In the Search for Greener Grass

Maybe there was a chance for forever, but I lost it with an eager smile, turning away much too quickly to understand just what it was I was giving up. Or was he the one to hide his face, to recede back into the shadows of 'if only'? I can't remember, even now, so wrapped up was I in the erroneous theory that the grass is always greener where you haven't been grazing. Did I ever stop to think that I was grazing there for a reason?

You know, I'm really just scared, possessed by a series of melancholy sentiments that dabble and play with my soul, but all in all, just won't leave me alone. What am I, a bobble set hanging for kitten's paws to bat at and batter? I'm glad that this must be amusing for the kitten's owner, 'cause I really just find it to be an annoyance. (Given a million more shades of intensity.)

I'm not the person I make myself out to be. I'd rather laugh at clever Kraft puns that giggle along with silly, stupid antics. ('Cause you know those Kraft puns are just so cheesy that they HAVE to be shredded.) I'm more makeup and couture than the heavy metal music people like to think I listen to, and dancing like a slut is SO much more fun than playing the instrument I'm so good at. Like so many other people in this world, I present a false mask that has little to nothing to do with what my heart, soul, and mind really look like. (Hooray for being just another momentary blur of features in THAT global crowd.)

Did I SAY there was a chance at forever? Perhaps I did, but if you were to check in with reality at the concierge's desk, you'd find that I never really knew one way or the other. And maybe that's why this long-past situation has been dancing jigs on my brain so frequently of late. That uncertainty, that shot in the dark that maybe I should have taken for myself, reminds me of a more recent something else, another pasture I left in my vain search for greener grass. Either one you choose, I can't turn back.

Highs and Lows

Mutter and moan for me if you will. I have much higher things on my agenda. Yeah, I'm feelin' the emptiness of this house, of my life, of this whole damned charade I insist on acting out. Can't everyone who walks past my lit up windows in this perpetual night see right through THAT facade? I thought as much, but these days I'm beginning to doubt my own judgment, 'cause all the highs I'm chasing down just keep pullin' me low - aren't friends supposed to be life rafts in this ocean of pointless jungle book behaviors?

I am struck once again by the ugliness in this so called 'beauty' of nature. It's dead DECEMBER, for Heaven's sake! Stop lying through your dentures and get with the program showing on the Discovery channel! It's carefully edited to show ONLY the beautiful parts. Never mind that we miss out on that thing called reality. It is clearly over rated.

I feel like such a loser. Here I am, Christmas break, sittin' home alone, typin' on my computer, my webcam my only company. Say hi to the quick capture! I've found myself pacing in a series of vicious circles, and they only snatch at me and turn into bottomless holes. Oh, the futility of this cycle. Can't I just fall down and get it over with? Why taunt myself with looking for the high points of life when I know there's two valleys to answer for every mountain?

But I will keep looking. That's what I DO. I let my 'indomitable' spirit take charge, firmly believing that happiness is directly at hand, and all I have to do is curl my tapered fingers around it, conveniently forgetting that my skin is too sweaty to hold anything in place for long. The whole thing is truly that trite ol' roller coaster, and my body language is showin' every one that pleases to see just where my car is on the tracks. (And I thought I was an actress.) So mutter and moan at me if you will, 'cause I still have higher things penned in my Lisa Frank agenda - pickin' up that supposed high, for one, anticipating (dreading) the actual low.

'Dude'

What necessitates saying 'dude' so many times in one sentence? And 'Oh my God' followed by 'like' and another 'dude'? 'Dude', you sound like a 'chick'. The empty laughter in all its boneheaded glory doesn't help your case, either. If this is your idea of how a man talks on his cell phone, then I'd like to know what website you plagiarize your ideas off of. Find a different endearment to use. After saying 'dude' fifty-seven times in a three minute conversation, you'd think you'd be tired of it. I certainly am.

This is positively ridiculous. You dress like a little kid and behave like an adult that never developed the thinking part of his brain. Drugs? Sex? Booze? Get real, 'dude'. You like to think that these things show how mature and grown up you are, but they really just show you naked in all your stupid glory. You're losing precious brain cells when you started out with so few. At least pull your dorky brown cords up so that they cover your equally dorky paisley boxers.

I have nothing but disdain for you. I could accept you, but I really just can't bring myself to do it. It might be a different matter if you'd shut the bedroom door while you're making out with your girlfriend in her parents' house. Where her entire family is staying, including her younger cousin, her older cousins, and her grandparents. Come on, 'dude'. If you're going to be a brainless bozo, at least PRETEND to be smart about it. To start, drop 'dude' from your vocabulary and close that freaking door.

Family

Family is truly a bitter sweet comfort. Blood is thicker than that watery substance called air, it's true, but you love 'em and you hate 'em and you want them to shut up and put up. Even though that would mean having to do the same yourself. Whatever. It ain't ever gonna happen, so you might as well deal with the judgments and mistakes that they inflict on you.

Here's the thing, though - they're always gonna accept you at the end of the day (even when they bitch and complain about it). No matter what, you're theirs and they're yours. It's what truly makes home the place to be. If home is where the heart is, I'll be damned, 'cause I have my doubts regarding the judgment of that particular organ. No, home is where ever your family, your kind, your bonreabhori, happens to be collecting. It's quite simple. Blood's thicker than that water substance, after all.

