Ugh. Morning Already?

See above.

My whole day just started off like crap. Some background info: I have that problem in which if I can reach my alarm clock, I will turn it off seconds (literally) before it goes off and go back to sleep without ever fully waking up. So this morning my mother is knocking on my door, and says when I open it, “What time does your clock say?” Like, WTF?! Just tell me I overslept, don’t ask me what time my clock says. There are both electric and battery-powered clocks in the living room and her bedroom, and the likelihood of them all messing up is slim-to-friggin’-none.

So I wake up 20 minutes before my ride comes. I needed to wake up 2 hours before my ride came, because I hadn’t finished my homework due that day (yeah, I know, I’ve got that “spoda be” work ethic, a.k.a senioritis, IB-style). The only problem is (barring the homework), it takes 15 minutes for me to shower and dress (10 if I really rush), and an additional 10-15 minutes to do my hair. That adds up to more than 20 minutes, guys. I made it, although my hair looked like crap and I left some books at home I would have liked to take to lighten my load tomorrow. And I had no breakfast. Or lunch.

In resolution of my alarm-clock problem, which began at the beginning of this school year when I began flat-out sleeping through my alarm, causing me to have to take my mother’s alarm clock (which rises in volume each subsequent cycle through the “enh-enh” sounds), then placing the clock quite a distance from my bed, so I would have to get completely out of bed to turn it off, I am looking for a new place to set my clock (damn that was a long sentence). However, my room is about the size of a jail cell (really about 9′ by 11′ with few flat surfaces), and my bed juts into the center of the room. So there are few places I can’t reach from the bed. And if I put it in a far corner of the room, it’s possible I’ll kill myself en route given how messy my room tends to be (and with harmful things, like sharp books, hangars, and pencils, which are not fun to step on, although it would surely wake me up).

A Whole New Experience for Me…

Lately I’ve been revelling in the lives of other people, people I don’t even know. These are pages and blogs and journals linked from my friend Micah’s page. After reading about his friends’ lives (two of whom I actually know), I move on to their friends. I feel like a voyeur, but a happier one. I used to spend hours on the telephone listening to people’s problems and occasionally helping them solve them, but really just listening, and I liked that. I hang with a different crowd now, and I’m not at all confortable with them. Not like that. Their problems annoy me. But to read the blogs and journals of these strangers almost gives me that feeling again of being able to just listen without having to put on a face of any sort (sympathetic or not). When I read the entries of the people I am acquainted with, I can choose not to respond (by signing guestbooks or leaving comments) because I wonder if my “presence” would influence their posts. That may sound arrogant, to think that people with whom I am only acquainted (not particularly friends) would alter their private posts for my sake, but I know that people do in fact tailor their responses to their audience, and I fear that I put off an aura; many people think I’m a stuck-up elitist or the like, and don’t say certain things around me, or leave entire topics alone when I come around.

While I am almost never flippant about people’s problems and issues (as long as they are not being pressed upon me), I do find my load looking a little lighter after reading these pages. My former popcorn-slinging buddy Sonny summed it up perfectly:

[…] I just realized how much I have in common with the rest of the world’s teenagers. Lately, everyone has been telling me about their problems, and normally, they would make me depressed, but in reality, they are really making me happy right now (not that i am feeding off of your problems and laughing at you guys incessantly). It makes me feel like I am really not alone in this world (another cheesy line). But like, shit happens. And it happens all the time, especially to me. To know that it happens to other people just as often is a welcoming concept. But i mean, it IS a bad thing. The world should be nicer, don’t you think?

So in a spider’s web from Micah’s blog, including Ayana, Sonny, and a nifty-sounding dude named Scott, I voyeur people’s thoughts and problems, and watch as their thoughts and problems affect mine and my responses. An indescribable feeling is within me.

These are the few people I actually know:

dirtyrice.net – filth of the crop (Sonny)

Too Cute for You…(Micah)

Nanamania (Ayana)

Dub Style!

