it seems that i cannot stop myself from writing. for the past 3 hours, i have been filling up the pages of my journal. i wish this writing were going towards sometinhg useful, like my book. instead, i'm just going on tirades against the contagious stupidity foating all around me.

my mother is tearing me down, one insult at a time. i can't see how she can constantly be speaking the way she does, and still believe that she has any semblance of intellegence in her body. we fight about everything. she thinks that i am a fuck up because i don't want to be what she thinks i should. it's always the same old song

everywhere i go. i get stranded, rivaled, i hear words i never heard in the bible...

i am trying to figure out a way to do this sort of benefit show for my schooling. it would entail a lot of design work, and a lot of rich people wanting to send an ambitious girl off to college. the thing is, i have to front the initial cost. and of course, there's always the possibility of it just failing miserably.

that's the spirit!

i really want to prove to people (aka my mother) that i'm not a fuck up. by no means am i a fuck up. it's just hard to keep your head up when people are pressuring you from all sides to become the successful corporate drone they all want you to be.

fuck that. i want to be a writer. i want to slap people in the mouth with my words. is that wanting too much? of course not! the thing about writing is that noone respects a writer. they think we're all lazy sons of bitches who will do anything to get out of having a real job. i think it's quite contrary to what we're really about.

being a writer consumes your entire being. you eat, sleep and breathe words at an alarming rate. people who do not suffer from this infliction cannot possibly understand. when your mind is constantly in motion (no matter how trivial that motion may seem to someone on the outside), it takes a toll on you. a lot of writers may not be considered as friendly or warm as you might like. can people not consider that any spared emotion must go into the work? even one ounce of misdirected passon can compromise a writer's entire goal. you fall in love with ideals and characters and setting and climax and all the parts that make a story. your life is that story for as long as you are writing it.

jesus, i just made all that a lot clearer to myself. you are what you do. if you are a writer, then it's not uncommon to get carried away in the job. i just looked at my statistics on this site: i have written nearly twentyfivethousand words in this blog over the past 2 years. that's not even writing daily... not even weekly. i think it's safe to assume that i am cut out for this. i don't have any other practical skills. (none that satisfy me as thoroughly, anyhow)

jesus. i really get going, don't i? salinger would be rightly dissapointed.

feeling incredibly prolific, i decided to continue my regularly scheduled tirade here.
(sorry chaps)

things are definitely in limbo. for the first time in my young life, everything could go wrong (and it just might.) this is the most estranged i have ever felt in my entire life. every time i try to explain my intentions to the many questioners, it all comes out in a jumble and smacks down in a nasty pile on the ground, spilling it's ineffectiveness all over my tennis shoes.

more wasted effort.

i keep finding myself a disappointment to everyone. there are all these unspoken expectations that people have (they assume i will succeed), and the pressure i am trying to slough off. i am not doing anything because i need a break. yes, i need a break from all of the assumptions.

there are so many things i would love to do, but there isn't anyone out there who i feel knows me well enough to do them with me (with the occasional exception, and i think it's unfair to name names in this case). everyone is so busy being melodramatic (i know, this is really melodramatic, but the internet is the only way you can get people to listen to you without interruption).

i looked out the window to see the moon, and the man in the apartment across the street was staring in at me. i feel slightly startled. i'm sure he was equally surprised to see such a young, curious face staring his way too. what an experience. maybe he'd make a good friend.

college

I did this thing everyone's been doing lately called college. It isn't so much a one-time thing, since it can last for years for some people. In my case, I think that college is only going to last a semester.
In college, I have found myself surrounded by new and exciting individuals caught in the flow of expectations. Even if they are already great people, they are strong pressed to conform to the societal standard of what “is,” whatever that means.
College is like a swimming pool full of rubber ducks and inflatable pool toys. It's not a place to do your own thing, but rather a place where all the pool toys conglomerate and pretend to be things that they aren't. Rather than just coming off as pool toys, they want to be categorized into groups, like beach ball, inflatable alligator, or those rings with animals attatched to the front. The fact of the matter is, no matter how you stretch it, they're still pool toys.
I've found myself pushed in this group called the honors program. I thought it would be a challenging program dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge on an in-depth, personal basis. In actuality, we are the same as the other students on campus, and in most cases, lack the ambition of much of the student body due to our self-absorbed natures and pretentions, things all risked for the pursuit of a degree with a few extra words. Cum laude, right?
I don't know if college is for everyone longterm, but I think it should definitely be tried. That's why it's a cultural event: people come here to gain experience that is crutial to their integration in the real world. Fresh out of high school, we come at the world with wide eyes and big hopes. After only a few weeks of the tedium that will be most of my classmates longterm reality, that initiative dissappears under thick blankets of snow and layers of winter clothing.
The clutter and bustling, trivial fights and limited resources are a microcosm of the reality that has been evading up thus far in our young lives. As skewed as they may seem, the consequences of this experience are shaping our identities, and very much determining our futures. That isn't to say people who don't go to college are not living in reality. They are simlpy taking the road less traveled to the same destination.
College is a place people go to make stupid mistakes and then, after it's all said and done, they tend to forever dwell in the nostalgia of the carpe diem happiness they experienced. I think I'd like to take that attitude with me when I leave here, but rather than just think about it, I'd like apply it to every waking moment of the life I'll live.