Unhappy New Years

I hate New Years Eve.

Though, technically, its already new years day already. But, anyway.

I was supposed to hang out with Sage and J and A tonight, partying until the wee hours of the morning and denying ourselves sleep by increasing our blood caffine content a hundredfold, but that didn't happen. No, at first, A had the excuse that "New Years is supposed to be spent with the family", but then he went out with his friend L. Then, after trying since 8 p.m. to contact him, I finally got ahold of A nine minutes before the ball dropped, and he said that he would call me back. It is now nine minutes to one a.m.. He has still not called me back.

I am very angry with him, but my programming insists that I keep up a cheerful facade until I am once again within the confines of my own- agh, sorry. I forgot that I'm allowed to show emotion on here. Sometimes, I forget and revert back to my cheerful, robotic way of life. But yeah, I'm very angry at A. I feel like telling him thet we're through, but I don't necessarily want to break up with him. My head and heart are very confused. I think I'll try his phone one more time. He isn't picking up. Again.

I'm tired of this. I need to rest my head. Goodnight.

And an Unhappy New Years to all.

Well, now I have my answer

Remember how yesterday I was pondering if A and I "loved" each other or if we were "in love"?



Well, all I can say is thank god for Chatpit and AIDS.


It all started yesterday, when A was not able to come over to the ever so empty house I possessed (to watch RENT, Sage), so we logged on to Chatpit to, well, chat. For some reason, I am always very popular on Chatpit, so many people were private messaging me. I told them to stop, then complained to A about them. He said that I should tell everyone that I had AIDS, maybe that would make them leave me alone. I thought it wasn't something you should joke about, then in mock-revenge asked if he had AIDS. He replied, and I'm quoting here, "No, I don't have AIDS, but I'd tell you if I did. I wouldn't want to risk giving it to the person I'm in love with."


I then spent about ten minutes trying to figure out if he was screwing with my head or not.


He wasn't.

He then proceeded to say that he really loved me and that if he ever lost me, it was not something he could easily recover from. Sigh. Isn't that just so sweet (if not slightly strange, considering we've only known each other for three weeks)?

The weird thing is, I really feel like I could be falling for him back, if I haven't already. He knows me almost as well as Sage, and he's actually knocked my cat down a notch on the list of people I love. Mello is now #5, A is #4. Sage, he's quickly approaching your spot, so beware. I can't wait to see him again, because I feel like when I do, all the headaches and random pain will just vanish. Speaking of pain, I must go beg the office lady for asprin, because my head is about to spontaniously combust.

A Public Service Announcement that Shall Aid You All

I HAVE THE WORST FUCKING HEADACHE EVER YAAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHHH!

Damnit, Sage! I am never showing sympathy for your pain ever again! Every time I do, it thinks, "Oh, she's so nice, lets go shove a midget with a hammer into her skull!"

EVERY. FUCKING. TIME.

Please take note of my increased use of expletives. This is how badly I am in pain. And if Mr. Turano doesn't stop with his GOD DAMNED pinging email alert system, I'm going to take the avocado I brought him and SHOVE IT UP HIS NOSE. This man is old and runs for fun! How many emails could he possible get?!

Afuckinglot, obviously. Please stay tuned for the regular, a.k.a. not painful and screamy, post after this random curse word.

HIGHER EDUCATION!

Is it love or just really bad cramps?

My stomach hurts really, really badly. I don't know if I'm nervous about delibriately disobeying the strictest of my mother's rules (inviting someone over to our house, regardless of her being home or not), the fact that the person I'm breaking this rule for is A, or if I'm just about to get my period. I hope it isn't the last one. Having your period on Christmas sucks. Plus, I was kinda hoping I'd get to do something this weekend...I meant buy that awesome dress from Hot Topic, Sage, so stop opening the "Touch got some!" champagne.



I mean, I like A. I really like A, but at the same time, I don't know. I don't want to push my limits, y'know? I mean, he's only my fondest poetic wish given physical form. What if I end up doing something and he stops liking me? Its easy to start liking a person, but its even easier to hate their guts. I don't want A to stop liking me just yet. And the thing is, I'm really trying with this one. I'm taking better care of my hair and face, and I've all but stopped wearing the same clothes two or more days in a row. Though when you don't have many pairs of pants available for use, you try to get as much use out of them as possible. But back to point. I'm trying, really I am, and I don't want something as trivial as my entire house being a shithole to scare A away.

