The grown-ups are certainly very, very odd.

This is just so... silly. These things should make one smile, not frown. I am learning to be content with the tingly feeling. Like I said, while love makes one happy, want makes her unhappy. Just let go of the want. It's really very simple.
Here is what I just realized, just now. What happens is that I see things as matters of great consequence. I become too concerned and melodramatic and then I worry myself sick. I shouldn't do that. Not much is so important that I should lose sleep for thinking of it. I look for things too hard. Just sit, and... I don't know. But I don't feel like I have to know. Just smile. Watch the sunset. Sing a song. Watch the stars without counting them, because they're not mine. They just are. I just am.
I feel much better.
I took awhile coming to this. I used to be a counter, an owner, a... mushroom. I used to be a mushroom.


P.S. I learned a new word today. It starts with and 'e' and ends with running away.
P.P.S. 1920. waddup.

It's only a KILLING MACHINE. Why the weird look?

What is the most hideous thing you've ever seen?

ME TOO.
Sometimes, I just cannot believe I'm supposed to be here. I have to be from someplace else. Sometime else.
There's really no way to get out. The disgust will follow me wherever I go. I just hope I get reborn somewhere that isn't proud of this bullshit. 

I just was told I'm going to Hell.

Bitch please.
So. There is a lot going on in my head.
My faith is inconsistent. I know it. But God is patient. I'll get there.
And I'm in awards tomorrow. I suppose that means I'll miss the next one, but like. It's not sitting quite right with me. I don't know why.

Another thing. The Google video actually made me feel better. It gets better. 
On that note. I hate being in the middle of this thing. I'm glad to be the messenger, but honey you need to step up. I know nothing will come of your attempts, not right now anyway. But girl. It will be fine whatever you do. I'm not going to lie and say it won't hurt. It will. But I'll be with you the whole time. I mean. We're basically the same person, after all. Just be honest with her. 

Me: You're a liar.
Myself: You're the liar.
(Both sigh heavily at once.)

True Colors.

Many things. 

First, a difference of opinion. I just wasn't braced for that sort of impact. Because there's no such thing as grey area, right?

Second, that would not have been fair to either of us, as we each are incredibly... distracted. 

And third. I'm in the mood for adjectives.

(If any one saw Glee tonight. It was a rerun, but still.)

It's that scene where Finn is walking down the hall with Quinn, and Rachel turns and watches them walk by with these big sad eyes. And then the camera zooms forward to catch Kurt's head turning to follow him too. There aren't big sad eyes. Just this sort of sigh that we can all relate to, but harder. More... hopeless. And hurt, and guilty but also defiant because he's not wrong, it just is thought of that way. And accepting, but also willing to fight whatever battle comes along, and sort of angry, but not angry enough to follow through a punch. Heart-broken. Or maybe it just looks that way to me. Um.

whatever.

No one gives a damn anyway. 

P.S. I suck at adjectives lately. 

I should absolutely not be posting when my hormones are all aflutter. Oh well. 

 

I have this thing where I leak. Not like I pee my pants. My eyes. I quite literally leak. Not even when I'm sad. Just whenever my tear ducts feel like it. It happened twice in the past week. I mean. I'm not saying I have no reason to be crying. It's just been a while since I've cried at school. Like, forever. I'm not used to it.

Also. To be trusted is a wonderful, wonderful thing. I'm grinning right now. 
 

[yes!]

wonderfulwonderfulwonderful

(I am at ease)

Raw Nerve

I am going to be blunt.
No apologies.

I want to be a princess. Legitimately. I want to look pretty all the time.
I can't decided if I want to keep growing out my hair or to just cut it all off. Start over. 
I just sent in my letter for a yellow ribbon. 
I want to be able to fly. I'm serious. You know that kid in X-men, with the wings? I want those. 
I want to buy things online. 
I want to feel okay actually using this blog. I don't want to be vague. I don't want people to think 'what the hell is she talking about?' 
I want to go to Australia. Very, very badly.
I want my English teacher to read my journal already, and I want her to be impressed with how honest I'm being. I really am being honest too. That never happens in school journals like that.
I kind of want to be a singer. 
I want to play the walk across the room game again.
I want to be accepted completely, petty wanting included. 
I don't give a damn what your boyfriend says about me.
I want my faith to be consistent. For the love of God, I want to love Him.
I want to find another good ring.
I want to wear more dresses.
I want to bring a girl home.
And next to that. I want to know if I'm gay or not. Or bi. Or if this is just a phase. This ambiguity is bullshit. It's like a bad meal that just sits in the pit of my stomach ALL THE TIME. I have a constant headache that I hardly even notice anymore, except for when it's very quiet. 
I'm really glad I can be openly (melodramatic). This time last year, I talked to NO ONE. Not about this. And now I can. I'd guess around 70% of the band knows I like her now. I don't think anyone really cares but me, but talking about it is wonderful. I can comfortably use the word 'her' in conversation; for a little while it was weird. 
I'm not looking a for a relationship. most of the time, I'm not looking for a relationship. I don't need one. I just want something solid, emotionally and physically too. I want something to happen where I can be sure of my emotions. Because right now, I feel like all of everything in this entire world just might be going on in my head. I haven't even seen Inception. I still think I'm crazy, I just don't care that much anymore. But I digress.
I want something real, like I said. I want a hand to hold whenever I want. And I have that, but not in a romantic sense. Best friends are wonderful, but it's a difficult thing when you have to share a best friend with some guy. I want someone who wants me, just me. Specifically, specially. Me and all my wanting, my music and ridiculous attention span and my books and ideas and Legos and handwriting and blog and lack of respect for the most respectable things, my cliche poetry and my journals and every last bit of my bullshit. And for me to ask for that is a very selfish thing. And a person like that won't just walk through my door. I don't expect that. I know it'll happen one day. I just want a step in the right direction. I want to know where I'm going, because right now all I can see is myself in third person wandering aimlessly through nothing. Like that one Spongebob episode, where Squidward is in the white nothing and everything he says is displayed in colorful words in the air. 
Goddamn. My self-control is incredible, even to me. I still haven't cried. I sat on my hands at that one away game. What I have kept myself from saying and doing has been bottled up for a ridiculous amount of time. That I haven't yet e x p l o d e d is remarkable, even for me.

