2 Hours of Sleep + No Food = Not Good

Damn, it's been a while. Well, if you consider one week a while. It really isn't that long of a time period, but it sure feels like it. This past week was one of the longest of my life, and definitely the most hectic.
First of all, I think some bad luck fairy came and sprinkled some black shit on me last weekend, because everything I touched ended up breaking. My iPod died on Monday, my iHome AND CD player broke the next day, my headphones are falling apart, and for some reason none of my passwords are working. My account at school was malfunctioning and it took me twenty minutes just to log into this blog. I had my email and password right, but nothing was working. I had to go back and reset everything,
It gave me the strong impression that everything I depend on will eventually abandon me.
But that sounds too much like Tyler Durden dogma.
Anyway, aside from technology organizing a terrorist organization against me, I was overwhelmed with schoolwork this week, mostly for my global insights class. The assigment was to research what happened on a certain given date, and there were like 25 of them, mind you, and then map them on an extremely large map of the world. Then, we had to research the ideology and find the symbols for a list of approximately 50 terrorist organizations. Plot on map also.
Because of that, I am running on three hours of sleep and no food since yesterday afternoon. I have no time to nap, since I need to get my Halloween costume together and then meet up with a group of friends. I'm close with only two of the four, and the person whose house we're meeting at is one of the ones I'm NOT close to...This could be awkward. Plus, they're a tight knit group, so I feel out of place barging in like that. They all invited me, so it's technically not barging in, but still.
They're all being some Native American tribe thing, and I'm being gangsta.
Uuuh, yeah, that puts me out of it.
I feel like I had a lot more to say, considering I've been away for a week...but I'm drawing a blank.
I think I'm just tired and paranoid.
On a random side note, is it me or does it not feel like Halloween? Especially because it is my favorite holiday, it has always had a certain feel to it. The entire month of October has a certain indescribable feel, but this year I feel nothing. Maybe I missed out on all of it when I was researching and mapping terrorist organizations, or maybe the magic is lost now that I'm older.
I don't know whether it's better to face this loss or pretend.
It's only a holiday.

At Least The Week Is Over

This week was officially the worst week ever. As the first marking period is coming to a close, I naturally expected the workload in school to double, so that was not unexpected. What was unexpected was that I found out I was allergic to my medication.
The hard way.
On Tuesday, I woke up and was scratching myself throughout the day. By the time late afternoon rolled around, my skin was peeling and red, yet I could not stop scratching myself. I shoved myself under the shower faucet that was purposely pouring out cold water for a solid twenty minutes, and after I was changed into clothes, I noticed my hips were covered with misquito bite-esque marks.
Great.
They're called hives.
Even better.
Let's call the doctor.
WOW, DOES THIS GET ANY MORE GREAT?
Oh, it does. It does indeed.
The next morning my mother insisted on making an appointment with the doctor, and I declined to tell her that my right wrist had swelled up overnight. During the school day, my feet were swollen and sore, and my entire hand was on the verge of blowing up.
Wherever I was swollen, I was bruised. The doctor said the swelling was normal, but the bruising wasn't. My swollen knee is not supposed to be purple too. Oh, well. At least I don't have an incurable disease. At least I pulled a B on my biology quiz after not having any time to do last minute studying in lunch and hyperventilating beforehand.
That's a positive.

Also, he's been ignoring me for two weeks and five days. I don't know if it's technically called ignoring or if he is just not noticing me, but I have a tendency to become ignorant of the flaws in the people I love, so I bet money he really is ignoring me. He hasn't been on AIM in a week, and he definitely did not block me in particular, so maybe he's just busy.
But maybe I'm just making excuses because I don't want to face the facts.

This week was spirit week, and I was so convinced he was not at the pep rally because he was missing from the stands in the first fifteen minutes. This was upsetting, considering I wanted to see him, but when he came running out into the gym with the rest of the cross country team, I started to cry. For real. My eyes watered completely, and I had to press my palms against my cheeks and rest my elbows on my knees so this looked like a normal gesture.
All I really want to do is hang out with one of my best friends. I see her five minutes per day, at the most, but the moment I was planning on asking her to come over, she says, "So my boyfriend is coming over Friday night."
I know she didn't plan that. And I know I'm dumb for not asking her to come over Saturday night anyway. But I couldn't spit it out. All courage was lost.
I want to be with her after this horrible week.
I want to know that there's still something in my life I can rely on, and she's always there, will always be there, and I'm not left watching The Outsiders by myself on a Saturday night with no one but a laptop to keep me company.

