stupid gavels

The trees look alive.  Maybe they are.  I wonder if they mind being turned into different things.  I wonder if it hurts them.  I don’t think it would.  I bet they get upset when they are made into stupid things.  Like gavels. Or tchotchkes.  Or maybe they like tchotchkes.  I kind of like tchotchkes.  They are kitschy.  I like kitschy things.  I do know if that is because I actually like them or because I really like the word “kitschy.”  Either way, the trees look alive.  I bet most people would think that trees would be wise since they are so old, but they only stay in one spot for their whole lives, so they are probably only wise about a small area.  That’s kind of useless unless you really need to know exactly what happened at the corner of Ramblewood Lane and Sparrow Court throughout the course of the past one hundred and fifty years.  Or unless they ponder philosophy.  Then they would be very wise.  They’ve had a lot of time to think, so they probably would know whether or not God exists and the true meaning of life.  They probably know the secret to world peace, too. The goddamn trees are holding out on us.  If they would let us know, maybe we could stop cutting them down and turning them into gavels.  Maybe they aren’t that wise.  I think that if they were, they would do everything in their power to stop becoming gavels.  (And maybe tchotchkes.)  Even if trees are not wise, I bet they like the wind.  It lets them move without us realizing that they are alive.  Well, we know that they are alive in the sense that they create oxygen and stuff, but I mean really alive.  They can stretch their limbs and shake out their knots when it’s windy and people don’t question it. 

I wonder what their stance woodpeckers is.  Also, squirrels.  

OOPS.

I never posted anything wonderful. Tomorrow. I will tomorrow.

BLARGHHHHH

I feel inspired. I shall write something today or tomorrow that is not me being depressed and ranting. Something that is actually creative, perhaps.

hot and cold

is how I feel. figuratively, speaking, of course. I feel happy, and then I feel so unbelievably sad.
I feel tired all the time, though. that doesn't change. not ever.
perhaps I am sick. I hope I am sick. then, I will eventually get better and this will stop.
it needs to stop.
I feel terrible. sometimes I just can't handle it. I get overwhelmed and need to leave. it's like a switch that goes off and I begin to shatter. then I just need to go break into pieces in private. not in the crying sense breaking into pieces, though; more in the literal sense of turing into a pile of rubble. I disintegrate like an old statue or something. it's stupid.
it generally doesn't stop on it's own either. someone needs to stick me back together.

scotch tape and glue sticks.
that's what I am these days.

I do like arts and crafts.


lovely.

bambi

I feel very content and very weird. I like the way the bricks look with salt on them. They look briny. Like rocks when you take them out of the ocean. I wonder if deer would like to lick them. Rainbow deer would be very nice to look at. I wish I could get a bunch of deer and make them colorful. That would be pretty. I bet they would like to lick the bricks and rocks. Then they wouldn't look salty and nice, but there would be rainbow-colored deer around so I wouldn't even mind.

moving day

or at least it feels like it. I need to put some extra tape on my little boxes made of ticky tacky. the really strong packing kind should do. I hope. if not, I am screwed. but it should work. I will seal up the boxes very well so that there will not be any unexpected holes or leaks, and then I will hide them. that way I won't think or feel.

I like gray/grey a lot. I want to move to somewhere very gray. it matches me.
I suppose that sounds sad, but I don't mean it in a sad way. I like grey, so it's not that sad. I like the sky when it's grey from snowing. it is very opaque. I like that. it's like a blanket. it hides the sky completely. it looks cozy. that's where I should put my boxes. behind the gray snow-clouds.

I wonder if I am okay. I can't tell, and I suppose that is bad, but I prefer it this way. I think even if I am not okay, it's okay. I don't particularly mind not being okay sometimes. everyone needs to not be okay. how else would you know when you are okay? I think I'm okay enough. but not too okay. that's fine, though. maybe it will make me more grey. like the clouds when it snows. I think I would like to be that gray.

this is le suck.

y zee worst. BOOOOO.



happy birthday to meeee!

teenage dirtbag

I hate being mad at people I love. then I don't want to tell them I am mad, but I know that I should because I love them and they love me so they would want to fix it. but then I feel badly. I don't want them to know that they hurt me because that might hurt them. then it's just a vicious cycle of hurt. I don't like hurt. but I am very hurt. and sad. I wish this had just worked out for me. I know it never could have, but why does it have to be because of her? and why doesn't she realize that? and why doesn't she realize that because I love her so much, it hurts that she's the reason why I hurt.
I'm glad it didn't work though.
no I'm not.
but it's for the best. at least that's what I want to think.

apparently lesbians like me. maybe I should just do that. although that might be rude and insulting to actual lesbians. I bet that would throw everyone for a loop, though. I like not being predictable. except, by saying this it makes it predictable and less out of left field. whoops.



