december, 2009

Currently reading: Wuthering Heights, Slaughter-house Five, & Maximum Ride #2 (Manga version).

Currently listening to (like right this very minute): Queen, Death Cab for Cutie, & Radiohead.

“…she was in love, according to the present universally received sense of that phrase, by which love is applied indiscriminately to the desirable objects of all our passions, appetites, and senses, and is understood to be that preference which we give to one kind of food rather than to another.” (ll.27-31, Anon.)

Usually it’s every Wednesday that my AP Literature teacher gives us an essay, but today in his absence, we received this week’s early. This was an exerpt of the second passage which I scribbled down fast in my notebook, because I liked it so much. The carefully coordinated phrase: “according to the present…phrase” is what made me laugh, because the meaning of “love” is changing so often.

I am getting a Tiffany’s necklace for Christmas :). Shallow? Me? No. But I do adore that little blue bag, containing that little sky blue box wrapped in a white satin bow sitting under my twinkling tree. It just looks at home there. Too bad that’s the first present I’m ripping (carefully) out from under said tree come Christmas morning. & after that, I will wear it every day. So those of you who know me…prepare yourselves for me to flaunt it. Not in an arrogant, bragging way, but like “EEEEK! LOOK! Ok. Carry on.”

I passed my Trig. test, barely, but I have really high hopes for my next one. Oh there’s another thing I lie to everyone about: my grades. WordPress, I will tell you this, it will be a miracle for me to pass highschool. What went wrong! That is what I don’t get. I know what I did: I was extremely lazy in both Chemistry & Government last year, as well as AP US History my 10th grade year, and had very poor end-of-the-year-report-card scores because of it. Acceptable. And so long as I can pass Adv. Alg./Trigonometry this year, no other class should really give me a problem. Actually, I just need to pass this semester (ends in January, after our Winter Break), and then the counselor has bumped me down to Algebra III, an on-level class, due to scheduling concerns. Much better teacher, much easier work. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling like a dumbass.

I have developed a dangerous habit, and can tell no one about it. WordPress, I can’t even tell you, because I have four people that care enough about me to ask, and it is no business of theirs to be rooting around in certain corners of my life. But I fear how long this habit is going to last. It is no real danger to my health, unless I’m stupid, so nobody jump to conclusions.

It’s as cold as ice outside. Oh how I wish it would snow. Maybe snow could inspire me, since snow boy could do it. Tehe. I tip my hat to those of you who got that horrible joke.

Yours truly has not yet had that sobbing, wretching cry that she so desperately needs this week. I’m getting in the shower soon — maybe it’ll happen then. How pathetic is that? When you have to schedule crying time. But crying and habit is how I let out that emotion deep inside me, y’know, the one that makes you want to scream as loud as your hoarse throat will let you? I would, but if I do it anywhere around here, someone or some stranger will come running, thinking I’m hurt or hurting someone. It’s not an angry scream, or a painful one; just “GAAAHHHH,BAHHHHHH,SAHHH!”, y’know? *shrug*

I had to post today, just so I could type and talk to someone. Funny: I talk to people all day, but I don’t feel like I’ve gotten what I wanted to say out until I write it down. I guess it’s because on here, wordpress, with you, I’m not interrupted by mundane thoughts, ideas, comments, and questions. & any comments I do get, I can ignore. 🙂

What would I do without you?

Surely go on strike against life.


Call me Miss Productive, baby.

Wow. Okay, so it’s been a while. A few months since I’ve really been active around here: again, sorry about that. I don’t really have any of my normal excuses. I’m trying out this whole “honest” thing for a while (which I’ve ironically cheated on a few times, but who’s perfect?), so that would just be redundant. I do have a job now :] Fast food. Gotta love it. And shovel it.

The things I love and hate most about my life right now: boys, writing, and piano. In that order.

Why boys, you say? Girls know. So you must be a guy yourself, to ask such an obvious question.

See, you boys like to be the bane of our existance. You do. As much as you tell yourself  ‘Hey, I’m a sensitive, nice guy, and I’d be a total catch if someone gave me the time of day.’ In reality, you’re probably hungry for social acceptance on the inside, craving for your next piece of ass (let’s be crude, & truthful) or for a chance to “relax from the oppressive women in your life.” Blah blah. Don’t we all want that, in the long run.

I will not bitch more about boys on this blog. For so long — TOO long — this whole f’ckin site was dedicated to boys. A boy. Whatever. And now that I’ve fought my way up and over that hurdle, I don’t want to start down another diseased path of longing and loathing, longing and loathing, irritated and obsessed. No thanks, I’ll take a buiscuit and a Tom Cruise clad in a white-button down, high socks, with dark glasses and a smile. Good god.

