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ramblings of a teenage girl

Today is the last day of the holidays, and tomorrow I will heavy heartedly start school while I am dripping with bacteria and limping like an old hag (translation- I'm sick and my foot hurts like hell).

I use to despise holidays and rejoice when the term started, not the other way round. Why? Because I was a nerd. But not anymore. It seems as if my attention span has dropped to an even more atrocious level than it already was before, and my ability to put 2 and 2 together has failed miserably. My holiday homework is still in my bag. And I'm still sitting here moping and waiting for it to grow legs and run away.

I have spent the entire day, moping, and hoping the homework will solve itself. Being sick is not fun, and I have forgotten how much it sucks, since I never get sick. Not very often anyway.
My mother reckons it's because I changed my eating habits, but that's just crap in my opinion.
Anyway, while moping, here's the song I wrote to express my feelings.

THE SONG ABOUT WHY I FEEL LIKE CRAP

So I'm lying in bed, feeling old and tired.
Thinking up things that will never make our world, a better place.
And I'm limping like a crook with a ripped up foot,
And a cold that makes me sound like I'm wearing a peg, on my nose.

But hey, what a way to end this sad holiday,
Forget about about the term,
Now it's time for more rest and recovery.

And why do things like this always happen to me?
Am I supposed to be grateful and let it be?
Aren't first days supposed all cheery with smiles and hugs all around?
I'll be the one sitting in the corner without a sound.

(Basically, this song is saying that I hate first days of schools when gaggles of giggling girls laugh and hug their friends because they haven't seen each other in 2 weeks. And the fact that I have to endure it while sniffling and limping around. What I don't understand is why they repeat the same action everyday when actually just saw their friends the day before. Of course, I don't understand the act of friendship altogether to don't listen to me.)

The song was actually written in the shower, as most of my songs are, but details aren't important. And it's not finished of course. I'll find more things to complain about tomorrow at school.

My God I become delusional when I'm sick.
Oh wait, I'm delusional all the time.
[insert more incoherent thoughts here]

...

I know many people who ask silly questions.

You know, I think I could handle this a little better than if you tried to tell me I wasn't fat.

And as if the two other pictures hadn't already convinced me that this book was WRITTEN for me, this pretty much did it. In case you were wondering, the pig in the last panel is an impression of me. Perfection.

I hope that this weak attempt to use pictures to help you understand me better has not failed, like most other things I do usually.

Thank you for the time you have wasted on me.

It's all very well having a problem, but when something's stopping you from solving it, then the problem becomes even more problematic.That's what I have now, a problematic problem.
Well, actually I have several.

1. The holidays are ending. And I have achieved nothing. (By this I mean I just found all the homework I was supposed to do, rotting in my bag.)
2. A mystery injury. Foot is SWOLLEN?! HOW?!
3. I PUT ON WEIGHT!!! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?!?!!?

Rather trivial, but that's okay.
I'll post somthing more meaningful later.



And then at the end they give up saying "please breathe" and let it happen.



In my opinion, people on TV need to learn to use better adjectives.
I cannot express the general frustration I have felt when a microphone is thrust under some kid's nose at a major event, and the only reply they can administer is "good" or "fun" or "and stuff". It KILLS me. It's so typical, so bland, so boring.
But it's not just the kids, I have actually counted the number or times news reporters have used the word "devastation" in the single news hour. Seriously? It's atrocious.

"The devastation caused by the Christchurch earthquakes."
"Devastation everywhere."
"It's just devastating."
"Absolute devastation again."

What happened to the use of a thesaurus? How about calamitous, distressing, destructive, forceful,, desecrating or annihilating? Those or just simple adjectives!!!
Listen up TVNZ, if you want to encourage a 'world class' news program, I suggest using some better, emotion provoking, educational, foreign sounding adjectives before I turn off the TV at the 17th time you mention "devastating". GET SOME BETTER ADJECTIVES!!!

