31 October, 2006, 829 pm
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, School

Today is the opposite of fun.  I know I should never procrastinate, even and especially when I have a month to do something, but somehow I do it every time and I never learn.  I want to have fun.  God, I don’t even remember this morning; the hours flew by miserably.  And I was awake, oddly enough.  But then on the bus, I started to fall asleep all of a sudden.  And history was the longest class I’ve ever been in, and more painful.  Normally history is my favourite because Mr. Dunavant said “BYAH” the other day.  Actually, he wasn’t doing the Dave Chappelle thing; he was doing the Howard Dean one.  Still, though, it woke me up a little, even if nobody else got it because they don’t have intrugiung freshmen like Tim and insane sophomores like Frankie screaming, “BYAH!” for their lives.

Speaking of which, as exciting as the game was for the student section–out on a Monday night until late because their parents let them because it was a school event, and then going into overtime and putting off homework…that’s all good fun for the student section, that’s doing all this out of their own free will, but think about the motherfucking band for once.  I thought I was going to die and/or fail Chemistry if we stayed in that goddamn stadium one minute longer, which was after the students rushed the field and most had already left.  If only it wasn’t a Monday.  I’m going to miss band competitions like crazy, though, even if they did mean lack of quality time with my lady-friends.

I feel like passing out on purpose.  And Abigail Williams is haunting me.

31 October, 2006, 742 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, School




chemistry projects that are due tomorrow and expected to be fucking amazing.




Moment of sorrow:  I’m exactly 5’3″ and I’ve stopped growing.  This means that I’m under average height.

Moment of pride:  I’m average weight and this is an accomplishment, seeing as in eighth grade I weighed more, and proportionately to my age, I was pretty chubby.  Now to aim for malnutrition.

Sidenote:  Boys confuse me a hella lot (I know they confuse other girls, as well…and this is only because we overanalyze.  If a boy makes out with your face, he was either on a dare, or he thinks you’re bangin’.  If a boy holds your hand, he is either bored, or he cares.  If a boy kicks you, he is either trying to flirt with you in a really trite, immature manner, or he really fucking hates you and you’d better run while you have the chance.), but they should not.  I know that “I’m confused” is a trite statement.  Nobody can help with it.  It’s something that will be solved on its own.  But I suppose I’m considering between pursuing a two-week long lust-filled relationship and not pursuing this and pushing some asshole away…so I need someone’s blunt opinion, other than Connor’s.  Who says that someday, I will be raped on the bus and immediately thereafter tell him, “Well…I didn’t know how to tell him to stop…?”  At which point, he’ll kill me.


29 October, 2006, 844 pm
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, School

This morning, I rose at 730 which felt like 830 because of Daylight Savings or whatever. I had gone to bed around one, so you must know something was troubling me if I woke up only a few hours later. I felt super-dirty in the morning, so I took the most thorough shower I’ve ever taken in my life and used a fucking lot of soap. I scrubbed my hair well, too. I even got my back, which I almost never get. And my feet. When I got out of the shower, I lotioned up my legs and feet and hands really well, which is also something I never do because I hate the feeling of lotion; it makes my hands and feet feel like they’re drowning. I reeked of soap, shampoo, and lotion. Then I washed my face. It wasn’t the hardest I’ve ever washed my face; it was second only to the time we arrived home from Lewisburg the last time. Whenever I feel like absolute crap, I go to extra precautions to make myself clean and pretty, because it’s just a self esteem lift. You can tell when I’m feeling down because that’s when I look my best.

When I scrubbed my feet visciously, though, I couldn’t help but think of the movie “Harriet the Spy,” when little Harriet angrily scrubs the friendship symbol from the bottom of her foot, erasing her bond with Janie and Sport.

(No matter what you think of that movie, it’s one of my favourites of all time. It’s very nineties, and it reminds me a lot of the Lehigh Valley. I’ve seen it countless times. Thus, the title for this post is a quote from the movie…duh.)

