Uninspired

Guess what. You guys are lucky today, on account of me, spending all last night organizing my goals, and worrying and whatnot. So you don't have to hear it! (applause). There's just one little downside. I'm uninspired. I really can't think of anything to blog about. My chalkboard, cable box, the SAB poster on my wall even though I hate SAB? I want to do my nails. It's one of my favorite girly-girl activities. I have several new shades of purple, and a green. I am obsessed with the color purple, did you know that? Since Kindergarten. And you know what else? My room is painted orange. Which is why my colors are purple and orange. And green. I'm not sure how green got tossed in there, but it did. So how about I pose a question to make this post a bit interesting. Do you have color(s) you associate yourself with, like a high school team might? And do you paint your nails that color if at all?

Sorry for this lameness.

Mosquitoes

I love summer. I love the warmth, lack of bedtime, lack of homework, rehearsals, tuition fees and math. I love the grass and the extra sunlight, I love the shirtless boys star-dang it! I HATE the mosquitoes.

With a deep passion! I know everyone does, but really, let me rant. They are tiny little demons with no purpose except sucking our blood all summer until they shrivel up and die when the frost comes. They either swarm in large quantities, or seem to come out of nowhere, and you don't realize they're attacking until after the fact when you can't stop scratching your legs.

So far, I have acquired a total of having thirty bites on me at once this summer. Legit. I was dying. I would have to wake up in the night to put on anti-itch from mid-thigh, all the way to between my toes. And still scratch my skin off in my sleep. Up and down my arms, and on my face? This has gone too far. I'm loosing it I swear. If you see some person downtown or in the park tomorrow, screaming for nuclear war against those tiny bugs, you know who it is.

Paranoia

When you can't breath 'cause you can't cry so you stare at the mirror and look at your eyes like why are you doing this to me, holding me in misery because my misery is only to come because I kill stories before they are done.

And I'm afraid of my reputation 'cause I know what they all say "Stalker!" But I cry in terror 'cause I won't have him run away "I am NOT a stalker! I am NOT a stalker!" all I want is someone to talk to who won't listen to the hopeless fool, I put my trust in him... that proves me as equally stupid.

Men

So, I've been spending some time by my window. And I discovered that there is a parking sign outside my window, where the men of my block like to gather. They stand around it like a central point of importance, so they can discuss the motorcycle parked beside them, and complain about the reckless existence of their younger generation. They stand there between four and five in the evening, as they always do, overlooking the block. They think that they are seeing everything, in control. But aha! It is ME who sees them. From my second story window I see them all, the men who congregate around the parking sign.

Impossible

It goes backwards. There is not perfect place or balance. Either way you are out. Which is valued more? In one or out the other. While there is no way of telling the future, and little we can do about what pulls us in each direction. And when one's happiness is set solely on stupid abilities and places, then you can be both happy or unhappy whereever you are. Does that mean we're doomed? By that's the way it's supposed to be. Damn it I forgot. Oh Jeez. Still, could one unhappiness be more happy than the next. Which is which? yes of Yes or Yes of No? Yes of Yes is nearly impossible and not wanted anyway, Yes of No - well what does that mean? Why does it matter again? Oh yeah. Happiness. So if that's the only way I can be happy... what if I created a new place?

Whoosh

Whoosh. Window. If the heart was dancing happily on the surface, floating on its back in the lake of life, then it sunk to the ocean floor, in not a bad way. The heart stopped breathing and choked for a bit, before soaring back to the surface, sputtering and flopping around, barely alive. Figuring out that he is drowning, the heart starts splashing around, and finally gathering himself together enough to live again. So he starts to swim. He, as a heart, can no longer float easily, but that's ok. Somehow, he'll swim through, because he is my heart, and we always make it through.

Odokin(4)

I swear this is the last excerpt for a while.

After school on Day 2 since it happened, I let Nupar walk me home as a habit - but we didn't talk. It must have been a strange sight, the two of us looking like lovers, yet looking downcast, or away from each other. As we approached my building, we entered an awkward moment.

We weren't going to kiss, or hug. I finally met his eyes. He had this look in his eyes of pleading, he was asking for me to talk to him...forgive him. But at the moment he read whatever was in my eyes - anger - hurt maybe? The look turned hard and blank. I spoke without shifting my gaze.

"Bye."

3/23

miracle that I see, or their greatness

or mistake of my own eyes

fortunate am I to such things or rather unforunate

let illusions convince you of the things you wish to see

And screw the hoards

slight sounds

shut up

attention span lacking

distrust flickers strongly

Questions

Now, there are some questions I would like to suggest, but not for me, just for the general air.

1) How many mistakes do we have to make to earn the credits to do something right?

2) Why is it always you? (the general you)

3) How did a snail make it for a year away from its habitat and on the other side of the country?

4) Why can't we think of what we need to say when we need to say it, but spend years writing the script beforehand?

5) Why are the simplest things the hardest to say?

6) Why do we stare at a green light imagining all the things that could go wrong, until you wake up and everyone knows?

7) Why is it that when they're fearless they get everything, and when I'm fearless I fail?

8) And why does space make things difficult?

9) Why am I stuck here?

10) And what are they all saying?

Odokin(1)

He was not one of the boys working, he was leaned up against the Department of Mongola Shipping building with a group of other boys. He was really tall. For me. And with dark hair, dark eyes and a small smiling mouth. He was from Opo. I was sure of it. The only Odokins in Mongola with dark hair were me, Cara, and her brothers. Cara’s family came from an old rich group of Opos that emigrated to Odokin long ago. They married within their nationality keeping the common features pure. I, however, had my Opo mother and Odokin father (whom my mother left when I was young) which mixed my features, giving me a wider mouth, blue eyes, and my lack of inches.

“Pavola! Who are you looking at? Don’t tell me it’s Yopale’s brother!” Gene cried urgently seeing she’d lost me to thought.

“It’s not,” I said vaguely. “It’s a new boy. Opo.”

“From Opo?” she said in surprise.

“Looks like it!” I came out of my daze and jumped up. I had decided I was going to talk to this boy.

“No your not!” Gene retorted knowing exactly what my plans were.

“And why?” I asked already having taken a step. Gene unwillingly stepped towards me to pull me back, and I stepped forwards again.

“Oh Pavola, why do you have to be so fearless?”

“What is there to be afraid of?” We were almost within earshot and – he looked at me! His face looked confused, and he whispered to his friends, while keeping his eyes on me. As they responded, he smiled as if satisfied. Gene had now let go of my wrist now that we were right up to the boys.

“Hello,” I said clearly into his face. It was him! The boy who I had seen that day….’falling’ into the boys classroom. He’d made me late!

“Good morning,” he replied raising his eyebrows. He had an accent. Opo for sure.

Silent

Of all things to say, this is one of them, that I probably should. I usually do. But with so many problems concerning this one subject, who can i tell? I can only tell the people who don't care, or who won't get involved. Or have the sweet treasure of not having to. Benificiary One: He is of good and general approval including mine. Problem Ten Thousand: What if he knows or i cant do anything about it and its too good for me or if she finds out then she will be mad even though it has little to do with her it has a lot to do with her always because it's her personality and then my dear amica, she does not deserve for me to do this even though it wasn't my choice and what if that alone brings this all down?

Sorry about that. Love has returned to the Mounatin Spirit. Or Petrified Flower. However you address me online.