Looking backward

I'm a bit of a journal/diary/lifestory fiend.

I've aways kept journals. Locked journals, opened journals. Handmade Journals, storebought journals. Writing Journals, Personal Journals. Journals in English, Journals in languages that I barely understand, even though I made them up. I've had a lot of journals.

Unfortunately, none of them have been very long lasting. At the beginning of the year, I brought a journal to school with me. Everything that happened to me was written. If you wanted to blackmail me, that's probably the journal you would want to get a hold of. Everything written there was written quite rashly. Nothing was very well thought out. It stopped being written in at about January. By that time, I didn't need it so much anymore. And that's the way it usually goes with my journals.

I have kept one journal longer than any other (Except for this this blog) . It's by far my most personal journal. I'm always a little melodramatic when I write in it. Mostly because I'm usually compelled to write in it because I'm upset. The thing about this journal is that it makes me sad. I sound so childish when I write in it. I'm a little too raw. And the problems that I read that occured months ago don't feel nearly so painful. Truthfully, I'm rather amused that I was in such upheaval about them. Which makes me sad. I look back to seventh grade, and I read about that boy who I liked for 5 months. I can remember why I liked him so much. And why his abundant girlfriends and his sometimes ridiculous attire annoyed me. Even now, when I pass him in the halls I think, as everyone around him erupts into laughter, "See, he was a good boy to choose. He wasn't that bad. He didn't mean to hurt you. Of course not."

But this is the biggest problem of all.

I worry that when I sit in bed, with puffy, red eyes and true pain heavy in my mind, and write in my journal about you, and how mean you can be sometimes, and how amazing and wonderful you are, that someday, maybe soon or later, I will be amused.

Surely you are not a blip on the screen. Surely.

The Bass Line in this song is awesome.

Do you have have those days, when you feel that anything and everything in the world is going to make you cry. Not because you're particularly sad or anything, more because your eyes haven't filled with moisture for awhile, and you throat hasn't felt as though filled with cotton. It's more physical than emotional.
I have had three days of that, for some weird reason. It makes me feel sleepy too.
I blabbered on to Demi just now. My poor girl. Sorry. It's the bizzarro lack of weepage.

Y'know one of the things I worry about the most, is that my children will look pictures of me from Jr. High and will go red with shame at the outdatedness of me. That's partly why I try to avoid trends. I am so grateful that I can look at pictures of my parents and say "Yep, those are my parents. How hip are they?" because they were so them.

I haven't read a book in ages. I realized that yesterday. I know exactly what I'm going to start reading when I stop getting given these dumbasamuskrat projects from school. And when the musical is over. Oh, did I mention I got into the school musical? Yeah. Yay me! It's actually a collection of a lot of songs from a lot of musicals. It's pretty fun, and my thespians (That has nothing to do with homosexuals) are very awesome. The proceeds are all going to a fund to help a kid who my school has adopted, because he has a terrible disease that needs fighting. So we're raising money for a good cause too. I feel very much apart of something. It's almost fellowship-of-the-ringy-like. But the difficult, and enjoyable practice comes at a price. My feet are so blistered and sore at the end of the day. I mean they are painful; Purple-heart-deserving painful.
Anyway, I will go sleep now. Sleep is good.

I have to say some stuff... A lot of it won't make sense.

1. Monday was an incredibly great day. I still haven't burned it though. I hope you won't forget. I act like I have, like it isn't a big deal for me. But it is. I could hardly sleep on Monday night.

2. I did what was right. It was a weird kind of right. The kinda of right that is like killing a dying animal. I never would have gone out with him. And the idea that he could get me to change my mind and make me cast away a year's worth of affection for someone else, in 25 days, is insulting. It was better for me to talk to him, before he talked to me. Putting yourself out there is hard, and being rejected is very painful; I wasn't going to impose that feeling on someone, just because I was too lazy or embarrassed to do something about the whole thing.