It's thicker 'cause blood is a permanent collection, forever in a human-shaped bottle. Why deny such a large part of what makes you who you are? Family, whether you're lovin' on 'em or hatin' 'em profoundly.... Well, that's where your blood, your heart, belongs.

HOPE

Life is good. Hell, life is heavenly. It's days like these that restore my faith in the universe. Spending time with friends.... Well, that means a lot to me. You know, the Onore word for 'friends' is also the word for 'family'. Abhori. (The word for love is 'abhor.')

I guess that overall, I'm a very hope-filled person, full of faith that things work toward the better. That's an odd thought to invite into my parlor. But it's really what people have been telling me all my life. (Also that I'm a freak that shouldn't be alive, but those are different people.)

I so often write about things that bring me down, that make me mad, but that's really only a small portion of my life. You wouldn't know it, but I spend much of my time thinking that the future is bright, and its stars are brighter, and the future is tomorrow and tomorrow becomes today in a mere matter of twenty-four little hours. Life is a momentary fling with existence, and I refuse to waste mine away with moaning and groaning and thinking badly of it. Rose colored glasses? Don't even go there, sugar - I'm seeing things clean and clear, prettier for that truth that surrounds them.

My abhori give me faith, give me strength. I don't know what I would do without them, to be honest. (I never had REAL friends before.) But life is good. Let's not waste it with preponderances that it might be anything but.

Productive Time Wasting

I'm feelin' about as useful as a ball of yarn tied up tight without scissors to be found. I've just got my butt planted on this chair, bed, couch... whatever. Point is, I haven't so much as twitched for motion since I got home four hours ago. Sure, my fingers just a-dance across this keyboard, but come on.... I once heard someone say that there aren't any muscles in your fingers. If this is true, then I'm working out a grand total of none. (It would explain the constant stress.)

My friends wonder if God exists, if the bulletins on my myspace are any indication. (Don't really know WHAT they indicate, just that I hang with people who have no lives.) Me? I have no doubt that God exists, but that's about as far as my certainty extends. But do you see me badgering people who know no better than I do with incessant chatter about the subject? No. I clam up and I look up, and I hope that my prayers aren't just collecting dust in an unattended inbox. (Though it wouldn't surprise me if this turned out to be the case.)

Well, now that I'm bleedin' out a fraction of my brain's surface workings, I'm still feelin' just as useless. I'm like a chastity belt on a prostitute. Too late and kinda pointless. (Not to mention repping an almost completely obsolete mindset.)

Someone once told me I was funny, but I dismissed their remarks as sarcasm. Me? Amusing? No, I'm much too bookish to make people laugh, too much of your local librarian and not enough of your bold teenage standard. 'Children should be seen, not heard.' Well, I'm never heard, so I'm never seen, so God knows what old time peeps' opinion of me mighta been. But, funny? Nah. The shoe doesn't fit, so why should I cramp my toes in order to wear it?

Maybe I'll get up soon, get off my butt for a little mosso on my musical instrument. That's great.... I'm just transferring my planted derriere from one chair to another, with my fingers still the only things catching air. And the sad part of this whole situation? A part of me doesn't even care.

Laundry

I don't understand why you're so upset. It's just LAUNDRY. Sure, you asked me to do a load, and I did one, but how was I supposed to know that one meant three? I just don't think of laundry as overly important, as shocking as that may come.

And when you started yelling and I started counting on my fingers to keep my cool, you got upset about that too. What, you'd rather me lose my carefully constructed composure and yell back? Obviously not, 'cause the one halfway sarcastic comment that slipped out got me slapped. And, really, being called an 'arrogant bitch' is quite the motivator. I buried my face in the clothes in my arms to keep from laughing out loud. Nope, never heard THAT one directed at me before. (Mostly 'cause the people who think of me that way can't pronounce 'arrogant'.)

What was the big deal with that top? Just because you never saw me wear it.... Since when are you ever around to know what I wear? Besides, that was months ago - the piece is WAY out of season. It just didn't get washed 'cause I never have enough whites to make a load.

Staring in the bathroom mirror, I started to untie the beaded bracelette I wear as a choker, then stopped upon hearing your DULCET (read: bellowing) tones chiming down the hall. Then I retied it to the point of strangling myself. Hey, if I can't breathe, I can't speak, and perhaps that'll make me less of a scapegoat for your temper.

Read This

An odd melancholy pools within my being, tender moments shut abruptly short into shattering by transitions into violence. What is supposedly inspiring only pushes me farther down into the depths of my unmoving soul. Who said that knowing yourself was a GOOD thing?

I'm barely cognizant of the thoughts flowing into the ink that's staining my fingers black. Typing it out is so much cleaner, but that's the thing. It's too clean, too sterile, absent of devices to spark creativity across its stationary screen. I'd much rather deal with my beat-up spiral-bound notebooks. (They have bright colors.)

I don't understand this need to move everything over into ethereal, intangible data. Books are soon to be obsolete, and so are CDs, newspapers, magazines, phones, walks.... Why put in hardcopy anything that can be achieved with the internet? I haven't the faintest idea. Touch means so little these days. ANYTHING can be done with a computer and DSL hookup.

