Tell me things like

Tell me things like

I wish I were as resilient as my plant.  Her name is Ginny and she lives in a pot on my dresser, except for lately; this summer she's been residing in the kitchen next to my sister's plant (the nameless), where I hoped my father would remember to water them when the rest of us were out of town.  Ginny never dies, even during the busiest days where I forgot to water her and the winter days during which she got very little sun.  Her leaves, dashed with pink, just pop back up, unharmed, like I never forgot about her.  She never gives up hope. 

I, on the other hand, am hopeless.  I look up to my plant. 

So many special people change

So many special people change

So about thirty seconds ago I was just sitting here at my computer staring at a picture of Adam Brody, and suddenly I thought, "I hope he doesn't get old and end up disgusting and look like he had plastic surgery like Kevin Bacon does." What is wrong with me?

I attempted to explain my thinking about all of it, this year and all of it, to my mom today in the car - while I was driving - and I'm pretty sure I only made her think I'm crazier than she originally thought. I'll accept crazy, though. Crazy can live alone with her dogs and watch "The OC" as much as she wants and never, ever, ever clean her room or throw her old magazines away. Crazy can dye her hair without a second thought and Crazy can refer to herself in the third person and Crazy can avoid her friends as much as she wants and hope that that'll make everything better.

God, even during the summer do I manage to make a mess out of things.

As I'm cutting through you track by track

As I'm cutting through you track by track

So lately my days have consisted of about twelve-hundred zillion mood swings combined with technological difficulties and procrastination and an overwhelming amount of paper equal in size to every piece of homework I've completed in the past nine months.  Things are feeling extremely overwhelming lately, with college research and dropping grades and sudden facebook honesty.  Did you know my sister reads MLIA?  I had no idea my sister reads MLIA.  I also had no idea she was building a roller coaster in science class.  She lives across the hall from me and I have to find out what's going on in her life through reading her blog.

Reading her blog.  Is this girl me?  I was trying to explain this to my mom the other day and she thought I was offended that my sister was copying me.  But I don't really think that's what's going on.  I think.  Although she has been dressing like me lately...

I have no idea where this is going.  I swear this morning I was walking along between first and second periods - that's when I get all my best pensive thinking done, then or between third and fourth periods -  and I can't even continue this sentence because it just occurred to me that the phrase "pensive thinking" is extremely redundant. 

I swear I am losing my mind.  I say "I swear" too much.  I'm taking the SAT on Saturday.  Today I made a rose out of duck tape.  I gave my personalized copy of Looking for Alaska to Michael to read and I'm scared for its life.  My nail polish is chipped and it's driving me crazy. 

Oh, wait.  I was going to blog about how horrible the Vietnam War was.  Too late now.  I guess that's kind of an overused topic anyway.  
 

If you could see me now

If you could see me now

It seems like the most eventful part of my day is when I'm walking to my locker by myself after 6th period.  Whenever I'm walking alone, I go into this sort of meditative trance where I'm not really paying attention to where I'm going because my feet are on autopilot.  This is actually sort of unsafe, because I'm frequently nearly killed by bicyclists, stupid sophomores, and benches.

Today on the way to my locker, I was walking about ten feet away from everyone around me.  All of a sudden a kid came up behind me and said, "the sun is shining."  I looked up, and the sun was most obviously not shining.  So I was still contemplating my encounter with a tiny weather-challenged sophomore when I turned a corner and heard my name.  I turned around and saw nothing, so I turned to the right, and saw a giant bundle of birthday balloons.  And then I walked three feet forward, and there was Campbell's, waving at me.  So I said "hey!" and felt awkward and kept walking.   

Then I heard my name again and spun to the right, where Taco was walking with his adorable girlfriend.  So I said "hi!" and felt awkward and attempted not to trip when I started walking again.  A minute or so later, I got stuck behind a group of extremely slow-moving sophomores and listened to them talk about absolutely nothing until I could get around them.

When I finally got to my locker, someone nearly hit me with his bike.  I hate bikes.   

I can't wait till I can graduate and go to college and spend all day indoors reading and not watch where I'm walking.  I wish I had a tall person to walk in front of me all the time.  Then everyone would just move out of my way. 

Also, the worst advice I've ever given:  butterflies are good.
You'll be fine.  :)

By the flash of a neon light that split the night

By the flash of a neon light that split the night

Today I finished my homework early for the most part, and then I had a very interesting dinner with my parents, during which we talked about college, my father's ex-girlfriends, raw French steaks, and how to tell your friend she has body odor.  Now I'm sitting here in my room and I'm the only one upstairs and it's really strange and quiet because it's the first time in a while that I haven't had music playing. 

And now it's not quiet anymore, because I decided to play the vlogbrothers videos that I'm behind on in the background while I write this.  That's so weird, quiet.  I was somewhere last week - I don't remember where, exactly.  A backstreet in one of the cities we visited, I think.  Probably with a few other people, and maybe we just stopped talking for a few minutes, or I stopped to take a picture, and then I noticed just how quiet it was.  No cars or sirens or crowds of people, or even birds.  Just silence. 

One of the first things Flipsy and I talked about when we got off the plane in Boston was how loud it was.  It was almost like a hum - not sirens or screaming, but just sound.  It wasn't immediately noticeable, but when we did notice, it was almost startling.   

Ah, never mind.  I'm not sure what I'm trying to say.  I guess quiet is tricky.  I hate being in cars when there isn't any music playing - but sometimes silent is nice.  Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again.

