Wtf? Sakura Con?

It's next month. That's creepy as hell.

I kind of want to go, just to see the new place, but...

I really did not have a good experience the last (and first) time. It was physically painful to be surrounded by so many people I hate. That's when the yellow box came in handy (also, when there were no basins nearby).

I do have some friends who are going, so... I don't know. All I really want to do is get OUT OF THE DAMN HOUSE for a weekend and party around Seattle like it's 1529.

That said -- there was a big storm a few days ago and the electricity went out and we all had a grand time. I love blackouts, they are so exciting. :)

Except, when I went in the backyard yesterday morning, there was a dead kitten RIGHT by the back door. I gave it a funeral and cried. It was really upsetting.

I want a puggle.

Oh, yeah, and the Seahawks lost. I wouldn't know this if the Russians across the street hadn't started breaking bottles on their driveway and screaming at the top of their lungs.

There are far too many pretentious assditches who think they're hardcore shit, mostly dumb bitches who overuse "cunt" and have bad haircuts and shitty makeup and list their interests as "makeup, fashion, glamour, shows, drag queens, heroin addicts, porn stars, cheap hookers, pain, razor blades, slit wrists, serial murderers, bulimia, personality disorders and being ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111 (OH SO FUCKING UNIQUE). LOOK AT ME, I'M NITTY GRITTY AND HARDCORE AND I AM ALWAYS MYSELF AND I WON'T CHANGE FOR YOU (obligatory "GET OVER IT, CUNT"). BTW DID I MENTION WAS YOONIK.

I apologise for the excessive angst.

Well, I am tired of this house and there's not much to say besides that. I feel like Harry Potter because I am locked in this bedroom and I have my meals brought to my door.

I left the house for the first time in weeks (to get some Arby's) and there was a strange car in my driveway and I didn't even know about it until then. It was there for weeks. I don't even know what's going on in my own driveway.

If I held everyone who has promised to kidnap me and take me away from this house to it, I'd have a long line on my front porch. But I don't.

If you'll give me a moment to whine about my life, I am really. Really. Really. Ridiculously sick of this house.

A couple of days ago, my mom found out about my little rendezvous with Amara from my fucking CHIROPRACTOR of all people. Apparently he saw me at the mall with her and brought it up to my mum. THEN she dug through my computer and found some AIM logs and started yelling at me and told me she was giving up on me and that she wasn't my mother anymore and everything else she likes to tell me every .5 seconds and then kicked the shit out of me until I screamed loud enough for the neighbours to start knocking and asking if everything was okay which is funny because police cars and ambulances have gone up and down my driveway without them saying a thing.

That: *was a long sentence*

Then she went to the door and was like, "^___^v NOTHING WRONG HERE, MY KIDS ARE JUST HAVING A GRAND OL' TIME LOL ^___^v" and then went back in the kitchen and dragged me around by my hair until I started screaming again. Now, like, half my hair is all over the kitchen floor and my scalp still hurts like a bitch. And then she threw a remote control at me and now I've got this bruise on my eyebrow. Now she is staunchly ignoring me. And it still HURTS TO MOVE.

I. AM REALLY. TIRED. OF THIS.

Maybe when I leave in a month or so, I can move in with Amara. I don't know if daddy will approve -- at least not until he stops being a pansy ass queer who has to ask my mum permission for everything, which will be never. Why can't he just be a man and eat beef jerky and fart and belch and be hairy and beat his wife like he's supposed to?

;;Edit;;

Okay, my mom just brought me apples and tea, I am not even kidding.

What. The fuck.

Okay, so everyone is bitching about how much they hate the holidays, and I must say I agree. It's a lot easier to feel sorry for yourself this time of year. Ew.

It is very late at night and I am in an inexplicably good mood.
It's strange, because I have absolutely no reason to be.
I mean, yeah, you don't need a reason to be happy or some shit like that, but as far as I’m concerned, I am dreadfully fucked in terms of studies and schoolwork, I haven’t spoken to people I give a damn about in days –- scratch that, I haven’t spoken to ANYONE (physically) in days, my internet is a bitch (<- very tragic, don’t question it), I have six frillion paper cuts, my contacts are itchy and dry, I'm breaking out, my breath is deadly (and I am completely OCD about my breath), my stomach hurts, I'm insomniac, and above all my mother is a psycho bitch who needs to get some priorities straight! Yeah, that’s me talking.

But I’m still happy in that “right-before-you-freeze-to-death” sort of way.

”Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer... maybe self-destruction is the answer.”

LOL?

A couple of days ago, I grew angry and frustrated with myself and the computer and chucked it out the window.
Or would have, if it had gone through.
All it did was crack the glass and earn a whuppin'.
It still aches~
But dammit, I am so tired of this stupid machine!

Also, today, I stocked my bathroom magazine rack with Ikea catalogs.
I CANNOT WAIT UNTIL I HAVE MY OWN APARTMENT!

<3<3<3

It is such a cliché, but I am alone -- or lonely, at least.

It's true that the worst feeling in the world is caring for someone more than they care for you.
It happens far too much.
I am sick of it, and I mean that literally. I think about it and it makes me want to purge everything from my stomach and maybe something will come up and I will feel better.

There are people I can't stop thinking about, that I haven't seen in such a long time. There are people I can't stop thinking about because I haven't seen them in such a long time.
All the distance seems to do for them is delete my existence from their lives. I'm dispensable.
Do I get unnaturally attached, or do I overestimate my significance?

