Basset Hound
The end.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
123.
My hands still smelled like burnt popcorn.
Bits of orange stuck in the cracks of my teeth.
These teeth of mine that overlap.
And intertwine, and won't grow back.
I always pick the coldest seat on the bus. Everyone with mental disabilities, and/or little black hymn belting sons on the bus today was exceedingly and strangely friendly.
My hair has no product in it. And my face doesn't either.
Mom just made tomorrow morning's coffee.
I know all the Drag tricks of the trade. And better than half the queens out there.
My hands still smell a bit like burnt popcorn. I'm currently mixing down the file for our MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE video, and I will then have to upload it to Youtube, which means despite the fact that my mom told Darla I wouldn't be able to watch the second showing of the season premier of Rupaul's Drag Race, I will be up and able to watch it while the upload is in progress.
Uploading to Youtube now.
Oh these queens.
I think I'll take a nap and a shower when I get home tomorrow.
Uploading to Youtube now.
Oh these queens.
I think I'll take a nap and a shower when I get home tomorrow.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Mutually Invincible.
I smudged this red sharpie and ballpoint pen into my cuticles almost twenty-four hours ago, and it still looks like I just clawed my way out of a grave.
I haven't been home since before school on Friday morning. I got another nosebleed this morning. I only started getting them a few months ago, and it's curious because it's never actually a full on nosebleed. No dripping. There just sometimes happens to be a bit of blood in there. Always in the same nostril too. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but I'm wondering if there's something wrong with me. I would like to assume not.
I'm learning so much about myself. I needed more confidence. Ha. That was a joke.
Also. God damn it! I'm happy.
I always knew I could be. But never was I aware it could possibly be to this extent.
I haven't been home since before school on Friday morning. I got another nosebleed this morning. I only started getting them a few months ago, and it's curious because it's never actually a full on nosebleed. No dripping. There just sometimes happens to be a bit of blood in there. Always in the same nostril too. It's not necessarily a bad thing, but I'm wondering if there's something wrong with me. I would like to assume not.
I'm learning so much about myself. I needed more confidence. Ha. That was a joke.
Also. God damn it! I'm happy.
I always knew I could be. But never was I aware it could possibly be to this extent.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Bound and determined.
In Senior English today I realized that I never actually finished filling out my college applications, which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but might prove difficult when we start looking at scholarship stuff. FASFA and all that. But, hell. I'm having a really big motivation problem at school as of late. That's nothing new, but it's noticeable. I'm having a harder and harder time retaining anything. Except for lines.
After school I'm going with Jessie to Black Rose. She's getting her first tattoo.
BAM NEXT DAY
Going with Jessie to get her tattoo was actually pretty incredible. I held her hand the whole way through, which was kind of the best thing ever. I would like to point out that "best thing ever" is an exaggeration because there are many other things in my life deserving of that title. T-rust me.
My nails are clean, but still gnarly. That's the way it's meant to be I suppose.
Your handwriting is my favourite. Ever.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Fun Fact.
The twentieth day of the month is always my favourite because I write the year when I write the date.
Example: 1.20.11
And if it's not the twentieth I must write out the whole year.
Example: 1.21.2011
Goose ghost.
Example: 1.20.11
And if it's not the twentieth I must write out the whole year.
Example: 1.21.2011
Goose ghost.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Post 100.
See title.
I've just watched DANCER IN THE DARK. That Bjork movie. My sister was sitting on the love seat. I started the movie. The dog started barking and my sister went away into the bedroom, and I had to answer the door. Hello, Brian. And they sat together on the love seat. In fact, they're still there now. At some point in the movie, with them still seated, the dining room light turned on. This meant mom had returned from a day of work I haven't heard about yet. I thank Casey for not telling me everything about this film, but I thank him more for warning me that I was going to sob. Because I did. I cried a shit ton at the end of REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, and vowed to never watch it again. But from a certain point on in this film I literally could not stop crying. I watched it in parts on Youtube and after the initial faucet break in my face, I squeaked, and sighed into the kitchen. I dried my eyes and face on a rough paper towel, and walking back to my chair at the computer I hit three of my toes on the leg of our dining room table. It was such a phenomenal film. I don't even have words. I haven't cried more because of a movie. I had a particularly hard time with it towards the end. But I've cried more.
