Grand News!

I finally have internet again!

I had to move my laptop to another room so that I could be connected to the internet via hardlines (I know, so archiac already), and even that took a while to figure out, but my father finally got me connected. I suppose now I don't have have an excuse not to write anymore. No more laying around like a lazy bum without a pencil in my hand anymore - or with my fingers on the keys, as it were.

So...not much has been happening while I was net-less. I've been reading...and doing homework...and reading some more...and doing some more homework. Which reminds, by the way, that I should be doing homework right now. Next week is the last week of English class, which means that I have a presentation and a ten-page paper due (neither of which are even started), and I also need to study for the final. Guess I'll be blogging more later.

RIP Netgear

I'm sorry; I haven't posted anything for a couple days, and I'm not likely to post anything for a while after this. You see, a few days ago, my internet died. My tech-geek dad hasn't been able to figure it out yet. My laptop is now good only for typing and computer games. So anytime I need to do something online, I have to borrow one of my parents' laptops. It generally isn't very often that they will let me do that.

I'm still job hunting. It will probably be a while before I get hired, and then it will be another while before I have enough money to get another laptop (especially since I have to start paying rent in February), so my postings will be few and far between in the meantime. I'll try to type and save stuff so I can post it when I have the opportunity.

Job Hunting Sucks

I really hate job hunting.

I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but there's a new restaurant opening in town, and I applied to work there last Friday. I was part of a large group interview (which was a horrifying experience, in my opinion - I had one shot to say everything important and that was it). My parents told me there was a good chance I got a job (though I disagreed). My mother was especially optimistic; she made me answer the phone every time it rang on Monday and Tuesday (when I was supposed to hear back if I was hired), despite my cynical, disbelieving attitude. I don't ever expect to get hired. After all, I'm just another hopeful, inexperienced teenager in a mass of people who are looking for jobs.

Well, today is Wednesday and I was not hired. I can't honestly say this surprises me. My mother is driving me insane. Every time I apply somewhere, she becomes just so certain that I must get this job. She tries to get me all excited every single time. And every single time I am disappointed. Now I have to muster up enough energy to put myself out there again, because today I found out that my mother is going to have me start paying rent every month when I turn 18. This means that I no longer would like a job: now I must have a job, because if I don't, I won't be able to pay my rent and then I'll get kicked out of the house.

So today, my mother decided that instead of doing my English homework (which is due tonight in the college class I'm taking), I should go job-hunting! That's what I've been doing today, and it's been very taxing on my nerves. I've had absolutely no luck. Nobody wants a teenage employee; teenagers are supposed to be moody, unstable, and most importantly, inexperienced.

How am I supposed to get experience if no one will hire me?

*sigh*

The Mind in the Night

This is a poem I wrote a little while ago about the relationship between the conscious and the subconscious (or unconscious). I'm still trying to decided if I like it or not. I think there's a lot of room for improvement, so let me know if you see anything that needs work (I'm sure you will - I hope).

We flowed from our dreams into being -

Touched only with our fingers, entwined,

No warmth in our chilled translucent skin -

Spoke only silent words,

Our ghostly breaths on the night air

The echoes of thoughts.

Our pale voices were petals of cherry blossoms, 
locked under the black surface of water,

Ever drifting, mere shadows of light - thin, and soft

There was no fleeting reality as we walked across crystalline waves

And the frothy sea foam washed over our feet.

We swept through the stars, hovering around us like icy fireflies;

Our cold lips were parted as if to let our souls escape...

So we lasted, until the dawn began,

Until dusk shattered our fragile darkness

And sent us back into our dreams.

Calvin and Hobbes - Philosophers

While my dad was cleaning his office, he found an old Calvin and Hobbes comic book that had come from the library. The due date was July 2007. Since I'd already paid for it several years ago, I decided to keep it. I mean, I could have returned it and tried to get credit back on my account, but the library only gives you credit if the book is worth a certain account. Anyway, why take it back when I could keep it and have my very own Calvin and Hobbes book?

I love Calvin and Hobbes. The drawing is fantastic, the facial expression are hilarious, and the subtle social commentary is funny in a depressingly accurate sort of way. Calvin is like a six-year-old genius, who struggles to understand the world. He's alternately planning mischief in the spirit of malevolence and feeling lost at the paradoxes in adult society. And he's always accompanied by his stuffed tiger, Hobbes, who seems to be very smart and at peace with the world. He doesn't wrestle with the contradictions, he just accepts them.

It's amazing how childhood can be used to reflect the absurdities of adult life.

Endless Ink Spots

Ink splatters on a page
Are hopeless fingers
Wasting their days writing -
What does it mean?

I used to be a writer. When I was 13, I decided that when I grew up, I would be a famous novelist like J. K. Rowling. I created my story; a member of an ancient race of mentally superior beings goes bad and must be killed by the Chosen One. I wrote thousands and thousands of words for my story. I did tons of research into the art of novel writing and just writing in general. I took classes. I practiced and I practiced my writing. Eventually, I was even good at it.

But it wasn't enough.

I wanted nothing less than perfection. I wanted my books to wield their own powerful sense of being. I wanted them to be alive and personal and full of color. I wanted my readers to cling to their pages, breathing in the smell as though trying to suck in the atmosphere. I wanted to be placed in the Literary Hall of Fame next to the likes of Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Stephen King, J. R. R. Tolkien, and of course, J. K. Rowling. I wanted to achieve immortality through my words.

This was an ideal I could not reach. I think I knew that from the beginning, but I clung stubbornly to my ideal. In the words of J. R. R. Tolkien's hobbit, it was precious to me. Still, you can't sleep forever. One day you have to wake up from the dream. My waking up was slow, reluctant, and painless. It was a gradually drifting away pervaded by the kind of bittersweet sorrow that follows things lost. I was distracted. The notebooks began to gather dust, the pencils grew dull, the saved files were not renewed.

I don't write seriously anymore. I just write for fun. Mostly I just have this little blog here for blurbs and vignettes and whatnot. In the end though, all the learning I had during my writing phase paid off. I got full credit on the english related sections of the SAT (except for the essay...I dunno what happened there). I do well in all my english classes. I occasionally write something, a piece of a story, but I never show anything to anyone. I never will. Maybe one day, though, I'll go back to writing.