some stuff from my head, in chronological order for your convenience
(most recent to oldest)
janine was here
welcome to the new year, nine days late. (typical.) i'd meant to post something last month. i even had a draft and everything, but i scrapped it when writing it made me want to cry.
i'm going for the title of most stressed person alive again, and it's awesome to see how hard i can dissociate. [insert strained laughter]
recently, i've tried to be a better friend to people and stuff like that, but mostly it makes me sad because i'm the short end of the wishbone that leaves everyone disappointed.
in other news, i'm going to coachella! i got tickets, but definitely gave up a large chunk of my wallet's contents for them. it should be a good last hurrah, though.
in a similarly music-related vein, late last month i got to see a band that i've liked since the fourth grade and it was great and amazing and wonderful but it also made me so nostalgic... what i'd give for someone to take me back to when i didn't have a care in the world.
a lot of people seem to think i don't care about anything, but i actually have the opposite problem. i care too much about anything and everything, and nothing cares about me.
wow, this is so melodramatic and angsty. why do i even bother? then again, who am i going to offend? my readership of zero people?
i hope i'm in a better mood the next time i write to my favorite imaginary audience.
see you then,
my dad and i were talking about how "stupid" is "baka" in japanese. well, "baka" actually means a lot more than just "stupid"; it can also mean "idiot", "foolish", "ridiculous", or "moron", etc.
so we looked it up, and the characters for "baka" in kanji (same as written chinese) are 馬鹿, which means "horse deer". my dad says it probably comes from the ancient chinese idiom, 指鹿为馬. the story behind the idiom involves a deer and someone pointing at it and asking if it's a horse, if i'm not mistaken. i don't know why i'm writing about this. it was interesting when i started and now i'm not sure.
m came back from chicago today. the old m, the boy, not the new, hot girl m that i talked about in one of the past few entries. it's so weird how much has changed in four years. i still remember the day i met him, and our first bus ride, and his house with the bean bags, and when he used to use weird unscented dove deodorant, and his stupid orange, so much a part of him that now i cannot help but think of his dumb face every time i see anything that color. i still remember the last time i saw him in person before he left, in front of what used to be the athletics office, when he knew, and i didn't, that in a few weeks, the two-meter distance between us would grow to two thousand miles.
he was full of promises then, promises that would turn empty. so i guess he was just full of nothing. a hollow man. i suppose t.s. eliot would have liked him a lot.
to quote that poem, "between the conception / and the creation / between the emotion / and the response / falls the shadow / life is very long". i don't know if i agree with that last bit. these four years have sure gone by quickly.
m is at a modern baseball concert as i write this, with a boy i'll call a. i was invited, but it was a little late to be doing something as optimistic as asking me anywhere, when i have such little faith in anyone. it's fitting that it's modern baseball, though. poetic, in terms of justice.
i have a really hard time with words and their limitations. that's probably one reason why i love poetry and music so much, but for some reason i can't seem to convey my emotions adequately with verbiage. like, i can tell m that i miss him, but i don't think he really gets it. so here i am again, writing the closest thing to poetry i've been able to manage since all my muses have fallen away, alone in my room, with dry humor and wet eyes.
speaking of poetry, i've been reading a lot of it again, lately, mostly stuff that i read a long time ago and only just remembered. a boy in my math class asked me my favorite love poem, and i said love sonnet xvii by pablo neruda, if i really had to pick. "i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where / i love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride / so i love you because i know no other way"; i'm jealous of pablo neruda for many reasons. one-- for his way with words, two-- that he was able to have such love to begin with. the type of love remembered for years through the words i find so restricting. if words dampen feeling, i can only imagine what that love was like.
i wish i was better with words. then maybe people would really understand me. but sadly, i am just a baka, pointing at lost chances and calling them love.
see you later, horse.
- Tags:2015, november, personal
- Music:how do i tell a girl i want to kiss her?- modern baseball
update: my hand is still bruised. look at it. it's gross.
yesterday i watched the school production of noises off, and they actually did a pretty great job. i really enjoyed it. i'll probably have to find a video of a west end production of it to see all its blazing british glory.
oh, i got a 48% on my physics test by the way. thought you might want to know.
i'm exhausted, and still kind of nervous about tomorrow's very important interview, but everyone's been super nice to me, telling me i'll be fine. i hope so. besides the physics thing, this week has been better than i thought it'd be.
still going to texas on tuesday. i'm looking forward to it.
i was dumb and i am dumb and i'm extra dumb about this one girl i know. let's call her m. she's beatiful and i think i did the mistake thing today. i'm pretty sure she said hi to me while i was walking to math club (super cool, i know) but i wasn't sure so i ignored her, but then when she saw me again later she pointedly ignored me, so i may have been a dick on accident.
once, she texted me back nice things and i got so anxious to reply that i didn't. this power that m has is highly irregular and should be investigated.
in other news, my physics test is tomorrow, and apparently all things are fair game for evaluation. so i'm fucked, that's nice, and my hand is still bruised.
i should go study. i probably won't, especially not successfully, but wish me luck.
i was dumb and i am still dumb and i'm extra dumb about this one girl i know. let's call her m, and call it a day.
i'm back again, doing this thing.
i don't have much to say. i found a new podcast that i like. i'm getting a new phone soon. i went back to look at all my old posts and it's a bit embarrassing but occasionally compelling, so i suppose i won't go back and delete everything. i'm glad i'm a better writer now. i don't use as many qualifiers these days.