Starting in October, if I let my mind wander too much, I'll catch myself imagining the process of being hanged. The build up. The act. And I'll close my eyes, and shake my head, and make the monster go away.
I found out about Gibran's death around 1am on October 10th. A day or two after it occurred. I found out via a friend Symone's Facebook status. I don't even really know her. But that was the first I knew. I read it multiple times before going to his Facebook page. And there were already so many messages to him. A classic feeling of disbelief. I didn't cry then. I just sat. And read what everyone had to say, before writing my own.
"Gibran. You were the first person I ever felt a gut wrenching love for. You were the first person I ever kissed. You were the first person to make me feel like I was worth anything. You were my best friend. You were more than my best friend. I was still completely in love with you in the eighth grade. I can still hear your laugh. I'm not exactly sure of the details of what's happened but the hole I acquired when we entered high school has just gotten tremendously larger. I love you. I love you. I knew that dream I had about you last night meant something. I'm just sorry to hear that it was this."
I sat there in my nightgown, staring at the screen. I clicked the 'X' at the top of the screen and went into my room. I can't remember if I laid down or went into my bathroom to wash my face, which I did first. But I got a call from a boy named Ivan. He had gone to my school for a semester or so, and had at one time dated Gibran. I answered the phone, fully aware of what he might say.
"Lucy?" He asked.
"Ivan?"
"Did you he hear what happened?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how?"
"No. I don't know."
Our voices were shaking and he started crying. Said he had to go, but that he would call me back. I set the phone down, and began to cry. Never before had I done so in this manner. I fell to the floor between my sister's side of the room and mine. I probably disappeared into my nightgown a la the Wicked Witch of the West. I shouted "Mom" between gasps and moans. It probably sounded more like an animal. I figured if she didn't hear me, that I would stay there until I passed out from exhaustion. A little less than a minute passed before she came into my room half dressed to scoop a shaking me up off the floor. I managed to tell her what happened. Ivan called me back. I remember every moment of that, but I don't remember much of the rest of the night.
The next day I washed my face, finally, tied my hair up, and got in the car. I couldn't look at anyone at the theatre. Ally asked how I was, and I didn't even respond. I shook my head, and set my bag down at the makeup table. Coffee in hand. I steered clear of her, and Steve Wood, but caught Carley's eye in the office. She asked me how I was, and I again could only shake my head. I made my way to a bench outside, and she came out to sit with me. We didn't talk for a while, but when we did I started melting all over that bench. Kristi arrived, and dropped all her things. And we exchanged an embrace and murmured into each other. Yes, I would do the show. Yes, I was sure. And we did. I choked a little rehearsing the numbers beforehand, and made sure that those who I needed were there.
Christopher waited for me in the office of the theatre and took me to a park where I shoved my bare back into the bark of a palm tree, and only after a while spilled bodily face fluids into his shirt. I remember every moment of that too. I walked around Bookmans, and watched Disney's Hercules the rest of the day.
I've cried on occasion since. I've having a hard time dealing with it though. Because I'm only occasionally fully aware of it, and I feel very distant.
I can't write any more tonight.
I just can't.
But. I'm fine.
