Is it real, son? Load it up and kill one if it’s really real.

So I’m while I’m sitting chilly in the Photography room, there is a gun threat presently dominating my school. Evidently yesterday there was some kind of racial class between four white and four black students, and now the word drifting around is that one side is going to come in armed and kill everyone who isn’t wearing black, especially those wearing red. Exciting no? Sounds like gang activity to me, but then, my school - nay even my county - has never had an issue with gangs. Probably because there’s nothing really for them to do. Nowhere decent to bother fighting, no vandalism to commit unless they feel like spray-painting their symbol on the side of a cow and proceeding then to tip it over. Really, my town’s so quiet and so sleepy that the idea of any real violence outside a short fist fight is unheard of. Sure, people get murdered once in a blue moon or die in horrible wrecks, and there’s the occasional freak incident of a corpse being beheaded by a passing train in order to cover up the real cause of death, but what town doesn’t have that?

Anyway, I’m lounging here in my lovely outfit of black… white… and red. (Go figure. What are they going to do? Half-shoot me?) I can’t go out to take photos, I can’t even go to the bathroom because of our “modified lockdown” where everyone must stay in their classes until the bell rings, speak to no one in the halls, etc. etc. Honestly, it’s so ridiculous that I want to go home, not because I feel threatened but because I simply don’t want to put up with all the bullshit that spawns from this kind of threat.

In other news, with prom approaching I am glancing at a few dresses now and then and making a point of mass-avoiding any guy who looks at me for two long. I feel mean for saying “not on your life even if I was promised your firstborn child to sell on the Bolivian black market,” (No offense to the Bolivian community, just went with the first country that came to mind) I can only think of one person at this school I would be even mildly compelled to go with. That’d be the Fox, not because I’m attracted to him, but because I know I’d be entertained, not harassed or pressured to be any certain way, and because he’s still a dear friend of mine. (A subject of some annoyance, one might note, to other “potential suitors” who do not grasp aforementioned Bolivian response.)

In all likelyhood I’ll probably just go by myself again and leave halfway through. No harm in that, the music and the people really aren’t my thing. I love dancing, but it helps me somehow to have a melody, and the overwhelming aura of cattiness that lingers on prom night can be a little exhausting, so my darling band-dork friend from the previous post and I might slip out partway through and high-tail it to the nearest ultra-touristy town to haunt away the weekend and meet some potentially interesting people. Of course, still have to work this out with the lovingly paranoid parentals first.

Sorry to ramble, but really, I have no other way to occupy my time. I promise there’ll be a coherant post soon.

Oh Here It Goes Again

   So I’ve been neglecting to write at all and a lot has happened to catch up on. I’ll need to be fairly brief, since I’m writing this during my European History class, so here we go.
    I got over my ear infection, things are staying back where they’re supposed to now.
    My charger got fixed, I got my laptop back, my charger fried again this weekend and will have to order a new one. However, my laptop still seems to be partly at fault.
    I tried not to talk my way out of All-State Chorus Screenings (namely because I’m 4th alternate, so what’s the point, right?) and in return was told that I am “self-centered” and that it genuinely “doesn’t matter if it makes you happy or not” (so says my director.) Personally, that pisses me off like whoa. It is an extracurricular thing and should matter entirely in relation to my desire for it. So I was dreading going, and true enough I spent four and a half hours sitting in an audotorium, running on only an instant shake for breakfast and half a bag of tasteless popcorn, waiting to be called to go sing. The chairs were uncomfortable, I was nervous, and there was a basketball tournament going on in the next room over, filling the lobby and audotorium with the smell of sweaty socks and gooey concession stand food.
   All in all, it was a miserable undertaking but for one notable uplift. If I were to have described, previously, my “ideal guy,” sauntering into screenings, I saw him. “Well that’s fun, at least I shall have a nice view,” I think to myself until I end up in line with him. We talked a bit (rather I talked and he stammered in the most endearing of ways and fidgetted and blushed) about the music, voice parts, waiting, etc. All in all, it wasn’t so long, but standing in such close proxy to him, I could better appreciate the acute loveliness of his bone structure (his long nose and strong jaw accented by the sharp geometry of his “emo” glasses, countered by the shape of his eyes and the soft, feminine or perhaps even feline curl of his lips) and even so much as his smell. I’m not sure if it was some form of cologne or whatever, perhaps just his natural scent, but he smelled like drying herbs in a wooden house. Maybe that’s an obscure reference, but he smelled like good woodwork, spices, musk, and flowers, and more than anything I wanted to just hang around him. Instead, for four and a half hours, we played glance-tag (he glances at me, I glance at him, we blush, we look away) and I gushed in an uncharacteristically girly fashion to my mother. Soonafter, I discover that his mother is occupying the chair directly behind mine, and has thus heard me so graciously describe very countour of her son’s face, down his gorgeous sawn neck and storkish shoulders right to the accent to his hips and legs (among other things in such proximity) granted by his snugly-fitted jeans. She seemed chiefly amused and continually called him up just behind me as if trying to force him into conversation with me to no avail. I was afraid I had misinterpretted signals, and he was too shy, and thus neither of us has the other’s phone number or email, or anything of the sort. He doesn’t know my name, and I know his only be eavesdropping. (Naturally he would just-so-happen to share the same name as my biological father. How awkward! How many people are called Trey!?) I glanced on the All-State site later that day, just to see if I could determine whether or not he’d be in my choir in the unlikely event I got to go, and he was. From that I was also able to learn what school he goes to, though it is a bit of a way off. And so, I feel almost certain this is the end of the story, at least ’til April and All-State, by which point I likely wouldn’t be of interest to him and we’d both be too rushed to even exchange another of those awkward glances and giggles.
   It would appear I am mistaken.
   Upon further gushing to one of my best friends (who is an intense band dork,) she lights up as soon as I so much as breathe the name of his school. “I have a ton of friends at M- High!” she squeals. “From band clinic! I have friends in the music department! I bet one of them knows him!!” …Oh dear. I made her promise no names or clear descriptions, but it would seem she is bound and determined to… “hook me up.” I’m not sure if I should be excited or purely dreading it.
   All the same, he was lovely…

