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yawn. says (9:09 PM): if i ever get fake shoot me or something
yawn. says (9:09 PM): or just say straight out “you are being fake”
Everytime I see some person – Smiling their face off, standing tall, laughing and talking - only to walk off by themselves – to sit by themselves and stare blanky at nothing..
Everytime someone says one thing to you – something different to the next – making up this perfect life they want to live..
The way some people fucking leech off everyone – all your gossip, all your lies and deciept – being more important than if their own mother was dying…
To all the people who feel the need to preach like they are some god – some person built to perfection..
And especially to the people who are convinced their life is great because they hide behind this pretty little face thats made up of makeup and nothing else…..
You are fake. You are faker than I can stretch my mind to understand. How you could possibly think you are living a happy and fufilled life – Do you believe it when you tell yourself over and over that you are perfect and all that jazz?
I hope not.. I really do.. I would rather be the girl frowned upon for swearing in front of mothers – known as “oh that girl – yes everyone knows her” – who looks like a boy – who tends to see the negative – who speaks too loud and always gets into trouble…
I would rather be seen as some crazy cat lady – than be fake – so sue me.
Who isn’t a fan on insanely blunt and slightly cynical gods? You dont? Well you’re just a tosser and not even your own mum likes you. Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, is Dylan Moran not the god of greatness and everything in between?
I am, as of now, taking to sticking post it notes on my forehead, or better yet, giving the oh so great middle finger response (very often), because some people just dont get it, or anything for that matter.
Tuesday: around 10.45
I reluctantly get off msn to my mother yelling at me for not doing enough work – starting work but not finishing – not giving her my washing which was subsequently followed by “well don’t fucking wash them I’ll wear a dirty shirt like I care” “yes because that’s what we do Sarah, wear dirty shirts… If you weren’t so focused on the internet and you concentrated more on work…” At which point she was on the track of her usual daily rant about me not putting enough time into school work and not being focused on what is important. Fortunately cut short, unfortunately by a huntsman spider on her wall. We live in a two story house and the 2nd story is generally warmer which I guess is the reason why there are always huntsman spiders on the level my parents and I live on. Problem 1 – my dad, although generally acceptable when it comes to getting rid of a spider (who cares how), is actually in
Kiribati at this moment (I think) and so he is unreachable. Also my brother (19) has begun to see the house as a kind of drop in point amongst his prime concerns, being; his girlfriend, work, his girlfriend, uni and his girlfriend – hence being unavailable as well (although he isn’t much use in terms of getting rid of spiders anyway – preferring the method of capture with a clear bucket so you are as far away as possible.) Then there is my mother – I really think she has arachnophobia (fear of spiders), I really do. The second I heard “oh SHIT” I didn’t even need to ask, I asked anyway, probably for my own amusement. She followed up with some short bursts of cursing Tim (my brother) and some crying. I’m not sure why though, I think she honestly thought I would be cruel enough to leave her standing in the hallway 8m away from the spider like it could jump and attach itself onto her neck. “Stop crying, why the heck do you need to get so worked up its only a spider” and yes I am all talk. Problem 2 – the spider, fucking genius, was crouched in its perfect little spot where its utopia, the curtain, was only cm’s away. I fucking hate spiders – tiny heads yet they’re smart enough to hide where their hardest to get rid of. Anyway so I had to make my mum stand 4m away (which was a stretch for her) then I had to pull the curtain back with my hand (my hand, honestly, my brother should be doing this stuff.) Armed with a rolled up newspaper, a shoe, and fly spray – Fully equipped coz this spider was hugeeeee… ok no… but it was an average size. The spider ran – I wasn’t really expecting that and I wasn’t close enough to it so I aimed and pegged the rolled up newspaper at it. My mum is the type of person who will stand very far away but still scream and shout like they were a rulers length away.. Luckily enough it was a perfect shot.. But it just made the spider fall onto the ground gracefully, a bit hurt, but well enough to run towards mums bed. With nothing to throw but what was on hand, I resorted to throwing the flyspray, which only smashed the can into bits and had foamy shit spraying all over her floor. Now this is about almost the only time I can get away with screaming fuck as loud as I can. So I clearly took advantage of this opportunity with a nice loud “FUCKKKK” – then the smarmy little spider decides to run up onto mums bed “it’s on your fucking bed mum” (oops she didn’t like that idea) – high pitched sounds, something along the lines of “get me a shoe” followed by mum running around trying to find me a shoe… then I flicked it onto the ground… it still tried to run. I lined up the (ugly) brown sandal and brought it down harder than I planned to with mum cheering “YES! Kill it!” – We are quite the murderers, my family. “My hero”… then I vacuumed the remnants of body left, and went to bed.
It only took me something like 5 minutes to kill the spider – but dead set when I was finished I was breathing harder than when I play soccer and I was shaking really fucking bad. I really fucking hate spiders. (ps you can say thanks for the pointless story… I really dont care.)
D.A.N.C.E
Hypothetically, if you were a bald business man (of whom wears glasses and a retarded tie) – could you rename yourself “Dilbert”? Sadly, I probably could.