I've just watched DANCER IN THE DARK. That Bjork movie. My sister was sitting on the love seat. I started the movie. The dog started barking and my sister went away into the bedroom, and I had to answer the door. Hello, Brian. And they sat together on the love seat. In fact, they're still there now. At some point in the movie, with them still seated, the dining room light turned on. This meant mom had returned from a day of work I haven't heard about yet. I thank Casey for not telling me everything about this film, but I thank him more for warning me that I was going to sob. Because I did. I cried a shit ton at the end of REQUIEM FOR A DREAM, and vowed to never watch it again. But from a certain point on in this film I literally could not stop crying. I watched it in parts on Youtube and after the initial faucet break in my face, I squeaked, and sighed into the kitchen. I dried my eyes and face on a rough paper towel, and walking back to my chair at the computer I hit three of my toes on the leg of our dining room table. It was such a phenomenal film. I don't even have words. I haven't cried more because of a movie. I had a particularly hard time with it towards the end. But I've cried more.
Starting in October, if I let my mind wander too much, I'll catch myself imagining the process of being hanged. The build up. The act. And I'll close my eyes, and shake my head, and make the monster go away.
I found out about Gibran's death around 1am on October 10th. A day or two after it occurred. I found out via a friend Symone's Facebook status. I don't even really know her. But that was the first I knew. I read it multiple times before going to his Facebook page. And there were already so many messages to him. A classic feeling of disbelief. I didn't cry then. I just sat. And read what everyone had to say, before writing my own.
"Gibran. You were the first person I ever felt a gut wrenching love for. You were the first person I ever kissed. You were the first person to make me feel like I was worth anything. You were my best friend. You were more than my best friend. I was still completely in love with you in the eighth grade. I can still hear your laugh. I'm not exactly sure of the details of what's happened but the hole I acquired when we entered high school has just gotten tremendously larger. I love you. I love you. I knew that dream I had about you last night meant something. I'm just sorry to hear that it was this."
I sat there in my nightgown, staring at the screen. I clicked the 'X' at the top of the screen and went into my room. I can't remember if I laid down or went into my bathroom to wash my face, which I did first. But I got a call from a boy named Ivan. He had gone to my school for a semester or so, and had at one time dated Gibran. I answered the phone, fully aware of what he might say.
"Lucy?" He asked.
"Ivan?"
"Did you he hear what happened?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how?"
"No. I don't know."
Our voices were shaking and he started crying. Said he had to go, but that he would call me back. I set the phone down, and began to cry. Never before had I done so in this manner. I fell to the floor between my sister's side of the room and mine. I probably disappeared into my nightgown a la the Wicked Witch of the West. I shouted "Mom" between gasps and moans. It probably sounded more like an animal. I figured if she didn't hear me, that I would stay there until I passed out from exhaustion. A little less than a minute passed before she came into my room half dressed to scoop a shaking me up off the floor. I managed to tell her what happened. Ivan called me back. I remember every moment of that, but I don't remember much of the rest of the night.
The next day I washed my face, finally, tied my hair up, and got in the car. I couldn't look at anyone at the theatre. Ally asked how I was, and I didn't even respond. I shook my head, and set my bag down at the makeup table. Coffee in hand. I steered clear of her, and Steve Wood, but caught Carley's eye in the office. She asked me how I was, and I again could only shake my head. I made my way to a bench outside, and she came out to sit with me. We didn't talk for a while, but when we did I started melting all over that bench. Kristi arrived, and dropped all her things. And we exchanged an embrace and murmured into each other. Yes, I would do the show. Yes, I was sure. And we did. I choked a little rehearsing the numbers beforehand, and made sure that those who I needed were there.
Christopher waited for me in the office of the theatre and took me to a park where I shoved my bare back into the bark of a palm tree, and only after a while spilled bodily face fluids into his shirt. I remember every moment of that too. I walked around Bookmans, and watched Disney's Hercules the rest of the day.
I've cried on occasion since. I've having a hard time dealing with it though. Because I'm only occasionally fully aware of it, and I feel very distant.
I can't write any more tonight.
I just can't.
But. I'm fine.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Monday, January 10, 2011
L'Oréal. Because you're what?
