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(Would you believe me if I told you I thought it would take longer for this batch to begin?)
I actually thought it would wait a moment. Like some sort of pause in between 2010 and 2011. A breather, if you will. But it didn't. It just kind of...
It seems sort of hypocritical, considering my last post of 2010 was very "Oh, New Year. Big Deal. Whatever." But apparently, it was some type of deal to me.
(First question of the year: Am i accepted in this family of 100words?)
1. I'll finally voice my thoughts out loud without fear of other people's opinions.
2. I won't deny the fact listed above.
Yes I care what people think of me
. Stop trying to pretend that you don't and learn to
get over it.
3. I'll stop lying to myself.
4. I will become a better person. Smarter, mature. I will be who I want to be.
5. I'll be stronger.
6. Love exists (not a promise. Just a reminder)
I had absolutely no idea what to write for this day. I tried ranting, conversations, and some type of Q&A thing (
Desperation levels at an all time high!
) But I still have absolutely no idea. And then I decided to write an entry about how I didn't know what to write for an entry, and so here I am. Writing.
So, my classes begin again tomorrow, and though I'm not dreading it, I'm not looking forward to it either. Break was too fun and easygoing. I'm not looking forward to waking up at dawn tomorrow.
I think that I'm too distant for my own good. I view, and see, and write down and draw. Jumping into large groups isn't what I do. To simply walk in, talk, laugh, is absurd. Unfathomable. I watch from a distance and record behaviors (like some amateur Psychologist) and then wait. For what? I don't know. Maybe for someone to notice that bystander and absorb me into the group, an invitation of sorts. A smile, and I can seep into their words. They don't do that, though. They see me, and then ignore.
I'll make my own worlds.
I hugged the souls tightly to my chest and kissed the small children on the forehead lightly. Their souls were light, small bubbles of innocence that made my heart ache as I carried them. The parent's looked up at me, and said nothing, but they
,whereas the children were still sleeping, their souls snoring softly in my arms. There was only one child who awoke, and he stared at me with large, focused eyes.
Humans always see me as scythe-wielding and heartless. But my heart melted then, when I couldn't answer.
She had never been kissed.
That was what she thought while she died. A split second before the flames engulfed her in a blazing embrace, she thought "I've never been kissed."
Some may find her fickle. Or naive, and stupid. But She was none of these things. When she thought those words, what she actually meant was, "I never kissed
." Despite how much they had gone through, and lived, and suffered together. Despite the steady feeling of love that grew in their hearts, she had never kissed him.
She regrets it.
be going mental.
Of Course, I have no
proof of it. But I am sure that's what's going on.
My friend and I were looking through the lyrics of hit mainstream songs yesterday. None of us are particular fans of mainstream (Autotune and the same word being used over and over? What?) but we were both surprised when we realized: All these songs that pop-lovers and hyper teens get excited about? They're all about Sex and drugs.
How are these topics allowing people to make millions?
I traced the life line on his palm swiftly, and it was a fairly awkward moment. I mean,
said I could "read" palms, but merely as sarcasm. And this idiot took it seriously, and immediately held out his upturned palm and looked up at me with large, gray eyes and asked "Will You read mine?" And How could I say "No?"
He's staring at each movement I do with rapt interest, and after a few moments, I let go of his hand, and let his fall in his lap.
"So?" He asks eagerly.
I look up at him, and don't know what to say.
You're life line looks...Life-y?"
"I lied, I don't actually know how to read palms, so I was stroking your hand in an awkward manner for nothing!"
But I say neither of these things. I look up at him, and smile.
"You'll be living a long and happy life."
That would make quite the interesting story, but it's made up. I don't know why I told you that, though.
She had always wanted to be a ballerina.
Mesmerized by the "Tippy-Toe Twirls" and the pink tutus, she forced her mother to buy her a light pink leotard for her to practice in, along with a glittery tutu they found at Target on sale. She'd watch ballet on the T.V in her get up, and on occasion tried to mimic the moves, but to no avail.
