Monday, January 21, 2013
Cloud
I saw myself for the first time today with unclouded eyes. Sorry for the week free of posting. It's been kind of hectic but I have written a lot of things since that I can't wait to post.
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Faith
Looks like today is going to be a busy homework day. I also have practice so for now, just a short poem.
Faith crawled, nails bared, across the mind's chambers.
Body shacked in self-prescribed chains
Hands, folded in a desperate prayer.
Faith crawled, nails bared, across the mind's chambers.
Body shacked in self-prescribed chains
Hands, folded in a desperate prayer.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Caring
Oh why must I? Why must I give a slight f... puck? Just forcing myself to have the motivation to do homework is draining in itself. Anyways here you go.
"Deborah!" Her mother exclaimed, her voice reaching shrill octaves as her eye pierced her daughter with distaste.
"Why on Earth would I even allow you to play a disgustingly dirty game like football? She continued to fuss, her fingers twirled the desperate pearls around her eloquent throat.
Debs, as she like to refer to herself, tug on her messy ponytail, a nervous tick she took on whenever her mother tried to shove femininity down her unpolished throat. The ripped frayed jeans clad legs rocked back in forth; her heels dug into the thick plush carpet.
"But" Debs began
"No!" Her mom stated, putting a resounding punctuation on the conversation.
"In fact" She continued, her voice now careful with musing, "I'm going to put you into Cheerleading" She turned on her heels and left before Debs could even give a rebuttal.
"And stop putting your beautiful long hair in that nasty ponytail" Her mother called out from whatever distance she had taken before she disposed this horror on Debs' scabbed and sun-burnt shoulders.
So she took scissors to her long hair, leaving it at awkward jagged angles and weird splits, as fine hairs fell onto her body, into the marble sink, and was left discarded into the sliver antique wastebasket.
Her father just gritted his teeth, jaw clenched and hands curled up into a tight fist. They were already enduring a war of silence between each other. He called after her, affection replace with mockery in his tones "you are the son I never wanted."
Her mother with curls squeeze tightly between her delicate fingers, fainted at the first glance.
Debs just walk to the custom made fridge, reflection of her new do appeared in the distorted images of the stainless steel appliances in her kitchen. Her hand circulate around the red Gatorade bottle, and she journey outdoors where her friends were waiting. Their sweaty bodies seem to glisten in the sun, beautiful grimy fingers clutched the weathered football.
"Nice hair" they simply told her, passing the ball in her direction.
"Deborah!" Her mother exclaimed, her voice reaching shrill octaves as her eye pierced her daughter with distaste.
"Why on Earth would I even allow you to play a disgustingly dirty game like football? She continued to fuss, her fingers twirled the desperate pearls around her eloquent throat.
Debs, as she like to refer to herself, tug on her messy ponytail, a nervous tick she took on whenever her mother tried to shove femininity down her unpolished throat. The ripped frayed jeans clad legs rocked back in forth; her heels dug into the thick plush carpet.
"But" Debs began
"No!" Her mom stated, putting a resounding punctuation on the conversation.
"In fact" She continued, her voice now careful with musing, "I'm going to put you into Cheerleading" She turned on her heels and left before Debs could even give a rebuttal.
"And stop putting your beautiful long hair in that nasty ponytail" Her mother called out from whatever distance she had taken before she disposed this horror on Debs' scabbed and sun-burnt shoulders.
So she took scissors to her long hair, leaving it at awkward jagged angles and weird splits, as fine hairs fell onto her body, into the marble sink, and was left discarded into the sliver antique wastebasket.
Her father just gritted his teeth, jaw clenched and hands curled up into a tight fist. They were already enduring a war of silence between each other. He called after her, affection replace with mockery in his tones "you are the son I never wanted."
Her mother with curls squeeze tightly between her delicate fingers, fainted at the first glance.
Debs just walk to the custom made fridge, reflection of her new do appeared in the distorted images of the stainless steel appliances in her kitchen. Her hand circulate around the red Gatorade bottle, and she journey outdoors where her friends were waiting. Their sweaty bodies seem to glisten in the sun, beautiful grimy fingers clutched the weathered football.
"Nice hair" they simply told her, passing the ball in her direction.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Flight
"All you need is 20 seconds of insane courage and i promise you, something great will come of it. ♥"
Yeah easier said then done, heart warming family movie that I just stole this quote from. To be fair I understand why my dad is even considering this. Flying is not cheap and not to mention booking a room for the hotel and yada yada. However! we are talking about sending his youngest, the baby of six children, out in a big city alone that neither I or he are familiar with. So why is all this okay? Actually I take it back, this is really not okay.
