Let It Die

Frustration ensues.

But oddly enough, I just want to laugh.

Life is a 90's sitcom.

At least,

I'd prefer to see it as such.

Because 90's sitcoms are my favourite.

Besides, they're awfully funny.

Something inside of me just snapped, I think.

A little rubber band in my brain just broke in half.

It was labeled "Why Do I Care?"

Why do I care?

I guess I don't.

Because things just ceased to be horrible,

Somehow.

Magically.

I'm not sure, but I like.

Maybe it's the music I'm playing?

Maybe it's the fact that my fingers have that pleasant ache they get after a good guitar playing session?

I think I've run through four songs today.

And the intro to Daytripper quite a few times...

I enjoy playing the hammer-ons to that one.

And the little three fret slide at the end of Yesterday.

I love my guitar.

It makes me happy.

And such a simple statement it is,

It does, indeed, make me happy.

I like music.

I like playing music.

Singing music.

I'd much rather be blind than deaf.

Without music, there is no point.

Now is there?

Music could tell me how the trees swayed, and how happy the color yellow was,

But my eyes couldn't tell me how music sounded, how ukuleles' nylon strings sound like the color yellow looks,

How harmonies sound.

My eyes are not as important as my ears.

I'm not saying I don't like seeing,

But I much prefer hearing.

Although, I suppose films wouldn't be much fun without being able to see.

But.

I have a very high respect for those who can write music.

Make music.

Spin it out of their heads and make it sound beautiful.

I can't write lyrics.

And I can't write music.

I am simply unable to make original music.

Sometimes, my muse will hit me and I can make up a little ditty,

But I never remember them.

So to the lyricists and musicians out there,

I love you!

You are truly geniuses,

I have the utmost respect for you all,

No matter if I actually like your music or not.

Shoot, my sitcom's on in a minute!

Like I said, I like sitcoms.

They're my favourite.

So I must be off!

Goodnight!

I love you!

Dreams

I had a somewhat strange dream last night.

I usually dream weird things, but this one seems out of the ordinary, oddly enough.

In said dream,

I was getting married.

I was at a hotel, and then my house.

And I was very flustered, because some other event was going to be happening at the time of my wedding,

And I was very worried no one would show up.

And I was running about, trying to get everything together,

And somehow, nobody could find my soon-to-be husband.

But I found him.

He was running around in a tux, carrying a banana.

I remember the banana distinctly for some reason.

But I woke up before i actually got married.

Or had my dress on.

I was looking forward to seeing my dress.

But alas, I had no such luck.

Well, ok.

I see now that I can;t make it sound as interesting as it really was,

But I hope you understand.

Have a lovely Thursday?

I love you.

Punkrocker (Featuring Iggy Pop)

So I was handed a pink sheet of paper in homeroom today about the PSAT,

And it's sort of spun itself a nice little thread.

The paper was shouting "THIS IS ABOUT YOUR FUTURE! FUTURE FUTURE FUTURE!"

And I realized.

Nobody cares about NOW.

It's always what's next, what's new,

Where you're going,

Not where you are.

I think this is especially the case with teenagers.

We have no time to enjoy now,

Where we are in life,

We are constantly propelled forward,

Into adulthood.

Into college decisions, into what we could make out of ourselves if we only applied ourselves.

What if we like who we are now?

What if we don't want to think about college because it's scary?

And what if we want to just stop and stare at the clouds for a second?

No, no,

No willy-nilly free-time,

No stop-and-smell-the-roses time.

It's what you're going to do tomorrow, and next month, and next year.

Sometimes, it's only what's going to happen in the next hour or so.

But it's never now.

We don't care about the present, swiftly becoming the past.

There are times when I just want to stop,

I want to like whatever moment I'm stuck in.

Sometimes, I forget that I'm supposed to be "living".

Because to me, living is what happens in the future, and on weekends.

I'm cracking the future up to be something I know it's not.

When can I be happy with here.

Now.

When can I just be content, and live?

When can I put aside the pressuring obligations that are quickly drowning me, in favor of calm, peaceful living?

Do I have to wait?

