September 26, 2010

Memories, Diaries, and Youth

Last night, when I was going to sleep, I decided to open up my diary again, and, well, write. I meant to write about Connor, about the funeral. I ended up calling myself and idiot about the Rube thing, again, then worrying that the only bits of Dawson I could remember were the bad ones, near the end.

I then, of course, proceeded to spend half an hour compiling memories of Dawson. Because I am seventeen, and hormonal, and I do stupid things like that.

I want to say "I'm such a girl," but the feminist in me is getting grumpy, so perhaps "I'm such a stereotypical girl" would be preferable.

Regardless, I, per usual, have work to do.

So, as Rube always used to say, back before we embarked on this spree of mutual ignorance, farewell for now.

September 15, 2010

Grief is

Crying, then talking, then gazing into space occasionally when the memory comes back. Then, when the slightest joke is told, a suggestion that Kathrya's former beau (oh, Tybalt) is actually a robot, laughing almost hysterically for ten times as long as the joke merits, because it feels so good to finally laugh.

September 13, 2010

Dear World, Fate, and What Have You

Why are you so fucking stupid? I don't like having to write two grief posts in one year.

I'll miss his bedhead.

September 12, 2010

Another weekend draws to a close

I had a sum total of five hours of real, true relaxation this weekend. I spent these hours eating chinese food and playing 1984-themed Mafia while talking to Kathrya in person and Leila via skype.

The theme ended up not really functioning in practice, since we didn't have enough people, although it's possible that the second round, after I had left, went better.

I've decided to drop A.P. Spanish and take two frees. Getting my homework done not including Spanish still had me swamped, so I'm thinking that's a good idea, although once I get my college and science fair stuff in, I'm going to have a lot time on my hands.

Maybe I'll learn perl.

Well, that or sleep. I have a feeling I'll end up alternating between sleeping and reading trashy romance novels, just like I typically like to do. Predictable me.

I at least got round one of the Sieman's paper rewrite done. On second thought, I'm not sure if that competition name should have an apostrophe. Ah, well.

Yay for blogging! I'm going to go write another RSI post :)

September 10, 2010

Marvelous Mubbles

In homeroom, during receipt of planners.

Mubbles: When your home alone and you don't feel good, who are you going to call?


Class looks around and realizes that *everybody* said ghostbusters.

Mubbles: No, the school attendance line. Nice guess, though.

September 6, 2010

The Silent Boy

The first part of a story that will hopefully grow longer:

When he was born, nobody heard his cries.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In November, Lana found(knew) that she was pregnant. She told her husband David. He rejoiced. They held each other and were happy.

In March, the small swell between her breasts and her hips began to grow. She rounded like an overripe balloon. Her husband stood behind her, her back pressed against his front. He pushed(slid) under her shirt, splaying(spreading fanning stretching) his fingers across. The fetus(baby child) kicked. He felt it. She smiled.

In April, the kicking stopped. David lay for hours with his ear on Lana's watermelon(cantaloupe) stomach. She shook and swore that she was feeling the rumble of a body inside her, but David could not hear it, could not see it, could not feel it.

In May, Lana was kicked and David was nothing. He(they) touched to make him feel it, made love to make him feel it within her. She shook and David was empty. The ultrasound moved but the heart was missing.

In June, David argued with the obstetrician. He wanted the baby gone before Lana felt the pain.

Lana refused to believe that the baby was dead. She swore that she would try to nurse the dead child before she let him be put in the ground, swore that his life remained.

David cried for the sadness that Lana would feel.

In July, Lana went into labor. David rushed her to the hospital. The way a good husband(father) should. Lana pushed for a day and half a night.

In August, the other half of the night came, fast and hard. David held her hand, and she screamed the silent scream of the undead. The baby came. His mouth fell open as the medic held the child in his sterile arms. The baby shook ore than a dead child should. David hater of horror cringed at the sight.

Lana held open her arms. She reached for the child. When he touched her skin, Lana began to shake again, as his cries sounded behind her ears. She put him to her breast. He squabbled closer to nurse, and his little mouth began to work.

Only Lana heard him as he sucked her tit(teat breast).

David put a hand on his wife, a finger brushing the child to ask her to give in to death. When his hand came down, he heard it to, the suck suck sucking of a silent mouth.

When Lana and David brought Christopher home, they held him always, for as soon as they put him down, his cries vanished.

In September, in October, in forever, Christopher grew.

September 3, 2010

Week's End, The

Well, referring to this as a week is a stretch, but I feel more dead than my typical Friday self does. Hopefully this doesn't last all year, because that would be very, very unfortunate.

And I'm on fb chat, talking to Sadie and Bart, separately, and Sadie wants to skype, and then I'm going over to Nyx's, so I believe y'all are gonna get a highly abbreviated post.

My apologies.

September 2, 2010

School, Miserable School

I need to keep writing.

Right, blogging. More writing. More work. I need to keep it from becoming that, because that would qualify as a Bad Idea.

I still have all this weird capitalization left over from God of Small Things.

I still have 10,000 things to do. College shall be the death of me. So will school. But mostly college applications.

I like that school and college are somehow different. In the world that is in my head, anyways.

I like A.P. Physics because it is a review, and I can read during it. I like A. P. English because it involves books. I'm worried I'm more of an English geek than I originally intended to become.

Ah, well.