Saturday, November 30, 2002

"Look on the bright side. At least you haven't started using crayons and coloring books again."
"Well, true, but only because I never actually stopped."
-Tybalt and Skids, Boy Meets Boy

I think I feel better now.

Why is it that whenever I try to write something that's bouncing around in my head, it comes out wrong? I wanted to put in something silly for that thing- something along the lines of "And then I tried to slit my wrists with a Lady Bic like that girl in Empire Records. Couldn't even get that right."

*sigh* What, morbid? Me? Naw, shucks, Ah'm a-just a leetle tired, is all.

Cold pricklies, or what-have-you. That sort of thing.

You know, I never really wanted to be Thumbody. The very thought was always a little bit creepy, to me.

*introduces head to wall* This is the sort of thing that we try to discourage, children. Now, for fuck's sake, be happy. What am I paying myself for?

Right. I'm not. That might explain it.*

Gaaaaaaaahhh.

*They say you can't buy happiness- I guess I'll have to rent it! (...hire somebody to chew my food, what can I say? Waaaahhh, this is the life! ...) (Quick, name the reference, I'll give you a cookie! ...only I won't. But I would've! ...only I wouldn'tve. Aw, fergit it.)
"What do you want me to do?" Blood on the glass- messy, streaky stuff, all lurid and red. Blood on the tiles, on the carpet- red, red, dripping, seeping. "I mean, damn it- what can I do?" Hands beat against the glass, useless, futile. Dim eyes stare back. "You're bleeding all over everything- and I can't touch you. Why am I even here?"

No answer.

"Why? God damn it, what more do you want from me? I can't save you- I never could. I can only do so much, I can only keep so little for myself- how can you expect me to help you this time?" Hands bruised, aching. A cut under a fingernail bleeds. "I can't help you- I have to worry about everyone else. I can't do anything for them, either. All I can do is love them, and worry- and I love too much, and worry even more. You're the only one who ever wondered what I was supposed to do. None of the others ever cared. How am I supposed to save you, this time? I don't know how. I don't know if I want to."

Knowing looks, from half shut eyes. Blood lapping at the walls, hungry, seething.

"You should have just stayed away! You should never have said anything- I wouldn't have come, if you hadn't said something. You knew I couldn't help. You knew it! You just wanted me to see you here, to keep you company...you wanted me to watch you bleed to death. Why?" Window panes fogging beneath desperate breath.

No answer.

"Fuck it, the least you could do is tell me why! Do you want to make me hurt even more? I can't spare the time or the energy to watch you die! I can't! You know I can't. Why are you doing this to me- I have to help the others. They need me so much more than you ever did. I don't know how to help them, but I'll be there for them, anything they ask. I was there for you, too. I'm here for you now. Why are you doing this to me?"

You didn't have a choice this time, said the reflection. You didn't have a choice. Voices echoing in the blank white room- white and scarlet, blood and tile and mirrors. So many mirrors. No choice, this time. Voices still echoed, blood sped in slow motion across the floor.

Only one voice. One reflection.

No choice, this time.

Monday, November 25, 2002

*cough* Model UN depresses me. That's beside the point, though.

I feel like babbling, but have nothing to say...I did a bit of free association, and like most things, it sort of boiled down into a long whine fest about how everything was better in the past. *snark*

Very tired. Will be baking cookies today, with girl scouts. No KE or Kathy, therefore no sillyness or fun. Fork.

Saturday, November 23, 2002

I am at RUMUN, raiding the resource room with a rowdy riot of RUMUN delegates...namely, the Kakmaster, O-Hak-zee, Billy, and The Emilyist.

Committee (still can't spell it) was carp. Now, though, t'ings are looking up. Way up. No Orphan Sporks, instead we have Deep Trouble...Kak is trying to convince me to stay in NJ for college.

Mindless and babbling now...so will go and giggle profusely.

