Wicked Happiness

Readers and lurkers alike, I introduce you to L.A.'s Devil. This is the terrific creation of my ex-seatmate for the purpose of contributing to my Journal Intime #5, which I brought to school by accident. It was supposedly purple but I couldn't figure out how to make it so without messing everything up.

But isn't this just cool?

It's spontaneous and genuine awesomeness, what she just scribbled. Little things like these make me hate the thought of having to end the school year. I'm not leaving but I know space and time will sever whatever is existing now.

Reaching the point of that loss or breakage would most probably destroy me. I'm having such a great time with these great things, purple or not, and I don't want to start another anymore.

But that applies to every great thing in the world, I am guessing. We search for the great things in life but we will always end up losing them. Then we start searching again, reliving the whole process of what keeps us alive.

[L.A.'s Devil is an exemption. He/She/It has this aura of awesomeness, thus making him/her/it an object of immortality. I'll never lose him/her/it.]

I'll save this typed address for the last day of school, when everybody feels obligatorily sentimental over the thought of actual finality. But until then, I'll have L.A.'s Devil, the new insignia of spontaneous and genuine awesomeness, to remind me that

We.

Should.

All.

Be.

Happy.

Assertion/Realization

[I'm not sure about this post. Just bear with me, will you?]

I escaped schoolwork at around nine in the morning today to consult my guidance counselor. I need some help in the psychological department. I’m not saying my head’s unstable but nobody knows for sure. Something was clouding up my disposition. I don't know what it is but I knew I had to leave.

What she and I talked about, I really have to process. There were too many issues crisscrossing one another. According to my counselor’s prescription, I had to be the following:

Assertive

I can’t be assertive but she said we've all got potential for significance and it's only through assertion that we are able to, I don't know, unleash it.

[Frankly, I wasn't looking for a spotlight to hit me. I only needed to get myself together, not to assert myself into the wild.]

(Her defintion of) Realistic

It’s all in my head. That was supposed to be my mantra. She mentioned something about reading Sweet Valley High and why I should disregard what it implies. I never read that book but I’m assuming she’s referring to the whole world of fiction and how I shouldn’t let it get me.

[I disagree with her definition of reality, by the way. Maybe it's her optimism that bends reality, as she calls it. But I don't have that to bend mine.]

I don't know if we ended up in resolve. Probably not. I don't think she was able to pinpoint my problem. Honestly, I couldn't pinpoint it either. But surely, we headed for progress and I realized progress was all I needed because when I stepped out of the room, I thought to myself, I should do this more often.

I walked back to my classroom with thoughts whirling but I was calm. I know it's just the equilibrium of life and how the day tends to sway that makes these things real but where I am in life isn't very high. It feels like drowning in the Atlantic Ocean while others are, like, cruising in the highway.

Maybe I'm just very impatient. I told someone present dissatisfaction only signifies future felicity but I don't think I convinced either of us enough.

I just have to trudge through my situation or, possibly, consider growing up.

**I know this is rather ambiguous, L.A., but I hope this answers your question (it's not very significant and I'm sure you've forgotten about it) because I really don't want to explain further. I'm not implying that I'm insane. I don't think I am. I just want to pretend I am sometimes because it make me feel like a new man. Or a new woman. It doesn't matter. I'll put an emoticon here just in case I'm already irritating you.**

:D

Lightness

Our house is so poorly designed you can’t see the sun set from the inside without standing atop the toilet of the second floor bathroom (which I only realized today). That is the only room in the house with a window facing the west, without an obstructing wall. All the others are facing either north or south.

[Our house directly faces north, by the way.]

That doesn’t matter much, but after being exposed to all those stars and planets last weekend, I realized I might have been missing too much of these heavenly bodies.

The school arranged this illustriously awesome activity that lasted for around fourteen hours. (It was only thirteen for me, since my dad’s car ran over one of those nasty sharp objects. Right, L.A.?) Although I could care less if Venus is brighter than Betelgeuse, I think those hours spent camping on the soccer field was well worth it. I’ve never been awake for twenty-five hours straight just to wait for shooting stars or exploding nebulae but, well, it feels good stay up like a vampire who doesn’t shimmer.

Especially when you’re introspecting in the darkness with a friend whose mind works like yours (and feeding on a ruined birthday cake, in other people’s cases). It feels great to know you’re clearly understood without being judged.

[And hey, I didn’t realize how blinding the slightest of all lights can get at whatever o’clock.]

