losing sleep for days, is this just a phase?

You feel guilty a lot. You're not anywhere near the best friend, even when you do happen to be at your best. You think that you can't blame others for sliding you back down the scale to 'friend', 'acquaintance', for being irate with you. You're sorry for it, for withdrawing; though what does that matter when you don't--won't say it to their face. You want to be better, but--

You don't like to talk. You like to think about what you're going to say before you say it (which doesn't always necessarily work out, but you like to Try) because you want to be able to say what you mean, and because there's Too Much inside your head. It's hard to keep track of all the things you need to do and to say without letting anything else irrelevant spill out. You can't risk it. You need to keep yourself to yourself, because your mind is Too Much, Too Big, for an outlet that is as small as your mouth, as the words you let scrawl across the page. You can't let anyone else know what horribly beautiful (or is it beautifully horrible?) things are locked inside your mind. 

There's something that shouldn't be messed with, and that thing is your mind. Really, you don't want to be crazy. You've heard it before - you're a little different (or what others call 'special' when they don't want to hurt your feelings by saying what they really mean). You're a little bit risky, a little bit scary, a lot not enough. You've always wished you could be brave enough to be what you admire in others. 

You're an introvert, you know. Perhaps you're just simply not built for interaction. People like you don't function with society. 

[x] writings; three

he breaks her heart when they're eight. he doesn't do it on purpose, but it happens all the same. his little boy hands aren't enough when she asks him to hold on to her heart for her. he doesn't do it on purpose. her heart slips and falls through his fingers and her eyes go wide. she scrambles to catch it, but gets tangled up in all her feathers. the air shudders with the impact of a silent boom of thunder, and then everything cracks. when she collects herself enough to look, her heart lies broken on the floor. he babbles apologies, but she just smiles, small and detached, and tells him it's not his fault. she kneels down and carefully picks up the broken pieces of her heart. she tries as best as she can to mend it, but nothing works.

in the end, she's left with two halves of a beating heart that she doesn't know what to do with.

--

he thinks about splashing, smearing, clogging up dirty alley walls with vivid, sharp paint. he thinks about swirling leaves and gang leader faces, petty, childish flirtations, and deeper, lasting, bonding friendships. he thinks about fires and ambulances, newspapers and life support; breaking, crying over his girl looking fragile and drowning in white cotton and hearing that she might make it. she might. he thinks about how he clung to that hope that she'd survive, and hearing that a clumsy doctor tripped the cord.

he thinks about suffocating funerals and dying in the dirt, and future promises that changed from i will to we will that broke.

--

her hair is this impossible shade of red. it's this shaded, jaded, glorious amaranth that makes him want to rip the petals out of the flowers that she's carrying. it's a colour that is so achingly familiar that, for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. it's morbidly fascinating, watching this girl frisk along in dark ribbons and lace and silk that she has no right to be wearing. the leaves flutter up around her as she totters down the sidewalk, kicking at the piles. her feet aren't broken in for these clunky heels and he locks his eyes on her ankles, brittle and wobbling and threatening to snap and collapse under her. he can't look her in the eyes, because her eyes are just as wide and just as artificial candy blue as he remembers, but the difference is that the last time he remembers seeing her, her eyes had learned how to hold back the burn of tears. these eyes look like they're always crying.

do you remember? he wants to ask but doesn't because if he does, she'll look at him and ask, who are you? 

metrics #4

This is the final metrics post for NaNo 2013 ! Exciting, I suppose, and yet, disappointing. I'll probably keep doing these metrics posts whenever I work on what I started for NaNo, whose title is tentatively being abbreviated to RTN. Quite apt, considering, if you are one of the few who a) know what it stands for and b) know the gist of my plotline.

Anyway, metrics for week 4 (and a bit): 8401. So, I have a grand total of 33291 for the month of November.

