Writing for the Masses
It's been a long while since I've told you anything. I got a new computer Wednesday...For free. It's a very nice one, too. The "Genius" Bar couldn't fix the flickering screen, so they just said they'd give me a new one. One that's way better than the one I had. It's a new iMac with a CD Burner and a 15" flat-panel screen, and it came with it's own speakers. Now I just need to get a subwolfer and I'm set. I've been feeling pretty alone lately. Well, actually, since Jessica and Becky left. But it's really getting to me now. Yesterday in church, I was going to walk over to Allyson to ask her what she was doing and see if she wanted to go with Jessica and me to the Pho Noodle House that recently opened in town. I swear she saw me walking over, and she just left church kind of fast. She probably already had plans to do something with Melanie, Karla, and Landon. So be it.

Jessica came over, though, and that was fun. My parents bought coffee ice cream-I insisted- and that was greatness. Anyway, now my brother is trying to tell me I need to change my essay, too. AGH! I already edited it so much. And I can't add any more words to it! There are already too many words...Egh.
  ¶ 18:17

  Earlier This Time
34 service hours to go. My cough is shallow; I am sick. I sleep in 15-minute increments because it's all I can manage.

I'm so bitter. I dislike-even sort of hate-so many people for hurting me. I judge them because they hurt me, when that's not all they are. If I weren't such a desperate person, I know I wouldn't have such faith in people. I wouldn't give them another chance past my first impression. And I wouldn't question it. Because why should I give them another chance? They don't even want one; they don't even know that I don't like them. And they wouldn't care if they did know. But I make myself think that my opinion of them is important somehow, even without them actually caring for or wanting my approval. I don't like this about myself.

Things that are bothering me:
-DI team. Always has.
-People who IM me but don't actually want to talk to me. Ever.
-People who could care less if I was a friend of theirs.
-Allyson
-My Aunt and Grandfather's very condescending natures
-My Aunt and Grandfather's exclusive-ness towards my mother...
-Mostly my Aunt
-Somewhat my Grandfather
-Not having my car
-Not having air-conditioning in my car
-The fact that to get the AC fixed, it would cost nearly $1000, which is only slightly less than half the value of the whole piece of crap
-The fact that the car was fine and nice and good before I got it
-People who have nicer cars than I
-My jealousy issue
-My bitterness issue
-Not being able to forgive. Refer to above statement.
-My sensitivity issue
-Not being able to capture the best in me...er.
-Colleges
-Senior year
-My being sick
-Not being able to sleep because I am sick
-Not knowing what I wanna do
-What'm I actually best at over others? RR.
-So few friends that actually care; thanks Glenny : )
-No one likes me : (
-Not having my computer here
-Having to remember to make a dentist's appt. to fill a cavity
-Having a cavity that came from out of nowhere, since I was good with tooth-brushing and flossing and everything
-Having to reschedule an appt for the allergist for my damn skin
-Having them cancel on me, and not even try to get back to me about another appt.
-My webpage sucks, and my writings are boring
-I'm boring
-No money
-I never make good lunches for myself
-Bad lunch stuffs-my parents’ faults actually
-It’s hot in here damn it
-That there are so many things on this damn list
-My grades suck this year
-I suck at math. This is new.
-No job
-Band issues
-I don't like my appearance : (
-Except, my hair is pretty darn cool
-Being EXCLUDED. Refer to DI/EVERYTHING.
-Oh, especially being excluded because I'm not smart or creative or funny or cool enough. Refer to DI.
-Not ever being thought of (regarding various situations)
-Being so damned paranoid. Refer to almost everything on this list.
-Not being able to remember everything that bothers me
-Not being able to fix it

I really don't feel well.

  ¶ 00:12

 
Andy stole my space ghost icon.

Which I stole from... Jessica I think...? Something like that, so yeah.   ¶ 16:22

  wonderful haiku
wonderful haiku

I don't know. Check it out. See which ones I posted, if you can guess. Probably can. Post your own if you like. Lodie would appreciate it, I am sure.

...that would be like having wings and never flying." "Oh... like a chicken? Or a duck? Or a penguin...?" "...See, I could never be a chicken..."

I am repellant, I've noticed. I am also pathetic, and I am vulnerable. But I'm strong. How come certain people get things that other people don't when they didn't do anything extra?