3. I was scared at first, and I still am in some ways, but not nearly as scared. Camaraderie is powerful.

4. I will never ever promise to write a post again. I will promise to write half-posts. I'm sorry guys. My memories of Easter are not as sharp anymore, and I would not do it justice. Keep wondering.

5. I like the smell of summer. But I prefer the cold.

6.Why does anime have to be so fun to draw? I'm rubbish at it and I hate the faces, but it is so easy-peasy-lemon-pie!

7. I am scared about my cello recital. Wish me luck. I'm playing a Sonata by Franck. Very pretty. Very emotional. I wish you could hear it. My fingers hurt.

8. Fable 2 is coming out. Look it up. I mean it. Now. It's going to be the best video game ever. Seriously. And Twilight! It's coming out! on December 12th! Oh. My. Goodness.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBvOhfL4mYw

9. You have the most beautiful hands. I love them.

city escape

Sorry that my promised Easter Post hasn't come yet. I haven't forgotten, I'm just having some problems getting a hold of the pictures that I want to include.

If you play a video game, you should play Myst. It is so fulfilling and beautiful. I'm playing Revelations (The fourth) right now and I'm delirious, it's so pretty and mind boggling. And gamespot rated it 8.5 so.. Ha.

Today I went into the City. It was cold, but the sun made everything fresh. I watched pigeons waddle daringly close to humans, only to claw into the air as chubby hands reached too close. I discussed suicide, on the side of a bridge with my brother. We both agreed that if we ever became sad enough to even contemplate suicide, we would definitely not jump off a bridge which gave way to a highway. I ate mango licorice, and dried fruit rolled in coconut. I went shopping in a funky thrift store and beheld just about the most beautiful dress I have ever seen. I left it behind. Where would I wear it ever? I watched a young father push his twin infant children on swings. I read some of The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve. I rummaged in my mother's bag for her sunglasses so she could see in the Bug. I walked through the market and watched the performers, wondering if maybe my brother and I would be in their place this summer.

It was a wonderful, amazing day.

But throughout the fantasy that was today, I could not help but be interupted by that strange little longing for you to show up, for some reason, in the same city.

The post would be on the bottom row of class pictures. This title, not so much.

"Will you still call for me,
When she falls asleep?
Or do we soon forget,
The things we cannot see?" Tori Amos, Happy Phantom

Easter is coming. And I am enormously excited. I love Easter. But in a way, I am also terrified of it.. (That's all I'm going to explain at the moment. See Post-Easter Post-age)

I have kind of run out of books. All the series I have been anticipating *Cough*Twilight*Cough* are finished and reread. And then there's the other series' where the plot is fine until the eighty-billionth book is published and the plot has been sucked dry of any interest anymore. There is no conflict or sorrow anymore. Don't get me wrong. I love happy endings. I almost require them. But I love happy endings not happy beginningsmiddlesandends. Y'know what I mean? Does anyone know any good books?

Happy St. Patricks Day

Is it really that day already? This year is going by too fast. I caught myself equating the phrase "A few months ago" with the beginning of the school year. I want the year to stay for all the wrong reasons. Reasons that don't have anything to do with schoolwork or extracurricular activities.
Isn't it weird how we equate certain gestures, such as steepling one's fingers, as contemptious or superior, but we equate other gestures, which essentially mean the same thing, such as lacing one's fingers, as meek and polite? Is it because we subconciously choose to do one or the other, because we are feeling that way? It's interesting to think about. It makes you suddenly monitor your gestures more closely. To make sure that your not coming off as a arrogant jerk.
Everything in the garden (Which resemble a giant mudball at the moment, due to the trenches being dug right now.) is getting ready to burst into bloom. I can't wait. I want the little bluebells to spring up everywhere and the cherry tree to bring in a storm of fingernail pink petals. I want perpetual springtime and falltime weather!

God.. Where is she?

