Nocturnal, Tired, Tired of Being Nocturnal...

I don't sleep at night. Well, that's not entirely true. I do sleep, just for only a little bit of time.

I'm up late every single night, doing loads of random stuff that I could probably accomplish some other time. Like last night, I cleaned my bedroom. Tell me that's not weird. I'm also the most motivated to write at night, so that's when the majority of my books have been written.

I must say, though, it puts a slight damper on my school day when I'm so tired I can barely stand up.

So I'm going to bed. Right now. Two hours before I would even consider sleep on a normal night.

Let's see how this one goes...

Is This Really Necessary?

I don't want to go to school tomorrow. In fact, I don't want to go to school ever again.

My high school means nothing to me anymore. There's nothing left for me there. I have everyone I'll ever need, and school can't give me anything else.

I'm done learning stupid things and putting up with stupid people. I shouldn't have to do this anymore.

Four months...four months...four months...I don't know if I can wait that long.

Bulletproof

I've decided that I don't care what those people think.

I've also decided that they will probably never be anything, anyway, so what difference does it make?

This Semester Totally Sucks.

I would now like to retract every positive statement I've ever made about the male gender. Everything.

Because one of them has hurt me more than anyone will ever know.

I hate you. I hate everything about you. How dare you tell people lies about me, lies that trap me in a label that I've NEVER done anything to deserve?

I can't even defend myself, because you're too convincing. They always side with you. I hate you.

I hate you. I hate you all.

I hate that group of kids who treats me like dirt. I've never done anything to them, and now--three years into high school--they've run out of other victims and they've finally discovered me.

I wish I was still invisible to them. I wish they would leave me alone.

I hate you. I hate all of you. I hope karma comes back to bite you, and that you get what you deserve in the end.

Inaugural Reflex

Barack Obama became our president today...

I'm scared. Not because I don't like Obama, but because of what he's being thrown into. The world we inhabit is terrifying in so many very real ways. I'm scared that he'll fail. I'm scared that he won't be able to help, that the things he'll try will fail.

I don't care what party you belong to. I don't care if you don't belong to any party at all. You have to see the devastating state of our world, our country, our lives. You have to see everything going to hell.

I might not be a Democrat, but I have to try to hope that he'll be able to at least make things better. But I'm not Republican, either. I want him to succeed. I want him to make our lives a little easier. I want to be able to wake up in the morning without worrying that the people I love will have to move to other states just to find jobs. I want to not have to worry about money, how much I don't--and never will--have.

I want to be able to be happy here, and I can't do that with the world in shambles.

So please, Mr. President, don't fail us. Please do your best. Please try to be moderate, and see things from all points of view.

That's my reaction: Please try.

Presently

Where vestiges of ancient scars
Lock eyes with radiance of hope
There lies a battle ground, its grass
Grown dry and weary by the path.
This place, this sacred place of past
And future lies in dreary mist;
The merger, mingling mindlessly
Of empty sorrow and half-wit
Stands deep within the hollow heart
Within resounding chambers, shouts
And promises what lies ahead
Shall--must--be better than what went.
And hence, the brightening of dawn
In such a moment, that which draws
A draw between the old and new
And knew what old had never ought...

The ground, its sound sounds all around
And crashing through the gates, we move.

Embarrassing.

So although I'm not actually an albino, I tend to be rather pale. Very pale, really. Albino-esque, but with very dark hair.

There's literally nothing I can do to combat the translucence. I can't go tanning [cancer, anyone?] and I refuse to resort to spray tan or tanning lotion, because they turn me orange.

As a result, I sit back and watch myself get paler and paler with each passing day.

Now the embarrassing part:

Yesterday Pinks painted my fingernails for me. I can't have bright colors because of work, so I found the lightest pink possible.

The funny part? I thought, for just a minute, that it made my hands look tan. By contrast, obviously. The lighting in her room gave me a subtle glow... But in real light?

Nope. It's the same color as me. Pale, pale, pale, pale pink.

Embarrassing.

Make a Wish

Happy birthday, Mom! :D

I love you :]

I Don't Think I Get It...I Think?

I'm...confused. Sounds usual, eh?

But I am. I think. I don't know for sure. Which, by definition, would mean that I'm confused.

Maybe?

Sort of.

Sure. We'll go with that.

I want it to be next semester. Actually, I want it to be next year, when I'll be somewhere else. Somewhere with people who want to be there and don't act like five-year-olds. I shouldn't have to go to school to put up with infants.