  ¶ 16:21

  I wrote again in Psychology, hoping they were looking on.
A flowerpot lies on the porch, the flowers late for blooming, whilst I sit in endless silence. I surprise her; she didn't know I was aware of her presence.

"Hi."

I had considered letting her revel in her anticipation. But I'm a selfish girl. Sorry Christiane.

"You're being anti-social again."

I just wanted to be ok with being alone. To keep something for myself, to myself... I suppose I'm more selfless than I thought. It's meaningless dialogue:

"You're going to have to do it sooner or later."

Actually, "later" is gone. There isn't time for "later".

She brought to my conscious all the dead; branches nestled. My stomach. Has your stomach ever dried up? I doubted so. Sorry for my condescending nature; it's what I have right now. I don't blame you for your lack of patience.

The guys were talking about love the other day. Love's getting a tough break these days. Or maybe it's always had a hard time. I just never noticed before? I wasn't at the age when it mattered before. No one believes these things exist. But they have to. They have to be-all these things I've been waiting for, these things: the source of my only true patience and my only true yearning. These things I've only ever wanted so consistently. They're not unimportant, they're not insignificant. They're not in vain, they're not superficial. Nothing can be superficial if you believe in it enough, if you've wanted it so much that everything that's ever been said about its extreme becomes understood, if you know the feeling that's so indescribable.

"...eating soon."

-Nod-

I wasn't looking forward to another country-style meal. I should feel bad; my mother works so hard on the meals everyday. But I would have been satisfied to make my own meal: typical angel-hair pasta mixed with a nice cheesy, creamy sauce. And ketchup. Butter, milk, and Velveeta cheese. Pour the ketchup over the cheesy, creamy noodles in generous amounts; it always look like more than it is. Mix. Parmesan cheese dressing optional. Not salad dressing...a dressing on top of a cake, or a spread...a correlated design. Yes. I should consider healthier meals. A sandwich, a tuna melt, chicken fajitas, the occasional serving of chicken marsala...Noodles are my fault in life. Love is my vice. Joan Armatrading again.

Self-actualization is a part of life.

I feel accomplished. So it goes.

-Sigh-

Despondent.

I am going, -flipside- I am coming.   ¶ 23:54

  A hole in my stomach means no sleep
Look at all those stars, look at how goddamn ugly the stars are

I forgot anything important-or at least entertaining- I was actually going to say. I signed up for bus one again. Even though all my friends are on bus three. Again. And anyway, why couldn't they join bus one? Whatever then, they'll see each other another two years, and I'll be gone soon. But it's fine. Really it is. Screw that. I will just have to bring something to read or listen to music. All that stuff for the lonely, which only makes me more lonely. ...Only the lonely... It is fine. I am fine. None of that stupid melodramatic shit anymore.

I would hate to be bitten by a brown recluse. You know, the bite will start eating away at your skin until there's a hole down to your bone... I always kind of wondered what it'd be like to have a hole in my hand or something. Like the hole in my ear but bigger. And to see my bone. I imagine it...quite strange. Precal test on Friday. If I fail, I'm going to really be irked. It was an elective...or optional, anyway. I feel a sense of relief...like I can relax because this is my last year here, with all these people. I can be myself finally. And yet it's difficult because I'm so used to being somebody else.

I missed another opportunity at stardom. Auditions for the fall theatre production were yesterday and today. Oh well. I have the spring. Come spring, there's no holding back.

I don't feel well. If G got me sick, I'm going to be really really mad. I am NOT taking exams this year, damn it!


  ¶ 22:40

  Gothic Paladin
I almost went to bed before I had to. Almost. And then I decided to get on the computer again and check my e-mail. I vowed not to get caught up in IM conversations. The Young and the Restless is currently doing a skit about meeting people over the internet, and all the consequences and circumstances, and all that comes along. My mother pretends she cares now; she's been educated by her lovely soap opera. The internet is a bad place for kids! How superficial that is to me. I think so many of the times how superficial those things are, and it matters not that perhaps I might agree with their view of the issue. I simply will not let the television influence me; I will not base an argument solely or even partially on television material, the content of which is poisoned with biase. And so it goes. Just the statement regarding death. So it goes. "The [journalist] hath read [Slaughterhouse Five.]"

I have several things I should be doing. I am not doing a one. It smells like peanut butter cookies in here. I wonder if it's my feet.

College stuff, essays, schoolness, bandness, community serviceness, more and more, more, more community serviceness, senior yearness... so much to think about and never any time to do it when it's ideal for me. Damn.