Where am I? I am under a towel, burning my eyes out by trying to crack through my clogged sinus'. I am trying to keep warm in my freezing bed (Freezing to me. Probably would be fine for normal human beings. The flu will do that to you.) I am stumbling around, getting seriously dizzy whenever I stand up. I am watching many, many episodes of Project Runway (I love that damn show. And it's very ironic, seeing it's about, well, fashion. Jillian is my favorite, just so you know.)

So that's where I am. Or was. When I was being all sickly and pasty-like. And now.. I'm trying to catch up on my school work. Which is really hard because I was sick for the standardized testing days, so I have to make it up-whenever I have a free moment.

Does anyone else just vomit when those eHarmony commercials of the happy couples dancing to that that Everlasting Love song with these ridiculously plastic grins on their movie star faces. They assure us that they are 100% Real and I laugh at them. Not that I have a vendetta against happy, romantic people. No, no. But I've seen the ads for online dating sites. It's basically variations of the same voluptuous woman in black lingerie. Suddenly, everyone is dating and chatting and getting married. Without actually, well, knowing each other. But they can never say that on air!
"I saw her on my sidebar, and the magic of love just enthralled me!"
"Marie and Jessica caught my eye immediately. I broke both their hearts and turned them against each other! They don't even see each other at Thanksgiving!"
"Desirey said that her avatar was an anime drawing of herself. It turned out that it was a still from a Sailor Moon episode.. We're-Eh.. Not together anymore."

It also kinda makes me sad in a way. Especially now that I've just made fun of those head-over-heels lovebirds.

I'm not very nice today.

Lapse

I'm sorry for the long stretches between posts lately. And the large spaces in between paragraphs. I don't know what's going on with the computer, but it makes me look like I've written a novel instead of a post and I'm most apologetic.
I'm writing a speech for my english class at present. And I'm watching Pride and Prejudice on and off throughout the day (They condensed 6 hours of one of the most amazing romances into two and still managed to get Darcy right, even though he's not Colin Firth and Lizzie is -Eww- Keira Knightly. I would tip my hat off to the director if I had one on.) Seeing as my speech is on Euthanasia, it's rather depressing stuff. I'm talking about dying people a lot, and then looking up dying people, and seeing what hell their life is, and then writing about dying people. And I'm watching that rain scene over and over again and wishing that for one moment, I had some of the romantic felicity too. Just on a small scale.
And I'm watching you letting her turn you into.. Something. And I'm hoping that you won't disappear like others I've watched, just so that you can become something that everyone else will approve of. And I'm loving the fact that we can be friends and that, I think, you trust me, and that I can trust you, and that you are kind. But I'm hating the fact that I may just be the "friend" forever, and that all the effort and struggle and time I've put into this relationship is just going to leave me feeling used. I love being your friend. It's one of things I am most proud of. And one of the things that brings me the most happiness. But I can't help being dissatisfied by the whole thing, and being angry and jealous and thinking that everything is unfair. I don't want to come home and be sad for the rest of the week anymore, just because of some small conversation which probably meant nothing to you. And in your defense, I've been too aloof for your transitional teenage-boy mind to wrap around it all. That it hurt to give you dating advice and for you to make fun of me for not having any boyfriends. That it hurt when you fell for my friend, who didn't care. That I was trying to tell you something the whole time. And I'm just tired of it all. Just tired. But I don't want to let go yet, because I don't know what I'll do when I finally get to it.
And you tell me that you think I'm sad.

Me and My Cello

"Who would be interested in the cello?" The teacher, with her great spiky grey hair, looked around at us.

So many of us were crowded into that room. I was wearing a yellow dress, with flowers near the hem. My sister wears it now, in the summer.

Four of us raised our hands . I was the only girl. All my friends had chosen the smaller instruments. Violin and Viola. But I knew I wanted the cello. The teacher played the cello, and it was elegant. Beautiful. True.