What I think is of marginal value, however. I'm just one girl in a four billion person world, so what do I matter? Even if I were to shout my essence at the extent of my last heaving breath, it would go unheard in the clamor. With that many people talking at once, the din is simply unbelievable. I'm just one more momentary blur of features in this overwhelming crowd. Don't bother listening to what I have to say - it's not worth the strain on your ears. (Read it instead.)

Grandfather Clock Can't Go Fast Enough

It's three periods and two tests to go until the 3:30 bell rings to signal the start of Christmas break. I'll admit it - today, school feels like a prison, and the mass escape cannot come too soon. I've got a clawing vision headache (my glasses do me no good), and I get the feeling that only the dim of my home can ease the pain. Come, clock! Tick faster!

But at the same time, I want break never to come. Better to be trapped with friends than free without them. How will I keep up, keep track? My cell phone will be useless and the internet inaccessible.

The clock ticks on. Faster, Grandfather, faster!

Wings

I have wings dangling from my ears, and I only wish they'd let me fly. They're wings, for sure, but instead of bringing me up, they're only weighting me down. It might have something to do with the fact that they're simply cheap metal etched with the likeness of feathers. No wonder I'm still bound to the earth.

But, still, I dream. Like maybe someday I'll taste the clouds from heights like Heaven, and have the speed of wind tangle in my hair. Yeah, I know. It has a snowball's chance of surviving July in South Carolina of coming for true. But is wanting to kiss the very stars such an empty aspiration?

You Screwed Up

Damn, girl, talk about harsh. You've got to chill and fast. 'Scared' ain't the same as 'assinine'. The guy's perfectly decent, and perfect for you, while we're at it. The guy's not just after a little touch, hand him that on a silver platter. If anything, YOU're the one treating HIM wrong.

Chase those silly pre-conceived notions right out of your head. You ain't livin' in a romance novel, and he's not gonna be everythin' you ever dreamed immediately, so be fair. It's your first time, and it's his too. You expect him to respect you? Well, that's a two way street, darling, and you just parked your double wide trailer across both lanes.

You and him? You balance each other. It's the match we all saw coming, and knew could last. He's not your stereotypical male and that's why it woulda worked out, but, no. You had to slap these expectations on his chest right off the early bat. Hate to break it to you, but this is what's called 'screwing up'. And guess what? He ain't gonna take you back, 'cause you've made it clear that you're after somethin' that he lacks.

Lunch Table Antics

I wish everyday was just like today. Laughter, hugs all around, smiles gracing lips that usually frown. I wish that every day illuminated the lights in eyes, and every night was a dream of the day. I've missed this feeling, this grin, this hectic unguarded sense of cheer. This is how life's supposed to be, was meant to be, was designed - I feel that truth as real in my heart as sound.

These are my friends, my crazy, insane, messed up family. These are the people that make me happy, make me smile like this - the ones I chose to be with me through these years. I thank God for them. You hear me, God? Thank you. 'Cause this is the best I've felt, the best I've seen, since that fateful day when 'see you tomorrow' became 'see you around', and now I hope that every day comes back to being always.

Fork in the Road

The oddest things can make a person happy and the same goes for making a body swing toward miserable. And then you cross the two and you get the most fun thing ever - a mixed emotion! A hug from one guy being witnessed by another... it's hard to tell which strain is stronger. You got a fifty-fifty chance of guessing right. It's either the embarrassment and guilt turning your cheeks into cherries, or the satisfaction and pleasure making you smile. Your guess is as good as mine.

I know we're all thinking from experience right about now. We've all done something along that plane of existence, all felt the confusion it invokes. I don't know which clearly labeled arrow leads me where I want to go. I know the name of my destination, but I can't remember which is the bad one... Does the Devil live in Heaven or in Hell? Damn, what a puzzle - I just can't figure it out.

I feel like I'm being forced to choose between certain short term pleasure and more than dubious long term fulfillment. The thing is, the long term cancels out the short term, but not vice versa. And yet, I hesitate to make what seems to be the obvious choice. If I didn't know better, I'd say I was addicted to gambling. It's like I WANT to put my happiness on the tracks without knowing whether the train still runs.

So I've got a fifty-fifty chance on all counts. I'm still not sure where the Devil lives, nor do I know which emotion is the one (currently) tying me up in knots. The arrows are supposidly legible at this fork in the road, but even after all this pondering, I don't know which way is the one I'm s'posed to go.

Throw the Girl a Bone

You, sir, are a dullard. An insensitive scrap of moving rawhide that deserves to be thrown to the dogs. I mean, have you SEEN the emotions in her eyes when she beholds you? She's lost, she's gone, she's overtaken and blinded by the feelings you invoke within her soul. And you can't HOLD HER HAND?

That's harsh, man. It's just an intertwining of fingers, a momentary (temporary) lacing of destinies. Palm meeting palm, in such an easily undone manner. Just hold her hand. It won't kill you. Besides, if you keep hurting her like this, I'll disembowel you with a BIC lighter - forget throwing you to the dogs.