Message He'll Never See

Stop disappearing during lunch, dearest.
I miss you when you're gone.
Please and thank you.
All the love in the world,
~Laura
PS: You look amazing in red. It comes pretty close to your yellow shirts. For real.

But nothing compares to your eyes.
I wish I had more courage to look at them.
See you tomorrow.

Feeling Better

Maybe it was the Milky Way hot chocolate, but I do feel better. Happier, for now.
That's really all I have to say. I just wanted to document this moment.
Anyway, I'm planning on rerererererereading The Outsiders, just for the sake of reading it again.
I'm considering college on California too. Possibly. I would like my major to be creative writing, because apparently there is one, which I didn't know until there was a long list of options when I took the PSATs. That's a plus.
I've always wanted to go to California. Anywhere outside Connecticut is pretty good for me. I need to get out of this state and travel. My list so far consists of Florida, CA (it's standard, you know?), London, Hawaii, and Italy.
I have a while to think about college anyway.


I'm content living through dreams, some reality tossed in between.

You Should Be Selfless, Too

If you are, I'll probably love you.
I didn't mean for that to rhyme, but on with this:
An hour or so ago, I was having a conversation with one of my close friends. The one who was planning on going out with the guy who likes her. Well, planning isn't the right word anymore, because she is now. I think I am now one of the only ones in...I don't know, just one of those only ones out the people I associate with...who hasn't had their first kiss. Actually, that's wrong, but I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying anymore. That's unimportant anyway.
What's important, the entire reason I'm writing this, is what she said afterwards.
She told me that I deserved to be with him (not her boyfriend...my "love interest," obviously) more than she does with her boyfriend...
Now, I know she means this. Because she wouldn't say it if she didn't mean it. Maybe it's stupid of me to put faith in all the things she tells me, and maybe I should be suspicious that she just does it to pull me out of this perpetual state of something I'm in. I don't know the word. It's not depression, because I mean...I'm a happy person. Most of the time. Not all smiles in your face kind of happy, but like everyone else. I have my problems, as everyone does, but my real problem is that I dwell too much on them. I rush through everything I need to do in a day's time because I want extra time, and when I'm faced with that extra time, I think myself into a problem. I sink so deep into my own thoughts that I can't do anything productive, and then that becomes a problem also.
Back to the conversation, she told me she wishes for me to marry him, eventually. I teared up at that. I don't cry easily. But still, just the thought of it, and how she does care about me, even if I don't take time to realize that...it was overwhelming, for a moment.
I'm grateful I've got friends who...well, will help me pull through. :)
That was unavoidable and completely called for. ;)

Spontaneous side note: I wasn't lying when I said I'm not horribly depressed. Really. It's just that here, I get out all the insecurity and issues I have so it's written down and no longer in my head.
I may say I hate my life, but I don't, not really. In the scheme of things, I'm quite fortunate.
You'll just have to get used to my dry sarcasm.

Also, my mother is getting me Milky Way hot chocolate at Dunkin Donuts.
SCORE.

It's Not That I Hate Dances. I Just Hate That You Like Them.

At my high school, during the autumn of each year, they have the senior and junior cotillions. I don't even know what a "cotillion" means, but basically it's a dance. Two dances, really, until this year. They decided to combine the two cotillions into some crackpot scheme called The Harvest Ball. It's an excuse to save money that the people on the board of education will probably spend on something just as worthless. 

That's not what's bothering me. It shouldn't be bothering me, because I'm a sophomore. But he's a junior. 

He is a fucking junior. 

They made an announcement during my lunch period that the tickets were on sale, but since they didn't have enough to distribute to everyone in both classes, they should be purchased ASAP, if you want to go. 

He wants to go.

How did I guess.

I knew as soon as I peeked over my friend's shoulder and noticed his empty seat across the commons, he was buying his ticket. I shouldn't care, but when the pictures from his sophomore ring dance surfaced on Facebook, I collapsed and cried for an hour. Late at night, on the couch. While he was either asleep, or awake and not thinking about me because I bet you, he never does.

I mean, I want him to be happy. Seeing him smile is like one of those moments where you hear someone laughing, and you have no idea what they're laughing about, but it's contagious, and before you know it, you're laughing too. Or maybe when you walk out of the house in the morning, and think to yourself that it's too early to be awake until you look up. And the sun is just coming above the trees, peeking out between sheets of clouds, and the sunrise is painted pink and gold. 

There's a lot of analogies I could use.

My point is, even if he was mine, I would never want to restrict him. Whenever he's unhappy, or MIA, or sick, I'm more upset than he is. 

