I despise siblings.

I despise my sister, Alana. She's an ungrateful bitch who is under the impression that she is the sweetest girl in the world. When she got home, she immediately made me get offline. Then she began complaining that she was cold, so I started a fire for her (her claiming that she didn't know how to load anything onto a pulley so I had to go all the way downstairs and lug a gigantic load of wood through the house). She said that it wasn't enough, so she called mom and made her tell me that I have to leave my door open. (My room has a heater because I'm the only one ever home. Alana comes home only for moments at a time, and she uses it as an excuse for never doing any work in the house.) If I were to leave my door open, than none of the house would be heated at all. The heater that I had is not meant to heat such a large area, especially having the heat travel through a narrow hallway into the rest of the house, where a fire was going anyway and another heater was turned on. After her bitching at me about it for a little while, it was decided that I would take the crappy heater that was outside the room, and replace it with the good heater that was in mine.

And this is the part that really pissed me off. I was coming out of my room, so I could take the shitty heater out of the living room to replace it with mine, and she began bitching at me some more, complaining that I was being a little asshole. She was mimicing me and being, in general, one of the most irritating and bitchy people I have ever known. Here I am, sacrificing my time and energy and warmth so she would be satisfied, and she was being a whiney bitch about everything, mainly about me being angry at her for... guess what.... being a bitch about everything! She was bitching at me because of my anger at her bitching at me!

Now, tell me. Does that make any sense?

And when I was walking past her, she stopped me and grabbed my necklace and said "That's my necklace!" (she was still in the midst of bitchiness). I replied "No, it's not. Mairead gave it to me."

She relpied in the snootiest, most annoyingly bitchy and cutesy voice she could have possibly done "Ohh, how cute!".

I ignored her and went into my room. Soon, she began bringing up arguing some more. Only this time, I was behind a door that I was holding closed. She began, in fact, to tear apart my door, saying that she was "just ripping off a piece that was already falling". Oh, well that's nice. If it's already in bad condition, why the fuck make it worse.

Morgan, I can stand. She's much, much, much more logical and fair than Alana. But Morgan, since she was born, has always had no choice but to try and take after Alana. Alana was the one in the more popular crowd. Alana was the prettier one. Alana was the one who had a good body, while Morgan always was a bit big-boned. And it is still this way. If given choices between sides, Morgan will always choose Alana. It's in her nature to try and get Alana to like her. It doesn't matter whether she disagrees with Alana's views or not; she will always attempt to take after Alana.

I, on the other hand, would prefer not taking after either of my sisters.

A path of self-discovery

The end of January already?

This month has certainly made quite a mark on my life. I'm finally being shown the real world, or some of it. And it's a confusing place, the real world. Filled with much stress and decisions that must be made. Filled with new people and events. Filled with the knowledge of people's true character. Filled with new feelings. Filled with something certainly new - real love, and the troubles that come with it. Filled with incense and Modest Mouse. Filled with difficulty for everybody around me. Filled with completely new conceptions of reality. Filled with friends, filled with foes...

For God's sake... filled with everything...

I guess you could say I'm on a path of self-discovery. Through the blatant truth, I'm being shown much about others, allowing me to delve deeper into my own character.

I see Sweeney Todd this weekend with Mairead. This week is seeming like one of the longest I have ever experienced. Two more days.

Goddammit. The real world sucks.

Are these blogs just correspondance letters between you and I, because we're too scared to talk about these things in some sort of way that allows immediate responce?

A bit, I guess.

You are depressed, Mairead. And I don't want you to be, because I care about you. But problems are challenging to remedy if the symptoms for them are unclear.

I was able to convince my mother that I was sick today. I wasn't in the slightest bit sick, but good acting does have its advantages. Besides, I do feel like I needed a day off from school. My room, which had been a wreck since I was in that strange, strange mood, finally got cleaned.

I'm unable to distinguish whether I have real feelings any more at all. Are these feelings shrouded in mist, or are they at their full quality? I can't even determine that anymore.

While cleaning, I found a poem that I wrote about a month or so ago. I posted it on my poetry site.

I found my gloves. They had been lost for a while.

I found the thermometer.

I'm not even done cleaning yet.

Meh... my thoughts are just choppy little fragments... I don't even have anything in particular that I wanted to say. I just want a moment to... empty my mind. Yes, they are simple little thoughts with no real value. Just little bits of my life, barely making a mark on my memory.

Morgan is talking to dad in the other room. I find it hard to talk to him now. Both my mother and father are trying to convince me that the other one is insane. I believe both of them are perfectly sane in many respects, however not so much in a multitude of others. My mother is trying to get my father put in jail for the thousands of dollars of child support he owes. I don't want my father in jail. I love him, but maybe he deserves it. I don't know. meh. fuck it. argh. What the fuck ever.

There are troubles in areas of my life that shouldn't have troubles.

My life is changing so much. Everyone around me is faced with so many decisions, and so am I. All of my friends are meeting dilemmas and possible solutions and failures in some areas and successes in others.

Fuck.

The real world sucks.

Where did the blue pills go? Where is the reset button? Why are these red pills so full of flavor but so devoid of nutrition?

Meh. I'm getting metaphorical like my dad. Not that that's a bad thing. Or maybe it is. I don't know. Fuck it all.

Who took the reset button? Is there no way of going back, going back to the bliss that was my past life?

Hapiness? What the fuck is that? Sadness? What are you talking about?

Oh, that's not what I mean. I feel all of these emotions. Every single one. Now, however, I am unable to determine which ones are good and which are bad. Love, yes, love. Good feeling, yes? Yes, it should be! It's not, though. Nor is it a bad feeling, though. The world isn't all black and white, there are the in-between colors too. Love is neutral. Love is just... love. For me, I know it's there, and I know that it makes me happy, even, but something is missing from it.