i'm anxiety personified right now, and i don't think i'll actually relax until december 15 rolls around, and i find out about the thing that will change the rest of my life. i'm crossing my fingers again and again, in case that might help. and praying to god, and jesus, and the holy spirit. please, this one. i know i desperation-pray a lot and that's kind of messed up, but here i am again. sorry, god. i've wanted this one since i was nine, please, please, please.
something is the matter with me, i think, physically. i'm tired all the time, my head hurts more often than it doesn't, my limbs feel thick with lethargy. i might be addicted to caffeine.
my hand is bruised for the second time in two weeks, and it is horrifically uncomfortable. how does one even go about bruising one's hand? every time i move mine, i feel like it's filling up with something, i don't know. sometimes it hurts. i don't like writing with that hand anymore, the bone keeps fucking with the bruise.
even typing this is uncomfortable. i want to stop. i never used to bruise this easily.
i'm going to texas next week. i have a physics test on friday. i have an interview on sunday. i have english homework tonight. my hand is pinging at me to stop moving it. my life is a mess. but that's no news.
see you next time. tomorrow, the day after, next week, whenever.
how fitting is it that i can write, like, 300 words of bullshit on this blog in 5 minutes, and i can't write my fucking 650 word essay about my stupid self for the life of me.
all i usually write about is myself, anyway, why can't i just do this? god. fuck me.
it's kind of reached the point that i don't even remember what it's like to not be stressed. i just live in a constant haze of anxiety and headaches and i don't know how to make it stop. like, i suppose doing what i'm supposed to be doing would help, but i can't. i'm only seventeen. i'm not ready to be making decisions for the rest of my life just yet.
i miss the summer. it was amazing, and i met some amazing people. and i didn't feel this way. i could actually laugh about things. these days it's really hard.
even comedy is hard-pressed to make me crack a smile. compared to freshman year, when i listened to comedy while doing sit-ups and laughed so hard i almost threw up, i am a sad shadow left behind.
ha, left behind. probably the best description of myself i can find. what to do, what to do? everyone always leaves me behind and i let it happen. people usually think it's the other way around, but they give me too much credit.
i finally took the time to sit around and analyze myself and, i mean, it's kind of disappointing what i found, but yeah, i'm gay as fuck but i also like everything else, so i'm pansexual i guess. and nonbinary, probably. i would say agender, but i could honestly go by any pronoun. i'm not bothered by any of them, nor do i really fit any of them, so. fuck it, yeah?
wow, look at this. i'm already over 300 words. it's been maybe five minutes, as promised. i knew i could write about myself. seems i can only reach word count when i shit all over the thought of me.
i think if i were to use punctuation marks to describe my life right now, it'd be a comma. it's definitely not a period, since it's not over quite yet, but i've definitely reached a bit of a turning point and a pause. not a big enough pause to warrant a semicolon, but a pause nonetheless.
i've had a constant headache for weeks now and it's honestly just kind of fucking annoying, like, chill out for one second, would you? maybe its all the shit i have to inhale at school building up in my head or something.
i'm planning some ambitious things today. here's hoping everything goes well. i miss a lot of people but i don't really know how to say it to them.
good job, janine. way to not update in almost eleven months. that's just like you.
i'm writing this in order to escape the crushing weight of college applications, even though it's 2:17 am and i should really just go the fuck to sleep. but i have stuff to do after this. and sleep is for the weak and all that. even though i'm honestly the weakest one here, how poetic.
i'm working on a song for my #1
school, the one i've wanted to go to since before i was even in middle school. i laugh it off a lot, but i don't know if i'll be able to get over getting rejected by them. i really hope i don't.
i miss all my friends. i've pushed them away because i'm so negative recently, and i don't want to infect them with whatever weird janine pathogen i have. i'll figure it out eventually and get to hang out with them again, but for now i'm stewing alone in a giant cauldron of tears, dangling over some nasty hellfire. the hellfire smells weird, and i'm boiling. it's a nice picture.
preston is good, by the way. he's better than me, but most things are. he's bigger now. it kind of freaks me out, because his stem is now visible since he's strangely tall, and his petals are more plentiful. he looks nice. i don't really even look at him, but i know he looks nice. i should probably look at him more and not take him for granted. nothing lasts forever. let alone a plant that i bought for $3.99 at home depot.
the weird thing is, i know i'm being negative, objectively, but i don't feel much of anything anymore. it's like there's a semi-protective haze or something all around me, and nothing bothers me. but not much makes me happy either. i guess it's a two-way street.
how do i fix everything? i wish i could. bandaids just don't work like they did when i was a kid. i wish i was still a kid. i was so naive, and it was so great.
everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt. that's not mine, that's from slaughterhouse-five. but it applies to them good old glory days.
i miss innocence. maybe even more than i miss my friends.
i'm going to try to post more often again. it helps a little, knowing no one will read this.
merry new year, and all that.
i kinda fucked up with the whole writing in here affair, although nothing ever happens to me, so maybe not.
i managed to get a perfect score on a strangely life-determining test. that's probably the highlight of last month.
christmas was alright. it's not my birthday, which probably explains my general complacency about the whole thing.
i'm considering getting tickets to see bad suns on the 24th, but i really don't know them well enough. and quite honestly, while their music is good, they are lyrically unimpressive. maybe i'm just spoiled.
i started another project, hopefully i can actually follow through on this shit. i'd be thoroughly impressed with myself.
it's december now, so basically happy month of christmas, right?
shit's been decent recently. i bought stuff the day after black friday because some stores had extended sales, and that was pretty cool. i got two button-downs that make me look infinitely more sophisticated than i actually am.
anyway, everything's alright. i'm excited for the winter holiday to begin so i can get away with slacking off in a major way.
- Tags:2014, december, personal
- Music:i will never let you down (cover)- catfish and the bottlemen