Opposition and Antagonism

Call me 'deflated', punctured like a balloon, no longer elated. I fail to see the point of this endless step-lightly dance. I'm going to hurt you, you're going to hurt me, so why do we have to make such a production out of the process? There's only so much theatre that true pain can bear.

Why would you WANT anything from me, besides my untimely demise? We share three things - a first period class, a bus route, and deep distaste, one for the other. I'm beginning to think you're just greedy.

"What'd I ever do to you?" Would you like me to take the time to actually ANSWER that question? Best pull up a chair to contain your inattention, 'cause though you asked, you never wanted an answer. It was just a rhetorical question meant to make a case that doesn't exist, but unfortunately for you, you get what you ask for.

You ripped up my reputation, chasing it from 'upright smart girl, decent, if quiet' to 'lesbian goth freak'. Maybe that's not all your fault, but in that particular plane crash, you were a homicidal co-pilot, driving me down toward the unforgiving ground. You abuse my friends with your loud words expressing battering opinions. I can forgive you for hurting me, but my friends are sacred space. I will not stand idly by and allow their defacement.

And yet, you think you are justified in demanding gifts from me, tribute to your heathen (supposed) divinity. That is a slight in and of itself. After all, you are the same that threatened me so explicitly with what you'd consider bodily harm. (I'd like to see you TRY and follow through.)

Oh, such RIGHTEOUS indignation. Who am I, a nobody, a nothing, a worthless 'dyke', a 'devil-worshipper', to tell you that YOU've done wrong? After all, you are one of God's children, and you are 'flawless' and 'perfect' in every way. It is the world that is mistaken - it's a conspiracy against God! More importantly, it's a plot against your sensibilities. You sicken me with your self-oriented blindness.

But, you raise an interesting point. Who am I, a nobody, a nothing, a worthless 'dyke', a 'devil-worshipper', to tell you that you've done wrong? Well, I have opinions that weren't implanted in my mind at birth, but rather formed over years of study and learning. I'm also a heterosexual Christian (yeah, you know shit about me), one of God's children myself, and I've SEEN what crimes you've committed against our brothers, our sisters. Sibling rivalry is one thing, but hate is NOT a family value. I learned to fight because of people like you, and now I wish you'd learn to let people like me stop fighting. But, hey. If you want to continue with this silly step-lightly dance, then I'm more than happy to oblige you. I've always been a natural dancer.

Christmas Spirit Cards

I just spent the past two hours writing out Christmas cards to people I barely know, and I think that this is what is meant by Christmas spirit. You see, I wrote things on these cards, little messages I've been yearning to send for eternities. And, if all I get in return is a 'thank you', I will be perfectly content.

I hope that I make a difference in these people's lives, even if it's only for the glowing moments in which they take in what I have to say. Even though I know that some people will dismiss my words as false sentiments, I pray that they do not. I want these virtual strangers to look at the phrases jammed into that half inch of space and know that I genuinely believe what I've written.

Maybe one of them will be more confident in herself, maybe another will decide to stop cutting. Perhaps still another will take comfort in knowing that someone thinks his relationship will succeed, and another hold on tighter to his dreams. Small things, big things. Whatever. Even if they believe only for that one moment in which their eyes caress the ending punctuation, the Christmas spirit in which the messages were sent will call to them forever.

Trying for a Pointless Cause

I don't even know why I bother to put on makeup some mornings. It's not like anyone's going to look twice at me, unless I trip and fall. Then I usually just wish they weren't smirking and giggling, not even bothering to hide their amusement behind their cupped palms. So I try and maintain my dignity, pray that my cheeks are only tinged pink instead of painted midnight red, get up and keep walking. And I wonder why I bothered to put on makeup that morning, 'cause it hasn't done me any discernable good, and if it has, then I don't wanna know about it.

The poll of popular opinion says that I'm a lesbian. They're wrong. Popular opinion knows shit about me. I swing straight, unlike their facts. One thing about dwelling in the Bible Belt - neophobia runs rampant, and I'm using that as an umbrella term. Moderation? Toleration? What do THOSE words mean? Oh, yeah.... They're yankee liberal phrases! Shame on you, SD! I always knew you were going down the wrong road! Go to church - they'll set you straight, in more ways than one.

At this stage of life, popularity takes priority over learning and class, like cashing in the gossip chips is more important than knowing what's going on in politics. It's all about being pretty, being fashionable, and climbing that social ladder that's lying on the basement floor. Bitter? For once, I can honestly claim that this is not the case. I look good, I dress well, and I know it. But I have a brain, and I make no secret of the fact that I sometimes use it.

So, I don't know why I bother sculpting my face with product every morning when I could simply skip it and get another twenty minutes of sleep. Maybe it's 'cause I know that there will come a time when learning and class will take up their due, and I'm hoping that that era of my life showed up over night. Or maybe it's 'cause I'm vain. After all, I look good, I dress well, and I know it. But I do know that on Monday, when I'm walking and I fall, I'll pick myself up and wonder why I bothered to make the effort.