To give you a back story random viewer walking in on my freak out, I applied early admission to all the three schools I thought I could bear going to. With luck and my own bit of genius I got accepted into all of them. Yes I know, oh happy day. To be honest I was bursting with with happiness when this occurred.
When I got accepted into my number one school I finally felt like maybe there was something special about me after all. I even got to become part of a group on facebook with my fellow early acceptees who turned out to be my people. At last I have finally found them. Yes life was a grand old thing until I got hit with the realization, dude you haven't even visit the place yet.
Oh trust me I know this is where I belong deep down in my dark cynical heart, but still that was a good point. Oh and a point people just wanted to keep shoving in my face. You see my sister is a alumni to one of the other schools, and the next one, my back up school, is one that my brother is already attending and is not evening an hour away from my house. To say the least I'm at least somewhat familiar with both of those campuses but as for my number one, not so much.
To be fair, it doesn't help that its a long long distance from where I live currently and like I said flights aren't cheap so I didn't want to visit until I knew for sure I would get accepted.
I made a couple of facebook friends with the people who also got accepted, one who actually lives in my state and who wrote me a letter after exchanging addresses, that I have to admit was pretty cool. But hell that doesn't mean I should just automatically travel alone with her in a city I know nothing about. Sure she's been to the campus before and she is probably alot more suave with it's happenings than me but still.
I am terrified. I know she is a cool person but hello? I have no sense of direction or common sense. I am book smart for a reason! Looks like for now all I can do is hope for the best. Me? the most pessimistic person I know.
Oh what the heck. I mean damn't I'm 18! It's time for me to branch off and get a few scrapes and bruises. But still... this is kind of crazy and I'm not one to quote of course a tragic character "To depend on the kindness of strangers" -Blanche
(P.S if you can't already tell, these weekend days are more likely to be blogs blogs instead of my actual writing)
Yeah easier said then done, heart warming family movie that I just stole this quote from. To be fair I understand why my dad is even considering this. Flying is not cheap and not to mention booking a room for the hotel and yada yada. However! we are talking about sending his youngest, the baby of six children, out in a big city alone that neither I or he are familiar with. So why is all this okay? Actually I take it back, this is really not okay.
To give you a back story random viewer walking in on my freak out, I applied early admission to all the three schools I thought I could bear going to. With luck and my own bit of genius I got accepted into all of them. Yes I know, oh happy day. To be honest I was bursting with with happiness when this occurred.
When I got accepted into my number one school I finally felt like maybe there was something special about me after all. I even got to become part of a group on facebook with my fellow early acceptees who turned out to be my people. At last I have finally found them. Yes life was a grand old thing until I got hit with the realization, dude you haven't even visit the place yet.
Oh trust me I know this is where I belong deep down in my dark cynical heart, but still that was a good point. Oh and a point people just wanted to keep shoving in my face. You see my sister is a alumni to one of the other schools, and the next one, my back up school, is one that my brother is already attending and is not evening an hour away from my house. To say the least I'm at least somewhat familiar with both of those campuses but as for my number one, not so much.
To be fair, it doesn't help that its a long long distance from where I live currently and like I said flights aren't cheap so I didn't want to visit until I knew for sure I would get accepted.
I made a couple of facebook friends with the people who also got accepted, one who actually lives in my state and who wrote me a letter after exchanging addresses, that I have to admit was pretty cool. But hell that doesn't mean I should just automatically travel alone with her in a city I know nothing about. Sure she's been to the campus before and she is probably alot more suave with it's happenings than me but still.
I am terrified. I know she is a cool person but hello? I have no sense of direction or common sense. I am book smart for a reason! Looks like for now all I can do is hope for the best. Me? the most pessimistic person I know.
Oh what the heck. I mean damn't I'm 18! It's time for me to branch off and get a few scrapes and bruises. But still... this is kind of crazy and I'm not one to quote of course a tragic character "To depend on the kindness of strangers" -Blanche
(P.S if you can't already tell, these weekend days are more likely to be blogs blogs instead of my actual writing)
Saturday, January 12, 2013
No Legs
I literally can barely feel my legs. So for the past three days before practice, me and my guard mates have had to run for 14 minutes straight. My legs have never been this sore before. I had to walk down stairs twice and man, I whimpered through it the whole entire time. All that running plus the three hour practice, not to mention the 6 hour practice that I just came home from... yeah my body is screaming at me. On the good news I have a new rifle! Whoot! I named it Captain Jack Harkness. Yeah I know, I'm a geek. Oh well that's all I have to say really today, I'm kind of tired out.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Well I was having a good day. At least until I went to practice and then that fucking ruined everything. So here you go.