I’m So Dizzy, My Head is Spinning

So evidently this time it’s a “labyrinthial infection.” In other words, I have a virus in my inner ear that is putting me through some intense vertigo. Previous diagnoses include sinuses, an inner ear disorder, blood pressure, blood sugar, atypical migranes, and a brain tumor. All of these proved incorrect. At any rate, I’m on medication for it and fighting to even be able to stand up straight. I’ve been out of school since Monday. A couple days ago, the port on my laptop broke and it’s currently at the shop for repairs, so until her return, likely very few or very short posts. Such as this. Be back soon, we hope.

Place all your bets and watch me lose

” The life that I got, but never used.
Dream every night that one will come true,
But only bad ones every do.”
               – “Out Through the Curtain,” The Hush Sound

   Sorry for the stall in posting. Things have been a little chaotic here. I started school up again to the exact same schedule as last time. I’m not really sure how it’s going to go, most of my classes seem to have taken a turn for the worse in regards to my classmates, with the exception of Photography II. There are a grand total of eight people in the class (as opposed to the 20-something in Photo I) and eight enlargers, meaning the darkroom is mine any day I want it. We’re also planning a trip to the nearest zoo! I’m just a tad bit excited. I haven’t been to the zoo in years! So, I am somewhat filled with childish glee, but on the other hand, things kind of suck.

For the first time in three weeks, I got word from my “boyfriend.” In short, he said something about “just being friends who love each other a lot,” seeing me as some kind of “goal to strive for,” not being good enough, and followed it up with “All my love, Your R—–.” Even though I was doubting it and considering doing it myself, it stung a lot more than I had been anticipating. Actually, not so much a sting as like someone had clawed a hole through part of my chest like it was paper and continued perpetually scratching it wider. I think this is a pretty good indication I still have feelings for him. I didn’t know how to cope, I couldn’t be openly sad, because I’m not supposed to be dating him to begin with and thus could not mourn the dumping, so instead I went to my “comfort zone.” I just went to sleep. I was anticipating maybe a half-hour nap and set my alarm for just that, but when I woke up, the hole was still there, so I rolled over and closed my eyes again… and again… and again… for nearly three and a half hours. The hole didn’t get any smaller, but at least it wasn’t growing so fast when I woke up, and my body felt better for it. I spent some time with my best friend, the only one who really knows and knows about R—, trying to cheer myself up, but it didn’t quite work. Not that I could let her know that. We went out to dinner the next day, as well, with her fiance. If anything can shred at that nagging hole, it’s a happy couple. They didn’t do anything so particular… hugging, a couple kisses, a light hand over hers, a glance exchanged for just a second that speaks volumes… It’s beautiful, between them. Normally I can sit back and smile and admire it like it were one of the finest masterpieces sculpted in the world, but last night it just made the empty seat beside me painstakingly prevelant. Fortunately, our waitress was an extra-inattentive, anal icequeen, so I could distract myself by critiquing her and building “Monuments to Thirst” (as N— (best friend’s fiance) put it) from all the empty cups at our table.

