Space Heater

I love my space heater. You don't even know. I'm one of those people who just can't handle the cold, and I get cold really easily. I generally have the heater on the highest setting, sitting next to me while I'm at my desk.

Lulabelle won't shut up, it's really annoying...but if I let her out of my room, she will just walk up and down in the hallway meowing and echoing. I love her, but she's such an attention whore.

Yes, I just called a cat an attention whore.

My hands are especially cold. My hands and feet. I'll touch somebody and they'll cringe and ask why I'm freezing, which sometimes kind of sucks. Except for with Mika. His skin is on the hotter side, so he needs the cold, and I need the heat. It works.

I am so weird. I swear, I'm like an alien or an un-sexy vampire or something. I'm cold as fuck, pale as fuck, I barely ever scar, and the couple times I have, the scars have disappeared within two or so years, insects and spiders don't bite me, I sometimes go momentarily blind, I get sick all the fucking time, and I'm pretty weird looking too. Who knows, maybe I'm not human after all.

I don't understand why bugs don't bite me. They used to, although not as much as they did other people. Not even one mosquito landed on me this summer. I was outside a ton, and I was in North Carolina. It's been like this for a few years. In the past couple years, sure, I've had the occasional mosquito land on my arm, but I still don't get bitten. 

I don't get stung, either. I'm not afraid of bees, not at all. Sometimes I'll even let them crawl around on my hand, or I'll pick them up until they can fly away if they're hurt. I just don't get stung. I tried to research it online, but I didn't find much. 

Mika is grounded this weekend. 

I asked him if they celebrate Valentine's Day in Brazil.

He said they do, but it's on June 12th.

I couldn't get up the nerve to make a segway to related topics.

Ugh. I hate myself.

Hah.

Polyvore

Yesterday, I discovered polyvore.com. It's totally amazing. Seriously. You can make collages of pictures of shit you like. It's addictive. I know I could do that already by myself by hand or on the computer with corel or photoshop, but it's easy this way, and there are sooooo many pictures of things from a ton of places on the internet. Check it, folks. I designed a couple valentines with it, so be excited, because I might post them on that day of the year.

I'm not sure yet if I should be excited or depressed about Valentine's Day this year.

Hmm. We shall see.

Everything is Temporary

He might be getting his diploma in February.

That diploma is the main reason he's even in the states.

I think that when he gets it, he might leave.

Everything will turn beige again.

Everything is temporary. 

Yeah. That's it.

Does Not Work Well with Others

At the pound, on every dog's kennel there's a card that gives a little bio about them. It says things like name, gender, age, whether they were surrendered or a caught stray, breed, and temperment(are they good with kids, do they play well with other dogs, etc.). If I were a dog at the pound, the paper card on my kennel would probably say "Does not work well with others." I never have worked well with others, really. Somehow that doesn't sound right though. Sometimes, especially now, it feels like my card should say "Not worked well with by others," or "Others do not work well with her." 

We're doing group projects on Shakespeare plays in AP English right now. My group is doing Macbeth. And by "my group," I mean mostly me, and partially two other group members out of the five of us. I spent about five hours on this project tonight, I just finished. I feel like I can't rely on anybody to do what they need to do. I guess it's kind of a good thing though, because as a result of my not believing other people would do their jobs, I prepared by starting to do their parts on my own, just incase they didn't come up with jack shit. And what do you know...that's exactly what went down.

My fingers are fucking shaking right now, my eyes are stinging, my mind is spinning, and I feel like my body is deteriorating. I just get so stressed and angry when people are that unreliable. I mean, I don't do a lot of my schoolwork, and my grades are disgusting, but when I'm in a group for a project, I will not let other people down, because that's just kind of a fucked up thing to do. 

Fuck this shit, I'm going to bed. I probably won't be able to sleep for a few hours, but damn it, whatever, I'll think of someway to put my brain on pause.

No, no I won't. I never will. AAAGH. My mind will never slow down, never rest, never shut the fuck up.

Oh shit, I literally feel like I'm spinning.

Goodnight.

By the way, Mika texted me back finally this morning. Apparently he's kind of been on lock down, because Thais's parents found the bottles in the garage, so he and Thais are sort of grounded right now. It's a relief knowing he's not just totally bored with me or something.

