writers block + anxiety + 1:20 in the morning amounts to approximently...

thirteen days till the dead
line, I am looking for a poem.

I sit on the edge of the bed I haven't slept on in a week
and search everywhere: I start with the walls

in birthday cards and photographs
but all I can think is that I should have posters.

what sort of nearly-sixteen-year-old girl
doesn't have posters? The wrong sort

surely, that is what I am. I look for poetry
under the broken typewriter, in the crevices

on my bookshelf. I yell out to it,
calling every name I can think of.

I shout for rhythm, for stanza, (I would even welcome
rhyme, I cry, at this point), for a perfectly equilateral

triangle of image, emotion and concept. I wait-
no answer. My beckonings reduced to a whimper

I collapse, bury my face into a stiff pillow and drift
to sleep, dreaming of salvation in the form of a white horse

not to take me to a castle faraway,
just to gallop in an eggshell.

--------------------------------------------------

Not a real poem.
Purely for my entertainment.
And yours, I hope.

ack.

STRESS.

only me when I'm with you.

OH my god, you have no idea how horrible school is without you. (I guess you wouldn't, would you?). It was bad. It was awful. I kept casting depressed glances towards the perpetual empty seats where you would have been and then Danielle kept catching me and thinking I was crazy and then at lunch Chloe said something about how she was sad you weren't there and I went into this whole completely overly dramatic monologue and then Courtney came up and she only had to catch three words to be like, *knowing look* "Oh yeah, Heather isn't here."



So basically the day was dreadful. Not exclusively because you weren't there, but that was a very large factor.



Oh! But the silver lining of your absence? Mr. Noll. Reading your part. And, therefore... SINGING.



I hate writing girly poetry. (such as the absolute crap on Don't Fret. I really need someone to post so that that isn't the only thing I see whenver I go there. Because it is bad. This is not me just being my usual self-deprecating self. That poem is BAAAAAD).Why does that always happen? Why do our brains conspire against us to make us all stupid and lame and cliche and pink?

I didn't notice about the ceasing of distractions, mostly because- I don't know. I knew pretty much nothing about the distraction. I got the story from Courtney. All she told me was "He likes her she might like him it's cute". Was there anything more to it than that? The one time I witnessed anything firsthand, it didn't seem ceased. (I mean, Allison picked up on it within ten minutes, and she knew nothing about the whole thing). I would kind of like to hear about all of this from your perspective, sometime, if you wouldn't mind talking about it. I've been kind of lost and out of the loop.

On Arizona: WOW, that is a wide range of wardrobe (a bathing suit and ski-ing clothes? oh. wait. yeah, i just remembered the existence of indoor pools about three seconds ago. I apologize). Also. I really hope it's great. Or at least good. Or at least as good as it can be. I know this all must be so insane and so hard and I don't think it really seems like you had that much of a choice about going. I hope you get a cell phone and if you do I will definitely be putting minutes on mine so that I can be really annoying (as I imagine I am being now. I'm reading this post and I'm not liking me very much) and text you all the time to make sure you're fine.



To segue from worrying about you to worrying about me



I'm worried about me.

I don't think I'm doing very well in the mental health department.

Particularily in thinking about (and having suckish dreams about) people (ah, person) who I hate and don't want to think about and god forbid dream about ever. I really wish I could obliterate him from the face of the planet but just from my head would be okay too.



Also, got my reccomendation letter (because there was a letter attatched, actually) back. Mrs. Riley is my favorite person in the whole entire universe, by the way. It's so incredibly nice that even if my portfolio sucks and I bomb my interview and my essay never even materializes, they might just let me in anyway because they assumed I was having a really long series of off-days. (or, you know, launch an investigation to make sure I didn't write the thing myself).



Also, I'm going to All State tomorrow. All State Chorus, for Emilea/Anna, in case you haven't stopped reading this post after the first two paragraphs because I made no effort to include you in half (or more?) of the post. Basically I have to sing this song that I keep failing at and then sight read. For judges. I'm so nervous it's not even funny. It makes it so much worse that Mrs. Young didn't want me to go. I'll probably have a break down at some point tomorrow on the bus.



And speaking of, I need to go find my 'sunday best' (ack) outfit for the tryouts.

