Static

(This is so much better than the studio version, despite its faults.)

So, today has been interesting. Basically, I did nothing at school. Which was a welcome relief. I think I acted too sarcastic in French, though; the teacher does not seem to approve of my… How shall I put it. Laissez-faire approach? Not to be too punny or anything.

Nota bene: This post is bound to be rather random. My brain is feeling scattered, and surprisingly, a headache seems to be lurking.

Second block seemed shorter than normal. Since I’ve been sort of busy… I am finding it harder to enjoy free time. I just didn’t want to do anything today.

I ended up going to the band room. Jordan was there… I played him some jazz and wished I could just lock all the doors and cover the windows. Maybe sing a bit. Probably have a one-person rave party.

[I think what was missing might have been you.]

Now is the type of time in which I will begin to say ‘I don’t know…’ and not really mean it at all. The thing is… I really don’t know, but that’s not the message I’m trying to send at all. Please, anybody, help me interpret when you find me like this?

Chemistry was fun. We went to the computer lab and did an activity on elements. I cheated and had time to check my email.

What? It wasn’t like it was real cheating.

I don’t get headaches. Ever. Plus, I had some ice cream and a brownie after school. Almost a binge day, depending on whether or not I eat a lot at dinner.

Speaking of that. You’ve probably never heard me use that term. Binge day. Unless of course you are Sierra, in which case you have. I’m not bulimic… Somewhat due to the fact that my ‘bingeing’ involves me just indulging a bit, but mostly because I don’t really purge. Some days, I exercise a lot more than normal and get excited when I see a ‘good’ number on the scale. But weight alone – actually, I’m beginning to think at all – is not a good indicator of health or improvement. So anyway. Enough worrying. Stop.

Seriously. There actually is nothing to be worried about here. What are the statistics? Five to fifteen percent of people with bulimia are also male. What are the numbers for people who used to be male?

Also, I just had dinner. It was good. Turkey tetrazzini.

I didn’t know how to spell that. I need to learn Italian, and restart Esperanto for the third time, and kick my French teacher into sanity and action, and I also need to show her my old French book and see if we can bully the language department into giving us money for people to get them, because the book is really just an orgasm on paper. Practically a French erotica novel.

I’ve come to the conclusion that iTunes and ǝsǝǝɥɔ ǝbɐʇʇoɔ have a really bad shuffle choice when it comes to music. On the other hand, iTunes just pulled up The Message, which I have to say is some high-quality beat-juice.

Or maybe it’s just that I don’t like anything anymore.

- want to scream to the world something, anything-only worry-only-only w-worr-onl-onlywor-only worry -

It is like a jungle, sometimes. I try not to wonder how I keep from goin’ under.

Makes me wonder how strings attached to wrists stay on without providing a constant pain to the owner’s little lines, associations with dissimilar topics in fabric turns- makes me wonder about the lines themselves → makes me remember wanting a closeness, takes me back to a silliness-innocence I’ve since lost, synapses to mush, because it is that time of year again, soon it’ll all start all over → seasonal ups, makes me wish I had a beat to my life → love the repetitive nature of feet slapping the pavement, jarring every now and then extending to the same synapses, hardened, diamond-crystal → wish I could be all that I want you to want me to be, makes me wonder

How I switch this off.

Meditation, In A Way

I just spent almost exactly an hour talking to myself, recording with Garageband. It started out because I desperately needed to talk to someone, but didn’t know who to call/if I should call.

Jude: I decided against it because it was late. I know you mean anytime. For some reason, some sort of moral sense is keeping me from dialing your numbers when it feels too far into the evening. And at that point, it was eleven thirty.

M: I wasn’t sure if your cell phone would be on or not (and I sure as hell wasn’t dialing your home number). I wanted it to be off, so I could leave a message, because I think that would be the ideal situation (other than us having some sort of direct link that didn’t require loud ringing noises), but I couldn’t know, and so decided against it.