My feet moved hastily across the parking lot as my eyes scanned for the 94 Volvo, diminished now from it's former glory. I let out a sight of relief, grateful that the vehicle hadn't taken too long to spot in the ocean of shiny automobiles It was old and rustic compared the the surrounding cars. it's coat of pain a far cry from the crisp white color it once was. Now there was mud splashes, and small scratches placed sporadically around it's outer body.
She always forgets to wash it, I thought bemused before opening the door to retrieve the medication for Charlie. The kid is probably going about nuts by now.
As I pop the door open a smell of discarded junk food hit my noise. Everything inside the car was pure, unadulterated chaos From the Mcdonalds wrappers that ambushed the back sheet floors, to the hasty script written on the stick notes, probably reminders, that covered the entire dashboard.
I hesitated for a moment, afraid of where I inserted my hand, it would soon be bitten off by some forgotten rodent or pet. Thankfully the medication was right where she said it would be, on the passenger seat. My hands circled around the desperate object, probably thrilled to able to escape the car. The cool plastic felt weird compared to the crack leather it rested on.
Wait! Was that...evergreen? My eyes peered up locking it gaze on the air freshener placed on the mirror. Something to probably combat the odd smell. to be honest the contrasting smell only seem to make the car's queer aroma worse. I sighed, grabbing the door handle, now deteriorate with erosion It felt like sand paper, rough, unlike the smoothness of plastic in my hands. I gently shut the door and started heading toward the school.
Charlie's mother was already walking toward me, her hair in a frazzled state, blouse now un-tucked from her skirt as her feet moved frantically to meet me. Every attempted to look professional and put together, failed.
"Do you have it" she inquired desperately, hand surged forward.
"Yeah" I stated, giving the car one more lasting glance before handing her Charlie's medication.
We walked back, breathing in the crisp autumn air before confronting another chaotic mess.
My feet moved hastily across the parking lot as my eyes scanned for the 94 Volvo, diminished now from it's former glory. I let out a sight of relief, grateful that the vehicle hadn't taken too long to spot in the ocean of shiny automobiles It was old and rustic compared the the surrounding cars. it's coat of pain a far cry from the crisp white color it once was. Now there was mud splashes, and small scratches placed sporadically around it's outer body.
She always forgets to wash it, I thought bemused before opening the door to retrieve the medication for Charlie. The kid is probably going about nuts by now.
As I pop the door open a smell of discarded junk food hit my noise. Everything inside the car was pure, unadulterated chaos From the Mcdonalds wrappers that ambushed the back sheet floors, to the hasty script written on the stick notes, probably reminders, that covered the entire dashboard.
I hesitated for a moment, afraid of where I inserted my hand, it would soon be bitten off by some forgotten rodent or pet. Thankfully the medication was right where she said it would be, on the passenger seat. My hands circled around the desperate object, probably thrilled to able to escape the car. The cool plastic felt weird compared to the crack leather it rested on.
Wait! Was that...evergreen? My eyes peered up locking it gaze on the air freshener placed on the mirror. Something to probably combat the odd smell. to be honest the contrasting smell only seem to make the car's queer aroma worse. I sighed, grabbing the door handle, now deteriorate with erosion It felt like sand paper, rough, unlike the smoothness of plastic in my hands. I gently shut the door and started heading toward the school.
Charlie's mother was already walking toward me, her hair in a frazzled state, blouse now un-tucked from her skirt as her feet moved frantically to meet me. Every attempted to look professional and put together, failed.
"Do you have it" she inquired desperately, hand surged forward.
"Yeah" I stated, giving the car one more lasting glance before handing her Charlie's medication.
We walked back, breathing in the crisp autumn air before confronting another chaotic mess.
So I am currently in my art class. I really should be painting however, my teacher is currently out and I need her help before I can move forward on my project so it looks like I'm going to be posting on here instead. I know I've been slacking off on this blog so I thought I could make today another double feature. Here is what I should have posted yesterday.
The blood rippled across the gentle unmarked skin, an attestation to the winds hollowing my insides as the voices continued to scream. Fingers glided diligently with their instrument in hand. It, however grotesque the notes was necessarily to evade the uncanny noise and reel in the peaceful silence with willing out stretched arms. They almost looked like jewels, as the blood trickled down my arm, a metallic smell drowned my nostrils but cleanse the yelling in my head.
(9:55 pm Update... sooo many mistakes. I guess that's what i get for trying to do this in class)
The blood rippled across the gentle unmarked skin, an attestation to the winds hollowing my insides as the voices continued to scream. Fingers glided diligently with their instrument in hand. It, however grotesque the notes was necessarily to evade the uncanny noise and reel in the peaceful silence with willing out stretched arms. They almost looked like jewels, as the blood trickled down my arm, a metallic smell drowned my nostrils but cleanse the yelling in my head.