I'm a little upset that I didn't make it to the 50k mark on RTN. (I can feel the rest of you staring at me like holy shit, 33291 words in 30 days is fucking amazing; shh, you don't know what it's like.) Considering the monster that this is going to turn out to be, I probably should have made more of an effort to bash out as much as possible. Still, it's a nice number to look at in retrospect, and definitely more than the combined total of everything else I'd written in the rest of the year.

In case anyone was curious, here's some music that I've been listening to pretty frequently while writing during November!
Bridge Attack//Bill Whelan
Phoenix//Daft Punk
Mighty Micro People//Amon Tobin
Concorde//Glen Check
Drifting//Lucid Fall
Easy To Crash//Cake

Also, hello December ! Isn't it hard to believe that we're so close to 2014 already? Where have all the days gone?

metrics #3

This week's metrics: 13436, which makes a current total of 24890. 

I'm surprised myself, especially considering this is more than I've written in the past two weeks. It's amazing what a talk through about outlines and plot points and character developments can do for you. If only the first two weeks had been this good, I would've had a real chance at making it to 50k. Still, I'm really happy with how productive this week was, and how I'm progressing overall. 

Of course, if you look at everything that I've written this month, and not just at NaNo, then I'd definitely hit 50k. Whatever. I don't regret writing for other people at the same time this month. What I will regret, though, when I'm going back and trying to piece together all the parts that I have done for NaNo is not writing chronologically. I don't doubt that my writing's been improving - it's hard to avoid when you're pushing yourself to write every day, regardless of how little - but oh god, it's going to be so obvious what was written when and ahhh, the editing and re-writing that'll have to happen to smooth it over and make it cohesive will be an absolute nightmare. That's not going to happen for a long while yet, though. I don't want to edit before I've completed a first draft which, at this stage, isn't going to be finished for months yet. 

(F, if you're reading this, I HAVE, IN NO WAY, GOT MY SHIT TOGETHER. I am awful with continuity but linear writing? Not for me.) 

metrics #2

I meant to post this earlier but I got distracted by drowning in strawberries and being dumb enough to cut up the inside of my mouth. Again. And now I'm posting this from my phone at like 2.30AM. (This is so tedious, I'm never doing it again.) I'm actually meant to be sleeping, but my anxiety, insecurities and fears of being inadequate are keeping me awake. Good fun. I'll probably post about that in the next few days, once I've properly sorted out my thoughts.

Anyway, this weeks metrics: 5128.

It's even more appalling than last week, unfortunately. Still, this ups me to... 11454 in 14 days. A dismal amount, but unsurprising, considering my struggles during this time. It should get better from here on though. I have a clearer idea of what needs to get done. All I need to do is sit down and actually get to it.

hear them promise a story if only i'll listen

Every day I tell myself I should do something productive, except oh wait, I'm not done with all that nothing I already started.

Relatively short post to say that today I TC'd with L and S for a good four or so hours about NaNo, despite being horrendously behind on where I should be. L is pretty on track in terms of metrics, but she's facing a lot of difficulties in terms of inconsistencies in her plot, so we sobbed about that together for a while. Her plot is so delicious though. S is ahead of his plans, but that was expected. I would be upset about his ability to write so beautifully and fluently if I didn't know how much he sacrifices for it. I don't know how he does it really - juggling school and study and games and tutoring and writing. I wish I could time manage that well.

After today, I'm feeling better about NaNo, though. I'm so thankful that I have L and S to hold my hand and walk me through it this year, talk to me about what the problems are and things I can work on to iron them out. They're friends that I never thought that I'd have. I think I know, for the most part, where my characters are going now though I'm still afraid that they're going to run away with me in tow. If I don't make the 50k (which is what I strongly suspect is going to happen because, oh god, I am horrendously behind to the point where I doubt even the full days of writing that I might be able to pull out now won't up my metrics to where I should be), at least I've made headway into something that could be mine. NaNo will probably just end up being an excuse to write, write freely without thinking about needed to edit and correct - that can all come later - and just improve.

