"I wish we had Halloween off" and other stories and useless stuff I'm thinking that you probably don't care about.
But anyway. My nerves are just frayed this week. I'm leaving at 2 to go to a marching band clinic. We're not bringing any of our own instruments (thank goodness) but I should probably bring my stick bag or something. Then we have a game so basically I won't be home until sometime around 11. Then tomorrow. I have practice at 12:30, but a band-paid corn maze at 9:45 for breast cancer research if I feel like getting up then. Then we leave for competition and theoretically get back at 12:30 to unload the truck. I'll be home around 1:30-2, most likely.
sooo... My nerves are totally frayed, like I said. I don't think I'll be able to make it through, no lie. Yesterday we had a band concert, which was fine. But I'm just so frustrated and pissed off about everything. Every little bad thing pushes me closer to the edge. Everything makes me want to cry, or run away, or just go back to bed and hide under the covers.
What's worse, is that my stupid, angsty little teenage heart has got a bad case of wanderlust again and may have set its eyes on two guys at once. One of them is a different religion than me - wait, what is my religion? - no, my family, and my father would never approve. The other, I'm not sure if he can connect my name to my face.
My mind is totally churning and my emotions have no clue where to go so they're going everywhere. Right now, I kind of feel like I just ran a mile, then I was told that it didn't count and now I have to run it again. I'm sensing a giant meltdown post coming up in a day or two. Prepare yourself for the apocalypse. Sorry.
- I am afraid of needles.
-For almost the same reason, I am also afraid of tampons, but girls have to make sacrifices or die.
- There is a girl in the back of my head who is a confident bitch. There is another girl who is sweet and shy. Usually, they just mix wrong and I become shy and bitchy.
-I believe in magic.
-I hate telephones and hairdryers.
-I cry a lot. I am a very emotional person. Yet, since I've got some strange psychological mind problem, in my head crying = weak so I never let anyone see me cry. Everything makes me cry. Frustration, despair, hopelessness, jealousy, everything.
- I'm actually extremely lazy and I have to work really hard to get myself motivated.
- I want to rebuild myself. I'm kind of tired of myself. I'm revamping my life slowly, starting with my room and my wardrobe. Yeah, um, I'll let you know how this goes.
- I might like a guy who might know my name. If by a bizarre stroke of luck he does, he probably can't connect it to my face. But I might not like him. I'll let you know that too...
- I wish I was a good artist. But I can't draw to save my life, I can't sculpt or paint, I'm not very creative, I can't write and I'm not good at poetry, I'm not very good at sewing or mending, I'm not great at composing and I'm not outstanding at music...
- I think my life is boring. If my life happened to become a book, I wouldn't read it. I wouldn't even read the back cover. I'd stick it back on the dusty shelf in the very back where it belongs.
- All in all, I'm a boring, painfully normal person, and somehow this bothers me. The problem is, I think I'd probably have a coronary or a vasospasm if my life was actually interesting.
- Basically to sum up this whole thing, I'm going through mid-life crisis as a teenager. As in, who am I, what is my purpose, why am I so insignificant, etc. I give people advice for this kind of thing all the time. Hakuna matata, that's what I pretty much tell them. Sooooo... Whenever I start freaking out and practically hyperventilating (okay not really but still) I just have to sit myself down and give myself a pep talk. This is probably looks insane to anyone who stops and watches me for long enough. I mean, I don't think I look too insane, because I don't look like I'm talking to anyone else, or myself.... maybe? Anyway. I just have to ask myself, "are you afraid of this? are you afraid of that? are you going to remember tomorrow? are you going to remember when you're fifty? are you going to die? what's the worst? what's the best? then what are you afraid of?" And then I'll get all pumped and be like, "that's right, I'm not afraid of anything!" (*lielielielieliecoughcough... what?) and get going with a spring in my step. That spring usually rusts by the end of the hour.
But yea. Nothing is working and now I'm just rambling, and now you get to see the insane side of me.
I'm sorry. I'll shut up. It's hard to take my secrets seriously now, I bet. Ah well.
At the time my sister was 5 and I was 7. She'd always been the sort of skeptical type. Whenever my dad read us stories, she'd always stop him. "Nuh-uh. That couldn't happen. aren't real/can't happen."
When I was little, I believed in fairies. I wrote them letters, sealed them in envelopes that I drew all over, and hid them in the flowers outside in the evening. My mother wrote back to me, pretending she was the fairies. The envelopes were all decorated with glitter. I raced out in the mornings to find the little fairy letters. She told me the truth when I found one of my letters and asked her how she found it.
So hopefully now you know that I would still probably be writing to fairies had my mother not told me what was really going on. Oh well. If it were my sister, she would have none of that.
Back to the story. It is a month or so before Christmas. My mom and sister are eating breakfast. They are talking in low tones about something, and I hear them a bit more clearly as I come down the stairs.
Then my five-year-old sister says, "Mom, Santa Claus isn't real, is he." She doesn't ask, she just says it.