Obligations

Screw obligation! I really just don't want to deal with such a gawk-awkward situation. I've had a rough day, a rougher night, and if you want the whole tally, a horrendous, awful month. Why should I add another two-three hours to my already overstretched day to humor people who ain't gonna matter in the longer run? I want rest, relaxation - been wanting it for the past three months, so I dare say that it's LONG overdue.

Read my lipstick-bare frown. Let's try 'no' for one word, 'hell no' for two, and disdaining laughter for none. I want to go home, kick off my classic black wedges, pour myself a drink, and CHILL. Screw promises that I made forever ago - the ones I'd much rather not keep. I don't owe them anything anymore. So, empty oaths be damned! I'm not walking eyes open into THAT particular gawk-awkward situation.

Intuition (Be Aware)

Our first instinct, whenever emotion strikes in public, is to shut off and show a blank face. I think it's 'cause emotion is perceived as weakness. If we don't act hurt, we irrationally equate that with being unable to be hurt. It's voluntary masochism. We don't feel the pain, so it keeps building and building, until it reaches such a high level, it kills us. YAY! And we didn't do anything to stop it because we were all so determined not to FEEL it.

We have this way of sweeping everything under the rug, like out of our sight, out of its influence. That is expressly untrue. 'Cause even though we tuck it away, la-di-da, it don't exist, we still know it's there. And that knowledge gives the hidden thing power, and what it does with that power.... Well, you know the old saying 'power corrupts'?

There's nothing to 'ignorance is bliss' either. That's just a lie we tell ourselves in the dark of the day when we don't want to face something unpleasant. (It becomes all the more unpleasant for the not facing, by the way.) Besides, it's impossible to be TOTALLY ignorant about anything. Human beings are highly perceptive, and even if we don't KNOW, we are aware. The world likes to pour its garbage into our psyche, and we are but helpless receptacles.

So, why do we shut down and present blank facades to the world? Nobody's gonna be fooled. Why bother? Maybe 'cause we just can't stand to be thought of as weak, like there's some kind of honor in bottling the substance away into a not-so-hidden pantry in our mind, where it ferments to poison within us. Yeah, there's definitely glory in that slow meander towards suicide. A regular parade of vanity and decoration.

You know, for being so perceptive, we really know so little.

Invisibility

Do you ever feel like you're invisible to the world? That nobody sees you, looks right through you like they're a bird and you're clean glass on a log cabin in the woods? You know what I mean. They only realize that something's there after they've run into you two, three times and they STILL can't get through. But damn if they can figure out what the hell might be occupying THAT particular slice of space - after all, they're walkin' there! And even though you're standing in front of them, waxing indignant about being run into (repeatedly) without so much as an indication of intention to apologize, they're still perplexed by the situation.

All joking aside (not really), I despise the feeling. Yeah, I understand that it's a little conceited (Why should I be worthy of invisibility?), but that doesn't change anything about it. I still feel like less than shit on a sneaker everytime I'm looked through and ignored. It is AWFUL. And, think about it. Human beings are generally highly visible creatures. It is baffling as to how it is physically possible to be unaware of one's presence. But then again, the human mind is an automated pitching machine that's been stocked with nuclear bombs and placed in a room full of delicate china, being instructed not to break it. (The power switch is in the "on" position, of course.)

A Battle of Mind-Sets

I'd like to believe that people are essentially good. Sure, they screw up, they make mistakes, they do bad things. But at their core, everyone wants to do good things, for themselves, the people they love, their world. And that's all that matters, really.

This optimistic opinion somehow manages to co-habitate my mind along with hard-core cynicism. Don't ask me how it works, 'cause hell if I know who gets to use the bathroom first.

I believe that people are at least one of the following things. They're greedy, lazy, conceited, narcissistic, nymphomanic, eternally pessimistic, classically pissed off, chronically envious, impulsive liars, or (and) just plain ol' mean.

I'd LIKE to believe that people are good at their core, but reality seems determined to keep that particular bubble popped. Let's put the two on the actuality scales. Good intentions vs. that list. Hm. I wonder.... Yep, cynicism wins out.

Blogging

The preferred term these days is 'social commentator'. Yeah, right. You're a person that publishes your journal for the entire web-wide world to see. And, yes, I am aware that I am essentially mocking myself. Whatever. Let's call that Queen of Hearts by her REAL title - smug low-class flirt. Not slut - she's married and has the integrity not to defile her vows to such an extent. (In other words, she lets them look and she lets them touch, but not THERE.)

Don't you think this whole thing is just SLIGHTLY narcissistic? Just a WEE little bit? I mean, you make huge presumptions in airing your laundry in the world square. First of all, that anyone cares, and secondly, that your laundry is special enough to be shown to the air. Standards oft ignored. (And I am in the process of ignoring them.)

Social commentator... Pfft. It's a nice title. Much fancier than 'blogger', which applies some amount of plebeian association. 'Social commentator' is higher class. But I never bought into the concept of blueblood. You're either well-mannered or you're not, and breeding's got nothing to do with it. The Queen of Hearts is a low-class flirt, and your 'social commentary' used to be called 'bitching in your journal'.

Double-Failure

Yes, I get it. I'm a failure. I'd much rather go out and dance all night than stay home and get my homework done. Guilty as charged. Geez, don't stress on it. I'm amazingly smart, if you recall. People have been telling me this all my life, you included, so it'll all work out. (At least, that's what I think.)