An excerpt:
They seek him out more and more often, asking him to help them, please, please help them. He learns not to pull away. Trying to free himself from their unwilling grasps leaves him with dark bruises and welts that he has to conceal with long sleeves and gloves because they take weeks to heal. He can close his eyes, block out the scenes, block out their faces, but he can’t block out the sounds. Their voices pierce through everything. There are times when they are angry, screaming at him to do something. There are yet more times when they don’t speak to him at all, just stare at him with cold, hard, accusing eyes, as if he were the one responsible. Or maybe they're just demanding to know why he hasn't found the ones who are. He doesn't know. He's not sure he wants to. Then there are those who spend the day reliving the end. Those are the worst of all.

I might be feeling better about NaNo, but Team 17: The Future Remix is still driving me up the wall. Who let me think this was a good idea?

metrics #1

Two days late, but the week's total: an appalling 6326.

There's still a lot more to get done. I'm nowhere near reaching my usual, even for the day, which is frustrating. I broke off for three days so today I'm desperately trying to play catch up. I suspect in the next day or so I'm going to have to pause and figure out how to tie what I already have in together so that I can have a reasonable discussion on progressions on Wednesday.

At least I'm progressing, learning, pushing myself. Kind of.

let's step up

Happy November ! The weather skips between gorgeous and depressing; it's playing havoc with my moods though I really should be used to temperamental weather by now.

I know I said that I would backlog entries, and I will, I promise. I'm feeling a lot better than I was a week ago, so I actually have the time and energy to spend on doing all the things I was supposed to do last week. I should be grateful that my body chose last week to give off fighting my sickness. I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did - I've been feeling like I'm going to get sick for a good two months, at least. Anyway, I got knocked out for about five or six days where all I really did was just lie around in bed and alternate between complaining about being sick to people and just sleeping away the entire day.

I managed to Skype with A and E for the first time in a long while. I'm not particularly good friends with E - mostly I like her because A likes her so much - but she's always fun to talk to. She had to leave for work not long after, but I got to talk to A for an hour or so longer. A is still one of my favourite people, for all that we haven't talked much this year, being so caught up in our respective lives. She is the type where I know that if I reach out to her, she'll always respond. She demo'd something that she's been working on to me, which I really loved, even if it wasn't the best sound quality and I didn't quite understand all of it. She's always been able to find, to make the time for what makes her happiest. She compartmentalises in a way that I can only envy.

C and R left on Tuesday for Bali, so we've been charged, as always, with the responsibility for B, H and P. The more this happens, the less enthused I am about it. Although we did receive oranges and lemons and coriander from C and E prior to their leaving. I don't think I'd like to have pets. They're fun to play with but I think I am too concerned with being clean to be able to care for them and play with them on a regular basis.

I caught up with S on Friday for the first time in a while, mostly because we needed to trade items. Every time I see her, I'm reminded of how different we've become. It's strange to think about how just two years ago I would have counted her among one of my closest friends. Two years ago, we could spend at least six hours together and not run out of things to talk about. Now, it seems an accomplishment if we last 30 minutes without any awkward silences. PT was particularly terrible, so instead of the two or so hours that I'd allocated, I ended up being with her for something like four hours - accompanying her to the orthodontist, and then just sitting around in the city for a while.

I love my mother but, as most if not all of us do, I have a complicated relationship with her. Tonight, I just want to complain that she's driving me up the wall in a very shallow, standard mother kind of way. I understand that she says the things that she does because she cares about me, that she's just trying to look out for me, but sometimes it feels like she thinks I have the intelligence of a child under ten in the 1800's or something. I don't want to sound unappreciative, because it would suck if she just didn't care about what I was doing, but there is no enjoyment in being made to feel as though I am somewhat incompetent and reckless.

Now that it's November, it's officially NaNoWriMo. I'm nowhere near where I should be in terms of metrics though, which is depressing, since it is still early days. Does this herald how the rest of the month will pan out? I certainly hope not. I'll just have to work harder. At the very least, I don't have exams to worry about studying for simultaneously. I've (tentatively) planned a TC session with S and L in ten days, just to talk about how we're all doing. Hopefully I'll have something of substance by then.

