Subconsciously Glued

I'm almost done with the plethora of homeworks for the thirteen days of school suspension, many thanks to Swine Flu. (Almost being approximately 65%, which mathematically isn't nearly enough to be considered almost, but still.) I'm doing everything from Algebra to Punctuation Marks with half a brain and truth be told, I'm not learning as much as the teachers would require but I'm rushing all of this for good reason. If I do it in this pace, I would have more time in the remaining days to look over what I could be misreading now. It doesn't make sense, I'm aware, but that's me and I trust me well enough to keep these habits.

And that would give me time to help others as well. I'm not volunteering myself to feed my quasi-friends with things I know they could figure out by themselves if they want to (which they don't) but it's not like I have other harmless options. It irks me to see my name in their chat windows because it means only three believably awful things. 1.) They need help from yours truly, and 2.) they'll close the chat window exactly after they get the answer because 3.) I'm more of a supplementary student-teacher than somebody worth talking to even if they spend a significant amount of their time sitting and dancing in the ledge beside my seat.

I got myself into this cancer of being there for them in Mathematics and in Health (get it, no?) but I'm regretting it now. I wouldn't normally complain about helping other people because it feels glorious to be of help but it sucks when they become too reliant it becomes a lose-lose situation. Maybe this is the point when I declare to nobody in particular that I hate all these people I got myself subconsciously glued to. I swear to God, I just want to get to college and get a real life without having all of these people anchoring me.

Now what does that say about my youth? Or, for God's sake, my quasi-friends? You can go ahead and judge me for disclosing yet another another subdued emotion. I don't like the state I'm in anyway. You wouldn't, either, if some black magic happened and you became me. (Much to your horror, I bet.) There are just too many things that need corrections and sometimes I wonder if they're there to be corrected or to just be endured. Like bad friends, for the lack of an appropriate adjective. I don't know.

And I don't know what I'm talking about anymore either. I think I'm getting infected with the Larry Doyle Syndrome. Funny male author, he is. Har-har. By the way, in the conclusion of the semi-apocalyptic day that was the 23rd of June, I clearly remember a sentence our Algebra teacher left us with while our heads madly spun around the prospect of being in a Gehenna of homeworks for nearly two weeks. She said, "Do not live like Dracula." Now wasn't that just meaningful? I have a reason for ending this post and it's called sleep.

(I hope you forget ever reading this post because it looks like this would add to my approximately infinite list of regrets.)

Everyday Ellipses?

"...wouldn't voice out criticism..."

What I wrote in my journal last night was probably the weirdest, yet the most honest, thing I've written in my whole life. Remember the time I made a post addressed to Nobody Concerned and signed it with the wallflower-y thing? I did one of those again, with an addressee but without a signature. I figured, if I died anytime soon I might just have my journal sent to that person.

I just made up that decision ten seconds ago and I might still change my mind but the idea of that person unearthing what I buried in my journal seems fair to me. I'd like a day in the future when someone would actually understand why I do what I do or why I don't do what I don't do. The reason for why I act like this seems pretty clear to me and I hope it becomes so to that person, and a couple of others as well. Maybe they'd feel a delayed pang of regret.

I'm sorry to think the only way that would happen is when my soul's way up there or way down there. I don't know why I think about it this way. People are more forgiving after the end. That is why I don't want to have a funeral. Could I stand having my lifeless body displayed in a windowed casket for all these people who only decides to show up when I don't physically mean anything anymore? That desecration happened in my grandfather's funeral and I thought, what the hell is the point? I'll have myself cremated instead and I hope they distribute my ashes to the different oceans of earth. That would add value to my literal non-existence.

So as I was stating, I just had so much to say to one person in one day but I couldn't send my messages. The whole of me was just held back from what would have been the more productive thing to do. I don't know, I think I fear what that person would have to say back to me. Or worse, what if that person would have nothing to say back to me? I'd present a whole page of honesty and I'll get dead air? I don't understand the depth of everyone and I wish I had ESP.

Now wouldn't that be a lot easier for people like me who respond more than they talk? Instead of playing eternal charades with people and replacing everything I mean to say with everyday ellipses, everyone could just close their eyes and telepathically sort out the emotional clutter. But already, I know what you're thinking. The whole idea of it is stupid, isn't it?

This might be a little offbeat but the situation reminds me of a line from a book someone lent me last week. Your head is an orphanage for words. What kind of people thinks of these stuff anyway? I know this post has been long and dull. My mind's a little off. I prefer my previous post. It was all heart and no head. I know I need to make my point. I'll be posting this topic again in the future.

Mostly Robotic

...on the topic of Friday, I'm impressed with how everybody I know has decided on the co-curricular clubs they're joining. It makes me feel lost. I only have my eyes set on one club but what are the odds of me getting in there?