But then again, he says that he loves me, and I'm pretty sure that I'm in love with him. Surely something like my house wouldn't be enough to scare him away, right? Wait a second, I just realized something. A said that he loved me, but not that he was in love with me. I mean, I love leeks, but I'm sure as hell not in love with leeks. So what is it? Should I ask him, or will something like that scare him away?

Ugh, my brain hurts. I need something less difficult to think about. An English term paper on evolution vs. creationism? No less than five body pages? Ahhhh, finally, something simple.

But still, what should I do about today?! I've already sent him an email about coming over...ah god, I hope I still have a boyfriend come this weekend...

I think I've found my new muse...and he scares me.

I can hardly turn around these days without running headfirst into some sort of inspiration, and its really starting to wear me out. So, I decided to once and for all find myself a new head muse. Of course, Kodachrome wasn't too happy about it. She's been my head muse for ages and ages, and wasn't exactly willing to give up the top seat, but too bad. Now, my ideal muse these days is male, willing to give me the push I need, and preferrably winged. I looked around my world for something like that, and found nothing. I tried lowering my standards, even to the point of changing my preferred gender. Still, nothing. So I got bored and decided to read some manga. It was there in the pages of Shutterbox volume 4 that I found my answer, my muse.

His name is Thrush Unspindle, he's the Angel of Wasted Life, and he scares the everloving crap out of me.

Strange thing is, he isn't even a muse in the Shutterbox universe; he's the master of banshees in Immiserriah. And yet, he truly inspires me. He is the one who, when you are wasting your time, becomes your owner. But the ones that resist him grow and learn from him. The best things from the worst things, you see. Its just so inspiring, I can't even begin to tell you.
He hasn't even been my muse for an entire day and I've already written a Shutterbox fic/drabble and started a ballad of sorts. Not to mention that I've come up with two new girls for me to torture: the Eternal Gemini, the Eternity Twins Nocturne and Diem. Nocturne is the master of the realm of night, her skin moon-kissed and her hair full of stars, and Diem is the lady of the daylight hours, her body fragile and tanned, hair as soft and pale as clouds. They are Ancients, and the first true children of the Creator. Ha! Take that Christianity! Eheheh, sorry. But really, for the Angel of Wasted Life, Mr. Unspindle (as I've been calling him) has been a big help. I suppose that its only natural that a lazy authoress like myself would be inspired by the very embodiment of the deadly sin Sloth. Oh well, best get back to being mused. Mr. Unspindle has some great ideas on what I should do to round out my Nocturne ballad, after that I just need to start work on the tale of Diem and maybe I could enter both in the literary fair once they're finished...

WHATSIT- a poem about which I have nothing to say.

WHATSIT
I was once a child, running screaming throught the night.
With a tattered, holey dress and a dirt-streaked face, I was the one no one wanted.
I caused other children to scurry aaway in alarm, my fearsome mannerisms scaring the bravest of my peers.
I was alone and unwanted, but I wasn't lonely.
No matter what happened, no matter where I went, the Whatsits would find me and put me at ease.
They soothed my tears, quieted my screams.
They'd become a giant pair of arms, holding me close.
The Whatsits were intangible, yet real.
They had no true form, but I could hold them in my hands, nuzzle one with my cheek.
My Whatsits would never abandon me.
Then the years started passing, and I started growing up.
I stopped running, stopped screaming.
I traded my dress for faded jeans, cleaned my face, and smiled.
Slowly, others came to notice, even appreciate my presence.
I was no longer alone, and yet the Whatsits still stayed by my side, no matter what.
I loved them, and they loved me.
And then, all at once, they were gone.
My Whatsits vanished, and He appeared.
He was the missing half of my soul, the one I'd always been searching for.
He had large, warm, comforting arms, the same arms I'd known all my life, and when He held me, I knew that I'd never been alone, would never be alone again, because He had been with me all along, and with me He would stay.
My lovely, warm, wonderful Whatsit boy.

Let's pray I don't screw this up!

