Apparently my heartlessness is quite understandable.

I really am quite fond of him, but he's too much like my friend's ex-boyfriend. WAY less with the gothic tendencies, but still. Anyone who refers to "making love" ought to be shot. No exceptions.

I'm suddenly reminded of the first time I worked the polls. It was about 6 am, and I knelt on a dead bat. Yikes.

I desperately want this.

http://www.radaronline.com/photos/2008/05/no_regrets_bad_tattoos_david_cross_aviva_yael_pm_chen_10.php

Best tattoo ever? Hell yeah it is!

I have beautiful conversational skills.

Actual conversation I had today:

C: *mumbles*
Z: What did you say?
C: Um.... I don't know.
Z: Oh, but I think you do know.
C: I don't know if I know!
Z: Ooookay. You know, you don't actually have to say if you don't want to.
C: No, I just don't know if I know what I said!
Z: ...right then.

All it needed was a "so, how 'bout them YANKEES?" to be completely gorgeous. But, alas, I wasn't quite on top of my game at the time.

But seriously, man, how fantastic is that? You wish you were so sure of yourself.

Beginning to see the light...

I've spent most of today thinking. I'm rereading Crime And Punishment, I'm researching candidates figure out who I'm trying to vote for, etcetera. However, this is a mere FRONT. I'm not really thinking at all. In fact, I'm busy avoiding thinking about a charmingly narrow variety of things. Yes, relationships. That's because relationships are not my forte.

To be fair, I can't help it if the boytoy is reserved and vague by nature. It's not even really a problem. I'm indecisive and vague by nature, so I can hardly complain! Unfortunately, it means I have to make some sort of effort, which I have slight problems motivating myself to do. Not even because of anything normal like "well, I don't know what I want," or "I don't want to spend effort on something like this." No, nothing like that. I like him, he likes me. We've discussed it. You'd think that that would be all, right? The end of overanalyzation and all. But no, apparently not.

So far, I'm pretty much the only person I know who thinks like this: "Okay, so he said he likes me. But what if he's LYING? What if he changes his mind? What if he's gay? What if he's secretly in love with KATY MEADOWS*? What if he gets KIDNAPPED BY ALIENS? What if he's already BEEN kidnapped by aliens? What if he IS an alien? What if he's a Scientologist? What if he's a cannibal? What if he's brain damaged? What if he doesn't believe in the continued existence of Elvis? What if he winds up being a brain-sucking piranha?" Um, not that I'm illogical or anything. Nope. No, I am not. Not even a little bit. Really. Why don't you believe me? Ugh. The irritating thing is even though I know all that's really really really silly, I have a hard time convincing myself that I should just TALK to him. Even though we talk a lot. I mean, it's pretty obvious that we're at least friends. Vaguely. It's obvious to other people, at least. So far I've resisted the urge to ask him if he's brain damaged. That seems a little creepy.

Obviously part of the problem is that this really ISN'T something I'm good at. I don't have any experience at this sort of thing, and I really, really, really don't like having to be honest. It's something that rarely interests me. Also I vaguely hate myself at the moment (usually I don't, honest!), which makes it a bit difficult to understand why other people wouldn't. (I'm trying to remember how much I adore my personality twin. She's definitely worthy of my adoration.) And I don't know, it seems a little ridiculous to do this sort of thing in the last month of high school. I mean, maybe it'll be worth it, but maybe it won't be. Jesus. Okay, so that last one isn't so much something I'm worrying about, but what I AM worried about is whether or not I'll be able to get my act together in three months. I'm a procrastinator, I suppose. I'm also a worrier. That must be a pleasant combination. I'm a procrastinating, lazy, dishonest, vague, indecisive, worrying perfectionist. Woooooow. Why do I have friends again? I suppose I'm vaguely amusing at times...

Anyway. Um. I suppose when IB tests are over it'll be easier? Maybe I should call him. I think I probably should. But I don't want to. Because what if it? OH WAIT THAT'S RIDICULOUS. I'm going to stop being stupid. I'll call him over the weekend. Probably on Sunday or something. Or maybe I won't. What a strong, definitive paragraph this is turning out to be. In my defense, I'm busy on Friday, I'm probably busy on Saturday, so Sunday really is the only day I can call him. Until it winds up being Monday. I'm not calling on a Monday. I should also probably wait until I'm in a better mood. It'd be kind of cruel to call and then be like "...so are you being serious?" (The answer would be "what?" in a perplexed, incredulous voice. This conversation, um, may have already taken place. Well, one like it. I hate being straightforward, which is really something I need to work on. It'd be kind of cruel to make him sit through another one, though! Jeez. There's only so much suffering I can inflict in one week, and he's taking some IB tests. Boo.)

Eenie-meenie-minie-moe...