ETA: This entry is all over the place. I apologise to anyone and everyone who actually read it. The saddest part about it is that I really don't have any excuse as to why it was so...disorganised? Well, I'll try and do better in the future.

[x] fragment dump #1

More snippets related to the world this is in. Real backlogging tomorrow night, I swear.

It's easier to remember control sometimes, when she is around him. When she's close to him, it's easy to remember just how easily she could snap and break him. She has to be in control around him, has to be, because he is one thing that she will protect. He has four different kinds of green ties and he likes the one with thin silver stripes through it best, she recites to herself. His favourite colour is red and always has been and he's afraid of--

"Hey, are you okay?" And then her vision is filled with a bright smile and endlessly blue eyes. 
"Fine," she says and the smile she gives in return reaches her eyes easily. Nothing is ever faked when she's around him. 
"Good," he says, and throws an arm over her shoulder. She tries to ignore the way that heat spreads all through her from the points where they're touching, how just this one action has her heart beating double time. "Let's go out for lunch." 

--

Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel, it's just the way that she is: careless with people that she doesn't love. And she is so careful, so selective about who she chooses to love. People count themselves lucky, to be able to say with confidence that they are friends with her. And they are lucky, because once you have earned yourself a piece of her heart, it is yours forever. There aren't many who can say they are friends with her, and there are even less who can say, with absolute certainty, that she would do anything for them. She is fiercely loyal to those she calls her own. Everyone knows that she doesn't mean to be cruel but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt to see that, for all that their group is so tightly-knit, he is the only one that she watches so carefully; that she is able to dismiss them so easily. It still hurts to see that she is careless with people who are not hers. 

--

Love, you think, and then, no. Not love, never love. I love you, too, is on the tip of your tongue, because that's what you've learned to say, to say without meaning. It's what was drilled in to you: love your friends but don't love your friends. You won't--you can't say anything that she wants to hear so you don't say anything at all. Love. You think that she has no idea what love is. 

--

She chokes back a sob and lurches forward, clutching at your shirt, winding her fingers in the thin material. You wonder, distantly, how long it has been. Will the others have noticed your disappearance, or will they just write it off as the two of you being you again? The thought brings a laugh burbling to your lips - you would deserve it, after night after night spent sneaking out of the bathroom window and disappearing until dawn even when it was prohibited. She helps you to stand, walksdrags the both of you on to the ledge, toes just over the edge. She sways slightly, rocking you along with her, pressing against the railing. It bites into your stomach and you reach out, fingers finding the worn, faint, barely there scratches of a melody beneath your fingertips. The city lights flash and blur as you stare blindly into them and remember. 

don't take it easy, just make it harder to breathe

What have I even done in this past week? I can barely remember. After what C revealed yesterday, I'm suddenly a little more concerned about who is even reading this out there. (Hi? Hello? Please tell me who you are :c).

I spent most of the early part of this week and also tonight thinking a lot about NaNo. I think I have a vague idea of what I might do now, if I do it at all. Perhaps I should aim a little lower than 50k, I have never been good at length. Looking back at things I've done for past NaNo's, it's obvious that my plot, my writing has become forced towards the end in an attempt to make it to that 50k mark. Like O says, if I make the 50k that's great, but if not, at least I'm writing something that I want to be. It definitely needs to be fleshed out properly and expanded on before November starts, of course. I'll probably get S to help me out with that. L's plans still run a little too close to mine for comfort, but it can't be helped. We have completely different writing styles, anyway.