So, what happens when the parties I go to are a bust, no fun to be had? There are so few parties, so when I get wind of one, I set my anticipations (read: everything I've got) on it. Then I get there, the music sucks, no one dances, and I go home early. CRASH!!! Burn... My vibrant cheerful emotions go the way of the party I just ditched.

Does that make me a double-failure? An oreo cookie of non-success? I'm not happy, completely unfulfilled, and my homework's not done either. So, even though I'm amazingly smart (as I've been informed so many times), nothing works out. Okay. You can stress.

Relationship Triangle

She likes him. I know it. How can she not be aware that I've staked my claim? But, then again, perhaps he and she are better suited than he and I. They do, after all, have more in common, at least as far as my glance dares discern. Besides, they'd look positively otherworldly together. Lightness and darkness, the eternal oppositional dance (Even though hers is dyed.)

But would he hurt her? He's bad news, and I know it (that's part of the appeal), but does she? But my perceptions are skewed, to the extent that everyone seems crooked. And who am I to say that my view, and mine alone, corresponds with reality's own? I'd say someone (a close cousin) to no one.

So maybe it would work out between them. They DO seem (almost) meant to be. But what does that mean for him and me? Yeah, I know. That little relationship shall amount to something (a close cousin) to nothing.

Review Game

Oh, shut up. You're getting all worked up over pointless principles. It's just a game! What does it matter if I happen to be the one bruising myself by shooting my hand up in the air, the first one waving? Not enough to cause this uproar, that's for sure. So I know all the answers. Well, so could you, if you bothered to study. Just because I earn my A's....

You're upset 'cause I'm irritated at my 99 when you've got a 51. So? At least I'm acknowledging that I haven't fulfilled my potential. You could do so much better. Just - hey! - do your work! (THERE'S a concept that doesn't bear contemplating.)

What is this, in the larger scheme of things? A faded bruise on my inner elbow, a pass-time activity in a pass-time class. It's inconsequential. So why are you so outraged? You're making this all so much less fun than it ought to be, pushing it from friendly competition to tedium. Ohmygod, why does this even matter?

Plane Crash

Have you ever seen a plane crash? I imagine it's something like watching my life right now. There's flight, it's flying! But then gravity's abruptly taking hold, and it's falling, crashing- burning. No survivors to be found, no hostages for life to take.

I would cry if I could. But the well has run dry, another victim of this pitiless drought, and tears will not come. So, instead, I study the wreckage that has become my life, familiarizing myself with the flames.

SMILE

It's amazing how a smile and a wave from just one certain person can make your day brighter and the air lighter. Just that smile, that notion of 'they're glad to see me!!' It makes all your problems easier to deal with. Just like that. And if you smile back, maybe they'll feel the same way. That's just as large a rush, thinking that they're happy for the same reason you are.

It doesn't really matter who that certain person turns out to be. It could be a friend, a guy you like, or even just a random passerby in the hallway. Who does not matter so much as what. So, smile at people. It DOES make a difference.

Manners

I was raised to be your stereotypical courteous Southern darling by my mother. Who's from Michigan. Regardless, I spin out the pleases and the ma'ams like a good little girl, smile sweetly like I'm genuinely pleased to see the person, and darling whoever I'm talking to like they mean something special to me when that is rarely the case.

Manners are really the best kind of deception, the reason being that there's nothing deceptive about them. They're just good living. You can keep yourself on good terms with your worst enemy, as long as you're nice and polite to them. These days, that's referred to as 'Old World charm', though all it really is is a smile and well chosen words. Courtesy.

Being raised with my Southern manners (Won't you please come in, darling, have a drink?), it upsets me greatly when people neglect such minor courtesies. I mean, really! There is absolutely no call to be rude! You should smile at strangers, wave to people who drive through the neighborhood when you're walking, and always call before you show up at someone else's door. That is, of course, only if you haven't been given an express invitation to 'come by any time, sugar.'

I'm not talkin' 'bout anything so fancy as dinner silverware, though that's always a good thing to know. No, I'm talkin' common sense! It is NOT complex. You exchange small talk before bad news, you give up your seat for someone older or more burdened than yourself, and you don't talk with your mouth full of food. All relatively 'duh' things to do.

I was raised to be a courteous Southern darling by my yankee mother. You don't have to be Southern to know good manners, and here's the proof. You just have to possess good ol' common sense. (Though it could be argued that it's mainly Southerners that possess the stuff.)

Geometry Class (People)

This is why I date older guys. They at least have the good taste to cut the sexual references in public. Freshman guys sicken me. To a great extent.

What is this obsession with snowflakes? What the HELL? I don't want to listen to this crap. It's poison in my ear... POISON. Though, I'll admit that it's amusing, their spiraling conversations, the way they chase themselves into traps of their own devising. A learning experience. Despite how much they horrify me. (Like watching a car crash in slow motion.) Maturity. They should contemplate growing some.