Antibiotic lozenges don't work, because all the antibiotics that are supposed to work on your throat are released on your tongue instead. And instead of making you feel better, you feel worse, because your throat is still screwed up and your tongue is numb at the same time. We don't have pain killers in the house because my mum is allergic to them, and that means that I may be allergic to them as well, so I'm staying away from little white pills for now.

For now.

My songwriting competition results came, and I am pleased to say that I got nothing, as I was so busy convincing myself that I would. Today, there is no failure, it is simply the end of me convincing myself I had a talent for a short period of time, the hope poured into the act will be torn apart and distributed into some other part of life. I wondered why I didn't spend all the time and energy in gym, or actually studying and doing my English homework, but the lesson is learnt, and I will accept that I really am good at nothing after all.

The question remains however, how fragile am I on the inside? Each one of these events of rejection bring another chance for me to fall apart. And why have I, this time, not had deep feelings of regret and tears? Why am I filled with new self determination? This is most unlike me. I cope merely by directing my energy to another activity, something to get my mind off things. If gym is not going well, I turn to music. If that is not going well, I can focus on activities at school. When nothing goes well, that's when it really falls apart, and the tears fall on the bathroom floor and the sharp objects fall reign into my hands.

My fists are clenched on the keyboard as I pause. I'm angry, but not at myself. At everyone else. I'm not blaming myself for once, well not as much anyway. I'm blaming other people and myself. That's better than blaming it on myself alone. I'm angry at myself for wasting the time where I could have achieved something. I'm angry at myself because I unnecessarily sacrificed test results and assignments putting the wrong thing in front of the others in the priority list. I'm fucking angry 'cos none of this effort was recognised. I caused myself all this stress which could have been avoided. I killed unnecessary brain cells.

Today, I am letting the music choose my mood, I'm in no fit emotional state to feel anything for myself, or else I'll snap and someone will get hurt, probably me though. To make matters worse of course, I am sick, which happens incredibly rarely, and unfortunately at this period of emotional exhaustion. I don't know why I get so worked up over trivial matters. I don't know why I get so worked up at all.

Oh wait, I'm not right in the head!
Duh.

If a photo captures a piece of your soul, is it possible that that same piece can be replicated over and over so a complete version of your soul is made from that single piece? Can a completely new version of yourself be created from that single image?

I hate photos.
Please remember that.

And I don't want you running off with some of my soul.
I'm already falling to pieces,
you don't have to speed up the process.

Right now, I am still partially awestruck at the patience demonstrated by my gym coach. It's amazing. I could never be a teacher, or a coach, or any job that requires large amount of patience, because I have no patience. I get frustrated with myself, I get frustrated with other people that are near me, I get frustrated with people who are trying to help, I get frustated with people who have nothing to do with the situation whatsoever. It's retarded! (And because I too am retarded myself, other retarded people should not take offence, takes one to know one.)

All humans are allowed to get frustrated, I guess it's just how you deal with it.
I get grumpy very often nowadays. Suddenly. It's weird.
And yet while I got grumpy and frustrated, there was no silent treatment, there was no scowling, there was no yelling at 175 decibels, only understanding and patience.

I'm still amazed.
And that makes me happy.

Okay, so I was watching Pokemon (it's the school holidays okay, give me a break) and this random though struck me, as all random thoughts do. Why don't cartoon characters and such ever complain? I mean, after sleeping on the ground in sleeping bags around a camp fire for weeks and weeks and being dropped and electricuted by Pokemon don't you think they'd complain about sore muscles and being tired? Is this the example we were supposed to follow? I can't believe I missed this! I guess that medical dramas and late night comedy aren't as educational as the early morning cartoons seem to be.

There are people out there that once you meet and start talking, you'll find are creepily similar to you. So much so, that the similarities become majority and no longer coincidental. Even if you haven't had the same upbringing, lived in the same cities, or been to the same schools, you've shared the same experiences.
Maybe it helps that you weren't in the exact same locations and scenarios, there's always two ways to look at something, and no two people can see one scenario the same. But two people can have the same feelings about two similar situations. Still with me?