I think I was erasing my actions from the previous night. I was flirtatious. A kiss was expected by someone from me, and I didn’t give, because how awkward would it have been…?! I suppose this is why I often fish in the pool of younger men. I, myself, never had any way of fulfilling middle school crushes. You can ask why, and the answer is that I was not cute. At all. Remotely. Kids used to mock me, even. I weighed more than I do now. But in missing out on that, I also missed out on having a mindless, pointless, forgettable first kiss. Everyone automatically assumes that I’m average, so I must have kissed someone by this point. But no, now I’m past my prime, an old maid, and I have to think about it every time I get into something that might involve kissing. Boys as friends, parties, stupid games like truth or dare. And you should know I’m not some frolicking lamb, but maybe I’m just too nervous and picky. Maybe a kiss really isn’t as memorable as they say it is.

27 October, 2006, 448 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

R.I.P.  Pistachio

Finally escaped yesterday; who knew that would be his last smart move?

I hope that doesn’t happen to my Louie.  Then again, hamsters are such escape maniacs that they really don’t have time to enjoy anything; rats are a lot more laid-back and kind.  I was going to say “thankful,” but…a caged life isn’t something I’d be thankful for.  I resent the idea of keeping rodents as pets because they’re born to be free and not imprisoned.

Let’s rally for freedom.

By the way, I’ll never be able to go near the vents downstairs again.  I’m afraid some zombie hamster will come out, kill me, and get revenge on Alexa.


I have to go in to Mrs. Merchant’s room frequently during Extended Study for extra help in Math Analysis.  It’s disappointing that this is the first class where I can’t understand things on my own.  Gra.  And in Chem (college prep), I either feel like Steven Hawking or like Marilyn vos Savant.  I can’t tell, not yet.  It’s not Mrs. Davis’ fault; she’s bubbly and interesting, but the kids in that class just don’t care.  Am I the only one who cares?  Ha, yeah.

Regarding oboe…it’s sad that I’m veering away from it a LOT, but I’ve made the decision that all I want to do is write.  Is there anything wrong with that?  I should hope not.  I mean, it is my dream, and I shouldn’t let things interfere with it, no matter how much I’m supposed to enjoy them.  Hopefully lessons will make things less regretted.


I need something to write about, something to think about, something to dwell on, someone to dwell on, something to talk about, and someone to talk to.  I know you’re listening, but what I mean is that I need some new flavour to taste at the moment.  And if you are, per se, a new flavour, then speak up.  I need someone to brighten my day, even on days like today, when I look and feel like complete crap.  Don’t deny it; today was a bad-looking day for me.  Except my jeans.  I love Levi’s.

26 October, 2006, 958 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I’ve decided that if I ever put myself on music deprivation again, I will die.  Band, homework, bed at ten, and it’s really all been a blur without a good soundtrack, aside from hip-hop jams.  I need to get the url for that video and post it; it just shows some creepy old man’s dancing skillz, and he kind of has a tongue sticking out perpetually, and erect eyeballs.  Yes, erect eyeballs.  And yes, he’s topheavy, but maybe that’s because he’s wearing three layers on top?!  And he has stick legs.  Well, you’ll see.  It’s great.

Watch.  When I finally put the video up, you’ll be so completely tired of me talking about it that you’ll probably chop my stick legs off with an axe.

Speaking of legs, today during band, which was like recess, Emily tied my legs up so I wouldn’t be able to walk.  It was pretty effective (not really).  She’d make a great kidnapper.  God, today was a good day.  In every class, so far.  Including history, which was…well, haha.  I’ll explain later.  Promise.

24 October, 2006, 1009 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I thought my toes would freeze off.  Thus, I need to start wearing socks.  I don’t know why I always skip over the socks.  They’re not essential.  You can’t even tell I’m not wearing socks, so what does it matter?  My shoes don’t smell bad, nor do my feet, ever.  I am blessed with pretty feet.  Soft feet.  Small feet, six and a half.  Band camp ruined my heels, though.  I’m scarred and self-conscious.  Isn’t that weird?  I think it’s crazy, especially considering that I still don’t wear socks.

My eyes hurt like mothers.  Maybe I shouldn’t sleep with my contacts in?