The teacher measured the other potential cellist's hands. When she came to mine she remarked that I was going to need a very small cello. My fourth grader hands, next to her wonderfully spindly and knowledgeable hands made me feel insignificant. Those were musician hands. Those hands were magic...

"Hey girli." She snapped her gum and smiled. I closed the door behind her. She took off her shoes and I marveled how any one's toes could fit into those pointy things. My teacher sat down in the green chair in our living room. I sat down next to her and put Suzuki book two on the wire stand. She tucked a strand of her long blond behind her ear and wrote the date down in my notebook.
"OK. Play me allegretto."
I loved Allegretto. This song was my song. My cello, whom I'd named Peasblossom, was an old beater cello from the school district. I loved that cello. The song sounded good. My teacher put a star next to it...


I held my cello next to me and glanced at Mum. She smiled and my new private teacher's previous student walked out of the music room and untightened her bow. My new teacher followed. We were are introduced. My mum thanked her and I followed my teacher into the music room. I set up and she asked me about myself and then explained the curriculum. I played with nervous fingers, not wanting to disappoint her or myself. We tried out new music and she found a book at my level. As I played I decided I liked it there. It was organized and calm. And she wore slippers. I loved her slippers. And the fact that she wore them.
The songs were friendly and the cover of the book was that wonderful combination of blue and brown. Its weird how things like that stick in your mind. She played perfectly, without making me feel horrible about myself.
She's my hero.



I glanced back at DemiDawn (http://www.minavstand.blogspot.com/) and she smiled and gave me a thumbs up. I looked at my brother, who was, quite literally turning blue from holding back laughter because Dad was doing something funny with his hands and he couldn't make a sound, due the cellist performing in front of us. My hands were shaking, and I'm not even near the stage yet. My Mum took one of the books my sister was reading and opened to one of the blank pages near the back. She wrote in black pen, which has faded now, to brown. Her handwriting was unsteady suggesting that she was as nervous, if not more so, than I was. I read the inscription, and my pride hummed. I took her hand and squeezed. I waited.
Then, in what felt like mere seconds, I was up. Ready to meet my impending doom. Suddenly my cello was anchoured on the rockstop, my book in it's place and I was ready. So exciting. So fufilling. My fingers were shaking, and my tone was scared, but I did it. I beamed as I finished. I did it.


The curtains went up via a holister jacket-clad stagehand. Someone might have vomited on my cumerbund because there was a nasty tan stain on it. My orchestra teacher raised her baton and the whole Orchestra knew what was coming. This was what we had been waiting for. This made listening to the whole concert behind sweltering velvet fabric worthwhile. I felt my body moving with my instrument even before the intro was over. I laughed inside. Comrarderie swelled in us all, and for now no one could complain.


Different stage. Tuxedo shirt. New cello. A book of music now. Adrenaline thrums through my body. The conductor of the youth symphony raises her baton and the violins start. She cues us in. I've been waiting for this. We strike a high note. Our first in the song. My cello sings. And it is beautiful. It is shameless. My face is warm with the light that shines down. It is like a floodgate being opened. Beautiful. Free.

Notes from 11:56 AM Wednesday

I think, optimism is both good and bad. If an optimist goes for a picnic and gets lost on their way to the park and then realizes they packed a can of beets instead of some nice fresh scones with jam, and then it starts raining......an optimist can drop everything and go dance in the rain.



And then you can say you had a wonderful day playing in the rain, instead of saying you had a horrible day during which your picnic was ruined completely.



It's nice to be around an optimistic person. Though they might not be particularly down-to- earth, they have a bounciness that emanates from them like the sun. No one wants to be the only mourner at the party, so optimism is contagious.

Optimists have a nice balance with pessimists. Together they find what is really true. That half the water has been drunk, but you still have the water to enjoy.



The bad thing about optimism?



The occasional vast ocean of false, unreal hope.