So



I love you

Caroline

memoirs of an aspiring amnesiac

right so i'm blogging again though i have nothing really to blog about.



i just think that i need to fill up space here. it's too empty. it's too different. i need it to feel natural. i need to be able to look at it without remembering it's purpose. i need...


ack.


i need to forget, is all i need.

i need something to get all of this crap out of my head. or at least push it further backwards. because i don't want it there. i don't want to think about this. and i'm sitting here breaking promises to myself with these stupid stupid words and all i want is to STOP.

or maybe fast-forward a bit.


i was just watching How To Deal, which, for those not aware, is teen romance comedy angst movie at it's very best (if we're not counting John Hughes, at least). it's also loosely sarah dessen (someone like you/that summer) only Macon is not a jerk in the movie.


and i was sitting there and there's this stupid montage that is so incredibly lame and silly and it's like mandy moore and trent ford are running around and eating french fries and climbing on things and driving around and laughing and chasing each other and going to see star wars movie marathons, and for god sakes he is throwing rocks at her window, and all the time they are playing that incredibly cheesy and ridiculous song by Liz Phair, you know, the why can't i breathe, whenever i think about you... song that they play in all of these movies and it's all so dumb and it makes me want to cry because i don't think i'll ever have that.

ack! ack! ack! ack! ack! ack! ackackackackack!

MOVING ON.

---Grace and Jamie just dismantled an entire shelf from their wall (you know, the huge fancy one where they keep their seventeen books and various other, heavier belongings), carried it out of their room, and put it in my closet. Yes. An entire bookshelf, completely full, in my heinously filthy closet. I don't even know how they lifted it. It must have weighed over a hundred pounds. My mom and dad are about ready to kill them. On the upside, they have to do the dishes for me.

---We have a dog for the week and my mother, who is completely dead-set against actually owning a dog, is totally obsessed with it. She dotes on her like, twenty four hours a day. She runs around squealing it's name, singing little songs about it (this isn't weird for her because she does this about me and grace and jamie all the time, but i mean, blondie is a dog). And then today she got pissed at my dad for yelling at the dog after the dog tore up/ate the book that he's reading. The dog is pretty cute but it pretty much ignores me. It's a yellow lab, though, not really the kind of dog that I want. I know they're supposed to be somewhat perfect, but I'd rather have one of those pesky hyper jumpy dogs that aren't tiny-tiny but aren't big either - like a whitie or a yorkie. Or a mutt.

---I HAVE GEORGE SINGLETON BOOK!!!
I haven't read it yet but it looks amazing. It is so pretty and it has a nice cover which signifies that he is not a loser low-budget local author with a crappy cover (not that i am a snob, or anything...). Yeah. These People Are Us. It looks awesome. I love My Sister's Books.

---I don't have to go to sunday school tomorrow... OR EVER AGAIN! YES! That is right! No more incompetent and frustrating teachers! No more stupid preppy kids who I hate! No more watching Marissa and Savannah match! No more arguing with Cam because I have no one else to talk to! NO MORE TOUCHING-SAFETY VIDEOS!!!!!!!!!!! Don't get me wrong. I don't mind going to church. I actually like church most of the time. But sunday school? It sucks. It always sucks.

A Tiny List: Worst Two Moments of Sunday School Ever In The Life of Me.

• Kindergarten. My sixth birthday. We were discussing the sacraments. More specifically, we were discussing marriage. And there was a *cringe* example wedding ceremony. And since it was my birthday, I was granted the massive, joyous privilege of being... the bride. And the groom... luckily, this was at another church up in myrtle beach so I don't know this boy now, but he was gross. he was totally the cootie-having type. and since his birthday was closest out of the boys... ackackackackack. cringe. i hate sunday school. So if we are being technical, my first kiss took place in front of a group of my fellow five-year-old sunday schoolers with some kid who had cooties. yeah. ack.
• Sixth or Seventh grade. Not my birthday. Since we were old and mature, we were not discussing the sacraments... we were discussing the Ten Commandments, more specifically, Thou shalt not commit adultery. And so we're reading this book and the book and the teacher are like 'okay so don't have sex before you're married' and i'm like (in my head), 'good, sure, wasn't planning on it, moving on', and then the book and the teacher are like, 'also, we don't approve of birth control' and i'm like(unfortunately, this time, out loud) 'whoa, wait, WHAT??? BUT WHY??? THAT IS THE MOST RIDICULOUS THING I HAVE EVER HEARD!!'. Yeah. I was kind of the black sheep of seventh grade sunday school for awhile.

Anyway. The reward for ten years of gruesome moments such as those? On October 19, I am officially a Catholic grown-up. And I get all these cool spirit gifts.* And... I GET A PARTY!! That's right. And you are invited! It is a joint party with Ashlee but it's at my house. Come. There will be food, drink, merriment. Also, presents. This party is my only shot at being able to pay for disney world.

--- It's your birthday. :)

I hope it's been amazing. Because YOU are amazing. And no one deserves amazingness as much as you do, especially on their birthdays.

love, love, love to all of you

Caroline

*Okay, I know I must sound very callous and sacreligious and whatnot up here, so just to clarify: I really am excited about the actual confirming part of confirmation. Like, it's kind of a huge deal to me. I just don't know how to convey that without sounding cheesy and lame, so I go with lighthearted amusement. It's a defense mechanism. Anyway. I don't know why I needed this little footnote here. Because I'm ridiculous. But... yeah. it's here. done typing now.