A Million Things.

I have a million bazillion things running through my mind right now. I could write about my dissapointing weekend, but I don't want to. Sure, some of my friends did get caught drinking by my mom. Sure, he brought his girlfriend. Sure, we got yelled and cursed at and called ghetto by a bunch of trashy people for drawing a penis in the road with chalk. Sure, I did finally break down and cry in front of them. Sure, I pocket-called my friend while I was sobbing pathetically and freaked her out.

But that's really all there is to it.

Today, today was something. Today was one of those days, where it doesn't feel like you. It feels like you were supposed to be acting as someone else in a movie, or a show, but you forgot to memorize the script, and were too embarrassed to admit it, so you just went out there anyways. I get that feeling alot, but more so today. It had something to do with the color of the sky, and the bilboard I saw.

On the way home from her ultrasound I was in the backseat smoking a cigarette. We were out a stoplight, and I looked out the window. Up against the bright blue sky was a bilboard advertising the lung cancer treatment at some hospital. A Killers song was on in the backround, and the music just fit. This sounds dumb now that I think about it, but I suppose you had to be there.

Other than that, what's new? I'm getting over it. I really need to. I really want to. I'm tired of it, of everything. The pictures she put up of them together didn't seem to bother me today. Maybe because all I could think of was how he ended up with such a nasty girl. Which I feel bad for saying, but it's true. She just doesn't look like she tries. I guess if he's happy with that then whatever. He could just do better for himself.

I figured it out. I don't want him back. I want the old him back. His brain's so fried from drugs, that even after a month sober, he still isn't who he used to be. He isn't what I want anymore. He's so much more defiant. Rebellious. He doesn't seem to respect many people anymore. I miss who he used to be. But that boy is never coming back. So I'm done.

Now I'm stuck chasing after the other boy. The one who tells me he's destined to be alone, but can't seem to keep away from me. He'll cause trouble. But hey, I'm still in high school. I'm aloud to be reckless. I want to find someone to love and be loved by. It's time for an adventure.

My Cat Ate My Homework.

Maybe if I were to rub kitty treats all over my attempted paragraphs and papers, then one of my cat's may attack it, and destroy it. That would be lovely, and keep me from having to lie.

Basically, I'm re-writing scene 10 of the play A Streetcar Named Desire for my American Drama class. We were given many different options of assigments to do, and that is the one I chose.

For those who don't know, it's the seen where Stanley rapes Blanche. And for those of you who don't don't know, Stanley is married to Blanche's younger sister Stella, who is actually giving birth to his child during this scene. And for those of you who don't don't don't know, this play is where the famous "STELLLLAAAAAA!" came from. For those who still need more information, I highly suggest reading the play. Anyways.

I chose this scene to re-write, because it didn't go at all the way I wanted it to. I was shocked when I read it, because I really expected Blanche to be doing the raping (or attempting), not Stanley. I don't like him giving me more reasons not to like him, when I really want to. Blanche is a terrible terrible character. That's not how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be Blanche, dancing around the room trashed. Stanley would then come home from the hospital, SOBER, and Blanche would throw herself at him. Stanley would then call her a whore and such. However, I can't decide if I want the scene to end by her vomitting all over herself, or by her stripping off her clothes, screaming at Stanley when he won't succumb, then proceeding to accuse him of rape, orrrr maybe a doctor will come running through the door to tell Stanley his child has been born. I really can't decide. The second choice will show her true colors better then the others. I feel like I would find some smug satisfaction in picturing all the alcohol and stomach acids pour out of her mouth and all over her dress. Ohh, and perhaps she should lose consiousness and fall right into the vile puddle.

The two more assignments that need done are two similar paragraphs. We just finished reading Brave New World in class. I am supposed to write one paragraph stating the similarities between drug use today and drug use in the book, along with what I believe Huxley was trying to warn us about. The other, is basically the same, only instead of the topic being drugs, I get to choose anything. Some people chose materialism, others chose sex. I don't want to do either of those, because everyone chose them. They are without a doubt, the easiest topics. I tried entertainment, but really didn't get anywhere. The one I was really thinking about, was basically-We will be working for the values of the government, instead of the government working for our values. Which I like, but I cannot seem to come up with anything about today. I suppose that statement could be the warning. Huxley could have believed that to be truth. It still isn't working though.