Thursday, November 21, 2002

So, Model UN is today, and I'm in the process of printing out all my "research" in preparation...I really don't want to go to RUMUN, to tell the truth; I have too much work to do, and too many other things to think about, and I'm too annoyed with most of the people in the club right now to want to deal with them. *sigh* I don't even know the freshmen on my committee; it's annoying. I will make the best of it, though. I'll deal. I'll harass Kak and Oliver. Possibly Kurt and Neelish. I will encourage Danielle to harass Franco. (I'll encourage the whole damn conference to harass Franco; it shouldn't be legal for one person to be that adorable.) I'll be a bitch in commitee (and damn it if I can't figure out how to spell that word) and I'll draw disturbing pictures to go with the disturbing free though monologues that i'll write on the back of my conference guide.

A typical day, more or less. *sigh* Wish me luck, eh? Gonna need it to survive this one.
tired of enetation being stupid. haloscan likes me. (or does it?)

Wednesday, November 20, 2002

Blogger, you are a bitch. You aren't supposed to be a bitch, unless you are my bitch. Grr.
Nickel Creek is tourning with John Mayer right now! *whines* Wanna go wanna go wanna go! *sulk* boo hiss. Who needs school and Mun, anyway?
Had my first experience with a migraine today. I don't recommend them to anyone else- except maybe the people that I really don't like. *innocent smile*

I was just sitting in creative writing, minding my own business, eating lunch as I am wont to do during creative writing, when suddenly my vision goes- everything just turned into a sparkly blur. The only thing I can liken it to is the snow on your tv set- black and white speckles everywhere. It reminded me of when I was going off Paxil, actually; Broan has been encouraging us to write nonfiction, so I discussed that in my journal, while the page blurred and shifted in front of my eyes.

Eventually, I gave up and put my head down- my eyes started tearing (they still are, slightly) rather badly, but after that my vision was more or less normal. It just felt like someone had accidentally left a large blunt object embedded in my skull- and by the end of class, it felt like my blind spots were growing. Lunch was something of a minor hell- I do not cry unless severely upset, and pain rarely bothers me enough to make me tear. I was on the verge of sobbing, in school no less. Haven't done that since Paxil, either.

I think I was seriously worrying two thirds of my lunch table. The remaining third had other things to worry about, so I'll forgive him for not noticing the fact that I was in too much pain to keep my eyes open without tearing. I went to the nurse after that; mom was still at work, thankfully- she hadn't gone out yet. I got to go home early- went straight to bed and panicked for a little while, before finally falling asleep.

I'm fine now, more or less. I ache a little, and my eyes are burning (should go to bed now, ne?), but otherwise I'm fine. 'Twas frightening, though, to suddenly go virtually blind and then have such an intense pain across my right temple and the bridge of my nose that I could barely speak straight. Classic migraine symptoms, the father says.

Like I said, I don't particularly recommend them.
More music related posts, I know you're thrilled...

Went and saw Nickel Creek last night with KE- absofeckin'luely awesome. As in, I am filled with awe. Two and a half hours of music, two encores, banter and mocking of Princeton, and Chris Thile on an electric mandolin. Let me repeat that last one: Chris Thile on an electric mandolin.

I swear, he was going to twitch himself in two directions at once and fall apart on stage. "Energetic" doesn't quite describe him; "spastic", maybe, or "on crack" would be better- and come on, how many of you have heard someone play an electric mandolin? Absolutely amazing.

And Sarah Watkins on fiddle- I want to be her when I grow up. (Never mind that she's only a few years older than me- hushup.) Her brother, too- Sean, on guitar- *drooling*. So. Much. Talent.

And they bantered, and it was hilarious, and wonderful, and I really don't have the words to describe the utterly ecstatic glee I was experiencing during the whole thing. So. Feckin'. Awesome. (New word, sorry.)