Last weekend, I went to Anime Supercon and sold manga out of a suitcase. I made $180, saw loads of my anime-type pals, organized a Numa Numa dance in the parking garage, and spent three days in an animated bliss with my true family, my spiritual tribe.
Oh yeah, I also met the hottest, most amazing cosplayer of all time, and he was actually interested in me as well.

Hand to God, I'm not lying.

All this week, I've been going crazy waiting for today, when we get to meet up at Sawgrass and he can see how I usually look and will hopefully not run screaming in the opposite direction. I'm not terribly supersticious, but I think I'll wear green for luck.

But god, A is so amazing! He's an artist, and he's just as passionate about his art as I am about mine. He likes old movies and even older music. He's dark-haired and fair-minded, and strong as anything, maybe even stronger than me! He makes me laugh and not feel guilty. He's tried to stop me from blaming myself for everthing and apologizing all the time. We danced like maniacs to Japanese music at the con's Winter Anime Prom the night we met, then did karaoke two days later. This past week, we've talked past midnight. If his father weren't allergic, he'd want to own a cat. He thinks that with my mannerisms, I come pretty damned close. He doesn't mind that I constantly need to hug people and when he kissed me, I forgot about nearly everything else. I joked about setting him up with someone I knew, and he said that he didn't need anyone else. He wrote my name on his arm in Japanese because he couldn't stop thinking about me. We were born two flipping days apart.

He's utterly perfect, like my poem given human form. I think that even despite all of my emotional hangups, I could really fall for this one (given time and opportunity). Maybe I'm just putting too much thought/hope into this, but face it. After
Giovanni's idiocy (and nose-blood on my hands)
Emad's obliviousness
Nick Roe's utter rejection
Rico's...Riconess
Josh's tonsil-rapeage
Brian's perviness/idiocy/jerkocity
Dan's zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzness
Kris (nothing else needs to be said)
and Andrew's (let's face it) complete lack of attention and enthusiasm, I think that karma owes me a guy like this. One final prayer before I bid you adieu:
pleasedon'tbegaypleasedon'tbegaypleasedon'tbegay...

Artistic Expression

I want to draw you.
I want to draw the subtle lines of your face,
The way the tendons in your neck meet your shoulder,
The wide planes of your back.
I want to draw your hands, so much more graceful than my own,
The thin, tanned arms that are so much stronger than mine could ever hope to be.
I want to draw you alone, floating on the page.
I want to draw you as you sleep in school, your arms covering your face as you hunch over your desk.
I want to draw you in a way that reveals your true self, that shows the world who you really are.
I want to discover you, know you better than anyone else.
I want to draw you so that when you eventually leave,
(like everyone always does)
I'll have something that is real to remind me.

I never get phone calls.

Never. I have to call someone if I want to talk. It gets lonely, you know? The last person that called me was, hm, Sage.

On Sunday.

Today is Friday, in case no one noticed. I have no plans for this weekend, so I will probably end up being dragged to the bike store. Sigh

I need a life.

My eternal muse is a woman from Los Angeles

Francesca Lia Block.

Sure, the name may mean nothing to you now, but go read a copy of I Was a Teenage Fairy or Girl Goddess #9 and your mind will soon change. The woman is a visionary, a literary genius that, in my opinion, far outstrips J.K. Rowling. She is a master of fantasy and the unreal yet oh so real, while still managing to set all of her stories in her hometown and make it work. I envy her on such levels, it has managed to go beyond deadly, this sin of mine. I want to write like her.

Have you ever read something that moves you so much, you want to emulate it? You ever want to uproot your entire life and follow the route that the work details instead? You ever walked down a road after you'd just finished, contemplating just ending it all, because you know how the story ends, and that there isn't any more of it? That's her. That's Franceseca Lia Block. Her books, her stories are just so moving and enlightening and breathtaking and terrifying all at the same time, it makes your mind go numb. I want to write something like that.

My muses are fickle, and they only inspire what they want to inspire. They're addicted to comic books and movies and predictable happy endings, and while that works great for Disney, I need something more. I think I may have outgrown my muses. Kodachrome and her need for abusive romances, Mirrorimage and her obsession with comic crackery, Dragonmage and his magical ability to screw up every plotline I've ever worked with. I think that I'm fed up with them all. I need something new. Kodachrome can stay, if only to keep me grounded through mental abuse and bad jokes, but the rest must go.

