It Starts

Okay, so it really takes a lot to get me annoyed. It really does. I may not like some things people do or say, but I can handle most of what goes on around me. Even if it does bug me, I won't let it get to me. So what is wrong with me now? I am trying hard to be impartial, to make sure that I am not peeved, yet this person is just getting on my nerves. I didn't think it was possible without completely going wacko on me. Sometimes, though, enough is enough, and you can't always stay on my good side forever. I'm just afraid of finding out what happens to those on my bad side...

The Joys of Swine Flu

Who would have thought that I would want to go to class? Sadly, I am sick of sitting in bed all day watching tv shows. I really wish my chest would just stop hurting so I can actually get something done with my life. That would be nice. Luckily I caught the nasty bugger before it completely took over my body and made me collapse into nothingness. Yeah, that wouldn't have been good...

Some things I just feel like saying:

*Guitar. It is awesome. Pretty much it's my new favorite thing, and I feel sorry for my roommates because they have to listen to me all day. I especially feel bad because I am addicted and it isn't even my guitar. I have to let Ashley take part in the fun because it belongs to her and she's learning just like I am. But pretty much after two days I can almost play two songs. Oh yeah, I win. (I told my mom I wanted a guitar for Christmas and she said that was a good idea. That sounds promising...)

*Writing. For me, it never seems to happen on cue. I try to write something, but it doesn't come out. It only works when there's no point to it, which should make the next two and a half years of school interesting.

*Bugs. They are, quite possibly, one of the things the earth could have done without. Today we found a cockroach, and not just a little itty bitty cockroach like those we've seen before, but one that was at least an inch long. Where did he come from? I don't know. All I know is he was nasty. What's funny, though, is that all the bugs in our house seem to seek out Amberlee because they know she's terrified. Why is that? Is it a little bug game, and the rest of us just aren't as fun because we aren't as scared? Maybe they know Amberlee won't kill them... On a high note, our black widows seem to have been exterminated due to Justin's pyro tendencies. Lysol cleaning spray and a lighter. That's all you need to know.

*Mythology. It may be interesting, but I really don't care all that much about Zeus and all his exploits. Yeah, he gets around, but his story isn't even the cool one. Can't I just learn about all the Greek heroes instead of the annoying, selfish, and altogether pointless gods. At least let me learn more about the Egyptians...

*My fingers. They hurt. I suppose that comes along with learning guitar, but it's really starting to irritate me. I want to feel the tips of my fingers, because typing when they're slightly numb is an interesting experience, and one that I could have done without.

*Capulet. I really, really, really wish I had a picture of our little mouse. If I did, he would probably be laughing in it. How is it that one little mouse can be so insanely smart? It's like I'm reliving the movie Mouse Hunt. Capulet got into our room once, and though we trapped him in there and spent over two hours trying to catch him, he somehow escaped. I am convinced that he is a mutant mouse and can transport himself through the fabric of space. After the room incident, Jamie found him sitting on the stove. The stove, yes. Why the stove? I have no idea. But Jamie screamed and he slipped down into the little hole that is in the middle of the burner, and then she came to get me. When I arrived in the kitchen (which is right across the hall from my room, by the way) the stove was entirely mouse-less. I even lifted up the 'lid' thing to look under the burners. Nope. No Capulet. We always see him running around the house and he has two nice holes in the wall in Kayla and Ashley's room. It's pretty funny, actually, to see him just running around the house like he owns the place. He probably does. Pace told us that Capulet was just chilling on his bed, once, without a care in the world. He probably laughs at us all the time.

Ah, Capulet, why'd you have to actually give us a sign that you still exist? Couldn't you have just popped into the room so we could see you? You didn't have to go and leave us a couple of presents on the stove... Spider Mouse, you just don't make a lot of sense. First, you don't get into the food on the counter when you can obviously get on the counter. Second, you avoid every trap we set, elude every attempt we made to catch you. Third, and last, you somehow get up on the stove and poop in the few minutes that no one is in the kitchen. Honestly, how do you do that? We were in the kitchen all day today!

*Sugar. Yes. I get to eat you tomorrow. I love you, I really do. Get ready for me.