To cut a long story short, it gives you hope in that maybe you're not the only one out there who has felt like you do. Maybe it is part of life after all and not some mental illness, unless you happen to both be suffering from the same mental illness of course, but all the same, you're still sharing the same emotion.
Since I'm not really one for people interaction, I don't know how this strange twist of fate came to bring us both, but I really hope that it was meant to be and that everything will work out okay later in life for us lost souls (well, I'm a lost soul).

Dedicated to my good friend Nicole Lok. Visit her blog http://trajectory-and-surreality.blogspot.com for the thoughts of a girl almost like me (except she's a million times more awesome with all the brains she's got in her head.)

With a name like Alethea, most people tend to stick to addressing me with the full version...Alethea. It's not very shortenable (if that's even a word), but I have had some weird and sometimes wonderful random other names in the past...

Leaf- Unfortunately, this is completely unoriginal. I was first addressed by a guy who liked me in Year 4. Of course, if you'd been keeping up, you'd have known that I don't very much like relationships with guys, and the sad nickname didn't help.

Limmy- What's to hate? What's to love? Well, at least I can say this one is original. It was derived from my last name, which is unoriginal and boring, but Limmy then evolved into Lima and Limabean ('cos I was a beansprout/midget back in the day...) so a whole branch of nicknames came out from that in Year 6. Well done.

E.T.- Well, it was my brother that invented this one, after being able to say everyone else's name in my family he tried mine without success. So Alethea became Etea with then changed into the current form, E.T. It suits me I think, I am weird and out of this world sometimes, an extra terrestrial I am but the song by Katy Perry doesn't do much justice.

Well, I do advise you stick to Alethea, it's much easier and much more versatile. Don't try new retarded nicknames because you'll just make a fool of yourself and annoy me to pieces (unless that was the intention of course, in that case poo you).

There, my first none depressive post in weeks, go me.

"Repetition is the mother of all learning"
Depends on how you look at it I suppose. Repeating an exercise a million times wrong isn't going to help in any way is it?

Repetition.
I don't like doing the same thing twice, going through the same thing twice, repetition, repetition. Where is the learning in the doing it again? I don't seem to learn anyway. The same foolish mistakes find their ways and seep into my vision. The only repetition is that in the mistakes made.
When I close my eyes, the images of what went wrong repeat themselves, over and over. That's repetition. Flashes of failure and violence.

My skillful sifting through memories finds this all to be true. I can't let go. I can't move on. And I can't learn through repetition like this.

"Repetition is the mother of all learning"
But it only works if you repeat what's worth repeating.
So please don't make me do it again.
Not like this.
Help me make it better.
And maybe we'll get somewhere then.

I feel like I repeat myself too often. How do I get my point accross?
Repitition.

I don't post for the sake of posting. That just defeats the purpose of carrying the responsibility of a blog. I always have something to say, something to write and something to let go of. Everything I write is what I feel. Maybe one day all these useless thoughts will be of use to someone. A forensic maybe. A statistician. Another lost soul.
Each one of these posts is subtly dedicated to someone. Each of these songs is written from the emotion I carried within me, spiked by another being.
I have no idea what I want to do with my life, sometimes I don't even know what I want to do with the next 24 hours that confront me when I get out of bed. Sometimes even survival defeats the purpose of existence. But this sad little URL is something I've made of a habit. Thankfully not a self destructive one like other habits have in common.

Barely 14 years old, and I'm already babbling incomprehensible gibberish.
I'm not like other kids?
Where is my boyfriend?
My make up bag?
My wardrobe?

Non existent.
My priorities are all mucked up.
Right now my sisters are upstairs starightening their hair?!
I couldn't care less.

Oh, what am I doing with my life?
Wasting everything away.
That's what my mother says.

Oh well.
How long do you have to live to make a living?

We must be uniformed, flawless, symmetrical.
And those who stray starry eyed from the likes of the stream are made obvious.
Damn it.

I love pointing out the obvious poetically.

Yes Rosy, you are absolutely correct.
Everything I speak radiates negativity.
I have to. Reverse psychology remember?
I'm afraid to speak the truth in it's truth.