You two were the only people I felt comfortable intruding on like that. M because… Well, because, and Jude because you’ve explicitly told me, and even then I decided against it, so don’t anyone feel left out because your name isn’t here.

Guh. I am just typing nonsense here.

Only one more important part; the aftermath. I feel a lot better. Collected & cool, somehow (literally, not figuratively; chilly). I actually haven’t cried quite like I did tonight in some time now… It’s a different, more extended form. Not just an emotional burst, but more of a cold front-style behaviour, for those of you taking Earth Space right now.

I deleted it. It was powerful, it was raw, and there were things I think I actually should have snipped out to give to people – important ways and mannerisms of expressing things I haven’t been able to get across in the past – but overall, it was the best choice. I feel clean now.

(And I still have few of my secrets, too.)

A Look 10/7/09

A Look 9/26/09

Too much.

A Look 9/24/09

That is an e. Sorry for any misunderstandings.

And I’m fine. Just a little outburst. Yes, there are things worth living for.

@Morgante – Better?

A Look 9/22/09

This is my way of saying thank you, I guess.

Life Et Cetera

Pet peeve: people who say excetera. Not too hard, folks.

Anyway.

Origin of the term blog in a nutshell: web + log → weblog + americans = blog. Web of course meaning this, you dimwit, and log meaning a record of one’s life. A record of one’s life, as in personal details.

When has this blog even been personal? That’s right, never. And it is a blog, that much I’m certain. So why not?

Because it’s unprofessional, my subconscious whines. It doesn’t look good. Well screw you, subconscious. In any case, I do actually have some material, abstract though it is.

Last night was pretty hectic. I’d woken up at five thirty after a particularly late night of half past midnight to find myself sick to my stomach but unwilling to go to sleep again and wake up to my alarm. A long shower did little to comfort me, especially considering I was soon ousted to save money on the oil bills – and a long day did little to help afterwards. Thus I arrived home, my body wrung like my hands were throughout the day, my mind little more than the oatmeal I hadn’t eaten for breakfast. I remember catching myself sitting completely still and not just reading the same sentence from the homework several times but also occasionally pausing for several minutes, looking at nothing in particular. It didn’t help that I had a large project I’d worked on only minimally due the next day.

I went to bed two hours early, ignoring the project completely. The last thing I did before I turned off the lights and was lost to the abyss was to say, “I’m sorry.”. My room echoed when I apologized to it. I don’t know what I hoped to accomplish, but it made me feel minutely better about myself.

I suppose it also didn’t help that the project was for a class I’m currently failing in.

I’d like to justify myself slightly in saying that despite this rather desolate-looking statement, I’m doing quite well – even garnering grades worthy of the title ‘fantastic’ in other classes. All my other classes, to be precise. I know I have A’s in at least four and suspect I’m achieving them in the rest. And when a student not only succeeds but excels in all of their classes save one, the logical thought process follows as this: “The problem resides not with the student, but the class, or perhaps the teacher.”

Selfish justification aside, I know I need to do better in this class. I’m working on it. Plus, the failing grade was most like caused by failure to hand in one out of a possible two assignments on the grade report – and immediately after, I handed in a fairly well-written report, which should sit nicely for my average. Regardless, I’m worried, and not without reason.

In any case, roused by my alarm this morning I felt much better – with nearly nine and a half hours of sleep under my belt in contrast to my normal six and a half to seven, I had nearly woken up naturally. With another shower, a quick dressing, and my normal ritual of stuffing the next day’s needed papers into my backpack hurriedly, I was out the door.

And into the snow.

I’d heard that it would snow on Wednesday, but not like this. There were nearly four inches already, and it was falling so fast that while I was waiting for the bus nearly a quarter of an inch accumulated on my head. Nevertheless, I dutifully waited. And waited. And waited. For nothing, apparently, because every single person on my bus that I know got a ride. Is that even legal? I thought school had been cancelled after all and I was saved!

In any case, with yet another somewhat uneventful day done, I arrived home again, if a little more energized than usual. And now here I sit. C’est mon vie.