I meant to post about M's birthday last Saturday but that clearly never happened. In any case, it was pretty good, even if I ended up being there for only about an hour. The Lab on Bourke has decent sorbet, though I think my enjoyment stemmed more from having observed the nitrogen making part of it. I stumbled on the escalators at Flinders on the way home and, a week later, still have the bruising and the scratch. I should learn to be more careful ;;

On Thursday A graduated! Graduations are always a fun event, and A, T, X, M and I went out to Monga in Glen Waverley for dinner to celebrate. Or rather, they had dinner and I sort of...observed and had dessert? I should learn to eat real, regular meals :( It was a good time, and I got to experience X, M and T's driving, all in one night. T dropped me off at MC afterwards, where I met up for a bit with O and got introduced to C, who seems perfectly lovely and like lots of fun. I wouldn't mind seeing her again.

I am the most terrible at decision making, tbh. O and I originally had plans for cake on Friday, but ended up with ice cream from Baskin Robbins. Not that I mind - I like ice cream nearly as much as I like cake, and the strawberry cheesecake was delicious. We walked around Chadstone until he had to leave, and then I met up with X a little while later to finish shopping around for C's present. It took a while, but we managed in the end. I am so thankful that I am good at remembering little details, because otherwise we might've ended up embarrassed like some of the others were.

Yesterday (Saturday) was C's birthday at her new-ish house. Her house is so big and fancy that a few of us joked about her not actually living there but instead having rented it out just to have her birthday in. C is always so pretty and wonderful, I don't know how she manages it. She bakes to levels I can only envy. It's always good to see people outside of a uni context, too. I dragged A, A and X into violating C's privacy by invading her room and her joint study while she was unawares. Later, M and I lay on her bed and investigated her wardrobe too. I got to rub my face on her clothes, which I'm pretty certain she still doesn't know about. I also finally got to reunite with O for the first time in about 15 years! She is tiny and cute and talented and omg I love her ;__; She was my best friend in prep and I am determined not to lose contact with her again. It should be easier now, after this first time. It probably helps that our siblings are friends, too.

I Skyped with J around midday , the type of conversation where you say nothing important at all, which resulted in me saying, "This is a really weird conversation and I'm not sure how we got here", and her telling me that, "This is how everyone else feels when they talk to you", haha. I also TC'd with F and her boyfriend! She asked if O and I are the sickening type who have pet names for each other in public (because she and G are), which actually confused me. We're not, at this point, which is a little odd to think about because I have in past relationships, and I do with a lot of people that I'm friends with. K, for example, is always sweetie with me, while L and C and J are darling; EJ and A and N used to be love. I always get baby from S and V, pet from P (how English she is will never fail to amuse me), hon/hun from M, and angel from T. Maybe I'd find it easier if I didn't already have so many people I use endearments with; there are only so many before you have to start using the disgustingly sickening kind - and I have vowed to never sink that far. It's not necessarily a bad thing that we don't at this stage; it's just different.

There was a group meeting for 4250 in the city this afternoon, which left me feeling drained, both emotionally and physically. Everything about this is beginning to set my teeth on edge. Possibly this overflow of emotions is part of my getting sick (again), which is in no part thanks to the awful, bipolar weather we endured today. I'm tired of being tired. There's only two weeks left, and then I can pass out forever, thankfully. Or at least, for something like forever.

living life hard until we die

SAMA Social Night last Friday. C's birthday on Saturday. Skype with my favourite 姐姐 K on Sunday afternoon, and dinner/dessert with a combination of the C4 and VR6 on Sunday night. Frantic last minute house cleaning today. Relatives arriving on Tuesday. Taking D out on Wednesday and possibly Thursday morning. Potentially seeing K on Saturday afternoon, and then M's birthday on Saturday night. I'm still feeling like I'm on the way to getting sick so if I don't collapse at the end of this week, it'll be a miracle. I've been sleeping a bit earlier than usual and taking tablets though, so hopefully that helps somewhat.

I feel like there's not much to say about Friday's and Saturday's events. Got my younger sister to braid my hair before she had to leave for cheerleading practice. Formal events are always a delight to me; there are some people who clean up incredibly well when they try and it's nice to be reminded of that. Attendance was low at Social Night which made the percentage of people that I actually knew/liked significantly higher; that still wasn't exactly a lot of people. There were quite a few people that I'm certain I have never seen before there too. I still had a reasonably good time, though.

