Plower Fot

I'm reminded.

2007-05-19T04:42:21Z

I was reminiscing yesterday and now I remember the terrible heartbreak as it was the day before yesterday. I don't think it will ever leave me. It doesn't matter. I just want a kind man to love me.

Dang.

2006-12-29T04:20:26Z

He is a projector image writhing painfully within my veins, like a confused fetus looking for the outside light, and then peacefully thinking about how to create its own light. His eyes are pressed against mine and my skin is red, clogged, and irritated, as are my sore eyelids. He's a part of me. I'm desperate for him. I've been picturing, wondering what it would be like if he returned my feelings completely, and I'm not sure if I want that anymore. Just a conversation, please, please.

I had a dream about him. It was very specific. Next Monday, at 11:00, he was planning to take me to the mall, and then to meet some friends of his with Sensei II. I was so... so... SO excited. And then I woke up. Well dang.

I'm missing an important part of myself. I can't believe it's come to this. I'm an idiot. He'll never forgive me. I've ruined my own life, just like that. DANG.

Boo hooing

2006-11-17T21:31:43Z

I've been sitting here wondering why I'm still moving and breathing after pleaing so many times just to be removed from existence and placed somewhere else. I refuse to believe it's part of being fifteen. It's beyond being fifteen. It's being fifteen and not twenty. Fifteen and not thirty or thirty-five. There are far too many reasons why I'd like to be somewhere or someone else, all of which I have mentioned previously, so I won't even bother. As much as I'd like to wallow in woe, oh woe, for I am so tragically misunderstood, I know I must return to that (insert inexplicably dirty word here) school on Monday, where I must sit quietly and learn my lessons like a good little girl until December.

I don't cry often. If I cry once in two months, after those two months I will probably cry again over exactly the same issue, because my depression is long-term and serious, and so are my problems. I imagined a conversation between myself and someone else who does not need to be named where I told him that the last time I had cried, I was afraid I had absolutely no one left in the world to love me but my mother, but before that, I cried out of joy, when that man became a father, and now I understand why I was so happy. This man is of prime age, the age I am emotionally, and currently he is at the single most important point in his entire lifespan. He is living for me, experiencing the joys of marriage and parenthood and incredible responsibility and financial hardship while I'm in school doing macaroni sculptures and scrambling for my drivers license.

Ouch.

Mediocre?

2006-11-12T23:30:57Z

Why are people so insistent on telling me what I really want? I told my mom I want to go to an art school. I need to go to an art school. I can't imagine being anywhere else. But she keeps showing me newspaper articles about all these Christian private schools that offer mediocre classes, but oh, excellent opportunities for spiritual growth. Because that's what high school is supposed to be about. Meditating over a Bible surrounded by pastors' children who have never tasted ice cream or attended school outside their rigid homes where Spongebob is most definitely not allowed.

No, crap, I am not judging people. I'm being prudent. Prudent I tell you!

Anyway, I'm depressed again. Mom keeps telling me to be realistic; that even though I want to write or sing or illustrate or act or whatever, I need to acknowledge the fact that hardly anyone makes it anywhere pursuing these careers. She doesn't have any confidence in me at all. I'm losing confidence in myself. I may be good by mediocre standards, but am I any good at all by high standards? I've never been looked down upon, by anyone, except the mediocre. So I wouldn't know.

SENSEI, where are you??? I need a pep talk!!

Hey Nauu.

2006-11-05T07:56:18Z

I'm reluctant to describe my feelings today, I suppose because I'm wondering if anyone is actually listening. But besides that, I'm worried that I won't be able to describe them exactly, or that by describing them I'll lose them. That should shed some light on whether or not these feelings are positive.

I have wings tied to my naval (just about everything I have trouble describing seems to be related to my naval) and a goodness in my heart that I haven't seen for a long time. I feel, strangely enough, compelled to do absolute Good for people I previously had no interest in doing any Good for. I feel like I've emerged from demon possession, or something along those lines.

I'm also very tired, emotionally. I feel quite spent and I don't think I really milked this rare good mood for all it's worth, at least for myself, but I suppose that's not all good feelings are meant to be used for.

The euphoria emerged following the equally unusual resentment I was feeling for a lot of different people, then a feeling of utter loneliness, a somewhat suppressed few minutes of crying, and the end of a rather awful headache. I was alone in the house when the cycle was over and I felt completely at peace.

I turned the TV on to something quiet just for the sake of filling the living room with soothing sounds and read a book for a couple of hours, all the while feeling extremely, fantastically sane. I even sang a little to lift my spirits further. And then I put on a CD, stopped on my way to the kitchen, and for absolutely no reason at all, I was overcome by a burst of passion that channeled into my hands and caused me to litterally pound on a nonexistant piano with all the strength I could muster with my arms, which have recently become quite powerful due to all this book carrying. Perplexed by what I was doing, I stopped at the end of the song, my arms weak and a little sore. I was almost frightened by what I had just done, and immediately turned on the TV again to fill the whole house with sound to take my mind off of the fact that I was still home alone. I was mostly afraid that my feelings would escape me, but they're still here, I think. Just not as strong.

Hey.

2006-10-30T21:34:04Z

Shush.

Halloween is coming. I'm a yakuza.

Oh boo.

2006-10-30T03:52:04Z

I am a bloody brooding artist.

I'm experiencing the same relentless envy towards musicians that I still must endure when happening upon especially talented visual artists. I have so many thoughts. So many personal, troublesome thoughts. My first thought is: Is this my dream or someone else's? My worst fear is to one day realize that my love has been poured into someone else's vase and that their life is growing inside it, while mine must sacrifice its only source of being and whither and die. Oh boo, hoo. I'm plagued by my own standards of what an artist should be. First of all, their dream should be their own. No outsiders should be their soul motivation for doing what they do. Secondly, they should not be in the industry only to please a crowd or make a dime, which is directly related to my second thought, which is related to my inquiry about whether or not I'm doing this for the right reason! Am I a money maker? No! I am a bloody brooding starving artist and I consider marketing one's self to be blasphemy upon the art world, and at the same time I think people like me are idiots.