It's not enough that they played In the House of Tom Bombadil and started dueling on stage (Sarah and Chris, with his nose in the air, dancing in circles- *g'aaaahh!*), or that they played Reasons Why in the first five songs or that they played a song about "As Good as it Gets", which just happens to be one of my favorite movies ever (And Chris gave it a disclaimer, first! It was cute! And silly! And bizarrely twisted and cool!), but they played a cover of "Don't Dream It's Over".

Random and obscure fact: I had to go to Norway to find Crowded House's first album. That song has been my favorite song since I was five, and I can't even explain all the many, many reasons why. Suffice to say that hearing that song makes me indescribably happy- and here we are at this bluegrass/pop concert, having heard songs about manic depressive lighthouses and women who leave their husbands to sail away only to have the ship sink, and then suddenly, after a bunch of people in the audience scream "You're a decomposing whale!" (seriously, that's what it sounded like), and after Sarah made a random comment about someone named Glen, they started playing that song. My song.

Yes, I squeaked. Loudly. As in, whole-theatre-mostly-quiet-except-for-the-squeaky-girl-in-the-balcony loudly. (We had kick ass seats. First row balcony kind of kick ass.) I was just- shocked. And so very, very happy. I mean, who would have thought I'd be hearing this obscure hit from 1986 at a Nickel Creek concert? I'm still giggle-happy over it, even now, a whole day later.

*squeals* Awesome! I don't even know half of the things they played- but dad bought Chris and Sean's solo albums, which is very, very cool. Must make copies and such to distribute to the masses! *cackle* Or, just KE. Whichever, you know. :)

(Ach, highly random and vaguely disturbing- Krista knew about Nickel Creek, but Krista is a crazy talented folk singer anyway, so naturally she would know about Nickel Creek. But the only other person below the age of 50 that I know who knew about NC before I introduced it to them...is Glen. *bangs head against wall* Why, fate, must you be so random and cruel?! Eh, well. *glee*)

Website is here. (Yes, I was wrong, they're a lot older than I thought they were, and Sean is older than Sarah...blah blah blah, yadda yadda- they're still ridiculously talented. And Chris' sideburns amuse me almost as much as his twitching did. :D)

They were just so very cool. *dies of happiness* *sigh* Joy...

Monday, November 18, 2002

DAYLIGHT!!!!!!!

*dies of happiness*

It's like...it's like...*dies again*
Okay, it's like a moody poprock album, only better. Gad, I love Duncan Sheik. (I got it on sale and with a discount! *joyjoyjoy*) He's not doing any of the crazy super baritone or insane falsetto shiz in this album, but each song is so full of...energy, and it's something completely different from his first album (oh, so many years ago), but it's just really, really good. I'm not being coherent. I'm too happy.

Today has been a day of musical notes. Mmm, music. *sigh*

I have also realized now that nearly every post made today has reached a level of crack rabbitiness not seen in many a day in this blog. This pleases me. Just remember, children: when I get out the italics, it's all over- just go home.
"Gotta Knock a Little Harder"?

Awesome song. Feckin' awesome.

(Side note: Dawn Upshaw, she is a DIVA! Not only that, she is a DIVA while washing her bathroom floors. You know you love that chlorox sexiness, un huh. Ignore me, no, really. I want a giant, life sized version of the painting that is on the cover of her Bach/Purcel medly CD- "Wounded Angel". Creepy. When she sings "There Won't be Trumpets", my back goes all tingly- wings, you know. Gonna sprout wings some day...)

backarching screaming crying weep oh, lost children weep; blackness in the sky blackness in your heart let me be let me free bacharching fistspounding hear me sing oh lord, oh lord hear me now- ash to ash is all i'm diggin', don't let me fall, oh lord let me fly let me sing let me fly, tear me apart and let me fly...

