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.

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

"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.

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

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.