one year gone

This has got to be a better year. I can't survive another 2007.

2008 planned in advance:

I will smoke as much as I can.
I will get a boyfriend.
I will get a piercing or a tattoo.
I will grow up.
I will leave home.
I will ditch my friends that already hate me.
I will appreciate the true friends that I do have.
I will grow a backbone.
I will stop getting acne.
I will stop teasing my brother.
I will get over all the men of 2007.
I will meet many men in 2008.
I will get a best friend who doesn't use me.
I will get a best friend who isn't on the internet.
I will ditch said best friend on the internet because he is a self-pitying moron.
I will not ditch said best friend on the internet because I love him.
I will love my parents.
I will spend as much time as I can with my family.
I will write more.
I will read more.
I will drink less.
I will drink more.
I will not not not kiss random strangers.
I will not ask out random strangers.
I will stop lusting after the gay, not single boy who works at the occult store.
I will stop drinking so much damn coffee.
I will lose weight by exercise, not starvation.
I will listen to more music.
I will play more music.
I will listen to my therapist more.
I will not do (many) drugs.
I will try to be a better person.

love at first sight...

If you are the Occult shop boy who processed my purchase of an Art Noveau Tarot Deck and a hell of a lot of incense yesterday, here are the main reasons why I should be your main squeeze/soul mate:

1. You have a hell of a lot of piercings. I find this attractive.

2. You are pretty damn gorgeous. You look like James McAvoy. With piercings.

3. You work in an occult store. What more do I have to say?

4. I fucking love your fedora.

5. You are hot. I already said this, but it needed to be said again.

6. You flirted with me.

7. I flirted with you.

8. Did you feel the mutual attraction in the air? That's called love at first sight.

9. You have a good sense of style.

10. You work near the library, next to a used book store, near a comic store, and a block away from the best coffee place in the entire town. Need I say more?

11. I would make you one hell of a cute girlfriend. Never mind that I'm not legal yet and you are probably graduating from college soon.

12. I would read the cards for you with my limited skill. xD

13. The cards already said that it's meant to be. Sort of.

14. The cards never lie.

15. I'm going to ask you if you're seeing anyone next time I'm in the store.

meh.

I was supposed to go see the Sex God today, the first time after his accident two weeks ago. I was really looking forward to giving him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I even dreamed about it last night, and I guess part of me is so scared to see him. I'm just worried because I've never seen him fragile, he's the kind of guy that is always really well held together, always glued at the seams. And knowing that he's broken up, inside and outside, is just the worst feeling in the world. And part of me wants to just walk away from this (god I'm selfish) and part of me wants to be there for him. And I can't decide which it's going to be, and what I'm going to do. The fact that I even want to see him makes me think that I'm just going to be there for him, but I don't know. He's just… been a major part of my life, platonically, and now I'm just afraid that the accident may have killed off the part of him that I loved best: his spontaneity and his music. The boy has this innate gift, and if he's lost it, I don't know how I can relate to him anymore. I feel guilty, because obviously none of this is to do with me, and I can't understand why I keep relating this back to me, because I'm not a selfish person usually, but he just makes me introspective.

It's just hard. I don't know. I'm going to talk to my therapist about it. She'll know what to do. I…

I think I've lost him for good.

and when things couldn't get any worse

The boy I have had a crush on since fourth grade drove his car off a cliff on Wednesday night. He fell 250 feet. And blacked out. When they got him out of there, at four in the morning, he was carried by helicopter to our local hospital. He broke his neck. And his collarbone. And is currently in ICU. He's seventeen years old. There were no drugs and alcohol involved.

And I miss him so much. It's so weird because he's not dead, not yet, but there is a blank spot in class where he's supposed to be. And when the substitute calls role, and calls his name, I always want him to murmur here in that low voice of his and just end this charade. But it's real. And it's so fucking scary.

I hate losing people.

I need a new drug

Tomorrow I’m starting on Prozac.


…


That is all there is to say, really.

a little regret

After that last embarrassing post, I suppose I should try and post something uplifting and beautiful. But really, I'm having a hard time thinking of anything that is either uplifting or moving. My life is monotonous these days, and I have no motivation to make something cheerful up in order to put a salve on my ego. This last weekend was good, I suppose, but it was still marred by little moments of insanity that were, frankly, humiliating. Saturday night I went off the wall, and my parents almost drove down to LA to pick me up. I'm glad they didn't, but at the same time, I was so glad that they were finally listening. But after I finally revealed what was wrong, my mother is still saying things like "you have to pretend like you're perfectly even if you're a little blue…" A little blue? A little blue? I cannot even begin to describe how much of an understatement that is. She's suffered with depression herself, a little blue doesn't even encompass a fraction of the myriad of hellholes I've dug myself into.

So on Saturday, after crying for an hour straight, I ended up going out with some friends, and ended up macking it with some guy I didn't know, and felt so incredibly disgusting afterwards. I'm not a slut, and most of the time, I don't feel like a slut when I do things with boys I don't know. I don't think that's "sluttish," mostly because I'm discrete and don't go beyond the boundaries of propriety. But this time something just felt so weird about it, that afterwards, I sort of just closed my eyes and pretended I hadn't kissed him because the idea was just so insanely repulsive to me. It wasn't that he was ugly. It wasn’t that he wasn't a nice kid. It was just wrong all of a sudden. I don't get it, I really don’t.

even just for the day

I've reached the end of my rope. I am wiped. Emotionally, physically, I am drained of all I can give. I'm to the point where I can no longer be unselfish. I cannot hold up any longer. I am just not myself anymore. And if one more person pushes my buttons I will scream and scream until I can no longer hold onto sanity. There is only so far I can push myself, and I have reached the wall. My dreams are plagued with things I can't see; and my life is plagued by my growing sense of disillusionment and paranoia.

I cannot see how I will possibly make it to the end of the week without just dropping out, completely, or just hitting the wall. And if I do both, I wouldn't be surprised. I'm just OVER IT. Over everything.

And I just needed to rant for a few seconds to get it all off my chest and onto paper, because honestly, if I keep everything bottled up like I have a tendency to do, I will end up hitting my head against the wall repeatedly until my forehead is bloody.