I want Mai Yamane's voice. Want it bad. *shiver*
Naturally, I'll use a pen name when/if I write a book...but should I use Cecilia Navarre, or Vera Elfman? Or something else altogether? V. A. McGuinness looks too...Tolkienesque. *snort*
I need to get me a fedora.
Nearly done with the ff4 winamp skin that I've been working on- I'm only making skins for version 2.0 to 2.9, mind you- I'm not touching any of that 3.0 newfangled stuff. I've now got access to screenshots of Bebop from episode 16, so I'll finally be able to do that Jet skin I've always wanted. Mmm, Jet. He just looks so damn cool in those flashback scenes...

Perhaps I'll do a skin from Pierrot le Fou, as well; oddly enough, it's the only episode other than Hard Luck Woman that made me want to cry...(The Real Folk Blues inspired silence, not tears; I love this series.)

It's actually kind of funny; Bebop isn't an original series at all. It references and rips plots all over the place; all the sessions are named after songs or movies, the plots are right out of old Westerns, for the most part (those that aren't take offs on things like Spike Lee movies and Batman: TAS) but it puts a nice new spin on everything...Space Westerns!

*sigh* Have downloaded Blue, at last. K-chan's right (though he'd kill me if he caught me calling him that...;) it is a wonderful song...
"What happened here?!"

"There was a pregnant silence, but it miscarried and lost the baby. Tragic thing- we're still in shock."

Friday, November 15, 2002

Yeah, I guess I'm back for the time being. Feelin' the need to whine.

Life update (since y'all care so very much): some time ago, 'round the end of October, something happened. (Way to go with the vagueness, ne?) I didn't think much of it, until it happened again, a few days later. Doctor's appointment was scheduled. Was poked, prodded, and clinically 'examined' and was told that there didn't seem to be anything wrong with me. Had blood sample taken. Discovered intense, trembling-tears-running-down-face-staring-at-ceiling-oh-god-get-it-over-with fear of needles. (Ironic, since the blood drive was yesterday, and it is now no longer necessary to have a parental consent form for seventeen year olds. I did not donate. I'm a horrible person, I know, but having a nervous breakdown in school was not on my list of happy things yesterday.) Had another appointment set up with a specialist. Thing happened a total of three more times, in the course of a week and a half. (That's five total, if you were keeping track.)

Saw specialist yesterday. Poking and prodding was, thankfully, kept to a minimum. Blood pressure still ridiculously good (betcha it won't stay that way when I'm thirty...), have gained four pounds since first appointment, less than two weeks ago. This was immediately after eating the better part of a box and a half of girl scout cookies, mind. Was told that I probably wasn't dying, so should stop painting face with ashes. No, really. *rolls eyes* Was actually told that the one episode probably wasn't serious, but if it happened again, they'd have to do serious poking and prodding, most likely accompanied by sedation and a hospital bed. Unless, of course, I wanted to endure that now. The vote was a unanimous 'no'. (Mind, were the circumstances different, I might have said yes. Maybe. Doubtful.)

Am now keeping fingers permanently crossed that it will not happen again. There are some things that I just don't want to deal with.

Further life updates: I am a Latin geek. I've moved out of dorkdom and into the realm of geekiness. I am gradually coming to accept this fact...it amuses me greatly, actually. I have also decided that if a friend ever tells me not to read something, I will respect that. Minor revelation. I will suffer the bane of my eternal curiosity quietly, but I will respect the fact that I probably don't want to know, anyway.

The current depression is most likely an early attack of the hormones, set off by the fact that dad is in Vegas and mom is in NYC and I'm at home with my computer. That, however, is a minor rant for a less public forum...and I'm not in the mood to write in my Scribble. I am fine. I should take a nap. I might.

In other news, I'm suffering from a very minor, very silly (as in, "I'm marrying Kenneth Brannaugh" kind of silly) crush on my creative writing teacher. All because of The Great Gatsby, naturally. And kickball. But speaking of Kenneth Brannaugh (I'm sure I'm spelling that wrong), Harry Potter is out today! (Why yes, my alter ego is Captain Obvious! How clever of you to see through my disguise!) And the very short clip of the wizard duel that they show in the ads on tv shows just the barest, most scintillating glimpse of not only our favorite over-acting Shakespearian god, but also of the one, the only, the deliciously eeeveeel Alan Rickman, wearing those sexy sexy robes.