While the speaker was talking about the errors of the Star Wars movies (more on this on the following days), I focused on scribbling words on my notebook. I could barely see a thing in that theatre but I was getting these vibes again. I thought I’ll let them go already after this post, but certain circumstances are giving me a relapse and I’m sorry if I

Nevermind. Typing anything further would invite that relapse again. In fact, I’ll end this whole post after a few sentences. Hostility is sort of creeping back into me and I’d rather not to see myself type under the hateful influence again.

So…

All the windows are now showing the same thing, the same total darkness. There is only one post lamp on our street and it's not very bright. I love looking at this kind of darkness but I hate being in it. This is out of the blue but I read a part of my Journal Intime #4 and I conclude that darkness leads to profound conversation, with or without another person.

I'll leave with that for tonight. Mom says I should stick to a sleeping habit. I'll try to.

["The" is gone. Hallelujah.]

The "The"

I'm reading two books (Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist and The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay) and, well, they've both got ampersands. Which is pretty cool. I think I misplaced the latter somewhere in my bedroom but anyway, I'm hoping to finish both before Monday.

Historical Fiction.

That's the genre of the latter book. I'm more into plain YA fiction, which mostly excludes anything extraordinary, like shimmering vampires or multi-headed dragons or homosexual heroes. Very few books with these elements become my favorites but I'm hoping for a shift in my preferences.

Or maybe I just miss Seth Cohen?

The O.C. was a good show, to say the least. I know it's long gone and canceled from our TV sets because of, um, low ratings, but Seth Cohen's memes stay with me. I still like Death Cab for Cutie and I'm considering reading all these books about the misadventures of fictional Jewish people even if I'm barely interested. (Is that right?)

I don't know if it shows or if it matters at all, but I have (ridiculously) patterned the titles of my posts after said show's episode names, which explains the ever-present "The".

It's not very quaint, I know. I'm not trying to make anything, like, theatrical. I'm not exactly a creative person. The same goes for this post. I just wanted to secure my tenth post for January on this date.

The Last of All Phases

I watched the news today. Or, rather, I paid attention while watching the news today.

Some kid was crushed under the weight of a life-size figure of Mary, the mother of Jesus. I can't believe the irony of this. People die everyday. That's an inevitability. But how many of those people die under circumstances like these? How many of them die of extreme pressure from blessed statues? How many of them would have the words "Mother Mary" as a cause of death?

Very few, indeed.

This is a little off-beat and incredibly grisly, but if I were to die, I'd want it to feel some sort of satisfaction. Like, in the process of dying, I want to feel superior. I want to feel whole while dying. The scene of death will be our last memory, if ever we would still have memories in the after-life, so we better make the most of it.

I'm listing three of my dream death scenes. I won't "go Hannah Baker" (or commit suicide, in other words) but I just thought I'd share.

The Saw Franchise's Jaw Splitter

This is more of a joke, really. I'm a big fan of Saw. The Jaw Splitter's pretty insane and it's my favorite trap, but it's against my will to have my face mutilated (and violently torn apart) by some psycho who thinks he knows how much value every one's putting into their lives.

Death in a Hospital Bed

I can somehow imagine myself listening to the beeping of some machine as it drops to a zero. I've seen countless movies with this kind of scene. This isn't what I'd call fulfilling but it would put my life to a cinematic end, which is literally a great way to end all suffering.

Free-falling

This is what superiority is all about. At least once before the end, I want to get the feeling that I am on top of everyone and everything. I'd be, like, inexhaustible on the way down, like a speeding car. That would be the most I can get from death, feeling paramount without guilt.

Surely, I would break my bones. But at least I know I've reached a different kind of apex in my lifetime.

The Post I Wrote While Being Utterly Downcast

I'm the spout of ventriloquial disgrace.

With everything disclosed, I'm afraid all that's left for me is to hope I could breathe easy. There's no room for sarcasm today because the truth is all in the first sentence and I don't want to further thrust the blade into my viscera.

I know I'm inept and I'm sorry if I exposed myself to this mind-set. I'll bet there's no room for explanation, either. I want to but it would just add to my ineptness.

Which I know you're sick of.

Our heads do not work like blogs. There's no way of deleting what had been seen. I admit to these failures because I fear nothing is sound for me.

The Coinciding Courses

February 7 can...

...haul me off this hellhole.

If I successfully urge my mother to let me take some kind of entrance test to another school on that date, I just might open a door somewhere. It wouldn't be very different from where I am now, but at least I know a kind of change is due and that's enough.

[I'm also looking forward to clogging a part of my brain which only functions to hate and leaving sounds like the most appropriate thing to do in this case.]

...leave me permanently bound (and deeply possessed) by the Holy Spirit.