You know, when I grew up, where I grew up, the tantalisingly precious first 6 years of my life, was hell. Corporal punishment in South East Asia, most parts of Asia, still exists. My mother didn't tell me I was perfect. She didn't tell me that she loved me. I can't remember any of that anyway. She told me she wanted to beat me until I was striped like a zebra.
Those words were charred into my 4 year old self.
I wasn't the best.
I wasn't good.
I wasn't worth it.

I say that I'm fat, and she tells me that I am, and I should stop eating so much.
I try and make music, and she says that it's crap.
I try, and she asks why I can't do better.

My words are a mirror of hers. And she is the ultimate. If I'm more negative than anyone else, then no one else can hurt me more. And yet they still do. I can't let my walls down anymore. I learnt my lesson.

I don't know if I'm too sensitive, but judgement is something that we couldn't get by without.
And so if I am the judge, no mark can be drawn blacker.
You can't say that it's okay, that second best is okay, that being crap is okay.
I won't do anything about it,
But maybe it won't hurt so much.

Break yourself so no one can break you further.
I just have to remember that my ultimate prize,

will be death.

There is new fire in my eyes, I feel like doing something unadvisable.
I feel like revenge.
I have found the person that takes the blame for the beginnings of everything I can't be today.
I hate you.
A passionate emotion for one who didn;t give a damn.
Even if you don't hate me.
It's not my fault anymore.
It's yours.
Only I know,
and only you know what happened.

Only now you can't take it back.

I'm manic, I'm manic, I'm manic.
Not the girl from next door anymore.

I'm the girl from hell.

Sometimes I'm not me.
I do things that I'd never crawl near otherwise.

I go for freakish skills when I'm a hyped up version of myself.
I swear, harshly, when I'm a rebel, or the who gives a fuck version of myself.
I'm violent.
I make rude statements.
I speak my mind far too often anyway.
You really don't know anything if you've only met me once.
Or twice.
Or anything less than 14 years.

I'm so episodic. That's why I can't take things for granted anymore.
Lately, I have resided in the depressed Me.
Nothing works.
I won't do it.
What's the point?

It seems I am destined to make a living as a sad freak.
Oh well.
That's what I'm good at I suppose.

They really are, making it seem as though I am elongated and thin, perfect.
Cruelly giving hope and then laughing when all is taken away. Spiteful, blacker in brighter sunlight, but finding their match and fading away when the clouds dance above.

I'm so sick of this.
Sick of pretending.
Sick of trying and getting no where.
Sick of being that girl.
Laughter hurts, it's not worth it.

For those of you reading this who know me, listen.
Non existent is the cry.
For assistance.

Last time I was like this, I lost it all.
Because I don't care,
I don't give a shit anymore.
And when I swing back round,
There'll be nothing left for me to contemplate.

I'm manic.
I'm insane.
I hate you.

I tend to write quite a few of my sentences with the ending exhibiting a '?!'
Now technically, this is grammatically incorrect, so the occurrences of it at the end of my sentences should be unheard of...I'm a grammar freak so an incorrect apostrophe is a shameful death. Yet somehow, the ?! ending has made it's way into my writing.
?! or !? is how questioning surprise or disbelief or confusion is shown at the end of statements and sentences, as I use it anyway.
I saw it in a comic once (there was nothing better to read at the time), not at the end of a sentence, but encased in a speech bubble above the character's head, similar to when there is a little black squiggle to indicate that the character is annoyed (or crudely, pissed off).
I suppose at the end of a sentence it doesn't really apply.
Oh well.
Just another hopeless attempt to express myself.

It's what I lack. Everything I do, stops, starts, fluctuates, gets better, or gets worse in no particular order...
I had a coach once who hollered across the gym "YOU ARE ONLY CONSISTENT AT BEING INCONSISTENT!"
Why he did not yell at me, I am always intrigued by. I am not consistent, what is good one day is not going to be good the next. Perhaps that is a good thing, the unpredictability, it must save from disappointment, and also from overall expected joviality.
If there's never an expectation, there's never a chance to fail.
If there's never an expectation, there's never the need to exceed it.
If there's never an expectation, there's never a need at all.