Eh, fuck. I'm beginning to be self-contradictory. I guess that I do think love feels good. It does make me happy. It's not complete, though. None of my feelings are complete anymore. I'm going through life like it's a movie. Scenes happen, and you know it happened, and you also know that it will most likely be an important scene that will tie in with the whole major plotline of the movie itself, but you don't care too much about it. The memories of the scenes themselves, however, are far away and distant, until something in the movie pops up to remind you of the scene. And then you go "Oh, yeah. I remember that"

What a dumb metaphor. Why the fuck am I being so metaphorical?

My dad called while I was writing this. I just felt like mentioning that.

Whatever.

Music: The View - Modest Mouse
Song that I'm about to put on: Sea Of No Cares - Great Big Sea

Meh. Just Meh. I can't think of a title.

Something is telling me that I need to write. But it's late on a school night. I was planning on playing sick tomorrow, but I still want to be coherent enough in case mom doesn't buy it.

Oh, and Mairead. About you finding yourself stroking your own face and neck while thinking of me - I do that too. I miss you incredibly. When I do, I hold on to the necklace that you gave me, and clutch it against my chest. It makes me feel bad that I didn't give you anything to remember me by over the week. To me right now, and until Saturday, you are this necklace. You are also the text on your blog. That is what you are. It sounds silly, yes, but you are replaced by these things in my mind. It makes me feel bad that you don't have some object to replace me. Well, not replace. Blasted English vocabulary... why must you be so limited in explaining things?

Oh, and I did make my room a hurricane. I blasted Modest Mouse, turned on my blacklights, put on a Halloween mask, threw stuff around the room, and plopped down on the pile of miscelannious objects. Yes, this mood was quite strange. I liked it, though. It was new. It was different but not negative or positive - like every other change that has happened recently. It was simply neutral. Not numb, but neutral. Big difference.

Oh, god. Now that I have a reason for the weekends, the weekday drags by. Tomorrow's only Wednesday... It feels like an entire week has passed already though.

Meh...

I'm finally feeling tired.

Nighty-night. Hopefully I can fool my mom tomorrow morning

New feeling

I've discovered a new feeling. I don't know what to call it. I felt this way today.

When I feel this way, Everything must be out of order. It must be messy and uneven in order for me to be comfortable. I must be irresponsible and lazy to satisfy myself. It's a good thing that I was at school when I felt this. If I were at home, than I would surely have proceeded to throwing everything I have on the floor in a pile, and then proceed to lay in it. Because that's exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted nothing more than to be a lazy, irresponsible, completely messy bastard. Well, not a bastard, really. I didn't want to be mean to people - I just wanted to lay down in a filthy room - on the hard floor, not on the bed, of course - and listen to music. It didn't matter what music, although I mainly wanted something familiar for some reason. Yes, the music was very important. In Geometry, there was no music, let alone the familiar music that I have come to love (such as Modest Mouse), so I was extremely uncomfortable. Andrew and Sarah were insisting on straightening our row of desks, but I wanted to keep mine ajar to the side because, otherwise, I felt extremely anxious.

The cure - music. Laziness and music, exactly what the mood makes me feel like experiencing. On the bus, I put on a familiar album on my ipod and layed down on the seat until I got off in Little Washington. It worked. It cured me. Although the feeling wasn't really a bad feeling at all. It was strange. It felt like a nuetral feeling. Certainly, it made me feel much anxiety, but the anxiety that I was feeling was unique. It was a new feeling, and I enjoyed experiencing it. I've felt this way several times before, but it was at home and music was readily accesible, therefore remedying it easily.

I'm feeling this feeling slightly right now, though. Familiar music seems to be bringing it on.
I hope I can control it enough not to destroy my room. I really do want to, honestly. I can't explain it. And no amount af logical talking could talk me out of having this desire. I'm going to proceed now to making my room look like it was the product of a tornado. I will put on familiar music and a familiar, somewhat bizarre movie, and destroy my room.

I feel so fucking weird right now.

Numb

Fuck... I hate mothers...

I haven't posted in quite a while. So many things have happened, though. My feelings are confusing and more numb than usual. I spent some time with Daeriam. Some wonderful, wonderful time. I've been learning more and more on the guitar. The Social Workers left - finally those assholes are gone...

I haven't been in the mood to write recently. I've been too numb to feel any feeling strongly anymore. Even love is somewhat dimmed. I've always been able to distinguish my feelings and know how I feel. I've always known whether I was happy, sad, excited, bored... Every feeling had its specific boundaries, and I was so sure of everything. Right now, however, I don't even know how I feel. I know that there is a feeling deep down in there, but I can't identify it. It feels like something is masking it. It makes me feel numb, like I don't really have a feeling there, but deep down, I know that I do.

And I don't like feeling numb. Things have gone from good to bad, from wonderful to terrible to wonderful again, and I guess it's just worn down my ability to feel. And saying that sentence, for instance, brings about a sad feeling in me, but that sad feeling is distant - like a dream.

I wish I had more memory of my childhood. Yes, I am on a completely different topic now. Sometimes I do that, and I don't know how my brain could have possibly come to the topic when it has nothing to do with what was being discussed. But anyway, I wish I had more memory of my childhood. Yes, I know that I am still in my childhood, but I mean my young childhood. I've mentioned this, but my own phsyche has simply blocked out my memories, due to many of them being painful. Having experienced this bucket full of red pills now, however, I would very much like to have those memories so that I know everything. Why escape the matrix if you can't even fathom what goes on in the real world, right?

