No reason for the title. Just the song I'm currently listening to. I love the 90's.
I just feel really, really great today. I have no homework, one of my classes is finished (and I think I did rather well on the final), and winter break is coming up within a week. I'm getting stuff done, and I'm getting control of my finances. For once, I'm not overwhelmed with stress.
I'm... happy.
Wow.
This is... weird. In a good way.
Plus, I've been accepted to camp! Yay!
This morning, I slept in until 8 or so, then got up, turned on music, and just danced like the nerd I am while getting dressed. Sometimes it feels good to do things for no reason.
Like this blog post. No reason.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Song Fic: Get Out Alive by Three Days Grace
Sitting around a long-dead fire, three dirty persons looked into the blackness. The ashes were a lighter black in the dead of night, the sliver of moon barely throwing any light in the clearing. They were the last remnants of the rebellion. Three people, that's all. No one else.
No distinct features of any of their faces could be seen in the dark and no one moved to rekindle the fire. One man shifted his weight, and placed his rusted cup on the ground. He stood, the white of his skin glowing through holes in his ragged shirt. He looked up, and the other two looked up at him. “Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away. Don't hide your mistakes, 'cause they'll find you, burn you.”
Then he said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
We sat for a few minutes, immeasurable time, in silence that was deafening. To his left, she stood up as well, and pulled her hood over her once beautiful face. Before the hood covers her face, I catch a glimpse of the long scar that runs from her scalp to her collarbone, across her cheek. She looked at me, her eyes the only light under the hood, sad yet still a glint of pride in them. “It's hard to imagine, but one day you'll end up like me.”
Then she said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
I stare at them silently. They watch me without expression. I slowly shake my head, and they turn around.
“No time for goodbye,” he said, as he faded away.
“This is my last time,” she said, as she faded away.
I sit there alone, staring at the ashes. I speak softly, to the night. “If I stay, it won't be long 'till I'm burning on the inside; if I go, I can only hope that I make it to the other side.”
I stand up and head in the opposite direction. I will fight until my last breath, though I know it won't be long until then.
As I walk, I whisper, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
Disclaimer: This Songfic contains lyrics from the song "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace. I claim no credit for those words. No rebels were harmed in the making of this rather short songfic.
No distinct features of any of their faces could be seen in the dark and no one moved to rekindle the fire. One man shifted his weight, and placed his rusted cup on the ground. He stood, the white of his skin glowing through holes in his ragged shirt. He looked up, and the other two looked up at him. “Don't put your life in someone's hands, they're bound to steal it away. Don't hide your mistakes, 'cause they'll find you, burn you.”
Then he said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
We sat for a few minutes, immeasurable time, in silence that was deafening. To his left, she stood up as well, and pulled her hood over her once beautiful face. Before the hood covers her face, I catch a glimpse of the long scar that runs from her scalp to her collarbone, across her cheek. She looked at me, her eyes the only light under the hood, sad yet still a glint of pride in them. “It's hard to imagine, but one day you'll end up like me.”
Then she said, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
I stare at them silently. They watch me without expression. I slowly shake my head, and they turn around.
“No time for goodbye,” he said, as he faded away.
“This is my last time,” she said, as she faded away.
I sit there alone, staring at the ashes. I speak softly, to the night. “If I stay, it won't be long 'till I'm burning on the inside; if I go, I can only hope that I make it to the other side.”
I stand up and head in the opposite direction. I will fight until my last breath, though I know it won't be long until then.
As I walk, I whisper, “If you want to get out alive, run for your life.”
Disclaimer: This Songfic contains lyrics from the song "Get Out Alive" by Three Days Grace. I claim no credit for those words. No rebels were harmed in the making of this rather short songfic.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Random thoughts 1.0
Mini_Indy gave me a birthday card. It says “Haqqy Birthday!” on the front, and on the inside he taped nineteen Great Job Tickets. He gets the tickets for doing his homeschooling well and with a good attitude, or for other things that mom feels like rewarding him for, like cleaning his room without being told. He uses them to do thing he wants; the most common one is that he gets to play Xbox for ½ hour, at a cost of five tickets. So he gave me nineteen. This is like giving me five hundred dollars when you make three hundred per paycheck. He's so sweet. Makes me feel guilty. I think I'll take him out for lunch soon.
“We Will Rock You” is a very, very distracting song.
Mom just invaded the cave. It's not The Cave in the sense from the Nerd Handbook (though she invades that all too often), just the cave. My room has a second room off of it, a kind of annex. It should be a study room, or a walk-in closet, or something. Instead, it's a storage space for half-empty boxes and stuff my mom doesn't want elsewhere. I've been sick of it, and I've WANTED her to invade for a while. Just. Not. Today. I was working on cleaning my room, thanks to the after-flu rebound energy burst, and I was nearly done. She comes in, surveys my clean room, then proceeds into the cave and starts flinging junk out. I haven't touched that place in months, and I refuse to do so until she gets her junk out of there. But she flings all this stuff out, and suddenly my room looks worse than it did before, and that was after a week of the flu. She then walks out, leaving ME to take care of the junk, just as I was going to settle down to homework. She sure as hell knows how to disrupt a well-planned and smooth schedule.