The paradox continues.
I have expectations and goals really, but my subconsciousness nurtures them away from my worrisome mind, in the fear that if I speak of them, they may become cursed, or vanish in the presence of reality. The trouble is, I still feel disappointed when I don't achieve these make believe goals, great disappointment for something I wasn't even expected to do, yet when the goal is accomplished, little happiness is felt.

I don't see well in the achievement, yet the failure to do so can become a matter of life and death.

My mood fluctuates greatly as well.
The cycle is as follows...
1. Be really happy and exuberant, this is mostly caused because of excessive sugar
2. Do something really stupid in a manic moment
3. Be really depressed and caught up in regret
4. Get more sugar

I can be freakishly happy and optimistic one day and then self harming the next.
Do I have bipolar?
Manic-depression right?
Help!

Most people have mood swings, but not so far off the median, my mood swings wildly from one side of the happy continuum to the other side, suicidal.

I'm just not a consistent person.
I'm unreliable, untrustworthy...
This is coming from myself, I can't even trust myself sometimes.
Man this sucks.

Guess I'll just have to put up with being consistent at being inconsistent.
:P

It's the holidays!
I can feel the stress melting off my shoulders...haha self induced stress it was, but stress all the same. Seeing that I now have all this free time (NO SCHOOL WHOOPEE!!!) I think it's time I write my holiday bucket list...
It was from these bucket lists where I taught myself to yodel, and to moonwalk, and blog, do the thriller sequel, write songs, and side ariel on the grass hahaha

This Holiday's Bucket List
-Get older
-Hug a tree
-Attempt to make a cake like my mother's
-Write a novelty song or two
-Go to gym
-Watch Grass Grow
-Learn to breakdance
-Learn to draw a perfect circle
-Learn to spin a pen
-Learn abacus mental calculative arithmetic
-Improve my Yodelling skills
-Memorise more definitions of long and complicated and useless adjectives
-Increase my words per minute (typing skills)

Mind you, I don't usually do everything, but it's nice to have a rough guide/plan for what I want to do with my spare time, which is abundant right now hahaha

I love holidays!

It is the constant craving I have to satisfy the unsatisfiable that keeps me going.
Even though I know I will never get there,
it's like one of those treadmills that turn faster,
the faster you walk/jog/run,
no matter how fast you run, you'll never get there.
So there's no point running faster, because you'll still get to the same point.
And today, on my 14th birthday, I have realised that.
There's no point running ahead, there's no point running  faster at all.
I just gotta live life at my own pace.

And maybe then I'll get somewhere.

Age.
Is just another number, I struggle to convince myself.
Aren't I supposed to be someone who likes numbers?
I always feel depressed when my birthday approaches because I feel as if I have not accomplished anything since the last year. All I have now is extra responsibilities :(

I will be legally allowed to take the highway code tomorrow (even for fun).
I will be able to legally stay at home unsupervised.
I will be legally allowed to be part time employed.
I will be legally allowed to supervise a child at the swimming pool (although I don't think that would be a good idea)
I will officially jump from once batch of statistics to another.
I will no longer be able to rub in peoples faces in my Year 10 class that I am only 13.
I will be past the average 'developing' age for girls.
I will be older.

But I'll still be me :)
Hope you enhoyed my last ramble as a 13 year old.

Colour dominate our lives more than we expect it to.
We say that someone has "passed with flying colours"
or is showing their "true colours"
We talk about skin colour,
Hot colours,
cold colours,
colours that are neither of the above.
Colours that are not colours at all.

I'm not White, or Black, Or Brown.
I'm Yellow and proud of it :P
But I'm whitewashed, 'cos I have pretty much no cultural background haha.