Fateful Fridays such as this day don't come very often, eh? I seized it with whatever I had and I'm happy for all that happened today. I swear, the moment I climbed up the agonizing stairway to the point I got out of the van was just glorious. It's weird how awfully defining this day was for every single one of the HS body. I realized one thing about me; I'm mostly robotic. Period.

But that's not what made my day postworthy. There's this person my friends "antagonized" because of her tendencies to bite backs. I never knew her apart from what I've been told by my friends so my brain was programmed to think of her badly as well but that changed when I felt drawn to group with her to try out for the Forensics club. Lord knows if that was the first time she talked to me but she was nice. Above nice, even.

Debating isn't my thing at all and with my bite plate, I refuse to put too much attention to myself when speaking. It's a skill, you know? But it's an entirely different thing when you're with this semi-stranger who you can talk with as though you grew up on the same street. I didn't take her as the type who would get into heartless clubs like Forensics, but the fact that she had interest in it completely changed my perspective of her.

She's definitely more than the gossiping biatch I was told of. She didn't lug around contempt at all; she had a kind heart set on debating. Who knew? I had to leave the try-outs before we started the actual auditioning process but I vowed that I would join her in next year's try-outs, even if debating's way out of my league. Her friends probably preferred mainstream activities like, I don't know, soccer, but I'll be more than glad to fill in the hole they opened feet-first. (Lame!)

I'm happy that we were friends even if it was only an hour. She probably wouldn't look at me in the hallways until next year's try-outs but I'm fine with that. I wouldn't bother saying hi to her anyway. Remember the clandestine wars I mentioned way back then? There are unwritten rules some people follow in high school.

I don't know if she passed the try-outs smoothly but she repeatedly said she wouldn't get in before she got the results. She wasn't the only one to do that. I jumped up and down beside the whiteboard in Year Three's floor to shake off my paranoia while waiting for my own set of results from the first club I wanted to join. My friend (some other person who did get into Forensics) and I couldn't console her properly but I do hope, until now, that she'd get into Forensics. I don't say or type this much, but she deserved what she wanted.

And she's determined. How many of the people in my batch would completely detach themselves from familiarity and friends and dive into risky situations that they may or may not succeed in? She showed perfect maturity and I really salute her.

Enough with the unnamed person worth respecting. I just haven't been this happy for non-malicious reasons. I think this year's going to be great, based on everything that happened today. And I think this post's long enough. I'm too tired to do anything else with this post. Maybe I'll add more useless information in the following days. But that's it for today.

And don't expect me to make sense anymore, by the way. Evolution says I'm turning into someone you wouldn't remember. I'll do normal posts from now on. The definition of normal varies from person to person. I don't want to explain. I just want to finish this.

Soul/Sense

I don't make sense anymore, as mentioned by somebody. I might be this insensible for the entirety of high school, who knows? Admitting my faults won't cure what might be called sanity but at least I know whoever's typing this post isn't who I want to be and isn't who I'll always be. That probably didn't even make sense either.

I don't know, is sense something you have to learn? Or is it just something that materializes within you, like the stuff puberty creates? Or are people just born with sense like they're born with tongues? I don't know which of the three is true as I simply don't have sense to figure it out for myself, but I hope sense reconnects with me. I feel almost soulless without it.

And since I've mentioned it already, I've realized some semi-philosophical love song that came into my head during yesterday's Music class. If memory serves, I first heard it while watching The O.C. about a hundred metaphorical years ago and then my mom got me Plans around two years after. It's Death Cab for Cutie's Soul Meets Body, if you haven't figured out yet, which I know you didn't.

If my calling's not on top of the Chinese highlands, I will be walking with the Vitamin String version of that song. I have this public dream I answer to everyone who asks and in it, I major in Psychology and do all those other mature psychological stuff like getting married. I wouldn't make six-figure but at least there's a little bit of happiness, right?

Wrong.

I don't know if it's proper to cut the post here but something amazing just happened and I'm too drawn to it to get back to revising this post. You don't need to be happy for me. Duh. But I find it amazing how much I've deviated from my normal self today. I could say, in my twisted language, than I became a more-than-minor mirage to at least one person. It's glorious. Seriously. Do something nice to someone and don't look back. Go all the way. Help until it hurts you. Help until you think you're acting out of character. Help until the other person leaves. God, it's the most amazing feeling ever.

And it doesn't need much sense. :)

Sorta Empty Post

I finished early with all the homeworks today and I thought I could bend my back a little more and have a post before I dive face-first into the vastly polluted ocean of pressure with occasional bubbles of har-har-har about twelve hours from now. That's a not-so-terrifying way of attempting to rename school but I'm wearing a shirt with a fish in it, and metaphorically speaking, I think I see me as that; we are all fishes. (Did I use the semi-colon right?)