Waiting

The bell tower across the river chimed ten when he heard the first shout, and by that time he had already finished his first cup of coffee and was starting a second. Three couples had occupied the table next to him (more than one conversation had included tears) but still he sat there, just waiting. The clouds were gone by then, and though the street was still wet, the sun smiled over head, pleased by its reflection in the practically unmoving water. He didn’t see this; he never saw the sun anymore.

He didn’t hear another shout until his third cup of coffee, which he had only gotten because the waitress had a gap in her front teeth. He was awake now. The cup just sat on the table in front of him, waiting to be drunk, just as the rest of the street waited for something to happen. It was too quiet, he decided. Everything was too quiet.

The clock chimed eleven, a bird chirped, a dog barked, but still it was too quiet. He coughed, but the echo from across the river was empty, almost silent. The world was reluctant to cough back. Margo would come, he eventually told himself. She would be there. The river didn’t want to cough back.

The shouting suddenly became intense, furious, and instead of the occasional cry he heard continued commotion. A mangy dog ran past, disturbing the still water as he kicked a few dead leaves into the river. Two men rushed after him, shouting in unison just as they wore matching black suits.

Margo wasn’t coming. With a sigh he stood up and put his tattered hat on his head, leaving his coffee on the table. There it waited. It was too quiet.

Joseph the Pony with the Long and Flowing Hair

Once upon a time there was a little pony named Joseph. He was the proudest of all the little ponies because he had the longest, flowingest hair in the entire Pony Kingdom. Most of the other ponies didn't like him because he was so arrogant, but Joseph just told himself that because their hair was mangy and dirty, they were just jealous. You see, to Joseph, everyone was jealous.

One day, when Joseph was combing his long and flowing hair, he realized that his brush was sparkling. His brush had never sparkled before, so he spent a few hours staring at it trying to figure out why such a simple object would sparkle like that. Perhaps, he thought to himself, that brush was in awe and wanted his hair to be even more long and flowing, so it would be longer and flowinger than even HIS hair! So he spent the rest of the afternoon brushing his long and flowing hair with his sparkly brush. Soon the sun went down and the brush no longer sparkled, so Joseph decided that he would go to bed and dream about long and flowing hair and sparkly brushes.

But when Joseph got to his bed, he realized that now that his hair was even more long and flowing, his regular old pillow didn’t deserve to hold his hair. That presented a problem for Joseph, because he didn’t know where ponies got their pillows. Ever since he’d been created as a fictional character he had had his pillow, so now that he needed a new one, he didn’t know what to do. But then the narrator realized that he needed a new pillow for his long and flowing hair brushed by a sparkly brush, and Joseph discovered that there was suddenly a red silk pillow resting delicately upon his bed. Such a fine pillow had never been seen throughout the land! Joseph had spent so much time worrying about his long and flowing hair that was now even longer and more flowing because he had brushed it with his sparkly brush that he was very tired, so he laid his head down on the red silk pillow and fell asleep, there to dream of long and flowing pony hair, brushes that sparkled, and red silk pillows.

Then, while he slept, the other ponies crept in, cut all his hair, and ruined Joseph’s happy life forever.

Eyes

The best poems are those that you find a year after you wrote them. For example, this one:

Too many confrontations.

Too many disputations.

We only have so much

and yet we try to use

everything.

So many places are for us to view

and see without blemish.

But that is disappearing

as people use up what is there.

The more we use, the less we can see.

Protection is essential

for keeping the world

a place where we can live.

Everyone is different and we all have different

ideas and beliefs, and even tho

se who believe the same thing

understand it differently.

A world without tolerance is selfish.

Demonic.

Careless.

Not having tolerance is like not having eyes.

You see only

what you want to see.

Without tolerance, man is blind.

He doesn’t see the similarities

between everyone.

But he is afraid of what he does see.

The differences…

If only he saw everything,

saw that everyone was human

like him.

We need to open our eyes.

We can’t see only

the color of the skin,

the look in the eye,

or only hear

the accent in the voice.

If we open our eyes

we’ll see the lives behind the faces;

the man behind the skin.

We speak of what we know,

yet we know nothing

and say so in our words.

For we are not only what is seen,

but also what is heard

and read.

