Plethora > Publication

I'm editing my first article for the school paper at the moment. This will be the first time in approximately two years that I would be writing an official article alone, with absolutely no ghost edits from any sort of soul. I'd rather have said ghost editings. I'm having wild fights with prepositions right now and a ghost editor would have been able to settle things easier.

Where art thou, redattore del fantasma?

Honestly, though... I'd rather be skipping this article altogether. I'm not ga-ga over publication. The same goes for recognition. I throw away the school paper at the end of the year, regardless of me contributing to an article or not. (Actually, that's a lie. I think the papers magically disintegrate in my shelf.) I just want to give an impression to the likes of my faux sister that I'm capable, and not feel like a sciocco voluminoso all throughout the year. I know other people don't have to do that; they're looked up to by just being. Unfortunately or not, AM doesn't have that godly aura and she has to get her fingers a-typing.

But, he-dudes and she-dudes, if things go wrong with the article (which I'm anticipating as it looks a lot worse than it did last night, and last night's was just a draft), I'll always have this blog. I wouldn't have to worry about editors or mechanics or psychic moderators, or even the inconsiderately assigned deadlines because, in the simplest terms, I'm the freakin' ruler of this blog. I might be ruling over a bunch of empty words but I am still the ruler.

I'd honestly rather have a month's worth of good blog posts than an article in the paper. The school paper's pretty incomplete anyways. We don't even have an editorial page. Isn't that vital for newspapers? I don't want to bring up the issue of freedom of speech but other clubs can say whatever they want and nothing will be taken against them. *ahem*

I don't understand what I'm trying to put here. I don't know whether I hate the Paper Club or not. Oh well... Tomorrow, I shall confirm with myself what the hell I'm really trying to point out. Goodnight and God bless.

Not What It Seems

I was making a blog post last night but more drama happened. I know this is nobody else's business, seeing that I'm the only one who knows anything about the issue in this post, but I couldn't get myself to open my journal and stain my Ju-ju 23rd post with one loaded with swear on the next page. It's rare that I use swear words anywhere and I don't want to reverse that anytime soon.

Your dear friend AM's ought to be asleep by now but she had a minor breakdown at midnight and this other person who may or may not be her is blogging. AM can't sleep and she's pissed. She thought, for exactly thirty-seven days, that maybe she's finally done something significant, something worth mentioning and something worth hearing, but she didn't. And now she feels turd-ish, in tame terms.

I secured myself a year inside a garbage pail with an exaggerated estimate of a hundred people, seventy-five or so of which were rejects from all the other clubs, most notably the Photography Club. I exerted a whole lot of effort into the article I wrote to get into that club but, considering the overpopulation in a club with its maximum members set to twenty-five, it all just seems like a big piece of poop I treated like gold.

I was sitting there, in some desk in IV-5, and I was surrounded by Photography Club rejects. Joining that newspaper club wasn't even in their list of options and yet they were there, as though they did anything and passed. I went through the goddamn needle's eye while they just flowed in and flocked in like some polluted tide. I have zero personal grudges against any of them. In fact, they sit beside me in class. It's just that they don't like the club yet they're all there. It's been proven a million years ago, rotten produce induces premature rotting to other produce.

Do I have to mention the three Year I cliques in the club? This felt a lot like my summer enrichment programs. My mind-set was objective, and I brought none of my friends along. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to. I was the only one who did that, apparently, because I did not expect the possibility of this club being the first real mistake I'll make in high school. Seriously. It's my sick, sad life to flock with people I don't get along with in anything.

As I've mentioned a couple of posts back, my favorite person is in the same club and committee as I am. I'll be seeing her more than I need to. The worst part is she's part of the Editor board and I looked like one of those who did not plan for joining the club. Shame on me? I hid behind the Photography Club rejects (and these are lots of backs) when she came around, which happened twice. I'm that big of a coward and I absolutely hate myself for falling short of her expectations. I think I gave her the wrong impression of me. I rounded the whole school campus after my horrid time in IV-5 just so I could talk to her personally. I didn't find her. But I did see SMUG instead, three times.