Strangers is special to me. It is meaningful to me, just the way it is. It is killing me, editing it. I feel like... Agh. My mother was mad because I thought all of her editing suggestions were stupid. Sorry. I'm brutal when it comes to that.

I hate being on the bus alone. I hate it. It's where I came up with all my sad soothsayings last year. "Sooth?" You may ask, to which I will reply, "I don't know..." I hate being alone when it's not my choice. Unfair.

Happiness is a warm gun and a double-homicide... I wouldn't have it any other way. Actually, I wouldn't have it any way. Suicide? No... Thanks, though. I realize I wouldn't be happy killing them away; they would only stay in my memories forever. I used to think homi- was the same as homo-... imagine the possibilities.

I didn't think Andy from thedose.com would get back to me on my inquiry about his The Rudy Letters. Let alone so soon. I was amazed. Sadly, he couldn't appreciate Letters from a Nut nearly as much as I. Really, who can't appreciate a letter about a mannequin in a store that resembles the inquirer's dead neighbor? Or who can't appreciate a letter regarding stadium seating and etiquette? I can, at least. Now, sadly, I am reading into this whole thing again. I am flattered he got back to me so quickly, at least. Wahoo! Andy is a metrosexual. Fun to say. manbag! : )) fuckass! I was so sad when I thought the girl had died...she said fuckass with such enthusiasm. Donnie Darko is a pretty piece of mancandy, and I don't care who knows it. Ummmm. I hate randomness sometimes. This is not even meaningful randomnity... I am irked.

I will be very very annoyed if our senior shirts for band aren't choice...and our prank...I will be even more annoyed if it sucks. In other news, Coby Almond won a new very choice iPod from his church and I am freaking jealous and I want it. Too bad I'm not a compulsive kleptomaniac. And it is free to take the ASVAB test.   ¶ 00:50

  Rainy Days are Here
Allyson says she hides being unstable better than I do. What the hell? I don't try to hide it. And I resent this for some reason. You don't think I know that you think about hurting yourself sometimes, Allyson? But what could I do? I just acted normal...normal is so much less painful than acknowledging the issue. Unstable is normal. You say you know that I am unstable because I am obvious...I never tried to hide it. You never acted any different with me than anyone else....I was suicidal so many times...But I am too afraid to die, I could never try. I could only embrace death if it came along bychance. I used to wish cars to hit me...I used to want to die in my sleep. I'm too afraid of the pain, and yet it never hurts as much as I thought it would. I cut myself once...it didn't even hurt. Razors are easy tools. If it's news to you Allyson, everybody is unstable. We all think about killing ourselves once in a while. Stable is not the absence of these thoughts, but the smallest amount of cowardice we have that stops us. I thank God for my cowardice... I am stable and unstable. So are you Allyson. So are we all.


"It hurts to be so in love with someone and be on the outside. Because they don't want to 'hurt' you." "Tell her that no worthwhile relationship is free of pain, and if you do not understand what it is to hurt, you cannot understand what it is to love."

"She does not believe there is love; she does not believe it exists."

"Love is a person's ability to care for another person despite all of their problems. It is the ability to trust someone with everything and know it will be for the better. Even a gothic poet like I understand that.

"I know what it is. I am a hopeless romantic. Sadly."


There are so many things...I cannot say. I cannot say because I will only hurt myself.   ¶ 17:38

 
Insanity. John Ritter and Johnny Cash both died last night. John Ritter was only 54! My father is 57... Johnny Cash was 71. Ironic that I watched Three's Company last night; I have never really seen an episode in it's entirety, ever, actually. Last night, I watched two. Perhaps I am precognizant or something. Insanity. Hurt, though sad, is a beautiful song. I have always appreciated it, and Johnny Cash's version is goodness.

I got my college application essay back from the teacher today. She said I have very advanced writing skills and style; YAY! I need to cut some things out, though, because it is too long. She also said to be more clear about the point and how it relates to me before I send it off to the colleges. Understandable. But I will not tweak it much. I am attached to it... It's my baby. Or something.