So. We meet again, school computer. It's been a while. How was your holiday? Lonely? Or did you and the other HP 2009m monitor exchange dirty images of your hard drives? Don't tell me! Be modest! Sicko. A is sitting next to me looking at an illustrated story about a girl trying to figure out if her dog is retarded. Tom and I have planned to play charades today in Drama class. How exciting.
There's a flash drive plugged into this mini Mac and I had an immediate impulse to pull it out, but figured I should restrain myself. We're going to be learning about the Israeli Palestinian conflict, and that culture as a whole at the start of this semester in Global studies, so I've ALREADY announced that everyone in the class should come to see MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE, and our student teacher provided some additional information about her the he already knew. I hope he comes to see it. And how perfectly coincidental.
I spent my lunch period speaking with Jessie about everyone else in my family. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I'm being super analytical. It's not a bad thing, but because that takes a certain level of frankness, it can come off as pretentious, or cold. Boo. But, hey. I tend to do that a lot anyway. Cue squinted eyes, a tilt of the head, and / or a mild sense of uncertainty.
Over the summer, if you recall, I wrote about feeling as if I were in a cocoon stage. I knew something was about to change, and I knew that something about me was going to become [drastically] different. I only recently realized that all of those little intuitions were correct. And here we are. And of course it's not just been one thing that has been the source of this change. But it feels like I went from caterpillar all the way to platypus.
There's a flash drive plugged into this mini Mac and I had an immediate impulse to pull it out, but figured I should restrain myself. We're going to be learning about the Israeli Palestinian conflict, and that culture as a whole at the start of this semester in Global studies, so I've ALREADY announced that everyone in the class should come to see MY NAME IS RACHEL CORRIE, and our student teacher provided some additional information about her the he already knew. I hope he comes to see it. And how perfectly coincidental.
I spent my lunch period speaking with Jessie about everyone else in my family. I seem to be doing that a lot lately. I'm being super analytical. It's not a bad thing, but because that takes a certain level of frankness, it can come off as pretentious, or cold. Boo. But, hey. I tend to do that a lot anyway. Cue squinted eyes, a tilt of the head, and / or a mild sense of uncertainty.
Over the summer, if you recall, I wrote about feeling as if I were in a cocoon stage. I knew something was about to change, and I knew that something about me was going to become [drastically] different. I only recently realized that all of those little intuitions were correct. And here we are. And of course it's not just been one thing that has been the source of this change. But it feels like I went from caterpillar all the way to platypus.
Here she comes to wreck the day.
So I've got a lot of things to say and a lot of them aren't very related, but it's just passed midnight on a night before I have to go to school so of course I'm going to keep myself up blogging.
I'm struggling with the way I want to format my posts because I feel like what I've been doing for the last howevermany months doesn't look very clean and isn't actually the spacing I would prefer. It works in some instances, but then again, I bet you could just not give a shit.
In case your eyeballs stopped working and you haven't been viewing my weird day by day photo posts. They're there. I mentioned some time in November, I think it was, that I wanted to challenge myself to take and / or post a photo a day for a year. Ha. Remember I said November. The month of free time, and longing for tasks. It's January and I don't have time to [not] have time for things already. So instead of giving up completely, I think I'm going to try to just go till the end of January. Reasonable, methinks. By my standards, at least.
Whenever I wear this multi-layered night gown I need a glass of sparkling cider. All I have as of right now is my second Batman mug full of Hawaiian punch tonight.
[One fifty minute late night phone conversation later]
I've just realized how many people appear to read this blog. Which really makes no sense to me, because how could any of this really be very interesting or relevant to people who don't know me personally? And for that matter, how could it be for those who do?