Optimists set themselves up for it. Hoping. Feeling that they know that something good is going to happen is almost like a trusting the enemy. If everything is going to work out in the end, what happens when the end is devastating? Then what do they do? What if the events the optimists are given to work with are so sad that they can't find anything good? They give themselves more false hope, and while a lot of the time it makes them better to be around, sometimes, all it does is delay the realization that they were mistaken.

Tales from the Kitty-Catkin Tent

The transparent flap that was the door let the light filter through. I wished for snow. Read some book that my sister had left in her little world. As I turned to the back page, I read a inscription from my mother, encouraging me before a performance. I remembered a solo cello recital. My first....
I heard my North calling me. I ignored my brother, asking me to watch him play the xbox. I ignored him. But I needed that moment. Waiting for the normal week's ritual to set in. For the breath-stealing speed of busied life, the anticipation of seeing, and the heavy that I knew would soon take my mind. No more clay under my fingernails for awhile. No more raiding thrift stores until it all calms down. More meanlingless tasks that mean nothing to their master's.
Good-bye Winter. Please snow..
I crawled out of the tent. Moment shattered.

Year in review

Yes, I know New Years was awhile ago, but that doesn't mean that I can't post resolutions still right? This year privately, I came up with this.

• I will try finally, to stop biting my nails.
• I will practice cello more religiously.
• I will get Lorielye to level 30!
• I will start putting out material creativity, instead of just keeping it bottled up inside my head, waiting to have something done about it.

If I need to add on later I will. I'm dreading the interview and related paper I have to do. Why would you ever give students homework over winter break. Doesn't that send you straight to hell? I mean that is a wonderful example of bad karma right there.

My sister got a video camera for her birthday, (The third birthday in December in my household, which makes for makes for a stressful holiday season..) While trying to set it up, my Mum found movie maker and proceeded to make a movie. Here it is, it's basically our year in review. I'm really quite proud of her.

On the ___ day of Christmas

Three more days until Christmas. I think I'm going shopping this morning. Starting to get a little flustered. I can't believe teachers gave us homework over break. They don't have to grade it until break is over, so they don't have to worry about it. It makes me angry. Then again, if I hadn't been sick Tuesday and Wednesday, I might have been able to work on the stuff. It's raining just the right way outside. Hard and cold and brisk drops of rain. Not rain to be messed with.
Oh. I found this on youtube. In order to fully understand the concept, you must have the volume up fairly loudly. It's a beautiful thing.

My dog, Basil.

The pain that rocks my head suggests that I have a hippo holding a ton of bricks balancing precariously on my head. My legs are all weak and I'm suddenly shivering. I blow my nose and swallow experimentally.
I come out of the kitchen and observe my slumbering dog, curled into a tiny mass of brown and orange fur (he actually quite resembles a reese's peanut butter cup), in the middle of his bed. I lean down and turn him on to his back. He yawns and licks his lips. I cup my hands around his soft, soft ears and lean my head (Along with a curtain of thick brown hair) towards his. He puts up his minute paws in defence, and they barely brush against my cracked lips. I turn my ear to his chest and listen to his heart. He nibbles on my ear. I scold him.
"Stop that, Bazzy"
I feel another sneeze coming on. I pat his head and return him to his "c" like shape.
"Good Dog.."

As of December 7th 2007

Random facts about me as of my fourteenth year.