I've done that before. And it was weird. And I don't want to do it again.

uncle johnny did cocaine

My appetite aint got no heart
I said my appetite aint got no heart
Shocking people when you feel that pull
Shock 'em, drop 'em when you know its full

I've been listening to the Killers a lot lately, and I really hate how some of their songs just hit a little too close to home. I won't stop listening to them on that basis, but that one song... Uncle Johnny is about my uncle. And I hate it hate hate it. And to admit that I hate it is to admit that he's dead... and goddammit I hate admitting that. It's been years, but I'm so mad still.

whatever.

So my parents said that they would get me therapy.
LIES!

Lies. I'm so mad.

in skin

College applications are the bane of my existence. Not even kidding. I feel like a prostitute, having to sell myself to every public university on the coast. It's not a fun feeling. I want them to just take me for I am, not how I seem on paper. It's suddenly as if all the things I've been doing over the last four years haven't been enough. On one hand I say to myself: how could I have done more? But on the other hand I know I could have applied for Teen of the Year, or done more activities. But did I want to do that? No. But it scares me that doing what I wanted to do might have screwed me over.

And when I get into that oh-so prestigous school that I really am dying to get into I will celebrate by getting a piercing or a tattoo, or doing something that will make me stand out from all those numbers, because I'll know that they saw more than my mediocre grades, and my obsession with my guitar.


And when I don't get into that oh-so prestigous school that I really am dying to get into I will still get a piercing or a tattoo, because I'll know that I will stand out and be my own person wherever I go, no matter what I will do.

I just have to find a way to show them how unique I am.

And it's getting harder each day.

lacking

My life has become increasingly boyless since I last posted. Citrus Boy is sort of out of my life. The Sex God is just a good friend.

The "love of my life" (fuck that) returned to visit from University on Monday, made me cry, and then left again. I suppose he was aptly named the Obscure Object. He's not just Obscure, he's fucking Opaque.

Pretty much the only guy in my life now is strictly platonic. I think. I hate it when it gets confusing about those sorts of things.

I'm seeing a therapist on Thursday.
I'm very sick, have a nasty cold.

Homecoming sucked, but I told eveyone I had a good time because I didn't want to ruin the mood.

And I hate high school.
Oh, and I'm beginning to think that I'm never going to get into college.
Otherwise, I'm fantastic.

I read a fucking amazing book. It was called "the Line of Beauty," and it's about a gay boy living in the mid 80s conservative upper class England and all its idiosyncracies... Amazing book. Won the Booker Prize.

still breathing.

He's still breathing— miracles of miracles.

And I can't believe that I'm so lucky to have him escape yet again. Does luck even play into it? I don't know.

dust to dust

One of my best friends is dying right now.

I can't be there with him, or his boyfriend. Because we live on opposite sides of the earth.

I want him to email me and tell me it's all a joke.

Because it's not funny. It never has been funny.

God, I used to just say things like "I don't care if people use drugs, it's only them they're hurting". And as selfish as it is to say, it hurts me more now than it hurts him.

If he dies, I don't know how I'll ever be able to talk again. I'll have to swallow everything I've ever said to him, all the "I love yous" all the "I hate yous" and all that shit in between that means everything in retrospect.

I'd never thought I'd live in retrospect.
We're too young to.

He's twenty one.
I'm seventeen.

And he's dying.
And I can't do anything about it.

I've been searching for my wings....

I know I have so many crushes that flit in and out of my life: the Sex God continues to be a constant distraction in IB Music, the Obscure Objects occasionally leaves a kind message on my Facebook wall and stirs up old emotions best left dormant, my gay best friend say something cute and I instantly want to marry him… Needless to say, I’ve got the “cosmic horn”. If you don’t know the reference, please go read Angus, Thongs, and Full Frontal Snogging to find the definitive meaning of a teenager’s life, particularly mine. Although I don’t have very many hot men like the main character in Angus seems to.

Anyhow, long story short: another crush has developed. And it’s not just a “crush” per se; it’s a bona fide like. The hapless subject happens to be a year younger than me (alas) and one of the Sex God’s good friends.

So, basically, every time I see him, that song by Patrick Wolf goes through my head: “Oh! My Augustine, Augustine!/
Oh! Is this forever, ever? Oh, oh/ Sweet Augustine, Augustine/ Do we kill this one tonight?/ And now come the tears, heavy and hot/ It becomes clear, this is all we got”.

I’m not really sure why I get that in my head; I think it’s the anguished way Wolf sings it, so from the belly, from the deepest pit of his soul.

Anyhow, so the boy, who I think I will nickname Citrus Boy, after his band which I shan’t tell you what it’s called, is pretty much one of those perfect people. The kind of person you want to die next to.

Which is so funny, because I’m never this attached to anyone. Ever. Not true. But I haven’t been so lovelorn in a long time. And it’s a nice feeling, to settle back into that hopeless laughing and that perfect knowledge of unrequited love.

if I were alive right now—

I'm sick. So, here's some McAvoy to make myeslf feel better. Twenty four hour flu is the bane of my existence.

more geek out...

Guess who is so desperately obsessed with James McAvoy that she rented Children of Dune last night to watch and totally be in love with him? Yeah, okay, like that's hard to guess. I mean, I don't usually speak of myself in the third person, because that borders on a little psychotic, but it's okay, really. I've gotten in the bad habit of referring to myself as we—

I was talking about Children wasn't I? Okay, go see it. It's really good, extraneous of anything to do with James McAvoy, although his copious shirtless scenes are gratifying.

Anyhow, good movie. If you like the original Dune, and aren't a fan of the Dune movie by Lynch, you'll like this one. I swear. If not, you can send a worm after me.

geek out time...

Is it permissible to scum to the worst of female generalities and stereotypes, and admit that I am obsessed with Jane Austen? I've never quite understood it; but I suppose my obsession and preoccupation with Austen began with the film Sense and Sensibility (you know, the one with Kate Winslet and Emma Thompson?) which led to a long and lengthy love affair with the novel; and thence to a much more fulfilling relationship with Pride and Prejudice.

I have to admit that Jane Austen is sort of the quintessential female vice; we succumb to her witty verse and her romantic endings. And of course, Mr Darcy is every intelligent girl's dream; slightly proud, very dashing, and quite willing to humble himself in the face of true love. That is still my male ideal, and as unfortunate as it is to admit it, Darcy is a fictional character and beast. There is no such type of man. I hate to admit, because it breaks my heart something dreadful, but Darcy is no more and no less than a figment of her imagination.