In vaguely related news, I must admit, it's kind of nice to discuss families with other people. Mostly because it was really nice to hear that my mom scares Kristen. Don't get me wrong - when she's good, she's great! I love her to bits and pieces. But when she's bad, she's awful. I still feel so guilty saying that. I suppose I could gloss it over, but the more I think about it, the more I can trace a lot of my problems back to her. Maybe I was always destined to be completely screwed up, but she definitely didn't help. Pfft, that probably comes across as whiny, but it's unfortunately true. I mean, I used to be able to ask for what I wanted or needed so easily, but now I just... can't. It really does take a lot of effort.

Eh, one step forward, two steps back. 'tis not to say that I shouldn't be taking responsibility for my own issues, but it's kind of interesting to see where they came from. Wherever they're from, they're mine now. (Ha, part of me right now is saying that if I had been a better person, things would be better. I can't quite decide if that's my precious "blame the victim" mentality or if it's really true. Or something else. I don't want to be a victim, so I'm not. But that doesn't automatically put me into the, uh, opposite category either, right? I don't even know what I mean. Blah.) Mm. No matter.

Aw. Too bad my semi-boytoy is adorable, Deerhoof is adorable, and The Mouse And His Child is adorable. I love adorable things! Maybe I'll just stay home and listen to Deerhoof. Deerhoof is almost too cutesy and twee, but I love cutesy and twee things. Plus it's really, really weird. It's perfect singing music! Ugh, I keep listening to cutesy twee things for no real reason. I'm not actually joking when I tell people that I have no reliable sort of taste in music. It's true. I don't.




*What? Isn't everyone in love with Katy Meadows? No way. Katy Meadows is sex. She has no soul. We can all see where this is going.

Plans.

I'm probably making a pretty bad decision just for money. Yeah, I know that. That's not the point, anymore. It's a bit late for me to do anything - the benefits would be miniscule and the costs would be... probably about $120000, more or less. Obviously I partially wish I had acted years ago, but now it's nothing major, I'm just fed up in general and rather a bad person in that I do not forget. It's not a good thing. I wish I were better at forgetting. Alas, I am not. But that's not the point. (Actually, that's sort of not true. I can forget quite well. Rather, I don't think about it. Seriously, thinking about a couple of things right now makes me wonder why I AM sticking around. Pride? Appearances? I'm not sure.)

First and foremost, I absolutely need to finish high school with a B average and nothing lower than a C. Should be doable, I suppose. But I need to just do it. I worked my ass off to get into UCLA. Not even in terms of school, either. Just in the general terms of surviving and keeping a vaguely acceptable set of appearances up. (Which, fine, I've mostly let lapse, but I've done well enough for my own purposes.) No getting sidetracked by anything.

This summer I might get a job. I can't count on my current "job" for much longer, I can't count on my "family" for much at all, and that doesn't leave much room for me to exist happily. Either I'm going to bully someone into giving me money - family, relatives, random strangers, whatever - or I'm going to get a job. I don't much care how it shakes out by this point. Either that or I do. I'm not sure.

I also suppose I might as well explore my other options. I certainly don't think I have it in me to cut my family off completely, and that would be basically the only way for anything to change. I do owe them for teaching me to read, after all! No, they taught me to read, they pay the bills, every so often I get fed and clothed and all that shit, and sometimes I even get to do things I want to do! I only have to lie most of the time! CRAZY! That was... not the point, but still. They love me, and I love them. It's just that that's not really enough anymore, if it ever was. (Plus they have perfect golden child already. Maybe I don't want to disappoint her either. I do suppose I adore her.) I don't even think they understand that there is a problem, which is kind of bizarre. They're the "good guys," right? Always. Always always always. I guess I'm typecast as freaky fat liar chick. Hey, I've got to be able to do SOMETHING... though I guess I'm not that bad after all. Maybe.

I looked at myself in a mirror and I didn't go "who's that fucking fat chick? Ew. Ugly." Which is what my usual reaction is. I mean, I'm not GREAT-looking, probably, but I'm not hideous either. I'm also not morbidly obese! Never have been. I think this is actually the fattest I've ever been in my life and I look okay. (Also, my BMI is like... 23 or something. 22, 23, 24. I don't remember. I don't actually know how much I weigh, anyway. I'm also in pretty decent shape, so whatever.) I guess. I don't know. I honestly have NO idea if I'm objectively pretty or fat or whatever. Is it screwed up of me? Hell and YES it is, and I know that. I just don't know how to see that sort of thing in myself. (Unfortunately, I still loathe pictures of myself with the passion of 100000 firey suns.) Gosh, maybe I'll hire someone to give me their opinion, because I really don't have anything to base mine on. Maybe I'll hire a blind baby. That'd probably be about as based on reality as anything I have now. Um, for some reason I find this to be hilarious. Then again, I think everything is hilarious anyway.