(9:55 pm Update... sooo many mistakes. I guess that's what i get for trying to do this in class)
Thursday, January 10, 2013
bleh
To be honest I'm exhausted. I have two quizzes tomorrow, one involving 50 vocab terms so yeah there's my excuse. Promise to make for it tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Journal
Sorry about the weirdness from the past few days. I know my post haven't exactly been expansive introspective outlooks at the development phase of my writing career, or the lack thereof. However, I am back and in fact come barring good news. In the Creative Writing class that I'm taking this semester we are forced to partake in a activity where we look at a prose and then write down our ideas and inspirations in a journal.
Oh gee hows that for conventional? I get to kill two birds with one stone, the complacent sloth is well pleased by this development.
Yeah yeah I know I'm ridiculously lazy but I see it like this; now you will actually have current and fresh writings from me and I will post every single one whether I like it or not. So here you go.
My mother used to have a way of quickly pissing me off. It was just like she had a switch she kept pushing back and forth at the tips of her fingers. You could say it was natural, parents often form this type of strain relationship with their children once the teens years come roar in but, this was different. As if some carbon copy of me was formulated to know all the right buttons to punch in. To put it simply, I was my mother's daughter which entitled being anal, moody, no bullshit taking, mean and yet compassionate. I never understood how much I should have valued that until the switch stopped flipping and the buttons were left deserted and untouched. For once it would be nice to have someone who actually understands the complexities, the mess that is me.
Things I have lost list,
1. Sleep, my peace of mind gone and so with it, rest.
2. Me, so lost in the what ifs I lost track of where I was.
3. Family, when values get forsaken the word becomes hard to swallow.
4.Friends, they travel through revolving doors.
5. Mom, the only person who ever got it.
6. Confidence, because my world stop making sense.
So many hours are spent with me burning holes into the ceiling. I flip and flip in my bed, trapping myself in a sea of sheets. The hours trickle by and I wander how many classes will I be able to get through before I'll have to lay my head down and give in. Or, how many tosses will I miss because my brain can hardly function? Dear sleep, I don't know what I did to piss you off so much but I'm not a vampire. Come back so I can finally rest.
Oh gee hows that for conventional? I get to kill two birds with one stone, the complacent sloth is well pleased by this development.
Yeah yeah I know I'm ridiculously lazy but I see it like this; now you will actually have current and fresh writings from me and I will post every single one whether I like it or not. So here you go.
My mother used to have a way of quickly pissing me off. It was just like she had a switch she kept pushing back and forth at the tips of her fingers. You could say it was natural, parents often form this type of strain relationship with their children once the teens years come roar in but, this was different. As if some carbon copy of me was formulated to know all the right buttons to punch in. To put it simply, I was my mother's daughter which entitled being anal, moody, no bullshit taking, mean and yet compassionate. I never understood how much I should have valued that until the switch stopped flipping and the buttons were left deserted and untouched. For once it would be nice to have someone who actually understands the complexities, the mess that is me.
Things I have lost list,
1. Sleep, my peace of mind gone and so with it, rest.
2. Me, so lost in the what ifs I lost track of where I was.
3. Family, when values get forsaken the word becomes hard to swallow.
4.Friends, they travel through revolving doors.
5. Mom, the only person who ever got it.
6. Confidence, because my world stop making sense.
So many hours are spent with me burning holes into the ceiling. I flip and flip in my bed, trapping myself in a sea of sheets. The hours trickle by and I wander how many classes will I be able to get through before I'll have to lay my head down and give in. Or, how many tosses will I miss because my brain can hardly function? Dear sleep, I don't know what I did to piss you off so much but I'm not a vampire. Come back so I can finally rest.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Monday, January 7, 2013
Complications
so i am currently typing this on my phone, thank god my friend has a good connection in her house. too bad she doesnt actually have internet either. hence the reason why all mu words are in lower case. after the shitty day that i had yesterday i just had to leave. so because of my limited resources this will probably be a quickie. im going to have to eventually go back later tonight. my first day of my spring semester tomorrow and im kind of nervous. i dont want to go home to be honest, said some pretty bad things as true as they might have been. however, gotta be responsible. be the adult and do the right thing. this will probably be riddled with mistakes so i will probably fix it all tomorrow. well back into the fray.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Sorry
Really really bad day. To be honest I'm not in the mood to write anything. The world is not a beautiful place. In the end all people will do is disappoint you to the point where you'll lose faith in everything. Everything and everyone is broken, and that is all there is too life. Sorry existentialist but it's true. Why else do you think the world is so fucked up?
I better stop before this becomes a big fat giant rant.
