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I want to run away. Somewhere I cannot be followed and somewhere I can start over. Where I can have more freedom to move about and be my own person. Where I don't have to beg someone to drive me down the road because there're too many cars on that particular street. I want to be able to walk somewhere, set up my laptop, get a drink, write, and then walk home in less than an hour. I don't want to be afraid of getting lost or trapped outside. I feel apart from the things I want to be with.
There are too many thoughts in my head right now, and I'm not sure I want them there. I wish I could find healing in a friend, but she is strangely oblivious and ignorant. The few who are good to me I can forgive, and then there are the moronic friends who are mad for no reason or simply unavailable. I don't know what I can do. This helps me a little bit, because this is one worry that is inside of me. My father is in Chicago visiting; and perhaps that is the very place I need to be.
Woo! It's WAY too cold for me to be serious on 100 Words. When I am cold, I get hyper and adrenaline pumped. Probably because I need to move around to stay warm, so I get jittery. I think I'll go to a friend's house and bother them. I think I'll flood their inbox with spam just to piss them off. I think I'll duck tape my door shut again and head bash to Slip Knot or Linkin Park. I'm having so much fun with the possibilities, it's not even funny. I can't just sit here, I have to go!
I was standing outside that Sunday evening, leaning against the mailbox post, staring up at the sky. The air was clean, as if the shedding of leaves had cleaned it of filth, the sky wonderfully crisp above. I was glad to stand there with my hands in my pockets, with the light of dusk all around me, and the immense feeling of simplicity rising in my stomach. Because, staring up at the sky as I did, I felt as though I could fully release my soul and let it soar. I truly was almost free as I stared upwards. Almost.
Continuing my mailbox story: While I was silently staring up at that sky, I noticed three jets moving across the wide azure plain. They were flecks of white, like speeding clouds, but they were moving in a similar pattern. Incomplete diamond. Three jets. One more needed. You know, I was always the fourth for some reason. The fourth friend. I was assigned room #4 for my first piano lesson. I felt the need to join those jets, because, before I was distracted by what I came for, they were directly facing me. The incomplete diamond was calling me.
I cannot. It's simple, I just cannot. Do not ask what I cannot do; for there are many things. I just cannot. Please don't challenge me with taunts, for they will only kill me if I try to do it. Don't beg me with pleas, because they will only rip my soul into shreds. Don't even look at me, because that will sting. My left side is going numb because of what I cannot do, my right side trying to break free. You held me down. I struggled. And now, even though you are gone, I still struggle against myself.
I walked randomly around the house today, pondering various social problems. Answers zoomed around my head and wriggled underneath my eyes too quickly, each shouting their ideal all at one time. But it was futile, for Conscience had the front row seat, and her voice rang out clearer than the rest. "Put your future first" she said calmly, perched on a ledge with her hands folded around her knees. "Social problems now will not matter when you are an adult later." One must admit; she speaks the truth with the wisdom of the moon. But she can be a nag.
I felt somewhat of a bum today, not good enough or at least not trying. It was a trying day, full of disorganization and slack-jawed teachers, so now all I wish to do is go to vgcats and watch episode 100 again, so I can memorize the coconut song for no apparent reason. Life's just like that sometimes. If it's Friday, if you've had a crappy week emotionally, if all you want to do is listen to some random coconut song that'll probably put a smile on your face, then go for it. "I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts..."
Ah, the sweet mind-scale of the Matrix. Where gravity and limitations of strength know no bounds, and everyone wears sunglasses and tight leather pants. It really is a fantastic movie an--oh, crap. A crumb just got stuck between the "G" key and the "T" key. I need those keys! Accursed spinach and mayonnaise sandwich....here, maybe if I can hold down the key and kind of wiggle it...no, it just went underneath. Aw, screw it, I'll just pound it into pieces. It's not like this hasn't happened before; these toast crumbs go everywhere, anywhere, and sometimes somewhere else.
I have figured out the secret key to writing a children's story. Every children's story has a moral. A secret lesson integrated in hopes of well-rounding the reader's character. Either that, or a children's story must explain some of the mysteries of life. However, that is a no-brainer; kids being un-informed and all. So now I must find a present-day medical condition of which memories are lost. Yes, it is psychological, but enough so it is understandable. I can't believe I am doing this; altering my style to suit a magazine and its readers. Could someone please tell me what this means?
