Highschool thoughts

store.delias.com/item.do

www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp

Perfect day for internet window shopping and doing homework on the lawn. Too bad everything I desire is over $80.  Also spending time wishing my name was Betty & I was a french girl with a style blog, large sums of money from an undetermined source, and spare time to spend in Topshop every day.

Second day of school, and I spent 1 1/2 hours total on my math homework. Somehow, over the summer, I forgot that school is hard. IB classes are hard. & I am not good a math or spanish or even Drama, really. In addition to this, I will be toting around 3 textbooks daily.

It's not that bad. I"m not doing IB Diploma, which would kill me.

Whatever, I feel better.

   First, there were the radd gray zipper pants I bought in Oregon this summer. They somehow contracted strange dark spots equally  on both of  the thighs.
   Now my gray skinnies I've had since freshman year are the victims. I took them out of the dryer, and they have unexplained dark speckles all over them, like they were in the rain. None of my other clothes from that load are like that.

Some one or some thing is sabotaging my gray jeans.

I'll get you, pillowpants.

"Look me in the eye and tell me you don't find me attractive,
   look my in the heart and tell me you won't go."



I hated myself for the first time last night. Hated the way my chapped lips swell from my face, how I keep going under any circumstances and how I'm disappointed when no one helps me, when I won't even let them in.

This sandwich is excellent. Portabella mushrooms and melted cheddar folded into the oblivion of good toast. Receiving letters, & I die happy.

Getting emails from colleges makes me feel accomplished, almost like I haven't been working my ass off for the last ten years for no reason.

I like days like this where I feel that I have everything. Everything I want/need?
I like the cheese in my teeth and chasing my brother home from the bus stop and searching for new music to impress my boy with and knowing it will all work out and chipping off nail polish and letters written on the backs of pictures and pajamas at 4:00 and nose piercings and tan spots at forty something years old and oh!

I can't stand being left out of peeling the scabs on my lips.

     Have I complained to you about these new sleep troubles? When I'm laying
  exhausted from a day of hopping sidewalks, breathing the Glorious Revolution, trying to detox
the ampersands in my system, as I
always am these nights, I just think of how much more comfortable I would be if I had that another body with me [one that smells nice, with a bit stubbly face & rectangle hands]. After a
taste of that I always want more, seems rational, until I take
it to
another level. I tug my sheets over my chin, I wish that everyone I enjoy would dogpile onto my bed, and squish me with the smells of their houses toothpastes & perfumes. They'd crush me into my squeaky mattress, and I could breath out those ampersands to sleep.



I wish I could think about this more, but time is wasting.

"Love: the skillful audacity required to share an inner life."
                                                                                      -W.S. Merwin

It's so not funny, completely the opposite of hilarious, how the little things that you think you can disregard may be secretly wearing on you. Yes, the tiny thorn in your sock will give you a blister. Yes, the trivial mind games and stress and lack of acknowledgement and dread will get to you, even if you don't think they weigh on your mind.

I may be sick. Chills, stomach ache, no. I need invigoration, not make-up work and being stuck at home.

Acid is burning my throat.   Stoppp.

I love this picture, I have since I was a little tyk. I would credit it, but I forget who took it.

It makes me very happy to scroll down my friends page and see how elated everyone is about the results of the election. I'm feeling the same way. Most noticeably to me is that I'm relieved. Things could have gone a very bad way if McCain had won. However, I'll almost miss the Palin jokes.

My history teacher is comparing him to JFK.

This is love.

What a happy boy in a clown costume.

   I'm under challenged when myspace bulletins give me food for thought. Am I part of the problem? Do the naturally skinny add to the stereotypical view of how women's bodies should look? Even I have to admit we do. "Look, they're the way we say is acceptable, and they don't even try!" But should we be judged on our bodies as well? Does being the weight the media puts on a pedastle mean you've never taken shit for the form you have? Does being large make you ugly? I don't think so, but why do I find myself saying things like, "She's overweight, but she's pretty?" Does it have to be despite the weight?
   I'm slightly creepy. I've been looking at Chris' old picture comments to and from his ex. They're pretty funny, mostly both of them going, "OMGOMG HOT!!" He's matured since then, thankfully. They only make me feel a little funny, but I knew they would, and subjected myself to them anyways. The girl's friend told me that she's jealous of me, but why? She had him for two years. I'll never have that much time.
   Sometimes it feels like he's shoved pliers through my stomach, and is twisting my intestines around.

    For how many more weeks can I reasonably expect to be this happy? How many days of mediocrity did I pay off in freshman year?

The world "boyfriend" doesn't come out of my mouth easily, but I'm holding those sweaty fingers and smiling.

Just got done helping with frosh day. I'd forgotten how many little skater stoner jerks were in the grade below me. At least I won't have any of them in a class, besides possibly in drama. Also on the bright side, I met a rad kid who dresses in the style of the 50's on an every day basis. He was soft spoken, and walked around with an intense emo girl.

" What's a good question to ask?  Where the hell are we, and why the hell are we here, and when the hell did we get here, and will we ever stop being here (not us humans in general)?" 

"If you want him..."  I've got butterflies in my stomach. What do I want? Who do I want?

I didn't feel like listening to the sports commentators talk about how the US volleyball players met their husbands, or about how they plan to settle down and start a family after the Olympic Games are over. No one ever says that kind of thing about male players.