My colour is red.
I love red, it has power and passion.
Red can be love, intense, rich powerful.
Red can be blood, liquid, spiteful, death.
I love the contrast.
It's invigorating.
It's so me!
Colour rules for everything.
Gold for first.
Silver for second.
Bronze for third.
White for a wedding.
Black for funerals.
Bruised purple, black and blue.
Green with envy.
Red with rage.
White for surrender.
Yellow for sun and smiley faces :)

Where would we be without colour?
Colour is emotion, ranking, everywhere.
And like that mastercard ad says,
Priceless.

There is a time where you realise that there is no one out there that you can trust.
To give knowledge,
is to give life.
Or gold.
And power,
that can be turned against you.

It is when you cannot trust yourself,
that everything ends.

I am reading a book.
It's called 'Chalked Up' by Jennifer Sey, I typed 'psychological disorders' into the library catalogue and it was the only relevant and avaliable item in the entire library, plus it was about psychological disorders  and gymnastics! Two things I could relate to!!!
I got it issued merely because it is now the holidays and I figured a book 1 and a half inches thick with small text and a little picture section in the middle could at least keep me occupied for 1 and a half hours.

I was wrong.

I have never been so intrigued in my life.
Obsessions have been sparked.
This girl has been the closest I have ever found to someone decribing their lack of self worth as close to my own. The thirst for competition and yet acceptance of self defeat.

The only person I compete with is myself,
too much.
I'm never good enough for myself.
I am my tormentor.

In the time where no time exists,
I cannot find the line,
where I need to be aligned with.
And in the time where there is no time,
I will suddenly discover,
the line I am looking for,
does not exist anwhere,
but in my own mind.

I drew the line that I could never cross,
and crossed it.
And it became meaningless,
and everything became meaningless.

My walls are crumbling.

Something you should know about me, I, like most girls have absolutely no self confidence when it comes to my body. You should know I hate change, and I hate my body, and I hate body change.
I have CONSIDERED throwing up on purpose.
I have starved myself and all sorts of stupid stuff that doesn't work.
I binge so bad it's not funny.
I can eat a whole loaf of bread, toasted, 2 slices at a time, in one go.
I can eat the entire batch of cookies my mother bakes.
I should just stop eating all together.
Yea, yea, don't go on about metabolic rates and that, because I can't keep that up.
I don't drink water, because I don't like the taste?
Sad excuse right?

I worry so much about what people think of me,
I will lie in bed at night and rethink what I could said or done over and over.
Over and over.
Lie in bed and rethink that look that I recieved from that girl.
And wonder what it meant.
And wonder how I looked like compared to her.

Sometimes I tell myself that I should be grateful that I even have legs at all,
be grateful that I have legs that work.
But I want more,
or less,
I want legs that are nothing more than skin and bone,
I want a face that no one will remember,
for it will be so normal,
that no one will notice.
And not just pretend not to notice on purpose.
I want a voice that is not cranky and annoying and oriental,
I want to be able to give love,
And not just petty sarcasm.
I want not to want anymore.
I want closure.
I need closure.

I want my brain to shut up.

For some reason, my mind sees confidence in the needs and wants,
but I know it won't stop.
Until death,
lovely death.
Closure.

This is where it all comes out.
The contents of my mind, or what makes it through the day to end up,
Here, on my blog, for the world so see.
And I hope that maybe, when someone reads this, they will understand me, if that's even possible.
That those who are around me will know me better, that maybe I will know me better by putting it out there. It's like an instruction manual:

'How to deal with this insolent little child'.

Use this information well my dear ones.
To find out what's wrong, when I won't tell you.
My heart belongs to this URL.
And my soul to no one.

So I leave you there,
How much do you really know me?

I am certain that adults ask me this, just to annoy me, because I can never decide how to answer this question.
I used to go around telling everyone I wanted to become a lawyer...Why? Well I dunno, maybe a craving for money?! I used to be good at arguing, but not so much with logic anymore...people also said I had a good memory (depends that one...) and I had a fluent writing style, but I could never count on what they told me. Depending on how well they knew me (or how long for) they'd either say I had a fiery uncontrollable temper, or I hardly ever spoke at all...hahah what a contrast.