There are two parts of me. Each of those parts is made up of multiple smaller parts, but it all boils down to two parts. Or identities. The immature side, that likes stupid and/or dirty jokes, and that is terrified at the prospect of something new. And the mature side, the side that has a sophisticated, dry sense of humor, and comes out in situations where I'm comfortable. Anything throws me off balance, and the immature side gets larger and comes to the front. It's not necessarily the stupid side; the dependent, scared side, yes. The side that wants to go back to when I was twelve. Or younger. When I didn't have to worry. The side that wants everything to be everyone else's responsibility. But I want the mature side to come through. The side that will say, “Calm down, and let's figure out what needs to be done.” This side comes out not nearly often enough. And sometimes it comes out at the worst times. Like when I hang out with certain friends, I'll hold back my immature side, as though it makes up for letting it out during serious times. It pulls me away, and I can't have fun. I am simply an observer, and it makes my friends shy away, which is perfectly understandable. Does everyone have to struggle with this? Just wake up every morning, and put on a mask, to make it look as though you don't, because no one else seems to, even if all they're doing is exactly what you are. No one is mature, just some are better at hiding their immaturity from others?
I'll never really fit into any group. I like a little too much of this, or that. I don't fit any mold. Sometimes I love it that way, other times I feel like I just want to be a cookie-cutter person. I'm not a preppie; I don't care enough about fashion or being rude. I'm not a bottom-runger, at least not any more; I'm too confident. I'm not a goth; too cheery. I'm not a hippie; too dark. I'm not one of the guys; I'm too girly. I'm not one of the gals; I like too many boyish things, and I'm not girly enough. I'm not even any specific type of nerd; a jack of all trades, master of none. I dabble in hardware, software, web design, shiny gadgets. I don't belong to any music subculture; I like too many different types of music, and not enough of any particular genre. I'm a group of one. Which is kind of nice. But so, so lonely.
Sometimes – quite often, actually – the lyrics to a song say what I mean or what I feel far better than I could. I should speak only in lyrics. Or sing what I want to say. That's why I like so many types of music. There's no one genre that can cover all feelings or thoughts.
Dogs are funny things. Rub their stomach once, and they love you forever. Kick them out of the way, and they love you anyways.
I would like to take the Wright brothers to an airport. I would like to take George Washington to a session of the Senate. I would like to take Hitler to a showing of Schindler's List, and then strand him in Jerusalem.
Feminism is a bunch of crap. Equality doesn't mean that the standards for a police exam should be lowered so women can pass just like men can. Women and men aren't equal, in many ways. The only thing that needs to be equal is equal chance. If a woman wants to try out for the police, go ahead, although I still think it's crazy. But if you're not strong enough, don't whine, and don't make them lower the standards to your level; that's not equality, that's the OPPOSITE of equality. There's other jobs in the world. You'll live. But I'm female. I want the opportunity to get the same degree or same job as a guy. If some man is more qualified than me and gets the job, I'm not going to whine that it's because I'm discriminated against. I'll submit my resume again and get a different job. I'm capable. The only good thing about the feminist movement was the freedom to wear jeans. Everything else is crazy.
A list of genres in my music collection: Alternative Rock, Bluegrass, Celtic, Classical, Contemporary Bluegrass, Country, Country Rap, Country Rock, Dance, Electronic, Emo, Experimental Rock, Folk Rock, Geek Rock, Gospel, Goth Rock, Hard Rock, Indie Pop, Karaoke, New Age, Operatic Pop, Parody, Piano Pop, Piano Rock, Pop, Pop Rock, Progressive Rock, Punk Rock, Rock, Soft Rock, Soundtrack, Surf Rock, Techno, Trance, Vocal. My collection consists of 2727 songs from 378 artists. I think I am qualified to say that I have eclectic tastes.
Technologic. Technologic. Technologic.
If I believed the books I have to read for class, all Romans were homosexual, and all conservatives are evil. It's annoying to have ultra-liberal teachers.
I like thinking out loud. But not when I'm by myself, because I look crazy. And not around other people, because they think I'm talking to them. So I like thinking out loud, but I can't really do it. Life sucks.
“We Will Rock You” is a very, very distracting song.