Last night, Mairead (back to the previous topic), I felt as though I wasn't feeling as much in love as I should have. I mean, I was finally with somebody - somebody who truly loved me as well. My feeling, however, was dim and far away, and I had a hard time grasping it. Thinking of you now, thinking of being with you and holding you in my arms, I feel a great sensation of love - and longing, of course - the feeling that I know that I should have felt while I was with you. Maybe it was the cold. Maybe it was the fact that other people were around. I just feel like I didn't love you as much as I should have that night. Maybe my numbing feeling was especially strong yesterday.

Oh, now I can't get my mind off of you. Daeriam. Why am I doing that? Your name is Mairead, not Daeriam. We have no reason to protect our identities on blogger. You are Mairead. I am Austen, not Netsua. There. I'm sure we'll be safe, Mairead.

I feel more comfortable referring to you by your real name.

I regret that I wasn't able to give you something to remember me by. I told you that I would, but I wasn't able to make anything in time. I apologize for that. The necklace you gave me is wonderful. I constantly feel it against my chest, and therefore constantly think of you. If you are planning on giving me something this weekend, don't. I will give you something. Perhaps we can make this into a tradition - exchanging gifts every weekend.

Another half-year? I have to wait that long?

Well, alright. I don't want the people at Sandy Springs to be too disappointed to lose their Mairead so suddenly.

But I certainly do miss you more than ever, Mairead Mcloughlin.

-Austen. Not Netsua. Austen.

Yawn

I'm incredibly bored. I know that I need to write something. I'm sure that, if I search my mind, I can find a multitude of things. Why not make a good/bad list to exersice my brain?

Good
---
I will see Daeriam this Sunday
I have root beer flavored candy
I wrote a love song and perfected it
The Social Workers are gone... Hallelujah!

Bad
---
I was unable to enter the writing contest because of Mrs. Thompson's fuckup.
I'm only able to see the person whom I am in love with on weekends.
I'm having trouble getting my schedule changed.
I can't play the song I wrote very well because I can't find my pick

Meh...

I guess I don't have as many things on my mind as I thought.

Oh well.

I miss Daeriam.

Music: Rainbows- The Moldy Peaches
Incense: OMG! I RAN OUT OF INCENSE!

Virginia Tech

Events... Events... Events...

Things are so... eventful....

yet... so normal

too normal

My life has been governed around the concept that my life is boring and that I need to cope with it... which I've learned to do wonderfully... But now everything is simply happening... so many events and problems and dillemas and confusions and I don't feel like I can handle it. When I stop to sit and feel what my emotions feel like, I just don't feel anything. As I wrote in that poem:



My feeling of nuetral
Has diminished to nothing
What is nothing?
Nothing makes sense

It makes so much sense
But why can't I handle it?
Why are these thoughts I'm having
So candle-lit?



And this is quite true... Never has something occured where I haven't felt anything. The feeling of being nuetral, of just experiencing life and going along with it, it is still a feeling, a genuine feeling that I'm just supposed to keep going- not happy, not sad...

And now it's disappeared. I don't even feel it anymore. And maybe I'm just beginning to think more and more about things, but I've noticed that things don't really even feel like they've happened. They feel distant, like a dream, only my dreams are usually clearer in memory.

Although I don't think I've dreamed at all in the past month or so. I just fall asleep and then wake up... no in between. I might dream.... maybe I just don't remember it. What I've decided to do is train my mind to think of what I dreamt about immediately when I wake up. This used to come naturally to me. Maybe I still do have that ability- I just haven't been dreaming...

Sometimes I wish the others around me were more selfish. If I sacrifice my own happiness for somebody elses, than my happiness is diminished too, but whoever is meant to be pleased wants to do the same thing that I've done- try to make me happy whilst sacrificing their own happiness... And Daeriam, you feel guilty because you think you are annoying toward me, you think that you are making me suffer. You should know that you aren't. You should know that I love you, and it would take the world to change that. You should know I want to see you just as much as you want to see me, but I've just learned to cope. And you should have realized by now that I am a very understanding person. I completely understand your dillema. No, I have never experienced it in the way that you are experiencing it, but I can understand and relate all the same. I'm not telling you not to feel sad... For God's sake, you have every right to feel sad. I'm telling you that you that you should not feel sad about the idea that you are annoying me. Which is completely false, by the way.

Shall I summarize my trip to VT? I believe that would be preferable. I kept wishing that I had a laptop with me so I could write down the things that were happening to me as they happened. Many thoughts went through my head about many things- annoyances, understandings, familiarities, people that I met, events that occured, happy things, sad things, everything......

Well, the main annoyance:

We arrived there many, many hours late. I originally had to be up and at the high school at 4:45 Friday Morning. Due to the bad weather, Mr. Yonkey changed that to 11:45 in the morning. Of course, this made us 7 hours late. Quite late, in fact. We made it to VT, me being quite annoyed, having been squished next to Ryan Benyo with my legs at an acute angle due to the lack of leg room (because Mr. Yonkey is a giant...). We walked into the ballroom, and waited. Everybody but us had already auditioned, so when they called for people to go where their designated areas were, confusion overtook some of us. Eventually, a decision was made. Since it was too late to audition, we would be judged by how we did at Districts and reccomendations from band directors, and simply be put in last chair of a band that was considered our level. I did Districts two years ago. So I was being judged as an eighth grader by how I did in sixth grade.

There are five bands-

Bronze
Silver
Maroon
Orange
Gold

Bronze being the lowest. In sixth grade, I was terrible. So guess what I got.

8th chair in Bronze band.

Well, to continue, while we were getting things straightened out, all of the bands had gone to their designated practice rooms. Now that we knew what bands we were in, we were to go there as well. Lauren Light and I were the only two Bronze band people from Rappahannock. Mr. Beasley, Lauren, and I eventually, after much searching, found our practice room. We managed to enter quietly, while the band rehearsed, or rather, made sounds similar to that of an elephant giving birth. We found somebody who was designated to help out with anything, still with barely anybody realizing that we had entered the room. Mr. Beasley told her what chairs we were in, and she went to get us seats. She got Lauren's first, because the trumpets were on the far row and easiest to get to, wheras the French Horns were right in the middle. She took a little while to get the chair without disturbing anybody, so I waited patiently in the back for her to finish.