I was certain I would definitely not become a doctor. I had this random stereotypical view that doctors were all surgeons and I knew I could never handle cutting some one's guts open and trying to fix it...I also had a fear of hospitals and dead people, and blood and all sorts of random medical jargon. What if I killed someone?! Like Michael Jackson's doctor? My overactive mind would surely over think the concepts of revenge from beyond the grave...right now I'm reconsidering. My recent obsessions with psychological disorders and Grey's anatomy have redefined the awesomeness of medical drama...hmmm so that could be an option.

A lot of people think that I am wasting my mathematical/science based thinking ability, so they completely miss the other musically orientated side of me and say I should be a researcher or something, I don't mind going into genetics, I am also fascinated by the orgins and purposes of chromosomes and genes and especially genetic mutations and disorders, and I don't mind having a lab as my office...forensics could be fun to do too!

BUT...

What I really want to do is work in NEW YORK which is probably a dream millions of low life people like me have but will never get to do. Oh well, I don't care what I do, or how I get there I just need to get there. And one day I will have an apartment in NY city...if America is still standing by the time I grow up I WILL BE THERE!

I am a city person, and I love night life and crowds of people who I do not know...and random hobos that live on the side of the street, that's my idea of adrenaline...

I feel lost without an ambition, so it has to change every day...gives me fresh insight into life...hahaha
Could I be a singer?
I would like to be some sort of artist, reinvent myself everyday.
Oh to be a dreamer...

I'm too much of a dreamer to be...anyone.

I can't.
I can't. I can't I can't.
I can't be perfect just for you.
How about me?
You crossed the line.

I know I'm crazy sometimes, but insanity brings the fading of boundaries,
Until you're at the edge.

What runs my world?
Regret.
For so many things,
For the controllable,
for the uncontrollable.
For What I should have known.

For what I should have done,
For what I didn't do.

I like Blackforest chocolate, it provokes deep thought
And it still tastes sweet...

Like Victory.

Has it ever occured to anyone how smart and instantly sophisticated people think you are when you're carrying a musical instrument case?
I know when I'm carting around a violin, people stare...haha probably thinking 'What a nerd!' (when I hit someone in the head with my violin on the bus, it confirmed their suspicions...nerd = no hand/eye coordination). It also works if you carry EXTRA thick novels around, people think you're smart...and if you wear your school uniform correctly (especially if there's a tie involved).
It's funny, you wouldn't even know if there was an instrument inside, it could be a bomb or something! But people still think you're smart...haha

Or maybe that's why they're looking at me...terrorism?!
I'll leave it there...

You know when the people come to your school, and warn you about the dangers of random stuff like drugs, smoking, intercourse, eating disorders etc. and people in your class either cringe and say they're never going to do it and/or switch off because they don't care?
Well I did that, with the drugs people, and the safe sex people, and the smoking people, and there were all these things that I frowned upon and I never thought I'd do...but curiosity killed the cat.
I thought it was just going to be once.
To take it away.
Just for the thrill.
Just for fun.
And Now I Can't Stop.

And I wrote a song about why, so if I've rolled up my sleeve by accident lately around you, please, if your eyes have been the tainted with the sight of my scars, please.
Read this.
And please pretend,
that nothing is happening.

I am constantly underestimating the tackiness in not going for help, or telling people, and you need to read this sentence over and over until you see what I do.

Here's the song...

Don't ask me again if I'm alright,
Whatever you see, whatever you think is fine.
Don't want to have to ruin your world of perfect lies,
to etch another line out of sight.

Please just ignore all my pain,
you've nothing to lose and I've nothing to gain.
It won't even matter to the end of the day,
til the devil within me is slain.

Oh! But I'm only human,
And that I blame for everything, and what I am within,
Oh! For my own existence,
And what I do, and what I am if anything.
We are flawed, we make mistakes,
our need to know is too great.
But don't get me wrong
I could still be so much more.

Just know that it isn't you to blame,
Whatever you ask I still can't explain,
And I can't tell you why I fell like standing in the rain,
when the sun is there shining ahead.