I have such a jumble of slight crushes and devilish temptations whirring about in my head that I can’t think straight. I want to become this badass poet and go run with the wolves, ‘n shit, but I also don’t want to do my work in my Creative Writing class. I want a glorious husband, but the boys I interact with are so mundane that my mind gets bored with them after a few weeks. None of them seem to interested in the old bitch-bat I’ve become either. So at least we’re on equal terms of distaste.

My life is speeding toward its “brand new beginning” and shit –SEN10R year, graduation, lifelong misery, 9-5, 8-CLOSING; dropped scholarships. A’s. My mother’s house for another two years.
So how’s your lifetime going? Going good?

And I can’t complain, because I’ve got a job, a car, (soon a paycheck to pay for said car, if I can succeed at said job), and this boyfriend-ish thing up in PA state. Any other girl might think herself lucky.


🙂 I want to stay in highschool, never leave my home, and having already graduated college all at once. But that’s just paradoxial. Is that the word?

“I Don’t Belong Here”

Very self-explanatory.

I don’t belong here.
Maybe on some mountaintop,
Maybe in the cool, green shade,
Maybe where the sand never stops,
but I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong here.
Maybe at a pub in Belguim,
Maybe near a cricket’s chirp,
Maybe in some Mayan kingdom,
but I don’t belong here.

I don’t belong here.
Maybe far from cursing shouts,
Maybe with hot cooked meals,
Maybe near fresh bamboo sprouts,
but I don’t belong here.

No, definitely not here.

I have news & an addiction. :P

My heart has stopped aching;
my mind is beginning to spin and whir with new ideas and confidences;
I have new outlets to express my anger and my kindness,
so maybe I will not feel as alone this year coming;
and the last flickering flame that I held for any boy is,
alas, at last,
dying out.

-cheers- To new beginnings?
No, this is no poem — it wouldn’t be up to my standards 😉 — those are just a few key points that I’m grasping as I head into this 2009-2010 school year. I have a little over 3 weeks before I start school again, and I couldn’t be happier to do so. I love summer because it helps you identify with yourself and your friends more than you are able to during the fall and spring times; if that makes any sense at all. When you are by yourself for so long, the time spent makes you look at every crevice of yourself; and when you aren’t required to see all of your friends every week, the specific acquaintenances you do seek out over the summer must mean more to you (consciously or subconsciously) than others.

Some goals of mine, like finishing up ‘Jasper’ or getting a great deal more writing done on ‘Base’, were not kept. It was not partially my fault: the laptop that I work on both stories on cut out on me, and I still have to bring it to a family friend to get it fixed. But we don’t have the money right now (financial instability), so I’m stuck with writing everything I must on pen and paper, unless I can get ahold of my mother’s laptop (which I’m on now).

But other goals that I didn’t know were going to be given to me did emerge: Candy, my personal trainer, for instance. She is helpling me a great deal to see the true person under this physical image. She’s helping me to stop giving myself excuses for the wrongdoings I’ve done in the past, and to, instead, look to the future and set accomplishable goals for myself. 2008-New Years, as my resolution I promised myself that I would stop caring what other people thought of my outside, and love who I was on the inside. And truthfully, there were some depressing days where I wasn’t sure if I could keep that promise or not, but I am proud to say that I am still standing strong on caring only about my opinion, and not of those judgementals around me. That I am happy about.

Another surprising twist that my mind had in store for me this summer was writing poetry. I was never too big-a fan of poetry in the past — sure, who doesn’t like some Shakespeare; but the complicated stuff, the poems that are 3945948059 pages long and spoken with “thees, thous, and doths” always irritated me.
But now it is as if my appetite for poetry is insatiable. I like writing it and reading over what I’ve written — heck, I even like editing it. && that’s a big difference from when I’m writing on my narratives, because I loathe editing those. It takes too long, and I always have writer’s block for a few days after I edit a long chapter.

But editing, writing, and understanding poetry is effortless.

ALSO I’ve come to a decision! In college next year, and for hopefully the next four years (after my Snr. year of course) I will be double-majoring in Psychology and English. My minor is going to be Zoology, only because the #1 college of my choice does not offer Zoology as a major.

I filled out my first application form this morning, for Moorhead-Fargo Minnesota, “MNU”. 😀

It is my top school.

My other choices: Twin Cities, MN (Minnesota State College); Seattle, WA [state] (University of Washington); and Billings, MT (University of Montana: Wildlife Conservatory & Forestry).