GoodnightX2

Rising and Falling Thoughts, continued.

My favorite piece of punctuation is the ellipsis. I don't know, I just love it...hah I didn't even mean to use it just then. Maybe I overuse it, but I don't care, because it's perfect for so many things.

I totally have a girl-crush on Lady Gaga right now. It's my goal to hook up with somebody to the beat of "Beautiful, Dirty, Rich." Preferably a certain Brazilian boy...oh God, somebody put me out of my misery...except for not, because this kind of misery can feel so damn good sometimes.

I wish I knew how to make really cool cameo jewelry, like the antique necklaces/brooches, etc. I'm just totally in love with cameos right now. Old stuff is so cool.

On his Orkut profile, Mika has a couple pictures of me and him. I've been trying to translate all the comments that people have made on them from Portuguese to English, but they really just don't make sense. Portuguese is a fucking weird language. I like it a lot, but there are some truly bizarre sounds in the words. I love it when Mika is talking super fast in Portuguese, like when he's talking to his mom back in Brazil over Skype on his webcam. And he'll turn his laptop so that the webcam will be on both of us, and his mom can see me. She's so cute, and she likes me, which makes me really happy. I guess she'd like any girl he was with though, because she doesn't support his liking guys. >_>

Speaking of Mika, I texted him when I left school today asking what he's doing Friday night, and he hasn't texted me back. 

Oh good God, I don't know what to do with myself.

My heart keeps changing with the music, but one thing stays the same.

ShamWow + Snuggie?

WHAT IF...

Late, one cold, stormy night...

Some mad scientist was doing whatever mad scientists do in his creepy secret underground laboratory...

And ALL OF THE SUDDEN...

The television in the corner turns on BY ITSELF...

Playing the infamous...

SNUGGIE COMMERCIAL...

So the mad scientist turns off the TV and keeps on doing mad scientist stuff...

And then, ALL OF THE SUDDEN...

The television in the corner turns on by itself AGAIN...

Playing the infamous...

SHAMWOW COMMERCIAL...

And then there's a huge crazy burst of lightning and thunder...

And the mad scientist laughs really loudly and maniacally and sinisterly...

Because he has just thought to...

COMBINE THE SHAMWOW AND THE SNUGGIE.

PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT.

Little Girl

You hate me.

You hate me, 

because of stupid shit

that happened forever days ago.

Stupid shit that had happened before,

has happened since then,

and will happen time and time again.

I guess I was special. 

You super-sized that hissy-fit

for me.

Not for the others,

just me.

You didn't throw a hissy-fit

when you did it yourself

to somebody else.

Why is that?

Oh, yes,

All apologies,

I forgot–

Because you are the

Victim.

You are a

Martyr,

because you have cried.

Tears are not a sacrifice, 

Little girl.

Tears are part of life.

You're nothing special

just because you cry.

God, you're like that fat baby in the grocery store

screaming and wailing and blubbering away

because you didn't get it your way.

Because your mommy dearest

wouldn't get you some hydrogenated treat.

Well let me tell you,

You fat little baby,

You are not entitled to it.

To anything.

You are not some fucking queen.

Cry, 

Little girl,

cry,

cry away.

Eventually,

Everybody will kiss you

and hug you

and tell you you were right

and I was wrong.

That he was "stolen" from you.

Guess what,

young lady.

People are not objects.

They are not cushy dolls

to drool on in your sleep.

They are not your possessions,

Not yours to be stolen.

This is not a game

of "finders, keepers,"

And the fact that you "saw him first"

entitles you to nothing,

no rights to ownership.

The truth is, you didn't see him first.

You saw him before me,

but not first.

He didn't come into existence

Upon your first seeing him.

You don't think about that though.

You don't think about people in those terms.

You think about people only in terms

of your life.

And you think you deserve to do that...

Because you are the

Victim.

Because you are a

Martyr,

Because you have cried.

Tears are not a sacrifice,

Little girl,

Tears are a part of life.

You are nothing special

just because you cry.

Dang. That was longer that I expected it would be when I started writing it.

I could say oh so very much more.

But I won't.

Not for now, at least.

Oh well.

Deuces, all.