When does the waiting stop?

Do I have to wait until I'm dead?

Until there's nothing left to lie about?

Until I am in forever-sleep?

Is that when I enjoy living?

The situation would be ironic, if it were the case.

Do I have to sneak little moments of living in

Among the pressuring "FUTURE!" comments?

I am accosted by what I'm going to be, what I want to do,

Where I'm going to go.

I can't be me, the present me.

The one right here,

I have to be the future me,

Only now.

Like on Phineas and Ferb: "It's the flying car of tomorrow, today!"

That's how I'm feeling.

I want to be me.

I actually want to live a little.

I feel a little trapped.

Is it because I'm smart-ish?

I don't mean to sound conceited,

But it appears that the kids who aren't drowning in school work have more fun.

I know, I know, my education is my future.

Oh wait.

That's the problem.

The future part.

What am I getting now,

But five nights a week crammed with learning?

And five days a week crammed with learning?

If I wasn't such a straight-edge kid,

Maybe I'd have more fun,

And blow off my homework sometimes.

And then cry because my grades would be poor.

I care too much about the future to basically give it the finger and live my life.

The future controls me.

My education controls me.

I won't lie, sometimes it's fun,

But most times,

It isn't.

Like right now,

I could be studying for a history test.

But I'm not.

Because I'm too busy complaining.

But I'll go back to studying after I post this.

I've studied all afternoon.

And I still think I'll fail.

I have low self-esteem?

Sometimes, yes, I do.

But I feel silly saying that.

Future.

Well, future,

Sometimes I imagine you.

And in my mind's eye,

You're exactly what I've been waiting for.

But I know, when I get to this "Future"

There's going to be another future.

And another after that.

So why envision this ethereal, perfect future?

When I'll end up wanting another future?

A bigger, better future?

So far, I'd like my future to include a few things,

Happiness, answers to my now rhetorical questions, love, life (as in, actually LIVING), writing, and maybe a cozy nook somewhere in the mean, tough, beautiful city of New York.

I have high hopes for my future.

As do the people around me.

Sometimes,

I think they've misplaced their high expectations.

Just something for you all to think about.

What's your "Future" look like?

How are you going to get there?

Is it being jammed down your throat everyday?

For your sake, I hope not. I would think that would be painful.

Adieu, and goodnight.

I love you.

Don't Slow Down

Good morn, blogosphere.

I have nothing to say.

I'm here because it's a habit,

Because usually I can make up something that sounds half decent,

Or I just need to spill some thoughts.

But today, I have neither.

At least not off the top of my head.

I feel like I shouldn't waste your time,

I should just put a poem here and then leave.

But I don't want to.

I'm not quite sure what it is exactly that I do want,

But I'm just going to continue typing, as I usually do.

Maybe I shall be struck down by my muse, blasted with inspirational thought,

I definitely just imagined a very Roman-esque lady poofing out of the heavens and hitting me with lazer beams of inspiration.

Which, in real life, would be a very distressing occurrence.

It's Wednesday.

Meaning, we're half way through this week.

And what does half-way mean?

(Other than the fact that half-way is usually for losers...)

It means closer to the end.

But the same distance from end to beginning.

We're just sort of stuck in this middle day, trying to figure out if it's actually worth something,

If we like this middle day of the week,

Or if we'd rather stab it to death.

On certain Wednesdays, yes, I do want to just stab the living daylights out of it.

I guess this isn't quite a stabby-stabby day.

But it's like I'm jumping up and down in joy over it either.

It's "MEH."

Just, meh.

Ew.

Wanna know something?

My stomach already hurts.

It's like "I WILL kill you with nerves and distress!"

And then it laughs maniacally, which only roils up my stomach acid even more.

Maniacal laughing usually doesn't end well,

But that's a lie,

because sometimes I laugh pretty maniacally, and it just makes things seem better,

Because somehow, through the haze of laughing so hard your guts hurt, well.

You can't really see much beyond that haze, so that's why everything is awesome.

But the stomach laughing is bad. Very bad.

Oh gee, look at the time.