Which is perhaps why I found the new movie Becoming Jane such a beautiful idea— I saw it this afternoon. Not only did it combine my love of Austen with my love of James McAvoy, but it had pretty dresses and evidences of a ball in the adverts. Not to mention I cried when I saw the trailer. And that wasn't just because Mister McAvoy was as beautiful as Apollo.

I loved the idea that she had loved— and maybe lost. Because as any true disciple of Jane Austen knows, she did not die happy. She died impoverished and alone. And that in itself is distressing, because I often pondered to myself, "how the fuck can she write about extreme happiness and perfect endings when she herself had far from it? She'd never even fucking experienced life, how can she write of it suchly?"

But to say this is to deny Austen's vivid imagination— we can all remember quite clearly that the Gothic novel Jane Eyre also stemmed from inexperience. To discredit her imagination would discredit the book itself— and we cannot deny that Austen and Brontë's work contained undeniable truths about human nature.

Anyhow, the movie is sweet and sentimental, and I cried far more than I should have. It was enjoyable in a quaint, whimsical way, and Ms Hathaway was charming as usual in her customary head strong character. There was nothing to recommend or to insult about it. I enjoyed it, and I also was disappointed.

But I'm very excited about James McAvoy's new movie, Atonement which bloody doesn't come out in the States until fucking December, and I'm also excited about this Hugh Dancy film coming out soon enough. It's called the Jane Austen Book Club. Tell me that doesn't sound wonderful.

more than words

Second post of the day.

My parents are out of town, with my brother and sister. They've left me alone in the house.

True to character, I am going to do some things I shouldn't. I have a friend coming over some time in the next couple days and we're going to smoke in the backyard.

But I'm not going to throw a wild party; even though I kind of want to do something like that— I won't. I'm too honoured that they respect me enough to leave me alone in the house. Isn't that kind of funny? I'm really proud that they trust me enough at home alone.

And the funny thing is, I miss them so desperately. I know that I complain about them like an old woman. But they are really quite the best parents for me. I wouldn't have done well in any other household. I respect them, I love them, and I have enough independence to flount some of their rules but not break the big ones.

Funny, huh?

of lasts

My Grand-Aunt died recently, and I will admit that I am very sad about it— not because I knew her very well, or that I was very attached, but because it means that my grandmother is getting old, and she is realising it.

I think there is nothing worse than death, except for the realisation of imminent death. We all die— it is natural, it is what happens to us. We cannot complain or whine about it, because it is just life. Life is life is life. And death is death is death. We all have to come to terms with our mortality.

This is all so easy to spout off now— if I actually sat and thought about it, I would probably get in a state of panic and freak out. This is understandable.

But it's hard to watch my grandmother mourn and come to terms with her own mortality at the same time. It all makes me feel so immature and worthless.

there is seriously something wrong with the world

How the fuck is a show entitled "The Pickup Artist" optioned and shown?







What the fuck is wrong with our society?

of firsts

I had my first cigarette last week.







It was majorly anti-climactic.



I didn't even cough.

something stupid.

Some days you just want it all to go away. And on those days suicide is suddenly an option, suddenly a way out, some way to make it all stop abruptly. And whatever it was that was crushing you just disappears, and you can walk down a road without feeling as if you are suffocating. True despair is worse than any disease. It’s staring out of a window at nothing and wanting to off yourself with a big knife. It’s not about seeking help anymore. After a while, you don’t want the attention. You just want it to fucking all end.

Because life isn’t a box of chocolates. Life isn’t even a brown paper package, or a bloody rose. It’s a fucking mess. Life throws you curve balls at every turn, and burns your soul with a lighter. Life doesn’t give a fuck about how you feel, or what you want.

Some things make it better. Like sitting in a quiet, clean room without any sound, just the dripping of a faucet. Or sitting in the middle of a green field that doesn’t smell like dog shit. A few friends at a dinner party. A boy with green eyes who kisses you gently.

But sometimes, not even those things can make it better.

And I hate to think of this as wallowing in self pity. Because really, I know my life is wonderful. I have nothing to complain about: I have a wonderful family, plenty of money, an education, a dog. I have the ‘American dream’.

And that’s why I can’t complain to anyone. They wouldn’t understand. I’m not ungrateful; I’m not. I love my family so much, and my life is beautiful. And when things are good, and I’m not depressed, I can see so much beauty in the world. But when I’m depressed, it’s like everything is gone and I can’t see anything at all.

And when I do try to tell someone how I feel, I’m told “oh it’s just a teenage thing, you’ll be fine in a few days”. Try a few months. I’ll be fine in a few months. I spent most of July in a fucking hole. I couldn’t breath, couldn’t hear, and it affected my work. And people could tell.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

How on earth do you explain that you’re wanting to kill yourself for no other reason than that there is something strange haunting you. And how do you tell people that you feel as if your soul has been ripped out?

I’m not a fucking emo. I don’t wear pitch-black eyeliner and die my hair black. I don’t listen to Panic! At the Fucking Disco, or the Used, and I fucking don’t pretend I’m hardcore.

I like my life, I really do.

But sometimes, death is the only thing I can think of to just end this mess inside my head. I want to scream obscenities at the top of my lungs just to be heard. But I can’t.

And I hate that I’ve come so close to actually doing the deed, and then I chicken out, oh because, how would my parents handle it?

Two years ago, I came so close. I was about to plunge a butcher knife into my gut when my sister walked in. I was scared more by the look on her face than the fact that there was a very sharp knife millimetres away from my belly button.

I’m sorry for being so fucking weak.

In a few days, if I don’t get really bad, I’ll be fine again, and it won’t get this bad for another few months and then I’ll be where I am now.

But I’ve managed to get through it before, and I fucking hope I’ll be fine. Because I really hate being weak. And I hate being at the mercy of something I can’t explain.

whatever it is in the world that hates me

Please stop.

I'm going crazy.

damn it.

My best friend just "stood me up". It wasn't a date, or anything, but that's the only phrase I could think of in this situation.

