'Dear' School System,
Why are you just figuring out that Advisement might actually be worth something if we talked about something besides Homecoming votes and passed out our report cards?
Why are we only just talking about our grades in depth and what GPA is and more importantly, what our GPA is?
Why am I just learning that my hope GPA is under a the fucking 3-point-goddamn-I-fucking-hate-college-and-I-haven't-even-gotten-there-yet-oh and it only counts five FUCKING SUBJECTS!?
My two art classes were a waste of my time.
My two creative writing classes were a waste of my time.
MY YEAR LONG SPIN IN CONCERT BAND THAT I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO DO IN THE FIRST PLACE WAS A WASTE OF MY TIME-of course I already knew that.
I don't want to go to college.
Like, I really, really don't.
Everyone there says it sucks.
Nobody has fun.
The fact that most people don't even get a job they use what they got a diploma in is accepted as not only a part of life but a joke.
The fact that I'm not interested in anything marketable.
The fact my parents think college is a magical place that will spit me out and I'll get a high-paying job in what I love no questions asked so I won't have to do hard manual labor and struggle to get by ever.
The fact I have virtually no useful skills. At all. I'm pathetic. I look at resumes and wonder how in my life I'll ever get a goddamn job because I literally have no idea what I'd put on it.
Why didn't anyone tell me how I was impacting my grade in 10th grade because I literally stopped giving a fuck. I didn't want the stress, and I didn't want to cry over possible C's. I didn't know what to do to keep my GPA up or really what my GPA was no one told me. I was only fucking told this year. Like, halfway last semester this year.
And don't get me started on how I was continually told to get straight A's in elementary and middle school and-whoop-dee-doo surprise none of that actually accounts for anything fuck you and anything you're actually good at and ever were.
Which isn't fucking much now, is it?
Because what I love... is useless. Underrated, uncounted, and pointless.
(Hell, you have sports shoved so far up your ass, school system, why don't you toss PE stuff in? I took a required personal fitness class that put me off exercise for life like years of classes have done for MATH and now is doing for science, that's a semester I'm never gonna get back, but somehow I got an A. No? Of course.)
AP drawing sounded wonderful before that was dropped on me. Now I wish I had changed it.
So did Music in Film.
But none of it matters now, does it?
Even Dad said it, I don't want to do anything marketable.
I don't know what's wrong with me. People talking to me, or around me, feel like taking a drill to my brain, and sometimes I want to yell or something at them, but there's no logical reason for it. Usually they're just minding their own business, or trying to help or just talk to me. I recognize it's not acceptable, but... it's happening and I'd like to know what's wrong and how to fix it? Like I want to fight something in some way, really. I literally can't work up the motivation, be it positive or negative, to do shit. I hate everyone and everything and every little part of me and what I do. I want to put the world on pause for a bit.
I've tried to talk to my parents about it, but they kinda believe that you can make (rather 'force') yourself happy no matter what. Dad throws 'coping' around a lot. I can't even tell them I'm fucking bored or Dad pretty much calls me stupid. 'Only stupid people get bored.' But, besides the point, they may make me feel better for a short time... but they kinda... don't actually... help. Like no solutions offered, just assurances. Though I guess that's the best they can do.
I'm not used to being like this.
I'm not the one that's supposed to get like this.
T.Y--fuck it.
Lily
Okay, so everybody talks about my internet addiction in my family. Everyone knows that the moment the internet goes down, I will emerge two seconds later... 'Moooom.' and everyone will know why. Today, I have seen how my sister acts when this happens.
God almighty the anger issues.
Literally threatening the world at large and assigning blame to everything that moved, she stormed through the house, cursing under her breath, hitting inanimate objects.
And I'm the addicted one. She was watching YouTube. YouTube. And she threw a fit like dad had cut out the internet as a big personal insult. Self control, kiddo! My reaction to a broken connection is a mild sense of disappointment and then I inquire upon the matter to see if it can be fixed promptly. If it can't well... tough. If it can... yay. Jokes are always made that I would crumple up and die without internet but my sister... my sister took all of .2 seconds to go on a little warpath. What the hell!
The problem with Rose is she has no patience or ability to distinguish corrective criticism from insult. I suppose she'd rather wallow in her own righteous indignation and threaten life and limb of who dare question her evident perfection. She's lovely, yes, but often brawn over brains, like a little lion. I appreciate her confidence and take-no-shit attitude, envy it, sometimes, but like all siblings she can... be annoying. I love her though. No matter what she says out of drama-fueled theatrics.