That's not why I write. I know that. You should too. But the fact that I have something of an audience makes me want to write more sometimes, which is somewhat the opposite effect my recently acquired seven hundred-ish Youtube subscribers has had on me. I feel a little bit limited, and self conscious. If I really want to talk about issues, or purely make art pieces, or go a video or two without crappily lip-syncing a song from a musical I feel like the possibility of me letting my audience down is there. But I suppose I should trust them. That's why I'm here. To create, and encourage, and express. Duh. It's hard to be honest about everything with everyone, especially right now. But my tentacles are growing, and my ink will poison the water supply soon enough.
I'm struggling with the way I want to format my posts because I feel like what I've been doing for the last howevermany months doesn't look very clean and isn't actually the spacing I would prefer. It works in some instances, but then again, I bet you could just not give a shit.
In case your eyeballs stopped working and you haven't been viewing my weird day by day photo posts. They're there. I mentioned some time in November, I think it was, that I wanted to challenge myself to take and / or post a photo a day for a year. Ha. Remember I said November. The month of free time, and longing for tasks. It's January and I don't have time to [not] have time for things already. So instead of giving up completely, I think I'm going to try to just go till the end of January. Reasonable, methinks. By my standards, at least.
Whenever I wear this multi-layered night gown I need a glass of sparkling cider. All I have as of right now is my second Batman mug full of Hawaiian punch tonight.
[One fifty minute late night phone conversation later]
I've just realized how many people appear to read this blog. Which really makes no sense to me, because how could any of this really be very interesting or relevant to people who don't know me personally? And for that matter, how could it be for those who do?
That's not why I write. I know that. You should too. But the fact that I have something of an audience makes me want to write more sometimes, which is somewhat the opposite effect my recently acquired seven hundred-ish Youtube subscribers has had on me. I feel a little bit limited, and self conscious. If I really want to talk about issues, or purely make art pieces, or go a video or two without crappily lip-syncing a song from a musical I feel like the possibility of me letting my audience down is there. But I suppose I should trust them. That's why I'm here. To create, and encourage, and express. Duh. It's hard to be honest about everything with everyone, especially right now. But my tentacles are growing, and my ink will poison the water supply soon enough.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
I'm backstage currently for this SISTERS ROSENSWIEG show and writing this on Carley's iPad. It's quite weird, but something I could probably get used to fairly easily I had one of my own. I fact, I'm pretty used to it already. Spending the day at the theatre completely is always what I need when I realize that I have to go to school the next day. We started back at school again last week, but tomorrow I have to actually start classes again. We're done doing all that health and wellness / career day / birdwatching bullshit. That means math, and although I know you're dying to hear about how excited I am for that, I think I'll spare you.
I've noticed that rarely am I very emotional about anything that doesn't have much to do with me. In other words, I'm not one to constantly empathize. This isn't to say that I'm not capable of doing so, but still. Sometimes I feel pretty fucking bad about that. It goes back to the fact that I don't like to dwell on things for too long. Go on with life. Get through. Because we don't have long.
This time of year has always been THAT time of year where I take a look at everyone I know, and the relationships they have, and how happy everyone around me is and start to feel bad about myself for no reason, and assume that everyone around is going to walk out on me. This is usually when I feel the most alone. For the very first time, I don't feel that way at all. It's been a pattern since middle school, so it's weird to not have. But the best kind of weird. Because, HEY! I don't feel alone for the first time in my life, and I'm not scared of losing everyone. Hot damn! Honestly, even though I still have my insecurities, and I still haven't done everything I want to, and am still a little stressed about this whole to college or not to college thing, this is the best I've felt in a long time. If not altogether.
My face suddenly just got really hot. It's 5:20 and we've probably only got about ten minutes left of this show. Good god.
FAVOURITE TWO LINES IN THIS SHOW
"Love is love, Sara. Gender is merely spare parts."
"If I have something in my hands for more than two minutes I want to keep it, or at least eat it."
I've noticed that rarely am I very emotional about anything that doesn't have much to do with me. In other words, I'm not one to constantly empathize. This isn't to say that I'm not capable of doing so, but still. Sometimes I feel pretty fucking bad about that. It goes back to the fact that I don't like to dwell on things for too long. Go on with life. Get through. Because we don't have long.
