Huzzah for finishing treacherous essays (not that I think I did a particularly good job on it).

Now, in honor of my brother, who continually calls me queer which I am ridiculously sick of, I present another of my little fragments: Antics.

Today's a bit off. I want to be angry. I had been this morning. My sister refuses to take the bus so she has me get a ride with her and her friend to and from school. I never really did ask if I had a choice in the matter. I don't think I really cared, because with my migraines I would love to avoid the bus.

However, her friend has one of those two door cars. And I'm always shoved into the back. And then when she picks up more people, I'm forced in first. My sister gets to the door first, so I don't understand this and it irks me. Actually, my temper is far worse than that. The impulses I get are probably best left untyped.

Her friend also smokes. Stuck in the back, when she rarely opens the window, I'm pooled in smoke. I can almost feel it in my longs. It's terrible. And when she ashes out of the window it often flies back and lands on me. Not to mention her suffocating air freshener. It's even worse when she picks up others who smoke as well.

But can I take the bus? No, of course not. What sister would allow that?

I also believe I sufficiently freaked out my teacher a bit today. My Chemistry teacher. In a different way though. Although, I rather often utilize his apparently unending kindness. He allows me to sit in the dark in this office when my head pounds from headaches. And, because I do not take in enough salt, when I was severely light-headed and apparently bordering on passing out, he gave me some of his food.

Today was a bad day. I realized that when people make obnoxiously loud noises I feel the urge to injure them. Or perhaps only when they ache my head. But I had a horrible migraine which caused me to cry rather hysterically. I think that worried him.

Of course, I feel guilty for usurping my teacher's kindness (especially when I realize how often I should have thanked him and some other teachers and yet never have).

And, even when I would still be mad, someone important to me died today. A family member who wasn't really a family member but considered so. Considered close by me. (Close is a better term for I am not very fond of my family.)

I've been debating posting this. A satire I technically wrote for school, but in narrative form, of course. I had to bash the female sex. Something all too easy. After my friend called it revolting, I had no choice. After laughing manically, I figured out a title/summary and under what category it would fall (as Fictionpress doesn't have a section for satires . . .) and posted it.

In The Washroom

And now, I'm back to searching for a topic for the JOT I have to write by Tuesday for school.

So long.

I think I'm going to regret this, but I've posted the prologue to Noah, and the first chapter will soon follow on my Fictionpress.

I've also written the second chapter, but I don't want to post that just yet. Either way, I intend to wait until I have more chapters so I have something to most along the way. School's starting again tomorrow and I'm going to be nefariously slow in my writing, as per usual. As well, I want to see how people take to it.

Besides, it's not that terrible to wait, really. Not when you don't know what you're waiting for. I'm still waiting for The End of Time in Doctor Who and Hamlet from my friend, actually. Although I do wish I'd gotten them before the misery of school.

I also wanted to leave some music, though.

I've been listening to A Fine Frenzy incessantly for months now and so here's one of their songs:

Noah

"Like Noah of Arc?"

"Yes, exactly like that."

I have finally begun working on my latest idea. Well, by working on, I mean actually writing. I have the prologue and first chapter done. However, I won't be posting it until I have more written. Just to be certain. Because I really have a horrible track record when it comes to finishing stories.

However, my God fearing man is coming along. And I call him Noah.

Ranting

I know, I know. I'm greatly overdue for an update. I actually have an idea at the moment--I've been trying to write a story from the mindset of a criminal for quite some time now. Once I have it more fleshed out and am assured that this one will actually have a chance of being written all the way, I'll expand.

Right now, though? I really need a ranting day.

It's a bit of wondering just how often people actually think of what they're doing--in regards to people other than themselves. There's no question that we're the most selfish species. Honestly, we decided to build civilizations that destroy the Earth we sit upon for the good of ourselves. We look upon any other organism as subordinate and either hunt it or cage it. We're ass holes. But I would hope we could be at least a little more open-minded and kind to those of our own bloody species!

False hopes, I know.

I get a lot of homework. I'm in a mess of AP classes, so that's really no surprise. I always get it done, and I never really cause a problem about it. I just sit at the kitchen table and work. Same as my older siblings did before me. Granted, I take many breaks and pace about on occasions with an overlarge workload, but I never actually do anything else until my work is done. (Unless it's a weekend or break. This changes everything. Or it's an essay. Then I generally push it off--I'm a procrastinator in nature.)

If it's dinnertime, I move without question until afterwords. I don't think I cause problems. Not really. I listen to my Zune and ignore the people that attempt to talk to me, pretending that I can't still hear them. Eventually, they give up. Or else they pull at my earphones and I glare daggers at them for disturbing me.

Before me, my eldest sister and my brother went to high school while I was still in elementary/middle school. I was often scorned by my mother to be quite for them while they did their homework. Now, that same brother calls my cousin and they and my other sister decide to have a game of Monopoly where I'm working. Though they scream and curse at each other in such games, they are not scorned. No, after attempting desperately to do anything of my homework, I have to resign to move to my garage.

The heater is mutinous and has never worked for me, and so I'm dreadfully cold. I steal one of my father's jackets and filch his slippers and I set myself up to continue working. It is not long before he arrives home from work, though, and he steals his slippers back. He turns the television on and starts attempting to talk to me. I cannot shut him out. I can think of no place to go, nor no way to go without being rude. I must sit and wait for dinner--after they finish their game of Monopoly.