The director was an old woman, still obviously full of life enough to handle kids, but old nontheless. She reminded me of Ms. Fornier, in the way that the latter treated everyone in fifth grade. She noticed me waiting calmy in the back, and she offered to get me a seat and asked me what chair I was in, completely shattering my hopes of entering the band silently and without a big scene.

Several heads turned back to look at me. I momentarily looked around at theses faces, young, some even looked like they were in fifth grade. Their eyes were all fixed on me, and, for the first time in my life, I regretted looking 3 or 4 years older than I am. I've been mistaken many times for ages as high as 17, because of my height, my clarity of speech, my vocabulary usage, and my face development (I'm not assuming these things. I was told them by the many people who have mistaken my age.)

So there I was. I might as well have been 16 or 17- it didn't make a difference to these people. They didn't know how old I was, how old I looked was enough to handle.

The director asked me what chair I was in, and, after surveying over these people, these faces, I replied:

"I'm in eighth chair."

I managed to say it clearly and distinctively, showing very little hint of the embarrasment that I was feeling. Many of these fifth grade faces didn't even bother to stifle their laughter. Clearly, I was being ridiculed. Sill not showing any hint of embarrasment, I walked up through the row and sat down in the chair that I had been given by the band director. My embarrasment was hidden, but my annoyance at the entire thing was very apparent.

The 7th chair French Hornist next to me reminded me of someone in my grade. I would later learn many differences between them, but the angle in which I saw her at first made me almost mistake her for Johanna Hughes.

We played a few warm-ups, and began to take a look at our pieces of music. I will describe them to you, along with our progress along the way with them.

Kitty Hawk March- One of the easiest pieces of music that I have ever played. On my part, at least, it didnt go above a concert D and didn't go below a concert A flat. If you are in band, than you should know how pathetically easy that is. We sucked at it when we first played it. We sucked at it at the concert.

New World Symphony- Sounds strangely like the theme from Jaws in some aspects. Or something similar to that. We made quite a bit of improvement on this piece, in fact. Still intensely easy, though.





Meh... this is really getting boring... It's boring to read and boring to type and I doubt you'll care so I'll just leave it like this.

Sigh

*sigh*

I have so many things to write about, but no time at all to write about them. I'm at a Holiday Inn in Blacksburg, VA for a band trip. Today, I'm going to be playing non-stop from 9-12 and then basically from 1:00 to the end of the day. I wish that I could immediately type my thoughts as I have them, but, unfortunately, I can't.

I really don't want to be here...

...To be explained.

HOLY SHIT! MINDFUCK!

Imagine, if you will, that there was, or rather, is, a person, similar to yourself that thought of something. It was only a passing thought for him, just something that came and went quickly without a trace. It barely made a mark on is memory. In fact, he was probably concentrating on paperwork at the time, so he was trying to block out any other errant thoughts that might distract him.

This man, (or woman… no way of really knowing…), thought of the universe, or the universe that you have come to know. Quickly, quietly, the thought of it crept into his mind and then slipped away without a trace. But, currently, that little speck of a thought is still occurring in his mind. It was a thought of another consciousness- your consciousness. He momentarily created you, only he didn’t really create you, but he created your consciousness. And your consciousness, in a different aspect, created the world you are in now as the world of choice that you are to live in. What you see right now, every conceivable feeling that you are feeling, everything to you, is simply a product of your conscious mind’s thoughts.

So. A recap of what I’ve tried to explain to you, in a timeline.

---Past---

#1: Well, who really knows what #1 is? Who knows how it began? Somehow, eventually, a person, or living consciousness came to be.

#2: This consciousness went through its imagined life, most likely unaware of the fact that it was a consciousness, not a person in some world somewhere

#3: A passing thought was about to go through his mind. This passing thought contains you, but not really you. You, as a living solid in this world of solids, liquids, plasmas, and gases, truly don’t exist. Your consciousness exists, and that is what creates all of what you see or feel. You are nothing but a passing thought in a much bigger idea that nobody seems to understand the origin of.

---Present ---

#4: The passing thought is going through his mind right now. You are reading this. Or your conscious mind momentarily decided to create it and therefore it became real to you. Either way, you could view it as yourself reading what you are reading right now. (That is possibly the most logical thing I’ve stated in a while.)

---Future---

#5: You will cease to exist. Your conscious mind will convince itself that it is growing older and will eventually die, and, at the precise moment that you die, the passing thought that you are a part of will cease to be. (Just to piss you off, I will remind you of something here. The consciousness who you are simply a passing thought of is simply a passing thought of another consciousness, and when it convinces itself that it is dead, the passing thought of the consciousness that you are a passing thought of will simply cease to be. But don’t worry. You will have been deleted from existence far before that, for your conscious mind will have convinced itself that you are dead, and therefore you will die.)

Before I continue to #6, I must make you aware of something. You may have realized this through reading all of that, but every conscious thought that you have at any given time, happens. It happens, and then it is gone. It will seem quick, and perhaps the memory of it will not leave the slightest mark at all on your mind, but realize that those thoughts were the foundations of a completely new consciousness. They were consciousnesses that lived, and died. They went through their entire life in no more than a millisecond, or possibly no time at all, to you.

But think once again. Is it the fact that they die what makes the passing thought of them pass away? Or when the thought of them goes away, do they immediately die? Once again, I cannot answer these questions.