I'm having a sudden attack of hypochondria. And don't talk to me about how I eat. I don't care if you think you have something new to say. You don't. Phobia? Yeah, no fucking SHIT. I probably should find a free clinic somewhere since I don't have a fucking doctor because I'm perfectly fine and healthy la la la la la la la. Haha, at least I have a regular period? OH WAIT I DON'T WANT ONE. I wouldn't mind losing the headaches. I do think some of it is physiological, some of it is psychological, and some of it is something in between. Whatever, I hardly see how it matters. Not much I can do about it right now.

Like I said before, if you can get away with murder, then don't assume you know anything about my life. It's a completely and unfortunately different sort of situation for a variety of reasons. Anyone wants to argue this with me, let me know. I'd be interested to hear the other side, and I know what I'm talking about! Haha! Hell and yes, baby. You. Me. Let's do it.

More later, I'm tired. And bored. Really, my own personal drama is boring me. This is why I don't really talk about details too often. Really, who gives a damn? I don't. Why would anyone else?

I suppose I ought to pick a style of some sort.

I could be good - I will be good - but I have a lot of work to do to get there.

I need to figure out what I want. I need some semblance of a goal. Otherwise I'm not going anywhere, and I don't want to be stuck here. Here is boring. I've been here, I need new places to go, things to do.


Webcomic? Video game? Playscript? Book? All of the above? Should I be working on my drawing skills right now? Should I be figuring out how to code? Should I be working more heavily on writing and finishing the 100prompts? Yes to the last for sure, tentative yes to the first as it makes me happy, tentative yes to the second as I love video games, yes to the third as it'll force me to work on my dialogue.

Not that that really helped. 100prompts I can do during school, assuming that other people cooperate and leave me alone. Which they won't, but I'll get unpleasant if I must. Playscript ought to work well enough with that, I suppose. I can fit it in as well. Drawing I will not do during school, because I hate people looking at what I'm doing, so I suppose it'll be more late nights for me. I'll have to wait on coding, as I don't have anything to code with. Alas.

Should I start in the beginning? The middle? The end? Elsewhere? I do think starting in the beginning would help. It's fleshed out enough that I know where I'm going, but it's hardly boring, as I'm not sure what goes where. I suppose I should write the beginning in novelesque form if I want to get anywhere. I do have it pictured in my mind adequately. I ought to be able to go from there.

:wumpscut:

I really need to buy a :wumpscut: CD. Goodness, they do have a lot of them out. Their stuff is pretty sexy, and we all know how much I like sexy music.

Actually, I'm just really sick of all the crappy music that people choose to listen to. I am, of course, heavily biased - but honestly, even when I listened to Linkin Park and Evanescence, I listened to Leonard Cohen and Dead Can Dance. There are a lot of people out there who just listen to crap. Is that really what you want to surround yourself with?

Apparently so.

Prompts - or, perhaps, vignettes

Since I don't have the attention span to write anything serious, I suppose I should work up to it the hard way. Or the easy way. Not sure which.

I've got terrible amounts of time in school anyway.

Shoo, shoo! Go do something interesting.

Cheers,
kiiziie

My parents keep stealing my music...

And I don't even mean the Pink Floyd, either. (Well, not just the Pink Floyd.) My mom has stolen my Legendary Pink Dots and my dad has stolen my Coil. Obviously enough, I think this is a hilarious state of affairs. Sure, they're godless heathens (just like me!), but they're also quite conservative. My mom is one of the most conservative people I know, actually. And yet she loves my crazy hippie-dippie music! And they're basically the only people I know who at all share my taste in music. Saaad. They've out-cooled my peers! The horror!

More in-depth:
My mom: The Legendary Pink Dots, Current 93, Death In June, Captain Beefheart, Cabaret Voltaire, Coil
My dad: Dead Can Dance, Cocteau Twins, Coil, Love Spirals Downwards, Current 93, The Legendary Pink Dots