Cause I got time while she got freedom

Cause I got time while she got freedom

I have this legitimate fear that I'm going to meet my French penpal and she's going to be mean.  I just emailed her for the first time, and I have to somehow get to know her over the next few weeks so that when I have to spend six hours with her it's not totally awkward.  But I'm not even sure how to pronounce her name so it's going to be pretty awkward no matter what.

I also have this fear that this cold I have right now is just going to get worse.  But I'm not missing seeing Alex on Saturday, and I'm not missing the nature center on Sunday, despite how much it scares me.  It's like this:

And then I'm like this:

But I have hair, thank God.  Anyhow that fright goes way back to Girl Scouts circa first grade, when we went on a field trip and the other girls told me there were raccoons.  And of course, because I was a gullible little first grader, I believed them.  I mean, just look at it.

It's scaring me right now, and it's not even real.  Just look at those teeth.  But it's not as bad as the teeth of a possum (an opossum?).  I can't even post a picture of one here.  I'll never sleep again.  Google it yourself.   

The raccoon is staring at me.  Jesus God.  Oddly enough I've started saying that lately.  Or not saying it - just thinking it.  Like when someone is driving really slow I think, "Jesus God really?"  And when I see a girl in shorts and Ugg boots - "Jesus God, why?"  I'm not a Christian, not at all, and I'm not even a particularly religious Jew.  I don't know anyone who says it.  I don't know where it came from.  But it'll go away eventually.  I went through that phase where I was always saying, "pro skills."  That passed, thank God. 

Now I'm saying "thank God" too.  I'm not thanking God.  It's just an expression.   

My my my, my my my my my

My my my, my my my my my

I bought new nail polish today.  I picked up a bottle of black polish and my mom said, "are you going goth on me?"  Sorry mom, not today.  Just a bit tired of the bright colors.  Then I did some homework and went out to dinner with my mom and little sister and my little sister's best friend.  They gossip so much, but then again I guess I do to, or at least I did when I was that age.  Then my mom and I watched "Vanity Fair" this evening before my dad came in and interrupted, asking me which characters were vampires.

Last night I posted something on 43 Things about my goal to stop biting my cuticles.  I got this comment:

"... It is very hard for oversensitive people to go through teenage years and settle in life in general. We don’t go into drugs and crazy behavior, we can’t be assertive most of the time, we get taken advantage of and we generally give more than we take. We keep blaming ourselves for being meek and try to change. It will not change! We just need to change the way we look at ourselves. We are the better part of humanity :) It just takes a few years and some life experience to build that confidence and not worry that what you start will go wrong. It will go wrong quite often, but you need to be ready to get out of your comfort zone in order to get anywhere. After a few falls you do find out that it doesn’t hurt that much and people who laugh at you are only simple bullies who can’t do much better."   

I've been thinking about that, and about how all of it applies to me.  It all sounds exactly like me.  I've never applied the word "oversensitive" to myself before, but I guess it's true.  I let people walk all over me, I don't like to express my opinions if they disagree with someone, I'm constantly disappointed when I expect people to treat me as well as I treat them.  I think that's what causes so many of the friend issues I've been having lately - I pick up on these silly little details that don't mean anything and blow them up and let them hurt me.  I'm shy in crowds and I follow the rules and I'm practical.     

But then there's this other part of me, too - the astrologist in me wants to say the Gemini part.  There's this part of me that likes to tell stories and be the center of attention.  I "can bounce around from one topic to another with great ease" (according to AOL horoscopes).  I'd like to hope I have that Gemini "razor-sharp wit" and I'm curious and talkative, sometimes.  I want to see everything and do everything and be a part of everything.  And that's such a contradiction from the shy part of me, the part that wants to hide out in a giant library all day, the part of me that wants to be a recluse artist hidden away from the world.    

Ironically, though, that'd be the Gemini influence too, the double personality, the twins, yin and yang.  I like this:  "They can be light and breezy as the breath of spring, but their words can also carry the power of a gale force wind."  In theory, that's such a great way to be, a great personality to have - to be the life of the party but at the same time, the grounded one, the one who can handle any situation with poise and calmness.  But in reality, I don't think that's possible, to have the best of both worlds, unless you're a work of fiction, that is.  And I'm not - I'm here, in the real world, where I have to conquer my shyness sometimes, and sometimes watch what I say.         

"The air of Gemini is always changing direction. First the winds blow one way, then another... This is a restless and searching wind."

L'avenir

L'avenir

Today I was in the car with my mom and she suddenly reached over and swatted my hand out of my mouth.  I didn't even realize I was biting my cuticle - but there I was, biting it.  And then I looked at my hands, my fingertips.  Eight out of the ten are torn up and red and swollen.  Then I came home and did some internet research.  This is a real medical condition.  It's called dermatillomania, and it's compulsive skin picking.  I started looking at all these pictures - these people with torn-up backs and arms and faces and fingers so swollen they can't bend them.  And I'm done with this.

So I found this website called 43 Things.  It's about setting goals, and reaching them.  The reaching them part is important.  And then I joined it, and I set a goal for myself.  It's in the side bar of my blog now.  You can bug me about it if you want, but I'm likely to snap at you.

Also, laugh at me.  Go ahead.  It's just my fingers, right?  And picking disorder - yeah, that sounds funny.  This isn't anorexia, and it's not alcoholism, but it's my problem, and hell, I'm going to fix it.  I want to have pretty hands.  I want people to compliment me on my nails.  I want to be able to tap my nails on the table all the time.  I want to be stress-free.  I want to quit sounding like a Clearasil ad.