It is more than often that our achievements and efforts are cut down or thrown in our faces – and the last glimmer or hope is scratched out of our not-so-willing minds. Sure others can judge “so and so never takes anything seriously” or “so and so are so negative” but do they ever ask themselves.. am I the one doing over 3 hours of work almost every night?
How hard could it possibly be to say – “you did good” – Three words?
Yet we are constantly reminded of our downfalls, mistakes and flaws rather than achievements, qualities and perfections? Would it be more rewarding to compliment instead of snigger behind someones back? More positive to see a smile instead of a frown? And surely, more productive to teach instead of hinder?
It is a pathetic world we live in when the vision of hope is unreachable, whilst false hope is merely around the corner.
So having been subtly told to move in Biology – I moved a whole row forward with another group of girls. Having no opportunity to talk, wear reading glasses and ask if i look nerdy, pull ugly faces and giggle and laugh non stop – I resorted to listening. No, before you think you know how this ends, I did not find myself in love with Bio for the first time in years – nor did i actually learn something. Rather I became aware of this annoying, just plain want to stab their eyes out annoying, habit my teacher seemingly just cannot stop.
Alright.
That’s it. Alright – Every 0.5 seconds [and no I'm seriously not joking.] Alright? Alright! Alrighttt…
You get the idea? So in one lesson - I did a tally. Ok VS. Alright.
The results? In one 50 minute – estimated 30 (becuase I started after the lesson began), my teacher said Ok 38 times; and Alright an amazing (gold star effort) 86 times.
Now, this is where I draw the line… Why continuously ask if it’s “alright?” – Next time I swear to god I am going to grab my pencil and stab her eyes out – or the more likely just scribble some obscene notes in my book – then giggle to myself.
NO. It is NOT ok. And it is NOT alright. Fuuuuuuuuuuck. And my day couldn’t get any worse? Wrong again. My hair has been cut into some boy cut and my brother is now calling me “little bro.” So bite me if I don’t feel like playing anyones little games today, or tomorrow.
Ok so instead of being at home doing something productive with my time (like watching DVDs) – I am at school in a study period. Which is pretty freaking annoying because I could be at home butmy mum couldn’t pick me up and apparently my brother has something better to do (probably buying another manly cardi gagggg.) The point is – I’m pissed off – and in the mood to ramble.
Today was the first day back in real classes after 2 weeks holidays, 3 weeks of exams (only 2 for me as mine were all together [fuckkkk]) and 3 days of retreat (which i didn’t like very much if you read my last post.)
It began with double biology – in which my eyes were almost burning out of my head trying to listen to some old ass man who used to be some kind of genius talk (Watson – discovering the structure of DNA) – however he seemed to be able to mumble and grin to the extent of a creepy pedophile – so I wasted time by taking some crappy notes. Then we got our exam marks back (I didn’t study for this exam very much – i sort of opened my book – wrote some notes – then stared at the paper) – evident in my marks (which my mother will probably murder me over… or just crush my spirits and leave the killing to my dad) I ended up with 26/69.
English – funny as always – with my teacher threatening to stab someone with her biro… I did pretty good in the sections we got back – but haven’t gotten all back yet – so that pisses me off… had all this time to mark yet some idiot locks her marked section in her office and is conveniently “sick.”
Then maths (the one subject i absolutely studied my ASS off for – meaning barely going out during my holidays and constant stress) – I stood at my friends [Mal, Jesi and Sheridan's] window talking until my teacher came and then she walked into their room to talk to their teacher. I go “DID I DO GOOOOOD???” and she said she didn’t know but she was grinning… turns out i got 78.5% which is probably the first maths mark over 50% I have received for a bit over a year. If my parents aren’t happy about that I will not hesitate to take a knife and… OR take up some kind of ancient Japanese fighting skills (not requiring body armour) and torture them like they have me with the stress and study.
Then Religion – which i got back [it weighed 0%] and couldn’t be bothered putting what little energy I had into working out what mark I had got – and I was le tired so I slept during a video on Islam (Which i have to write a report on tonight – ahhh shittt.)
Tomorrow I have Modern History – Another exam i probably screwed – having made most of the shit up on the spot and then watching some girl next to me tear off her 100 pages [not really - about 6 per essay] whilst i had only around 8 pages in front of me in total and the exam booklet. As well as DT which is fairly crappy because my mum is a DT teacher and I almost always (no I’m not self involved – its just true) get the highest mark – which is not all that great because then I get “oh it’s because her mumsssss a teacher and she does the work forrrr her” or ”what did SARAH get? Ohhh I beat you by half a mark!!!” (the second one hasn’t happened but im waiting for it.) Then if i fail (not average fail – mother fail – which means getting less than 60% is not good enough) I will have a nice lecture waiting for me at home.
Screwwwwwww school. Its 3.00 and I have wasted enough time – by the way – what the fuck is the deal with leaches??? Not literal leaches – the leach kind of person that sucks on to a person and then drains all the fun and life and then moves on to the next person – disgusting.