Oh! But I'm only human,
And that I blame for everything, and what I am within,
Oh! For my own existence,
And what I do, and what I am if anything.
We are flawed, we make mistakes,
our need to know is too great.
But don't get me wrong
I could still be so much more

 And that's all so far...

It has been a day of second best, good for nothing, second best.
I failed 3 tests!!!
By fail I mean I did not achieve the highest mark, because that is a fail to me.
The second best mark in Maths is not good enough for me. And what's worse, is I only made a minor calculation error in THE WHOLE TEST!!! I HATE THIS!!!
People always say to me,
"How are you so good at everything?"
"How do you cope?"
"I wish I was like you."
Well you know what? I am absolutely CRAP at most things I do, my mother labels me as 'Jack of all trades, Master of none', because that's what I am! I do everything, and yet I am good at nothing.
I don't cope, and if I did till now, I have no idea how I did it, and I believe I am at the point of developing mental illness.
And for the record, you should never wish to be me, I am not a person you should idolise. I am a terrible person. You should never trust me. I am not worthy. I am violent. I have multiple personalities. I am too up myself. I don't believe in myself. I don't know who I am. I have no purpose in life. I am blessed but I am wasting everything away. I can't relate to people. I am either hypersensitive or completely oblivious to the situation. I take racism way to personally. I am mildy schizophrenic.

I don't know where all that came from.
Hmmm, I think I need some chocolate.

Sometimes, there is a need to visualise an adult you know, as a child. For example, when your science teacher has a flashback and decides to tell you story about her upbringing and how her mother poisoned the kids at her primary school in 1960 with copper...Anyway, it's so hard to imagine old people younger! (No offence...)
I can totally imagine all the people in my class older, and my brother and sisters as adults, but when it comes to imagining my parents as children I have nothing to work from.
Maybe it's because I find it easier to imagine the future than imagining the past...it's more free, there's no telling what could happen, but with imagining the past, you know it's already happened, there's a standard, something to match to? That would have to happen in my subconciousness (highly likely).
With age, it's just so gradual, it annoys me. Where is the point where adolescence turns into adulthood? Or childhood into adolescence? The fact that it is not defined annoys me, there's no right answer, there's no wrong answer, so what is the point of the question?

Argh this aways happens when it's my birthday...I'm getting old.

alethea

65 up, 8 down

Description: Mysterious, Quiet, Virtues: Acceptance, Commitment, Discipline, Foresight, Honesty, Honour, Hospitality, Humility, Independence, Integrity, Intuition Morality, Modesty, Obedience, Patience, Respectfulness, Responsibility, Trustfulness, Truthfulness This personality this is one of a kind persona, an oddity in this mundane world, if not an in explicably intriguing character. To the onlooker Alethea is a quite subdued individual whose character revolves around a shy yet steadfast nature. Such character derived in a loyalty and rooted in trust grows upon one reaching out in a whisper transmuting into a deep admiration. To the exuberant and animated she is inconspicuous, imperceptible, and invisible. As if no more than a premonition to the supercilious, yet to the keen, she becomes a work of genius unlike any other. Permeated with wisdom and infected with kindness she guides and strengthens those around her. In the absence a throng, she dispels the cloak releasing a creative and exuberant character vivacious and thirsty for life. In this she is no longer tranquil and subdued, but alive, full of an insatiable and unquenchable desire for life. This powerful craving brings out a random and indescribable occurrence, transforming a quiet heart to an innocent and playful, but vivid and active one. This freedom found only by herself and with her closest friends is invigorating. Such energy brings back the innocents of childhood infectious joy.

I officially love Google and Urban Dictionary.

Many things are calling.
The weekend is calling.
The bed is calling.
The new bar of Cadbury dairy milk in the fridge is calling (louder than most things).
The homework is calling (very, very softly, hmmm can't here it that much).
The piano is calling.
The cookies from Christchurch are calling.
Age is calling.
The time is ticking.

AND I FEEL LIKE WRITING (yet another) SONG!
And it shall go on here soon...

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