Shot him in the nose.

This morning was unfamiliar. I didn't wake up to the gentle hum of my CD player like I maybe expected to. The sound it makes after I've listened to a CD and it's played all the way through but is still on, waiting for me to push play again. And my light was off. My sister is to blame. This may seem like purely an act of kindness, but we share a room. So. It's a tad selfish. But I can dig it.  
What I was trying to get to, though, is that this morning when I woke up, it literally felt like I was in a different house. I had four blankets atop me, and opened my eyes to see a room I haven't seen for quite some time. Wardrobe closed, filled, and organized. Clothes away and out of piles. A desk with drawers emptier than I've ever seen them. A bedside table holding only jewelry boxes, a CD player, a light from the sixties, and my phone, as opposed to the leaning tower of scripts it once held, which too have been filed. My books are re-organized neatly, and the nostalgia based keepers I've left on the bottom shelf. The rest I can't look at from childhood are in a box in my closet. Which brings me to my closet. I can walk in it for what seems like the first time in a century. All my colored costume bits are hung separate from the ocean of of black,  lace, and tulle. I've realized how many black dresses I own. It's absurd. My - fuck. I was right. My gums are bleeding - room, as a result of cleaning and exposure of tile floor is colder. All my collected laundry can't keep in the heat any more. But that's fine because that's a little bit gross anyway. I've got to hang more things on my walls because now I've got the space to enjoy that which is my room.


 I really hope I can keep this up. I won't be home from now until summer. Maybe. So we'll see. 
I'm feeling better today. Mum's coming home. I don't have to clean anymore. Math wasn't terrible. And I didn't even have coffee today. Hot damn!

Life is a maze and love is a riddle.

Done with two markers. A black, and a flesh-tone. By ~Ampenergy on deviantART.

It must be tech week.

This always seems to happen to me when I know I've got a lot on my plate. "What?" You may be asking. Identity issues! Yay! This usually results in me doing something semi-drastic. A change in hair. Clothes. In this case, a total cleaning out of everything I own. This started last week and I let it sit for a few days, like the committed little bugger I am. And now I've started again. I'm donating so many clothes, you would think I'd be naked once I was through. Really though, I've still got plenty that I rarely wear but don't want to give up. I don't know what it is that makes me do things like this. I suppose it's a form of escapism. It always has been. I don't have to think about anything except for what I'm doing and what I do and don't want. Which is good in a way. It should help me be able to determine what other things in my life I do and don't want. I listen to my mix CDs. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. And throw away everything I've been holding onto. Everything that the child packrat that I was felt it necessary to keep. I don't throw it all away, but enough to be substantial. I keep the little treasures I know will mean something when I age. 


This week I've got rehearsal for a staged reading of  HOLY SPIRIT, on monday and the actual reading on tuesday. Both days I'm excused from rehearsal for SISTERS ROSENSWEIG, which I'm assistant stage managing and will be working on for the next six [plus] weeks. All week during and after school hours I've got to be working on the school play. Because. Well. Tech week. I've got to get all of our props together. Check all of our costumes. Make sure the set is where it can be. Figure out all the tech at Zuzi, which I'm sure will be delightful. And finalize the direction of the show. 


I just want to bang my head against the keyboard. In fact: yttgfgtffgrtvrfghhjunyjuhnjujhunyhyfgvmn bbgbhhnyjum y ujmujmuyjnrfv grt4f5 4r 4rnt5g n54t. Meanwhile, this weekend I complain that I've got nothing to do. Spend about half of it sleeping. That makes me feel useless. And have had no ambition/initiative/enthusiasm for much of anything. Boo. You whore. Be proactive. I'm a senior. I don't know where I'll be this time next year. I still don't know if I want to go to college. I have to live up to the persona that I've created for myself. I have to live in this house. I can't let my grades fall below an 'A' or I'll shoot myself in the face. I want to cut all my hair off. But I don't. But sometimes I really do. 