I don't entirely like seeing myself become a confirmed Catholic. Catholicism is a religion that only makes me feel like a hypocrite and I'd rather feel whole. I will remain a Catholic, however. I don't want this crazy phase of my life to ruin my future well-being. Nobody approves of it anyway. Considering how narrow I can be, I should assume everyone else knows better.

[And besides, I've already got godparents arranged for me. I don't remember having a single conversation with these people but I hope this whole process turns out well if it does happen.]

...kill me (figuratively) if nothing defining occurs.

These are opportunities for change. Choosing between these could reshape the path I'm about to take. And that means a lot for a very dissatisfied person like me.

I can only pick one of the two because, like you or anyone else, I can't be in two places at once. But given the choice, I would (of course) pick getting hauled off. Religion is a serious matter and I don't want to play with it (more than I have). Transferring needs a lot of persuasion and reason but rational risks always look good to me, even if it can lead to ostracism.

[Ostracism is going to be great for me. I would have new material for my blog. I'd love that.]

The Science Project

I'm not looking forward to the Science Fair but it's getting all my attention. I hate Science right next to Math but much like pop-up ads, these things are vexing and ungovernable.

Our group has yet to finalize on whatever project we have in mind but I'm hoping for the best. Science fairs could get downright crazy and projects on rubbing alcohol don't just stand out.

I stumbled upon this project from Niles North High School. I don't know where that school is but I'm pretty sure it's nowhere near this place.

Title: The Correlation Between Perceived Personal Inadequacy and Hostility in Young Women

Purpose: The purpose of this experiment is to examine the correlation, if any, between perceived personal inadequacy and hostility in females. Perceived personal inadequacy is a composite of low optimism and low self-esteem. More specifically, the exhibitors wish to observe this relationship in high school girls.

Procedure: Surveys were compiled using the three psychological scales: the Rosenberg Self-esteem Scale, the Revised Life Orientation Test, and the Hostility Towards Women Scale. Surveys were distributed to a variety of different level classes and were completed by high school aged students. Only surveys filled out by females were used.

Conclusion: There is a strong, positive correlation between self-esteem and optimism, low self-esteem and hostility, and low optimism and hostility. As hypothesized, there is a significant correlation between perceived personal inadequacy and hostility. It can be concluded that if a woman has a high sense of perceived personal inadequacy, then she will have a high degree of hostility, and vice versa. All of the above applies to high-school girls, allowing us to conclude that the factors that cause this correlation have been formed by the time girls reach high-school, and are probably based in society.

If my life were part of this thing's experimentation, damn all the hypotheses and scientific guesses because my whole entity is agreeing. I won't consider myself "hostile", though. "Insecure" is the more appropriate term.

I make myself believe the world hates me so I hate it back. It makes a lot of sense but I'm still surprised people actually got a grade for that. The school I'm in usually severs the heart and the head when it comes to grading or being graded.

The Faith System

(I am not sure about this post. Read it while it's still online. I've adapted a habit of deleting things I don't like.)

With 21 Proms in circulation, I've decided to amuse myself by reading Pete Hautman's Godless, a book which I've decided to stop reading a lifetime ago due to its (somewhat?) blasphemous plot.

Don't dismiss me as religious. I'm what I call religiously troubled.

I find religion, in general, abstruse and I don't understand it as much as I would like to. I never believed in heaven nor hell. The fact that both is 'eternal' makes it seem incredibly unbelievable for me. People (two of the three I've talked to regarding this issue) think I'm crazy for stating such irreverence.

I was leaning more (though not entirely) on the concept of Nirvana, wherein people will continually undergo the cycle of rebirth until they are free of mundane cravings. It's not 'one or the other'. This is, in terms of logic, more probable to me.

But I'm not a Buddhist. I don't even know anyone who's a Buddhist. That's where the massive hole in my spiritual being initiated. I overthought.

I spent the day with my dad, who was a Protestant prior to his marriage to my mother. He's a baptized Catholic now, but his mind-set (faithwise) is still largely influenced by his being a Protestant in his early years.

(I think it's rather unfair, how some people have to convert to other religions just so they can make marriage vows. Love is not supposed to sever a person from his or her beliefs. That's not love at all.)

Our eleven hours of being awake together gave me a hint of direction. He didn't say I was sordidly insane, but he did single out one thing and engulfed into explained it. There's not always sense in everything. My dad said religion wasn't a matter of knowledge, but it was a matter of faith and how we allow it to pull us closer to the god we believe in.

He and I left it at that, but I still had to process myself. I'm just hoping I make my way out of this mess with a soul.

I don't know about you but if you can look at yourself in the mirror and say to yourself that you really do believe in what you believe in, you should consider yourself special.

Or, at least, normal.