I want a new muse, with sunlight in her hair and a rainbow shining through his wings. I want a faerie muse, to help me with all my new pieces. I want a tattered girl that was ignored as a child. I want my inspiration, and I want it now.

I disagree with People

It's been almost a month since my last post, and now I'm here raving about People magazine. The list of this year's sexiest men alive has just been released, with Matt Damon riding the top spot. No, normally, I don't give a damn about what People thinks, but Matt Damon? His name can spell damn for a reason, people! He's icky! Now, Steven Strait? Purr, that's what I'm talking about! Sexiest man alive, indeed. The youngest guy on the list of 15 I saw was 31! Ew.

So, yeah. People magazine can bite me if they'd rather stare at Damn boy's wrinkles than Steven's sexy eyes that actually seem to smolder as you look into them, even in photographs...

I think I have a nosebleed.

A Want Ad From My Heart

Wanted: one man/woman
(aged 17-22)

That is tall, dark-haired, humorous, fair-minded, and strong.

Must enjoy old movies and even older music, dancing for no reason at all, late-night conversations, and cats.

Must be able to tolerate my absurdity, respect my creativity, give me my space, revel in my closeness, and understand my need for both.

Hugs must come often, kisses must be searing and soul-searching, and sex must never come up in conversation.

Remember the names of my uncles, love my grandmother, be friends with my friends.

Cherish our time together, miss me when I'm away, know my quirks.

Love me unconditionally, remind me often, laugh when I blush.

All those interested, please inquire inside.

And lo it was written that she who angsteth the hardest got the best grade.

Amazing. Absofuckinglutely amazing.

Yesterday, I was the second to last person to read their monologue in my class. That day, my drama teacher had heard 120 monologues from his classes. After I was finished, he declared that mine was the best.

Sweet Christ on a crumpet, how the hell did that happen? It was less of a monologue and more of a hate-filled tirade against my mother, and yet, it was the best. Maybe it helped that I almost had a panic attack while up on stage, giving the appearance that I was about to burst into tears. Perhaps it was because I was one of the only people in my class to read with any concievable emotion in my voice.

Maybe everyone else in the drama program just really suck at monologues. The world may never know.

I think I'll post my rant later, after I get back from my grandmother's house. Not that anyone actually reads this journal.

Monologue, hold the onions.

Drama will be the death of me, I swear it.

Last week, we had to write two sentences directed toward someone we either loved unconditionally, or drove us completely insane. I chose my mother. Then we had to write a monologue, using the two sentences as a starter. My monologue is less of a monologue and more of a hate rant about my mother. I had no idea that I had so much inner torment. Okay, maybe I did, but I didn't think it would all come out in a drama project. I'm hungry. I need food. Hell, I need a sandwich and some heavy therapy.

Boredom is neither a sin nor a virtue.

I am so damned bored.

It's Wednesday. Wednesday is, for me, the most boring day of the week. Two days until the weekend with no excitement in sight. Boring, boring, boring.

At home, I've been writing almost nonstop. It's almost getting to the point where I feel as if I should be writing something meaningful, but instead I keep coming out with pointless, emotionless drek. I've always prided myself on putting the emotions I myself couldn't feel into my writing. This new development worries me. Perhaps I should take a little break from writing.

WHAT IN THE HELL AM I SAYING?!

I might as well take a break from breathing! I know what not writing does to me. It makes me jumpy, nervous, even a bit paranoid. No, I can't stop writing. Maybe I'll take a different angle for once. Quit with the comic characters and work with the old gods and older creatures. Mythology has always held open a, heh, pantheon of possibilities for me. Though, as most writing books will tell you, you should always write what you know. And there's nothing I know better than comics and mythology...

Yes. I'm going to focus on the mythos now. Hold onto your togas, baby, I am back!

Perhaps Wednesday isn't so boring after all.

Alone, ignored, forgotten.

Last Saturday, I accidentally left my cell phone at home. It sat on my bed, on, for hours. Guess how many calls I got.

None.

Not a single phone call. If that isn't depressing, I don't know what is. It obviously shows that I have no friends, at least none that think about me. In fact, I haven't had any incoming calls that weren't from my parents or my grandmother since the twenty-second. Well, I'm going to go sit in the corner now, if anyone needs me...