On the plus side. I've been drawing a lot more, and finishing pieces. And not being totally disgusted by myself all the time. And the one thing that I've wanted more than anything for the past year and a half seventeen years is finally in my hands, and by my side, and doesn't seem like it's going anywhere any time soon. 




I've been so optimistic lately, that any little blip on my radar is more like a bomb. But I'm constantly in a pool of self deprecation, and although right now I need to be in the shallow end I keep feeling myself being sucked into the deep. I don't need that. I don't want that. But that's what's happening. I want to swim away and climb up the concrete stairs, and lay on my back in the sun. 


I'm just confused and overwhelmed beyond belief. 


Last night I had a dream that you were singing to me from across the room. 

Wowzers.

In other words.

I'm still as narcissistic as ever.

Some day I'll road trip in the spirit of abandonment.

Abandoned Theme Parks, Theatres, Schools, & Pools.
^ The clicking of yours should be on that ^

Waiting for a shock to bring me back to life.

The horned toad.

As if I didn't already have enough marine life to obsess over.

The Squidworm

 ^You should click that^

November 22nd would have meant you'd be eighteen today.

I feel like a selfish, stupid, sinner because I forgot it was your birthday until now. I just sang to you, with tears in my eyes that are on their way out as I type this. It was 11:11 when I did so, and I can't remember if that was your favourite time, or if I just want it to be because I'm desperate for any part of you to hold on to. You were my best friend, and one of the most influential people in my life and I wish I could have told you how much you've always meant to me, and still mean to me. I just want you to know that you've made it really hard to think about middle school. Even harder than it always was before. But I also want you to know that there's not a force in this world that would make me want to bring you back. You were in all of our lives for a reason, and even though it's severely unfortunate that now you're not, we all hope you made the right decision. 
You wrote me a note once that I've been really desperate to find this last month, that probably doesn't even exist any more. You said, "I still love you. No matter what you say. No matter what I say." And I know you meant it. I wish you knew I felt and feel the same.


Happy Birthday, Gibran.

I just want to shove him in a sock and then put him in a filing cabinet.

Friday night I successfully finished and mounted a piece of art. It had been quite a while since I'd done so. I've been noticing more and more my dependence on coffee. It's quite obnoxious. At least it's not a dependence on alcohol, right?  I feel like every day things are getting better in some way. Even if the world were ending, my growing optimism would be able to overcome my fear. Which is saying something. I almost just threw this school computer screen at my body, and then caressed it with my face MAINLY because the five gingers in the student lounge are singing Christmas carols. Badly. 

Earlier, Jessie spit in my face. Because she's a stupid bitch. No. I actually don't know why. She's probably clinically insane. She takes a lot of meds. And then she punched me square in the boob while I was stretching. What a classy lady she is.

This time last year.

How can I tell you?

Those diamond engagement rings are way too cliché.

Mid mum and Darla conversation I exclaim, "I JUST WANT TO EAT THE WHOLE FUCKING PIE!" I ended up eating two very large pieces of pumpkin pie with mountains of whipped cream atop them today, and will likely have another after I get home tonight. I started out the day waking up about ten minutes late, but that's nothing new. I do the same thing every morning. I set my alarms the night before with five different ring tones, for five different [but relatively close] times, and in the morning I never have any clue any of them went off except for the occasional instance where I wake up with my phone in my hand and under my pillow however much later. And "however much later" is typically an hour after my alarms have woken my sister up instead of me. My mom does the official waking of me up. Twice. Or sometimes three times. It's usually 7:36 by now [it's gotten later and later as senior year's gone on] and I make my way to the bathroom to make myself look like a person. Clothes. Makeup. Hair. In that order. Then it's the dreadful drive to school that's rarely any more dreadful than the destination itself. Sometimes mum and I stop to get coffee at Starbucks, or if we're feeling extra super it's McDonald's Iced Coffee. 