You just don't know how happy I was when I got accepted. Now I feel like I've lied. I feel like I rejoiced for nothing. This is what you call moral degradation. That was the first thing I remembered as I woke up. I wished the ceiling would collapse and kill me. I'm no good in anything anymore. All the rejects ruined the value of what I've been wishing for since fourth grade. See? I'm spoiled and rotten now. The only thing I looked forward to in High School is hell all over, and it wouldn't go unless I go. I don't think I'd like to live with this anyway. Who said I'd have to?

(She's a psychological mind-flip. She has to know what I'm talking about without going to this web page. I hope she can read my head because I'm serious and the Softball Club's still open for new members. I need my contract back.)

Fourteen?

SMUG had an inspiring comment... inspiring enough to make me blog on my special day when I swore not to make one. I know I'm murdering my grades. Don't preach. I just thought it weird. Today and the day before this was impossibly nice, whatever the word "nice" might mean. I don't think I've been this happy for two consecutive days. I'm right; maybe it's the birthday streak of luck.

I just owe it to each one of my friends, from SMUG, to my faux sister, to that girl who thought I write poetry (which I don't), to Girl Trouble 1 & 2, and even to that girl who helped me pick up my candles when I dropped some of them. She's the closest I could find to a modern-day Good Samaritan. I think she and I haven't talked for four years, and I find it quasi-unbelievable how she cared enough about me now that she's some kind of... something I'm not quite attached to. (I'll share with you a stupid and one-sided theory regarding flocked feathers in a couple of days.)

Anyway, I'm more than happy. I had no specific wishes but if I had, they probably would have been answered by the awesomeness of today. I mean... this Ju-ju 23rd was the best Ju-ju 23rd yet. It's awesome; I think I might dream of DEVILS and blah-blah-blah. You wouldn't care about my birthday anyways. This post isn't worthy of the bills your dads pay for. Clows thees weendoh end nevuhr veeseet thees peyj agen. I won't mind. I've got school and too much of it, at that. I was just told by SMUG that the Math HW isn't too friendly and we've got double period Math tomorrow so I'll probably leave now. Goodnight.

P.S.
Birthdays make one fly.

P.P.S
My birthday made me fly.

P.P.P.S.
Thank you to everyone who made this day. Hardly anybody knows about this blog but at least I've mentioned it. It makes it true-er.

Healthy Investment

The weather's hellish (assuming that it precipitates wildly in hell everyday) so classes are suspended for the 17th and the 18th day of Ju-ju. Hallelujah-hey! Even the planned Saturday classes were terrorized by the storm. The chappie test in Math will be postponed for at least one weekend, along with my anticipated low test score. Double Hallelujah-hey!

The only sucky thing about the stormy situation is that I'd have to wait another seven days to have a humane conversation with my favorite person at the moment. Friday afternoons are the only fixed time in the week I'd get to talk to her without being pressured to say goodbye within ten seconds of us meeting but the weather speared that chance. The only other way I could converse with that kind creature is through instant messaging, which is a pretty impersonal alternative but it's better than nada.

So I'm also through with writing my story regarding the princess who thought she'd been pregnant for five consecutive years, only to find out she gave birth to a shard of diamonds formed by all of her subdued emotions. She's reclusive like Boo Radley, you see. The main difference is she adored the nightsky. So, to cut the scientifically baseless story, the diamond cut through her uterus and her knight buried her in the cave. And that's how diamonds came about, which led to a long history of African slavery or some racial controversy similar to that.

I hope Ms. Miranda would see through all my ambitious metaphors. Maybe self-deprecation could finally give me a grade. I swear I've been shoving it into people's faces all week. They must know that I know who I am. I'm not that oblivious. I'm not oblivious at all. No no no. I know the names I'm branded with and I'm not pretending my ears shut off every time anybody mentions those. So I'll just make a healthy investment and write stuff down, even if I'm a dull writer. I semi-strategically signed up for news solely for that reason.

Well, goodnight to whoever's out there. I hope all your lives are going well. I hope you're doing better than just okay. I mean these wishes. I don't want your lives to suck. You probably deserve to be happy. Support Harry Potter, by the way. I vaguely remember reading the sixth book when I was... ten years old?

I'm not about to recount the years of my youth. I might as well just reread the book while I'm taking a break from David Sedaris. So, as I was saying, goodnight.

