Tuesday, August 31, 2010
My writing. @ 4:32 PM
Are we writing form the same perspective?
Sometimes, when I kiss you, it feels like I'm being hung from my thumbs, bare and naked, except for the first sentence of my master's thesis, carved in my flesh. You remind me of everything bad about my childhood, and I am only nineteen.
I love you, but please, leave me or die.
but wait, there's more!
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
derp. @ 10:34 AM
So... new school year. Yeah. going to Physics lecture. Hooray, midday Physics.
Anyway, I still don't know what I'm going to
do. I remember my big preoccupation was the SAT/service hours, before that it was getting/going into CA but now it's my major. I'm 16. Really. Only 16. But this is my senior year of high school, and apparently, it's too late to try to get into the Harvard School of Medicine. I have nothing going for me exceot good SAT scores (kind of ironic, isn't it?). I'm going to
art school. My mom and probably everyone else thinks I'm wasting my time. I'm really not that good. Really. Lots of people are like "don't go into graphic design! It'll make you want to kill yourself!" and I'm like WELL THANKS. I wish I were out of here and working in a firm already. Or at least in goddamn New York where I'll be able to make out with hot chicks, maybe or something. Never in a million years I thought that I would be going to art school. I really want to apply to SAIC, where at least maybe I'll come to my senses and study architecture. :I
I know I'm not the only person who's been like this, and they probably got into college. But the thought that there is always someone smarter, more dedicated, with more extraccurriculars, and better than me in every way doesn't really help me get over this anxiety. God, I wish I were more relaxed. I wish I weren't myself, actually. There, I said it. Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm a loser. A loser who has to be in lecture in 26 minutes, but a loser nonetheless.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
------- @ 1:15 AM
I text-message -------. I try to squeeze in my thoughtful, laid-back persona in 160 characters, including spaces. I never thought that was fair.
I am not laid-back. I am at the pinnacle of Type A. Some people consider that a virtue; I want to commit suicide.
I always thought there was an entire alphabet of types, but there's only two, A and B. They can't make them Type Salt and Type Pepper. Nothing they do makes sense.
I meet up with him on the path to the library. I say hey once, and he nods. We walk in together. I'd been waiting to see him the entire week, but now I don't know what to say. We stay indoors, away from the heat. Tomorrow, he says, all twenty-four Pre-Cal/Trig assignments are due. I ask if he's done them. Of course he has. He always seems to have time. I struggle to finish Economics. I ask him for help, but he says I'm not being specific enough. All twenty-eight minutes I could spend with him I am wasting on Economics. If we had more time to ourselves, I still wouldn't know what to say.
He says he has to leave, and I walk out with him. Outside, under a dying tree, I look at him, expecting something to happen.
I love you, -------, I say.
He knows I'm lying.
Monday, August 9, 2010
@ 1:58 AM
Hi. I'm Angelica. I like Pokémon and complaining. I'm a youngster, but I freak out like a 42-year-old mother. This is just me worrying about getting into college.