I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I'm scared I'll throw up tonight anyways because apparently my lab partner puked after school today. I have an irrational fear of throwing up. Therefore, when anyone near or around me even complains about their stomach not feeling good, I instantly feel nauseaus. I also don't eat if they actually puke. I don't go to restaurants either, because I could get food poisening. We once ordered chinese from a take out restaurant. There were like ten of us. I didn't see it, but I heard my cousin say, "Grosssss, he just puked."while we were all eating. I walked as calmly as possible to the bathroom. I still had food in my mouth, but I spit it out. I remembered my aunt once telling me she got food poisening from this particular take out place. My hands were shaking, I broke out in a cold sweat, and spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying not to throw up. All I could envision was ten people with food poisening from that damned restaurant, puking all over each other. When I realized that no one had really made a fuss over the barf, from what I could here, I dared to leave the bathroom and risk vomitting on the floor in front of everybody.

It turns out he gagged on an orange skin. No one had food poisening.

I need some culture.

I would like to go to Europe today. Or perhaps Africa. I feel like indulging in the unfamiliar. I'm getting rather tired of the fact that the weather is muggy. It's Oregon. Since when is "humidity" part of the forecast? It shouldn't be. It doesn't help that my hair is very frizzy today, and I have really made no attempt to make myself look good. Not that I need too because I'm home alone for the time being. Had I made an effort to look especially delicious, I would have been annoyed at the wasted good-looking-ness.
Where did delicious come from?

I threw S. a suprise birthday party last night. Unfortunately he somehow knew about it. While we were all hiding behind the couch waiting for him to come through the front door, someone came in the house through a window and was hiding. After we had spent a good five minutes trying to figure out if it was S. or a psychotic killer, I took the sidedoor, went around the house, climbed through the window, and at last, found him hiding in the shower. So, obviously, I turned on the faucet. Sadly the shower part wasn't on, but just the bath part, so only his shoes got wet. After that we had strawberry short cake, and I recived a nice shot on the ass from the realistic looking air soft gun. I have a nice welt.

A. is coming over tonight to "babysit" me. It's not exactly babysitting, but more my mother not wanting me home alone all night. I'm not sure if she's more concerned about someone breaking in, or me having a party. Probably the latter.

I feel like a real blogger today for some reason. But now I'm going outside to smoke my racist cigarettes. So far I have been told two things that are making Marbs look more and more racist. But I haven't been able to get my usual Camel Wides lately because I can no longer be picky about what I smoke considering the continuously raising tax. Before we know it you'll have to pay twenty dollars for a pack.

My birthday's in seventeen days. I'm not as excited as I feel like I should be. Oh well.

Weekend Warriors

Well, the song was true. Our song was true. "This can't last forever". For some reason I didn't believe it, or realize it. I thought our weekend adventures would always be the same. Oh, how wrong I was. Three weeks in a row, I've been by myself on a Friday night. Simply because I am not willing to forgive your best friend for grabbing his girlfriend by the hair and spitting in her face. I said he wasn't going to be at my house anymore. Now, I'm alone. Because everyone else seems to accept his apology and be over it. I'm not. He's eighteen years old. He needs to learn to grow up, and think about what he says and does before he acts. You're my best friend. You have been for a year now. But lately everything's changing. It's not just what he did. It's that girl you say you're in love with. I don't hate her. I've never even met her. However, the stories I've heard don't encourage me to be fond of her. You speak of her as if she's an angel directly sent from heaven. She isn't, but she sure thinks she is.
I asked you if we would ever all hang out together, the whole group, and her. I also asked whether or not you would act differently.
"Probably, but I'd just be more mature."
I asked who you really were.
"I like who I am when I'm with her."
If the real you is who you are when you're with her, then you've been lying to all your bestfriends.
You said she "keeps you in check". She doesn't like you hanging out with other girls. She won't date you until you're both graduated. What's gonna happen when you graduate? She's going to college. What are you doing?

"My grandparents, and everyone at school like her. You're the only one who has a problem. Figures."
"I'm sorry if you think I'm drifting. But I'm not going to pass up a great relationship because my friends want to go egg houses and smoke pot."

Before you and her were all lovey-dovey, you were doing both of those things.
Where was she when you told me you couldn't even listen to a song without crying because it made you think of her.
Where was she at your mom's funeral. Everyone who cared about you was there.
She made you a card, how sweet.
All your best friends tried to be there for you at the funeral. But you didn't sit with us, or your brothers or your sisters. You distanced yourself from everyone else.
You need to cope. And I want to help you, but you won't let anyone.
I love you. But everything's going down hill.