So ridiculous. So frustrating. Act your age, dammit. Grow up. Act like you care about your life. If you don't care about your future, why should I?

That's right--I shouldn't. Then why do I care so much?

Michael Angel, Oh...

There is a boy
With stubborn caramel hair
And beautiful mahogany eyes.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "One day
When the time's right
I'll try my favorite dyes."
He makes arches in the skies.

I knew him once
And I'll know him someday
When all I cherish dies.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "They say
That I'm a cloudy fool
Who speaks of hopes and lies."
He makes arches in the skies.

The paint is thin
But silvery and bright
Like paper moons and chimes.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "Doors are
Merely holes with hurdles
That protect secrets and lies."
He makes arches in the skies.

I watch him work
Each night before I sleep
His brushes, paints, supplies.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "I've been
So lost these years
Stranded in my own designs."
He makes arches in the skies.

The storm, it went
So quickly to the stars'
Clarity, it just denies.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "They're here
The Sirens' screams, shouts
Sit back and watch," he sighs.
He makes arches in the skies.

Wind, rain, they
Tore away so much
Of all we had realized.
He makes arches in the skies.

He said, "Falling
Is a lot like flying, really..."
Some part of my soul cries.
No more arches in the skies.

Understanding and Accepting Aren't the Same...but Close.

Every morning, I wake up and wonder where you are. Where you've gone. Are you happy there? What are you feeling right now?

The better question to ask, I suppose... Do they let you feel at all?

Do you smile in the morning, when you see something beautiful? Do you stand in front of the mirror and stare at your hair and sigh? You got lucky. You didn't inherit the curls and waves like I did...

No, you were always perfect. I miss that now.

What do you eat for breakfast? Toast? Do you cook? I know you were always good at cooking... Do you go to class anymore? Grab a purse--no, wait, a backpack, that's more like you--and head for school? Fill your notebooks with doodles and curly-cues?

I do.

Does anything bother you during the day? Do we cross your mind? Can you feel me thinking about you? I hope so, because I do. All the time.

Does he know your favorite color? Favorite animal? Favorite pastime? Part of me hopes he does, so that you two have something to talk about.

Where do you go for lunch? Who do you eat with? Do you smile, giggle, laugh? Are you allowed to do that?

What about dinner? Big family production? Lots of food, probably all things you could prepare... I can see it. I see it in my head, all the time.

Do you work? Do you play? Do you cry? Do you sing?

I ask because I miss you. I ask because I want things to be whole again. I ask because you were once a part of this puzzle, a puzzle I don't fit into very well. Not well at all, actually. I can't fill your gap--I'm the wrong size, wrong shape, wrong colors, wrong piece.

I ask because...well, because, for the first time in a long time, I'm starting to see you in a different light. A multi-faceted puzzle piece, with something on the other side. Something you kept hidden, to keep from being different.

Well, I'm different too. I just wish there were someone else around to be different with me.

I Got You, Babe.

So many things threaten to destroy a teenage girl. Pressure comes from every direction, dragging her down, breaking her soul... But the worst? Oh, the very worst:

Boys.

They love us. They hate us. They want us to be their best friends, their secrets, and their masks. They want to control us, oppress us, contain us.

They beat us down until we're black and blue in the face, unable to fight them back anymore. They pick us up when we're laying on the ground and patch up the holes...only to smash new ones after awhile.

My sisters and I have discovered that boys, well, they're funny creatures. It's fun to mess with their minds, to torture them the way they torture us.

So ha! Take that. You thought you could control us? Contain us? Keep us locked away in your memory? Nope.

We've been broken, beaten, trampled, and stampeded. We've suffered the storms of your emotions and the ice of your hate.

We got each other. I got you, babe. And the boys? Forget about 'em. We're all that we'll ever need. :]






...until, of course, we feel the need to mess with their minds all over again... :P

Is it Seriously Christmas?

I had school today. Yes, school, as in a full day of education. On December twenty-third.

Today is my Christmas Eve with my father and stepmo. Tomorrow is my Christmas Day with them.

I'll be working from two until seven.

Then Christmas Eve with my mother, and then Christmas Day with her family. From there, it's all pretty cool. Christmas with my sisters on the twenty-sixth, my dad's family on the twenty-eighth, gnocchi and Wicked [again] on the twenty-ninth, work on the thirtieth, New Year's Eve on the thirty-first...

This week is going to fly. It doesn't even feel like Christmas. Not even a little bit. I don't know why...

