it's been a while.

I'm forcing myself to do this, because I haven't blogged in a while. I feel so ...inconsistent. I am inconsistent. Well, I guess the first step is acceptance? Oh well. In English we are talking about abandoning six words and improving-I LOVE THESE LYRICS! Sorry, but I'm listening to that song "Clothes Off" by Gym Class Heroes, and I love the line: The way you stole my attention was flat out burglary! Ha ha. Anyways, yes, abandoning six words and improving your lifestyle. I think they're always, everybody, do, try, should, and have. I couldn't do that. I mean, I could discuss semantics all day, but actually abandoning words? I don't think they harm us all that much... I'm trying to stop using gay and retarded. They are both derogatory and I don't want to be subjected to common insulting slang. I find myself thinking them. Gay was easy to banish, I didn't really use it in the first place, but retarded is a bit harder. I use that word incessantly! I should attach little electrically charged things to my chest that shock me every time I think/say it. Why is it that gross guys always hit on me?! Well, not hitting on necessarily, I don't let it go that far. I was in the car with my mom, and I looked at some guy next to me and he like lifted his eyebrow and licked his lips. What the hell. I turned around and practically vomited. He kept himself parallel to our car for like 5 minutes! I was at the beach with Ronny, and while we were walking around guys could not control themselves! They were whistling, honking, yelling, staring, kissing (gestures only, of course), even asking if we would share our smoothies. I mean, I don't want to sound conceited, but I don't understand. If I ow ow'd some random guy, he'd look up and wink at me. When a guy ow ow's a girl, she thinks he's a dick. It doesn't go both ways. Whatever, I declare all guys RETARDS. SHIT shock me, I mean they're all dicks. That's not that bad. I'm out, violin practice. See y'all!

all of my attention is never given

Today I discovered that I am ashamed to be human. That sounds bad... but I am. No wait, right after I wrote that I thought to myself:
"There are many writers out there that don't write like her... why should she make me feel bad about myself?! I am my own person,"
Although sometimes I doubt it. I lie. For any of you who don't know this, I have a problem I think. I just need someone to tell! I would feel ashamed of myself x56795876539 if I told anyone. I still really want this therapist I was telling my mom about wanting. She discarded the idea like she discards many of my hobbies. I think I shall emphasize it tonight. I. WANT. A. THERAPIST. I just want someone to talk to. Someone who will listen to me, and someone who will tell me what to do next because I am not sure. I am going to end this now. I know all of my entries have been short, it is because I am on a mission. Muahaha.

we raise hell.

I am very irritate at the moment. Very very irritated. Do I treat my friends badly? I don't think I do. Maybe I do though... I am not sure of anything. I don't know what else to say. I have many things to say, but not time to explain them in full detail and not the gut to deal with the repercussions. okay, guys, once I find the time to explain them I will.

permeated with cynicism

I think that I am dying. When I let all of you know that I am dying, please don't think it is because of my lack of apathy towards you. I just think my body might be failing on me, my head is very likely going to explode into a large vat of grape soda. What is grape soda anyways? The flavor doesn't even taste like grape, so I will explode into a vat of artificially flavored purple-colored carbonated drink while I go through the phone book, trying to find a person reliable enough to pick up the remnants of brain matter in the form of Literature now spewed all across my room. The moderately large pill bottle that I was standing on chose to upend itself under me unexpectedly, spilling me along with many other forms of pain removal onto the large orange that we call Earth. I dug my nails in, the skin peeling off with a fairly large amount of inner liquids spraying out. They got into my eyes, enhancing my vision times one thousand, and I was able to see the one red rose in the world of black and white. I pick the rose, as one of the thorns drew blood on my pinky finger. The mouth that was always there (just obscured from view by the large amount of skin living there, for the moment) opened and yelled at the thorn for disturbing the intricate workings of its insides. The thorn made some rude ethnic gesticulations, and Highway Hatred ensued. The eyes in the back of my head rather enjoyed watching this occur, its inner sadistic tendencies taking control as the blood ran thicker. The doorbell rang, as the Brain Cleaner had appeared through telepathic insurance agencies. The time-space continuum is nasty business to be dealing with, let me tell you.



You have just witnessed what comes out of my head after an hour or so nap. I am quite proud of myself, I hope you enjoyed it, thoroughly.