T.Y.G.E.R.
- My writing is on here. And shush, I have been writing frequently.
- DID I NOT MENTION I WAS ON A GODDAMN SCHEDULE THAT IS 99% WRITING AND, YOU GUESSED IT, REQUIRES THIS.
- The internet is my addiction, not my computer itself.
- I do still have to post some shit online so that's not a good call either.
- Scratch that, YouTube is my addiction. There's the root of the problem, do with that information what you must. (I feel like I have revealed my greatest weakness to the enemy, oh god...)
- I HAVE STUFF I CAREFULLY PROCRASTINATE DOING THERE IS A DELICATE BALANCE THAT KEEPS IT IN PLACE STOP TRYING TO FOIL IT.
- Stop telling me 'You're being such a typical teenager' what're you trying to do, make me an ADULT?
- I can only take so much outside a week. My current quota is two times... maybe three, if they're spaced kinda far apart. And If I have knowledge of it in advance, perhaps four... maybe. Do not pull the 'family bonding' shit on me, either, because that's pretty much like shouting 'Cristo!' at a demon or 'Vet!' to a pet. I do love you, and I do like being with you, but I am now a teenager after all, so words like that my brain has an allergic reaction to that I kinda can't control.
- Please do not scoff at me and pull the 'we're your parents and you do what we say' card because I am willing to brave the outside world... up to a point. Please do not say 'we're going outside and doing ALL the things and you are going to talk to people and...' because that freaks me the fuck out. Seriously, don't make fun. It does.
- I apologize for minor swearing but I have in the past and I know my dad reads this (though I'm not sure I want him to read this he might get offended though I don't know how...) and hasn't told me to stop swearing in these posts so... meh.
T.Y.G.E.R.
Me and a friend of mine are collaborating on a story. I have never done this before... It's for a mystery story writing contest. It is much harder than I thought, reason one being someone has to die, whether because of her insistence or the simple fact that murder mysteries are the simpler mysteries to write. We disagree a lot. I can't hold interest in a particular storyline. I like the first idea that we decided wasn't really a mystery. Mysteries are amazing to read, surely. Writing them, much like anything, is completely different.
It's waxing mildly frustrating.
Now it's very late and I am tired.
Sorry for keeping this so late... like anyone cares.
As you can tell, we didn't make much progress.
My sister worried me today. Not the usual worries. A different kind of worry. A less funny sort of worry. A dreadfully common ailment for my generation and nearly all grownups of these times. It sort of snuck up on me.
It was a simple enough start. She intruded my room muttering 'Mangas... mangas...' and began scouring my bookshelf. I have all of three, all based of actual novels. All merely holdovers from when I was teaching myself the style. On more of a whim than anything, I handed her A Wrinkle in Time and told her to read that instead. After all, I had read it around her age and I had loved it.
The little socialite outright refused, laughing.
I begged, I coaxed, I gave a vain shot at reverse psychology. This escalates into a scuffle. An actual scuffle between my strong, stubborn insisting she read the book or sit down and let me read to her and her 'I don't like reading, I won't!' attitude. For a considerable longer time than I would normally put toward any physical effort I was making a fool of my scrawny self trying to drag her away from the door. I kid you not. Finally I pulled the wimpy, effortless maneuver called 'Tell Parents to Force Her.' It is a empty win, sometimes hard to correctly enforce, but in the end I was reading it to her and she was listening and for a while I felt I had accomplished something. I didn't quite get the message across... according to her summary she was absorbing about as much as an infant could absorb the entire history of World War Two. After I let my disapproval be known she said many similar things that were denied to Mom two seconds later. "I don't have an imagination." "I have an imagination, but don't use it." and finally "I have an imagination, but don't want to use it now..." It's always an unsettlingly funny thing to watch Rose edit herself as she speaks, pretending the world has a backspace button and we all don't realize what a scarily bone-headed thing she just said.
I am a reader, and by whatever god there is, my sister will be too. Comics and anime is tolerable enough. Fine in moderation. But they cannot, will not, if I have anything to say, be the contents of her entire literary background, with few exceptions. Sorry, enough ranting, it's nearly midnight.
T.Y.G.E.R.
I don't have much to write about today, besides the fact we're visiting my Aunt Becky's house for Uncle Andy's birthday. Which pretty much means I'll be ending up swimming and being off my face tired when I get back, so I might as well get this out of the way now.
My birthday is in twelve days, and I'll be fifteen. I guess that's something. I can start learning to drive and... what else can fifteen-year-olds do? Be older, I guess. Feel a bit more teenager-y.