The Whispering Wall

"THE MODERN MAN: I was brushing my teeth when the power went down. You cannot prepare for that, the electric toothbrush just ceased functioning and I did not know what to do. Sure, I tried a manual spin in my mouth, but it was far too early for that and my fingers were not fast enough. I grabbed the soap with both hands and bit, as if it was a burger. Alas, it was disgusting and pointless as the essence of last nights excesses was still there. Decided upon a strong coffee, something to disguise that lingering taste. Of course the coffee machine was dead. It may sound kind of pathetic, but it seemed to be the right time to call the housekeeper on my mobile as I confess I had no idea of how to change a fuse. The message said: "Battery empty, please recharge." I just had to get out of that apartment right away. I punched in the exit code five, six, seven times but nothing happened. Found myself pounding, just pounding on that reinforced, heavily padded, soundproofed front door of mine wondering if it was just me. It was. I found out at around 9pm that I was not alone in my dilemma when the first light went on in the great glass tower across the divide. 9pm. Monday. Normally the time to switch off that computer order in a Malay Kofta, some samosas, a carton of wine... normally, time to put my feet up and read a good book because I firmly believe that technology is not everything. Instead, I found myself scurrying around the apartment on borrowed illumination. Found half of a packet of crackers left by my last girlfriend a few weeks ago. I ate them slowly. Of course I slept badly. I mark the days much like a castaway on a raft in the open sea... little blue lines on the wall with that old ballpoint pen. Sadly, it is running dry. Even so, I have given up the shouting, the pummeling, because it is pointless. I even tried to establish a routine: I tidy up the place daily with my bare hands, but I imagine it will not be long now. The last thing I did before the power went down was to command the bank to make all of my regular payments automatic. They will not come looking for me; and, as I am reasonably wealthy, I will not be saved by the bill. Hope you appreciate the humour at such a seemingly desperate moment. Lately, I have been wondering if my networking friends will miss me, but I doubt it. Oh, I am decent enough company, good for the odd inspired one liner. I am amusing, but hardly essential. I know what you are thinking, and I agree it looks bad. However, do not worry about me. Nobody lives forever and I have accepted my fate. Besides, I have a shelf packed with good books. THE END."

Polyamory

I've always been somewhat fascinated by the idea of polyamory. Would it work? Hell if I know. Probably not all the time. Maybe not super-serious-intense-crazy relationships. But just for kicks? Why not? Even for keeps? Again, why not? I don't even know.

We are all beautiful.

Aha. I've switched ideas. Which is theoretically a bad thing, but this is the start of it all. Yes? And it's merely a matter of... starting it, making sure things happen the way they should, new twists and turns. I could write this baby in my sleep.

I already did.

I'm too tired to write.

Leaving me... where?

I'm just so tired. I don't have anything to care about if I'm not writing. It doesn't matter if I don't have that small bit of meaning, that small bit of sheer transcendence, that small bit of making my life interesting and perhaps even worthwhile.

I'm so sick of being alive. Nothing dramatic like I want to die or anything, but... I don't see meaning in this. In any of this.

I think it's NAPTIME! And people wonder why I insist on getting a certain amount of sleep every night? I'm not pretty when I'm sleep-deprived. I'm beautiful, sure, but I'm always beautiful... and I could be so much more.

Script Frenzy

I'm a whore and I created an entire blog just so I can bitch about Script Frenzy.

I recently realized that about 95% of my characters are utter assholes. And I love them to bits and pieces. I suspect this is what I get for being, well, me. Goddammit, if I had to pick a Harry Potter house (yes, I just watched the 5th movie, and yes, I do adore Lucius Malfoy, because he's rather foppy and makes me think of 30% of Oscar Wilde's characters, hence my current fondness for Harry Potter), it would totally be Slytherin. Cutthroat ambition? Thirst for power? Oh hell yes, count me in. You think I'm kidding? Well... I do love Ravenclaw too, a bit. I would make a good Ravenclaw. I'm dorky, nerdy, and geeky. I love learning. I hate stupid people. Nonetheless... teh intarnetz tells me that I would be a fantastic Slytherin, which amuses the hell out of me. (Actually, teh intarnetz tend to tell me I would be a fantastic Slytherin, an only slightly less fantastic Ravenclaw, a quite decent Gryffindor, and an utterly abysmal Hufflepuff. Amusingly enough, the only house I actively dislike (for myself, at least) is Hufflepuff, so I imagine I'm set! Gosh, I would be a terrible Hufflepuff. All that... work! Goodness. That makes me sound terrible. That's life.

Whoa, anyway. That's what I get for currently working with a small gaggle of (pre)-teenage boys and girls. The ones that aren't actively malicious do tend to be rather self-centered and see the world in terms of black-and-white. Either that or they're timid little brats. OK, fine, except for the kid who spends much of his time baking and calming people down. I think I would actively like that kid as a person, not just a character. I'm much more fond of fictional characters than I am of real people, anyway.

I suppose this doesn't do my darling babies credit, does it? I don't know. I personally find them all... compelling, to say the least. Or the most. Likability doesn't matter - indeed, I frequently find it irrelevant, both in books and in real life - so much as personality. And style. Oh yes.

God, this is going to be a party. 100 pages in 30 days? Sa-WEET!

EDIT: I may find this useful. I may not. I haven't decided yet, really.

• artisans
• innovative, charismatic
• impulsive
• rationals
• strong-willed, resourceful
• aggressive
• guardians
• dependable, stable
• self-deprecating
• idealists
• insightful, conscientious
• inflexible