OH.  For the record, because Sara, Pauline, and I spoke about this at lunch today, avec Prachi, I am:
-Pro-gay marriage
-Anti-abortion outside of the first trimester (because of rape and underage decisions)
-Pro-animal rights

I can’t think of anything else to write that I’m pro or against, but you can just ask me.

A little while ago, probably a month ago, it really annoyed me that PETA was so outrageous.  I’m not sure why; I guess it’s just because of their urging everyone to do this and do that and shoving opinions in people’s faces.  Personally, I’m really passive.  That’s partially why I write; you can find out my opinons by asking me or by reading what I’ve already written, but I won’t go out and scratch at a scab to make the blood pour out.  It’s not right.  I suppose lobbyists sort of have to do that, though.  But their requirements and then all the bad things you hear about them…they would make anyone doubt their justification.

Plus, I thought, why would people throw themselves out there and do crazy things and be assholes to people who eat meat?  We have to coexist, and we have to cooperate.  It’s just life on Earth.  Come on.  Fur is something that I take for granted that everyone has deemed unnecessary; it’s killing animals in vanity.  For no reason at all.  Every time you wash that leather jacket, you’re throwing a cow or an ostrich in the washer.  Gross, right?  Wool, too, I’ve been a little wary of.  Granted, they don’t have to kill a sheep to get wool, but there’s so much wool floating around now…do you think they let the sheep roam around la-dee-dah and get a trim when they feel like it?  No.  It’s brutal.  Shears…I mean, come on.  They’re pretty much weapons disguised as hair trimmers.  Be realistic.

My point is, though, that PETA’s not as ridiculous as you might think.  Animals have rights; they just can’t easily argue with humans about them and speak up to us.  We may have “dominion” over all animals, but we’re also entitled to treat them as we’d like to be treated, with respect, like family.  If you don’t think so, then you try living in a factory farm and see how you like it.  Try being a cow hooked up to one of those machines for milk.  It’s not pleasant.  Try living in the Iams lab.  Yeah, really humane.  We have a responsibility that we’re not living up to.  And the people who are arguing for animal rights aren’t crazy; they’re just passionate about true equality.

24 October, 2006, 837 pm
Filed under: Barrels of Fun

It’s sad that Guillermo (hahaha I’m lamer than ever) couldn’t be with us (namely E) today, but I’m sure he knows he’s missed.  And that we’re documenting it all using photos…and videos…

I don’t have a proper net connection right now, so I can’t post them, but I guarantee they’re worthwhile to watch over…and over…and over again.

Paige: “Why don’t you call Gil and ask him if he’s wearing a SARI?!”
Erika: “What’s a sari?”
Me: “Girls wear them in India for special occasions, basically.”
Paige: “HAHA.”
Erika: “Yeah, and then he’ll go, ‘GOOD ONE, ERIKA: “…”

We are worth your time.

As well as the v-tree, which stained my pants temporarily white in some/many places.  And hip-hop music.  And Brad sharing a sweatshirt with his dog.

It’s times like these when I wish certain things (men) had happened in my past.  I only have two pasts.  But it was a fun day, regardless of being grounded on weekdays for the rest of my life.  Hehe.  Song.  “For the rest of my life…”

It actually wasn’t clever at the time, though, because my mother was yelling at me on the whole car ride home.  And she found out my real feelings about band, which felt half-good, and then she told me that maybe she wouldn’t “let” me quit band.  So I asked her what if I had a terminal illness like cancer, then would she let me quit?  And she said maybe, but I don’t have a terminal disease, as far as we know, because I haven’t been to the pediatrician since I was thirteen, that last time when he told me to loose weight.  So.  I might have a terminal disease that we just don’t know about.

I don’t get, though, why she wouldn’t just let me drop it.  I mentioned four-year committments, but am I really going to do anything music-related with my life?  If I get my dream job, which would be to work either for a zine or for a big music magazine, then yes, it would have a little to do with music.  But otherwise, no.  I want to write.  And lately, I haven’t had the urge to do anything but write and to document things, but band is taking that up.  And it’s boring to just write about happenings at band; I feel like I’m leaving everyone out when I do that, and this isn’t fair.  I don’t see friends anymore; I have coworkers now, and no time for a job, even.  It’s physical torture as well as mental torture.  A voluntary activity should not be like that.