Today Jessie and I both being women, and both especially knowing it this week, were pretty fucking bummed all day. And not at anything specific. Just upset about everything. And not our normal letsbitchabouteverythingbecauseitmakesusfeelbetteraboutourselves banter, but unadulterated sorrow of the most indistinct kind. In second period [after math class from hell] Jessie ended up putting in ear plugs, sitting underneath her desk at one point, and later lipstick stained the inside of my hoodie while she slept on it. Despite the fact that I recently read an article about how unhealthy daydreaming actually is for your mood, I sat there that whole period taking notes, but thinking of all the other things in out in the world that I could have been doing. What I could be drawing. Where I could be eating breakfast, or [you guessed it!] brunch. What I could be sewing or watching or reading. What I could be saying with my hands or touching with my voice. I thought about what life after high school will be like. Where will I be this exact hour/day/minute next year? Will I be happy? Will I be here at all? Will I --  I look up to see the old man in the documentary about India we're watching caressing the hips and then crotch of a Hindu statue. And I think. "Why am I here?" And I remember. Oh. God. I said the same exact thing this time yesterday. 

We countered this later at lunch by laughing violently about nothing and everything. 


I've got a semester and a few weeks left of public education.

Cheap Thrills. Literally.

In case you have been asleep the whole time you've known me, you should know by now that I'm a thriftaholic. And not-so-secretly I love cheating thrift stores into giving me better deals whenever possible. I'll admit it. I'm a price changer. Today I got a little set of shelves for my wall, and a couple more frames for just under ten dollars, as opposed to the twenty I would have paid if I hadn't convinced myself it was a good idea to switch a couple of stickers. Because, really?

I have to admit, though. I get a little rush from the initial price change. I'm always aware of security cameras. And then right before I get to the register I always fret. Is the person at the register the one who put the original price on it? Do they remember it specifically? How could they prove I was the one who changed it? Is it really that big of a deal? No.


Really what I'm trying to say is that I'm cheap. That's all.

Someone else just walked in the room and I'm not happy about it.

I spent most of yesterday hanging things, and changing things, and moving things around just for the sake of continuously doing something with my hands. That, and because mum would have gone crazy if I didn't start cleaning, seeing as the house was and is still kind of a disaster via the plumbing fiasco. I'll likely do the same thing tonight as I did yesterday, because I'm boring, and lazy, and didn't finish what I started. Then again I never will. I keep acquiring more, and changing exactly what it is I find worthy of display [which is almost everything ever]. And as much as I detest the idea of cleaning, the act of it is somewhat addicting. I enjoy nothing more than sitting around and looking what I've done afterward with a big fat smile on my face. So... maybe I just gave myself more incentive to clean tonight. 

I went to bed with a slightly bloody nose last night and have been able to feel the aftermath of it all day. Lovely, yes? 

I can't believe I'm writing so much about nothing worth reading about.

Starting 2011 I want to start taking and posting a photo a day. Of anyeverything. I'm debating whether or not to do that on this blog, or a separate one. I'll probably just use this one. Which is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I'm really just writing because I'm alone in the technology room at school, waiting for drama to start so we can do more blocking, and I'd rather be in here convincing myself that I'm being "productive" rather than sitting idle in the student lounge. I misjudged the amount of weeks there were until the end of November, which is really strange. And I have to keep reminding myself that I was wrong, and that I have more time than I thought. 

I can't think very clearly today. The roof of my mouth is a little sore. I need to do something with my nails.

This is incredibly boring.

Maybe I should just start with this photo idea now. I can't wait for much of anything.

At least out loud.

I'm a damsel, I'm in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day.

Through the dark turns and noise.

I've been finding it increasingly harder to get to sleep as of late, some of which has to do with the fact that it's getting colder, and some of which doesn't have to do with that at all - sort of. And the majority of my body has been hurting the passed few days, and everything that hurts really hurts, but everything that doesn't hurt feels phenomenal when I'm not thinking about how much everything else hurts. Whine. Today I vented to my advisory about how much I detest my math class, having to lower my expectations of the drama class [some kids of which are in my advisory], and how tired I am of having teachers and administrators and counselors wanting to set up meetings with me about applying to colleges, and how important it is.