#6: An infinite number of consciousnesses will be born and die, instantly. For, if the consciousnesses that you created took up an amount of time not even noteworthy in your mind, then that must mean that the thought that conceived you must contain those thoughts, for your consciousness contains them. And even if the thoughts were to take up a whole 1/10^th of your life, the consciousness that brought you into existence would only have it take up 1/100^th of its life. If they took up 1/100000000^th of your life, then they would take up 1/1000000000000000000^th of their life. In order to get the correct amount in relation to their life you must multiply the denominator of how much of your life it took up by itself, and put a one in front of it.

Now, this is in assumption that the thought that you are having takes up the exact same fraction of your life as the passing thought that created you takes up your creator’s life. In order to determine such things when the fraction of time that you have been created in isn’t the same as the fraction of time as your passing thought, you must have the statistic that tells the fraction of life that you take up, and then simply multiply the denominator of the fraction of life that your thought takes up by the fraction of life that you take up, and you have the fraction of time that your passing thought takes up in your creator’s mind. Which would end up being an incredibly small fraction.

In conclusion, I want to remind you that typing this for about two hours straight has proved nothing. It is simply another “What if”, not much different than the concept of a god, or the concept of an inconceivably small speck containing the universe, which exploded, making the universe as big as it is. If a set of beliefs is brought into existence because of my rambling, than so be it. I’ll become famous. But I want you to think about this. So much of it makes sense, yet so much of it, despite the fact that is has no proof, is conceivably possible, right?

And just for kicks, I will add one more confusing thought. If the above paragraphs are true, than that means that what I just typed, and every subdivision of these thoughts created an unimaginable amount of consciousnesses, all living under this prospect, or possibly the subdivisions of this prospect, and being aware of it. But those consciousnesses have already lived and died, at every single minor switch of thought. And, as you read this, your consciousness created similar thoughts to mine. They lived under the same principles that mine lived under.

And if it is true, than I am just a consciousness. If I will myself to, I can live forever, and create whatever I want with my mind. Sort of like a lucid dream. I must believe that I can, and I can!

But in such a case that the world is what it is advertised to be in real life, than doing such things would mean I would be literally insane. I won’t take my chances to convince myself that I am seeing things. I’d rather kid myself to believe that everything I wrote is pure fiction. I want to have my imaginary pawns think I am perfectly sane.

Truly a mindfuck, eh? I wrote that in a story last night. Go to Netsua Stories and read the whole ting.

I'm so sneaky

My mother ripped my phone cord last night, what I believed to be the only phone cord of that caliber of length, but while everybody was sleeping around 7:00 this morning, I managed to find another one and hook it all up without waking anyone. I'm surprised that nobody woke up. I was forced to commit quite a bit of noise.

If, suddenly, I am unable to log on, that means my mother has taken (or broken intentionally) the phone cord again.

Why would she do this? Either she was drunk or extremely stressed or both. I don't know.

By the way, you should check out my poetry site, Sarah.

http://misplacedletters.blogspot.com

Farewell for now,
Netsua

Love

The blatant realities of life are becoming clear to me. Took them long enough. Why am I only beginning to realize these things now? I guess I’ll never stop learning them. More and more of them will become clear to me in time. Is there an endless supply of these brutish realities? Somewhere, somehow, there must be a bottomless bucket full of them, just waiting for people coming along to take one out of it. But oh, no, they don’t look like the blatant truth. They look like the things that are of the most value to the person. They look like love, like trust, like friendship. At least that’s the way it is for me.

Hmm... What an interesting analogy. It came to me perfectly naturally. Incense mixed with caffeine in my system mixed with Modest Mouse seems to have some sort of psychological effect. It makes things flow from my mind to my fingertips much more easily. It makes me feel good.

I love incense so much. Sometimes I look at cigarette smoke and notice it’s resemblance to incense smoke. However, cigarette smoke smells terrible, whereas incense creates a wonderful, pleasing, relaxing aroma. Both appear similar, yet one is vile. There’s something to ponder about.

You know what would be nice? A Time Machine. One that, instead of seeing yourself in the future, transmits your very consciousness inside of your future self, allowing you to know your future, and experience it first hand. Although- going into a logical paradox here- if you were to transmit your consciousness into another being (even though that ‘other being’ is yourself…), you wouldn’t be conscious in the time that you were originally, therefore making your future self in a state of lack of consciousness until the point in life that your consciousness was transmitted into your future self’s mind.

Or possibly an aging machine. Why must I be under 18? Why must she be under 18 as well? Why must our age limit us from communication? Why must the world not conform to my very beliefs? Why is the sun round? Which came first - the chicken or the egg?

Wait a minute…. I was onto something in the first three questions… until I started babbling about chickens and the sun…

More questions? Of course! Why must I be legally discontinued from living where I want? Because I’m under the age of consent?

Fuck… why must I be held back from life for simply being born after 1990? Why must I fall in love at such a young age? Why can’t I stay with the emotional maturity of a kindergartener? That would be nice… I wouldn’t have to worry about falling in love and the difficulties that come with it…

Why must love be so impossible for me? I’ve found love before…. But not in a case where I am loved back. And the love I’ve found now is different. I feel that this is real love, not the love that I felt before, not the hopeless desire that I had previously felt.

I want to simply be with her. If we were to never kiss or have any physical contact, I would still love her simple presence all the same. It would be equivalent to any kiss.

God dammit I miss her…

Eventful

What an eventful day I've had.

I kissed somebody that I have loved for a long time, I witnessed my best friend's family have a meltdown, and now I'm just sitting here playing video games acting like the day is normal.

Hmm.

Call Of Duty 3?

Yes.

Social Workers

Social Workers. Chances are you are reading this. This was probably the reason why you guys approached us in the first place. Somebody found the link to my blog on my myspace, and noticed that I had problems.