"Well," says my mother as she sees me, "I'm not quite so sure Cypress wants to know..." By then of course I already know the answer and she does too, but I pour myself a glass of milk as I hear my mother telling my sister what really goes on.
"Well it seemed kind of dumb anyway." She said this snottily as she wiped her mouth. "A big fat guy couldn't even fit down our chimney and a sleigh wouldn't fit on the roof. Reindeer can't fly."
My sister was sure a wise-ass five-year-old.
And I probably would still be believing in Santa Claus if it wasn't for her.
Go here. I just spent an hour signing every petition and clicking on the donation buttons on each page. I cried when I read the petitions. I felt warm and fuzzy when I clicked the little button. Am I making a difference? I don't know. But I feel fuzzy.
Go get your dose of fuzzy for the day.
I just wrote 2090. Maybe I’ll die on October 18 2090. Ah well. I’ll be 96 years old, I think. Not bad. [My goal is to reach 106 years old so I can see 2100. I'm such a nerd.]
Anyway, the real reason I’m here writing is to complain.
- I have a long list of things that I should be doing but I really want to just chill out for one day in my life. Yesterday I spent all day volunteering at the museum. It was fun because I got to talk about whales, but still. My throat is sore now from having to talk so much.
- My hair is disgusting and I have to shower but I’m too afraid of getting cold when I take my clothes off and then when I get out of the hot shower. Plus, I don’t feel like being wet for the next two hours as my hair dries because I hate hair dryers. Oh, the difficulty of beauty.
- I have to do lots of math, plus I have a quiz tomorrow. Dammit.
- I have another practice writing test tomorrow. I missed the preparation class because of the stupid arts festival that I had no choice but to play in.
- My throat hurts.
- I’m cold.
- I’m pissed off.
- I still don’t have a boyfriend.
- My mother is nagging me to do this stupid reflections shit (wow, I was listening to music and they sang reflection as I was writing it… omg it just happened again on that next one!) and I can’t think of anything for “Beauty is.” Nothing original. She wants me to write and perform music. I don’t.
- I have to get my stupid govschool essay done today or tomorrow (today since I know I’ll want to do it even less tomorrow) because it’s due Tuesday.
- I have to make sure Myers got my recommendation done.
- I also emailed him begging to let me turn in my seminar sheet tomorrow (since I forgot on friday), and commented that I liked his choice of music -he was blaring Beatles in his office after the game, and he said yes and asked me what I was talking about. Now I feel dumb. I have to explain tomorrow since I don't feel like emailing him.
- I have to get up early tomorrow.
- I have to get fruit orders from the Wagners and the Judds and Mrs. Hart, since I signed up for her.
- I have a long list of revamp things but now I kinda don’t feel like revamping if it means work. I’m too tired.
- I discovered Neon Neon’s Stainless Style. I like the album a lot and almost illegally ripped it off the internet. Last week, I remembered that I ripped off Owl City's Maybe I'm Dreaming.... Then I felt guilty but I’d already ripped off I Told Her On Alderaan. (Hold on… I'm copying this into my computer journal, and I'll probably put it on my blog too since I'm that bored... Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker. Leia Organa. *snaps fingers* [It didn't recognize Organa.] Aww, dangit. I thought that my computer was recognizing Star Wars words.) So… I’m trying to convince my mom to buy it, since it’s very 80’s sounding and my dad might like it, but it has 3 explicit rap tracks that I don’t like and daddy might say no because of that. Ah well.
- Somebody to love? No. Thanks anyways for trying, Queen.
- No one ever emails me back, I get like 5 emails a day… usually two nags from my mom, a falcon forum, a high school youth ministry, and maybe one from a friend. People, you are not allowed to have lives! You have to be online all day like me! Argh. This is sad that this upsets me so. *nerd*
- I want to watch the Little Mermaid. I think I will. Bye.
A ten on sunday list! ooooooooooooo
10. iPods and iWhatevers.
9. Family guy. The show just uses old jokes.
8. "Green" movement. Really, buying a cloth bag does not save the environment unless everyone in the country does it. "Ohh, I'm so green"
7. "Emo." I hate the wannabe emos. Emo is a very real thing. But also, it's just a bunch of whiny kids. The wannabes are what throws it over the edge for me though. This gives way to the next two things.
6. Converse. As much as I love Converse, this is such a wannabe emo thing if you do it wrong. "ohhh I'm so emooooo"
5. Bands like My Chemical Romance and Hawthorne Heights or whatever. While I like them I hate how they are labeled emo because they are not.
4. Starbucks. really. Expensive coffee that in truth is not that great. But I admit, it is fun once in a while.
3. Being the loner. It looks so glamorous in movies and books, and the loner guy character is always hot/cute and always sad looking. But for real. Being a loner is not as fun, and most loners stay loners. Cinderella is wrong.
2. Obama. I mean really. He needs to walk all of his talk before I believe him. He has good intent and I respect him as a person but so far he's barely proven himself as a good leader. He's not even "black" he's "multi racial" and I'm sick of the first-black-president crap and the Obama apparel and the he's-black-so-we-need-to-respect-him. Race is so touchy. I could write a whole 'nother post on it. He seems so much more celebrity than president right now, though, whether he intends that or not.
