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."

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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