C's birthday was a pretty small affair. Part of me is still convinced that it would've been a better idea to postpone it, since half of tlist ended up not being able to attend and because pretty much all of us who ended up showing up (C, T, V, L and I) weren't exactly feeling all that great either. Met up with T earlier though still later than we originally planned (why am I so terrible at being on time nowadays ;;) and then ran into V while we were hanging out at Chatime. C was late, which wasn't exactly a surprise. Dumplings and tea for lunch and then L showed up for NRB until 7. I could literally feel my throat dying over the course of the afternoon but it was still pretty fun. The only downside was being stuck on a train afterwards that was full of people coming back from the AFL grand final and from the Royal Melbourne Show.

I cried a lot on Saturday night, but then, what else is new? Ever since That Era, it's like I cry at everything. Everything. It's not exactly ideal but it's definitely better that I'm able to express emotions now. I am also pretty sure I'm turning into some kind of stress baker, which is also not necessarily a good thing.

Skype with K was wonderful. It's been around three weeks since the last time that we both had the time to have a conversation. Even though this one wasn't particularly long it was still lovely to be able to talk to her properly again. It was a conversation full of capslock and catching up on life and other ridiculous things.
K: idk how i'd explain that to my mother. "yeah wen told me to start collecting hedgehogs so here we are"
Me: shhh they're small she wouldn't have to find out

Dinner last night was a standard affair. V picked me up and we met up with K2 at WG's for dinner, before seeing C, F and J afterwards for dessert. I still sounded awful though, but it was worth it. I don't know when we'll next be able to line up our schedules with free time. It's been months since I've seen them. I was initially pretty worried despite everything that K2 have been telling me. It's sort of strange to think about; I met C when she was so young and she's so grown up now. She'll be amazing though, and I think I'm okay with entrusting F with her. I'll learn to be.

L and D and S spoke to me about their potential plans for NaNo on Saturday night/Sunday morning. Sometimes I despair, because I wonder about how can I ever measure up beside them. I can't imagine ever being able to stop trying, though. I'm considering either the post-apocalypse or the mutants/superpowers 'verses, though the latter is similar to what L has planned. Government agents will probably be my last resort, though it is not at all intended for 50k. At least there's still a month to think about it.

I'm a little terrified, but I'm happy. I am. That's what matters.

trying emotions

For the stalkers who stalk (who is even reading this out there?): FUCK Y'ALL. EAT SHIT AND DIE.

I'm pretty sure that accurately sums up about 80% of my feelings over the last week. The things people have been saying to me, I already know, and they're the last things I want to be hearing. It's aggravating in the worst way, because I've (almost) never judged them in that way. Don't do it to me.

I feel like shit, physically. Please don't let me actually get sick.

A snippet of something that I've been working on recently:
Fear makes your tongue swell, damming up all your cries. She strokes your hair back off your forehead, dirt and sweat and blood matting it to your skin. You blink away the film across your eyes, stare up into eyes rimmed with red, a mix of saltwater tears and desperation. Her voice is faraway and distant, like a foghorn out at misty sea. You can't concentrate but her mouth is moving and you struggle to push the words and letters back into their places; English and French and German and Thai that you learnt the taste of before you knew the sounds. Her hands are shaking. There are thirteen bits of green in her eyes and each part is tinged with a little bit of insanity. 

NaNo's just over a month away. I need to start putting some thought into what I want to write 50,000 words of.

Real updates later, I guess.

[x] remnants of a past

You usually try to avoid leaving at this time. On some days, the ones where it doesn't matter if you miss the first ten or so minutes of class, you leave later. Those days get you lectures from your mother on how precious time is; most days you just leave earlier to spare yourself from it all. Everything's busy at this time, sounds and images that blur and distort as you make your way down the pavement. The streets are roaring with the engines of cars, buses; if you listen closely you can hear the alarm bells of the trams and the boom gates at the train station. 