Good night.
I better stop before this becomes a big fat giant rant.
Good night.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Origin
You know what really started off my career to want to be a
writer?
Fanfiction.
Oh know not the horrid realm of fanfiction with atrocious
original character who somehow end up shipped with canon ones.
Also let’s not forget all those painfully and mind numbingly
insufferable Mary Sues.
Oh the Mary Sues –cringes-
No this was during the tender age of Seven/Eight and
Ten/Eleven when I decided to write something base on the ideas and things that
I liked at the time.
I wrote a story about Lilo and Stich, and how I busted him
out of jail with my awesome space ship. We then arrived back to earth where we
had celebratory ice cream while surfing ten feet high waves.
I had sooooo much fun writing that silly little short story.
Who know maybe I’ll even post some of my old stories and poems (as much as they
make me want to weep) on here. Oh the pain.
But I digress. Anyways that sparked the interest of writing
inside of me. This was during a time where my apraxia was really bad but I didn't notice or care so I just continued on.
Then I discovered the world of video games around the 4th
grade. Not just any video games either I mean RPG originally Japanese video
games. One that was incredibly popular during that time was Kingdom Hearts. Oh
how I loved that video game. Not only that I also had an obsession with dragons
thanks to Eragon.
So of course I ended up writing a story involving specially
designed Key blades where my character had her own pet dragon along with her
best friend. Granted I’m not really sure you can call this traditionally
fanfiction because I didn't use any of the canon characters, merely their awesome
weapons and some of their worlds and ideas. God my eleven year old self was
sooo pumped about this story. It was the first time I really wanted my stories
to be descriptive instead of just writing what the characters were doing.
I even drew all of the keyblades in the story and characters
that went with them. Drawing dragons were still a bit ambitious for me then.
Even now that my drawing skills, although not amazing but I like to think just
a bit admirable, have improved I still suck at drawing dragon.
Oh I was deadly serious about this story. Of course then my
brother had to bring the world crashing on my head. Well at least that how it
felt at the time. “Why would you write that you’re stealing people’s idea and
you won’t ever be able to even publish it,” because on yes the publishing of my
eleven year old works was so vital and important to me then.
Slowly I did stop writing the story, the wind completely
taken out of my sail. Oh damn you practicality, crushing my eleven year old
dreams.
If only I had known.
Still it fueled me on in my desire to write and I started to
become more serious with the development of my stories and ideas.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Oh The Pain
But seriously, looking back at my NaNoWriMo tidbits of writings is making it hard for me to not just delete the whole entire file and throw my hands up in the air and yell screw it. But then I look at my more recent writings, segments, and portions of the story not written during that month of scramble and it makes me feel just a smidgen better. NaNo allows you to suck I guess you can say.
Promised a double feature so I'm here to deliver but lets get some back story. Me and few of my other friends (I know, believe it or not I actually have a few) decided to do this 500 themes challenge. Of course I didn't even get past the first theme however I did sporadically start writing small, at most four paged (around 1500 words) scenes with my characters. Mainly my main ones of course but I think I might start to delve into a few of my other ones so they can become more rounded out (at least in my head anyway) So when I do start writing part two of the novel I can utilize them more.
Originally I was just going to give you the scene where my characters first meet (the 1st theme of my fail attempted challenge) but I recently wrote this random scene of out of nowhere. I don't really know if it's really an interaction between my main characters. In the scene it implies that one of them is innocent, yeah my characters may have good intentions but they are not innocent and in fact can be self destructive little bastards. Who knows; I might do something with it and I might not.
Promised a double feature so I'm here to deliver but lets get some back story. Me and few of my other friends (I know, believe it or not I actually have a few) decided to do this 500 themes challenge. Of course I didn't even get past the first theme however I did sporadically start writing small, at most four paged (around 1500 words) scenes with my characters. Mainly my main ones of course but I think I might start to delve into a few of my other ones so they can become more rounded out (at least in my head anyway) So when I do start writing part two of the novel I can utilize them more.
Originally I was just going to give you the scene where my characters first meet (the 1st theme of my fail attempted challenge) but I recently wrote this random scene of out of nowhere. I don't really know if it's really an interaction between my main characters. In the scene it implies that one of them is innocent, yeah my characters may have good intentions but they are not innocent and in fact can be self destructive little bastards. Who knows; I might do something with it and I might not.
