Happy Friday the 13th!! Hope it is more filled with fun spooky occurances than mine has been so far!! But then again, in Italz 13 is LUCKY and 17 is UNlucky. Weirdos.
We totally watched the Friday the 13th episode of Dawson's Creek this afternoon and I didn't even notice the corrolation until just now. Go me!!
I think my wrists are shaped weird 'cause I always wear things on 'em.
On the lookout for lady killers,
Nico Jackson
venerdì, aprile 13, 2007
Yoko Ono Is My Myspace Friend
What the heck is the world coming to?
Laughing as civilization crumbles,
Nico J
P.S. Mom- Do wigginz count as a clothing expense?
Laughing as civilization crumbles,
Nico J
P.S. Mom- Do wigginz count as a clothing expense?
giovedì, aprile 12, 2007
SO I'M BASICALLY KIND OF FAMOUS.
Today went from being on the good side of OK to crazy insane EXCELLENT this evening when I checked my electronic mail and found a loooooooooovely note from Keith of Fred Flare. That alone would be enough to make my week about 40 times over, but there's more! In that email he told me that my FredFlare.com Blog Reader of the Month Interview went up!!!!! You know what I was hinting about ages ago? This is it. Please go and check it out and leave comments!! OMG I am so happy I could do a happy dance. And I think I will.
Dancin' her way to stardom,
Bee the Electronic Cupcake
[ReInstated, this night only]
Dancin' her way to stardom,
Bee the Electronic Cupcake
[ReInstated, this night only]
A Night with Nicholson. J. Nicholson.
Last night we watched The Shining. It was OK, I guess, but not terribly frightening, apart from how scary Jack Nicholson is in general. There were a couple of things that bothered me about it, though.
The first is unavoidable, and that is the overwhelming Kubrickness of the film. By this I am referring to the long, tracking shots and other stylistic elements that are so prevelent in this and Stanley Kubrick's other films. I mean, that's his thing, whatever, awesome, but it still isn't my cuppa. I guess that means that Kubrick isn't my favourite director, even though I liked a Clockwork Orange and Doctor Strangelove alright. 2001 still bored the heck outta me, though. Mhm.
The other bothersome thing about The Shining was the shit job they did on the music. When played at the right time, it was quite well scored and effective, but for most of the movie they had hardcore thriller [as in genre, not MJ] type music goin' when it was not exceptionally appropriate. Right up in the beginning, for example. Maybe they were trying to build the atmosphere, but it felt like they were hanging out a sign that read "This movie is gonna terrify you" when all they were showing where heliocopter shots of trees and road. WhoooOOOOooo, scary.
There was one thing that I found kind of distracting that wasn't the movie's direct fault. 30 Seconds to Mars has a music video for their song "The Kill" which is based pretty heavily on The Shining. OK, it is basically a remake of it in 2 and a half minutes with the bad standing in for Nicholson and fam. I guess I'm a bit of a thickie for not knowing this before, but heck, I hadn't seen the movie before and it's not like I follow 30 Seconds to Mars all that closely. I began noticing the similarites between the two fairly early on, and then felt like a complete tool for thinking then [and at various other points] "Dang, this is like that Jared Leto video..." Meh, whatever.
Anyway...I wasn't too freaked out when we finished, and the episode of Dawson's Creek [my favourite scary-movie antidote] we watched afterwords served to clear up any residual fright that may have stuck around. Miriam still wanted to sleep with her mom, though, so I was like, whatever, and went along with it. Insomnia struck again, however, for the third night in a row. Apparently, falling asleep in school is not enough to convince my body that sleepin' at night is a good thing. This insomnia was not propted by my uncomfortableness with the existance of Jack Nicholson [as that is a battle I am always fighting so it doesn't really bother me anymore], but more an unfocues inability to sleep. It didn't help that I was burnin' up, even when I changed from my fleece pjs to a tank top and my summer bottoms.