A pair of wings that I made a year ago, that were MIA for.. well.. a year, were returned to me today, and because I have terribly high expectations of myself it was like a reunion with a friend that I had met and spent the day with, but really knew nothing about. They're broken, and not suitable for wearing, but I might as well display them behind the golden bust in my room. When I got them back I remembered a story that was told to me about a boy, a band, a pair of wings, and a fork that ran away with a spoon. Coincidentally, when I got home that story was written down, and waiting for me to read.


I just hid 7 more people on my facebook, which makes me question why I even have one. I always find myself adding people and then not caring about what they have to say enough to pretend to be interested in anything they put up. Who woulda thunk?


On other non-harmonious notes: I've laughed until the point of crying several times in the passed week, Anne Hathaway's hair looks so fucking beautiful in that new chick flick she's in that I secretly want to see [because I'm a closeted chick flick lover], and these bitches on Top Model today are being so catty that I don't know if I can keep watching. I might just have to play my accordion badly for the next six hours. 


Last night on Glee, the episode dealt with bullying, tolerance, homophobia, and self-acceptance [among other things.] Kurt, the only out, gay, male at his school went to another school to see what their tolerance levels were like, because of the abuse he was constantly being presented with at his own school, and instead found solace in a student there who helped him to stand up for himself. Kurt, after being pushed into a locker and called something foul then followed the bully in question into the locker room and spouted off a strong but short monologue about not changing who he is. He then provoked the bully, "Do it! Hit me. Because you can't punch the gay out of me any faster than I could punch the ignoramus out of you!" To which the bully responded by not hitting him, but kissing him for a brief moment. After a few confrontations about the incident, the episode ends with him still shoving Kurt into lockers, and being vocally in denial or just severely confused about about the situation. This is not the only plot line in the episode. There were more rather shocking bits, but in the spirit of recent events you can imagine this is the one my mom, sister, and I responded most dramatically to. My dad, however, when informed that what we were all shocked and [in my case] rendered speechless by was on Glee had only this to say: "It must be about that little gay boy. Right?" And he closed his door. Turned on the talk radio. And frowned for the rest of the night. 


I've got an unrealistically great family. And there's not much that keeps us apart from each other. It's difficult for me because around the same time I entered adolescence, was when I was learning how great it was to be whoever you wanted via my sister and her collection of "scary goths," and openly gay and/or cross-dressing friends. So being gay, or just different in any respect is something that's always been a matter of fact thing to me. Do what you want. Love who you want. Be who you want. Want what you want. People will love you. End of story. Right? Of course not, Lucy. Remember? There are intolerant people in the world. Damn. And as I was growing into a person in my family it was all about fighting for what you believe in, and standing up for yourself, and the things, and the people you love. His door was open then. But as years went by it started closing. And that isn't the first time my dad's shut his door at the sign of support of homosexuality. Darla being on the RHPS cast at The Loft for a few years, us watching RuPauls's Drag Race, going to see Hedwig at LTW three or so weeks in a row, and showing any amount of enthusiasm in these things or a character in a show that I relate to who just happens to be gay and tackling "landmark" issues on network television - unacceptable. He's told my mom before that he doesn't understand. And he has every right not to. He also doesn't seem to try. It's getting around the fact that being gay doesn't define every aspect of who you are, that he can't seem to get around. The difficulty in this situation comes into play when my mom, sister, and I have to censor ourselves. Don't talk about anything remotely gay. You'll risk cutting the wrong wire in the bomb. "I got to see Chris [a homosexual thirty-something / one of my mom's only friends] on fourth avenue on Halloween for the first time since his attempted suicide a few months ago." Disregarded. This is the case with this Glee thing as well. No. I didn't love the episode because two men kissed. No. I didn't love the episode because the little gay boy sang a pretty song, and ran down the hall and in hand with another man. I loved the episode because in the context of recent events [i.e. Gibran's suicide, and the troubling amount of communication I've been doing online with teenagers dealing with bullies] it  hit really close to home. About being who you are, and not running away, and not backing down, and standing up for yourself. But he's gay. So no discussing it. And we don't with him. This is why we rarely argue. My mom as a voice of reason reminds us that he lives in a house full of women. And as the years have gone by he's become a little estranged to us, under the impression that we are the ones pushing him away. With the addition of constant conservative talk radio and FOX news being forced on us out of no where, that impression seems to be pretty bass ackwards . The issue is simply that we don't all believe in the same things anymore. And where I would love to think the three of us have changed as much as him, I can't bring myself to. Because I know it's untrue. As much as we can all be ourselves in our own home, or rather, should be able to... that can only happen to a certain extent when we're reminded if the differences between us. Which is really a shame. There's no getting around either side. The thing that it comes down to is that the three of us understand, and accept, and consider that he has the right to express of his beliefs and to support them until the day he dies, but it's hard to stay in that frame of mind when we're constantly told by him that ours are wrong. Plain and simple. But not. And the trouble my mom is having with feeling like she has no idea who he is any more will only continue until my sister and I get out of this house. And for what very well might be the first time, I say house instead of home, because it decreasingly feels like one. Which is terrifying to me because it's all I've ever known. 