Maybe because I've had no time to even think about the holiday. No Christmas music on the piano, no special decorating, nothing. I haven't had time to enjoy a single weekend since Thanksgiving.

But even if it doesn't feel like a holiday, I'm going to enjoy this reprieve from school. It's very needed, and very deserved...

So happy Christmas, kids. Celebrate with your family and love the time off while it lasts. :]

Me Atrapa...

Lol sorry about the Spanish. I have an addiction to that language, I swear...

But I am seriously trapped in my house. Have been all weekend. Except for work, of course, which really doesn't count as escaping, considering that it's about as confining.

Don't get me wrong, I love my job. And I love the people there. It's just that when you feel like crap and there's ten thousand customers screaming at you over stupid, stupid, stupid stuff, you kinda want to go home.

People are so rude! I can't believe how incredibly awful I've been treated by customers this weekend. Friday wasn't too horrible, only because we were slow because of the snow. But yesterday was absolutely terrible. Lines out the door. Hundreds of angry, frustrated shoppers, all hell-bent on taking their fury out on someone innocent.

Someone like me.

Between Pager Guy [see a couple of posts ago] and Green Tea Guy [someone who blew up at my friend Thing 1], we've had our share of idiots. Oh, and yesterday! Let me tell you about yesterday, oh my god...

There are people who think that Panera is Subway. Seriously. They can't read signs. They get themselves convinced that they can walk in and "create their own" sandwich. It's a god complex.

Well, when it takes us an extra second to try and figure out what the hell these people want, they get PISSED. Not angry. Not upset. Pissed. They yell and bicker and act like we're the illiterate ones.

So here's a warning to the world: Panera is not Subway. You CANNOT create your own sandwich. If you want to modify an existing sandwich, be my guest. I could do that all day. But don't you dare try to walk in all high and mighty and demand that we pluck a magic button out of thin air that tells the line workers exactly what you want.

Sorry. Rant for the day. So freaking frustrating, being yelled at for someone else's stupidity.

Words I'll Probably Never Say Aloud

If I could...God, if I could only convince the world to right itself. To become self-sufficient and less selfish. To forgive me all I've done, and then forget.

I long to be freed from my own perspective. I see so much more than I wish to see, know so much more about people than I will ever care to know. You're all a bunch of open books, did you know? Empty, scrawling books, with messy handwriting in an ink only I can read.

So many of you want nothing at all, and that makes my heart ache. How can I help you to see what lies ahead? How can I teach you to accept the future when I can hardly do so myself?

My heart...it's breaking.

Shattering. A noise, a clamour, so much louder than expected. I never thought I could hear the sound of frustration ripping a soul in two.

I hear it all. I see it all. I feel everything that every single one of you can feel.

A light shines up ahead, can you see it? Can you hear the laughter? The rush of elated emotion... That's what I want. That's all I want. For you, for them, for him, for her.

For me.

One day, I'm going to reach the end of the tunnel. And I'm going to run screaming into the sunlight, my hair whipping out behind me, my eyes really seeing for the first time. Ears really hearing. Mind really feeling.

And everything I'll feel will be beautiful and pure.

I Won't Need a Map

My goal is to be lost.

I want to drift and float about in such a daydream that I am neither here nor there, but everywhere. I want to get caught up in my own creations until I can barely separate fiction from reality.

I want to write.

My characters are more of a comfort to me than any real people possibly could be. They're safe, a secure place to rest my head at night. They're a part of me that I had lost.

Ever since life became so out of whack, the unreal is all I care to know.

So don't mind me. I will wander this way and that, here and there and everywhere. And I'll enjoy it.

Incompetence at its Finest

Today I got called "effing incompetent" by a customer [edited expletive, obviously]. It was an adventure, let me tell you...

The best part wasn't when he started yelling. Or when he threw a penny a me. Or even when he went off on me in language that I dare not repeat on here [because, quite frankly, I don't want to burn in hell for ruining your innocent eyes].

No, the best part was when everyone working at that time pretty much tried to kill him, all at once.

I've never felt so cared for. Within seconds, I was out of the harmful situation and safe, and people who really and truly care about me were defending me, protecting me. I was allowed ample time to collect myself before returning to work, and even the co-workers I barely know were concerned about how I was reacting to such violent verbal abuse.

They care. And for that, I will always be thankful. I've said before that they're like a big family to me, and I mean it. With all my heart.

You guys are the best. Thank you for being there. Always. :]