Bit Rate Variations in B-Flat.

I am having a terrible time with words today.

So I'll take the Hemingway approach. Simple. Terse. Un-superfluous.

Here goes.

I cannot stop thinking.

Dreaming.

Wishing, Hoping.

Failing.

I'll say it again, because it's true.

I say "love".

The world says "Obsession."

I don't even care.

All I know is that I read "Hills Like White Elephants" because he gave me a link

And I liked it. It was a good story. But it's secretly sad. Hemingway can do that, can't he?

But you can take that story the horribly wrong way...

But whatever. *very frustrated noise*

...

I won't live through this year with my sanity intact.

Jeepers.

I am too dramatic...

But seriously,

I can't do this.

Hellloooo pessimism!

It's here through worse and even worse.

(Because with pessimism there is no 'better')

I feel like I need another ridiculous love-rant.

I am pathetic.

In the grips of something I can't control, but with the desperate need to control it. Bottle it up.

Hide it away so no one can see what he does to me.

I am so sappy.

Ridiculous.

I hate myself.

A lot, actually.

But it is what it is,

No matter how sucky.

So I'm going to bed.

And hopefully my dreams go unoccupied.

Goodnight.

And I love/am obsessed with you.

Chinatown Bus

All things sunshiney,

Summery, glistening mirages.

Green man-made dew,

Sparkling in the afternoon rays.

Yellow plastic sprinklers,

House after house.

Kid after kid,

Pink, green, blue bathing suits.

Clinging to the tanned-leather

Bodies, wet with chilling

H2O, from rubbery green hoses.

Scrambling from emerald yard

To yard, smiles laced with freedom.

The raw smell of grass blades,

Suntan oil and sweat.

Sand covered days

With hot, sticky nights.

(Humidity is no one's friend).

It's over. All of the above is gone.

Or practically.

Summer was so short.

So wasted.

Spent.

Worthless.

But I'll miss every minute of it.

Go Your Own Way.

So, my dear little darlings,

I have returned, *insert a fabulously horrible hair-flip and wave here*

And I don't think I've missed much,

Yeah a couple days of my life,

A few hours of sleep,

And possibly some good tv.

But seriously, nothing important.

AND.

I think I have anxiety attacks.

Ok, well, I know I have them,

But the thing I need to know is: Does that happen to everyone else?

Do you have a single passing thought that suddenly drives you to such fear that you start crying and clinging to walls?

Please, tell me you do, because it'd make me feel a lot better. Because I'm a little scared about it. It hurts, you know, mentally, the anxiety.

I just need to know if it's normal. Some reassurance that I don't need scary meds or therapy.

And I'm pretty sure I love most of my family due to "Stockholm Syndrome". :) Because I have nothing in common with most of them and don't actually get a long with them that well, I just pretend to. I pretend a lot of things actually. I'm sure you all do too, though.

We all pretend.

Sometimes it's as simple as pretending you made that last light while driving,

Or it can complex like getting snowed in with someone you particularly like and things get awkward.

Or you can pretend you're a unicorn. I particularly like that one myself.

The fridge is broken! The fridge is broken! It's true! It's making funny noises and it's lost its prized chilliness!

The poor thing's sick.

Geez, you don't know how badly I want a nap right now.

You know how bad?

Really, really bad.

Oh. And he thinks I'm smart.

Apparently my stupid comments all year made no impression. Yes.

That's awesome.

Ok, well I've got nothing more to offer you than anxiety and Stockholm Syndrome, so Adieu.

That Summer.

Who's ready for another caffeine-fueled sermon by yours truly!? That's what I thought! Heeeeere we go!

Into the sea of music:

BISHOP ALLEN. Could any one band sound more adorable!? No. No, it is not possible. So damn cute. So poppy, peppy, and downright HAPPY. Check 'em out, for they are lovely-wonderful-cutesy-tastical. Yeah, that's a word. Don't deny. Specifically: "Corazon" for a darker, slower, touching story of an abandoned piano. "That Summer" for a whimsy trip. "The Chinatown Bus"- My very favorite. And Of course, "Click Click Click Click". It was on a Kodak commercial a while ago. Adorable, as usual. Why can't they tour in OHIO? Yeah. show our corn-filled state some love, would ya? No good bands ever come here. It bites.

Into the sea of hatred: School readings. Why does the institution demand we read boring texts that have no interest to us. Really, I won't read 942 pages of a "western" without cowboys... please. Pick something mildly entertaining, heartbreaking, or classic. Classic literature would be lovely, of course. Like "Catcher in the Rye" or something, please. I beg of thee. Also, on the list of "Hated Things", the end of summer. Oh boy, I can't even deal with that. I CAN'T because I haven't DONE anything! AGH. Why is my life such a lie? I feel like it's a tragedy. Well, ok, to make myself feel better I'm listing things I've done this summer:

-Pulled my first all-nighter.

-Made some new pals.

-Started a journal.

-Went to the pool. Twice.

-Went to the movies. Twice.

-Had a "super-sweet 16".

-Began to play guitar.

-Visited Wapak. Soon to be three times.

Maybe I did something.

But nothing important.

That would happen.

Into the sea of LoOoOove (otherwise known as obsession!):

Yes, I still don't regret that one post... the crazy, lovey one.

But I feel like it was a step towards my obsession. Dammit, another school year with him.

Will I survive without making googly-eyes at him?

I sure hope so. I feel like googly-eyeing him would make for some awkward situations. It definitely would. Let's avoid this fate, shall we?