Nobody gives a shit about how I feel about the New Year, or why I like a certain book, or why I like doing things that I do.
I do, though.
I guess as long as I keep making them laugh, as long as I keep being their personal therapist, as long as I'm there to accompany them to places, I'm damn lovable!

Maybe everyone is like this, but I don't think I ever "get over" anything. I can bury it, but when it's brought back out -- forcibly or not -- the pain is still there in all its entirety.

I am also a big hypocrite. I hate it when people toss around the word "love", but when someone comes up to me and giggles and hugs me and says, "I LOVE YOU!" I'll probably respond -- whether I even like the person or not. And then I'll feel disgusted/disgusting.

Maybe I am so starved for affection and approval that I'll de-escalate to insincerity.

I wish I knew how to say this without sounding like a complete asshat.

I know it's much too much to ask for, but I want someone I can dump all my problems and petty insecurities and imperfections of personality on. I want someone I can talk to without having to keep up images and expectations and impressions and moral codes. But this is impossible, because nobody ever talks to anybody without putting up subconscious barriers. I wonder what my personality would be like without outside influences. Maybe I wouldn't have one.

It's true. I am superficial and shallow and I don't like ugly people. You don't, either.

Dear Santa... Dear Santa, This year I've been busy! In October on a flight to Colorado Springs, I stole the emergency flight information card (-40 points). In March I ruled Iran as a kind and benevolent dictator (700 points). Last Sunday I farted in an elevator (-6 points). In May I broke fourstrifes's X-Box (-12 points). Last Monday I helped pixxiy across the street (6 points). Overall, I've been nice (648 points). For Christmas I deserve a new dolly! Sincerely, youpieceofbread

Write your letter to Santa! Enter your LJ username:

You heard it, bitches!
Come on, now, chop-chop!

A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July--

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear--

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die.
Autumn frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream--
Lingering in the golden gleam--
Life, what is it but a dream?
-Lewis Carroll

It's late right now and I am in a strange mood.
It's not that I am depressed or happy or even very calm.
Because I am in the mood to turn cartwheels and eat a tub of Cool Whip (:'D) and set fire to the kitchen and read some poetry and and sail away. All at once. I think.

Today was the first day I ventured beyond my driveway! Paulina picked me up and we cruised around Federal Way and ate fruit loops like they were going out of style. Her car is the grossest thing I've been in, next to my sister's. It was refreshing. I felt like an escaped convict.

I've been drinking ginseng tea because I suck at being healthy. It's really nasty. I feel a little ill, now.

I re-read some of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland today. I forgot how much I missed it. I really need to get around to actually purchasing a copy -- even a cheap paperback -- because I want to curl up on nights like these and just read. I also want copies of the Winnie the Pooh series and Peter Pan.

I find it ironic that Peter Llewelyn-Davies (except spelled correctly) hated being known as 'the boy who wouldn't grow up' and committed suicide in 1970 or so.

On a side note, George Llewelyn-Davies died in World War I (or maybe it was II) and Michael Llewelyn-Davies drowned himself with his boyfriend. Oops.

I am such a perfectionist, it's not even funny.
It's incredibly frustrating.
But I can't think of any way to "cure" myself. It's ridiculous.
I can't do essay quizzes in school because I get caught up in the state of my handwriting. If it's not perfect, if it doesn't fucking look like Comic Sans MS, I'm not doing jackshit 'till I get it fixed. If it's in ink and I miss a comma or a letter, I'll have to rewrite the entire thing. I can't stand it. The last essay quiz I had, I tore it up because it was ugly. Yeah.

I have this insane problem with strangers. I can't talk to people I don't know (specifically adults, like teachers/counselors/etc.) without bursting into these pansy-ass tears. It drives me up the wall and it doesn't do anything for my self-image and esteem and I've had this problem for a long time and ARGH. I want to get rid of it. Maybe I should throw myself in a pit of strangers and, uh, talk 'till I... uh, stop crying.

That said, I need money and I need it BAD. I have none to buy gifts for the very few people that matter. Also, I want a Canon Powershot G3, a pinafore dress from Metamorphose, a prettily bound copy of Peter Pan or Alice in Wonderland, a sewing machine, a ball-jointed doll (DELF), and money for plastic surgery and a dye-job. In case y'all were curious. Y'know.

I feel ill.



-edit- I am suddenly in the mood to dress up. Wtf.

I'm a recluse.
Like, almost literally.
Whatever "relationships" I might have had are just dead.
I have no friends. None that I have any regular access to.
Or access to at all.
I hate being reliant on people to be happy, since what I do with a vast majority of my time is bitch about mass stupidity.
But I can't be by myself.
It's weird having to rely on people I hate.
And like, my vocabulary is deteriorating.
I'm a total burnout.
All I do is lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling and drink stale coffee.
I don't even think about things.
I just stare.
Maybe I should take up meditation.
And then I can learn to see through walls and shit.
Like Henry in "The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar".
I'm losing sight of myself.
It's weird how fast everything is moving.
But the whole time I'm wishing for it to be over.
Not life.
Just stupidity in general.
Or maybe until I can turn 18 and get the fuck out of here.
I guess this isn't such a huge-ass deal.
Since I'm not, like, a starving kid in a third-world country.
But, y'know, I don't give a shit.



An argument for consciousness
The instinct of the blind insect
Who makes love to the flower bed
And dies in the first freeze.
Oh I want to learn such simple things
No politics, no history
Till what I want and what I need
Can finally be the same.