Happiness Is A Warm Gun

26 04 2008

(OR HIGH SCHOOL AND ITS TYRANNY)

I’ve felt disconnected for the past few weeks, like nothing was important–including this blog.  Especially this blog.  I click on that login button and I go “UGH, do I have to?”  Not anymore–I feel rejuvenated!  It was this odd chain of events that led to me spending the majority of my weekend with Ms. Rachel Ellane (she is no longer Ramxpage) and working my high school’s junior-senior prom.  And I’ve never had more fun.

As if to remind me how miserable I was during me and Rachel’s spat, our HSAP prompt asked me to recall my fondest memory (or one of them anyway).  The first thing that came to mind was the first time I ever ice skated–and that was with Rachel.  And, in an odd, roundabout way, it made me realize guys are not more important thand a good time.  Does that make sense?  This whole yaer–my whole high school career, in fact–I have let guys make me miserable and make me cry.  And the only crying I’m going to be doing is when my favorite teacher leaves.  (Don’t worry.  I’ll still talk to her–that’s not what makes me cry; I’ll be crying because she’ll finally escape the tyranny of our high school.)

I’ve always said that the line about hapiness coming from within was pretty much bullshit.  Shows how much I thought I knew.  Because, at the moment, I am completely content inside.  Rachel and I are back to normal–annoying each other for fun–and I don’t really like any guy at the moment, except for the boy in my class, but I’m taking that extremely slow due to some advice. (*cough*diane*cough*)  So that means the only thing I’m stressing over is what I’m wearing to HSAP testing tomorrow.  (Sounds like a disease, doesn’t it?  AIDS, HSAP, HIV, can you name the STD?)

I’m watching Ratatouille, which is an amazing movie.  You’ve got to love the characters.  Speaking of charactesr, I should work on a post for my writing blog.  It’s going to be interesting juggling all the internet crap I’ve got piled up.  I recently revived my livejournal for Rachel, so I’m juggling that, two wordpress blogs, twitter, etc.  Joy.  Plus, I forget, like, everything.  I forgot to message people on Twitter because I was caught up in Backseat Goodbye’s “Hello Yellow” (which is all RACHEL’S FAULT.)

So, I’ll leave you with this song that sums up a lot.

Sometimes I fear that I might dissapear
In the blur of fast forward I faulter again
Forgetting to breathe, I need to sleep
I’m getting nowhere

All that I’ve missed I see in the reflection
Passed me while I wasn’t paying attention
Tired of rushing, racing and running
I’m falling apart

Tell me
Oh won’t you take my hand and lead me
Slow me down
Don’t let love pass me by
Just show me how
‘Cause I’m ready to fall
Slow me down
Don’t let me live a lie
Before my life flys by
I need you to slow me down
-“Slow Me Down” by Emmy Rossum





Curbxstomp & Ramxpage

25 04 2008

Many of you read about me and Ramxpage’s crippling fight about a month ago; I was broken up about it and very recently we have gone back to our old ways:  extremely long pone calls, hanging out at her house and eating like cows.  You can see the difference in my attitude, because I’m listening to music again, my writing has improved, and I have initiative I feel great.  Or felt anyway.

I had a great school day–Daniel was in a good mood, HSAP was over, and I was working on a new story.  then I came home. That’s when everything becomes a suck fest.  I’m going to glaze over the events, because no one would reallly understand anyway.  So, about eightish–after I pampered myself (the norm:  shaving, lotion, eyebrows plucked and all the while I was listening to Vanessa Carlton)–I couldn’t take it anymore.  I threw on public appropriate clothes (I was wearing booty shorts and a cami, and my mom nearly had a heart attack and made me put on “decent” clothes) and took my phone outside.

While I was at the dinner table, before this, I was fighting tears.  So, when I was more relaxed, I called Rachel, because no one understands more than she does.  So I sat in my driveway and called her.  I was doing okay for the first half of the conversation, but when she was asking me what was wrong, I started to tell her and then all hell broke loose.  In other words, I burst into tears.

I sat in my driveway, crying for more than twenty minutes, telling her everything.  Unlike some people that I confide in, she was completely indignant on my behalf and made me feel a lot better, and I love her for it.  She was completely outraged and she made me laugh to make me feel better.  It’s great to have a best friend who doesn’t question all that you do.  And, she didn’t want me to wear my boots, and I did anyway, because some guy asked me to and I should have listened to her.  Because now, my ankles are bleeding and I’m in serious pain.  Rachel ALWAYS knows best.

You know someone’s your best friend when they defend you even if you are wrong, but when it’s all over they say, “Uh, do you even know what you’re talking about?”

“Hello, how are you?  I think that we should be best friends.”
-“Hello, Yellow” by Backseat Goodbye 





Fix You

15 04 2008

So my personal posts have been on the minimum lately, because…well, because there’s really been so much bothering me that to post about all of it would take years–and it’s only happened in a matter of days.  Time feels as if it is passing by sluggishly–like Father Time decided to take a couple Loritabs like the rest of American society to dull the pain of a dull life.  It’s so tiring that when I get home, I just lay down and close my eyes and hope everything goes away.  I thought I would be happier now that I’m working on a relationship.  Now, I think the relationship is making me more miserable.