SO WHAT’S GOING ON IN YOUR NECK OF THE WOODS?  I feel like I’m talking absently about things that only about four people and a dog would understand.  I met a sophomore (I think?) named Brandon who is nearly just like Connor today in the way he makes fun of people and talks.  Pretty epic.  He had a baby and told us about the conversation he would have with his mother about a stolen pumpkin.

By the way, Jenny Molewis = IT’S A HIT.

23 October, 2006, 1234 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Don’t watch if you’re easily queasy.  But it’s recommended that you do watch it, by me.

22 October, 2006, 804 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, School

is a language I think everyone should be required to take.  I use it a lot, and some people don’t seem to understand that tension, shoulders pointed away, and even feet pointed away mean je ne t’adore pas, aka I don’t love you/want to be near you at the moment.

I also think that some people don’t realize boundaries…I can take a joke, like being made fun of because I do weird t-rex esque arm motions, or because I do “BYAH!” in a higher voice, or even because I run awkwardly.  But when you start to joke about things like my weight (not height–weight), it’s honestly not funny anymore.  It’s crossed into the domain of the eating disorder.  Not really, because I could never be anorexic or bulimic, but it is a touchy subject for me.  It should tell you something when I say I weigh less than I did in the eighth grade.  Also that I’d probably weigh a lot more than I do if I hadn’t followed certain advice.

Okay, yes, it is funny (hilarious, laugh-out-loud kind of humour) when you joke about me eating my dollar’s worth of cookies on the bus and spit dribbling down my face because I’m rabid, but no, it’s not funny when you jokingly call me fat.  Not even jokingly, or even sarcastically, which I’d normally recognize, appreciate, and take as an offbeat compliment.

Aah fuck late Saturday nights spent at school-sponsored activities.

19 October, 2006, 849 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

I hate humidity.  I hate not having straight bangs.  It’s enough to make me self-conscious about things I don’t even normally think about.  Like my shoes.  And my fingernails.  And my knees.  It’s obnoxious.

By the way, humidity is the reason I don’t have straight bangs today.  Duh.  Put two and two together…?

18 October, 2006, 833 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized

Let me just throw out there that some of the searches that bring people to this blog are just outrageous.  “What does Conor Oberst eat?”  He eats unicorns–WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK HE EATS?!

We took PSATs today.  I am not worried.  Junior year, yeah, I know I can’t just coast by with my cushiony GPA like I have for the past two years, but PSATs are a breeze.  My freshman year, I scored in the top ten percentile in the county.  No big, but I’m not worried.  I don’t know what happened sophomore year, but I got a 174(0), which is above the average of 147(0).  Cool.  I know more words now, though, and I’m focused.  I think I should take the actual SATs at the end of this school year.  I’m ready.

So I think that since it’s October 18th, it’s safe to talk about Jenny Lewis rabidly again.  E-Dawg and I were talking about doing covers to Rilo Kiley songs.  The original spark for this was Gillllllll (I’m so funny), and then it branched out from there.  Gil learned some guitar parts, I’d already learned some bell parts, and Erika is possibly the most talented singer out there, at least to Gil and me.  Especially when she uses the hand motions she and I choreographed separately, but subconsciously together.

All this talk about Jenny Lewis, though…what about Conor Oberst?  See, Jenny is universal and amicable.  You like her “just because.”  And you can’t hate her.  Conor is the opposite.  You hate him “just because.”  Probably “just because” you’ve heard of him, or one of your friends used him as the butt of a joke.  Really clever of you.  Maybe you’ve heard his voice and you didn’t like him so you made fun of him.  Maybe you just can’t handle him.  What?  Did I just type that, seriously?  Oh!  Yeah, I did. He’s an intense whirlwind of emotion and intensity; the right amount of attractiveness intellectually, vocally, and visually to keep you coming back.  Maybe not for guys but then again, there are some as straight as a french fry (not Arby’s curly fry) who like him that way.  And then there are some curly fries that like him, too.  My metaphors are right on.