Needless to say, I'm infuriated. I put aside a perfectly decent Friday afternoon to spend with her, and she just BLEW it off. You're probably wondering why I put that in all caps... Well, it's because I strongly suspect she is off covorting avec le boyfriend; hence the reference. Which is incredibly bitchy of me, but I couldn't care less right now. Okay, yeah I do care, but I figure that she'll never read this, so what she can't read can't harm her.

I really really hope she's in a coma or something, or has an equally legitimate excuse.

ridiculous things.

After watching about half of the second season of Project Runway, and watching my darling and dear love of my life, Daniel Vosovic, lose to Chloe Dao, I sat down and wrote a song. And was promptly ashamed to be wasting paper on fashion—because I can’t dress to save my life.

I have always been puzzled by my complete and utter fascination with fashion, partly because I dress like a drunken mixture of a ho-bag and a bag lady. I have never matched, and I’ve always been too poor to dress like I mean it. The extent of my fashionableness is Target. I own two pieces of clothing by “high fashion” designers: a pair of capri jeans by Michael Kors (which are the love of my life), and a green chain mail like shirt by BCBG Max Azria… which has a hole in the fucking sleeve.

Anyhow, I will admit that I try. I really do. But my parents can’t afford to dress me well all the time—so I have a handful of shirts and one pair of jeans that are nice, and I wear those as much as I can, and when they’re in the wash, I look like white trash. Which is fine, I’ve accepted that.

But it makes it that much harder to watch something like Project Runway, and think “what would I kill to get to design clothing, for a living?” And then I always start looking back into applying to places like Parsons, or FIDM, and I get so excited again. And then I look down and remember that there is no way I would ever fit in at a place like that. And I could never afford to go there. Which is even worse, because it means that that road is closed to me. That opportunity isn't even there, because I'd have to sell my soul to the devil in order to go to a private art school. And they say America is the "land of opportunity".

And I'm even one of the lucky ones. My parents can afford to send me to community college. And so many parents can't even afford to do that for their kids. Fucking land of opportunity, my ass.

And I have pride, which is the worst thing of all. How could I have pride when I have nothing? I don’t understand myself. But I have a hard time shopping in thrift stores. Although, I think I’m going to have to start doing it more often, if I ever want to dig myself out of my fashion rut.

And I wonder if I’m just being ridiculously shallow and horrible. Because there are children starving in Africa. And while I may not dress to impress, I eat every day. I have clothing on my back. I have running water and a television to remind me of what I don’t have. And I remember what I do have, and I’m grateful. And I wish to god that I didn’t live in a western country, where I have to look to find suffering. Hell would be nice compared to earth, I think.

Strange how watching a couple hours of television can bring me to tears and frustration at myself, and at the world.

I’m thinking too much.

hard to be heartbroken

I hate myself.

I saw him today, that boy. The beautiful one with the pale white eyelashes that make me melt into a puddle, the one who I've thought was beautiful since I first met him in eighth grade, the one who I hooked up with on Saturday--

did not even recognise me today when I saw him in the hall.

And I feel stupid for allowing myself to be touched (literally and metaphorically) by him. and I feel so stupid for letting his icy blue eyes get to my heart, so much so that I haven't thought of anything other than him for a while now.

which is so stupid. He's a year younger than me, is a pot head, and probably isn't a nice guy. not only that, but he's only interested in me when he's stoned, and when I'm likely to put out.

MEN!

no pants dance

So, I went to a No Pants Dance on Saturday night, and even though we didn't stay out all that late, it was awesome. It was in this guy in my art class's garage, and there were so many people there. He played mostly euro-trance and there was a strobe light going, which makes everyone look beautiful, and it was so trippy. It was so hot that the walls were sweating, and I soaked through my bra and underwear within five minutes. I danced with this one guy, and even made out with him for a second before realising that I knew him, and that he was my boss's half brother. Whoops.

Otherwise, good times... We plan on attending the next one. The only upsetting part was that the Obscure Object brought his girlfriend, who really wasn't all that cute, and he was showing her off like she was something to be envied. But I wouldn't tap that, personally. She was blonde and sort of stupid looking, and that's all I have to say on the matter.

I forgot to mention, I turned seventeen on Friday. Pretty exciting. I'm now able to go watch NC-17 movies and R rated films. That much closer to independence and age of consent.

Raphaël

One of my favourite musicians, Raphaël, is coming to Los Angeles. And I can't go see him. Needless to say, I'm really really disappointed. But since I'm getting to see Snow Patrol later this summer, I really shouldn't complain copiously... But he is so amazing. And I really am disappointed about missing out on his concert...



But I got to see Mickey Avalon live last weekend, and I think Raphaël will live longer than Mickey, so I guess you have to pick and chose your battles. And Mickey was amazing... I almost died when I got to touch his arm.

In personal news, the Sex God fades in and out of my life with alarming speed. He was demanding the lyrics to my latest song last week, and completely forgot hours later. It was amusing. I think drugs were involved.

No need to worry

I don't have to worry about pardoning him for further crimes.

He has a girlfriend. And he was just asking me for advice on how to spend time with other girls, emphatically not me, without hurting her feelings.

You know what he said? You know what he said?

"You waited too long, now you'll have to find someone else."

To which I replied, "Awh, fuck you." And promptly signed out of AIM without the intention of ever emailing, speaking, or acknowledging his presence ever again.

Obscure Object: did i offend you?

Angy: I don't know if I should answer you. You'll just get offended right back.

Obscure Object: i wouldn't. or at least i wouldn't hold it against you. ps. i'm sorry if talking about all of this was inappropriate

Angy: No, it was completely appropriate. It's sort of been festering since November, hasn't it? I just wrote a long whole rant about how I don't understand you, and how liking you has been a waste of time, etc. etc. But I just deleted it. Because you don't need to know. I'm done divulging anything-- I've already divulged enough.

Besides, I don't think you care.

Obscure Object: I'm really sorry. i honestly don't know what i was thinking. but you're a friend. a good one at that. and i really hope that we can maintain a good friendship. you're someone who i can talk to. i look forward to these conversations.

Angy: I look forward to them too. But for different reasons. And that's why I think I need to spend some time away from you.

I'm not some stupid lovelorn girl who is going to pine after you because I've been rejected. After I have successfully mended my feelings, I'll get ahold of you.

(a few minutes later)

Angy: Fuck it. You make me laugh, and you're an interesting conversation holder. I really really like our conversations, and I'd rather be unhappy for two minutes, than miss talking to you in a week. Truce?