Time-muncher

I haven't found the time for blogging anymore. School life is a total time-muncher. Om nom nom nom. Every second is a drag, and a reminder that there's still so much work to do. It's only been one month but already, we're hunched with schoolwork. I hope I'm subconsciously exaggerating but you know nothing about the agonizing staircase in the high school building, or the English teacher who alters the pronunciation of scarce every year. (And I'd bet she wouldn't interpret Shakespeare the way she's paid to do.)

I've absolutely no time to draw conclusions from my hypotheses. I hope that side of me won't be shaken by school. That defines who I am and without that, I'm a zero to the left of a decimal point, or insignificant, in non-figurative words. Once I return to blogging, I'll construct more word walls. With or without sense, I'll build those and secure my one-member niche.

Maybe I'll get to grow while I'm in my blogless life. I'm sick of this soliloquy anyway. Wouldn't it be nice if I get back here with new lives, new stories and new styles? I always promise myself that but it never happens. I'll make sure it'll come to life this time. Here's a quick goodbye because dreamworld is calling me, at... half-past nine in the evening?

I've a newfound sister, by the way. She's the nicest person I've met, and we're both journalists for the school paper. I hope you'd get to meet her too, even if it's far from the realm of possibility. She's who I want to be like three years from now, and she makes school seem a lot less like Gehenna. Perfect person, FYI and IMO. I just thought I'd mention the existence of these kinds of people.

I'll be back soon enough. Pray time will sharpen my head. :)

Quoteskine

Hello again, my "partially existing" friends who may or may not be genuinely interested in my life. I'm coping with mathematics and I've mostly been evading my quasi-friends. Everything's very definitely okay, except that I haven't got a topic for my wordy blog and it's been six days. I have more or less 120 hours left until our school's completely sanitized from what is now called the Hamthrax. I should make the most of my time in the imploding web, eh?

I wouldn't ask why you still read my blog despite all my lame excuses for less-than-intriguing posts when there are inextinguishably fascinating things out there, like TMZ (if you're a stupid quidnunc) or NYT (if you're a healthy quidnunc), or MTV (if you don't know what a quidnunc is). Maybe you feel obliged to be in this blog, or maybe you're just very condescending. Personally, the reasons wouldn't matter. I don't want this to be another case I'd have to overanalyze. I already have my life to deal with, and my homework too.

One privilege I have as a human being with a functioning mind is to not ask other people stuff that might eventually make me feel bad in the long run. I think I have a privilege to not answer people's questions too. My point is just this, answers come up only after questions are asked. It's not an advice as profound as Gandhi's but it's practical. Ignorance is bliss, as they say. Probably the same group of wise men made anonymous by time also said the truth hurts. Better not doubt their logic.

(Onto a semi-topic...)

I've only mentioned my Moleskine addiction to one person, and that person, being a self-centered cretin, wouldn't choose to remember. I'm not too suprised; the things that make me up aren't worthy of their own room in anybody's memory but that doesn't kill my addiction for these classy and overpriced notebooks. I perused an old summer friend's blog a few days ago and found a link to this Moleskine-related blog.

Apparently, in Tumblr, you're encouraged not to blog, but to reproduce the posts of pop culture freaks and/or wannabe propagandists until you see nearly the same posts in your blog and your friends' blogs. The worst part is you can't justify your text unless you tweak your layout's code, which seems pretty tragic in the point-of-view of somebody who insists on making long paragraphs every durn time she makes a blog post. Now look at this picture I'm reblogging from Quoteskine...

...and tell me Nick & Norah didn't come across you head when you saw it because it did to me. I had a realization about my being a careless dupe, immediately after. It was Charlie's. It only occurred to me a few seconds ago that the text written in purple would make sense on its own. I think my cranial nerve II's malfunctioning. Maybe this was what my mom was pointing out when she said games like Tap Tap Revenge make people significantly dumber.

So that's all the drivel for the first day of Ju-ju. I call it Ju-ju because July happens to be somebody's birth month and Ju-ju is a good way to commemorate and acknowledge the baby lisp we all had. Oooh-gagaaah! I don't think I have to point out that I didn't have a particular direction in this post. It's not so bad to be free from my icontractedmalady tether, by the way. I think it's healthy to stray from my resentment-filled posts every once in a while.

Don't you think so too? Goodnight and God bless.