The heavy scented wall of an inebriate breath hit me as I
carried his heavy weaving body across the messy bedroom floor to his bed. Sock
and embarrassing undies scattered across the floor. His armed circled around my
waists tugging me closer as his other hand reached for the nonexistent hair on
my shoulders. A whined escaped his lips and the alcohol hit the air once again
forcing me to fight the urge to give up this dutiful quest and go back to my
own place and sleep. Carrying him had been a wary feat and my body was already
shaking from the trying weight. I trudged
on a few more steps and placed his body toward the edge of the bed as he
continued to awkwardly touch my hair and waist. Whispers of nonsense pouring
out. I detangled myself from him and push him forward toward the bed before
deciding to turn away and make my exit. But greedy hands surged forward onto
my clothes and I let out a throaty growl before I was pulled into a drunken
embrace.
Panic filled me, unsure how far he would go, what he would
even attempt to do. Futile attempts were made to escaped but even in this
weaker state he was still at least physically stronger than me.
“Don’t worry” he stated with a drunken slur “you’re too good
and…and pure to be touched like that.” He let out a large comedic sigh before
wrapping his arms around me like a teddy bear and placing his face in the crook
of my neck. “I’m sorry for touching” was his soft whisper into my skin. I bit
my lip trying figure out a way out of this mess. “Too good” he mumbled once more before passing
out his arms still clinging close and tight.
I don't care
I don't care that the hour is 6 am and I'm pacing across my room like a madman, internal monologuing (not a real word) ideas and thoughts to a unknown audience that actually gives a damn. I am a patron of the night, that being said the night is my day and the day is my time to be lazy and complacent and ignore all the things that I need to get done.
Well... at least until break ends anyways.
Yeah that's my excuse for not posting anything technically yesterday. But whatever this is just going to have to be a double feature. I know, I'm bursting just from the near excitement of it. To be fair I actually was going to write something at a reasonable time yesterday. But because of my recent vampiristic (again, not a real word) tendencies, I went to sleep without meaning to.
Besides when I'm on vacation my "day" doesn't officially until 12 pm, or if I'm being good 10 am so there.
Yeah yeah I know I'm a bum falling victim of one of the most deadliest of deadly sins.
Yep, here I am just slothing up my life when I should be one, scrambling for scholarships, two doing the AP Psych homework since I have a test when I get back, and three finishing the rest of my really really late Christmas gifts.
Well.. that's what i get for trying to thwart the commercialism of Christmas by trying to make all my gifts.
C'est la vie.
God why do I all of the sudden want to be apathetic when I should be scrambling to get all my ducks in a row.
Whatever.
Here you go, my random sleep lacking ramblings at 6 am. Sorry Bates, this is the last time I swear. In fact I am going to go as far as to post something with actually creativity to it to go with this double feature. Like a segment from my novel. Okay its not really a segment its more like a... oh whatever I'll go more into depth about it when I post it on here later today.
Good morning to all you actually functioning humans, and as for myself good night.
(God I really need to get my shit together if I'm going to get through my last semester of high school)
Well... at least until break ends anyways.
Yeah that's my excuse for not posting anything technically yesterday. But whatever this is just going to have to be a double feature. I know, I'm bursting just from the near excitement of it. To be fair I actually was going to write something at a reasonable time yesterday. But because of my recent vampiristic (again, not a real word) tendencies, I went to sleep without meaning to.
Besides when I'm on vacation my "day" doesn't officially until 12 pm, or if I'm being good 10 am so there.
Yeah yeah I know I'm a bum falling victim of one of the most deadliest of deadly sins.
Yep, here I am just slothing up my life when I should be one, scrambling for scholarships, two doing the AP Psych homework since I have a test when I get back, and three finishing the rest of my really really late Christmas gifts.
Well.. that's what i get for trying to thwart the commercialism of Christmas by trying to make all my gifts.
C'est la vie.
God why do I all of the sudden want to be apathetic when I should be scrambling to get all my ducks in a row.
Whatever.
Here you go, my random sleep lacking ramblings at 6 am. Sorry Bates, this is the last time I swear. In fact I am going to go as far as to post something with actually creativity to it to go with this double feature. Like a segment from my novel. Okay its not really a segment its more like a... oh whatever I'll go more into depth about it when I post it on here later today.
Good morning to all you actually functioning humans, and as for myself good night.
(God I really need to get my shit together if I'm going to get through my last semester of high school)
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Long time no write.
Yada Yada I know I am a horrible insecure person who needs to get off her self pitting ass and start writing again. However just a quick cutesy update about that story I was revising? The one I had 14 pages for. Well bam! 136 pages of my hard blood, sweat, and two months of sickness. I embarked on an dangerous endeavor, NaNoWriMo, last year and hit my 50 K words. Also in the process I made myself ridiculously sick and wasn't able to resolve my story in 50,000 words. I thought with this year I could do NaNoWriMo, finish it, and then start on the second half of the story but that never happen. I only got to six thousands words.
