I don't want to sit on the pavement while you fly

I don't want to sit on the pavement while you fly

Today we played Taboo and ate ice cream cake and went swimming and made s'mores and it was fun.  I think the hardest part of college (besides classes and stuff) for me is going to be starting fresh with people, but I think that's going to be the best part too.  Does that make any sense?  I'm not sure how to explain myself to people, because I can't really explain myself to myself.  That doesn't make any sense either.

Words to learn:

• maudlin
• effeminate
• apopleptic
• redoubtable
• affianced
• dentition
• sentience
• avail (as a verb)
• gainsay
• obstreperousness (I'm not sure this one is real)

I'm gonna kick until I need new shoes

I'm gonna kick until I need new shoes

Today my mom and I went to the Grove and saw "Cowboys and Aliens" (I nearly fell asleep, oh God I hate westerns) while my sister went to a pool party with her camp friends at this huge house in Beverly Hills.  I guess it's probably just personal taste, but I cannot understand why someone would choose to live in an area that is constantly crowded with traffic and tourists and just noise.

I really, really hate the word "lover."  It is old-fashioned and kind of creepy and doesn't have a lot of weight and I just don't like it.  And that thought makes me think about labels and how I really don't like them, and "lover" is really just an evasive label to avoid defining things, and every time I read I wish the writer had used a more concrete word instead.  But that's totally contradictory with how I feel about labels.

The best part of "Cowboys and Aliens" (my brain just can't stay in one place) was a glimpse I got of a speckly horse in the background.  Apparently it's called a pinto horse or possibly an appaloosa and it's gorgeous and if someday I marry a man who rides horses and we move to the country and he's really rich, I'm going to ask him to get me one and teach me to ride it.

She hid around corners and she hid under beds

She hid around corners and she hid under beds

Today I had the words "trace us back trace us back" stuck in my head, which is a lyric from "Hysteric" by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but of course when I couldn't get it out of my head I didn't know that, so I wrote it on the fingers of my left hand and traced all the veins on my palm in pen.  I sat doing nothing in most of my classes today and I was out of paper and so I traced the veins on my palm in black pen and then in red pen.  I'm now listening to Florence + the Machine, and I think the lyrics are pure poetry, and I made nearly 200 cookies tonight and so all the scribbles on my hand have washed away.  At some point today, maybe in Euro while I was doing nothing or in photo while I was doing nothing or maybe in econ, I considered getting a tattoo, having my favorite words, lyrics with me all the time, a part of me.

But of course my favorite words change all the time and so I couldn't commit myself to something so permanent.  I can't commit myself to anything, really.  Tomorrow is Friday and it's the last day before break, which I'm so excited for, because I miss not waking up at 6 AM and not sitting in econ surrounded by idiots for an hour a day and not being behind on "The Vampire Diaries."  I'm going to San Francisco in a two weeks to go to a special exhibit of Impressionist paintings, and I'm going to buy a winter formal dress, and I'm going to finish my college apps and sleep a lot and watch "Skins" and write and enjoy the weather and pretend that the two weeks aren't going to end.

I wish I was better at living in the moment.  

There'll be twisted karaoke at the Anisteed lounge

There'll be twisted karaoke at the Anisteed lounge

I'm feeling wiggly in that restless sort of way and in need of a new hairstyle. Maybe I'll dye it this weekend. I've never dyed it during the school year before. I wonder if anyone will notice.

I've been thinking about anonymity or lack thereof and the Internet and who we decide we want to be online and who we think we are versus how others interpret us. Maybe the me that I think is me isn't the me that other people think is me - actually, I'm sure that's true. That makes me wonder what kind of me you see me as, how much the you in the equation changes how the me appears to you.

Maybe in imagining others complexly, like JG and DFW want(ed), we give others too much credit. Maybe our teenage imaginations run wild and we imagine that others are more considerate, creative, real, pure, aware, emotional, sensible, then they actually are. And then maybe we're the stupid ones, the naive ones, the ones that the French like to invite to Dinner Games to make fun of. What's that they say? Don't expect too much and you'll never be disappointed.

Oh. It's just been one of those weeks. You know the ones where it feels like everyone hates you and everyone's ignoring you and everything keeps going wrong and you're in a horrible mood the entire time and can't help but piss people off? I've fully descended into Hilary Duffdom, and apparently the negativity monster lives there with his friends the anti-socialites and the angry bugs. At least it's a four day weekend, yeah?

I'm just crazy enough to leave you behind even though you're like nothing I have found or will find

I'm just crazy enough to leave you behind even though you're like nothing I have found or will find

I've got this boundless fascination in words, in words in art and words in poems and and words in songs and words on t-shirts and advertisements and bathroom stalls and the soles of our shoes, in what we choose to say and what we don't, what we type out for the world to see on our Facebooks and on the margins of our notebooks, in words in run-on sentences.  There's this talent, rare talent, that some people have, to string words together in a way that they're complex and layered with meaning but simple and beautiful and understandable too. 

And I have this fascination with "you", the word "you" and how it can be manipulated and contorted and reinterpreted to have so much meaning or absolutely no meaning at all.  "You" is you or it's my inner self or my one true love, or "you" is the recipient of my manifesto of hopes and dreams and lofty goals and  fleeting thoughts.  And sometimes "you" is nothing at all, no one and no thing and the vast endlessness of empty, or "you" is your you, the you that you want it/she/them/him to be. 

Maybe tomorrow, sense, although maybe not, maybe never, maybe next Tuesday.