HALCALI

I rather like using my (admittedly) numerous journals to bitch about my life, if only to keep me from doing so in real life. I live a rather charmed life, but like all (or at least most) teenagers, my hormones and easily depressive mentality keep me from fully appreciating that fact. Again, even as I try to objectively pick myself apart.

It's a strange feeling, you know? Feeling something, then immediately stepping back and analyzing where it came from, why I'm feeling it, how to stop it; then to slip back into my feelings and ruin all the objectivity I had achieved. I'm not entirely sure I like to feeling of detached-ness it inspires within me, but I find myself disinclined to stop the behavior. Mostly because it would involve a lot of self-discipline that I find myself severely lacking. And, as I delve deeper into the complexities and inanities of my mind, I find my prose becomes much more flowery and eloquent. At least, compared to the usual dribble that spews from my mouth in the presence of others. My speech is always more... detailed and delicate sounding when it is just myself and/or my keyboard. Why this is, I truly have no idea. Maybe because I have no need to worry about whether or not others will understand the more complex words and wording I am wont to use. Perhaps its just because I have the intense need to prove to myself that I am more than the brash (and possibly crass) girl I seem to come across as to most people. Probably to assure myself that I'm not as stupid as make myself seem to fit in more with my peers.

And now I'm drifting off into things no one wants to here, so we'll (oh, the royal we) keep this journal to a minimum now. Although, I have already defeated that purpose, haven't I? No matter, I shall leave you, my likely invisible and nonexistent readers, to ponder and mock what I have laid out here. Au revoir.

Listening to the two Lady (coughMANcough) Gaga songs that I have, I've come to a conclusion as to why I like her lyrics. She is a crazy bitch and not afraid to show it. Blatantly sexual and whatnot, she's like the inner dominatrix that every woman wishes she could unleash. Frankly, I think it's simultaneously hilarious and excellent.

While this journal is in no way me showing support for her music, I AM enjoying myself over the lyrics that she comes up with. Bad Romance playing in the background, with Poker Face lyrics lilting somewhere in my mind, I'm not sure if she likes abusive relationships, or if she enjoys a bit (or a lot) of bondage. Personally, I'm hoping it's the first one, because then a scandal will show up eventually. In no way am I trawler of gossip (trash) magazines, but my mother is and I am fed the most inane gossip at the most inappropriate times (like while trying to write a serious essay). The look of creepy joy that crosses my mothers face is almost too much for me to handle at times, especially when it concerns Lady Gaga. We both enjoy bashing her and speculating whether or not she (he) is truly a woman (man). It's one of the many sick little things we find ourselves bonding over.

Back to what I was trying to get to before I distracted myself: Lady Gaga's lyrics. I love the blatant sexuality and abuse she winds into her songs. Personally, the only type of relationship I can see myself in is one where my boyfriend and I are abusive to each other. If I hit you, I expect you to hit me back; at the very least, a smack in the arm or leg to show me you DO have balls somewhere in your girlie jeans. Plus, the idea of bondage doesn't exactly scare me. I love the idea of control, even losing it if I'm with the right person and in the right mood.

Getting out of my totally imaginary sex life, I like Lady Gaga for her lyrics. I wish more people would write catchy songs with abusive lyrics. It gives me little sick thrills to imagine playing Russian Roulette (the gun kind) and physically fighting with (imaginary) boyfriends; ending up in some sort of bad romance. Excuse the pun, but it was fitting for the journal.

I have already failed my new year's resolution. Did five minutes after the ball dropped, actually. I started biting my nails. It's been this way ever since I was seven. I'm almost sixteen now. This blows.

Moving on from depressing failure, the school term has started up after a week long delay. I am rather excited about this prospect, if only because most of the classes I have this semester I am going to thoroughly enjoy. AP Psych and Intermediate Drawing are drawing the most happiness, while French II and Chemistry I are drawing much disdain. French isn't the language I wanted to learn, so that is understandable. I also dislike chemistry because of all the reactions, memorizing, elements, compounds, solutions, etc, etc... They make me nervous and I have a bad habit of breaking my new year's resolution when I'm nervous. (see above if you missed the reference) Sadly enough, I'm already signing up for my junior year classes, and looking for colleges. I know almost for certain that I'm going to be a medical student with a specialty in psychiatry. For certain I'll be doing something that involves studying the mind because it's just such a fascinating subject to me.

I've been away from devART for far too long. I'll be uploading more frequently now that I'm in another art class. This journal will now be a fill-in-the-gap journal from December 1 to now:

Not much happened in early December. School was ending, I was dreading certain finals, my parents were mad with my two B+'s, whatever. School lets out just in time for Christmas Eve. The grandmothers are here, not a happy prospect to say the least. I'm smothered and subsequently sequester myself in my batcave (AKA my room). I knit like mad to finish any gifts I haven't finished.

January: grandmothers leave, THANK GOD. I have peace and we get a cold snap like no other, pushing back the school start up a whole week. Life is relatively good. I go out with three friends to the movies: two guys and a girl. One guy, who I've kind-of liked, asks me out, much to my chagrin. I am not a relationship girl; I would prefer something like friends with benefits or some shit like that. He despairs and calls me four times in the next two days. I ignore all his phone calls because I'm selfish when it comes to my emotions. My happiness comes before his, thank you very much. My best friend, bless her, tells the boy to back off politely and he listens. I owe her big time.

School starts! First day, walking in early to French 2. I sit there for a minute before looking up to see Him (boy who asked me out). He spots me before I can duck out of sight (damn!) and I dodge out of the room when he traps himself behind some desks. He catches up anyway and says that he doesn't want his confession ruining our friendship. I tell him it's too late for that and if he doesn't back off, I will force him out of my life so completely his head will spin. I then proceed to ignore his pleas as I get myself a drink of water and walk back to French. He leaves and I haven't spoken to him since. I'm glad he's out of my life and I'm tempted to delete his number out of my phone (the ultimate rejection of friendship). School, thankfully, is providing an excellent distraction and I can launch myself into homework. Notes in chemistry, syllabus signings, reading in AP psych, workbook pages in French 2, and sketch book assignment in I.D. I'm just glad that I have these to distract myself from the drama of rejecting a friend.

I'm completely and totally ready to slap myself. Every year since my sixth grade year, I have gotten prepped and ready to some extent for Nanowrimo by September and early October. This year? Not so much. It just hit me YESTERDAY that Nanowrimo starts in a week and I HAVE NOTHING PREPARED. Now, I'm scrambling for an idea to write in time for the kick off.

Now I'm angry. Excuse me while I keep this short and continue idea storming. >