1. High school. Ugh.
Now that I've whined about all that and look like an asswipe... haha.
But, to me, it sucks. For one, it doesn't fit right. I tried to move it over, or squish it down, but I can't figure it out. Of course, I could just pick a skin that fits. (but the rest are ugly! Or they just don't match the blog well.) Or I could just put it on the bottom, but I don't want to do that.
I did change the colors, though, they are less dreary. Me likes them.
However... back to the bad stuff. Some of the songs don't work, and I wanted to put on some new ones, but they didn't work either. The songs are Rainbow Veins and Early Birdie by Owl City (good band), No Surprises and Reckoner by Radiohead, and Hero/Heroine by Boys Like Girls. How annoying. So I deleted them. They are good songs, though, so go look them up. Owl City is especially awesome.
So... That's it, rant over. Thanks for reading.
I kinda want it back. I do kinda wanna be in love. It's a nice, fuzzy feeling, I'm ashamed to write. I mean, I thought I liked one guy but was that just because he started dating some girl? (By the way, she dumped him because she "missed her old boyfriend", so now he's going out with someone else and a few weeks later so is she... who happens to be one of his friends. *sigh* Girls. However, his friend was the one that did the asking, and I am not aware that this was planned by his friend to spite him. I don't think he would do that. He's too strange. I'm honestly kinda surprised that his friend isn't actually gay. Yes, that was mean of me to say, but it really was a bit of a shocker.)
Anyway, enough of me being catty, back to the whole purpose of this post.
It really is a beautiful thing. While it does tear you apart and leaves you crying in the darkness, it definitely is something worth it to fight for. It's fuzzy. It makes you smile just thinking about it.
You stay up at night, wondering if he's wondering about you. (If you're me, he's probably not.) You do everything just to impress him, and while he never really notices, you still feel better. You pick the petals off of dead flowers, frequently landing on he-loves-me-not and doing it over because that flower had a petal that fell off in the first place anyway. Right? Riiiiight. You search the internet and all your old yearbooks for his pictures, so you can sigh and stare deeply into his eyes without it getting too awkward.
You watch him when he talks, and smile when he smiles. Every song you hear makes you think of him. You wish on shooting stars that he'll notice you. You smile at him just to see if he'll smile back, and then you trip over something. He may or may not laugh, depending on if he noticed you.
You go where he goes, in a non-stalkerish way, of course. You write pretty poetry in your journals. You might even fit his last name up with yours, just hypothetically, of course. You giggle with your friends about him (or if you're anything like me, you keep it and take your secret to the grave, giggle to yourself, and look insane to your friends and passers-by).
You do something stupid and look over your shoulder to make sure he wasn't watching. You dedicate your every victory to him. You become a much more shy, insecure person. You lie awake at four in the morning, crying. You would go to the ends of the earth and back for him.
You play over imaginary scenes in your head where you actually talk to him. You remember every conversation you have had with him, and realize hours later how dumb you probably looked. You try to impress him, you try to make him laugh... Just being near him makes your heart skip a beat. You worry when he's not at school, your brain whirring into overdrive, dreaming up a million horrible things that could have happened to him. When you pray for your family's and friends' protection and happiness, you pray for his too.
You sit by yourself and daydream. His face haunts your dreams. Every journal entry you write mentions him somewhere. Your friends wave their hands in your face as you stare off at apparently nothing. They laugh at you if you tell them, but you don't care... or at least you pretend not to. You love him more than chocolate when Georgie's here, you love him more than a fat kid loves cake. You want him more than the desert wants rain, more than Miley Cyrus wishes she had real talent. You love him, you want him, you need him, yet you know that could never happen.
And so you fight for it. You fight for love. Something as stupid as that. Like bombing for peace and fucking for virginity. Fighting for love. A walking oxymoron (Taylor, three more for you).
But do. Do fight for love, and all the pain it brings. Love is a battle. Love is a truly wonderful thing, for without it we are bare calloused creatures. Sometimes I fear we already are...
I feel inspirational. The thing is, I think maybe I am (in love, that is). I think there maybe is someone who is starting to be all those things I talked about.
Here we go again.
I hope I'm right about that, or I'll have been hopelessly profound and dorky sounding for no reason.
Well, I see you've just had the imponderable joy of stumbling onto the blog of an 18-year-old girl who can't really describe herself in 500 words or less, such as in little text boxes like these. She didn't intend her blog to really become so much like her online diary (she was hoping it would have an interesting, helpful purpose to serve the world and all) but blogging is just kind of fun. This girl's a bit of an environmentalist and a full-tilt vegetarian, a bit of an artist who can't draw, a bit of a writer who can't find time to read, and a completely hopeless romantic. She enjoys white chocolate, coloring, wading in creeks, music, Doctor Who, and speaking in third-person when it's unnecessary like this.
Now go read the rest of the blog and meet her, if you like of course. :)