Not a word out of any of you. My propensity for crushing on aging British actors is not subject to criticism. (Now, if only Ian McKellan weren't gay...kidding! kidding! Though if he were about eight years younger...)

Non sequitur- I've been saying many very stupid, very rash things lately. I'm to be ignored every time I open my mouth, especially if I've been caught sketching twisted looking people with things sprouting out of their backs. I may take up doing literary collages- I do wish I had a working scanner, if only because it was so very, very disturbing. Pretty, in an Edvard Munch meets Americanism meets Yoshitaka Amano, but nowhere near as cool or talented as such a mixing would be. (This is where I pretend to know what I'm talking about, by the way. I don't, really. The picture was fairly crappy, but there was something about it that I liked. And it was disturbing, unless you really read the words very carefully. Then it was still disturbing, but at least it wasn't about me anymore. Unless I was talking to myself, which I wasn't.)

Finally watched Masters of the Universe. Prince Adam amuses me. So does Skeletor, but not nearly as much. *nostalgic sigh* Why, I remember, back in the day- way back in the day, mind you- wishing I were She-Ra. Come on, what girl didn't? Oh, right. More or less all of them. Still. It would pester the boys horribly, having to put up with my whining until the parents rented She-Ra episodes from the video store- but never nearly as much as when I wanted to rent My Little Pony videos. *evil laugh*

Aw, damn. I still can't believe all my old My Little Pony dolls were thrown out. *sigh* And now I'm depressed again. Rarrg.

Too cold to get up and find something to munch on, though...but perhaps I can rouse my carcass enough to put the kettle on for tea. That's tea, not tea, mind you. *grin* Oh, I'm so cheesy sometimes. And that was horribly obscure and pointless.

This whole thing was, actually, but hey, it's been a while.
Sure sign that I am depressed (I'm making a habit of this- the feeling depressed, that is. Seriously considering proper medication, or at the very least, Midol. *sigh*):

When I give my remaining half of a pumpernickel-rye bagel an appraising look, and dive into the back of the refridgerator, going straight for the fancy mustard. That's right, Grey Poupon Dijon Country Style, baby. Slather, eat, repeat. Add Vanilla Coke for maximum sulking potential.

When I manage to eat a box and a half of girl scout cookies over a twenty-four hour span of time, it is also safe to assume that I am laboring under a somewhat subpar state of mood, as well.

Home alone, home alone-
I was so looking forward to today
But that was yesterday
And now I'm not so glad
Not so glad anymore...

Sunday, November 03, 2002

Okay, now look, all of you. I am fine. (I think.) I am not on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I'm not even particularly stressed at this moment in time. I mean it. I'm okay.

But (and there's always a but) I just don't have time for this right now.

So, I will most certainly be updating the nano journal, and maybe I'll get around to installing comments there so you can tell me what you think of the crack rabbits, but I won't be updating this, or my scribble, for a while.

How long is a while? I don't know. It could be a month. It could be two months. It could the three and a half days.

This is just to let you know that you shouldn't expect much out of me for a while.

I repeat, I am fine. I'm just tired, and busy, and I don't have time for this at the moment. I'll be back, I promise.

That's all.

Friday, November 01, 2002

Blogging in school! *giggles and falls over* The library computers don't seem to be quite as restricted as the other ones...so here I am, blogging away. I should be working on the damned novel, but for the moment I'll stick to this. The novelty of doing this in school hasn't yet worn off. Maybe it never will.

Of course, there are other people here, and it's not half as private as the computer lab at BMC felt, but that's okay. At the moment, no one else is nearby, so even if the screens are angled so that everyone in the room can see them, I am not suffering from irrational paranoia...yet.