I’m working on a practice French IB Paper 1, listening to “Wrong Way” by Sublime. I am now conviced that I practe crustean bed criticism when I listen to music. How can I possibly identify with these lyrics? I’ve never been a whore, nor have felt pimped by my family (except maybe regarding education by my mother)

Annie’s 12 years old, in two more she’ll be a whore
Nobody ever told her it’s the wrong way
Don’t be afraid with the quickness you’ll get laid
For your family get paid
It’s the wrong way
I gave her all that I had to give
I’m gonna make it hard to live
(Big) salty tears running down to her chin
And it ruins up her make-up
I never wanted
A cigarette pressed between her lips
But I’m staring at her tits
It’s the wrong way
Strong if I can, but I am only a man
So I take her to the can
It’s the wrong way
The only family that she’s ever had
Is her seven horny brothers and a drunk-ass dad
He needed money so he put her on the street
Everything was going fine until the day she met me
Happy are you sad, wanna shoot your dad
I’ll do anything I can
It’s the wrong way
We talk all night, try to make it right
Believe me shit was tight
It was the wrong way
So run away if you wanna stay
Cause I ain’t here to make ya, oh no
It’s up to you what you really wanna do
Spend some time in America
Dub style!
She’ll give you all that she got to give
But I’m gonna make it hard to live
Big salty tears rollin’ down to her chin
And it smears up her make-up
I never wanted
So we ran away
And I’m sorry when I say, that straight to this very day
It was the wrong way
She took a hike it don’t matter if I like it or not
Because she only wants the wrong way
I gave her all that I had to give
But she still wouldn’t take it, oh no
Her two brown eyes are leaking like a sieve
But it still ruins her make-up
I never wanted

I even found a version that is supposedly sung by Tool, although it doesn’t sound like Maynard’s voice. It’s kinda funny though. I just get a song stuck in my head, and fixate. So I go and download the original, any remakes, and all covers of the song I can find and listen to them all on repeat. For hours. For days’ worth of hours. Even stupid songs like this one, I listen to just because I think they’re funny (“Believe me shit was tight / It was the wrong way”???!!!) or because I like the raggae-ish-ness of the singer’s voice (unlike “muscularity”, that isn’t a word). Until I looked up the lyrics, I thought the “Tool” version was singing, “Spend some time in America’s dumpsters!”. Just goes to show.

"Oooo, I’m gonna tell on you…"

I’m taking a brief break from “homework” (ha) to post this entry. I’m in the living room eating, and everyone else is in there (mother, father, and the rat), which is an immediate no-no. In that infinitely calm (and infuriating) voice my father has, he says, “So what’s going on with your chores lately?” He goes on to state that mother told him that I haven’t cleaned the house in weeks and never do the dishes. After I explain it all away (and apparently my mother told him that I didn’t clean house today, and he extrapolated that I haven’t done it in weeks, which is not true), I find myself almost red with fury towards my mother. She drags all this shit between my father and me, then wonders why I never laugh at his jokes, or why I clam up and become serious whenever he enters the room. For some reason though, I can’t really bring myself to be as cold to my mother as I am to my father. She’s just as guilty of annoying the piss out of me as he; maybe it’s because she isn’t violent, like he can be. I feel like I like with three people the age of the rat (who’s 3): a tattletelling whimp, a temper-tandrum throwing manic-depressive, and the real three year-old that can’t even wipe her ass without help. Literally. I know I’m not much better, but I can’t even breathe around these people.

Is Everyone Paying Dues?…

I’m still listening to “Dream On”, and the question hit me: Do I have dues in life to pay? Dues because of the way I treat people, the lies I have told, my beliefs, my station in life (socioeconomically speaking), my race, etc.? Sometimes I feel like I’m nice to a person just because I feel that I should be nice to someone today. Is that a “due” because of my beliefs and feelings about people? Maybe not; I’m not sure that it’s big enough to be a due. It doesn’t take too much effort ot be nice to one person a day, does it?

…Half my life’s in books’ written pages
Live and learn from fools and from sages
You know it’s true
All the things come back to you

I often feel as though “Half my life’s in books’ written pages”, hell, maybe more than half. How many times have I “Live[d] and learn[ed] from fools and from sages”? Learn something only to find out maybe years later it isn’t true, and I can still remember the “fool” or “sage” I learned it from. Do “All the things come back to you”? I wish to hell I knew.

taking joy in human unreason