Oh, Ast above, I am drained. It is almost as if that football game took the extra mojo out of me, but, never the less, I was happy to see Brogan, Devon and especially Brit. We have been apart, Brit and I, for almost four months. Yes, that may seem like a small amount of time to you, but to an adolescent, it seems like four years. Brogan and Renny were there, obviously, and thankfully, a certain absence of people provided the almost- perfect atmosphere for us to banter on and on. How I have missed the contagious hyperness of them....
Unbelievable. Three pieces to write. Three whole obligations, threee whole separate headaches. Two of these pieces need to be outlined and characters made for them, and the third is expected on Friday. I need a rough draft, an inspiration, and an ouline as well as a nice cup opf Chai Tea. But at least I am keeping busy this week, even though it cuts terribly into my Evadne Novel time. Then, over the weekend, I need to write something to submit to Stone Soup; which means I have a maximum of two days to work on that piece. Caffeine, anyone?
The world has turned silent because of the rain. The giggles and squeals of preps are lost to the grey sky, the hissing of tires through the wet street are silenced. Only a birdcall sounds out feebly here and there, but it's as if the sky has hushed all other noise and is speaking its share. And its voice is silence. Maybe the spirits are asking that we lay our own thoughts down and hear those of the sky. It's good to listen to the sound of silence once and a while, for it's the very reflection of our souls.
I sometimes wonder what it truly means to be alive. When the body ceases to function at the whim of the mind, I suppose that is called death; but perhaps that isn't so. Is death a definition of the mind, the body, or the spirit? The mind is connected to the body; the two beings interface and the body is the mind's puppet. In turn, the body sustains the mind with safety. So when one dies, does it take the other down with it? The body cannot exist if the mind is not there to tell it what to do....
...and the mind cannot exist if the body does not supply it with oxygen. But what of the spirit? The spirit is alive even when the body and the mind stop working. So why does the spirit stay with the body and mind? The spirit is associated with the soul and forms of magic. But is the soul a tangible thing? What is the soul's purpose? Is it like DNA; a judge of your character? If the soul and spirit get set free upon the death of the mind and body, then why were they there in the first place?
I have an incredible amount of time on my hands, and I don't know what to do with it. Internet boredom might set in, but I can't go places like vgcats on my GRANDPARENT'S computer. And I have written all I can on my various projects, each requiring more resources and research then I have at the present time. So what am I supposed to do with three hours ahead of me and this cartoon (which I do like) marathon on TV? Slug my lazy butt off in front of the tube? Start a new story? Now, that's an idea...
A thong feels very interesting. Have you ever experienced the sensation before? Now that I own one, I want to buy even more delicates at the dreaded Victoria's Secret store. It is deliciously uncomfortable. It is like a pain that you do not want to go away, it is like a goal that cannot be reached and yet you love the trying obstacles fate puts in front of you to distract you. I don't know why all women don't wear them, I really don't . Of course, now that Mom knows I like them, she probably won't buy me any more.
It was very cold today due to the rain, and my corner of the house has turned frigid. It does not bother me so much; I am used to it, and it reminds me of where I 'live' in life. It makes my room unique in all the house. He is a little concerned of how I live and sleep, even though the cold does not bother him as well, but I have re- assured him of my wellness. I'm sharing a hunk of brie cheese with Him right now, and the sharp bite of it is clearing our senses.
I need my damn carbs. I don't care what Adkins says, I don't care what Dr. Phil says, I don't care what those skinny anorexic models say. I NEED CARBOHYDRATES. The food pyramid says you need 5-8 servings of grain each day, and I follow that to the very last gram. Calcium or Vitamin C are not nearly as important than breads. I could spit on Adkins' grave. There will come a time when I shall rise carbs back up to power, and take back America to forever stamp out protein. but until then, I beseech thee, o wondrous grains.
I am wearing those goddamn black boots tomorrow. I am going to wear them with a skirt and without the brace and I am going to walk around Clay Terrace with them on, through crowds of preps, goths, and grownups. They all can kiss my ass because I have boots. They don't. I wore them this evening without the brace, I walked in them and the strappy sandals, and did my knees hurt? Did they ache at all? FUCK NO. Boots. Me. Wear. Evening. And may all those poor souls be helped if they think they can persuade me otherwise.
I find it hard to locate desirable jazz. Not soul, not easy or smooth listening, but jazz that has the swing and sax and the spice of night. That jazz that you can listen to and dance to at the same time. That jazz that make you want to throw on a slinky black dress and go out. That jazz that gives profiles of the stars in a city. That jazz that gives you your dark outline against a full moon. That jazz that slims down your legs and brushes back your hair. That jazz. True jazz. My turn-on jazz.
