Today sucks.
Aug. 31st, 2004 11:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageEw. School went so poorly today. So many classes with unfulfilled crushed hopes. I wish I didn't need to sleep. I wish I didn't have to deal with people. Oh, the computers of tomorrow...
If only my chem teacher would POST what the homework was. Then maybe I'd actually have it to turn in on test days. I have a lot to deal with in books due to impending tests, a journal, and a book review. Whenever I start to read my eyes wander across the page... English makes me want to vomit this year. I want to put two of my teachers in a box and float them away to Crete.
In French I kept bursting into laughter. My laugh is so plastic. Sharp plastic. I cut myself on the edges. It feels so wrong, inorganic, so transparent. My mouth should not be open so much. I smacked my fist on the desk a few times when I entered the room, and during our test I wanted to annihilate the little kids shouting the Spanish alphabet in the adjacent room. I also wanted to smash my head against the file cabinet next to me. I could hear the hollow crunch, feel the touch of the greyish metal... I wanted to explode. I watched the teacher, so like a puppet, yet so nice. She moved and I kept laughing. I wonder what she really thinks.
Then I went to history. I started nodding and shaking. I pretended I was behind something. My head was lowered to my folded arms atop my desk. And I laughed. The teacher was like yes, she does that sometimes, just a little breakdown. A bit early in the year, this time, don't you think? I was so ashamed. She knows I'm crazy. I kept laughing, as tears rolled out of my eyes. I had to keep wiping myself off in case my eyeliner streaked. No need to stare, everyone.
I think the Cappone guy was pushing it with the pipe, though. The scarf was bad enough. Aristocrats. I embrace the rare video. I like art. Mmm history until I have to turn in something demonstrating knowledge of it. Nobody thinks like I.
I ate a disgusting pink Easter lollipop. I am becoming more detached from the only people who listen to me. I reacquainted myself with paperback maintenance. I continued to overwork chiaroscuro. Then I sat in my shadowy little corner reading, in a way that ground my coccyx into the floor. I fetched my slacker brother. I am desperate not to join his ranks.
There was a general clamor. I forgot my supplies. I slept on a bench instead of doing what I should because I lacked appropriate footwear. Music that scared others with subtleties of which I should have been an excellent medium. Should. I stifled my soul a little bit.
The sky was so wonderful. So big. Oxygen, nitrogen, free for the taking. All the variegated sheep little puffs performing acrobatics until their essence was glued down by a child. Everything is certain; they can stop time and create reality from obscurity. Until the Renaissance.
It (lost antecedent= sky)was an ominous, vaguely luminescent yellow-green. Preclude to a tornado. The hanging aura of disaster. Dismantled trailers in an old texbook... Olive to warm brown-grey to black, suddenly in minutes through the high, square, cobweb-laden window. Assertive booming intercepted the tinkly tendu music. Speech is the most understandable method of communication. A direct link. As the thick drops penetrated the ineffective defenses of the open car window, bright lines crossed the open sky above, turning the whole world lavender for a moment, then restoring it to darkness like a forgotten dream. One can't see enough, but the glimpse is tantalizing. Why was I looking for hot pink socks?
My negligent sparkle has faded. I am a photo of the degenerate shell of crap.
If only my chem teacher would POST what the homework was. Then maybe I'd actually have it to turn in on test days. I have a lot to deal with in books due to impending tests, a journal, and a book review. Whenever I start to read my eyes wander across the page... English makes me want to vomit this year. I want to put two of my teachers in a box and float them away to Crete.
In French I kept bursting into laughter. My laugh is so plastic. Sharp plastic. I cut myself on the edges. It feels so wrong, inorganic, so transparent. My mouth should not be open so much. I smacked my fist on the desk a few times when I entered the room, and during our test I wanted to annihilate the little kids shouting the Spanish alphabet in the adjacent room. I also wanted to smash my head against the file cabinet next to me. I could hear the hollow crunch, feel the touch of the greyish metal... I wanted to explode. I watched the teacher, so like a puppet, yet so nice. She moved and I kept laughing. I wonder what she really thinks.
Then I went to history. I started nodding and shaking. I pretended I was behind something. My head was lowered to my folded arms atop my desk. And I laughed. The teacher was like yes, she does that sometimes, just a little breakdown. A bit early in the year, this time, don't you think? I was so ashamed. She knows I'm crazy. I kept laughing, as tears rolled out of my eyes. I had to keep wiping myself off in case my eyeliner streaked. No need to stare, everyone.
I think the Cappone guy was pushing it with the pipe, though. The scarf was bad enough. Aristocrats. I embrace the rare video. I like art. Mmm history until I have to turn in something demonstrating knowledge of it. Nobody thinks like I.
I ate a disgusting pink Easter lollipop. I am becoming more detached from the only people who listen to me. I reacquainted myself with paperback maintenance. I continued to overwork chiaroscuro. Then I sat in my shadowy little corner reading, in a way that ground my coccyx into the floor. I fetched my slacker brother. I am desperate not to join his ranks.
There was a general clamor. I forgot my supplies. I slept on a bench instead of doing what I should because I lacked appropriate footwear. Music that scared others with subtleties of which I should have been an excellent medium. Should. I stifled my soul a little bit.
The sky was so wonderful. So big. Oxygen, nitrogen, free for the taking. All the variegated sheep little puffs performing acrobatics until their essence was glued down by a child. Everything is certain; they can stop time and create reality from obscurity. Until the Renaissance.
It (lost antecedent= sky)was an ominous, vaguely luminescent yellow-green. Preclude to a tornado. The hanging aura of disaster. Dismantled trailers in an old texbook... Olive to warm brown-grey to black, suddenly in minutes through the high, square, cobweb-laden window. Assertive booming intercepted the tinkly tendu music. Speech is the most understandable method of communication. A direct link. As the thick drops penetrated the ineffective defenses of the open car window, bright lines crossed the open sky above, turning the whole world lavender for a moment, then restoring it to darkness like a forgotten dream. One can't see enough, but the glimpse is tantalizing. Why was I looking for hot pink socks?
My negligent sparkle has faded. I am a photo of the degenerate shell of crap.