Growing up I would usually only be really great friends with one person at a time. And their parents would often seem to trust me more than they trusted their own child. I'd almost always end up being used because of this. "You want to come over? I told my dad you would keep me company while he went to Patty's." And when I'd get there, "Oh. Kodie's coming over too. But I didn't tell my dad. Have fun on my computer. Us twelve-year-olds are going to go kiss in my bedroom. K, bye." And of course I wouldn't tell their parents because that's 'not cool' and I wanted so much to continue my friendship with the only person who seemed to understand what it was like to be different. Which made me feel like those relationships I had with their parents were so terrible. And I only now realize that my being a good influence on their child probably came from how quickly I was mentally maturing because of the freedom my parents allowed me to have and the trust they instilled in me. But doesn't that hold true today? None of those relationships lasted. And it seems that in every instance I had more influence whoever I was friends with than they had on me. What was I talking about before this? Oh right. Leaving home. It's foreign to even think about because if not at home, I was at said friend's house. And after high school started, that changed. Quick. If not home, theatre. But you can't move in with the theatre when you leave high school, and have your own room, and split the cost of living, and gas, and groceries. Which makes me think. What the fuck is going on right now? Oh that's right. I'm seventeen. A senior. Alive. And know what I want. But can't quite have all of any of it yet. Luckily I get closer every day. But every day seems longer. Boo.


I've got a four day weekend ahead of me. I'll rearrange the house. Do theatre related things. Be around who I want to be around. And will tell myself I'll make some art, but most likely wont [with that attitude.] But for now, I'll play that accordion, and eat some dinner.

All Souls.

 

 I found this photo titled, "Not sure why this dude was covered in blood...?"

Someone commented this photo in its original location asking if I was wearing those contacts that make your eyes appear larger.

Gibran.

I just spent an hour and a half looking at octopi and I'm still not satisfied.

I felt violent in math class. I expressed inhumane hypothetical punishments in global studies. I spent a good five minutes examining the cooked, but bottom-of-the-thermos-shaped Ramen I ate for lunch because it looked like a brain [and proceeded to trick myself into believing that it was really what eating a brain would be like.] I planned the deaths of the disruptive students in front of and behind me at the whole school meeting while drawing a finger with nails being hammered into it, and then stuck around with Jessie to watch said students be rounded up by the teachers afterward trying to catch a glimpse of them being punished. I lead the drama class down to Zuzi like a lioness, and being in that space again gave me the weirds. We went down to Brooklyn's to get everyone gelato, and got back to school ten minutes after the school day was officially over. Mid-production-conversation with Tom I say, "Tom, do you realize that all I do is talk to people over the age of twenty-five about theatre?" Darla and I stop at Jack in the Cocks Box on the way home, and I succumb to the temptation of a lemonade and curly fries. I've been home a couple hours, and all I've done is browse deviantART's selection of work based on Meg from Disney's Hercules, and all of the octopi I can handle. I've really got to wash my hair and work on my Disneyland video. Oh dear. 