I wish I was magnetic.

avarice

I hate it when bands I love start to get famous. especially when they are newer to me. that hurts worse. it feels a lot like some wonderful private refuge I had has been exposed and turned into a tourist attraction and is no longer mine. the visitors all think that the place is just the neatest thing ever, but they will never love it as much as I did.
obviously, I should be happy for the bands and the success they find, but I just cannot. this makes me feel a little like a bad person, but I really can't help it. it greatly and genuinely upsets me to hear songs I cherish on the radio.
I suppose that makes me selfish.
but isn't everyone?

abracadabra

Hello, my name is Shannon and I have magical powers.
While some might consider my particular power a curse, I like to think of it as a gift. I have a knack for getting people back together.
You see, my gift is that the moment I develop an interest in a guy, he will inevitably make out with his most recent ex.
Why this happens, I have not a clue. But it does. And with shocking regularity.
In fact, the last three guys I have fancied have done this. After the first one I was kind of devastated. After the second, I was a bit heartbroken, but I also realized that there might be something weird going on. Granted, that didn't make it suck less. Plus, I still questioned why it happened and thought maybe I had just done something wrong.
After the third, I knew there was something out of the ordinary going on. I wasn't even sad.
It is hard to be upset when you know that you have supernatural abilities.

Also, it is very nice to know that the only reason why boys don't like is you because you're magical.
That's the main reason why it's a gift.

6. Judge Judy (Garland)

I hardly ever pass negative judgment. I don't really understand how to. I mean, sure I sometimes think people are selfish or insecure, but those aren't necessarily bad things. They’re just things. We all deal with them, some just more than others. I think that people can’t really help how selfish or insecure they are, so why should we consider them character flaws? Sure, for someone interacting with a selfish person, it’s not necessarily pleasant, but then you just have to account for that aspect of his personality and adjust. Perhaps you could let this person talk about himself for a bit longer than you find acceptable for other people. Or maybe you can learn to count on him just a little bit less. The same thing goes for insecure people; their need for constant reassuring might be seen as annoying, but apparently they need it, so why not give it to them. You might not be able to joke around as much with a person like this, but everyone has her own quirks. Perhaps you could go out of your way to throw her a compliment every now and then. You could compliment her to be a nice person and help make her day a little bit brighter, or if you are a selfish person, perhaps you could compliment her in hopes that your compliment will help to permanently raise her self-esteem. And if this happens, you won’t have to be careful around her anymore, and maybe she’ll even stop talking about how fat/ugly/stupid she is all the time!

If more people understood that things like selfishness and insecurities cannot always be controlled, I think that the world would run a bit more smoothly. We could all accommodate for individual’s personalities and learn how to make each other happier.

I should start a campaign. Perhaps I should post flyers:  

“ATTENTION EVERYONE: ACCOMMODATE FOR OTHER’S PERSONALITIES WHEN YOU INTERACT WITH THEM. SUCK IT UP AND TRY TO UNDERSTAND.” Maybe I could hold a seminar and explain it. It would be very nice if people understood.

If people really did understand, we could all wear labels with short descriptions of our personalities. We could make special codes and symbols for them to make it easier but more complicated because I think people like that. I don’t really know why that is. If everyone knew what other people’s personalities were, and also knew how to interact with different personalities, we could treat each other correctly and always be the best versions of ourselves. That would be nice. 

oopsies.

my hero and role-model did not win album of the year.
perhaps this means I need to step up my whoring-around for gender equality campaign.

but really, why are girls sluts for doing things that are normal for guys? so dumb.

also, I keep forgetting to pick up the three rolls of film I got developed. WHOOPS. I will pick them up tomorrow, I suppose. I hope my pictures came out well.
if they did, I will post them and write poems and stories and ballads and interoffice memos based off of them. I will get reeeeeal fucking artsy. and you will like it.

or, you'll be like, "look at that fucking hipster." and I'll be like, "NO. that's rachel. I just wanna be worthwhile and perhaps a little bit grunge, if I have to label myself for you. didn't you love the 90s as much as I did? I realize I was only a child back then, but I knew what was good. also, I really liked hootie and the blowfish in preschool." and you will say, "that's nice, but they weren't a grunge band." and I will retort, "well obviously, good sir. but clearly if hootie and the blowfish was my favorite band at age four and I distinctly remember rocking out to them after snack time, I remember other important stuff from the 90s. like how the grunge kids dressed and their cool music. and as a preschooler, I wanted to be like them except, seeing as I was four, I did not know how to go about doing so. but now I do know. plus, I also remember loving it when my brothers listened to the smashing pumpkins. and I sometimes like to wear boots with dresses and not bathe. it works."
"although, I would rather just be worthwhile and not have a clear-cut label. however, 'occasionally a little bit grunge' has asymmetrical-fuzzy edges and therefore is fine." then, you will accept defeat and back away.
or perhaps fear and confusion are why you leave.
whatever. I still win.


I need to bathe. I think my hair is a fire hazard.

...virginia woolf.