1. I have been playing cello now, for four years.
2. I've read three graphic novels.
3. I invented a board game called "Poor Dog/ Star Dog" when I was 3. Ask me how to play and I can still tell you. Go on. Ask me.
4. My hair is about 22 inches long.
5. I have a level 27 mage human on Steamwheedle cartel (Don't ask..)
6. I have liked the same guy for four consecutive years. (But that was in elementary school)
7. I have had crushes on six boys, in my lifetime
8. I have a dog named Basil and two homosexual rabbits and countless starlings in my attic.
9. I have written three songs.
10. I have been to Mexico, England, and Canada (Where I was born).
11. I have two scars on my face, both from falling down a cliff, at entirely different times in my life.
12. I have completed 12 of the 26 Gashleycrumb Tinies rendered in polymer clay. In 3D. I am awesome.
13. I have had 22 teachers.
14. I have bitten my nails without even trying to stop myself, for 12 years.
15. I have played an elaborate make-believe game called "The Town" since I was 6. It started out just my brother and I and has grown to eight people. We meet four times a year. It used to be called "Paradise"
16. The movie "Spirited Away" scares the bejesus out of me.
17. I have read a huge number of books.
18. I am becoming some of the person I want to be.

Video

Leap of Faith..

In fairytales, the hero takes a reckless and risky leap into the unknown. They decide to light the dynamite even though the cave is filled with gunpowder. They propose to the beautiful maiden, even though she's already engaged. And they always land on the other side, whole and complete, flashing their white, white teeth.
Just goes to show you how decieving some fiction is.
Because sometimes, when you take a risk in real life, you fail miserably. You end up, just barely, on the other side, crumpled, with broken bones. Or you don't land at all. And it's numbing. You feel stupid for ever thinking it would work out. Idiotic plan.

On a lighter note, the weather was much nicer today, all warm and rainy and lovely. Big, fat full drops, that fall on your head and dampen your hair comfortably. I love the fall..

Sunday..

Sunday
I think it should be called it'spissingdownrainandI'mfreezingandwhyisitnotsnowingday. Or OhmygodIhaven'tdonemyhomeworkandI'vegotareallynastyassignmentinmathday.
I hate Sundays. Even more than Mondays. Because sunday is so panic and dread-filled. You always have something you haven't done and everyone gets really grouchy because they're sad that the weekend is over and they have so much to do still.
Sorry about not posting for so long, but I've been pretty busy (not to mention boring) This week will be more blogfilled though. Because.. *Drumroll please*

I'm turning fourteen on Friday! I'm so excited! I love my birthday and hopefully I'll be going to the city with my family and we'll hang out and do Christmas shopping. (Oh yes, all of us will be skipping school and/or work, it's tradition) and I'll get to eat as much junk food as I want!

It's Thanksgiving!

So apart from it being Thanksgiving, I got to wake up late, (Yes, 8:44 is pretty late for me) and I get to enjoy all this sunshine! And I don't have to go to school for three more days. Tonight I'll sit down with my family and eat that traditional thanksgiving day dinner.
It's makes me wonder what time Martha Stewart was up. And what she did last night, did she have people staying over?That must be kinda stressful. I wonder how many people she's entertaining at her house? And then Bush. What do you think he's doing this morning? Does he have to make a speech on Thanksgiving day? Will he have to invite stuffy officials who make lame jokes and cough all the time into their monogrammed hankies? Or how about Bill Gates? He probably has it easier than both of them, although he'll have to invite computer people. And I doubt it would be fun to talk about electronics over an hour of dinner party. Or Angelina Jolie, she'll have to have perfect makeup and an extremely stylish dress on. And she'll have to be affectionate to Brad, gotta recover her composure after all those magazine covers blaring "Angie Breaks Down! Exclusive interview inside!"

It makes me feel lucky to be me in a way, even though they're famous and beautiful, and successful, and really good cooks, but they'll be having a crazy day, and probably won't be able to enjoy much of it. And I'm able to get up at 8:44 and write this to you guys instead.
I love my life.
Happy Thanksgiving. Hope it's everything you want it to be.

Procrastinating..

I've got to be doing my notes and my math. So only a short post today.
When you're feeling happy, you should have happy games, correct? Here's one of my favorite sites ever. Really addicting and not a laser machine gun to be seen!
www.orisinal.com
I love this weather. It cool and blustery and crisp. And the leaves are all swirly. Doesn't make me miss summer. Not one bit.