Back to Jenny versus Conor.  Yes, this is Jenny versus Conor.  Really, you can’t compare the two; Conor is the Father Wind and Jenny is the Mother Sea.  You can’t tame them.  They’re uncontrollable and amazing.  And everyone has their own opinion, but this is mine.  Arguably, some people have not heard Jenny Lewis’ graceful voice yet.  She may not be Imogen Heap or Metric.  I know she doesn’t perform and record songs on the spot using technology.  I know she does not look like Uma Thurman.  However, perhaps to me and E-Dawg, her lyrics are dead-on; they hit the nail on the head, and they describe feelings we have as growing girls.  Regarding relationships, regarding our insecurities, regarding family and feelings in general.  It’s amazing.  Conor Oberst can do that for guys, and he is the one musician I hold nearest and dearest to my heart, considering his poetry is, to me, more reverable than Jenny’s.

But Jenny writes how I think.  She’s softer and maybe a little more predictable, but that can be a good thing; it’s a sweet thing because she tells stories in her songs.  She uses names and places.  Conor uses names, too, but his are more mysterious.  You honestly have no idea who these girls are (Kathy, Amy, Laura, most recognizably, plus Lila and Emily) or if Padraic really was, and he talks about his brother, but you’re not sure if that is Matt Oberst or some fictional character.  There’s a blurred line between fiction and reality, and that’s sometimes the best way to tell stories.  You can get the point across better situationally or hypothetically. 

18 October, 2006, 719 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

Do I even need words to explain that this was a rebound two years ago?  And not even infatuation; pure, to-the-core rebound?  Was I really into things so tacky as a freshman?  Can someone shake me really hard and ask why?  This is an example of how different I am.  God, what was I thinking?

Oh, and you can laugh at me and make fun of me; in fact, please do.  It would make me feel good.

18 October, 2006, 442 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I can’t actually socialize until probably two or more weeks from now, since we have competitions.  I wish I could drive.  I promise I won’t talk about band directly unless it hasn’t been said yet.

Haha, awkward much?  I just got back from dinner and I got an IM from someone; I’m afraid they thought I was ignoring them, but I forgot to put up an away message because I wasn’t talking to anyone.  No commitments, you know?  Open-ended.  I’m officially commitophobic, I think, except to my friends and to this blog.  That’s cool of me.  And I’m committed to picnics, which excite me immensely.  We should have one, though.  I’ve received one picnic draft, and it was detailed and better than yours will be, when you make one.

At the moment, I’m listening to “The Calendar Hung Itself,” and it makes me feel like being violently in love.  One of those relationships that’s so intense and fast and passionate that it’s actually unhealthy.  A sapless relationship that’s very vulgar.  You both have to wear the pants.  I feel like being in one of those right now.  I think I’m going to keep listening, and leave this entry at that.  And give you the lyrics.  Make what you like of them.

Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning
When you start to raise your head?
And does he sing to you incessantly
From the space between your bed and wall?
Does he walk around all day at school
With his feet inside your shoes?
Looking down every few steps
To pretend he walks with you?
Oh, does he know that place below your neck
That’s your favorite to be touched?
And does he cry through broken sentences
Like, “I love you far too much”?
Does he lay awake listening to your breath
Worried that you smoke too many cigarettes?
Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?
For every speck of tile there’s a thousand more
You won’t ever see but must hold inside yourself eternally

Well, I drug your ghost across the country
And we plotted out my death
In every city, memories would whisper
“Here is where you rest”
I was determined in Chicago
But I dug my teeth into my knees
And I settled for a telephone
Sang into your machine
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine”

And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw
That her father gave to her
She had eyes bright enough to burn me
They reminded me of yours
In a story told she was a little girl
In a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
And there were rows of ripe tomatoes
Where a secret was concealed
And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands.
And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end
Where I wrote
“You make me happy (Right!)
When skies are gray
You make me happy (Right!)
Oh, when skies are gray and gray and gray”

Well, the clock’s heart it hangs inside its open chest
With its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
But I will not weep for those dying days
For all the ones who’ve left, there’s a few that stayed
And they found me here and pulled me from the grass
Where I was laid

