last week or so. Hurmmmm.]. Ipoded [So a word.]. Missed Sharicus, who has been absent from school for about a week [GET BETTER SHARICUS I MISS YOUUUUUU.]. Kermed. Moobered. Bennered? No. Dandaned? Somewhat. Wezzered? Not at all. I also had the great joy of completely reworking one of my firstest-ever stories, which was completely awful. It's a little bittersweet, because I'm changing so much, but at the same time the little voice in my head is going FINALLY.

HEY EVERYONE IMMABOUT TO GO ALL RAMBLING ON A WEIRDLY-NAMED STORY, SO IF YOU DON'T WANT TO READ ABOUT A STORY WITH A GUY NAMED 'ROP,' SKIP AHEAD.

When I call this thing old (which I haven't), I mean old. Like fifth/sixth grade old, when I first started really writing. It was about a girl named Danielle who ran away into the woods behind her home and come across the magical world of Ronal, and the furry woodland talking creature things that dwelled in it. There were five books, each with Danielle going back and saving Ronal once again. It was pretty much in inbred monster between Harry Potter and Narnia, with my own suckish writing and story-telling skills thrown in.

Now it's about a girl named Daniella (big change there, I know) who may or may not be insane. Woo.

See, she discovers a place NOT called Ronal, but Rowet, which is a kingdom of PEOPLE, not animals, in the land of Moetica. She's usually led there by a gray bird/lady who is, of course, some ethereal being, but sometimes finds it on her own (like the first time). It's all very real to her, of course, with the Guardians and the Faen and, yanno, the people, and the crazy vengeful queen from the north named Callia who is looking to conquer Rowet, who is actually the daughter of the young queen of Rowet, Ana. Oops, spoilers. Anyway. It's not like she goes around telling people she's there, but they still start to think she's crazy to some degree (like a big degree) and take her to a hospital and give her meds and when that doesn't work, send her to a psychiatrist to cure the crazy, and finally send her to a mental recovery place, where they send those crazy kids. All this time she's still going to Rowet and fulfilling her destiny and all that jazz. She doesn't have a particularly awful life, but her dad died when she was young, and she has no friends, and they all think she just has a chemical or two off that makes her so desperate to not be in her world that she creates her own idealized world in her head. But...COULD IT ACTUALLY BE REAL? Oooh, plot.

Oooh, I think I'll explain the Gaurdians and the Faen. Neither are gods, per se, but more like magical beings; the Faen are mortal and the Gaurdians are not. There are Gaurdians of Light and Darkness; of Light being Erebeas of the Moon, Adela of the Stars, Ferdean (fair-dee-an) of the Sun, Dolcene (dole-see-nee) of Fire, and Mebese (meh-bee-see) the Queen, who is of, roughly translated, 'the light within.' The Gaurdians of Darkness consist of Riparta of Chaos, Ven of Night, Salinoab of Shadow, Poresta of 'Nothingness', and Rop the King, of, roughly translated, 'the darkness within.' Yes, I have considerable fun making up names for these people. Personally, I would love the name 'Rop.'

AND THE FAEN. When I said they were mortal, I meant most of them. The ones that are equivalent to witches, or fairies, or something. The Sorien, the Forst Faen, are basically nymphs; the Helpsi, or Sky Faen, are basically angels. Both are like loosely-structured tribes of magical beings, taking many forms. The immortals consist of Ames, the Faen of Love, who is basically cupid; Ellia, the Faen of Knowledge, who takes the place of the ultimate librarian; she's the first person Daniella meets upon entering Moetica, in the Grand Hall, which is a library that stretches on endlessly. She's something like a fawn; entirely brown-colored and ancient and somewhere between withered and thriving. Finally there's Sepephna, Ferdean's daughter, who is the Faen of Fire; she could be seen as 'Spirit' or something along those lines.

So basically Daniella enters this world, with castles and crazy magic stuff, and defeats Callia, and falls in love with Caler, and ends up in a padded room. Zall good.

HEY EVERYONE THE RAMBLING ABOUT MY WEIRDLY-NAMED STORY IS OVER!

Alright. What have I done today? Not much. The other day I COMPLETELY showed up the teacher in understanding Shakespeare. The hell to the yeah. I almost did it again today, except no one was really sure what the line meant, and I threw out a guess, and he seemed to accept it, because he announced it to the class. THE HELL TO THE YEAH. And people say I'm not analytical. Pssht. PSSHT.

Tomorrow most of the day will be spent watching To Kill a Mockingbird in the auditorium. I still get the joys of math, science, and art, though.

TODAY I SKIPPED LUNCH AND HUNG OUT IN 3D ART WITH MOOBERS/SILVER. WOOT WOOT.

And now I will share my grades.

English 83.33. Surprisingly, this isn't bad.

Art 61.88. Because SOMEONE has so far not given me a grade on a 50-point assignment. Harumph.

Geometry 86.74. So apparently 9 points can bring your grade down 13--WHAT I GOT AN 86 ON THE BENCHMARK??? HOW??? IT WAS SO EASY!!!

Latin 90.80. I'm doing better in Latin than I am in my own language. Heh.

Science 90.88. I do amazingly well on the tests in this class, and yet I still have a 90. Wut.

World Civ. 90.23. This class makes me sad.

That....depressed me.

550--something.

So today I had a shitload of science homework, and someone told me I had pretty eyes :) So that's nice. Not the first thing. The second thing.

I should be writing, but...I haven't. I've written too much of that story just to forget about, but it's hard to be inspired, you know?

Yeah. I'm trying to think of something else to write here, but, you know, nothing's coming to me.

So...

Yeah...

STRAWBERRY: 1

I guess I should be going over my English essay to make sure it has "a strong topic sentence that clearly explains HOW the use of a particular element helped to enhance the work of literature, or a strong topic sentence that explains how say, Dickens' uses the Gothic motif more effectively than Bronte, because ...(reason)..." Yeah, I hate English. Maniscalco would say that what I wrote and what he requires is the difference between analytical and whatever the hell else (because I don't feel like thinking of a fancy term) but who the hell cares? I just so don't feel like thinking about anything.

This stemmed from a) my innate laziness regarding revision, and b) I had a little mini-breakdown when I looked at my science homework only to find he went over NONE OF IT in class, and reading the text book didn't help at all. I don't know the difference between a molecular and empirical equation, or whatever the hell it was. I MUST BE TAUGHT THINGS. DAMMIT.

Oh yeah, and, I went to Small Engines today during lunch :D I get the feeling that every time Kim invites me, she doesn't want me there the next day. Okay, that's not a feeling. Whatever. I talked to Up! Again! Yeah, I hate calling him that. He will be Wezzers. Anyway. He thinks I'm an idiot, and even though he's a jackass, I really wanna talk to him again to prove him wrong =.= Yeah, it's not going to work, but I MUST ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE. Haha.
His argument was that there is no right and wrong, only what society tells us is right and wrong; my argument was that in place of a judge society had to say so. Oh, and he's also damn conceited and, ehhh, self-assured in his own correctness. BUT he didn't notice when I called him Wezzers. Strawberry: 1.
And now I take my leave. This was meant to be written yesterday, haha.