I told Douglas, "I'm lucky; I almost blew everything over for myself...I guess I just kind of did; damn it I always say so many things I want to say and they always hurt me..." I am not sure why. Now he wants to know what I am talking about, and I really don't know. It's some random thought that came to my head. I can only gather that I must have been thinking about how impulsive I can be at times. He thinks it has something to do with him. Does it? It might...I don't really know for sure. He said I was up there on his list of friends: Allyson, Jessica, Mike, Jeremy, and Joseph... Yay! : ) I thought I was annoying to him. I am pretty damn annoying at times; I really think this is true. I am actually not saying this to get reassurance or anything. This is a very rare occasion.

It was strangely refreshing being alone in my car yesterday. Even whilst no one noticed me there, alone. I was there for a good 30 minutes or so. Just sitting there in the car in the parking lot. I read some of my old thoughts and papers, I reflected upon my more recent past. It was good I think. But then I was alone again today. No one invited me along to eat with them. I was unwanted again. And yet, I sort of don't care. Screw them if they don't want me along. I'm fine being on my own. Screw them for leaving me alone on the bus again this year. I know that every time I ride the bus to games, I'm going to be sad. No one talks to me, I am alone. They don't really acknowledge I'm there, actually. But at least I can touch the guy's hair in front of me. I did that today. Twice. He didn't notice. He is one of those popular kids, too. I just really wanted to touch his hair. So I did. And I can't remember what it felt like-maybe I think pretty nice- but it couldn't have been as soft as Landon's. Nobody's hair can compare with Landon's, softness-wise. It might have been the action of actually touching his hair that made me happy, but I couldn't really say. But mine was soft and clean and light today; it was nice.

I got stopped by a cop on the way home. I knew he wasn't going to give me a ticket when he said he didn't need to see my copy of insurance, etc. Yay! I was only ten miles over, at 12 AM, with no one around, on a country road. Still. I got off! Wahoo!

We played the fight song...7 times tonight...I think? 6 or 7. And 5 times last game.


Good song, really it is.
I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
the only thing that's real
the needle tears a hole
the old familiar sting
try to kill it all away
but I remember everything
what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I wear my crown of shit
on my liar's chair
full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
beneath the stain of time
the feeling disappears
you are someone else
I am still right here
what have I become?
my sweetest friend
everyone I know
goes away in the end
you could have it all
my empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
if I could start again
a million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
  ¶ 00:53

  I Love You Dearly, Blue. Don't ever forget.
Every year, the moments we mark for that day 2 years ago will become ever smaller. I am watching the rain slosh against the window, run down it with purpose. I hope it rains every year on this day. For them.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
  ¶ 14:31

  I want a light up buddha for my car.
I am really quite tired at the moment. I have already been cleaning out my closet, already getting ready for college. My sister came home on Sunday with Mike. She was complaining again about her work and how stressed out she is. She was talking suicide; she said her work was making her feel like if things were going to be that way the rest of her life, it wasn't worth living. I'm sorry, I don't mean to belittle her problems, but it's a job. She then proceeds to tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about at all, that I don't understand, that I don't know how lucky I am and that I am not at all stressed out, and have no right to be or to complain about it, and to "shut up!" and then stormed off. Excuse me?! I think I damn well do have a right to be stressed out! She is belittling my problems, if anything! I have to decide very soon now which college I want to go to and where I want to live for the next four years of my life. I have to decide whether or not to stay in Texas, and even if I do, my family will not be there with me. My parents are selling the house and moving away once I graduate, my older sister and brother will be in California, and Christi? I don't know where she'll be, but I doubt it will be anywhere near me. At least she has family here to support her, and when she's feeling down, she has them to talk to. I won't have that. She also stayed in the same place, so she already knew the area. If I move out of Texas, or even out of Dallas, I won't know practically anything about where I'm going.

I have been obsessing over something that Christina asked me yesterday. She wanted to know who my boyfriend was my sophomore year; I didn't have a boyfriend sophomore year... She said she went to our spring concert and she was sitting next to this guy and when she asked him who he was there for, he said he was there for his girlfriend Ashley, the second flute in the front row. Craziness! I was the only flute named Ashley sophomore year! Even stranger, she said he was "cute." Damn it! I want to know who this was! It is going to bother the hell out of me if I don't figure it out... : (( I am flattered, though, that someone liked me enough to say I was his girlfriend. I am amazed, because I am not really a cool person or anything. I am only mediocre! So I want to know who this was now...