Life is like a boat, holey and sinking.

Sometimes, I wish I were an animal. Animals are expected to survive on instinct. They also travel mostly in packs, so they're never lonely.

I wish I were a bat, living in a cave with my bat-family, eating fruit and bugs and sleeping during the day. I hate sleeping at night. Bats live in groups of thousands, and no one is ever forgotten or alone. But with my luck, I'd be a wolf. A lone, grey wolf.

At least I'd be on top of the food chain.

Can you see me?

I feel so ignored.

Its not just that I feel ignored, I am ignored. At school, in my ever-empty home, even by people I thought were my friends. He has been ignoring me all week. I didn't get to see him last weekend, and I probably won't get to see him this weekend either. He's just too busy.

Everyone is busy.

I've never got anything to do, so I just do nothing. Its boring. I'm always home alone, I could have a party, but I just don't know that many people.

I need something to occupy my time.

I think its time to start something.

Promiscuous and the current news.

pro·mis·cu·ous –adjective
1.
characterized by or involving indiscriminate mingling or association, esp. having sexual relations with a number of partners on a casual basis.
2.
consisting of parts, elements, or individuals of different kinds brought together without order.
3.
indiscriminate; without discrimination.
4.
casual; irregular; haphazard.

I met someone this weekend. Technically, I'm not available, not really. I flirted anyway. He's eight years older than I am. He has my number.
I'm pretty sure that I may end up seeing him again, though I'm not sure if its because I want to or because I have the urge to do something that I normally wouldn't. I hope not.

I met him in the video store next to my dad's bike shop. The guy that works there is an overstuffed peacock and a pompus ass. But he does give me discounts on new releases sometimes, so I suppose he's alright.

My hair is red now. It used to be blondish, but I dyed it. So now its red.

I wanted black. My mum said that it was out of the question, but I chose the darkest red possible.

The hairdresser thinks I look like her now, but I won't let it bother me. In my heart, I know I'll always look more like dad.

I'm reading a book on the history and tradition of ninjutsu. It's actually quite interesting. Maybe I'll try and take karate lessons or something. Scathing wit and bad social skills won't protect me forever, and I'm only a year away from entering the real world, though one could argue that I've always sort of been on the cusp of it. I don't believe in the real world; its like Santa and God, only existing to those who believe it exists.
I believe in Santa Claus. Faeries and magic, too. Because magic really does exist, and the things that live in your closet and under your bed are going to get you if you don't watch out for them.

So turn out your light, close your eyes, and pray that they aren't hungry.

Tears for fears.

I cried last night. I'm not sure why.

I was up too late, and my mum got mad. I was on the laptop, mum took it. I'll find it in the normal place, I know it. But that doesn't change the fact that I cried.

I cried.

I cried.
That doesn't happen to me. When I cry, I don't acknowledge it. I ignore it, it goes away, and no one bothers me.

Last night, I saw myself.
I passed by my mirror and I saw my face. Little red eyes, a blotchy face, tear tracks.
I never look like that. Not ever.
I don't want to look like that, to be the type of person who lets her emotions run rampant. I'm not that kind of person. Nothing I ever say or show is real. I fake it, only so my family and friends don't worry. I need to put on a happy face, or I'll ruin everything. There are only a few people in this world that have seen me with my guard down, and I can count them on one hand. I love them all dearly, but none of them are really around anymore.

I'm lonely.

Love me, love me.

I want to fall in love.

I want to fall in love so badly it hurts. Not just ordinary, high school romance love, I want to fall for someone so completely that I physically hurt when they're not around. I want to be all twisted up inside, confused about everything, never knowing where I stand. I want to only know that I'm in love, and I want that to be the only thing that matters.

I want to fall in love so badly that it hurts, and maybe I won't feel so hollow anymore.

First post of the rest of my life

I am Untouchable. I distance myself from the world so that I can breathe. People scare me as much as I scare them, but as long as they keep their distance, I don't mind.

I don't want to be Untouchable.

I don't want to have to hide who I am, to hide how I feel. I want to feel, not just feel alone.
I don't want to be afraid anymore.

Please, I beg of you, don't hate me for who I once was, love me for who I may become.

Thank you, and goodnight.