18 October, 2006, 157 am
Filed under: School

Let me sum up today thus far. My mom decided that since she had to work today and Rachael and I didn’t have band, she would wake up the rest of the house. So at 6:30, she came into my room and demanded her blush brush. When she found out I didn’t have it, she gave Rachael a ten-minute, full-volume lecture. I slept for ten more minutes (I don’t have to get up until 7:45 or 7:30) and woke up again to her egging my dad on for more money. So he eventually became the yeller, which was then passed on to me and Rachael. As gracious as we were for a Tuesday off, we didn’t feel like getting up at normal times. She finally left at about 7:15. I vaguely remember my dad telling me that my cousin, Erin, would be happy to let me stay with her a little so we could tour college campuses in Philly (Philadelphia for non-northerners). Which would be awesome, since Erin and I could chow on vegetarian cuisine and talk about books and travel, and life in general.

Well, schoolwise, let’s go through my odd day classes.

First block is Honours US History. I like history. It’s interesting uncovering why the world is the way we are today, and learning tidbits about why we use certain expressions, and the McCarthy era is crazy. I can’t believe it was allowed to happen. We haven’t gotten there yet, at least not in history. Today, we played a game about pretty much everything we’ve learned up to Adams’ presidency. Adams was a furball, in my opinion. Sounds soft and fluffy if you’re a newb, but if you know what it really is, it’s kind of unpleasant. We were divided into three groups to play Jeopardy. I can fend for myself, but not when I’m in the group of mentally incapable. We had four guys with good intentions, nice guys who were probably just apprehensive about answering, and then me, and then about four popular dicks. One girl, three guys. I wanted to reach back and snatch their eyeballs out of their heads. All four of them. This one particular douchebag was getting pissed off at the nice guys in our group because they never buzzed in, or they never knew the answers, and he didn’t like me because I got them right every time. What a hypocrite. We lost because of him, though. So…n00b.

In band, third block, I’m not even going to go there. Except that I’m looking to the future, and classical music isn’t in it. I mainly just wanted to point out that no matter what everyone says, some people really are anal about the way other people talk, and their intelligence, and their style. I’ve never not been friends with someone because of the clothes on their back, or because their IQ was lacking in areas. That just means they compensate for it in some other area.

17 October, 2006, 852 am
Filed under: Barrels of Fun, Music, School

Dude, sometimes…I wonder where my parents got me. Let’s just say that I deleted pretty much all of my music library, with the exception of Rilo Kiley, Bright Eyes, and the Arcade Fire, from my computer…all to get some lame-ass game that’s supposed to be really cool…and the game’s files turn out to be corrupt after I’ve downloaded them. All that slaving over Limewire, you know? How downtrodden would you feel? That’s like 800 songs, gone. I think it’s good for my computer, though, since I already had most of them on my pod. And some online. Still, though, ugh. Now I have almost 4 gb of roaming space on my computer. I suppose I’ll just download Sims 2 hair or something with it. I wish I could trade it in for money so I could buy some CDs.

This weekend was the ultimate weekend, though. You know, forget the Greek Festival (although Connor’s advantages as an honorary Greek made it fun and FILLING for him), and okay, maybe even the Armenian one, which, that kid who tried to beat us up (he was like 3) was probably the highlight of my day. Also the singing man in the magenta shirt, who was quite the muffin. AKA studmuffin. I got to play gheyball with two of my best friends, witness a jungle cat fight, eat banana pancakes, and gaze at the stars. Although, admittedly, looking at the stars while walking isn’t the same as looking at the stars laying down. It’s not as romantic, or romantic at all, really. I had nobody. But they fit together like a puzzle. I love their love and I am thankful that someone receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales that drugged us. And by they, I mean Steven and John. They’re the hottest couple of the century; they’ve got it going on, and they sure as fuck love Bright Eyes. Especially with John’s witch-hunting torch. Which was a failure. [nasal ha-ha]

Sorry for being lame, maybe. Trite? Cheap? A waste of paint? Of tape? Of time? AAH I’m pwning.