After dinner, the table is a mess. Disgusting and repulsive. However, it is not my job to clean it, and I refuse to. My sister, wherever she is, is not doing her chores. And I will not do my homework on something so grotesque. I walk back to the garage, where my things still reside, but it is after dinner now, and most everyone is out there. Loud and annoying, eager to play card games. Again, I resign bitterly to move.

My mother sees me later emerging from the backroom with my flash drive as she cleans the dishes--my chore. She doesn't say a word, but she doesn't look happy either. It takes all I have not to say something biting.


My sister, two weeks short of a year older than me, decides that she wants to get her nose pierced. And so it is done.

Without even informing my parents of her decision, she makes plans with her friend to go for it after school. As they are my daily ride, I am to go as well. Without being informed.

She asks me in the morning if I care about going somewhere with them after school. I can say nothing, not really. It is either them or take the bus--something repulsive to me as both a misanthrope and one who suffers from migraines. I shrug my shoulders.

Walking in to school, I always fall behind them. I do not care to keep up, I rather like to drag my hand against the walls and feel my surroundings. It is here that she mentions it to her friend, making sure that she remembers where it is. I feel only bitterness.

I would stay after school instead of sharing in her crime. Knowingly or unknowlingly. And I would return home to a still missing sister and a mother who didn't even know that she was going somewhere with her friend.


In an AP class, filled with students supposedly of greater knowledge and better actions, I must have more enemies than I thought (and I really do know of an abnormally large number for the average person).

In a group presentation, I raise my hand from the moment the audience is allowed to ask questions. Others do to, and so the group works across the room calling on people. More raise their hands and are called on before myself. Then more. Then someone starts pointing out that my hand is raised. Others are called upon. He points this out again. Another points to me. More are called upon. I give up, resting my head upon my desk in defeat. At the end of the period, the teacher calls upon me. I thank her, bitingly, the best I find I can do to not scream, and then ask my measely clarification question.


A brother, a mother, a sister, a group. There are more examples, surely. But I suppose by now my narration will be tiring.

I suppose I can almost understand the group. After all, I'm not especially renowned as a nice or good person. I very likely did something to them in the past, as I have to many, and then simply forgot about it. Or perhaps they dislike me for things I have said to others. Then again, two of them were deeply religious--Catholic sects. The only religion that I truly cannot stand for all that it has done to and against me. I very likely angered them, at least.

But my family? That's ridiculous. Does no body think of what their actions will bring?

I'm certainly not nice, but that doesn't mean I don't constantly think and overthink what my actions will cause. Yes, I have slip-ups--but they are generally within the few people I truly trust and care about. And then I constantly check that they are not mad at me.

What has happened to us? Humans. Why are we so cruel?

Schoolbound Enemies

I'm afraid I've been living under the realization that I have no creative energy. That, and what few ideas I have, I do not have the time to write about. (Oh, the joys of AP classes.)

It is shameful, I know, to give up so easily on that which is loved in regards to the horror that is homework. Of course, that is not all that I am subjecting myself to. For, what is life without false fears and miserable points of depression? What is day to day progression without wondering just what the purpose of being is, and why people who are allegedly so close to you chose to continuously do things that seem designed to hurt you?

Perhaps that goes without saying, though? Perhaps I simply blow such things out of proportion?
I wonder though, if anyone else struggles to evade the voices of so many others yelling at them within their own minds.

I have come to a point where I in order to appease the shouts, I have become deliberately offensive, cruel in regards to religion. Although, in my defense, the piece followed all that was required of my paper for school. However, I failed to realized that my teacher was catholic (should that be capitalized?), and so I offended her. Twenty-two point deduction.

That's alright though. It has been far too long with teachers that I respect and like. It has been unnerving. It has been quite a while since I have done something terrible, something to attribute to the satanic reputation people attribute to me and the hate I can apparently inspire without even trying. Indeed, perhaps this has been long overdue. And I shall take it as a challenge, no matter how my grade shall suffer.

However, I am ranting. I am lost within the maze of my own mind. I am typing for some reason. I have actually posted something.

It is not truly something that I wrote creatively, on my own time. Rather, something I managed to write because of an odd relationship with a teacher and a subject I loathed. And a write-up I enjoyed so much and wrote in such a way that I simply had to post it.

It is rather cold-hearted and differs greatly from the rest of my writings, in honesty. It is perhaps far more revealing than all else that I have written. But to lose it would sadden me. And so, loosely shaped upon the (hardly) changing role of women in the 19th century: Conformity.

Mibba is gone.

Er, mine. That is. And I really didn't think that through fully, because now there's two really good stories that I can't finish reading. Still, no matter. It was eating at my head. And, really, I do that enough myself. I don't need that as well.

A few days ago I added another fragment to my Fictionpress which I am currently to lazy to provide a link for at the moment. (Sorry about that. I'm feeling lathargic, laggard, lazy and sick.) That day, whichever it was, I had finally summited myself to what I believe was my seventh head analysis (er, formally, and not including that bloody CT scan). And to some outcomes that I was not particularly fond.

I was also suffering from the confusion of a former teacher calling me compassionate (which, for me, a jarring and mind halting word) and then accusing me of doing various evils. And so, I had to address that. (By letter, I chose, for I'd had enough confrontation and analysis of my head for the day.) Alas, that was Thursday, I believe. I'm not entirely sure. The letter, I know was. And followed by a long weekend now coming to a close, which means that tomorrow I get to look forward to the response.

Life would be ever so much easier if I was simply a nice person.