Gosh, I have absolutely nothing to wr-
Oh yeah.
Oz.
We went to see it yesterday. I know it's been out awhile and I was all 'meh' about it at the time. I don't get worked up about that stuff. But I thought Oz was brilliant. It had places I recognized from the original movie with Dorthy, Tinman, etc, and it kept the whole black and white to color thing. Ugly Evanora scared the crap out of me (and she wasn't all that attractive to begin with anyway.) And it explained how the Wicked Witch of the West and her sister came into the story and why exactly Oz had to go through such efforts with the smoke-and-mirrors display. And it may or may not have had an appearance of the Cowardly Lion. And I was reminded of Return to Oz, an old movie I can't for the life me remember what happened after Dorthy (who was actually closer to the age she is in the books, which is why I remember preferring it over its predecessor.) got into Oz. I'll watch it again later. God, I haven't seen that movie in a bazillion years...
So that's my opinion on that.
So here's a post that actually isn't really, really long. I might add something to it if I feel up to it when I get back. But probably not. Goodbye for now,
T.Y.G.E.R.
Look at my blog, I said.
I posted some new things, I said.
Make comments, I (think I) said.
...
Why do I let my parents on my blog again?
How about I write my thoughts on the subject in a fairly entertaining way?
{The green italics are the little reasonable voice in my head.}
[The red bold font is the annoying, bratty emotions.]
(This normal font is me.)
Basically it's viewing my reason and impulse and myself as three separate people. I actually think this will be kind of fun, hypothesising how different aspects of myself would interact...
* * *
A: It's polite, you can't just tell him to leave you alone forever. B: You like having feedback. ANY FEEDBACK. And C: Remember that time you deleted his comment because you didn't like it? Remember how guilty you were? Remember how hurt he was?
Oh, shut up. He's always tries to be funny and it's just NOT, okay--
Haven't we established that your-our-my sense of humor {if we-me-you have one at all} and his are very different, and it's a free country. You-we-me need to just deal with it.
Um, I think I'm being forgotten in all of this.
What the heck is with the multiple pronouns?!
Technically, you and I and her are the same person, therefore my opinion is you all's and vice-versa.
No it isn't.
I actually agree with--let's refer to you as Emotions for all intents and purposes--Emotion here. We wouldn't be having this 'conversation' here if we all agreed. You (Reason) and Emotion are separate trains of thought I'm trying to sort out. We are pretty much one person (and in all other circumstances you don't exist and probably won't again when I finish this.)(I'd go crazy if this was how I solved everything.) you are right at that. But we obviously don't share opinions.
That's kinda depressing. [About not existing.]
Technically, we don't exist now. We're a dramatization of her slight confliction with letting her Dad comment.
Oh, shut up with your Technicallies.
Technicalities.
Arrrgh... You and I are not going to get along at all.
I don't see what the argument is. He means well, and you-us like knowing he likes what you do.
Even if he is a bit weird. Face it, we're kind of boring.
Downright dull.
Yeeeaaaaaah...
Maybe it's a bit like stealing your thunder.
That's it. Oi! Someone give me a metaphorical large blunt object. Anything at all. I'm not picky.
Oh god, my inner Rosie...
I don't think you should be making her angry at YOU.
Screw it! I gots CLAWZ!
I think it would be kind of fun to write how this all plays out...
YOU. ARE. HORRIBLE!
Happy Thanksgiving, Everyone.
Yeah. So it's a weird holiday this year. Firstly because we had it in our house instead of my Aunt Becky's. Second because my cousin Andy's chasing my sister with a... nevermind. Turkey neck. Not going to talk about it. Not going to get involved.
Weirdest. Family. Ever!
Oh, and this bit of news could go everywhere or nowhere: My dad says he has an idea to turn our tree house into a TARDIS.
Best. Family. Ever!
Yeah, we have a tree house, wired with electricity (I helped with that) and everything! But the roof is made of a type of wood that leaks. Badly. So it's currently in renovations purgatory. Mildew, cobwebs, dirt. Yech! But we have the tools to fix it! I think... Last I checked... Details, Details... But all that aside-A TARDIS! Doctor Who is the coolest thing ever. Paint it blue on the outside, instead of it's blendy-bleary gray and green, and totally convert the inside. (Using lots of junk. That area, though, is covered. We do have junk.) So, now... resources (quite possibly), motivation...
But we're probably gonna need time. Planning and stuff. Models.
Can't wait.
T.Y.G.E.R.