I'll do my best. No promises.

But I can assure you there'll be awkward conversations ahead. Oh joy. *intentional sarcasm...*

Well, I could probably write an entire blog post about situations and encounters I'd like to have with him, but seriously... I don't want to bore what readers I have to tears. Nobody wants to read teenage fluff. Not even me.

Caffeine-fueled sermon is just... going. Going, going.

It has no point. Maybe I should state a moral.

"Do not fall for men who cannot possibly love you back".

That is called unrequited love, my darlings, and it's not something you want to happen to you, you hear?

Yeah you better.

Errr... CAFFEINE! SHOWER! FROSTED FLAKES!

GOODNIGHT.

I love you.

I Could Die For You

So much to do. And who decided twenty-four hours was a good number for a day? Really? Come on now. Time is the enemy. It's also money. I hate that: "Time is money!" It's idiocracy! Lunacy! Something-cracy!

So much to dooo. Dooo. Before can I doze off. And wake up at like, 7:45. Argh.

Life is too short.

Too horrific.

I hate people, I really do.

I have so much to say I don't know where to begin.

At all.

I should be in bed right now.

But I'm talking someone through relationship things.

And I'm not very good at it.

And I'm going to start part of this dual-narrative.

Gatsby Xavier. Let's go.

So much for a decent blog post.

Har har.

Adieu.

I love you.

I'm Sticking With You

Isn't life just peachy? Noooo, no, seriously, ain't it just a bowl of freaking cherries?

Yeah, didn't think so. My life is fucking perfect. Yes. Yes that is so right.

I am a suburban-sprawl child, I am blonde, mildly intelligent, straight-A sort of kiddo.

Then whyyyy am I so unhappy here!? I just need to know why! I want some answers. Some damn good ones.

I am raging pissed for some reason. On the inside. My exterior is so utterly calm you'd never know. Why am I like that!? Why can't have an angry outburst to prove my point!? Why can't I go batshit crazy in front of PEOPLE!? A POPULATION!? Why am I only truly myself behind the closed door of my suburbanly-normal home!? WHY did I end up so crazy-normal!?! I am so White-bread in this white-bread town! I have nothing special!? Yes, that's a question. Because I don't know. I really don't. I can't stand this. Any of it. Take me away, far away, to where I can get un-normal! Please, anyone, everyone!! Come one, come all, watch the extra-ordinary mental collapse of me. ME. This normal chick right here. Yeah, ME. I don't like that word. It means what it says. ME. This one. Here. The normal one. Who over-exaggerates her life's problems like the hipster-loser she is. Yes. I am mad at ME. Me, and only me, can fix what I've gotten into. But you can't scrub away normality. Nooo, no you can not. No sirree. But don't people long to be normal? I want to have something to claim. Something to pin myself to being a little bit different. I'm cookie-cutter. But I'm below-par. Nobody wants a pessimist, nobody wants ME. Why would they? Even I don't want me at times. Existence is like a curse. It IS a curse. But death is my greatest fear. The irony. It's over-freaking-whelming. I want to make things STOP. To freeze time. Saunter about like they do in the films.

I want too much. I must stop. I am so selfish. Another flaaaaaaw!! Maybe I need help. But normal people don't need help. No. They do not.

This isn't goodnight. I'm going to guiltily look at Swedish furniture. Maybe cry. Play me some solitaire and forget this outburst.

It'll drive me crazy if I don't forget. It's little teeth will gnaw at my soul-innards.

But yeah, I still love you? I think it's more obsession now. Can obsession be love? I think so. Because I still claim to be horribly and unrequitedly in love with you. Yes. I do love you. But you can't love me back now can you? Yeah. Life happens like that, doesn't it? Just to screw with our heads a bit.

I bid you all adieu. Off to Ikea.com...

Pieces of You

I'm jamming out to "Peaches" (Presidents of the United States). And It's... one of those days. I already apologize for any spelling errors.

I thought I was getting over my biggest fear. That of dying/the afterlife/the abyss. Turns out, no. No I was not getting over it. The slightest thought of it brought me to the very edge of a full-fledged panic attack. I am scared of my scaredness. Should I seek help for this? Would rambling to a therapist do anything? I'm not insane, just scared. It's horrible and dehabilitating. It's like being paralyzed by fear. I cry. No, bawl is a better name for what I do. Is that a phobia? Because I don't think it's irrational... but other probably view it as such. Oh it makes me a wreck. Agh.

Well. I also see that dreaming is probably an unhealthy habit, because when reality comes to call I'll end up cripplingly upset. There are times when I'd love to not think. To just stop thinking altogether. Do people ever do that voluntarily? I've always wondered this, because truly, my brain never quiets. It's one whirlwind after another. I don't know how long I'll be able to do this. Which is pathetic.

I'm just one bundle of contempt and fear. And who would want that?

Answer: Nobody.

Nobody normal, that is.

Is it horrible that I desperately long for a boyfriend? It is. It's a pathetic wish, as I am odd and boys don't appreciate/understand oddity.

I'm just so tired and like I mentioned before, the thoughts don't stop. Constant onslaught. Ridiculous, really. Really.

Someone needs to find the off switch for my brain. It'd be much appreciated.

So this horrible being is off to sleepytime. And I'll dream more idiotically perfect-beautiful dreams that will never come true. Or I'll dream disturbing ones that are still amusingly pleasant and pray they don't come true. I can several of these types of dreams, sadly.

Goodnight.

I love you.