Toxic Influence

Toxic influence. You know he is. He's BAD for you. The way he talks, cussing every other sentence - you know it appalls you. His awful attitude burns you at your core. You want him for the same reason he wants you - something different, see if you can't change it, corrupt it, better it. (Can you guess who'd be doing which?) It's - HE'S - bad news. Sure, he's attractive, acts like he's confident, but maybe he's just a jerk. Besides, you've been fooled by the seeming of confidence before. (We all know how THAT turned out.)

You are all too aware of how wrong it is to get involved in this, but you're going to do it anyways. You know how it's going to end - both of you in tears, broken on the floor of the other's life. You said it yourself. This is just a fling. (Why are you bothering?)

Your friends don't approve and that should be the number one warning sign for you. It's flashing at you. It's screaming at you. PAY ATTENTION to it, goddamnit!

Toxic influence, darling. The boy's bad news.

The Wheel of Self-Worth

I never was perfect, you know. Quite the opposite, really. The epitome of imperfection, that's me. Nobody would ever mistake me for anything else. I try to change that, though. I really do. I try and dress like maybe I know what I'm doing. I do my makeup like maybe I have something to be confident about. I don't.

I rely on my writing to get me through the hard times. But what happens when hard times are all times, and my pencils are all broken or gone? Will I just waste away with all the emotion? I'm only human - only someone who uses words to take the pain away, and words run out, run dry.

Do you ever think that friends are both the best and the worst things for our mental well-being? Really. We use them to build ourselves up, pedestals for our self-worth. But then they remove themselves from our lives, and by then we've lost the muscles that let us stand without the crutch of their support. So we fall, and stay fallen, until some other friend comes along and starts the cycle over again. How truly self-defeating.

But isn't life just a cycle of that same pointless self-defeat? We let our thoughts dictate who we are, and the people we brush up against dictate our thoughts, and they all too often say we're worthless. Will we ever break away from this downward turning wheel we're tied to?

Clicking 'Quit, New Game'

I all too often deal with everything pressing in on me on my own. I take everything that hurts me, that's killing me slowly, into my soul and there let it fester. It's not like I have any other choice. It's just that there's nowhere else to put it, no way to get rid of it. It's all mine, all I've got, really.

Did you know that I'm more popular than I've ever been in my life? I am. I know more people than ever, but I actually KNOW so few of them. My best friends are distant mirages. I know they're there, but it's all so superficial. I feel like I'm little more than a projected image to them, a prop. But hey. Quantity over quality, I suppose. (I'm bordering toward miserable.)

I've lost all concept of 'sanctuary'. Nowhere's safe anymore. Nowhere at all. Not even my mind. My thoughts attack all sense of self-worth I could contemplate possessing, all confidence I struggle to maintain. I try to be happy, try to be outgoing. Never let it be said that I don't try. But those things are vertical marble walls that are near impossible for me to climb. I'm barely clinging on somewhere three feet above rock bottom. I'm trying my best.

It's easy to strike up a 'friendship'. You simply walk up and take an interest. That's all it takes. When I first figured it out, I nearly crashed myself into a suicidal wall. It was the same thing as finding out that all my earlier life was a waste. All the pain, all the misery, all the loneliness, when all I really had to do was walk up and ask a question, then listen and ask a question off their answer. No wonder popular girls are usually bitches. Any girl who is bold enough to do that sort of thing usually isn't afraid to speak her mind without censoring it.

I need to get out of this place. Out of this house, out of this town, out of this county, out of this state - hell, maybe I should just move out to California and get it over with. Whatever. This place is just getting more and more toxic, as far as I'm concerned. It would almost be better to start over somewhere completely new, as opposed to staying here and letting my life play out without interference.

I really should forfeit this game I'm playing. After all, it's quite clear that I'm losing, and badly. Otherwise I wouldn't be curled up on this bed, tears streaming down my face, writing out these words. So, why not? It works with computer Tetris.

Separate Lives

Damn, that hurts. Why do you have to do this to me? I know you see the tears on my face though I duck my head in an attempt to hide them. Was this your goal? To rattle me to such a point? Well, you've met and exceeded that. Success! Good for you! No, really.

Happiness is an abstract concept. It's only the ideas that bear solid fruit that matter. ERNH! Wrong! At least, I hope that is the case, because if it's not, I'm fucking screwed. Hell, I'm screwed any way you turn it. I've got neither the happiness nor the solid fruit.

Have you not noticed how much I leash my tongue around you? I get my sense of humor from you, Mr. Smart Ass, but in this house, you're the only one allowed to crack the jokes. What do you think that does to me, when my only sense of freedom is blank white paper, fragile living? Think about that one for JUST a moment.

Yeah, I know that you want me to do better than what you managed. I get that. But let me live my own life - you can't live it for me and I'm sure your line of thought on that matter is "more's the pity". But I'm me, and you're you, so stop breaking me down with your determination to change that.

Newsflash

I'm going to let it all spiral out, right here, right now. Hell, I know you don't give a shit, but here's a newsflash for your newsflash- I don't give a shit about you not giving a shit. You'll either listen or you won't, but hear me out. I ain't asking you to understand, mostly 'cause I don't understand myself. The only demands I'm going to make require that you let your ears earn their keep. So here goes - ready that glazed look for your eyes, 'cause you and I and everybody who ever took note of our existence knows that you're not even gonna try.