I want to clarify some things with you. My mother told me what you did. You questioned her for about 50 minutes, and then proceeded to photographing every inch of the house. She said that you guys thought she was affiliated with selling pot. You probably asked this due to what I wrote in an entry from 1-07 entitled "irritations". This is a part of it.

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"she's done nothing about it. And if she has, she's kept it a secret, which obviously means it's something bad. Prostitution? Drug Dealing? Who knows what that crazy woman does? But the point is that she has managed to support us for a while, and without any noticeable income."

------------------------

You must have failed to realize this was a joke. I wasn't serious! You don't have to take everything seriously! Damn social workers.

And I'm going to refuse to answer any more questions until you swallow what you're legally obligated to do and tell me who called and reported our family to social services.

Conversation with Sarah

elenor: what did you have for dinner?

Austen: nothing yet

elenor: wait, how?

Austen: I'm waiting for morgan to come home

-- -- --Sometime later-- -- --

Austen: oh shit...

morgan came home and forgot to get pizza

elenor: huh?

Austen: so mom is yelling at her

elenor: shit

: (

Austen: yes : (

elenor: what is mom saying?

Austen: shes just freaking out and complaining

and it sounds like she's beginning to cry a bit

elenor: well if she'd get off her lazy as, she wouldn't have to rely on morgan for food

ass

Austen: how true

my mother just told morgan to make her eggs, and I yelled at her for it

so she told me to shut my face

elenor: WHAT!!!

Austen: yes

WTF

WTFWTFWTFWTF

elenor: She does Not Get to talk to My best friend Like that!

i sshe drunk?

Austen: she didn't seem it

she just got irrational when morgon got home with no pizza

margan*

morga*!!!

morgan***!!!!!

fuckin' typos

elenor: giggles to self

are you gonna be ok

?

Austen: this stuff doesn't affect me

I've learned to not care and stay fine during meltdowns

elenor: ok

Irritations

I need some time to clear my mind. To think and write, and allow my ideas to flow out of my fingertips.

I should have done this earlier, when I came out of school because I felt terrible and couldn't concentrate on anything and didn't even feel motivated enough to think.

Several things are bothering me. One of them is the fact that I'm still on italics, but that can be easily remedied.

There we go. Now I can write, if I can convince my mind to get to the mindset that I desire to have when writing in my blog. I'm going to put on something familiar, something that I'd know in my sleep. Modest Mouse would be good.

There. I am listening to Modest Mouse, sitting in my messy room in the dark. It's beginning to seem a bit more familiar. Now I need some incense.

Exactly five sticks of incense are burning. My lights are off. My blacklight is on. Modest Mouse is playing. My room is messy. My contacts are irritated. I need a shower. Can it get any more familiar than this? At around 11:00, Sarah had a conversation with me on gmail, in which I explained all that was bothering me. I intend to explain the same things that I explained then. One of them I would prefer to keep private, however.

Irritation #1

First of all, we have no food in our house. Like, literally, none. This morning, we didn't even have bread, so I wasn't able to eat breakfast. My mom lost the gift cards that we were given at Christmas so we don't have any money to buy groceries. I had break before I left, though, so I did have something - a measly piece of sausage between two biscuits. Later in the day, when I searched for lunch, I began to make pancakes, the only thing that I thought we had enough food ingredients for. But it turns out we were out of both milk and half-and-half, so I was unable to complete it. My mother went to the store, and, with the little money she had, went out to buy milk and half-and-half. So I was able to make my pancakes, quite a few of them, in fact, and I got so full that I haven't eaten dinner tonight.

But then - get this - After a short nap (she had been napping all day until she called her boyfriend to ask him to get me. His name is John Hallberg, by the way.), mom went out to visit John's house. I asked her if she was going to clean his house for more money. She said that she was just going over there to see him, and to wander around Sperryville doing 'errands'. She was in full knowledge that we are practically flat broke, and yet she still goes out and does what she wants. There must be something that she does to get money. We've been living like this for many months now- since she got fired from her last job (which mitchell has now) - and she's done nothing about it. And if she has, she's kept it a secret, which obviously means it's something bad. Prostitution? Drug Dealing? Who knows what that crazy woman does? But the point is that she has managed to support us for a while, and without any noticeable income. Occasionally, she cleans John's house for money, but he wouldn't be able to pay her enough to support three children for several months!

This irritates me. Not really the fact that my mom is keeping secrets and doesn't really care to make an effort to get a job. More of the fact that I actually have to worry about something as basic as eating. It makes me realize how poor we are.

Irritation #2

I'm sick of people telling me that I'm trying to be like Mitchell. Of course, I used to feel the need to have a role model when I was younger, but now, this is not the case.

For quite a while, my sense of style, as in what appeals to me, has been similar to Mitchell's. Honestly, I've alway admired the style that is more commonly referred to as 'emo'. I like the color black above all colors. Whatever you consider the 'emo' style most likely is appealing to my sense of what I think looks good. When I met Mitchell, an abrupt change in my style and actions occurred. People were noticing that I was 'acting like mitchell'. My change was very apparent. It would be perfectly reasonable to assume that I was acting like him.

But I wasn't 'acting' like anybody. I no longer feel the need to do that. I've become mature enough to realize that I don't need a father figure, something I obviously lack.

Mitchell is open about his sense of style. He dresses the way he wants. He acts the way he wants. I have always been incapable of doing this, but getting to know mitchell somewhat has showed me that it is possible to be yourself. I have always lived around the concept that I can't do things because others won't agree with me. They would criticize me, they would annoy me, they would not allow me to be the way that I want to be. I don't try to act like Mitchell. I don't try to act like anybody. I try to be myself. And now I've been shown that it is possible to be myself.

But, apparently, I will still be criticized and forced to discontinue my hopes to be the person that I want to be. Many accept me, but those are the people that I don't really consider compatible enough with me to be good friends, and therefore the harsh truth is that their opinion really doesn't matter to me.