I must be off,

To catch the bus that takes me to my doom everyday.

How pleasant is that?

Answer: Righteously pleasant.

(Bahahah.)

Adieu.

I love you.

Twist and Shout

When can I curl up and go to bed?

And sleep out of this funk?

Can you sleep through a funk?

Or does the feeling stay with you even through dreams?

I'm sifting through the slower Beatles' songs

And I think I was going through withdraw or something similar

Because I currently want to listen to only the Beatles.

And I will.

With 256 Beatles songs, I'm sure I can listen to them (and only them) for quite sometime.

Regardless of my somewhat surprising near lack of homework,

I am not happy. I'll probably still spend way too much time on it.

When really, there are 157 things I'd rather be doing.

Yeah. 157. I'm really tempted to name them all.

That would be ridiculous.

I'm desperately trying to avoid cracking

And spilling out a stupidly teenage angst filled rant.

It'd mostly be self victimization.

But what is victimization but an extension of truth in this case?

it's just... an extreme degree of truth.

So I'm going to indulge

And let my rant break free.

...

And now that I've said that, I can think of nothing to rant about. Nowhere to begin.

It's cold outside.

And it's going to get worse.

I hate fall.

And winter.

Winter is unacceptable if there isn't snow on the ground.

Snow is the only thing about winter that I enjoy.

Not the cold, or the greyness, or the dark, or the freezing rain.

Just the snow.

And fall?

Who needs it?

It really serves one purpose:

A nice backdrop for Thanksgiving.

But I'm perfectly fine with a sunny and warm Thanksgiving.

Maybe I'm destined to move somewhere that's warm all year long.

And the weather is effecting my mood.

But it's not just the weather.

I'm just stupidly overwhelmed.

I want to be alone.

Yet it's the last thing I want at the same time.

Because I'm being a total... dweeb (in favour of a moderately degrading term)

About everything.

I'm being a jerk.

And I can help it, of course.

I could totally fake being happy. I could my normal disposition easily.

I've done it before, and can do it again.

But I don't want to fake it.

Nor do I want to be a grouchy loser.

I can't win.

I hate myself right now.

I'm debating what's safe to put in this blog

And what is not.

Am I really trying to censor myself?

Yes.

Yes, I am.

Why am I subjecting myself to this.

Attempting to redact parts of blog posts.

I should be able to say what I want.

But sometimes what I want to say

Isn't what people want to hear.

People don't want to hear me gush obsessively over my super-ridiculous, never-gonna-happen, 'crush'.

Even I don't want to hear about that.

because I live with it everyday. I live with all these stupid, idiotic thoughts about him. And I hate every single minute of it.

I do. I want to just stop. I want to get over him. There are so many Ingrid Michaelson songs I could reference here. That's what she's always singing about,

Getting over a guy. And I want to get over him. Yet, at the same time, I don't. This little illusion keeps me sane while working away quietly at my sanity.

The only way I can think of to just stop thinking about him is,

Oh, that's right,

I DON'T know a way to stop thinking about him. Or I would have by now.

Can I say I need a way to fall out of love with someone?

Would falling out of this thing hurt? Is that like getting your heart ripped out of your ribcage?

Or can I do this seamlessly.

Why am I even bothering to contemplate.

Truth is, I'm stuck.

Stuck in this silly, silly love-like-thing, for a guy that is totally unattainable.

And by totally unattainable,

I mean it.

There's no safe/sane way to actually be with this guy.

So I'm just stuck with illusions.

All day, every day.

It's just so pleasant.

Can't you just see the sarcasm dripping off the word?

No matter what I say.

I'll still want him. And I hate myself for it.

And I hate him for being so awesome.

Why did I have the misfortune of meeting him?

Asfmdpsbmlfnmgn-p,n

*further frustration*

Have a pleasant evening.

Sadly,

I still love you.

Too bad you can't reciprocate.

Monday, Monday.

Surprise, surprise, it's me again.

And about twenty seconds ago,

I had something intelligent to say.

But that was twenty seconds ago.

So now it's gone.

Awesome.

Have I mentioned that Mondays are

THE worst day of the week?

