silhouette

v. 2.01

25.05.02
When I was younger, carousel rides seemed to last forever. Sitting on huge, brilliantly painted horses and whirling around and around and watching the landscape and buildings blur into a beautiful coloured mass and listening to wonderful music and gliding up and down into eternity.

I went for a carousel ride last weekend.

The animals are still beautiful. It's still a wonderful thing to do. But it's lost its magic. I can see that the horses that haven't been restored recently are faded and chipped; I have to try to pick out distinct bits of the landscape and orient myself.

And the horses seem so small now.

24.05.02
At dinner, my mother was telling a story about getting the vacuum repaired, and she mentioned that she went to visit the vacuum man because our vacuum seems to have died the true death.

My father and I started singing, in unison, "Do you know the vacuum man?" (To the tune of that song about the Muffin Man.)

We grinned at each other, and he said, in a deadpan voice, "You have a very warped sense of humour, Marie."

I love my father.

24.05.02
As I was walking down the hallways of the school towards my bus, a feeling of otherworldliness overcame me. I felt like I was dreaming.

It was bizarre, because for a moment I was completely convinced that it wasn't really happening; that I would wake up soon.

I want to wake up.

16.05.02
The biggest problem I have, I have discovered, is with trust. I think this stems from a stubborn desire to be independent, despite the fact that I sometimes need help. Either that, or the independence stems from the lack of trust. I'm not sure.

At any rate, I don't like having to depend on people. It makes me weak, and gives them the ability to hurt me. And, above all else, I don't want to be hurt.

I have no idea how the heck to deal with any of this, but I seem to feel the need to write it from time to time. Heaven knows why.

13.05.02
I've noticed that some people work so hard to fit into their little stereotype ("goth," "punk," "freak," etc) that they don't have time to really work out who they are. Such people spend most of their time, as far as I can tell, worrying about how others view them - whether people think they're goth, or just stupid. Whether they're popular enough, or if this shirt is just the wrong colour. These people, it seems to me, never really have a chance to figure out who the hell they are and what they're doing here and what they really want.

Walk up to one of those "punks" and ask them why they favour anarchy, and why it's superior to our current system. See if they can get through the explanation without saying "it just sucks, alright?!" Go ahead, I dare you.

I don't want to be one of those people. And I don't think I am.

But I won't - I can't - be sure.

And this bothers me.

.....am I introspective enough?

08.05.02
How could I just sit here and watch the whole thing crumble and not even cry? Other people are breaking down and cursing and I'm just staring at the screen and wondering if this is the end.

I am a heartless bitch.

06.05.02
Yesterday, Elizabeth was going on and on about how she hates people who can only talk about themselves and what they don't like and so on. I did my usual smile-and-nod routine. Even if she could hear herself, I'm not sure she'd grasp the irony.

She's really been getting on my nerves lately.

02.05.02
No Sri Lanka. *big sad*

.....and I don't wanna go to France. *sigh*

But, ooh, thought. When is Kai going to France?

01.05.02
So. I got home from my walk today, and heard my grandparents' voices in our house. "That's nice," I thought, and wondered why they were here.

As it turns out, they had been canoeing in the Potomac. Which was probably a silly move to begin with, since we've been having a fair amount of rain lately, and the current was quite strong. However, they went ahead regardless, and ended up capsizing. My grandmother was caught in a current, and held on to the canoe until she was forced to let go of it because it was squishing her against rocks; my step-grandfather was in a slightly slower current. Eventually, they both washed up in the same general area - on an island in the middle of the river. They wandered around for a bit before finding each other. Then the swam to the Virginia side of the river and walked through woods with no path through them. Eventually, they met a nice young woman who gave them a ride to my house, where they were able to shower and change into dry clothes and were fed soup and tea. Now my parents are driving them home.

I'm just glad they're alive. I love them more than I'd realized.

25.04.02
At this moment, I am hating math class. Not because of the teacher, or the content, or even because of my fellow students. But because it requires no thought.

Our tests have become tests of ability to use a TI-83 calculator. Our teacher simply tells us how to press the buttons correctly; we haven't even gone over how to do it by hand. And this is severely limiting my classmates, which is kinda sad. Whereas I tend to use a simple scientific calculator and use logic (which is, I think, one of the reasons I finish so quickly - I don't depend on the TI-83 to do my thinking for me), my classmates mindlessly punch in the formulas they're told to use, combined with the proper numbers. Presto, they have an answer.

It requires no thought at all, and I hate it. I hate that they do it, I hate that the state limits them like that, and I hate that I'm forced to use the TI-83 because WE HAVEN'T BEEN TAUGHT HOW TO DO THESE THINGS ANY OTHER WAY.

Grrr.

23.04.02
[See "Writings" - Reconstruction]

23.04.02
I liked it so much better when #ls was only a few people and quiet most of the time, and when Canasta was, at most, a five-person affair. *sigh*