Violent rash strokes of paint on a clean white canvas. A beautiful pain. A brilliant, pure, clean, natural antithesis. I've made a mess, and finally, no circumstances. In haste, I grasp a knife, the possibilities, foreboding. One strike, and I rip the beauty away with my bare hands. Twice more, let's not count. Tired. I stare at my skin. One tiny piece with no imperfections. I long to strike something full, intact. One last thought at the irony of this situation. Plunge. I just ruined the last thing that was ever perfect. It had to be so. It was deceitful.
I need someone, a person to talk to. Someone to care, to love... Could it be you? Could it be you?
Violent Femmes is good depressed/pissed off music.
So yeah. UH. I finally got around to editing my portfolio. I am proud of it, even though there's not much to it just yet.
Abstract Memories
Also, I highly recommend this book. Good read, good read. Good form, Eric Schlosser.
Fast Food Nation:The Dark Side of the All-American Meal
Absences count towards exam exemptions.
PIECE OF CRAP.
Also, I am of late obsessed with "River" by Joni Mitchell.
God, give me dreams of peace. He took it away. I wished on a fallen eyelash, on a dead dandelion. I wished, a prayer sent skyward toward you, God. See how faithful I can be? For less profound circumstances, I wonder to myself why's a dandelion a weed? I think to myself how much I'd miss the dandelions. Funny, how I can trust my heart to something dead. Not to worry, I didn't give it all my heart. I prayed a prayer for happiness, for peace. Asking for the impossible, I will never receive His gift. But happiness seems attainable.
Don't tell me what's got to be cut out. Don't tell me I'm outside the lines. Nothing's out of context when I'm writing of myself. Oh, is that what this is? It is!, I tell myself defensively. I'm not above mocking myself. Self-deprecation can be constructive when you've got enough ego to compensate. I don't need to take this so seriously. See, that's the trouble. You don't have enough ego to compensate. All of this is just self-loathing.
I have written myself to a standstill. I cannot go on, with an objective view. I do not know whether or not I love myself. Or care about myself. Or maybe one but not the latter? Or is it there but I'm not using it? Do I have the capacity to love myself, care for myself? Am I feeling sorry for myself or is any of this legitimate? Ground me, someone. Or don't.
Pancake eating contest results stand:
G- 12 pancakes
Justin- 11 pancakes
John- 10 pancakes
Mind you, Justin and John both had lots of food aside from the pancakes. Justin had the whole combo. John had 2 plates full of food at Mandarin Chinese buffet, a full pot of coffee with creamer, I think two glasses of water, lots of hot sauce, 2 eggs, sausage, hash brown AND 10 pancakes with strawberry syrup. And he had to work after that, too. (I copied and pasted that from a conversation : )))
I'm smart. Then again, your choice of words makes it pretty easy. "Oft" and "strange bonds," the suicidal tendency in your speech, even the vague slighty detached manner....come now... I didn't think you read my journal. Disturbing. Stupid Jessica... Anyhow. I am justifiably bitter. Hold it against me if you like; as long as I have an excuse to tell myself, it won't bother me.
And I don't know where I was going with this exactly.
I'm feeling like writing something nostalgic today. Something nostalgic that never actually happened. I always do that. Think about things with such happy remembrance, then remember they didn't happen. Or not to me anyway. If I paid myself too much mind, I might feel something real. Real happiness, real pain. Funny, how long I've strived to capture that reality, and now I don't want it. I suppose I'm probably afraid of hurting. So let's just ignore it for now. I'll just think about it abstractly, and it's fine that way. But damn, I don't think it's that far away. I don't think I'm too far from the floor. Maybe I'll reach it on my own, alone. I'd be nearly the first. In love with no one. Maybe I never said goodbye to my imaginary friend. Why am I thinking again? I thought all of this was so foolish, and it was nice that way. I thought, how grown up I've become forgetting about it. But something's drawn me back, and I don't know what it is. I'm starting to believe my own bullshit now. How something meaningless can never bring happiness. Maybe...Maybe I've just come too far now. Maybe I'm just too sick and tired of pretending and dreaming and expecting things that won't happen. I'm tired of having hope. But even if I gave it up, it would only come back to me. Man. That's. Hope won't give up on me. I want to laugh now. My eyes are tired now. My head is exhausted. My hands are cold and my face is warm. My face is soft, receptive. Wouldn't they think so? Wouldn't they love my hair or my soft face the most? Momma said there'll be days like this.
As of right now, I am pretty sure I have to take the following exams:
3rd-AP Psychology
6th-AP Government
8th-Precalculus with Perrin (Hence, practically AP)
In other news, I am not going to band tomorrow. I have already done the semester exam stuff and I am a Senior. So there. And I aced the playing test, by the way. I was awesome. (Of course, now saying this, I will probably get like 5th chair or something)
We had group presentations in English today. (the ones people did for an extra credit grade) Karla and Landon, Melanie and Stephanie did fencing stuff. Allyson was there because she didn't want to go to her next class. Slacker! Mark and Buck did a trivia board game of sorts. And a group did a scavenger hunt. They gave us our first clue in the classroom and had a person posted at each station to give out the next clue. We were running down the halls like banshees. (I have really been wanting to use that lately) The attendance office people looked at us like we were insane. I felt like a little kid again. FUN. My group was the first to make its way back to the room followed very closely by Landon's. Daphne made it to the door less than 2 seconds before him. Literally. We got mud pie stuff. And a teacher lady from upstairs came down to yell at us for being loud. Oops. Anyway, I really don't know what the significance of this was, but I felt like sharing so there.
I think I might go watch the episodes of GTO my sister leant me now. Yay! I can sleep in! (Sort of)
There is a boy sits by himself during lunch. Maybe he rather likes it that way. Maybe he's finally discovered a happy break in this alone time. He appreciates it perhaps. Sometimes, he sits at the other table. But he must feel so out of place. No. I shouldn't say that. People aren't like me. I would sit by him, but I won't. I can't. What a shallow person I must seem. Maybe I am. But I don't mean to be; I don't want to be.
Sometimes I wonder why we get so wrapped up in pleasing other people. We want to please others to please ourselves, yes, but I do not believe these are so tightly intertwined that they cannot be of separate entities. Why can we not, in essence, just try to focus on pleasing ourselves? I suppose that is what I have been trying to do for so long in this "me" period of mine. Because I think I see it now. I used to feel the emptiness in the words, but now I know they are weighted. Waited. *Hm.* I can feel their truth. I will worry about making others happy when there is need. There is no one I need to make happy right now but myself.
Nearly finished with the college apps. Finally. But turning all of them in means I'm helpless. Only one last one to finish. Notre Dame of course. EEK.
Something that is meaningless can never bring happiness.
But what if I lose the one thing that means everything to me? (I don't even know what it is...) Is that the kind of pain I'll feel or is it the result of a tragedy of a lesser degree? I think that's the only thing that will ever make me stop seeing any good in the world. Because it's the only thing that will ever make me stop searching for it. The loss of which might make me lose that innate vice for life. What is it?
Would I ever miss caring?
Glenny
Jenny
Joy
Jeremy
Josh
Shawn
This is ME.
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