I saw Douglas today in AP Gov class. God that was difficult. He wants me to explain what went wrong with him and Allyson. I really don't know, except he's not over Rachael yet, and Allyson is terrified of commitment. What was I supposed to say? I tried to assure him it was more Allyson than him, but I don't know. It's really odd, though. Douglas is one of the only people I feel is worthy of my compassion; I can really empathize with him. I am not sure why this is, but when he is sad, it makes me sad. That doesn't normally happen. Anyway, I don't know; it's hard to try to make him feel better when I'm not feeling all that great myself. I need to add some links to this. Like other people's journals and stuff. Anyway, ok.


I took the "What kind of God would you be?" quiz:

A: Mystic Buddha

You would make an excellent New-Age god, the sort of entity that becomes ever more difficult to understand the more you learn about it. You are attuned to the cosmos in such a way that the mystical and religious are one in the same. The universe is God, and you are the universe.   ¶ 18:41

  It's All I Can Do
Blogger was down again. I was thinking today in the bathroom as I often do, just sitting there, thinking. I think in the morning before I go to school; sometimes it's too long a thought and I'm late. I was thinking about Matt and how he wrote a questions entry. I was thinking about how I did that once about two or three years ago. (Obviously, since I've labeled it) And how maybe it's true guys don't mature as fast as girls. I was thinking about meeting someone older than me in college, and then that I already have a friend who is in college-John. And then I remembered, hey Becky is in college. I was going to call her or something. But we aren't phone people. We aren't really distance people, either. I was thinking about how sometimes I wish I could just wake up and still be in the eighth grade, still with my best friends, still giddy and happy, and carefree. I can't help dwelling on the fact that it just gets worse; things get more and more stressful. My mother keeps telling me, so many people keep telling me I'll remember senior year the most. True as that may be, it won't be because it was the best year; nothing can replace eighth grade. Nobody can replace Jessica and Becky. Nothing will fix this feeling that I'm intruding on someone else's group. I wasn't there from the beginning, I don't know so many things that I should know. I was part of that group, I was there from the beginning. I was that group. Jessica and I. We were that group; we started it. I felt I really belonged. I almost wish I could go back; I don't know if I would keep it this way if I could go back and if I could make them stay. I need to talk to Ally more often; Ally is a good friend. I should ask Ally to come with us on the trip after senior year. I think if there are more than just the two of us, we’ll get along all right. Plus Kevin told her I was selfish. Kevin hates me because he thinks that I am selfish. Thanks Kevin. At least I hate him for good reason; he's annoying. His reason sucks; while it is likely true that I am selfish, I never demonstrated any qualities of selfishness in front of him. What an ass. I am supposed to make my college admissions essay approximately 500 words. This is only about 80 words short thus far. That will be hard. Nebraska just won against Utah State. 31 to 7. They have a true-freshman second-team quarterback. Lord might need to worry a little bit about his position because Dailey is pretty good so far. The last true-freshman quarterback they had was Tommy Frazier. Dailey is good with passing, and he can run, too. He made a successful play Crouch-style. Bo Pelini is Nebraska's new Defensive Coordinator; the Blackshirts might be back. I am surely hoping. Bob must be pleased. Douglas says he likes the CD I gave him; I was worried because it seems to me that Douglas is kind of hard to please. And he thought my cover was cool, and that my drawing was cool. Yay. Allyson broke up with Douglas, and I am somewhat relieved for them, but somewhat confused; they must be much more confused. Poor Ally. Poor Douglas. But I think maybe Douglas wasn't ready to get into another relationship after all. I mean, he still hates Rachael…I don't know; time will tell. Ally shouldn't feel guilty. She didn't want to get hurt; she didn't want to hurt him. And some foresight is wise.

I am not nearly through.

AMBIVALENT Ashley. Ambivalence is my nature. I cry about it all the time. Don't ask me, I can't decide.

After all this other shit, I am still afraid of Collin Cable. Why? Why is this? I am just as good as you, Collin, I swear I am. So why do I feel like I'm not?! What you do, it's not fair.