Thursdays are pretty bad too,

But Mondays are like if you had just escaped the clutches

Of you evil nemesis, but while you were valiantly jogging away,

You ran into a wall.

Monday is the wall.

It just comes out of nowhere and

SMACK.

OhmyGod, you just got hit in the face with a brick wall o' Monday.

And then your face gets those ugly marks that skin gets when it hits against

A very rough surface.

Conclusion: Mondays are the pits.

I really wish I could remember that smart thing I was going to say.

But I can't.

I had a dream (nightmare, more like it) that we had a Humanities chapter 12 test

The Monday after homecoming.

A) We are on chapter 6/7.

B) It was homecoming weekend, who was going to study?

C) I ended up getting utterly lost on my way to a concert and didn't make it to school on Monday.

I hadn't studied at all. It was horrible, I was bound for failure.

School invaded my dreams. It doesn't often do this.

Is it an omen?

A bad one?

Or is it a premonition and should I start studying now?

If we had a test on Monday, I'm pretty sure I'd fail.

And I'd fail pretty hard too.

I have to leave my house in ten minutes.

Meaning I should stop blogging now.

I'm ignoring the need to stop.

But I'm running out of things to say.

Crap.

That would happen.

Uhmmm.

Hmmmm.

Yeah.

What can I say?

I'm going to go get on the bus, right?

And I can tell you at exactly which intersection

My stomach ache/barfy feeling will set in.

Without fail.

Everday.

Same intersection.

It's like I've been socked in the stomach with a brick.

Here we go with the brick/brick wall analogy again.

FULL CIRCLE.

Have a good brick-wall Monday, everybody.

I love you.

But you're the reason for that pukey feeling at the intersection.

King Of Anything.

Day Two of Pissy Mood Phase.

So how are all of you today?

Did you all have a lovely Sunday?

I'd like to imagine that you all did and right now you're settling in on the sofa under a blanket

Because it's frickin' freezing outside.

Stay warm, or you'll die.

True fact.

One of the lightbulbs in my bathroom light fixture has died.

The poor thing just gave up.

The other three bulbs are putsing around, still alive and well.

But the third one from the left gave up.

And I'm right there with that little lightbulb.

I'm giving up.

Going to bed.

Succumbing to the disgusting Monday sure to follow

My wretched dreams.

I have five days of hell

To make it through

Until there are two days of sweet salvation.

My life is a series of weekends.

But seriously,

A four day weekend was too much.

I'm ready to face hell again.

I am such a god-damned pessimist.

Whatever happened to me to make me such a cynic?

I hate being a cynic,

A pessimist,

One of those people whose glass looks to be about half empty.

So be it.

I am who I am.

I have nothing more to say tonight.

Goodnight or whatever, I guess.

I love you.

You've Got To Hide Your Love Away

I'm in a bit of a pissed-off-yet-totally-upset-for-reasons-that-are-semi-legit mood tonight.

I feel like I let my family down a little bit more every time I see them. How awesome is that?

I don't fit in in my family. I am this liberal, anti-children, not religious, cynical waste of human.

Sometimes, I think they hate me. We have nothing in common, most of my family and I.

Sometimes, I have nothing to say to them for we are so different. I can't talk about music. Politics. History. School.

I feel as though I am not good enough to be a member of my family.

I am opinionated, which gets me in more trouble than its worth, so it seems, so I don't say much that matters. My comments usually range from mindless television to the very surface level of school. I say my brother is annoying, and it's as though I've spit on a Bible. Apparently dissing little kids is huge faux paux. I was not aware. We were talking about illnesses being cured, and I brought up the new AIDS vaccine. The reaction was as almost on the level of Bible-spitting. I seem to do nothing right. Why, oh why could I not be a Republican, country-music loving, Catholic? If I met such a quota, I'd fit in perfectly, I think. Maybe they'll excommunicate me. Could I do something so disdainful as to be kicked out of my own family?

I'm not sure.

But it distresses me to think that they don't like me.

I can't really speak my mind around them.

I am either ignored, laughed at, or stared at blankly.