Another complication spurs from a guy we shall merely refer to as “Puppy.” Technically, I lost the right to call him that a while back, but we need to keep things simple. I called him that for a number of reasons – he fishes for attention, whines and paws when he doesn’t get it, obeys for treats, and furthermore reminds me vaguely of Neil Gaiman’s character Shadow from American Gods who goes by the same nickname. Anyway, Puppy lives up North and West of me by a handful of states. Met him over my game and he got rather obsessed with me. I didn’t want to be mean, he was a sweet guy, but I was kind of going gaga over R—. Still, my niceness must have “lead him on” and when he found out I didn’t have the feelings for him he wanted, he exploded, said a lot of the cruelest things I’ve ever heard in my life, and we couldn’t speak civilly for weeks. Not sure why, but just recently we’ve been able to talk again. Probably a dumb move on my part, but he distracts me from numerous unpleasant things. Tragically, he’s up to his old tricks again, and I’m not sure how clear I can be that he still stands relatively no chance. The long distance thing is clearly harder than I had thought, and I’m not sure I ever want to try it again.

On a less melodramatic note, I’m having some story issues. Got an idea for a new one, trying to get some work on it, but I cannot seem to come up with adequate names for some of my characters or a motive for the killer. Taking a crack at a vampire/werewolf story that hopefully will not be cliche. Anyway, I have two very Nordic-looking twin girls who need names, the killer (relative young, handsome, righteous) needs a name, as does another boy of no distinct origin. The killer has lately escaped from prison and is after people again – perhaps for “revenge” or something – he is not the bad guy. Anyway, he needs a motive. Is he avenging someone? Who? Why? What else could he be doing this for?

I know that’s really vague, but if you can come up with anything, I’d really extra appreciate it.

And do you still remember all the time that has gone by?

Happy New Year. 2008 and another tradition broken. Instead of having aunts and uncles, cousins and various relations over to watch the ball drop, drink champagne or sparkling grape juice and have a hat-making competition from the various art materials around the house, I was the only one fully conscious in the last seconds of 2007. It would’ve been sad to carry the tradition alone, so instead I bundled up, took my flood lantern, a pair of swords (to appease my constant paranoia), and walked out to the only tree in our hayfield. I tucked myself in with the roots and called a friend on the cellphone. She told me when I had twenty seconds to go and we hung up. I tilted my head back and watched the veil of clouds chase across the few patches of deep blue and starlight, counting quietly to myself.

10… 9… 8…

What had I really accomplished this year? Nothing really to speak of. So I was a senior, no longer a junior, I had a niece… but really? Not much.

7… 6… 5…

Was anyone thinking about me while they were counting down? Three states away, was my maybe-boyfriend wishing he was talking to me, or was he too drunk to think of anything? What about the boys who’ve sworn their “undying love” to me? Was I on their minds? What about my beloved Fox, whom still I can’t be sure if I love? What was he thinking of? Even my best friend…. did I cross her thoughts? Did I cross anyone’s, tucked away in the dark beneath so big a tree in an empty field all alone?

4… 3… 2…

How would ‘08 be any different? I’d send off a book, I swore, as I have the last two years. I’d stop hesitating so much. That was a new one. When I felt like doing something rebellious or stupid, perhaps it would be best if I just did it. After all, if I’m going to take the time to regret things a year from now, they’d best be worth remembering. Even small rebellions. What about a New Year’s Wish? I want to be madly, passionately, and irresponsibly in love with someone, I decided. I want to think they’re the one for more than a couple weeks, when my logical side knows they’re not. I want to have to fight with myself to keep my hands off them, and I want them to lose the same battle. I want to even have the luxury of that battle.

1… 0

And just like that, ‘07 went away, and I hardly felt any different. I lay there a few minutes, talking to God, before deciding I wanted to sing to myself. It took me a little while. Thinking of an appropriate song was trickier than I thought. After a few more minutes listening to the fireworks, rebel yells, and howling dogs all around, my mind drifted to an old favorite RPG of mine, The Legend of Dragoon, and to its main theme. Things got oddly quiet when I started singing to myself. Even the fireworks seemed distant and I lay there, going numb one limb at a time and singing in another year.

Perhaps it’s not such a bad tradition to start. Now I think my seventeen-year-old liver and I will have some wine. As some tiny form of rebellion.