But Minnesota really sounds like the right place for me. I talked to a current student there (over the phone), and I was asking her all sorts of questions like campus size, people diversity, club diversity, & whether or not they have a Greek system. Because the Greek system fascinates me — I’m not sure yet if I’d like to pledge a sorority or not  (maybe too intense and “judgy” for my taste) — but the whole culture satisfies the inner-psychologist in me. =)

As a sidenote, to all my procrastination-loving peeps: I’m addicted to Balloono.

My Story

I have alot to share with you all, and this is one of the four things I have written since my computer was trashed. It blue-screened, I am currently using my mother’s laptop instead, and so I am not sure when I will be able to get back to regular updates for the blog. But I am going to try 🙂
I wrote this is an emotional state of melancholy — it is simply something that I wanted to get down on paper before the weak nuisances of my brain tarnished the facts and images I remember about that time period. The poetry is all mine, as sketch as it is, as are the fact and phrases. The time period was September 11th, 2001.

A story you’ve probably heard 1,000 times, from 1,000 different perspectives.

1st period, Fourth Grade

The day steel rained down;
The day over a thousand were found;
The day Americans ran for cover;
The day our history was changed forever.

September 11th, 2001 was as hectic and as sorrowful for your childrens’ generation as it was to those of you who are older. We, as children, had to sit or stand and watch as an unseen force dropped our world’s bottom right out from under it.
For me, a fourth grader sitting at a small metal desk, I was appalled at the confusion on the teacher’s television screen as the camera panned and the towers fell.
So many people died — so many jumped and burned that day; I felt privelaged to breathe, and also to live far away from New York City. As an aging teenager now, I can appreciate my teacher for allowing us to look on in silence as the deadly story was written, but I also curse her for damaging our youth with the footage of such a savage catastrophee LIVE.
I watched, with my own two eyes, the smoke billowing out from the first impact on the first tower, choking and stranding those people on the floors above it. I watched as secondary explosions rang out; as breathing, living bodies sailed towards the ground, and kept my eyes glued also to the frantic news reporter who was so positive our world was at its end.
And I saw, frozen with innocent fright, a second plane, giant, come into the television frame, soaring for the last time over the smaller New York buildings, before it carved a jagged hole in the upper middle half of Tower Two. The airliner sliced through glass, concrete, and steel like a hot knife sliding through butter.
I still recall that feeling of grounding, ultimate adrenaline as the last of my youthful innocence plunged into the streets below in a mass of steel, dust and bodies.

In one day so many firemen fought;
In one day so many hearts were distraught.
It is not a day we will ever forget–
we remember —
not as the day America was broken,
but as the day she was finally pulled together again.

Look, now.

I rid myself of the last amount of angst, the last remnant of my highschool crushes. Adeiu, bitches. :):


I thought about telling you
just sitting down and telling you everything I have felt in the past
But then I thought of our friendship, and the inevitable awkard glances,
and suddenly the strategy of telling you just doesn’t sound satisfying anymore.

My heart tells me that I should tell you
THIS is how I’ve felt, and because you did
nothing to reciprocate,
THIS is how I am moving on.

Yes, he has your name, but he is nothing like you.
He does not have your charm, does not have your quirk,
or your laugh.
But he does not make me hurt, and he will not put me through the things that,
unconciously ( ! ),
you have.

Whether or not you realized that your love for her
would kill me,
it still tore me apart.
And yes I’m pissed off.
Yes I look to a future without any nostalgia about what I could have been with you.

I lie well, don’t I?
You didn’t see through an inch of my facade, did you?
I’ve had a lifetime to practice it, my dear friend,
and you
above anyone else
should know how easy acting can become reality.

I’ve moved on,
and I’m not going to let you pull me back into the trap of
lusting you without an ounce of payment in kind.

Sunday, Burning.

This is just something I wrote yesterday after he left my house:


I have a red warmth
burned onto my skin,
and a boiling blaze jumping from my heart
to my thighs.
My God, he’s beautiful.
He has strong, comforting arms,
flat sides, and wow aren’t those eyes soulful!

My feelings for him haven’t dissipated
— they’ve hidden
under a dusty rock, in a dark room,
behind the lockers, under the floorboard
of my mind.
Yes it was physical
but he has a heart and a mouth that I both adore.
Badass he might be,
but romantic and tight he is too.

My little rebel
why not come back to me?
I may not always have it together,
but you are my ethical hero;
I want us to have something.
Love, come back to me.

I thought I was over this.
Apparently not.

Edit: I’d like to point out that this is not about the same guy as my last poem was.

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