As she grew older, she became less obsessed with the ballet, and more with the build of the ballerinas. Slim, stick-like. In her mind, they were beautiful.
And so the girl began to turn herself "beautiful". Morphed into one of those ballerinas she had had so much admiration for. She would eat a breakfast (no need to cause suspicion), and dash out of lunch period without eating (with the excuse that she had "Club activities). Her Dinner, she barely choked down. And she exercised religiously. Running, stretches, cardio. Her parents didn't suspect anything.
She was merely being healthy
Bones began to pop out. Eyes sunken in sharp cheekbones and slim waist with grasshopper legs and glass collarbone. But she could never be satisfied.
I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch. I will finish this batch.I will finish this batch. I. Will.
why is it so hard to fill 100 words. For this post, I won't care about punctuation or capitalization or any other grammatical errors that will pop up. because i still wonder
why is writing 100 words so hard?
It makes no sense. you think up a million times more words that that in a day, so why is typing up just a hundred such hard work? do we not know how to put our thoughts into words? is that it? or are we trying to impress ourselves, to sound smart? and sophisticated.
What. Utter. Bullshit.
I've been watching a lot of "That 70's show" lately. I could never watch it when I was younger. My parents didn't let me. I didn't know
. I mean, its funny, right? A bunch of hippie guys sitting in a little circle, talking about their feelings.
But now I know that it's
Circle", and feelings aren't the only things that they're sharing.
I do like it, though. It's funny. Eric's loveable, Fez is cute. Kelso is humorous, Jackie's fun to listen to, and I love Hyde. Donna's a jerk, however.
I don't know what to write about. It seems like that's the main topic of most of my posts this month, but it's true. I don't know what to
. There's nothing
say. Or do. Except for rambling. I don't like rants, though. I've read too many, especially from supposedly "adult-like" people, and it makes me sick. There's a time and place for everything. I don't want to be spammed by your pointless whining about how life is unfair and cruel.
This is a rant, isn't it?
Oh, gods. I haven't been on in forever. More than a week, actually. And I'm beginning to wonder how that even happened. Back in December I couldn't even go to bed without writing my 100 words, and now I just sort of...
I did miss all of you, though. And somewhere in my subconscious, I'm hoping someone noticed my lack of updates (Though probably not. That's just my attention seeking self, please feel free to ignore her. And don't reply to her calls.)
I'll go back to the 8th, now.
I would like to say something cool, and unusual that would make you think that my childhood was awesome. Like "when I was younger, I never wanted to be a princess. I WANTED TO BE A ROBOT DINOSAUR."
But that would be lying. I
want to be a princess. A faerie mermaid one, at that. With magical talking animal friends who did my bidding.
"You're such a dweeb."
afraid. Of you. Really. I'm shaking.
"Of laughter, I bet."
It is strange how we listen to stories of what we did when we were little as though those things happened to someone else.
I think it's because our past selves
different than who we are now. And our future selves will be different people, too. We'll just share similar memories.
Though I guess that wouldn't be exactly true, either. Our memories change depending on how we see them in our minds. Younger selves will see different scenes in a different manner, won't they?
I wouldn't be friends with Younger!Me.
I've been getting extremely dizzy lately.
It began suddenly. I would be taking my final notes for the class, and stand up to leave. Immediately, vertigo would hit, and I'd clutch the end of the desk tightly, knuckles turning yellow, before the spinning room tripped me into itself. It fades quickly (thank the gods) so no one notices, but it's not as if it didn't
, and that's what scares me.
It's happened before (a year ago the same things would happen) It's getting worse, though. But I've never fallen.
The only part of the day I enjoy the most is my Free Period. I get to head toward the Art Room immediately (despite it being in the opposite side of the building), and for some reason no one ever enters during that time (even though most of my classmates also have the same period Free.) I paint portraits and play my iPod on high-tech speakers that, for some reason, the art room has, and leave smelling like acrylic paint, jeans layered with clay handprints.
No one bothers me. No one my age, anyway. That is why.
Everything about her was perfect.