I guess that's what this was. A written explosion. A small one, but just you wait.
Why can't I be concise? Why do I have to write a novel every time I feel strongly about something?
Oh yeah. Because I still can't use proper nouns. Where the hell did I learn that? [...] I should just break the fucking rules one day. 
I said I'd be blunt. 

Rainbows

Today is National Coming Out Day.

[...]

Why do I only use pronouns and direct address? Why not names? It's not like people don't know.

So. Things are cleared. At least, my conscience is. I've apologized for my immaturity and I don't plan on exhibiting it again any time soon. 

On that note, well. With her, things are very... careful. Very careful. Not uncomfortable, not polite in order to avoid being rude, and not obviously guarded. Just very careful.

I like John Denver quite a bit. That man knew what's up. 

I am so incredibly lucky to be here. I am surrounded by the most wonderful human beings I could have asked for. I have support from people I hardly know. My family... honestly, my family doesn't give a damn how I identify myself. They just love me. There's no special support from them in this specific situation, but there is a continuation of how things have always been. Nothing has changed, and that's just fantastic. 

I love singing. 

I decided, right now, this minute, that tomorrow will be a good day. A normal day. No bullshit whatsoever.

 

Sunshine almost always makes me high.

P.S. Happy birthday mom!

This year is going by so fast. I've had moments that I've taken for granted. Sitting in the office copying drill (eating Oreos) and talking about being sure and unsure and Sarah and that one boy and Patrick's eyes. It won't happen again. Summer is over. It's been a month already.

So. This/that is the most awful, MEDIEVAL circumstance I can think of. I can't even think about it because I'll get so worked up about it. Not fair. If it was me, I'd be out the door the moment I turn eighteen. And yeah, yeah, first amendment rights. But you can't just delegate those. Everyone gets them. Just... goddamn. Get your ass out of the 16th century. I'm hurting for your family. (Maybe if I was a real princess I would be okay.)

Also. JUST KISS HER.  Unless you have a master plan for this, it's senior year buddy. Hang the rules.

And my dear, thank you for being such a good friend through all this. I know I'm unbelievably MELODRAMATIC, but you let me yell it in fifth period and you listen to all my crap and complaints and happy moments and everything. And thanks for being my hairdresser. I love you so much.

I really enjoy talking to people. I should have started earlier. Like last year. But oh well. I have no time for regrets anymore.

For what should have been a bad week, this was absolutely fantastic.

P.S. I kind of like three. With three of us, it's more comfortable I think.

A person who is unafraid to present a candid version of herself to the world is as rare as diamonds.

Just something to think about.
I'm doing my best.


I'm really sorry. Really, really sorry. Despite the fact that I discounted most of his reprimands, I'm sorry. I was, in fact, very selfish. That was me at eleven years old. I know better than that and I'm sorry.
 I know there is a difference between honest and rude. Between justifiable discontent and petty complaints. I understand that. I let the line separating the two blur too much, until I thought it was somewhere else. My unhappiness was apparent even to the freshmen and my grievances reached one too many ears. I apologize.  

Rest Assured

Honey, don't even.

So this is going to be a hard week.

It has been quite awhile since someone has directly told an adult on me. Even longer since I was lectured like a child. And even longer since I was so direct about my feelings for someone. Oddly enough, I feel an overwhelming amount of resentment. Towards who or what, I'm not sure. A lot of things. The way this is falling into place gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. My choices were these:

A. Be moody.

B. Be a whiney tell-tale.

C. Explode.

The choice seems obvious to me.Once again, I made the wrong decision.

It seems so childish to say, but the words rang true in the hearts of all the great revolutionaries.

That's not fair.
But when I say it, it's wrong.

I really like direct address.

You,

When is it okay to do that? I gave you a good 30 minutes to come up with a convincing lie and I still don't believe a word you said. Stay the fuck away from me. There is a reason I hadn't told you.

You,

Dumbass. I can't even say anything else. I know the compunction is killing you. I'm doing it on purpose.

You,

Funny how you're always involved. (Hey, let's be lesbians!) I have ears. Goddamn. It's a fucking library, I CAN HEAR YOU.

And you.

Honey. I am so angry with you. THIS HURTS. In case you couldn't tell. I know I'm wearing my 'fuck-off' face a lot these days, but really. I want you to understand what it feels like to be on this end. I can't tell if you're creating distance because I was being melodramatic on Saturday or because I (am) being melodramatic about you. Both of which are true.. It's just stereotypical for the kid being told on to be ignored and not asked for her side. And I should have already learned that.

P.S. I'm doing fantastically well in the world of academics. And I really like holding hands.

(There's that silver lining, sweety.) 

I'm feeling candid.

This is so wonderful. It's the Ican'tevenbreatherightnowbecauseI'msittinginroundtablelaughingsohardImightpukeupmyspleen feeling.
On favoritism:
It's in the moment. Sometimes, you are in a place with a person, and no amount of bribery could make you want to leave. So... you're my favorite.


I like holding hands.


Silly little             .
Wait, you guys. (Thanks poopheads.)