Rehab for catholics – “we’ll brainwash your kids for a fuck load of money”
Firstly, before I go into my usual bitter rant, I would like to point out that I am not disagreeing with the idea of “time away from it all” – What i disagree with is the idea of forceful enlightenment.
Sure, some people enjoy the idea of getting close to nature, speaking to people you have never spoken to before, becoming closer to teachers – The ideal of ultimate escape.
To me, retreat is about forcing people to open up – on a schedule. To get people up early and go to bed late – after mulitple “sessions” – Retreat makes those, who do not feel the need to join in with a bunch of over the top, screaming and dancing people, feel like dirt. Spiritual enlightenment? At which point will I find spiritual enlightenment? Whilst you crush the spirits, and shake your head in disapproval at those who don’t need to change to have a better sense of well being.
Where are the joys of retreat that were proimised to frequently? Where they the many sessions in which we prayed – I’m not even sure why, or the group tasks – which seemed to revolve around simplistic aims (do you assume we as females are incapable of analysing feelings or reflect without the use of drawing or painting?)
I hate the fact that on the last retreat of year 12 – of school – ever – I could not find anything to be serious about. There was nothing to analyse. No real issues. Nothing to “pray” for. I’m guessing the main reason you were unsuccessful in your attempts to somehow change my demeanour was due to the fact that I simply cant involve myself in that which has no real point. Yet I felt like a bad person – for sitting down while everyone was jumping around, dancing and smiling.
I got home – feeling nothing different – no sense of well being (that i was promised), no sense of being somehow useful, ultimately no sense of release – life just goes back to the continuous push for better marks at school.
The memories that I wont forget? The prayer? The tranquility? Highly doubted… Rather the way we pressed ourselves against the glass door of our room, screamed at the “friendly” possums, went psycho about walking into a spiderweb and ran down the walkway jumping and hitting each other, our “out of control” imitation 2 stepping and the best hand made fort – which was soon ruined.
Me and Jesi
The Fort and Mal
The fort being crushed by me and Emily… anddd then Emily crushing me – we pride ourselves on being over dramatic (the teachers had the room next to us… oh shame for them.)
Rehab is for quitters – I guess I don’t like to quit.
The other day I was in the car – driving on some road to get to some place – listening to 104.1 when “put your hands up for Detroit” came on. I was staring out the window thinking about how stressed I am and how I couldn’t wait for exams to be over. 5 seconds into my self absorbed thoughts the car passed a pole, covered in flowers, with a cross underneath bearing the name “Joey.”
Everything I had been thinking of disappeared, I looked at mum but she hadn’t even seen the cross, or at least showed no signs of recognition. I stopped thinking about me – and, in my own way, wished that Joey would now have an easier life, and begged that his or her family be helped through this time. I don’t know why. It’s not exactly like me to pray – having no defined beliefs. I guess I just saw this perfectly positioned cross with the letters in so perfectly aligned and the flowers so perfectly alive and wondered how everything could be so perfect. It reminded me of my granddad.
This morning, too tired to bother caring about the 2 ½ hour paper I would be doing in less than an hour, I sat on the bus, listening to my ipod, and stared aimlessly out the window. I kept the one song on repeat the entire 30 minute trip.I began to watch the people hurrying through the station; students, business people, teachers. Each and every single person ignorant to whoever passed. In the 2-3 minutes the bus was stopped I saw at least 10 people run into another person – without acknowledgment or even a sorry.
Imagine that every single person is somehow, in the tiniest way, similar to you. Yet this person isn’t even good enough to acknowledge.
Still listening to the same song, I have this way of making film clips in my head, their usually simplistic with happy endings, but for the short time there exists a perfect world in my head – where the ending is always happy.
Im fairly sick of my hair. Its not the right length. So im going to cut it.
also it may not be a greatttt idea coz im in a bad mood.
but we shall see. ill update later.
Updateeeee:
The maths study i was supposed to be doing:
My anger resulting in hair cutting:
Ooops. Itll grow back.
“Your too imature… grow up”
Let me ask you this; who wants to grow up, when growing up means changing, then all you can do to remember who you used to be (free of corruption, being “in” and being “liked”) is look at a few photographs. Does it make you feel “big” or more mature when your so picky about everything? Imagine if you had been so routine and so “perfect” when you were 5.
Do you ever remember a time where you classed your friends based on who was “cooler” – or instead how much fun you had with them?
Or when you picked your favourite dress that you wore a billion times over – not because it was “in” – but because the colours reminded you of a butterfly.
Did it occur to YOU – that whilst your telling people their to immature for YOU – you only make it clear to them that your too uptight for THEM. That you only illustrate once and for all that you just arent what they are looking for in a friend.
If you want the people who think they are better than everyone, the people who spend their time pointing out your faults and the people who class themselves – believing and pushing until they are “in” regardless of losing those closest to them.
That is your choice.
I’d rather the people who understand i like to be rough – its my nature – its a sign of caring. The people who will bite back – literally and metaphorically. The people who would do ANYTHING in the world to make me smile. But most of all the people who forgive me – for anything – those mutual apologies mean more than anything in the entire world to me.
So honestly, who the fuck wants to grow up?
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