This time of year has always been THAT time of year where I take a look at everyone I know, and the relationships they have, and how happy everyone around me is and start to feel bad about myself for no reason, and assume that everyone around is going to walk out on me. This is usually when I feel the most alone. For the very first time, I don't feel that way at all. It's been a pattern since middle school, so it's weird to not have. But the best kind of weird. Because, HEY! I don't feel alone for the first time in my life, and I'm not scared of losing everyone. Hot damn! Honestly, even though I still have my insecurities, and I still haven't done everything I want to, and am still a little stressed about this whole to college or not to college thing, this is the best I've felt in a long time. If not altogether.
My face suddenly just got really hot. It's 5:20 and we've probably only got about ten minutes left of this show. Good god.
FAVOURITE TWO LINES IN THIS SHOW
"Love is love, Sara. Gender is merely spare parts."
"If I have something in my hands for more than two minutes I want to keep it, or at least eat it."
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Friday, January 7, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
The Tangles and Knots Solution.
It's only my second day back to school, and here I am pretending to do work again. Writing a blog. Hot damn! My sister's computer has a virus, so at no point did I get a chance to use the home computer, which gave me no opportunity yesterday to upload and post my "Day 3." photo. That makes me feel like a failure. I uploaded two today. Duh. I don't want to miss a day... we'll see how long that lasts.
Returning to school this week is like a big, honkin', slap in the face. The intense realization that this is, in fact, my last semester of public education is a lot to handle. It's the best / scariest thing. The security blanket of pre-planned, day-to-day living that I've been under from the age of four is unraveling fast. And it's only getting faster. I'm not too broken up about leaving all these kids, yet. I probably will be at some point, for a short period of time, but ultimately the people who need to stay in my life will do so with ease. And that's what's important. Really.
I wrote a few posts ago about my body's atmospheric recognition. I tend to think that it's just a seasonal thing. The actual changes in the air. I would assume, then, that the reason fall and winter tends to give me recurring, distinct feelings is because some of the most important things in my life tend to happen around this time. I dunno. I'll be curious to see what next fall into winter feels like. It's quite the sensation because it's not something that I tend to acknowledge when in the moment. I'm not sure if this is something that other people have, but it's only really started to show itself in the last few years. It's in the same vein as the feeling Christmas used to give me. Maybe that's it. My body compensates for my decreased enthusiasm for the holidays, which really isn't to big of a deal, by latching on the the [not festive] "good feelings", and defining moments that other pivotal events have brought this time of year. I think that's it. Maybe it's normal. It's hard to say.
Returning to school this week is like a big, honkin', slap in the face. The intense realization that this is, in fact, my last semester of public education is a lot to handle. It's the best / scariest thing. The security blanket of pre-planned, day-to-day living that I've been under from the age of four is unraveling fast. And it's only getting faster. I'm not too broken up about leaving all these kids, yet. I probably will be at some point, for a short period of time, but ultimately the people who need to stay in my life will do so with ease. And that's what's important. Really.
I wrote a few posts ago about my body's atmospheric recognition. I tend to think that it's just a seasonal thing. The actual changes in the air. I would assume, then, that the reason fall and winter tends to give me recurring, distinct feelings is because some of the most important things in my life tend to happen around this time. I dunno. I'll be curious to see what next fall into winter feels like. It's quite the sensation because it's not something that I tend to acknowledge when in the moment. I'm not sure if this is something that other people have, but it's only really started to show itself in the last few years. It's in the same vein as the feeling Christmas used to give me. Maybe that's it. My body compensates for my decreased enthusiasm for the holidays, which really isn't to big of a deal, by latching on the the [not festive] "good feelings", and defining moments that other pivotal events have brought this time of year. I think that's it. Maybe it's normal. It's hard to say.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
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