11/13/10

Ever just want to take whatever you have in your hands at any given moment and murder someone in a close proximity to you? That's how I feel. Right. Now. I'd like to take this keyboard, walk into that room, and smash that boy's face in with it. A minute ago, I wanted to take my fork and turn a fraction to the left and murder that woman with it. But don't call me crazy. You would too if you lived in the same GODDAMN house as them. For fuck's sake, I can't stand living here. Today, my parents cleaned. Most of the day was spent clearing out drawers and cabinets full of "meaningful" trinkets. While many of these trinkets were salvaged and will probably be used in the near future, I still find the endeavor meaningless. Oh, and my phone broke. For some reason, broken technology frustrates the balls off of me. Oh, and I'm sick to a terrible extent. I swear I almost passed out stepping out of the shower this morning. I kind of hate life right now. Fucking bitches.

11/10/10

I haven't posted on this blog in a while, and I wasn't really planning to post anytime soon. A friend of mine suggested it a couple of days ago, however. Biggest fan. Anyway, biggest news today was report cards. While I am not necessarily proud of my grades this "interim," I don't deem them worthy of punishment like my parents do. A 3.5 is more than acceptable, and a C is average. Not that I condone mediocrity, but being average is hardly a cause for alarm. Heh. Ironically, this reminds me of a story we read in English class having something to do with the media causing high expectations. Now all I have to do is make a choice. (I'm terrible at committing to choices.) Do I go along with my parents wishes and work hard and make good grades and say excuse me when I leave the table or do I rebel? Do I show that their supposed parental instinct and intuition is actually a cause for my lack of work ethic, that their things and objects and crises make it HARDER for me to make of this household what I want, a constant in my oh-so-complicated equation filled with variables? We'll see. I find looking at facebook entertaining when people like "lyric stati" for the sake of looking cool, because they think they know the FUCKING SONG. I mean, I could post a lyric with the exact same meaning as some mainstream pop-song and two minutes later I would have to delete it so as to not seem like a loser. It makes me sick, the lack of justice in modern society. Do you think a person who hears a song and claims to "know" the band deserves credit more than an honest boy? And yes, I am talking about myself. I      
want my bands to have commercial success, but I definitely don't want their purpose diminished down by shallow girls with quick typing hands! I wish I had a job, (money, rather) a distinct goal (without being so close-mindedly brainwashed as the kids that put "success" on such a high pedestal), and just a little more control over a little bigger chunk of the universe. Not too much to ask.