I don't mean to make enough sense in this post to be considered normal. Let the fish metaphor sink in without meaning. (Ha-ha!) I'll have to admit I have nada worth posting about. I'm somewhat here just to say hello to this blog. Maybe I'll wait for Friday. But on the topic of Friday, I'm impressed with how everybody I know has decided on the co-curricular clubs they're joining. It makes me feel lost. I only have my eyes set on one club but what are the odds of me getting in there?

I'm a realist and that is all. I master self-deprecation when I'm not conversing with anybody. I can give you lessons if you want, but don't make me. That was lame, I know. Sarcasm's not my thing. I'm seriously quasi-kidding so don't think I'm some emotionally challenged self-hater. But I might need to go now. Who the hell knows what else I could rant on about IRL.

U, G, and H. I really think I'm gone now. I have no idea what I'm typing anymore. This train of thought was derailed from the start, you know? Ah, cliché. Whoever started that phrase anyway? I have a feeling it's a man. It's always men. See the abbreviated list of great people who aren't girls: Jesus Christ, No Name Plato, A. Einstein, I. Newton, A. Nobel, A. Capone, P. Gasol, J. Marsden, J. Green, B. Gibbard, C. Sugg B. Goodbye... By the way, to the person who continually asks what I'm doing, this is one part of what is.

Obviously. I'm not very goal-oriented.

All In the Eyes

The first three days of school weren't bad at all. I'm thinking this blog's more like semi-fiction now. I don't actually believe everything I blogged about over the summer because they didn't actually happen like I typed them in here. My current journal's just like this, a mid-size silver book of pretense. I know it's blurring reality but I don't do anything about it because I don't have to.

(Onto a real topic...)

I think it was lunchtime yesterday when I sat on the floor, and saw a weird picture of why world peace wouldn't come in this lifetime. There was a flock of people right in front of I-2's blackboard. I've known those people for years and I know I've never seen them all huddled together so close like that. Maybe their group's just one big tattered blanket woven with flimsy multi-colored (to the point of asymmetry) threads. Friends of friends of friends grouped together, in other words.

If I were to be a painter, I would spend years perfecting my portrayal of this scene. The whole thing is set in your average classroom during free time. Two people were dancing in plaid skirts like maidens in a musical. There's this girl with homicidal eyes behind them, a little detached from her own group, glaring at the dancing girls. They do look like madwomen for several obvious reasons but Homicidal Eyes made their dance look like a felony.

It was an accidental glance, how I've come to notice them. I'll see them in my peripheral vision wherever I look anyway. There's really nothing remotely funny or fascinating about it but the fact that I'm witnessing suppressed drama was worth posting about. I might just be making a big deal out of this but I just find it weird how people could act so self-righteous and disdainful over the innocence of others.

But maybe that's the whole point of it?

My dad's old self-help books were right. If you get the chance, look around and observe people's eyes, specifically the area from their eyebrows to their eye bags in a non-stalker way (if that's even possible). Just look in the eyes when they're not looking because that's the time they're not pulling off false smiles or p-p-poker faces. I know it's cliché but it's a reliable cliché.

That is all.

Social Climbers

My quasi-friends are finally coming around. It seems the only thing binding them to me is schoolwork, and a little bit of trash-talking. The latter's just one of the many woes about being a girl, and it's sadly unchangeable that every little flaw of a person has to be broadcasted and "har-har-har'ed" at. I wonder if they're really laughing. A large part of me thinks the trash that comes out of those people's mouths are induced by peer pressure.

I think they don't have their own opinions, those people whose tongues are bound to deriding everybody else. They just have a collective one and they stick by it because they could, and because it makes them feel good about themselves. High school's the time normal people morph into social climbers and I'm not surprised most people's way of talking merge into one big crappy spiteful dialogue with underlying messages of mockery, jealousy, infatuation, and general stupidity.

One other thing I couldn't stand is how they hunt people from the other gender and expect those people to like them back, online and immediately. Is that how it works now? It's like a subliminal type of prostitution, what they do to themselves online. I'm referring to a small group of my quasi-friends. They post stuff as a way of fishing boys. They did tell me these intentions directly and I don't think they even think twice about doing what they do.

Typing this post makes me seem like the loser, eh?

I seriously don't care about their standards, at least not right now. I have my own world and I think it's sufficient. I don't want to get into what the others mindlessly get themselves into. It's best to keep me as I am, anyway. I'd like to think I'm making my deceased grandparents happy by being who I currently am, some blogger who blogs with words and does nothing but.

It's just one year before summer starts again anyway. I'll be back with the CW crowd when April sets in. I vowed not to mention them anymore but I found our pictures somewhere stashed in the Internet and I don't know how to put into words what came into my head when I found those. I feel like they're not as real as they were two months ago. They just seem like spots of detail from the past, like leftovers in a dinner plate. It sucks that whatever I remember from them would be overthrown by those of the people from school.