The insecurities just keep rising and rising especially with the impending colleges and graduation looming over my head. The funny thing is though, I made it into my number one. The school I have been wanting to go to since I was in the seventh grade apparently wants me too. Of course not enough to ensure me some cash for the mounds of money I would have to throw at them to go. Isn't that proof enough that I'm special? That I'm not just a pretentious snob with no talent? Mediocre at best. Yup I'm still a debbie downer, sorry folks that seems like permanent trait on my wacky gemini personality.
I just feel like it was a fluke, and I don't deserve to go there.
Whatever
. Anyways my dearest Bates is doing a blog/diet thing for her New Years' resolution, and me, knowing how lovely those are, decided that if shes going to post something every day I might as well. Whether its me just bitching or actually posting something worth reading, well... who freaking knows. Anyways I just didn't want her to go through it alone so for about a month I will be posting something everyday.
So here's a taste (mostly my perpetually self bitching diary) of where I'm at with my writing as of late.
Not for all of my life but for a great portion of it I’ve wanted to be a writer. It came so natural to me, not the elegance of words, no the apraxia made me stumble at simple compound sentence and syntaxs that actually made sense. It was a mindless activity which ideas flowed from, where I created characters and worlds that didn’t quite go all together. I was happy there. Not worried whether or not I was actually good at, just happy to carry on with my journals and write. Why can’t it go back to being that simple? Why must I over analyze every single god damn thing I put down. Just the idea of putting words together terrifies me and turns me into a contemplative sloth. My identifier has always been writer. Now I feel like I have to scratch that word out and replace it with loser or coward. One usually follows the other in my head. Why can’t I ever finish what I started? These are usually how my midnight musing go. I miss sleep.
12/10/2012
“What does that mean” I asked my faced press against the comforter in an uncomfortable position that result when three people try to share a single bed.
“Nothing” She responds not knowing the effect that those words would have as my heart skipped and a chill pierced through me, the net of incompetence entangling me in its snares forevermore.
Because I am nothing. An empty shell of wasted potential of false crocodile tears where no real emotions could ever be borne.
I think as a child life infuses you with some much emotion of pain and wonder that it threatens to overtake your body and tear you apart and then once you intake that first breath you die. Those powerful emotions that push your will to live and create the faux delusion that you are actually something special, significant, that you actually matter will like glass, shatter. Something that might have once been beautiful and unique ends up being rubble and trash discarded across the floor in millions of pieces.
Nothing.
“It’s just like when people say ///// is being ////”
“No that just usually mean I’m being weird”
Yes a weird and beautiful creature set free from the throes of mediocrity while most of the world will descend to living unremarkable lives. And I will be one of them. My life oblivion itself. Because without knowing it, she was right.
I am Nothing.
12/28/2012
Of Course Math Angst
Math
Too Long have I been trapped
a midst the intangible throes of mathematical expression.
My stifle cries, run over
by linear equations.
Damn your practicality against the dreamers and uncertainties.
So afraid of the unknown.
Just Angst itself, hopeful angst, but angst all the same
Unfinished
Okay I’ll admit it. I am nothing more but a whimpering coward. I fear failure, so I fail to live, to brush past the insecurities pouring into my soul and corrupting every desire, every secret hope that I posses. That I am more than just average, a cliche, common occurrence entangled in the mold of mediocrity. I am a writer, and I say such utterance with no fear but perhaps a tinge of doubt. But isn't this what I love? So damn the thoughts of all other who think differently. And yet… because this is what I love so dearly it makes it that much harder to break out of these self prescribed shackles. There lies in the reaches of my computer a book, filled with so much promise and love left unfinished. Characters still trapped in dungeons and lovers left searching blindingly. I can not forego this any longer. I have to stop being afraid.
Me contemplating conforming to society. This one actually got some likes on Tumblr
Conform?
I kind of feel like I’m just wandering around, stumbling on my feet with no sense of direction. No aim or real goal. I just want my life to have purpose again. I just want to write like I use to, with no hesitation or doubt just full speed ahead. But I can’t do that anymore. It’s going to take time, and I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world, and yet this is what I love to do. I want to be that lady struggling in a cramped apartment with cats hanging out in her jammies and writing fantasy, poems, short stories, my excuse to runaway with imaginary friends. I can’t see myself shut up somewhere in a cold office and yet everyone else seems to envision that future for me. no that’s not the kind of life I want to have, but as with the flappers of the 20’s and the romantics during the Enlightenment, people expect me to go through my phrase of passion and defiance and crumble down into a conformist. I want to say that, that will never be me, but now I’m not so sure. Those eccentrics probably thought it would never be them either.
Aren't I just a bucket of sunshine?