She had creamy clear skin and eyes a light blue colour spotted with brown that seemed to see the best in people. She smiled with dimples, and had a laugh that resonated like bells and made men swoon,
She painted trees, had hair a dark colour that reached the bottom of her slim waist, and seemed to walk with a strange grace. And no one ever suspected her...
(It's sad that only the blind woman saw her for what she was.)
It's hard to step back into routine. Imagine you were part of a race, and you simply
. You tripped, I suppose. Or noticed something shiny at the side of the road. And you slipped out. It bothers you, because you
be in that sea of people, but instead you're at the side, watching them zip by as you catch your breath, barefoot on the hot sidewalk. Your toes and soles burn, but you don't really care.
Everyone hopes you'll come back. Instead, You sleep.
I feel absolutely terrible.
to continue writing and finish up this month (or the days I've skipped, in any case), but I haven't. And there's not a single reason why. It's not as if nothing happened this month (Though I must say I have no idea about whether or not my social awkwardness at the campus is increasing or not.) And-
I really missed you guys. A Lot.
I'm sorry. That was sudden. A burst of realization, if you will. I don't know why I haven't written.
The person I developed feelings for in the beginning of the year now has a girlfriend. I honestly don't mind, though. I lost the feelings months ago, and his loud humour that everyone finds hilarious has become one of my pet peeves (and he can't help but mention his musical abilities in every conversation. He brought his
in during French, for God's sake.)
However, he still likes someone else. He mentioned it near the beginning of the year, and still looks at her in that way. His girlfriend will be crushed when she finds out.
He wrapped his arms around her and quickly prepared himself for Lia's reflexes to take effect. The first time he had even gotten in close contact with her, she had punched him in the eye in retaliation. It was stupid of him, he knew. You didn't breach Lia's bubble. She'd been alone too long to find human touch comforting, and the blindness limited her ability to identify the person in question easily, making her immediately react with physical self defense to an action that would have been otherwise comforting.
Except it was Connor who needed the comfort now
The prospect of being touched by any male makes me sick.
I don't really know
. I mean, shouldn't I (as much as it kills me to write the next part down)
it? But no. Just the thought of someone wrapping his arms around my waist gives me sick chills. Or the idea that someone would put their arm around my shoulder during any occasion makes me tense up.
There is no reason for this. I was never abused by men, and I have no
of them. Just...
It scares me how easily everyone in my grade can slip from talking about someone behind their backs, to acting so close to them the minute they return. I was listening to some classmates today, as they were discussing the "faults" of another girl. One of whom was the said person's "Best Friend."
It scares me a bit. What if I'm the topic of discussion that occurs once I leave the room? Though, it's not the fact that they talk about me, it's
I do that they talk about. I have faults. I am Human.
"'Tch'? What, no words now? Just sounds?"
"Yup. *click* *snap* *pop*"
"...You are pathetic."
"Mhm. What is going on about this banter? You never used to....
"For lack of a better word!"
"There are plenty of words you could have used. And you choose to use-"
"What? Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I'm doing
"Look whose using just sounds, now."
Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Almost Done.Almost Done. Almost Done. Done.
I am beginning to hate Mercutio.
His Queen Mab speech is killing me. Overly detailed, and too much poetic, purple prose. And the attitude he has keeps changing. Is he Giddy? Sarcastic? Innocent like? What is he thinking? Feeling?
The instructor is telling me to say it in a tone in which I would tell a funny to story to someone else. The problem is, while telling such stories, all I do is act innocent. Talk in a casual, no nonsense manner that somehow gets laughs.
Bloody Mercutio. You make my life too complicated.
This batch is finally over.
I don't mean to say "Finally" in such a tone. But this month seems to have been dragging along at a snail's pace. I had no ideas, and no motivation
and would you look at that I'm ranting/rambling making no sense again! Yay.
I can honestly say I won't miss this month. It was a mash up, and I'm too lazy to deal with stuff like that.
I just want to go to beeedddd....."
I really hope February ends up being better.
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