Well, Van Helsing was completely disgusting. Not to the point of shutting it off, but MAN. I had to abandon my noodle soup when they walked through the hallway of dormant vampire offspring. Really gross. And yet, never the less, I enjoyed some fo the mythical folklore they implanted in the plot. I liked how Dracula and Helsing were tied together by the ring. I liked how the vampire mistresses reproduced and morphed into those big, blue bat-things. And I ESPECIALLY liked the werewolf transformation; where the flesh rips off to expose hair underneath. A little stroke of genius, defiantly.
My cousin is now into shopping. That blonde, fine-haired, ugly-to-hell brat has developed a passion for cruising around a mall, trying on various clothes and making totally useless purchases. I myself have never really seen the pleasure in the senseless acquirement of objects that one will forget about in a few months, but I suppose it is the natural greedy lust characteristic of human beings. I should have foreseen the simple- mindedness earlier when she was a baby; a baby that simply stared out into space and drooled. Perhaps if I wear black more often, she will stay away from me.
We are supposed to think of one good think that happened this week today, and I fail every time to think of something good. Sad, isn't it? Maybe I am depressed and feeling suicidal. Okay, not suicidal. When I am to die, I will die by another force other than my own hand. Depressed: quite possibly. I feel as though I do not belong here; almost like a diamond in the rough. I feel the need to be somewhere else with more opportunities. Trappped. Bound. I'm the odd one out. I am different, I am unique here in this society.
Dang, that chain look is COOL! Jessi thinks it is retarded, but hey, that is just Jessi being stupid, and I could not care less. But seriously; paired with the appropriate shirt and pants, those chains are just fucking cook. Mom, of course, made me take them off, but once again, I couldn't care less about that they think. They do not belong to me (as if Mom would let me buy something that awsome), but I will return them after I wear them in the Realm this evening, because they are suitable and go well with the mystical stone.
Am I cursed with bad pixilation? Every single damn pic of Him I got off Google and pasted onto Word turned out DISTORTED. It's bad enough they post yaoi with Him at the subject, but when His face gets messed up...that just pisses me off. Seriously; someone is going to get the whipping. And it is not going to be pretty. Also, unforunately, some of the best pics came from an all-too sugary OC fanfic, which did not go over very well with me and which is why it will get pummeled with viruses at approximately 3"08 in the morning.
Mmm....internet stories. Good collective sap that runs between the fingers of society and collects in corners, where it might get dusty, but still gooey and wonderful. You might be so privileged to find one of these, even if you never knew what you were really looking for in the first place, but it is always so nice to find a true one. Often, these stories collects in small, bravehost websites, tucked away in those dusty realms of the internet, with livejournals and webrings. I call those sites 'candy boxes.' bcause they often hold internet stories; sticky on the reader's tongue.
Alright! I finally have mastered that accursed Adobe program, and I actually have a feel for the program now. Incredible sense of power, yes, and now I am kind of wishing I could have that program, just for fun. I could create an anime pamphlet or an Ideyut newsletter. I'm getting sparkles in my eyes just thinking about it...Anyway, as an editor, I need to know my way around the program, especially formatting headlines and making the story fit. We have our first meeting Tuesday afternoon, by the way. This is something I can feel proud of, right?
I spent an hour talking to my good friend on the phone last evening. Luckily, my parents weren't pissed off because it was a Friday, but I didn't realize it; the time went by so quickly. We were having an in-depth conversation about life, success, and her problems. I sometimes feel that she is the only one I can have an involved talk with. Devon, maybe, Brogan, sort of, but she takes the cake. I think this is because I am like her in some ways personality-wise, and I almost can read her mind and emotions. Her name is Renny.
I learned a lot at that party. I learned something watching Brogan and Colin together. I felt their emotions, not directly, but skirting as if one avoids a building. It is powerful, this love thing is. I now know why Brogan only stayed by him the whole party. I know why she didn't show up earlier as planned. I know why she goes to his every football game. I don't think she would do those things for us; her friends, her Ideyuts. Though I wish she wouldn't ignore, I no longer feel jealous of the attention she diverts from us.
Wouldn't you know it; Mom won't let me scare the trick-or-treaters. Quite frankly, I can't imagine why. I only was going to dump buckets of internal organs on them as they rang the doorbell, then sneak up behind them with a blood stained machete. I was hoping to get some of the little bastards to cry. But NOOO. She even trounced my plan to slither around their feet like a demon as they rang the doorbell, biting and snapping at their ankles. Haloween just isn't what it used to be; when you'd have to wet your pants at least once.
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