I'd like to think of myself as an educated human being,

Able to form a coherent opinion and defend it.

Able to talk about current events and politics.

Is it my age?

At 16 am I not supposed to care beyond nail polish and boys?

And while nail polish and boys are fine,

Why can't I have thoughts on things that matter?

Without being met with such negative reception?

People disregard me because of age.

I am ignored because I am 16.

I am told I don't understand the ways of the world,

That I do not know what love is,

And that I am simply too young.

So when do I get this golden membership into adulthood?

Not that I want the heaps of responsibility, a job, finances... etc, etc.

I just want my voice to be heard, just a little.

I don't want people to laugh in my face,

Disregard what I've got to say,

I want to be seen as an equal.

We're all human, aren't we?

Why can't we act like it?

Why do people see teenagers such foreign things?

We're all a teen at some point.

You can't skip being 13-19.

It doesn't work like that.

And yes, I know.

If you're an adult reading this you'll want to say:

"I remember being your age, things get better. Cherish your teenage years! Don't rush growing up!" Yada. Yada. Yada.

You know something?

I realized this.

I don't want to rush it.

I don't want to be a full-fledged adult.

Yes, I probably sound snarky and arrogant right now.

I do not care.

I just want to be respected for who I am.

What thoughts I have.

The opinion I have formed in an educated manner.

So why do people continue to see me for my age?

SIXTEEN.

Yes.

I am young.

Yes, I've got a ways to go.

But seriously, cut me some slack!

I'm not stupid, I'm not ditsy,

I am a human being

I have feelings.

And the fact that people laugh at my opinion, ignore me,

And overall shoe me disrespect

HURTS those feelings.

CRUSHES them, even.

Sometimes,

The rudeness of people towards teenagers in general stuns me!

To the point that I just want to scream.

Then weep for humanity.

Dear God, people,

Teenagers are humans too.

Realize that.

We have brains,

Much to some people's surprise.

We have feelings that

AREN'T just hormones!

Nothing pisses me off more than when adults blame teenager's actions or words of emotions

on HORMONES.

Oh, it makes me angry.

Just because I'm 16 doesn't mean I'm PMS'ing or something 24/7.

So adults,

Please.

If any of you happen to read this,

Why do you choose to see teenagers a mutant species incapable of intelligent conversation and/or opinions?

Why can't you see us as human beings?

See us for what we are?

As you can see.

I am pretty pissed off.

At a lot of things.

And I don't know what to do about my rage and fury.

Yes,

Fury.

As in "I will rip out your vocal chords" fury.

Although,

That's a very disgusting an cruel thing to do.

More "I will tp your house and syran wrap your car" fury.

And I think,

When I get the chance,

I'm going to attempt to start up a new short story and actually finish it.

And before I explain my premise for it,

Don't go all "OMG! That's exactly like the plot of 'An Education'!"

Because, I totally already realized this.

But it's going to be different.

Why?

My story:

Is not a true story.

Is set in 1960's America (Not London)

Lacks regret.

Could possibly contain murder.

Ends much differently.

Could possibly be relatable?

We'll see how it goes.

So I'm thinking:

1963 (or '64, not sure yet), in somewhere like Columbus. Not a huge city, but not rural either.

A 17 year old girl. A 27 year old guy.

A very illegal and surprising romance between the two.

Sounds a lot like "An Education", right?

Damn.

Because I really, really want to write something similar.

So I will.

At some point.

But right now,

I'm totally wimping out in my rage and fury.

Because it's really cold in here.

And I'm really tired.

So much for blistering fury.

Eh.

Hopefully tomorrow doesn't bring reason to be pissed.

Oh.

Haha, yeah right.

Tomorrow is homework day.

And I can promise you that the APUSH notebook will have me in an utter tizz.

Then again,

Ugly sweater (preferably hideous sweater...) shopping at goodwill tomorrow.

Student council finally came through on spirit week. Ugly sweater day. I give them props for that one.

Goodnight,

Rest up,

Stay warm (It's bitterly chilly tonight...),

Blog readers. :)

I love you.