The insecurities just keep rising and rising especially with the impending colleges and graduation looming over my head. The funny thing is though, I made it into my number one. The school I have been wanting to go to since I was in the seventh grade apparently wants me too. Of course not enough to ensure me some cash for the mounds of money I would have to throw at them to go. Isn't that proof enough that I'm special? That I'm not just a pretentious snob with no talent? Mediocre at best. Yup I'm still a debbie downer, sorry folks that seems like permanent trait on my wacky gemini personality.
I just feel like it was a fluke, and I don't deserve to go there.
Whatever
. Anyways my dearest Bates is doing a blog/diet thing for her New Years' resolution, and me, knowing how lovely those are, decided that if shes going to post something every day I might as well. Whether its me just bitching or actually posting something worth reading, well... who freaking knows. Anyways I just didn't want her to go through it alone so for about a month I will be posting something everyday.
So here's a taste (mostly my perpetually self bitching diary) of where I'm at with my writing as of late.
Not for all of my life but for a great portion of it I’ve wanted to be a writer. It came so natural to me, not the elegance of words, no the apraxia made me stumble at simple compound sentence and syntaxs that actually made sense. It was a mindless activity which ideas flowed from, where I created characters and worlds that didn’t quite go all together. I was happy there. Not worried whether or not I was actually good at, just happy to carry on with my journals and write. Why can’t it go back to being that simple? Why must I over analyze every single god damn thing I put down. Just the idea of putting words together terrifies me and turns me into a contemplative sloth. My identifier has always been writer. Now I feel like I have to scratch that word out and replace it with loser or coward. One usually follows the other in my head. Why can’t I ever finish what I started? These are usually how my midnight musing go. I miss sleep.
12/10/2012
“What does that mean” I asked my faced press against the comforter in an uncomfortable position that result when three people try to share a single bed.
“Nothing” She responds not knowing the effect that those words would have as my heart skipped and a chill pierced through me, the net of incompetence entangling me in its snares forevermore.
Because I am nothing. An empty shell of wasted potential of false crocodile tears where no real emotions could ever be borne.
I think as a child life infuses you with some much emotion of pain and wonder that it threatens to overtake your body and tear you apart and then once you intake that first breath you die. Those powerful emotions that push your will to live and create the faux delusion that you are actually something special, significant, that you actually matter will like glass, shatter. Something that might have once been beautiful and unique ends up being rubble and trash discarded across the floor in millions of pieces.
Nothing.
“It’s just like when people say ///// is being ////”
“No that just usually mean I’m being weird”
Yes a weird and beautiful creature set free from the throes of mediocrity while most of the world will descend to living unremarkable lives. And I will be one of them. My life oblivion itself. Because without knowing it, she was right.
I am Nothing.
12/28/2012
Of Course Math Angst
Math
Too Long have I been trapped
a midst the intangible throes of mathematical expression.
My stifle cries, run over
by linear equations.
Damn your practicality against the dreamers and uncertainties.
So afraid of the unknown.
Just Angst itself, hopeful angst, but angst all the same
Unfinished
Okay I’ll admit it. I am nothing more but a whimpering coward. I fear failure, so I fail to live, to brush past the insecurities pouring into my soul and corrupting every desire, every secret hope that I posses. That I am more than just average, a cliche, common occurrence entangled in the mold of mediocrity. I am a writer, and I say such utterance with no fear but perhaps a tinge of doubt. But isn't this what I love? So damn the thoughts of all other who think differently. And yet… because this is what I love so dearly it makes it that much harder to break out of these self prescribed shackles. There lies in the reaches of my computer a book, filled with so much promise and love left unfinished. Characters still trapped in dungeons and lovers left searching blindingly. I can not forego this any longer. I have to stop being afraid.
Me contemplating conforming to society. This one actually got some likes on Tumblr
Conform?
I kind of feel like I’m just wandering around, stumbling on my feet with no sense of direction. No aim or real goal. I just want my life to have purpose again. I just want to write like I use to, with no hesitation or doubt just full speed ahead. But I can’t do that anymore. It’s going to take time, and I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world, and yet this is what I love to do. I want to be that lady struggling in a cramped apartment with cats hanging out in her jammies and writing fantasy, poems, short stories, my excuse to runaway with imaginary friends. I can’t see myself shut up somewhere in a cold office and yet everyone else seems to envision that future for me. no that’s not the kind of life I want to have, but as with the flappers of the 20’s and the romantics during the Enlightenment, people expect me to go through my phrase of passion and defiance and crumble down into a conformist. I want to say that, that will never be me, but now I’m not so sure. Those eccentrics probably thought it would never be them either.
Aren't I just a bucket of sunshine?
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