Why Hello There

I'll cut the crap. I've not written in ages. I didn't do shite in NaNoWriMo. I'm going to write more.... Yeah.

Sarah

Warning: Cathartic Rant

I am seventeen years old. I admit that, when not in a crisis situation, I do not act my age. That does not mean you have the permission or the right, to speak to me as though I am twelve. I try so hard to judge people by their intentions, instead of actions, but eventually I cannot fight the urge to ignore the reason of others. The first time you spoke down to me, it hurt, but the next day I forgot of such. Then it happened again and again. There are but sixteen days left, and yet you make me want to skip them all, to avoid you and everyone else treating me as though I’m inferior to everyone. I already feel in the way, left out and like a perpetual hindrance. I’m not going to hunt your down, so in person I may list my many social faults to you, or my insecurities, to try and make you understand how much you ‘hurt’ me. Nor can I guarantee that, if you do it again, I won’t finally voice my opinion of how you treat me. First, you bitch at my friend as she raged, as though feelings are controllable and something to punish other for. Now, I cannot try and look out for a friend.


Fine. I will sulk, avoid you, and curse like a little twelve year old who has just been to exposed to expletives. If you’re going to treat me like a child, just fuck off.

Instead

I could be writing of the terrible mindset I seem to have put myself in. I could recall the woe of being reject by someone I'm enamoured by, the inability to wear pants with a size smaller than half my age, and the instability found in the rapidly changing moods of my parents. Oh wait, no. I can't. I have found it physically impossible to do such. Instead, for the moment being I feel quite content, happy even. So, now you get to hear about that.


I received acceptance to my first choice school. There is a chance we're "poor enough" to have 2/3 of my tuition covered. I'm going to get to move out, but will always have a home to come back to. I have a really great relationship with my mum. I tell her almost anything, she's like my best friend/secret keeper/chauffeur. It's warm enough to walk home from school, I've been able to fit in an hour of running into my day, and it is officially 'shorts weather' in my world. I'm excited for prom, graduation and parade season. I love using gouges and chisels for art, and have only stabbed one finger (left thumb) twice.


Just when I started to feel as though my friends haven't a single shit to give, a fantastic redhead proves me wrong. She has written on my facebook wall, and did to me in her own blog. I have no clue how to show her how much it means, or let her know how much I appreciate her. But I will, even if I have to draw her and duct tape said drawing to the whiteboard of our lit class. (Everyone knows, only the classiest get their portraits done by artists.)


Now, I am off to look up scholarships, job applications (I've decided I'm saving for a netbook to write with, and a camera lens), more information on my future place of education, and plot how I'm going to show Melissa how glad I am that we are friends.


Sarah

April 22nd, 2011

For some reason unknown to me, my head feels as though my brain is vibrating. Well, not literally vibrating, but it's like I cannot hold onto a thought, or each and everyone lacks the normal stability of the things usually being thought up in my head. Sort of like every bit of me is in slow-mo, but my thoughts are bouncing around in my head, giving off little echoes and disrupting each other.
Now my body itself is starting to join in, but I'm pretty sure that's the self-inflicted movement that occurs to keep myself awake. Not that I'm terribly tired. Well, I am, but I sleep enough. It's just a sort of metal/physical exhaustion that is my constant.
What was the point of this? I could have sworn I had something to say. I don't know. The only thing I've written has been verbal, quite odd and most definitely unusable, unless I can decide on a different orifice or method of implantation. Really, with my luck it will just turn into a really old "Buffy The Vampire Slayer" episode. Oh well. Honestly, you'd think the brain-crack would cease or something. And yet, still bouncing in my seat, unable to cling to one thought. Oh well.

Sarah

Journal Excerpt

I admit it, I am a terrible influence.
My poisoned thoughts invade those inhabiting the minds of others.
They change with the wind,
but there is never a decrease in their potency,
never a decrease in how loathsome they are toward myself and others.
No one is safe from the cerebral run-off,
more toxic than an oil spill or nuclear waste.
The most kind-hearted can't escape unscathed,
even monsoons of melancholy cannot aid in ending the drought.
My heart is as dry and brittle as ever,
and I fear such shall never change.

April 18th, 2011

Busy weekends leave me drained, no matter how fantastic they are. They also make you feel shit after, because you're alone and dull again, with the same chant stuck in your head.

Sarey, Sarey, Quite contrary, Always feels alone,
She wants to cry, and I can't lie, sometimes wants to leave home.

I'm hoping if I sleep for a week, maybe I can write something "better".

Sarah.

April 10th, 2011

After the wake, I wrote the required words, resulting from my first encounter with death as someone older than five. I have written in my hidden journal, full of angry words toward myself. There is the useless plotting, of things to write 'some day.' If only that day really existed, somewhere other than the realm of imagination. Feeling full of things useless and cumbersome, and empty of things the that matter, leads to minimal productivity. As does censoring myself, to get into college, avoid trouble, and the scrutiny of others.

Sarah