No. I'm not just pounding on this door for fun.

Lucy - Hey guys. I'm crashing your non-party.

A - I like that shirt you're wearing.

Lucy - Thanks I've had it forever, but I've never worn it to school. It's a little short so it shows my 
midriff a bit, which is annoying, but I've got pretty nice hips so...

Ducette - It's a good shirt. I like it too. 

Sarah - Lucy?

Lucy- Yeah?

Sarah - How old are you?

Lucy - Ssssssssssseventeen. 

Sarah - Oh. 

Lucy - Why? Are you offended by my exposed, underage, hip-bones?

Sarah - Um. No. I um. Wanted to know if you were old enough to vote today. 


Michelle - ... I like your hip-bones, Lucy.


You have to understand. Sarah is a severely sheltered teenager. I won't get into it. But what you should know Socially Awkward Sarah is just that. The most socially awkward person I think I've ever met. I for a split second forgot that I was talking to her. But it was great. Then again, I often say things to try to make her uncomfortably comfortable. PUSH THOSE BOUNDARIES SARAH! Once in geometry a couple of years ago she went to the board to draw a triangle or something, and Diego and I heard her whisper the word "shit" and it was like the sky was falling. 


Diego - Oh my god. 


Lucy - Did you hear that too? 


Diego - Did she just say "shit"? 


Lucy - I think she did.


Diego - Holy shit. 


Lucy - I know! 


But we kept it a secret because we didn't want to ruin her persona. She doesn't curse. She doesn't wear makeup, or maintain her hair. She doesn't wear outlandish clothing, except for the occasional out of character dress. She plays with her hands, and stutters every now and then. She started a writing club, and every time the room is quiet and she's feeling up to it will ask the whole class something along the lines of, "sooooo.. um - how's everybody's week. or like... how was your weekend.." And aside from the snickers and giggles no one every really answers her. I usually do though. "It was fabulous Sarah! How was yours?" None of this is bad. Don't get me wrong. Really. I just want to know this girl. I want everyone to know this girl. I don't know why.


ANYHOW. Today. In my effort to not do anything during senior seminar "My computer froze." "I'm working on that video at home" "I finished that the day you handed it out" I was filling out college applications. Not. Vicky asked Jessie and me if we'd help her with her Radio project. She needed to interview us about our favourite memories from high school. None of which we talked about took place at the school itself. We were interviewed by her in the sound room. A small closet with padding on the walls, a glass door painted black and completely padded with the exception of a small, 1.5" x 4" rectangular hole. Our interview was over, and oh shit. The door handle? Broken from the inside. Just peachy. We twisted and turned it and slammed our bodies against the door for a good five to ten minutes trying to get out; this interjected with spurts of frantic knocking and pounding whenever we saw someone walk by through the little hole. But of course the room is soundproof, and that peek-hole isn't noticeable enough for anyone to see us through at first glance. Jessie calls Michelle. No answer because DUH she's in class. Vicky calls someone and gets one of those bullshit answering machine "Hello?...................just kidding! Leave a message" messages. I call the school. Like a smart cookie. I get Jules on the phone.
"Who is this?! Jules?! Hi. Um. This is Lucy. Vicky Barnett, Jessie Birdman, and I are trapped in the sound booth in the basement and panicking. Could you get us out?"
"I'll be down there in a second."


This was terrifying, to say the least. Really. I started looking for vents into the room, all of which were too small to get through, but a nice reassurance that we wouldn't suffocate. And I began to think of which of the two of them I would beat over the head with the iron microphone stand and eat first. We got out, needless to say. But now they have to fix the door because someone's going to get stuck in there and they wont have cell phone service and might just die. How sad.


What else was I going to blather on about? Oh. Just about how much I love trying to figure out what to say to you. I'm being facetious of course, but only slightly.


I might get my accordion this Friday. Huzzah.