After which, I got back on AIM and we mended bridges.

In a way, this is a very good thing for me. I won't be living some little sob story now, I won't be mislead by his every smile in my direction.

I told him so much today. About me. Things that I haven't even told my best friends. And he accepted it. I'm sure it changed his perception of me, perhaps to the worse, but he listened. And that means more to me than any kisses, or any words of endearment.

Endings are sad, but necessary, I think. I'll never stop loving him, in my own way, but now I can stop wishing for something I should have known would never happen, not in my wildest dreams. And I can go back to liking mediocre boys with little talent or brains, and settle for less than ideal. Going back to the staid old men of my life shall be boring, but it was nice to have him as a dream for a while.

Regardless, we've forged something more than friendship. Not romantic, that has been stressed so far. But to know so much about each others feelings, and our respect for each other?

I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Can't you see?

He said to me, "Can't you see?" when I asked him to read me something off the board. My eyesight is too poor to see that far, and I wanted to explain to him that I was practically blind... but suddenly it seemed like words were far too much to explain how I felt, what I wanted, and it was suddenly much more than a homework assignment on the whiteboard.

So, instead of giving him a coy, convoluted answer like I would any other day of the week, I just looked him in the eye and said "No."

And it was the truth; I can't see a lot of things. I can't see how madly obsessed I've been, how I've excused his behaviour.

This last weekend he did something again, something horrible. I can't even say it. Needless to say, he's broken my trust. It's not like I can even mention it to him now, because it's none of my business.

But in a way, it is my business. Only because I've defended him at every turn, and I can't any longer. I cannot stick up for him after this, not after this. And I wasn't directly involved, so I cannot approach him and tell him what he's done wrong. I want to send him an email saying "Look what you've done! Look!" and hope that he does. But I can't, and I won't.

Now, I am turning the phrase around.

"Can't you see me?"

I want to pose this question to him, pose this question to him. Can't you see me? I don't think he can. He says he respects me, and that he is flattered that I love him. But he cannot see me, no more than I can truly see beyond his beauty. I am blinded by my love for him, and I cannot see his true self.

And it is horrible to admit that I no longer trust him, respect him, or even wish to be his one and only, but I still love him more than any other person I have ever loved.

And I cannot go on much longer being willfully blind.

camping?

So, I had plans this week to head with the Obscure Object and his gang up to Tunnel Road at some late hour on Friday, to hang out, party, you know the deal. I also had plans to go get plastered with another friend on Saturday, you know, the party before the plunge of IB testing.

No cigar. Guess who is going on a department camping trip this weekend? Me. Guess who has four testing dates next week? Me.

Agreed my plans to go out and get stoned off my ass weren't exactly conducive to a proper testing condition, but that is immaterial. I was fully prepared to spend all of Sunday studying very very hard. Yes, very very hard. And I spent this last weekend studying very hard so that I wouldn't have to cram next weekend anyway.

Camping? I don't mind camping, but not in the middle of the school year, and before two of the most important tests of my life!

I'll admit: I'm a hypocrite. A hypocrite of the worst sort. I'm more put out about having to put aside yet another opportunity to spend time with him.

Spiderman? No....

So, Obscure Object invited me to go see Spiderman 3 tonight with a bunch of his friends. Shall I be going? No... because I'm grounded.

I forgot to sign up for the ACT-- and for this reason I am grounded. Can I say that the ridiculousness of this has become rather disproportionate? I cannot believe my mother. What a fucking stupid thing to ground someone for. If I'd come home smelling of pot, or cigarettes, I'd expect punishment.

But I am an ideal child. I get decent grades. I don't do anything rebellious. I curse a little bit, but always apologise. I am well behaved, polite, articulate. I do not embarrass her in front of guests.

It's like she's grasping for straws with which to punish me. I am not only indignant, but fucking offended that she has so little do in her life that she feels the need to get mad at me for something that easily remediable.

deus in flammas abiit

”… sic deus in flammas abiit, sic pectore toto uritur et sterilem sperando nurit amorem”.

“and thus the god becomes totally inflamed, so he burns in his whole heart, and nourishes barren love by hoping”.

-- Ovid, Daphne and Apollo from the Metamorphoses

It seems that even ancient Romans knew what it was to be futilely in love.

being in love is like being crumpled up inside

Being in love is like being crumpled up inside and feeling yourself cave into baser instincts.

And you feel yourself let go of any real sense of reality, or what is proper, and what is good for yourself.

I'd lost sense of time.

It's like waking up. I've wasted five months on this boy, and likely will waste at least a few more before he jetsets off to Berkeley or wherever the hell the world takes him. And I'll cry when he leaves, just as I'm crying now when he hasn't even left yet.

And I hate myself for being so damn weak.

"love you forever, but you're driving me insane..."

Oh god, I do love Feist's cover of "Inside and Out".

Let me just say that I'm so tired of men. With the exception of those really sweet ones who love me and don't piss me off. Where are they right now? Nowhere. Actually, I amend that. They are in the arms of peroxide blondes with good teeth and cute button noses. I hate them. I really do. Obscure Object pisses me off-- I really can't stand him much longer. Being near him is intoxicating-- it's like being drunk and everything is rosy. And then I walk away and remember exactly how much of an asshole he is. The irony is painful.

"I'm the girl who loves you inside and out... "

Christ. Leslie Feist, you know exactly what it's like to be completely infatuated.

Here's today's playlist:
Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

... happiness is not under rated

Well. This weekend did not end up with a hook up with the Obscure Object, as was previously hoped. Instead, it ended up with a hook up with a complete stranger. Albeit, a gorgeous Latino stranger who was my height and danced very well. And was named Ben.

Thank god for JSA dances.

We had danced earlier on in the dance for a few dances; he'd approached me from behind and just grabbed me, pretty much. And after a song or two he said he was "tired" and that he was sorry. I shrugged, figuring he was giving me a polite brush off.

Later in the night, I saw him dancing with Isobel, and I gave him a flirty smile and when I was heading off the floor to get a drink I waved goodbye in a particularly flirtatious way. When we got back, he just grabbed me and we pretty much danced until the end of the dance together.