I crave hugs and I crave human contact, sort of; anything physical without pushing the boundaries. I am not a monster. Not to be weird, like, “OKAY, this woman is fucking insane and too needy…” but I’m awfully paranoid about being unapproachable. Which, I present myself that way too often, but I’m not. I shower at least once a day, and I brush my teeth, and I use deodorant, and all of that is a guarantee. My clothes are clean, too. But I don’t wear socks, generally. Sorry.

Life is moving too slowly right now. I know that when it starts to speed up, I won’t like it at all; in fact, it will likely be quicker in the aspects I least want it to speed up in.

Clarification: I actually couldn’t give less of a shit about school. Okay, French. But everything else, I don’t care. In one ear and out the other. That’s not to say anything about my teachers; they’re all amazing this year. My life’s path has been set since I was nine years old. I want to write, period. I don’t care if I’m stuck writing reviews about Shania Twain (whose birthday I have) for a WalMart catalog. I would love to write for some fancy schmancy music magazine, like Spin or Paste or whatever. Not that I can claim to know much about music. I’d love, though, to write what I want. An editorial, even, would be fun. I can write a convincing essay on “For Whom the Bell Tolls” without reading it. That has to count for something.

Clarification: Music, I won’t and I wouldn’t. I don’t excel. I don’t care. It’s lost any meaning for me, to play, because I can’t make fun out of it. I’m extremely apathetic. Herce told us to look at it as a game and try and hit all the notes we could, right, sort of like DDR or something. It worked for a while, but now I try and I’m not excited; who am I impressing? Nobody. Music can set me into moods, but nothing can move me like words. I’m killing my GPA for something that’s hard to enjoy; something that is an elective and is supposed to be fun. I’m elligible for NHS and Beta Club, but at what cost? We’re all suicidal, sort of.

By the way, don’t get me started on NHS. Mrs. Lavender put it bluntly, “Be realistic. If you don’t talk during class, you’re not going to get in, so don’t even try.” Tell me this: What does vocalization have to do with good grades and honour? Huh? What if I don’t have any questions; nothing to say, but I’m getting better grades than all those fucks? Aah, if you can’t tell, my inability at NHS because of something so pointed doesn’t piss me off at all. Beta, though, whatever. School is too easy except in as unattainable things as band.

I did get into an interesting conversation with Grant on Friday at the game, though, amidst talk of abortion and society and women (possibly not as deep as it sounds). Why do we volunteer our Friday nights and weekends to a halfhearted cause? I don’t know. Why are we in this if we’re not going to use it to our advantage as a career? I know I have less friends than non-band kids, even if I joined to make them. There are people in line for my position in the triad with E-Dawg and Marti. Um, that was only half-kidding, because there are people allegedly attempting to replace me, and I know, and I’ll hunt you down. Psych about hunting you down, but I do know. I’m just stressed the fuck out, with more things to concentrate on, single straight sixteen-year-old junior with only half a life at this point. I think we all wish we could pause the rest of the world for band practice so we could have social lives.

Clarification: Boys. Adhgiohiowefnocndpjwopeml;mckaiwyqioyerhoqhflkndl. Pretty much sums it up. I hate being single with completely unattainable/way overly attainable options. I appreciate Connor being bitterly honest. I want attainability with a push and a small challenge. At least I’m “realistic.”

Then again, there is one person, maybe overly attainable, unscathed by the claws of petty girl love, who I have come to fancy a little in a sophisticated way, but he looks away, or down on me, maybe. I guess I’m creepy or something. From him, it’s something I could shrug off, but what should I be doing? He might look at me as just way friendly and there’s no way I could fancy him, in a million years, and he’d be fucking wrong. PWNED to the fourth degree, I swear. But I’d hate to be a matchmaker. That’s always awkward. Plus, on Tamagotchis, the matchmakers are fugly.

I hate that I’m so boring. I wish I had other things to talk about, but the same things keep pouring out my mouth lately. That’s the only advantage to randomness. Despite the fact that it’s annoying, it’s interesting. I need to watch more movies, have more life-changing experiences like this weekend, and fall in love/lust/infatuation, even if only for a week. Be independent, too, though. It would make me oh so happy.