What am I supposed to do with myself?

The artist's process of creation is basically the realization and cultivation of the closest thing to a dream. A whisp of air and thought and experience and discipline concentrated into color and anchored down within the limits of human understanding. There is no magic. There is no purpose. Everyone breathes it, speaks it, tramples it. Originality is hard to come by because there is a definite limit to human understanding, so the process becomes very much like finding a needle in a hay stack, a step which many amateurs ignore, and instead decide to present to the world another pile of hay.

Is this why I am so neglected by my world? Left without instruction or purpose? Because my creations are, in fact, far too plentiful?

I thought being down-to-earth was enough, but I'm not getting any feedback. What's wrong with me? Is there a flaw in my character? Why the delay? Why the lack of communication? Why am I forced to fend for myself?

Auu du yoo tink yoo arr keedeen?

2006-10-25T22:01:09Z

Yesterday was interesting. I went to see Doug Samsel, my therapist, and I laid it on him. He's especially amazing because he actually empathizes with me and calls people I dislike funny names to ease my depression. He told me about a conselor he supervises... a Tomoko something something. He mispelled her name on the card he gave me. He said she might suit my needs better than he could, and I hated to agree with him, but I told him he was absolutely right.

I am aware that not all Japanese persons are humble and industrious and blah blah blah, but my brain is so terribly Asian that I thought I'd give it a shot. I never should have been born here. I'd like to fit into a majority. Not this majority, because I'd hate to belong here, but in a crowd I'm already wired for. I don't know if it was a mistake in manufacturing or delivery, but it hasn't done me any good.

Or maybe it has. Maybe originally living in America has taught me about independent thinking and the importance of branching out, which I most likely would have learned in almost any European country and a few Asian countries, but maybe not. I just don't know.

I bought some new clothes. I'm reasonably happy.

An EPIC [part two]

2006-10-23T20:23:56Z

Ack, today couldn't have been worse. I've mentioned my English teacher. I don't think she likes me. I'm always challenging her, because she isn't challenging me. At least I've learned how to be opinionated. I feel like I could say or write anything in that class because I don't care what she thinks of me at all. Of course I don't say just anything, but I do write just about everything. My journal entries are extremely opinionated, and I often bash whatever we're reading as hard as I like... Something I would never have dared to do in any previous English classes. She gets on my nerves, anyway. I've been getting terrible grades on every assignment because she doesn't bother to explain her screwy directions.

Speaking of directions, I wasn't given any for a project I turned in a week ago in world history. I got it back today. Got a D. I explained my predicament to the teacher. Directions were given on a Friday, and I was absent that day, and then the project was due that Monday. I did my best and turned it in the day it was due. The day we had a substitute. She told me I could have picked up the directions on Monday. I asked her, "And then I could have turned it in on Tuesday?" She said that whenever you're absent, you get an extra day to work. I wish I had known that a week ago. My teacher ripped me off. I wish I hadn't started crying in the hallway. I felt like an idiot.

lua_te_dua @ 2006-10-22T22:49:00

2006-10-23T03:57:11Z

I feel like there's something rotten in my teeth. Can't stop tapping my fingers on my rib cage. There's a sound I want to get a recording of. In women's choir, before we sight read a piece, some girls hum their notes. It sounds lovely, three pitches, going on and off like chirping crickets.

I hit a higher note than usual today, and it wasn't a fluke. I hope I can hit it again tomorrow. I think the piano exercises might have helped. If I could write music, I would. I can write lyrics just fine. It's the melody that has me stuck. I dream melodies, but then they're gone. They're always beautiful. I wish I could bring one back.

Anyway, I'd like to learn to play the guitar and perform at an open mic. I just need to feel like I'm accomplishing something. I feel so mean. Everyone keeps telling me I'm too critical.

An EPIC [part one]

2006-10-22T20:05:56Z

weltschmerz • \VELT-shmairts\ • noun, often capitalized
*1 : a mental depression or apathy caused by comparison of the actual state of the world with an ideal state
2 : a mood of sentimental sadness

Missin' people.

I've tried so hard to stay in touch with my teachers. I even attempted to visit Mr. Martin at Fort Zumwalt, but they don't allow visitors. Now I have to eat all the brownies I made for him by myself and crawl back to the drawing board.

I'm such a freakin' pessimist I can't even stand to live with myself. What the heck happened? When did I stop enjoying the company of my friends? FSHOO, BANG, three of them out of my life in only a year because they can't stand me either. I feel so terribly alienated and alone and paranoid that I get the impression that everyone, everywhere, hates me. UNTRUE. UNTRUE. UNTRUE. POW POW POW POW POW SHUTUP, stop thinking! I want to shut down! I want to sit down!

I wish the weather would stop changing. I wish wish wish wish wish - stop wishing; it doesn't do anything.

I sat down to draw today and I could only finish a panel and a half. A panel and a half because my patience has run dry. Because I'm out of luck. Because I'm out of passion. Out of inspiration. Out of money. Out of time. I'm a floating cork in stagnant, filthy water on a driveway.

I was sitting at a piano yesterday and I plucked out two songs and sang, but I didn't feel a thing, because there was nobody there. There was nobody to sing to and nobody to sing about. I was taking pictures of myself but I couldn't take the ones I wanted to because there was no one to hold the camera at the right angle. I tried to make a video but I couldn't play all the parts by myself. God, RESCUE ME.