And he kissed me-- no, not kissed me, made out with me. I've never made out with a guy before. I almost forgot to dance-- it was amazing. I mean, I've kissed guys before, but nothing with tongues. Pretty much it was amazing.

Anyhow, I totally didn't regret not hooking up with the Obscure Object, because I saw him locking lips and hips with some fake blonde tramp from Newport Harbour. No thanks, shant put my hands anywhere near anything that has touched that piece of slime.

Overall, the convention was pretty much amazing. Great debates, great fun. Good times all around. And my very first hookup. I think I'm pretty much on top of the world right now.

Updated:

I've put together a playlist to describe today and the weekend.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

disaster at sea

Not quite at sea. But in general, disaster.

This morning, Isobel said "Oh my god, you have to listen to this..." She then went off on an amazing spiel. She had talked to the Obscure Object the night before. He had said, in no uncertain terms, that the girl behind him in TOK should confess how she feels before Spring State, and that he had known that she'd liked him for some time.

The girl who sits behind him TOK? Me. Naturally, I guess that it meant that he was interested. It seemed like a logical conclusion. And being the honest girl that I am, I confessed to Isobel that I had had no idea that he was remotely interested, and that was why I had never had any intention of ever telling him my feelings.

During TOK, I tried to address him, but it turned out he'd taken the vow of silence. This note transcript sprung from our encounter:

Obscure Object: What?

Me: Did you talk to Isobel last night?

O. O. : I talk to her almost every night, but yes.

Me: Well, I might as well tell you then, since you already know. How do I put this so you won't think less of me?

O. O. : Why would I think less of you?

Me: When I'm nervous I tend to babble like an idiot. Here it goes: I've had a crush on you since November, and I never had any intention of telling you until Isobel pushed me.

O. O. : Well, I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell me before. But I guess that I'm flattered. Sorry, I don't really know what to say, but I truly do thank you for telling me.

Me: Well. I shouldn't have, because I've always known you weren't interested. But thank you for being gracious enough not to mock me.

O. O. : You should have told me. And I'll be honest. I haven't been interested. But who knows? JSA is coming up. The whole weekend will be unpredictable.

He said he wasn't interested. And then he said "Who knows?"

Asshole. And yet I still am madly in love with him. You know what else what he told Isobel? He's not interested in a relationship right now, he's a senior. Just about to head off to college and a brighter future: he wants nothing tying him down. No one. And I accept that if he makes a move, I'll be a one night stand and nothing more.

Life isn't fair.

Fuck 'em.

Open letter from John Fusciante (of the Red Hot Chili Peppers) in support of Mickey Avalon excerpt:

If people try to push you down, don't conform to their bullshit. Stand up to it, with courage. Make 'em threaten you with death before you even consider backing down. Be how you want to be. Fuck'em.

I think that's one of the most important quotes I've heard in a long time. It says so much about him, but more importantly it gives a great message. That's right John. FUCK 'EM.

idiotic

So, in a fit of stupid inspiration, I posted the link to this blog on my Livejournal that all my friends read. Hours later I realised my folly, and rushed over to delete the erroneous link. Hopefully I have allayed drama... For now. Hah.

So... Here's today's playlist. Topped by Pretty Things, the best slow Wainwright song. He's a genius. And of course, some View, because the Don is like the cutest song ever.

Playlist Recommendations

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life is a bucket of shite

Basically, the title describes my life right now.

I'm dead on my feet, and I'm so close to just fucking jumping in front of a car.

Not really, because I still have yet to do all the things that teenagers are supposed to do... But I do have a date to smoke pot with a friend this weekend, I've dyed my hair red, and now I just need some extraneous piercings. Sound good?

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Happy belated Saint Patrick's day... I've compiled a list of my favourite Irish ballads... My favourite is There were roses. But anyhow, Irish pride, people. Couldn't find any of the really old good one's about the old IRA, but this will do...

Playlist Recommendations

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wonderful world/quantum physics

"And I know that it's a wonderful world/ But I can't feel it right now/ Well I thought that I was doing well/ But I just want to cry now/ Well I know that it's a wonderful world/ From the sky down to the sea/ But I can only see it when you're here, here with me."

Basically, I have very good news. The Sex God and the Obscure Object are going to Spring State.

This merits for my playlist of the day: James Morrison, Sexy Back, more Muse, some amazing Isobel Campbell with her fantastic Bang Bang, and some fucking awesome Comets on Fire.
Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

In other news, we watched What the *BEEP* do we know" in TOK today-- and the Obscure Object poked me to illustrate that I am only possibility when he closes his eyes, due to quantum physics. Let's just say that I feel remarkably intelligent because I am able to slightly, barely, maybe grasp the faintest idea of what quantum physics means. Actually, I don't really understand it, but I understand this: if it's true, when you close your eyes everything is possibility.

When I learn something new, or remarkable, I always feel reborn, rejuvenated. It's like the world is suddenly beautiful again, and I can marvel at the magic in the world and gasp and be in awe that our world is so amazing. One particle is in two places at the same time-- that is such an amazing, amazing idea.

oh my god

First off, I got permission to go to Spring State in April. Secondly, the Obscure Object might also be going...

Thirdly-- the Obscure Object knows that I like him. This could be a terrible thing, or a very good thing. He certainly didn't act very differently today in class. But he knows. My good friend had a conversation with him last night. It went something like this --

Friend I know plenty of people who like you.
Obscure Object Like who?
Friend I can think of numerous people off the top of my head.
Obscure Object Like Angy?
Friend I don't know about her...

He so knows. But he was totally normal in class today, which makes me think he's

• not interested in me
  
• waiting for the opportune moment to pounce
  
• doesn't give a shit
  

Well. I think it's the first one, but if I thought otherwise I'd be a conceited git. Anyhow... So, I think that some major "playing hard to get" is in order, to avoid embarrassment. He did pass me a note today in class-- about science, agreed-- but he touched my knee, and Muse was playing at very loud decibels again.

So, playlist for the day is rather varied. Pogues for the morning, Rainy Night in Soho due to the rather weird fog... Strokes for the rather hyper bit around second period, and Mika's Take it Easy for the after glow of the hyperness... and Muse of course for that "moment"--hah.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

Dance party in my head

There is totally a dance party in my head right now, with Elvis Costello playing at really loud and horrible decibels... Isn't it strange when you get random songs stuck in your head?