I'm just saying that it breaks my heart to not be able to be a part of his happiness. To have him walk by and not look down at me, or to have him wave and know that the moment is probably the longest I'll be in his mind all day. 

Lately I've been thinking about how I'm going to cope when he graduates, and goes off to college. I will still be stuck in high school. While he goes off, gets a degree, a job, and most likely a wife.

I'm thinking too far ahead. 

I wonder if I will still love him them.

I plan to tell him that when he graduates. Just so he knows. Just so I can get it out of my system. I'll explode if it doesn't.

All I can do is prepare myself for when pictures of this shindig come up on Facebook. Box of tissues, check. Lack of self esteem, double check. 

I could always ignore Facebook, but back to the analogies, I'm like that dumb fly that persistently hits itself against the light because they don't realize how much it hurts them. All they can focus on is the beauty in front of them, and how badly they want to be a part of it.

Well, maybe flies don't think that deep into things.

BA, If You Ask Me

I just finished my opinions article for my Journalism project, and I think it's pretty good. So I think I'm going to share. Here goes nothing:

“Top” Doesn’t Have to Mean “Best”

As 2008 slowly comes to a close and albums take their places on the charts, an important question is raised: Does having the top selling album of a certain year necessarily mean that the album is the best? Also, who has the authority to make the judgment whether an album is worthy of such praise? If one reviewer writes a review in a positive light while another is negative, who is right? People enjoy all different genres of music and dislike others, but does that mean certain genres are worse than others? Obviously, a die hard Lil Wayne fan would protest that Tha Carter III deserves its spot at the top of the charts, but a Fall Out Boy fan would likely say otherwise. They could go back and forth and argue statistics and polls and whatnot, but they are not really getting anywhere. Neither is leaving the debate with a changed opinion and will continue to look at their side of the argument. Who has the right and ability to be unbiased, take a step back, and generate a solid and supported reason as to why a certain album does or does not deserve its high status?
The answer is: there is no answer. There is not a single person who is completely unbiased. Most people will say they enjoy almost or all types of music, which is not a lie. I am one of those people myself. I enjoy pretty much everything from The Used to James Blunt to Gym Class Heroes. But everyone has that one genre or band or artist that means more than the others, that genre that just clicks, and they can relate to it more than the others. Even if you took a person who has never heard music before and gave them ten albums, each of a different genre, they are going to formulate an opinion. When they come back to you and say one album outshines the others, that is just their opinion. As shown above in the charts, my list of top five albums of this year is much different than the top selling list. That does not mean my taste in music is worse than the rest of the world; it just means it is different, and as far as I know, different was never a bad thing. If there weren’t people who went out of the norm and created new things, there would never be any difference. Everything would be the same.
Who knows, maybe in a few years, a small indie band currently located in their parents’ garage will have a top selling album. People complain about one hit wonders, but if there were not any, then wouldn’t we get sick of the same artists after a certain amount of time? And it’s not like these artists disappear off the face of the earth after their one hit song has been put away. For example, Jason Mraz’s hit back in the early 2000s, “The Remedy (I Won’t Worry),” is still remembered today. Maybe the song isn’t clicking in your mind now, but if you heard it, I bet it would. When I discovered him and went out and bought his albums, I honestly thought it was a cover song because I remembered hearing it so many times before, but had never matched the song to the artist. Mraz is still making music and touring, just as much, if not more, than before. But not many people know that.
The whole point of the radio and the music industry is to get peoples’ voices out through their music, and yeah, maybe one of the first fans of that big time indie band that used to live in their parents’ garage isn’t too happy, but bands deserve some credit. No one can stay small forever. Fans should support them either way, even if they become the next big time band, or even if they never leave that garage. So what if they never make a top album, because top doesn’t have to mean best, and so what if maybe the guy from Rolling Stone magazine doesn’t appreciate their music as much as you do? Music has a different meaning to every person and nothing, not even record sales or popularity, should change that.

Anyway. That's about it.

I'm missing him right now, and he's not even mine to miss.

I feel like

every

second

is

consumed

by

him.

Today he smiled, said hello, and waved. I bet he doesn't remember doing it.

Also, my friend plans to go out with this guy who likes her. I know it shouldn't matter to me, but it makes me feel more lonely.

Am I lonely?

Flustered Isn't The Right Word, But It's The First That Comes to Mind

Plus, flustered sounds a little more optimistic than overwhelmed, doesn't it? It does. I think so.
So I guess we can say I'm flustered. I got all my homework done on time, and I'm still getting things done on time, but I'm not really happy with anything. I'm not unhappy with it, per say, but all I can think is, "I can do better, I can do better, I can do better."