So, mitchell, I'm sorry. I know how annoying it is to seem like someone is trying to mimic you. Zane is trying to be a clone of me. It's terribly annoying, but you obviously understand this. And I know that you actually don't read my blog, because you probably will accuse me of 'copying you', because you have a blog as well, but if Sarah is reading this - please ask mitchell to read that.

Irritation #3

Mairead. Get in contact with me sometime. I need to talk to you.

Irritation #4

My best friend, the only person whom I really feel as though I could confide in, the only one that seems like they can be truly compatible for something as simple as friendship can be a real bitch. Honestly, I would prefer not to complain about Sarah on my blog, because I don't really want to and I'm not sure if she'd appreciate that I say this on my blog, because we've already had this conversation privately.

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So those were the 4 things bothering me today. The third one, I'd prefer not to mention here.

Music: Everything by Modest Mouse
Incense: musk

Everyting Will Be Alright

Well, hello, all you avid readers of my blog!

...Meaning Sarah, Mairead, and Dad...

I just finished watching the movie, "Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas". A very... interesting and bizzare movie. The main characters are stoned out of their minds throughout the entire thing.

Wait a minute... is bizzare not a word? it keeps underlining it in red when I type it....

*looks it up on dictionary.com*

Oh, dear. It appears as though I have been spelling it wrong for quite a while. It's spelled bizarre, not bizzare. What a pity... they took out one of the Z's.

I'm thinking.... I don't feel like writing what is really on my mind right now. Maybe the fact that people already read this hinders my ability to write freely. It would certainly appear that way. I, currently, have absolutely nothing to write about in this blog- because many of my thoughts are immediately regarded as thoughts I don't want to announce. I want somebody that I can feel like I can really trust, and be able to talk freely to about my life and my thoughts. I do have somebody like this. Her name is Sarah. What is going through my mind right now has already been made clear to Sarah, because I feel as though I can trust her.

I just took a moment of pause to think. Recently, I've begun to burn the side of my desk with a lighter. Of course, now that I have typed that sentence, all three of you will bitch at me for it, saying how much of a fire hazard it is. Please refrain from doing this. Let me do what I want...

One of the most pleasant smells is that of burning wood. Don't worry, it only creates a little flame that I can use as a substitute for a fire to stare in and think. It goes out within seconds. It just creates the aroma, while slowly, very, very slowly eating away at my desk. It doesn't matter if you think I'm destroying it. I've already personalized this loft bed so much. Scorch marks are on the part holding my mattress up, and every inch of it is covered with Sharpie- written lyrics to songs.

Look at that. I immediately feel the need to defend myself against whatever anyone might want to criticize me with. What a pity that I cannot write about myself freely anymore.

I must say I felt much more comfortable when nobody read this. I could write so easily about anything. This was only a few weeks ago.

If you are reading this right now, please do me a favor. Do not bring this blog up in front of me. I mean, you can talk about the blog itself, but please not the content. At least don't criticize the content. If this were to happen, I would lose all ability to write freely, something I would very much like to do. If somebody criticizes me, I will probably be discouraged enough to quit this altogether.

View this blog a the journal of a fictional character in a book. I've come to realize that most people could easily have their lives adapted into a book. Someday, I want to truly get to know as many people as possible, and write a book or maybe even a short story about each of them. If I've learned anything in my life, it is that everyone's life is not what it seems. Everyone who I've spent time getting to know has a much different life than I thought. People are very fickle creatures. It is a wonderful feeling to know that you know somebody's life as much as to know their deepest thoughts and feelings toward life.

I guess what I'm trying to say is- I wish I had more friends. More people to trust, more people to confide in, and, in turn, learn all about them. Their hopes, their fears, their deepest secrets. I simply wish I had more friends.

Music: Everything Will Be Alright - The Killers
Loneliness: Quite high

My mind is craving social interaction.

Here I am, burning the remains of the incense sticks that I've burned for the past month, wishing that I had somebody to have an intelligent conversation with.

The fire is engulfing the sticks and matches, while slowly eating away at the sides of the dead candle that I am burning this in. Slowly, the bottom is filing with a mixture of melted wax and ashes. Soon, the wax will reach the tip of the flame, extinguishing it, only to harden into wax once again. But for now, it will have its fun rising. As I watch, I can see the flame get smaller and smaller as the wax rises gradually. When it was lit, it proceeded to being a roaring flame, but now it is calm, like a candle. The black wax is moving steadily however, rising and falling. I blew out all but the largest flame. It is above the candle's limit. I will let the wax drip slowly down the side of this candle that I have had for years. Now this work of art will be destroyed.

But the destruction of the art is just as artful as the art itself. By letting the wax drip down the side of the candle, it creates a new art form.

But it turns out the wax has diminished the flame too much for it to melt more wax. The art won't be created. Instead, I will have newly black candle wax with no wick.

I stuck incense in the wet wax and am letting it harden. It will be a good incense holder.

Trouble Brews In Memory Lane.

I remember, faintly, when I was very young. Once, while I was sitting in the back seat in a car with my mother and stepfather. I don't remember which was driving. I was in the left, and I think I was able to look forward and see my mother, so I think it was my stepfather. We were talking about numbers, and I remember thinking that the highest number in the world was 69. How my mind came to that, I don't know. I was 3... maybe 4 years old. Once I learned that there was an infinite amount of numbers- and that it all repeated in a pattern- I spent an entire day simply counting to myself just to see how high I could count in one day. I did it out loud, whispering to myself, so that I would not lose my place. As I passed people, they heard me reciting numbers up in the ten-thousands, and they gawked at me, a 4-year-old reciting such high numbers. Some of them asked what I was doing, and I told them, seeing their amused expressions and not understanding what was so funny.