But Starlight (by Muse) was totally playing at full volume during TOK today, when the Obscure Object not only grabbed my arm, but detained me from cleaning up a load of tea that had spilled on my backpack in order to discuss Chaos theory with me... Either he is a selfish bastard, or he finds conversation with me very scintillating.

So, what was the soundtrack for my day? It included a lot of very strange things-- a fair deal of Rammstein, and some very lovely Lily Allen and other rather strange mixtures. OH, a great deal of Paolo Nutini as well. Very strange day-- very strange music. Small sampling of the magic. xD

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music


Today was one of my friend's birthday-- his seventeenth. He seemed down, so I asked what the matter was. His good friend was hit by a motorcycle the day before-- he was absolutely devastated-- and his parents made him come to school. That's what the Vienna Teng and slow Shiny Toy Guns songs are for-- acknowledgement that even good days for me, suck for someone else.

football!

Basically, after our tragic defeat against fucking Wanker Utd., I felt a need to be uplifted... so I skedaddled my little ass over to Seeqpod, and came up with an amazing Footie music list, with theme songs from the last few World Cups, as well as You'll Never Walk Alone -- my boys, my boys! Sigh... Man. I love Liverpool F.C. so much.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

[...]

The Sex God #2 greets me in the halls these days. I'm always rather dazed when he does-- and it seems like Jose Gonzalez's song "Lovestain" is playing in the back of my mind when he does... Strange?

I've decided that life isn't all that bad.

Although, I did sign up for IB Music today for next year. Stupid, stupid girl. I suppose I shall never ever learn.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

just when I thought I was getting ahead...

I realised that there is no way in hell the Obscure Object would ever like me. Agreed, he may pay very good attention to me, and check out my boobs, he is not interested in me in any other way than to bounce his theories off of, and to again, check out my boobs. Fuck. I hate life.

And the funniest part of all of this? I still like him. I still LOVE him. Yes, I know, I said the L-Word. No, not lesbian: fucking love. Now, my friends would all be rolling their eyes at this point going "fuck, here we go again", but god damn it, I'm in love with him. I love how immature he is, and how he's constantly an asshole. I love that he can't go a day without arguing-- I fucking adore his impish grin and the way his hair is always casually mussed. I'm a goner when he's scruffy, and hasn't shaved in like a week, and looks like the bad guy from an old western. I'm obsessed, and it's not pretty.

I hate hate hate how in the movies the boy always gets the girl, and it's really never the other way around, unless the crush/love is reciprocal and they're both secretly pining for one another. Because, I really don't think he's pining for me. And never will be.

So I'm just going to keep on loving him, because I don't know how not to, and hating myself for it.

Shades of Gray

Everytime I need a boost because I am a sulky bitch, I go read back issues of Ethan Gray's blog, especially the one's about his past relationships, books, and his general attitude on life. This is one of my favourites, mostly because I'm looking for the same guy he is-- and I'm young, I have time to find that guy... But I would like to start looking early.

Here's an excerpt from an entry titled "the One".

Somewhere on the island of Manhattan, in a dimly lit room is a man in his mid to late thirties. In his hands a copy of The Hours by Michael Cunningham. Sections of that morning’s New York Times are scattered on the floor, on the couch, in the bathroom, a trail of paper that bears witness to his day. It’s a cozy apartment, wooden floors, warm brown leather chairs, entire walls made of books, and a window, which if looked at from the street, flickers blue.

He’s been living there for years. He’s thought of moving, but he likes it where he is, it’s home.

Most of his accent is gone, dulled by a life lived in New York, like a kitchen knife after years of heavy use. But even today, hints of another place still come out as alcohol seeps in.

Handsome, quiet, he’s had a few serious relationships and at least one major heartbreak. It’s been a while since anyone’s managed to surprise him.

[...]

He’s a romantic. He’s the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries, the one who spends hours finding the right present. He likes to see the surprised look on their face as they open it, a gift that says, “See? I’ve been listening.”

He likes to think the right guy’s out there, he’s just not sure.

Somewhere in Manhattan lives a man. He’s a bit of me, and a bit of whom I’d like to meet. An idea of a person that comes to mind whenever I get dumped, go on a bad date, or have sex of the ordinary kind. He has no clear features or name. He’s the one.

Okay, so maybe the not the part about the guy being gay, and thirty-something... But anyone who reads the Hours is worthy of my attention...

But anyhow, Ethan Gray is an amazing writer. I can't aspire to be him, as that would involve drastic gender change-- but I worship his writing nonetheless. He's so fucking candid. Best of the best of bloggers, I swear.

procrastinator

I am seriously turning into the worst procrastinator ever-- I have a huge essay/outline test in History of the Americas, and I haven't done a thing for it. And since I am responsible for the U.S. portion of the information I feel especially guilty. I guess, and I hope, my partner is more responsible than I, and has done her work, because then the essay will be seriously Canada-centric. Which is fine, but it just denotes what a lazy ass I am.

Not only have I put that off, I completely have blown off my math homework, and all of my other work until now. Or a few minutes from now when I'm done with this. And, to top it all off, I have a C in Math. What the hell. I have a A- in fucking Bio, and I have a C in Math. You win some, you lose some. Fuck it all. I'm just so infuriated with life.

And as if life couldn't be any worse, any worse, the Obscure Object has just gotten himself in the biggest shit ever. I mean big shit. He might have just committed a felony. I'm seriously trying very hard to keep it all together, and it's not working. I've been wavering between tears and just intense intense hatred of life. Why? Why? I don't understand, I just don't. Why the hell would someone so intrinsically intelligent do something so stupid?

I really don't understand life-- I don't mean to get so bloody existentialist. But this blog is really only for my benefit, I doubt anyone reads it, ever. So, I guess I shouldn't apologise for the existentialism. But I'm just so angry-- angry can't even describe the contempt I feel for him right now. But at the same time, I just want him to let me cry on his shoulder-- even though, he's the one who needs to be crying.

If he's expelled, I'm going to scream.

scary arm problems

It feels like they're frozen-- but they're not cold. Typing is so hard-- and painful. I think it's just my left hand/arm. Agh. AND I have so much homework to do tonight-- how can I write if my arms feel like they're on slow motion? Damn and a half.