Your bag sits heavy on your shoulder, dragging you down on one side both with its weight and the hair that's been trapped underneath the strap. You've been growing it out lately - you don't trust anyone in your family to come near you with scissors (years of uneven cuts and bangs in primary school taught you that, though nobody cared about that back then. It's only looking back at those photos now that has you cringing) and you've never made an appointment at the hairdresser. When you reach to lift the strap and tug the strands free, you stumble off-balance, figures pushing past you on each side of the narrow sidewalk. When you look up again, there are two boys with backpacks so large that you can't even see their torsos behind them racing ahead to the pedestrian lights, desperate to start crossing before the lights change and the traffic starts up again.

They don't make it and there's a brief battle over who pushes the button as you draw up and come to stand behind them. The boys are very young, their voices not yet broken; it makes you smile a little. A pair of sneakers enters your peripheral vision and you take a glance over at the woman in her beige suit. It looks a bit ridiculous, sneakers with a suit, but you can sympathise with that when you spot the top of a black heel peeking out from her handbag. If you were running around all day in high heels, you'd want a pair of comfortable shoes at the start and the end of the day, too. She doesn't notice your glance, she's too busy chattering into her mobile phone. You can't hear anything she's saying, her words blending into the constant drone of sound, but there's a nice timbre to her voice. Before you can turn your attention back to the pedestrian lights another voice cuts into your hears, loud and piercing. 

The voice belongs to a girl whose group of friends are arrayed around her. Her school blazer is unbuttoned, the dress tight across her chest with the first button undone, white socks slouching around skinny ankles. The whole ensemble is dragged slightly off centre by the Country Road bag draped over her shoulder. She drags manicured nails through her hair and continues to talk. She pauses as one of the other girls chimes in and glances around at the crowd of people waiting. Too late, you move to look away but she's already caught you, turning her head to look at you. You avert your eyes quickly, ducking your head to check the time on your watch. 

You can feel her gaze lingering on you, appraising you, and you are suddenly so horribly conscious of your faded school uniform (it was your sister's before it was yours because "it's still got some wear in it left") and your scuffed shoes. You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, spreading flush down your neck, even as she turns back to her friends. You can hear her make a comment, and as the lights change and the signal starts to beat, all her friends burst into high-pitched giggles. 

You cross the road quickly, weaving between the people, and stride ahead so you can leave behind the girls who are dawdling across the road in a straight line, immersed in their gossip. You feel the prickles of annoyance, hating them for their obvious vacuity, but hating yourself more for envying it. You could never be like them. You have your friends but you could never be like them, exuding such casual indifference, engaging in such mindless conversation. 

But you wish you could. You wish you could be one of those rich private school girls, beautiful and confident and so goddamn sure of your place in the world. 

***


When one has something they really don't want to do, there are suddenly a thousand things that suddenly seem so much more appealing. For me, in this past week, it entailed sorting out a box of books and papers from my high school days that had been haphazardly shoved into my closet.

My mother usually bemoans the fact that I like to hoard. Somehow, I simply cannot bear to get rid of anything. "But what if one day..." I tell myself, as I pack away yet more boxes full of papers and trinkets that I doubt I will ever look at again. Still, sometimes hoarding is not such a bad thing, I think. At the very least, you have the opportunity to stumble across a multitude of goods you had forgotten about. In my case, it was the excerpt from above. Judging from the contents, it's from...2006? or thereabouts. I was thirteen, then.


A lot of things have changed since I wrote this. It's funny how, in some ways, I feel I haven't changed at all.

an exercise in writing

For the longest time I shied away from the idea of blogging. Not because I thought it was stupid or anything like that, but rather, because I was afraid that I would be unable to transcribe my thoughts a) into anything resembling coherent and b) in a way that would be interesting for other people to read if they happened to stumble across my posts.

This is an attempt.