Surreal...not the character from Black Jewels...

Trains are funny things, especially if you are arriving somewhere backwards. I just woke up from a mid-afternoon nap that was not so much taken by choice, as forced upon me by my body. After taking a panicky "don't-know-what-time-it-is-what-day-it-is" shower, I realized that it's Sunday, I managed to survive the LIRR ( Long Island Railroad), the Breaking the Silence concert, and some whacked-out sandwiches and that home isn't so bad beacause you can be naked there. events don't seem as 'real' in retrospect if you take a sleep directly afterwards. Concert was boring, except that Duck Adam (of the Adam/James collective) showed up, sans other half (James), and Laura gave me some Pocky. I swear, Nikki and I need to visit an Asian supermarket and stock up on Pocky, and dried mango slices, and all those other snackies we're addicted to, like YanYan, which is like Pocky in reverse. SAHLS people all went to the beach afterwards where we attempted to build a (illegal) bonfire, during which Gina and Jolie, my lovely evening host, wandered off for a walk. This is quite acceptable couples behavior, a opposed to What'sherface and What'shisface making out Blue Lagoon style in front of everyone. To quote Jordan (not Lopez) " Duude, don't DO that!"The raggedly remains of the group then piled into autoage and went to Dunkin' Donuts for bagels and coffee (keep in mind this was 2 AM). After mushy goodbyes, Jolie and I ended up back at her place, goofing around about 'roots' ( if you've seen "But I'm A Cheerleader" you'll understand) as we fell asleep. (Later) Morning brought breakfast and another goodbye, and, ultimately, me running through Port Authority like a madwoman to catch my bus.Now, I shall go have my Mexican food. Yuss.

I suppose that Hobbit footnotes grow hair...

On a peevish side note: there should be some public distinction between dramatics and sadness. While the general pretentious populance has decided that the two are inevitably linked, number one:A person is entitled to being sad for realistic reasons, and number two, which cancels out number one:Who cares? So what if depression errs to the dramatic side? If someone you care about is having a hard time, then be compassionate, regardless of connotation.You can't be mopey with Irish jigs playing behind your right shoulder. Not that I would choose to be. Because I advocate direct communication, I will say the following in explaination for the below, the above, and all that transpires in your heads between the lines: I have been having a very hard time recently. I've been fighting with my parents a lot, I haven't been to therapy in three weeks, and I've been the sole main organizer for the Day of Silence, attendee of SAHLS, and over-worked GLAAD volunteer ( all of which can be garnered from the first post in this journal, which outline this past week's schedule in greater detail than bodes repeating). Not to mention the juggling of schoolwork, AP prep, and three SAT classes a week. I have felt as though friends of mine, none in particular, just in general, haven't been very sensitive to my sleep-deprived, easily irritable state. Here is a clear and simple statement of what I need right now;-I need consideration-I need a little more (metaphysical) space than usual-I need everyone to just go easy on me for a few days until I can coax out of hiding the piece of my head from under my covers. Give, and ye shall recieve. ( Which, chances are, if you read this journal, you do anyway.)I promise to behanve now, and go draw in my sketchybook.

It's Over...Or Is It Ever, Really?

I'm so tired. I don't want to go to SAT class tonight. I don't want to go to school tomorrow. I don't want to do anything. I want someone to love me or I want to die. Either or.Fuck.

No really feeling the love

i am completely and utterly combo-pissed off/stressed out/exhausted. i am sick of being the only one who works at G/SA. people are starting to use that lump of gray Jell-O that sits between the ears for something useful, like independent initiative. Tomorrow is Day of Silence. And the buttons might not be here. And I have 3 dozen doughnuts in my fridge. This would all be easier if i was getting any kind of menial support from those ellusive personalities who are supposed to be my friends, but have somehow fizzled off into nitpicking bitchfest oblivion. The only person who has helped me to stay sane at all is Orli, thank God someone gives a shit, and thanks the Gods it's her. I'm not going to apologize for behaviour. I'm angry for perfectly understandable reasons. If i've been short, too bad, because everyone's been flinging dog shit at my preverbial parade for awhile now. I don't know why certain people have decided to hate me for no reason, or ignore me, or tell me that my template is not to their particular taste can't you do anything nice and sympathetic EVER, you boring, catty, nasty women??!!!!! what the hellish flying dildo-strapped FUCK is wrong with everyone???!! I long for sane, stupid, silly conversation, not sleeping with each other, and some of the fucking consideration back that I dole out so freely, even to those who obviously don't like me, but won't say it to my face because they're cowards.So fuck you because nothing matters; especially not me and my pathetic, whiney, lonely excuse for a miserable exsistance.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe..

MagentaRiot: well in speech class i'm doing a panel discussion on where the lineshould be drawn on government invasion of privacy, you know, like the patriot act, and clear and present dancer, and megan's law shit like thatSwizzlePixie: clear and present dancer?SwizzlePixie: is that alvin ailey with a stiletto?I love you, Jen.Me and Bunny managed 5 pages of the Descended today. Good Lord, suddenly we're motivated.And I studied for Easton.And I've ceased to freak out.Duuude.This might have something to do with Sasha asking me to go see "A Day In the Death of Joe Egg" with her. Izzard and Sasha. **dies**

Where to stick it

I went to the SAHLs reunion today, which was small but pleasant. And I would write about that, if only I didn't have lovely little topic to bitch about.I don't know if it's because they're old, or bitter, or stupid....whatever it is, I could give less of a rat's ass. But the simple fact is that my parents are best at being nasty humans when I've had a good day. Perhaps it's because when I return from not having seen them all day, the juxtaposition is all the worse. But the more appropriate, and highly dramatic conclusion, is that they just do not like seeing me happy. Another layer of interpretation to be placed on this cake; I cite a good day as including their absensce. Whatever the reason (because in LJ rants, reason is not the point....moaning and bitching is), flaming asshole seems to be the order of the evening. I came in the door, and nary 5 minutes later was being told that I had ruined dinner. Either my subconscious is a talented bitch, or something is rotten in a meat-packing district in Denmark.My mother, my father, my sister's Anglo-Saxonified ass, and Guliani's "Quality of Life" program all know where to stick it. And if they don't, someone ought to let them in on it.I'm exhausted, I'm angry, and I have work to do for Easton.If anyone wants to argue with me about anything, and I mean this for collective good; PISS OFF.