For the world is not only what is seen,

but also what is learned

when we open our eyes.

You Don't Know Me

You Don’t Know Me

You don’t know me.

You never did.

You only saw a shell, instead of what was really there.

I could see how you saw me.

I always can.

I don’t mind.

I don’t really care.

I have this shell for a reason.

Maybe I do want to be funny,

To be loud,

To be seen.

But really I just want to be known

For who I am, not for who I seem to be.

Issues

I discovered that I have serious issues with listening to my professors. I'll be sitting there in class, watching his or her mouth move even though nothing seems to be entering into my head. I'll hear everything they say, but they never seem to make sense. Like today, for example. I knew what my French professor was saying, but I just didn't seem to get it. Then, later, my creative writing professor told us what our homework was. I heard what he said, went to write it down, and nothing came to mind. It's like there is so much going on in my head that I can't actually focus on what's most important. Malik, Jak, Damian, and Catherine have all decided that they are more important that Lanna and her schooling. It's bad, and I'm going to have to find a way to lock them out, especially Malik. I can't fail this semester simply because I am incapable of focusing on what is on hand. That's just not my thing, and I'm not going to let an egotistical thief king get in the way of my future (even he is my future).

Touched

Why is it never simple when it comes to my brain? Even when there aren't a million thoughts running through my head telling me to do stuff, it's complicated. For me, silence is more complicated than chaos. I have days when I can't even think about anything at all and I just lounge around watching pointless TV shows that don't even stimulate me in any way. They don't even make me want to write, which, for me, means something is definitely wrong. I can't figure out why I have these days or what their purpose is, and it frustrates me to no end when I fall into these sort of ruts. They're a problem because it is so hard to get out of my daze. It takes a phone call from a friend I haven't seen for four months, or a story about trolls and cherry pie, or hearing about some crazed, screaming man running around a Walmart parking lot in his underwear. Without something odd, random, and/or ridiculous, I get stuck. Hence the beginnings of a blog.

Oddly, or maybe not oddly, I can't think in my own head. It doesn't work that way for me. Thinking has to be done on paper--except for when it comes to math, which is beside the point. Even if no one sees it, reads it, or hears me read it, once something is written it all makes so much more sense. Without a doubt my fingers are smarter than my brain, which illustrates how disfunctional my life really is.

I'm run by a combination of at least five major personalities, with several smaller minds on the outskirts. One brain is the one that got me through most of my life. Lanna is simple, shy, a hopeless romantic, and holds a deeply rooted desire to rebel. She has a darker side, however, and one that isn't the smartest of the bunch.

Catherine is, for lack of a better word, a brat. She doesn't usually come out to play, but she spent a good deal of time running my life way back when I was ten. Good times.

The final three personalities that make me who I am are, strangely, men. What's even stranger, however, is the fact that they are all the same man, only his personalities.

Damian loves fun, lives life to the fullest, and actually understands what it means to live.

Jak, on the other hand, is more on the suicidal though he'll never actually be able to go through with it. He, himself, has more than one personality, which makes my life even more complicated than it really is. With Jak around, I never know exactly what I can expect from myself. Luckily, he only comes out strong when I've eaten an apple

Malik is the biggest influence in my head and is the reason I have a thousand-page novel. Without his brilliance, resilience, and strength, nothing could have been accomplished. He is the backbone of my writing career (which has yet to begin) and will always be there to help me through tough spots. As far as he goes, he's been through it all and has more experience than I'll ever hope to have.

To put things simply, I'm messed up. At least I've admitted the fact and can say that I work to control my head and keep my life running smoothly. We'll see how well that works out.

The point of this blog was to get me out of a rut/writer's block/Dana-style depression, and we'll see in the morning if it worked. For any reading this, I'm sorry.

Vortex

This should be interesting...

This is really just a way to get thoughts out of my head and in a place where other people can help me make sure that I haven't gone crazy yet, so keep that in mind.

I think it's funny that the internet has created innumerable black holes of social networking and nosiness outlets into which we all fall and can't escape. We get drawn into Myspace, Twitter, Facebook, even Blogspot, yet we don't seem to realize that through our Tweets and status updates, we're becoming more conformed in our attempts to be unique. Isn't the world great that way?