Mom just invaded the cave. It's not The Cave in the sense from the Nerd Handbook (though she invades that all too often), just the cave. My room has a second room off of it, a kind of annex. It should be a study room, or a walk-in closet, or something. Instead, it's a storage space for half-empty boxes and stuff my mom doesn't want elsewhere. I've been sick of it, and I've WANTED her to invade for a while. Just. Not. Today. I was working on cleaning my room, thanks to the after-flu rebound energy burst, and I was nearly done. She comes in, surveys my clean room, then proceeds into the cave and starts flinging junk out. I haven't touched that place in months, and I refuse to do so until she gets her junk out of there. But she flings all this stuff out, and suddenly my room looks worse than it did before, and that was after a week of the flu. She then walks out, leaving ME to take care of the junk, just as I was going to settle down to homework. She sure as hell knows how to disrupt a well-planned and smooth schedule.
There are two parts of me. Each of those parts is made up of multiple smaller parts, but it all boils down to two parts. Or identities. The immature side, that likes stupid and/or dirty jokes, and that is terrified at the prospect of something new. And the mature side, the side that has a sophisticated, dry sense of humor, and comes out in situations where I'm comfortable. Anything throws me off balance, and the immature side gets larger and comes to the front. It's not necessarily the stupid side; the dependent, scared side, yes. The side that wants to go back to when I was twelve. Or younger. When I didn't have to worry. The side that wants everything to be everyone else's responsibility. But I want the mature side to come through. The side that will say, “Calm down, and let's figure out what needs to be done.” This side comes out not nearly often enough. And sometimes it comes out at the worst times. Like when I hang out with certain friends, I'll hold back my immature side, as though it makes up for letting it out during serious times. It pulls me away, and I can't have fun. I am simply an observer, and it makes my friends shy away, which is perfectly understandable. Does everyone have to struggle with this? Just wake up every morning, and put on a mask, to make it look as though you don't, because no one else seems to, even if all they're doing is exactly what you are. No one is mature, just some are better at hiding their immaturity from others?
I'll never really fit into any group. I like a little too much of this, or that. I don't fit any mold. Sometimes I love it that way, other times I feel like I just want to be a cookie-cutter person. I'm not a preppie; I don't care enough about fashion or being rude. I'm not a bottom-runger, at least not any more; I'm too confident. I'm not a goth; too cheery. I'm not a hippie; too dark. I'm not one of the guys; I'm too girly. I'm not one of the gals; I like too many boyish things, and I'm not girly enough. I'm not even any specific type of nerd; a jack of all trades, master of none. I dabble in hardware, software, web design, shiny gadgets. I don't belong to any music subculture; I like too many different types of music, and not enough of any particular genre. I'm a group of one. Which is kind of nice. But so, so lonely.
Sometimes – quite often, actually – the lyrics to a song say what I mean or what I feel far better than I could. I should speak only in lyrics. Or sing what I want to say. That's why I like so many types of music. There's no one genre that can cover all feelings or thoughts.
Dogs are funny things. Rub their stomach once, and they love you forever. Kick them out of the way, and they love you anyways.
I would like to take the Wright brothers to an airport. I would like to take George Washington to a session of the Senate. I would like to take Hitler to a showing of Schindler's List, and then strand him in Jerusalem.
Feminism is a bunch of crap. Equality doesn't mean that the standards for a police exam should be lowered so women can pass just like men can. Women and men aren't equal, in many ways. The only thing that needs to be equal is equal chance. If a woman wants to try out for the police, go ahead, although I still think it's crazy. But if you're not strong enough, don't whine, and don't make them lower the standards to your level; that's not equality, that's the OPPOSITE of equality. There's other jobs in the world. You'll live. But I'm female. I want the opportunity to get the same degree or same job as a guy. If some man is more qualified than me and gets the job, I'm not going to whine that it's because I'm discriminated against. I'll submit my resume again and get a different job. I'm capable. The only good thing about the feminist movement was the freedom to wear jeans. Everything else is crazy.
A list of genres in my music collection: Alternative Rock, Bluegrass, Celtic, Classical, Contemporary Bluegrass, Country, Country Rap, Country Rock, Dance, Electronic, Emo, Experimental Rock, Folk Rock, Geek Rock, Gospel, Goth Rock, Hard Rock, Indie Pop, Karaoke, New Age, Operatic Pop, Parody, Piano Pop, Piano Rock, Pop, Pop Rock, Progressive Rock, Punk Rock, Rock, Soft Rock, Soundtrack, Surf Rock, Techno, Trance, Vocal. My collection consists of 2727 songs from 378 artists. I think I am qualified to say that I have eclectic tastes.
Technologic. Technologic. Technologic.
If I believed the books I have to read for class, all Romans were homosexual, and all conservatives are evil. It's annoying to have ultra-liberal teachers.
I like thinking out loud. But not when I'm by myself, because I look crazy. And not around other people, because they think I'm talking to them. So I like thinking out loud, but I can't really do it. Life sucks.
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