I hate this whole damned setup, got it? When we first met, I had you at elbow's length, jostling my life with your every nervous fidget. But now I want you gone, get it? Disappear! I'm trying to move forward, and, despite your claims that you want the same, you've wrapped your arms 'bout my shins and you're holdin' me back. I didn't think you were an invertebrate before, but you're showin' evidence to the contrary.

Yeah, I'm a little upset about this whole thing. I think it has somethin' to do with being alone all day. I pass my people in the hallways, but they're all wrapped up in each other. They've got no eyesight left for me, let alone a wave and a friendly smile. Lookin' for love, I've resorted to chasin' a gent with no interest in me and being chased by a girl I've got no interest in. My latest phrase mirrors a sorry state of affairs. I've been livin' life through my inactive buddy list! There's only so much companionship a girl can glean from a computer screen.

Am I going to change myself so I can get out of my empty house on a Friday night? I'm no longer positive of the answer to that question, and that scares me intimately. I'm not a flashy sort, not on the surface, and everyone knows that it's the shiny pieces that grab a body's attention. In a store full of shoes, I'm the black stilleto-heeled sneaker pumps. Nobody says shit about me except to dismiss me with an arched eyebrow and a sneer. You should know. You do it on a daily basis.

I'm gettin' more and more upset, and my southern accent grows with emotion. I can't always be elegant and eloquent - I've gotta show my roots SOME time. Damned if that time ain't now. Just note that I'm bloodstained at my base, and I'm not quite sure who that discoloration once belonged to.

You've got scars from what you've been through. Well, yeah, so does everybody. You ain't as special as you'd like to think. Ain't as special as I'd like to think either. Just another self-centered sonuvabitch mothered by a perfectly decent lady that you'll always resent the hell out of, and that's the unfortunate fact of it.

I'm waxing on emotions that make you break out, though the words of them are goin' in one ear and dancing out the same, burned by the barrier of your closed mind. You're gonna see things painted in your favorite color, as though the rest of the spectrum is an inconsequential detail. You're gonna end up missing out on a lot of beautiful artwork that way.

I'm tired, exhausted by writing for the sake of writing. Emotions aren't siphoning off by way of pen anymore, just staying inside and poisoning my being. They're bad blood. Those old time doctors had some idea of what they were doing - they were just cutting the wrong vein with the wrong kind of lancet. Thing is, I only know that they were wrong, not what they coulda done to make it right. I'm dying for want of relief from these sensations, these pressures, and you can take that literally if you'd like. Entropy is a proven fact.

I am constantly surprised by how many degrees you can turn a phrase. It's more than three hundred and sixty, to be sure. Maybe it goes into theoretical numbers, just 'cause there's so many words and so many emotions that could be behind them. That's the thing (read: problem) with communication.

There's crosses on the walls of public school classrooms, but we're not allowed to talk gay sex in sex education, 'cause of separation of church and state. That's more than crap - that's bullshit. If we're in for the pound, how does that NOT include the pence? Not that we're in England or anything. Just that I'm not willing to corrupt a perfectly good, though trite, phrase to such an extent. Laugh if you'd like - there's nothing I could do to stop you.

I can feel your dismissal of what I'm saying like it's a bass drum you're pounding in my ear, pulling my pulse to match its irregular rhythm. It's gonna kill me one of these days, and you know it. Or maybe you don't. I've learned never to underestimate the extent of human ignorance. Sometimes that undesirable river burbles on for hundreds of miles before hitting nowhere and drying out. Of course, that's presuming it doesn't pool into a lake. I ain't saying what I think yours does - that could be considered slander.

It's never been said that I have an attitude problem, but I've got a feelin' that's about to change. I'm tired of being a wallflower, and I'm more than ready to be the rose in the complementary vase. I'm sick of hiding myself to be the good girl. I've got a drama queen inside my soul, and she's ready to rule - not just me, but my world. I have no doubt that she could do it.

Nobody knows who I really am. Yeah, I'm aware that I'm stealing phrases right out of the mouth of your stereotypical teenage angst-bot. "Nobody understands me!" Well, how can I expect them to when I don't know what it is I want them to understand? "Me" is too broad a term and "who I am" too wide a phrase.

Did you even realize that I cry myself to sleep most nights? No, I didn't think so. I try and compensate for it with cosmetics - isn't that why they call the stuff 'make up'? Anyways, I try and be pretty and perfect with the substances spread in front of my vanity mirror, 'cause you and I both know I'm anything but. The moisture on my pillow case attests to that little truth every morning.

I'm terrified that maybe I missed my opportunity for love. I know I didn't have that with you, so don't you even start with your lovesick puppy dog eyes, beggin' to be kicked. No, I'm talking about someone else. I doubt I'll ever see him again, and the same goes for forgetting him. I saw him through a child's eyes, so that's how I remember him, so it's impossible to know whether it was infatuation or something more. All I know is no one's come close since.

And that brings me back to what I meant to tell you. I hate this whole damned setup. You were a mistake, and I need you to realize that. You can shake that glaze off your face, 'cause I'm done talkin' at you. And that's the newsflash to your newsflash - we're done.