He's been idle for 2 hours and 10 minutes.
Just thought everyone should know.
No names, of course, in case he ever reads this. Which he won't. But I am hopeful.
I just want him to know who I am.
Is that too much to ask?

I'm getting all poetic now, aren't I? I should go, before another advertisment for depression comes on my television.
Journalism calls.

Procrastination Is My Best Friend

I have so much work to do.
I never did my Algebra project last night. I found data that I could use, but I never actually started it. My friend ended up IMing me in the midst of my search for data trends, and since we've declared ourselves BFFs in procrastination, I couldn't resist. I had to stop working.
And now here I am, not even willing to start working. Also, I plan on going out with my mother in a bit, to Sears and WalMart and whatnot. I need to take pictures, and I need to walk my mile and a half. All by 10 PM tonight.
Sometimes I wish there were more hours in the day.
Or maybe I just wish I could put those hours to better use.

My sister says she has no homework. And my mother is watching The View. Or some show like that. They're all the same to me.
Kill. Me. Now.

I am going to do homework. For serious. Right now. At this moment.
Later.

I Guess That Wasn't Horrible...Okay, It Was

For anyone who has yet to see the movie Nights in Rodanthe and plans on seeing it...don't read this. Or better yet, don't see the movie. Don't waste your time.
Wow. I like Diane Lane, really, she's a great actress. But I wanted to get out of that theatre before the opening credits finished rolling across the screen. It was that excruciating. Then, of course...get ready to let out a big gasp of surprise, here, my friends...the man (I don't even remember his name)...well, he dies. Boo hoo. And what was even more hysterical was that, five minutes after the son explains how the man died, my friend's mother turns to my mother and says, "...Did he die? I think he's still alive!"
Wow. I could NOT stop laughing. I think even Quarantine would have been better.
Christ, Bambi would have been better. For real.

So this is a pretty useless blog, but it's a good distraction from that cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter. They have M&Ms in them, and I can't resist. SOMETHING needs to distract me.
But starting now, it's going to be my Algebra project.
Peace.

Get It?

I have to admit, the title of this blog gives me more enjoyment than actually being able to blog. Same with being able to choose your own template. On a lazy Sunday afternoon/evening, I guess those things are pretty worthwhile. Maybe that shows the whole blogging idea isn't going to be a long-lasting one, which wouldn't fully surprise me, considering I'm one of those people who starts and never finishes. I don't start out with the intention of never finishing, but things come up, and other things are put on the back burner that never come off, and nothing gets done. 

That's pretty spot on as to how I'm feeling now. Like I can't get anything done. I have an essay for English class, a Spanish test Wednesday, an Algebra project, another Journalism project, and an Insights assignment. So why am I not doing any of it? I don't know. I have so much to do that I basically sit in the corner all day and ignore it. Whenever I try to get something done, I'm distracted, or not up to my ridiculously high standards, and I abandon the assignment. 

Wow, I meant to explain the title of this blog somewhere after that first sentence, but see? I got distracted, and off topic, and I rambled. 

Welcome to my brain.

It's a Fight Club reference. And a Jack's Mannequin reference. At the same time. (You know, I am Jack's Broken Heart? Except now it's I am Jack's Mannequin. Hahaha. You know you're laughing.) Kudos to Steve for coming up with the pun in one of my late night chat sessions. I told you I would consider it. :) 

If you don't get either reference, then you probably shouldn't be reading this. I mean, I'm not going to sit here and make Fight Club and Jack's Mannequin references all day long. I'm just saying. Maybe you won't like me, or think I bore you to death. I probably will bore you to death, but it doesn't really matter, because I'm not doing this for anyone else. It helps to get things off my chest, and since I've been in a constant state of writer's block for the past month, this is my substitute. 

How long are these things supposed to be anyway? Is there some sort of limit? Hot damn, I bet I would have exceeded it if there was. 

I'm stopping now, either way. My day wasn't too exciting, so there's nothing I can really talk about. I did two and a half hours of community service (which basically means stuffing envelopes and sticking stamps) and I went to Target. Bought some clothes. Tried not to think about everything that's bothering me. It's worked, surprisingly, because I feel okay. Not ecstatic or anything, but I feel content. For me, that's quite an accomplishment. 

Wish me luck seeing Nights in Rodanthe tonight. Or wherever they are. 

Romantic movies always make me depressed. 

There I go, rambling again.

I'm out.

For real.