April 10, 1999

Do you know, if I didn't write this journal I would never know the date? I would say that's sad, but I'm actually glad because I now have a reason to continue doing it.

Over this week, I think I've been semi- complaining and annoyingly unsure of my actions. Well, not as bad as I usually get, but semi. I noticed it, is what I'm trying to say. But it was because I was thinking of making a mistake and wanted someone to tell me it was a mistake before I made it. No one did; I was left to figure it out on my own. That's the way it's been going lately, actually. This is a nasty lead-up to what I'm trying to tell you about, but....

Letters suck. I understand that sometimes people want to say things to others, but they have insecurities about. Writing is too one-sided, though, and it leaves way to much room for miscommunication, assumptions, and stupidity. Verbal communication, on the other hand, has many benefits (not that miscommunication, assumptions, and stupidity can't occur, it's just that here you have a chance to correct them, if they happen in other people). Number one, it makes you feel good about yourself. Being able to tell an entire group of people to go away is a rush unlike any other rush, my friend. Two, you can play with body language. When you write, they are just words, and maybe you can give it some emotion with a smiley or an exclamation point. When you speak, you have volume, speed, accents, sarcasm, hand gestures, and facial expressions to play with. Three, you get to see the person's reaction. The confusion, anger, hurt and whatnot, the struggle to find something witty to combat you with.... it's great. You get the witness the affect your words have on people, and it gives you a great view of how they'll respond. Of course, one argument is that the second party won't listen to what you say. Well, in my mind, if they don't listen to your spoken words, your written words will just be a joke to them anyway, and that gives them a tangible copy of the feelings they want to walk all over. And they don't deserve that, do they?

So, this week I wrote one and a half letters before I realized the above paragraph. I gave up on that project lickety split, and the next morning I managed to get the point my three typed, single-spaced pages were almost kinda getting around to, across in one sentence. "Stay over there."

Whoa, boy, that's gonna give me hellish instant messages, ya think? That's really the trouble of advertising a web site. People read this stuff.

I've been listening to my friends lately. This is what I heard: "He did; he picked them. And what did they ever do for him that makes him so loyal?" "It's not fair for you to hate coming to school." "I was going to bring the Coke cards tomorrow!" (Ha!) "Val did the icing." "I'm a sensitive male/guy." "When he gets back, should I pull him out of the van and throw him up against his car?" "Vodka?" "What?!" (the last two were not the same incident, by the by) "You don't speak Boy. You gotta know Boy. Look in my eyes." "Now she's hallucinating." "Pensive." "Ireland was alright." "That's a curb!" (that's from me, I'm my own friend) "Deliverin' the funk." (Yes.) So, I've come to the conclusion that actually listening to what friends say is overrated. If you don't, you'll probably have longer friendships. Tee-hee. (and i'm totally just kidding, for everyone out there who knows me and/or a) takes offense, b) thinks a really cynical thought about my person and my bullshit ways. if you don't know me, i'm completely serious. if you fall into neither category, then you must be one of my good friends and i greet you)

You know what's fun? Putting yourself on your own buddy list. That way, the little 'buddy entering' sound always comes on whenever you sign online. But what's not fun is putting your other screen names on your buddy list, because they never come up as online and it's just a waste of space, baby.

My mind is still a little bit older than a sixteen year old. My parents call it cocky, I'm not even bothering to find a name for it, since I figure I'll grow into my attitude sooner or later. Do you see what I mean? Damn. Anway, I'm discovering the incredible pressure of having my parents attempt to enforce the legal curfew on me. If I ask, I can get midnight whenever, but I'm still rather shocked. When I come home to find my mother waiting on the front porch for me, I feel like I'm in some silly TV show or something. My first thought is "What are they doing up at this time of night?!" and then, the inevitable "Shit." And I don't even really get in trouble. It's just that now I have to 'ask' when I want to come home after curfew. I can't imagine them saying no, and I'm not even planning on phrasing it in the form of a question. The next time I go out, I promise you I'll say something like "be home around midnight," and they say "bye." Where's the question? And wasn't this whole curfew thing supposed to be settled a few years ago, when my social life was born? I feel so deprived.

I went to see a community theatre play last night, and while the music (played by the jazz band from our school, hence my atendance) was fun and really well-done (of course, I wasn't really expecting anything less. after all, it is our music department), the acting left me...shall we say... unfulfilled? I can see where doing it would be a complete gas for the 40+ actors and their families, but the detached audience member saw a high school production done a few decades late. Interesting, a new experience, but not worth the seven dollar ticket.

We only have one quarter to go in the school year. I have mixed feelings, because June means graduation and graduates going to college, but it also means a two month weekend during which I can work, work, work to create a spirit-fulfilling internet project, learn the banjo (yes, banjo babe needs help), play tennis, and hang out with my friends before they actually leave town. So, we're cheering on the end of sophomore year in a very quiet way, but we really want the next nine weeks to move. Especially these next two weeks, because on April 23 I get to see Sheryl Crow. Then, except for right before May 14, the AP Exam. We want that week to move v-e-r-y---s-l-o-w-l-y. But then it should speed right up again so I can see Episode I. After that, I would be content if it simply moved at a brisk walking pace.

For this week, I'll give you two quotes. They're from the album "Whitechocolatespaceegg" by Liz Phair (who's become the professed Nazi bitch by my friends, although I adore her). First, "Ride": I get a ride, Right by your side, Under your skin, I'm digging in, Well I don't know but I've been told, The road to heaven is paved with gold, And if I die before I wake, I need a ride, From you. Well sticks and stones can break my bones, And boys can make me kick and moan, But when I want it autodrive I get a ride, From you. Second, "What Makes You Happy" (this part has actually become somewhat of a motto for me in the past few months, to confess something to the world): I swear this one is gonna last, and all those other bastards were only practice! I feel the sun on my back... I smell the earth in my skin... I see the sky above me like a full recovery... She said: "Listen here young Lady. All that matters is what makes you happy. But you leave this house knowing my opinion. It won't make a difference if you're not ready."