There is this one guy.  I’m not dating him, I don’t even know if he calls me his friend, but he is utterfly amazing.  He is the opposite of everything I have ever been drawn to in my whole life.  I am usually drawn to the bad boys, and while he has a certain air of “bad boy” he’s not a druggie, nor does he feel the need to break the law.  He’s actually an athlete, a swimmer to be precise and he is…He’s really nice to me, he talks to me, and sometimes he’ll call me out when I say something that makes me seem blond, but he never, ever makes me feel stupid, which is something even my best friends make me feel.  I think he is perfect.  I think that, if we dated, I would be happier than I ever was.  He’s sort of blond…I don’t think he can technically be called blond–it’s more of a honey brown.  He listens to a lot of the same music, which starts a lot of conversations.  He also reads!  Yeah!  I know!  Me, like someone who’s actually literate?  Amazing.  He’s read The Stand of all things, which even I can’t get through.

He sits in front of me in my English class, and when I talk to him, I think time should just stop for us.  He probably doesn’t even think of me in passing during the day, but, you know what, I’m okay with that.  He’s just so…ah!  I can’t even describe it.  It’s one of those you-have-no-words-for-it-it’s-so-amazing.  It’s unspeakable.  It’s like someone lit a fire in my stomach and poured gasoline on it.  I don’t hate him, like I hate most the people I’m attracted.  I just think it’s a safe admiration from a safe distance…although, it’s like less than two feet away.  Who knows if he does maybe care just a tiny bit?  I dated his friend for a few months, so he’s known about me for a really, really long time.

He just seems like the one who might be able to fix me, put me back together.  My friend told me he was horrible in relationships, but that doesn’t matter.  My friend isn’t trying to put himself back together.

When you try your best, but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

~ Coldplay “Fix You”





There’s Your Sign, Pt. 1

15 04 2008

I’m taking a leaf out of Jeff Foxworthy’s metaphorical book and providing some comic relief.

You know you’ve encountered the Lost Generation when…

  •  
    • You hear police sirens and the kid in front of you jumps and says “Shit! I hope they  haven’t found my stash!”
    • Your high school has more expelled students than graduating students.
    • You hear “That’s what she said” ten times in just as many minutes.
    • The kid walking by you is tired because he’s coming off a hangover and a bedtime of an hour before.
    • You see two guys shake hands in the hallway at school.  (That is not a handshake kids.)
    • The only thing people want to know about you is “Do you have a cigarette?”
    • Getting kicked out of the house at 17 for drug use is the norm.
    • A pregnant girl responds to the question of her age like the following: “I’m 17, not that it’s any of your business; and yes, I know who the father is–do you think I’m a ho?
    • Someone thinks attending church will save them from hell.
    • A student skips class for their ninth Fall Out Boy concert, comes back and says, “Well, isn’t it excused?”
    • The person walking in front of you stops to talk and won’t “move out the way.”
    • You are called “Shawty” and “Sweet Thang.”
    • You see blown up condoms in the auditorium.
    • Someone asks what kind of government the United States operates under.  (It is debatable.)

I have definitely encountered all of these, so that’s why they put it there. 

And there’s your sign.





White Wall

10 04 2008

I don’t understand the concept of clearing your mind.  I just don’t; I can’t even explain it.  To me, it’s like trying to understand what eternity is like.  I cannot conjure that “white wall” of nothingness that symbolizes a blank mind.  It is almost impossible for me.

I have been trying to conjure that perfectly white wall all freaking day.  Because I dwell on lots of stuff, but right now I can only think about one thing, one person and it’s…killing me.  I get this soaring sensation in my stomach; so I’m trying to sit in class and concentrate, but my mind is definitely somewhere else.  Makes it hard to take a test when I’m smiling about something he said or trying not to count down the minutes until I get out of class.  Reintroduce the soaring sensations in my stomach.  Ugh.

Especially since I have a temper, that damned white wall would be useful if it would a-freaking-ppear.  In Taste of Night, Tekla has the troop trying to make and destroy walls with their minds.  I cannot do either of them.  (Of course, I’m talking figuratively, because no one can do that.)  In the same book (through the whole series), I find myself confused by the Tulpa, unable to understand.  How do you get your mind around a being solidified by thought, not science?  By birth from a mother?  Confusing, that is. 😛 I guess we can’t understand everything.

I’m still having soaring sensations.  Catch you guys later.





It’s All In The Name

7 04 2008

Up until recently, I had never really thought about how a name changes or affects the person it is attached to.  Kaelie means “pure” and my family understands how well that name “fits” me.  I’m in no way perfect, pure, or anything like that, but certain aspects of my actions, thoughts, and behavior convey that last little bit of puerness that will be lost in the transition to adulthood.

I’ve posted about names before.  Now that I’m getting older, I think about responsibilities coming towards me like a fast ball.  Sometimes I even go into a panic.  Fear accompanies every single one of these thoughts.  Now that marriage is back on the radar, I have been thinking about the next 5 years, the next 10 years, the next 20.  Am I going to spend that time bitter and alone, or will I find someone willing to marry me?  (Trust me, I wouldn’t even marry me.)  Will I find someone I’m willing to have children for?  That is THE ultimate commitment, to me, anyway; not marriage.  Having someone’s child… that binds ou to them through the child that is half of each of you.

Back to names (I swear, these tangents are killing me.)  I think naming a child is up there in one of the most difficult decisions ever.  (Number one is deciding to write or read, for I adore them both; naming a child comes after that.)  Look at how hard it is to name  my characters.  I mean, you have nine months to name a baby.  With a story, it’s not such a pressing issue.   But, with a story, I have to be absolutely sure.  Because once I use a name, it sticks.  If I go back and change it, it confuses the hell out of me.  With a kid, if you decide when they’re six, you don’t like their name, too BAD.  You can’t change it without affecting them.

While children aren’t exactly on the radar (they’re on there. Ugh.)  I have decided between a few names.  Emma Lynn for my daughter and Elijah Lucas for my son.  That, however, is assuming I’m having children and only having a son and a daughter.  But, you never know, do you?