The Dog-Eared Pages

I have the book 21 Proms sitting on my lap right now. I have 21 fictional prom nights to succumb to (19, actually. I sneaked into reading the first two stories which, bizarrely, ended in the very same manner. Or maybe all friggin' prom stories ended like that? But who am I to say so?). I'm only looking to read the last story in the anthology, which was The Great American Morp by my all-time favorite author, John Green.

I swore in my name I won't read John Green's story until I've read the twenty stories before it, but say hello to future guiltless page-skipping! That's the best thing about reading anthologies and the like. There would be absolutely no detail that would hurt to miss because there's only very little development in any of the stories.

But I have to let go of this book now. It's part of tomorrow's circulation.

Speaking of letting go, I just finished Megan McCafferty's Fourth Comings around three hours ago and, simply put, I love the book as much as I hate the "Massively Rude People Whose Egos Precede the Breadth of Their Perspectives", which is an utterly high degree. (I just can't shrug the thought of their existence. See post below.) I don't exactly enjoy chick-lit genres but this penetrates that boundary.

I know book talk isn't my kind of thing anymore, but it serves for a better purpose than wordy misanthropies (for today, at least).

POSTSCRIPT

This is my life outside sarcasm. I read books for survival.

The Proclamation of Moderation for Resolution

I've got the post about "Massively Rude People Whose Egos Precede the Breadth of Their Perspectives" saved as a draft, which means YOU will not see it because I think I'm giving this inner-resolution a chance.

I don't see the need to do the 180° turnabout, though. I'm not too impressive a person, nor too influential a blogger. I'm hoping I'm not an utterly repulsive human being but I can change whenever I want to and there's no need for anyone's vexing reminders.

I've got no resolutions other than to eradicate diminish the statements of seemingly growing captious opinions spurting from my vehement dislike of happily egoistic people. That's my only contribution to the first step of the make-and-break-promises phenomenon of the new year. I will not, however, be stopping myself from doing so because it's my guilty pleasure.

In addition to that, I find it very infectious to kvetch, especially when accomplished with a reasonable amount of wit and ridicule (which is almost everything this blog is).

Secretly, though, I hope one of those "Massively Rude People Whose Egos Precede the Breadth of Their Perspectives" or anyone closely related to said association will one day figure out how much I hate their pop cultured veneer (i.e. mainly their concept of buying friends AND choosing to refuse any sort of acquaintances with people like me) because I know they'd be better off cerebrally impartial.

But they'd probably never read that. They'd probably never know how I wished them only the very best despite these undying hidden resentments. (It's generally an oxymoronic statement but I mean each word.)

Suffice it to say, the velocity or chances of them finding my sort of epiphanies are just very disappointing. I should stop hoping too much.

...

Well, good night. This bores me too much. I think it does so to you too.

The False Start

With the little leeway I have, I'm surprised I've still found the time to blog about another lurid day being a person like me.

But I figured, it's almost 11 o'clock in the evening and tomorrow's a Tuesday. I've also just been working for hours on these essays about waste management and I'd really want to learn the practice of prioritizing, especially in the year '09 since I'm tired of being this little kid who's always lost because of refusing to learn directions so I'm heading to sleep now.

I swear I'll put more words into this tomorrow. I would want to because surely, I had a weighty realization (or possibly, a rant) concerning all those massively rude people whose egos precede the breadth of their perspectives.

I look forward to that. I don't care if you do. It's stated right below the site's title. I don't know who you are.

(But I don't mind if I do. I still think familiarity stumps anonymity though I know very well this whole blog is just a game of soliloquy and introversion so don't mind me when I say things that don't apply to you. I don't know if that made any sense. Anyway, I hope you have a good night.)

The A-Blogging

Classes resume tomorrow, on the fifth of January.

I absolutely loathe coexisting with all the other girls in school but I figured I'm too old to act stubborn and besides, they're going to murder me when they find out I typed that and had it posted in a blog that seemingly has no readers.

It happened to my friend before and her name was removed from the honor roll. Apparently, the advent of Gossip Girl and the handy tools of Google led her to thinking online bitchery was the best method of gaining publicity. You won't believe how life-changing that had been.

I, on the other hand, am blogging because I like what I unearth from myself (like an utterly destructive mind-set). They mostly surprise me. I'm not a publicity whore, but I like figuring myself out. I also like the thrill of using actual words to preserve the quasiperiodicity of my life.

I think that's somewhat a clever method to put up with a life I can't fully respect. And it doesn't make me feel moronic at all.

Well, it's getting late. I'd hate to be late for anything. Even for an institution filled with mainstream aliens (and I mean that in the best way possible).

Boo-hoo. I just can't wait for the summer.