I don't know why I managed to make a post this long (and true) but I have to settle in for the night. The day after tomorrow would be horrid. I hope I find a reason to say I made up all my thoughts during the summer because nobody likes them and I don't want to be remembered that way. Goodnight and God bless.

Summer's Ending

It's been raining hard around here (hence the necessary changes in my layout.) I don't know what on earth the lightning struck last night but I felt my wooden bed tremble. What time was that anyway? I stayed up for God knows how long waiting for another thunderbolt. I honestly didn't care if the world crumbled. I'm not even brave. Maybe I just don't care enough. By the time I was up, the sun was eerily bright. If I hadn't known any better, I would have said last night was all in my head, but that wasn't the case. The weather's just what it is, temperamental, like a lot of people I know.

And as the summer's ending,
The cool air will rush your hard heart away.
You were so condescending.
And this is all that's left:
Scraping paper to document.
I've packed a change of clothes and it's time to move on.
--"Photobooth" by DCFC

To add to the gloom, the summer's officially dead today. Weather-wise, there's not much of a change as it rained all summer. Everything-else-wise, it's just sad. This is one of the few things everybody in my messenger list would agree on. Summer is our time but it ends too quickly.

And because of that, I'm wrapping up my journals. I've got four pages left. I'll spend it fake-lamenting on how I wasted my summer playing one-sided hide and seek with some of my quasi-friends. I'm not sorry said quasi-friends didn't play along. I realized one thing last week. High school (and the people in it) wouldn't matter. At least not as much as college (and the people in it) would. Maybe some are more significant than the others, but on my count, some is just barely over five people.

It's my fault.

It's not my fault.

It's my fault.

It's not my fault.

Who's to say which is right? There would be a day in my life when none of these would matter. It might not be today but it'll come and until then, I'll try not to upset myself with brash posts like this. I don't know what I meant by that. Forget you ever read this entire post. I don't want to bother delete this as I've already typed a lot. And I bet this won't make a difference. Lots of my older posts look as bad this. Goodnight.

Denny the Pallbearer

In this post is a haphazard picture of a Gehenna-based fellow that might resemble what might turn up if I combine several friends and quasi-friends. It carries no meaning worth mentioning but I love the little irony in him.

I think he deserves a slot in Nickelodeon. Denny the Pallbearer. He'll ask help from the kids to bring the coffins of the newly dead to the cemetery, making a pit stop in hell, and teach cuss words with a mix of Pig Latin at the same time. (Oh shit! We just dropped his aggotmay-infestedway iverlay!) Maybe the kids would be less threatened by Satan and his minions in hell after a couple of reruns. He'll give Dora a run for her money and put Disney Channel out of business. You'll see him as a Trending Topic in Twitter and he'll be in Eminem's music videos.

And then he'll star in his own horror movie. He'd knife the antennas of the Teletubbies, peel off the Bananas in Pyjamas until their banana blood permanently stained their staple clothing, pierce Pikachu's cheeks with modified nunchakus, and then wipe the epic bloody mess with some jellyfishing sponge you and I probably grew up watching.

I am scaring myself more than I'm making sense, to be honest. The rain's louder than the earphones I'm using, and it's past eleven in the evening. And my octopus-loving dog won't stop barking for a reason I'm not planning to figure out. I've really got to sleep now and before the lights shut off like they did a few hours ago. Goodnight.

In Seven Days...

...I'll be back to wearing plaid skirts for another two-hundred-something days of unrelenting bitcheries, feral backbiting, and minor social anxieties school. I don't want to add posts to prove my exaggeratedly hostile views on high school since I already got my head badly tainted by the possibilities of metaphorical slow deaths in the crowded hallways during lunchtime. Unfortunately, though, I'm charmed back to all those grim thoughts whenever I go online (which is nearly every day of my durned life) and see the people who would be in those crowded hallways.

I don't want to get started on the topic of quasi-friendships. I'll save that for another time, when I feel tragically cynical and loaded with reasons for why such kinds of things exist. I'm just really fearing school, more than I thought I would when summer started, and I thought having a haphazard post to look back to in the future would help.

My present, and all these documentations of the worthless stuff that make up my life, is all about that--preserving barely-worth-remembering things like this morning's dream, wherein Max Bemis was my godfather. Sometimes I think it's eating up so much of my time. Instead of keeping myself in a corner with a pen, a journal, and gloomy thoughts (as I sadly do in school,) I could just get out there and make life happen. I don't know what's wrong with who I am but I couldn't do that without feeling misplaced. I doubt this year would be any different. I'm still me.

It's safe to end this post now, before I discuss what I don't want people to think I know. I couldn't stand making lots of these posts, anyway. From now onwards, I'll try to rise up from making so many of these junk posts. Goodnight.