In other news-- I just started an amazing book. It's called Blink, and normally I hate nonfiction-- but this is really interesting and is about first impressions and how sometimes they're right. Which strikes me as rather hilarious, because we're taught not to base our opinions of people on first impressions-- even though everyone does anyway.

Mika saves...

Basically -- Mika blasting at ridiculous levels, accompanied by a marvelous pair of new shoes... can save my mood. Yes, I retract all previous statements about men being craptastic. They aren't. They're wonderful.

Yes, Mika saves.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

men = crap!

Men are craptastic. It's official. I hate them.

I also am on a major "I hate my friends" binge, because they are all stupid self-centred bitches. And I am just as self-centred for posting this crap. But still-- I am so tired of hearing about their little dramas! Who cares if you have no "prospects". You whore-- I never have prospects. Agh.

I'm good. Just needing to rant.

Playlist Recommendations

Seeqpod Music

Band practise--

We're officially called Telenovela now, and we're in the midst of writing a song called Obesity and Speed-- it's so exciting. I've never really felt involved with something like this before-- it's been such a rewarding experience. We'll never get anywhere, but it's still fun anyway. I intended to sing-- but I guess I'm just playing rhythm guitar-- which I really don't want to do, but has been fun anyway. Basically, we tried to play She Moves in her Own Way by the Kooks, but the time signature is absurd and strange, so we gave up and started writing our own stuff.

... !

The Sex God touched my arm today!

I was in the back of the theatre freaking about something, when the Sex God#2 walked by, with some of the members of one of his many bands. He touched my arm, and said hi. And he smiled. I swear-- I swooned and said, in a rather weak voice, "Hey". ... Hey? Hey? How about-- "I think you are beautiful and I am totally in love with you?" Yeah. That sounds right. I've had a quasi-crush on him since fourth grade. He's pretty much the boy I'll always wish all my other crushes were.

In other boy news-- the Obscure Object and I have struck up numerous conversations in the last few days-- I think he thinks I'm stupid, but I'll prove him wrong.

In a completely different hemisphere-- I got a hundred percent on my Mexican Revolution paper!

valentine's day

I hate Valentine's Day.

It represents all of the commercilisation that our world has gone through. Love is no longer kisses and hugs-- it's chocolate and roses. And the most expensive teddy bear. I don't think anyone should express their love with ridiculously over priced flowers.

Donate to the Heifer Project, or One, in the name of the person you love-- instead of wasting a ton of money on stupid objects. Or, take them out to dinner. Watch a movie with them. Whatever.

I hate hate hate how love can't be expressed every day-- and how suddenly it's acceptable to make up to someone by giving them a good Valentine's Day.

Obscure Object woes

Basically, I finally told my friend that I liked him. She was kinder than I would have expected. I would have been nasty and rather catty. But, she wasn't. She was quite unsurprised, really. She just said that she'd suspected, but had repressed the idea. Amusing. I make people repress things-- I guess that makes me rather abhorrent. Anyhow, she said she had no emotional attachment whatsoever, and then advised me that "he enjoys arguing about religion and evolution-- it turns him on". Right then... She also remarked that he was a "bloody good kisser".

Paolo Nutini

Pretty much, I heard about him a few months ago, was lazy and didn't check his music out, decided to get unlazy and check him out. And decided that I am going to marry him, play beautiful music with him. Yes. I don't even need kids, just his voice to me stellar guitar. He's like hotter than the Obscure Object.

Me and My Shadow

Robbie Williams and Jonny Wilkes.

I am so in love with Robbie.

Hmm...

My grades for this semester were rather unsatisfactory. So, I promised myself I would buckle down and do very well this next semester. Along with: play guitar every day, update my journal at least twice a week (what bullshit), and wear matching socks. Needless to say: New Year's Resolutions are absolutely ridiculous. Oh, and I have to lose ten pounds. Yeah, right. I'm just way too ambitious, and in this situation, not optimistic enough.

On another note, the Obscure Object is sitting kitty corner from me in one of my classes now. Can we say... true love? The back of his neck is extremely sexy, even though I thought I'd never say something like that about anyone! It's rather disgusting once I think about it. Anyhow, he is still the topic of much revulsion, and I really can't mention his better aspects when everyone is talking about how he reminds them of a lap dog, like a Chihuahua, barking non-stop. Quite an issue, really.

Smile

Lilly Allen's video, Smile, is possibly one of the most amazing videos I've ever seen. Seriously. I love it so much, I'm going to share. And does anyone know who that actor is in it? I've seen him before... the one who plays the boyfriend...

Bubble Girl

Hmmm.... Sounds oddly correct.

Lonely

Today was not a good day— many of my friends are running of to San Jose for Mock Trial tomorrow, and I’m going to be alone. Not alone of course, really, but alone in the sense that my constant companions won’t be there. Which is very strange, for me at least.

One of the girls who is leaving was planning to watch the Arsenal vs. Liverpool game with me on Saturday morning, and I’m going to have to watch it alone, I think. It’s a rather disappointing idea— we were going to get into full-blown rivalry mode. I can’t help but think that the game will lose some of its novelty if she isn’t there to malign Liverpool, and I can’t malign Arsenal. She says she’ll call, even if she’s in the middle of a trial, to check up on how the game’s going. I doubt it.

This weekend is going to be devoted to homework, I think. No time for friends, I have to study and raise my Biology grade. So, I’m all alone— and feeling sorry for myself.

Lust or Love?

I think the Obscure Object might still be a royal asshat/fuck weasel. But I really can’t help but stare at him — pretty much constantly. I know that everyone hates him, and that even I “hate” him, but I really can’t help it. It’s like seeing that slice of cake that you know has been dropped on the floor, but some sick perverse part of you wants to eat it anyway. ‘Who cares if it’s been beat up, a little bit?’ You reason erroneously. But in the end, it’s all the eyes on you that cause you to say, “Ewww. Throw that away.”

Poor analogy, but I can’t really think of a better one that doesn’t involve food, or sexually suggestive metaphors. Perhaps it’s all just lust, and nothing much more than lust. Which would explain the food metaphor. I want to eat him? Not really, he’d probably taste badly, he’s so bitter and full of bile. Lust is a royal pain in the ass. It makes me do things I’d never do normally. Such as, stare at the class fuck weasel as if I want to make out with him at a spur of the moment.