I don't know what made me think of that, but I did. And when I thought of it, I felt that I had to put it down in my blog. I figure that, if I don't exercise my memories, they will simply go away forever, untraceable. In fact, I know this can happen, because it's been happening for many years. It wasn't necessarily conscious, but, realizing the pain engraved in some of my memories, my brain just... deleted them. Like files on a computer, they were wiped clean from the hard drive of my mind. I remember remembering things, but not the memory itself. I have memories of myself simply remembering, but not the memories of the actual event. It's really a pity, to know that I had memories engraved in my mind at one point, but those totally unique memories were suddenly... gone. The only difference between a hard drive and my brain is that there aren't any data-retrieval applications.

Honestly, it makes sense. I promise you. Just think about it.


--- To other topics ---

I did dye my hair on New Year's, but not blue. At Sarah's house, Eve and Sarah were both dying the ends of their hair red, so I decided to as well. It looked pretty badass. But my original intentions were to dye my hair blue, so today, having the chance to stay home from school, I dyed the ends of the hair blue, after washing the red hair dye out with shampoo and conditioner. However, instead of turning it the blue that I wanted, It simply made the hair a dark, dark purplish-blue. It looks black at a glance (which I want to dye it sometime anyway...), but a closer look reveals that it is really a dark blue color.

As for ear piercing, it was going to happen. Sarah's older brother, Mitch, was going to do it with a safety pin, something that he's done before, but, even after the safety pin sterilized, and the mark made on my ear with a sharpie, he voiced that he was feeling very apprehensive about it, and that if he messed up, he would feel very guilty. So, after all the planning, we decided to get an actual piercing kit from Spencer's. Next weekend we are all going to the mall and picking up one. So that idea will have to wait.

And the cleaning of the room couldn't happen because I didn't return home until last night. Of course, I'm going to proceed with it anyway.

New Year's Resolution: Stop being such a pussy and dress and act in the way that makes me happy, without giving a shit as to what others say or do about it.
music: Napoleon Dynamite Soundtrack

QUICK RANT TIME!

Napoleon Dynamite. One of the most annoyingly overquoted films of recent times. Many people regard it as an incredibly stupid movie, with humor that is only fit for losers.

But this movie is a very sweet movie. It depicts a very strange outcast, with an odd family, just trying to live. He has many difficulties, like his annoying Uncle Rico and his frustrating brother Kip, but he meets a good friend, Pedro, who is equally as strange as himself. Eventually, a shy girl named Deb comes into his life and, despite difficulties, they become good friends. This movie is very strange and not too professionally done, but it is a sweet movie all the same.

Oh yeah... And Happy New Year. Although I know nobody reads this.

Just began getting into FFR (Flash Flash Revolution). I used to be amazing at DDR, and I'm quite good at guitar hero, so it's really easy for me. I want them to create a downloadable version of it so I can play it offline. It's almost as addictive at guitar hero- too bad I don't have guitar hero....

I don't have any new gaming systems, actually. The most recent system that I have is the original Xbox. I remember that I wanted a PS2, mainly because I was slightly obsessed with Spyro the Dragon, and they didn't have any of those games on the Xbox. I now realize why, and am glad I got the Xbox.

My former stepfather's brother was a technological genius. He installed a hard drive on the Xbox with software that allowed you to upload games onto the Xbox and play them anytime. Of course, this is very illegal, but...

But back then the Xbox wasn't incredibly well-known. As far as I remember, people only really started noticing it when the Xbox 360 came out. And of course, when the 360 came out, they wouldn't make any more games for old-gen systems! So I do have an Xbox 360, but it is filled with games that I've already won several times- or games that just suck.

But it's not a complete piece of junk. You can rip DVD's to it too, although it sometimes doesn't work correctly. Sometimes you get the raw files, and you have to test out which files are the version of the movie that you want.

This was around 2005(?), and he also put some good games and movies on it himself. One of them was the original version of The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy.

Now, I'm sure you have seen the modernized version. I hate the modernized version.

So now I will go through the history of "The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy"

"The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy" began as a radio show. It was witty, with very bizzare humor and an entirely different outlook on life, the universe, and everything(42!!!!). It was very popular. I have never personally heard them, but I would like to be able to somehow acquire a recording...

Soon after, Douglas Adams wrote the so-called "trilogy" that eventually ended up consisting of five books. This is a list of them.

*The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy
*The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe
*Life, The Universe, And Everything
*So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish
*Mostly Harmless

Apparently, there was to be a sixth book in the increasingly inaccurately-named series, entitled "The Salmon Of Doubt", but, when Adams died of a heart attack at the age of 49, it became fairly apparent that the series was finally over. I haven't read all of these books either, but I am currently on "Life, The Universe, And Everything." I should be reading that right now instead of posting on my blog.

In 1981, one year after "The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe", a TV mini-series appeared. There were six episodes, each 35 minutes long. Some versions have seven episodes, each 30 minutes long too. Since the other books hadn't been released, nobody knew what came afterwards, so the movie ends at a part where, in fact, is quite important in the book- Arthur and Ford stuck on a prehistoric Earth, walking away from the stubborn Golgafrinchans, after learning the ultimate question to life, the universe, and everything. This is the series on my Xbox.

Eventually, after a few more radio broadcasts, a 2004 film was able to be shot. I think this film has many good parts, such as the musical part, "So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish". Overall though, in terms of leaving things out of the story, I believe that this movie was terrible. In my opinion, if you are going to tell the story, you might as well tell the entire story, right? I'm not saying I hated the movie, but after seeing all of the episodes of it, it made me realize how much of it was left out. The Series by Douglas Adams was truly amazing, and very funny too. Nothing should be left out of it.

So that's "The Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy". Hope I didn't bore you too badly.

Food: Tomato Soup
Incense: Intoxicating