692 words.   ¶ 16:16

  Watching Snow White
I’m always tired lately. I have been thinking this for the past 4 or 5 years. It all started around 8th grade, I think. I never used to realize I was tired before that; I’m not sure if I really wasn’t tired, or if I just never noticed that I was. I’m making up for all those years when I didn’t have to suffer fatigue, exhaustion. Maybe I got more sleep then; maybe I never worried. Maybe I had so much less responsibility then that there was no reason for me to be tired. Every day I am closer to the day I graduate; every day I am closer to that deadline; on one side of the line, I’m still young and I don’t need a job or any responsibilities, on the other it’s too late and I don’t have a job or responsibilities. I am then considered a bum. But I’m too busy to have a job! My schedule is too hectic! I keep telling everyone. They pay me no mind, and I am worried again. My toe feels like it’s broken again; it’s a distinct feeling… It happens a lot after I have done a strenuous amount of marching, and various other activities requiring the extensive use of my feet. We were held late today because the saxophone section couldn’t get the damn sets right; it wasn’t a difficult task by any means. They are just lazy, good-for-nothings. My old lady side is coming out. Anyway, this may qualify justification for my broken-toe feeling. And yet, I like this peculiar twinge, this strange pain; so I bend my toe, I put my weight on it. Like if I didn’t keep checking, it would soon disappear. How much I would miss it! I would miss it so… I knew it was “saxophone” and not “saxaphone,” I just didn’t remember. I am tired; that’s my excuse. See? I wasn’t lying; I really do blame everything on my “insomnia.” But it is “saxophone” and I am annoyed. I made such a point of it, too, in the band hall. And I was wrong all along. I have a feeling I have become irritating with my whole senior thing. I keep reminding everyone that I am a senior. I am a senior. ME. The writer of this jumbled progression of thoughts. As if you didn’t already know. I insist on reminding people, still. And no one should tell me what to do! I do not have to listen to underclassmen; and I don’t have to listen to JUNIORS, either, because I am a senior. And you’d better damn well not forget it. I was trying to DL three more of Gavin DeGraw’s songs, and that song “Light and Day” by The Polyphonic Spree (from that VW Beetle commercial). I am disappointed because I couldn’t find “Light and Day”, and the three songs by Gavin DeGraw have gone into “Requery Sent” mode. This is an all-too-often occurrence. Wait! Behold! One has gone back to downloading! “A miracle!” I say in that stuffy, pseudo-British accent! “It’s very close to my heart.”

My sister taught herself finger waves. Finger waves. “Finger waves” is an actual sentence in itself. Wow. That is neat. Finger waves would be a cool name for a band or something.

I love when guys in musicals become all bravado and sing a little number and start doing classic dance moves with recluse girls with potential. That is so cool. I am waiting for my bravado guy. Or they could make a role for a bravado girl.

“Brava”, as opposed to “bravo,” is a shout of approval for a female performer. “Bravo” is not specified to men only. : ))   ¶ 01:39

  Receptacle (for the respectable)
I have been looking around and through journals, being my usual snoopish self. I have still to read the rest of Slaughterhouse Five and the chapter or so of Computer Science, fill out the worksheet for it, the worksheet for AP Psych., eh. I am tired of listing these...I haven't yet listed my tasks for AP Gov. or Precal. --

I was looking through our copy of A Treasury of the Familiar the other day; the first time I discovered it was about the time I became infatuated with Hamlet. So much valuable among our library of books...

Ally liked the abstract design I made yesterday while we were talking. I left it over there.... It will get thrown away and die in misery. So it goes.

We watched Donnie Darko and The Neverending Story yesterday. I remembered Falkor was but one Luck Dragon of many. Who says they don't have smaller ones, ones that aren't as smart? Eh? And anyway... Dumb. Why can't you have a familiar smarter than you? You live with people smarter than you, right? All the time. That is dumb. Douglas is just too stubborn. Jessica insisted on Donnie Darko, I insisted on The Neverending Story. I am going to use Donnie's thoughts for my essay in English tomorrow. And why not? Why shouldn't I? Anyway, The Destructors was kind of messed up, but similarly interesting. Well, now I can discuss things with Nichole; she was asking me if I'd seen it quite a bit lately. He's such a superhero, being all selfless and everything. Well, whatever. This is a bad writing day for me; I have gone through and very briefly reflected what I have written, and it's really quite boring. But it's ok. You've got to have bad days sometimes. Sometimes, more often than not. Poor Cherita.

And I find it kind of funny/I find it kind of sad/that the dreams in which I'm dying/are the best I've ever had.

And somehow, I relate it to Twelve Monkeys. Anyone who has seen it can tell whether or not I'm talking shit, because I don't feeling justifying my thoughts on this at the moment. I already wrote it out once, and so there.

"Why are you wearing that stupid bunny suit?"
"Why are you wearing that stupid man suit?"



Frank was only human.   ¶ 14:11