Sometime after 1am I decided a change of venues was in order if I was going to ever gonna knock out. My bed, obvs the first choice, was not an option, as it is a pop-up trundle and therefore takes more setting up than is possible alone and in the dark. Miry's bed was covered with clothes and stuffies and cushions, so basically I had to go with the couch, even though the living room was theoretically the scariest room to sleep in, what with the hangin' dryin' clothes, the glowing lights on the electronics, plus the fact that that is where we watched the film. But since I was either fearless or just really tired, because I grabbed a blanket, plopped down, and was out within minutes.
This morning when my mom woke me up she told me that she got up at about 1:30 to use the bathroom and wondered where I was until she found me on the couch. I was a bit worried that would happen, but what was I gonna do? It was either move or not sleep all night. And I couldn't think of any viable ideas for lettin' them know I was goin'...I've found that wakin' people up in the middle of the night makes them grouchy, and they don't remember what you told them, anyways. And it was dark, so leavin' a note ["Dear Mom, I'm on the couch"?] wouldn't work so well. She was suprised that I wasn't scared to sleep alone, and also kinda worried that I was all "Nurr hull no I don't wanna sleep with these crazies" but I think I was able to convince her that wasn't the case.
I have now slept on the couch at all 3 of my hostfamilies houses! Though at Dani's it was actually in my room, so if I got up before anyone came to get me they never knew. Buahahahaha.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy [X a billion],
Nico
The first is unavoidable, and that is the overwhelming Kubrickness of the film. By this I am referring to the long, tracking shots and other stylistic elements that are so prevelent in this and Stanley Kubrick's other films. I mean, that's his thing, whatever, awesome, but it still isn't my cuppa. I guess that means that Kubrick isn't my favourite director, even though I liked a Clockwork Orange and Doctor Strangelove alright. 2001 still bored the heck outta me, though. Mhm.
The other bothersome thing about The Shining was the shit job they did on the music. When played at the right time, it was quite well scored and effective, but for most of the movie they had hardcore thriller [as in genre, not MJ] type music goin' when it was not exceptionally appropriate. Right up in the beginning, for example. Maybe they were trying to build the atmosphere, but it felt like they were hanging out a sign that read "This movie is gonna terrify you" when all they were showing where heliocopter shots of trees and road. WhoooOOOOooo, scary.
There was one thing that I found kind of distracting that wasn't the movie's direct fault. 30 Seconds to Mars has a music video for their song "The Kill" which is based pretty heavily on The Shining. OK, it is basically a remake of it in 2 and a half minutes with the bad standing in for Nicholson and fam. I guess I'm a bit of a thickie for not knowing this before, but heck, I hadn't seen the movie before and it's not like I follow 30 Seconds to Mars all that closely. I began noticing the similarites between the two fairly early on, and then felt like a complete tool for thinking then [and at various other points] "Dang, this is like that Jared Leto video..." Meh, whatever.
Anyway...I wasn't too freaked out when we finished, and the episode of Dawson's Creek [my favourite scary-movie antidote] we watched afterwords served to clear up any residual fright that may have stuck around. Miriam still wanted to sleep with her mom, though, so I was like, whatever, and went along with it. Insomnia struck again, however, for the third night in a row. Apparently, falling asleep in school is not enough to convince my body that sleepin' at night is a good thing. This insomnia was not propted by my uncomfortableness with the existance of Jack Nicholson [as that is a battle I am always fighting so it doesn't really bother me anymore], but more an unfocues inability to sleep. It didn't help that I was burnin' up, even when I changed from my fleece pjs to a tank top and my summer bottoms.
Sometime after 1am I decided a change of venues was in order if I was going to ever gonna knock out. My bed, obvs the first choice, was not an option, as it is a pop-up trundle and therefore takes more setting up than is possible alone and in the dark. Miry's bed was covered with clothes and stuffies and cushions, so basically I had to go with the couch, even though the living room was theoretically the scariest room to sleep in, what with the hangin' dryin' clothes, the glowing lights on the electronics, plus the fact that that is where we watched the film. But since I was either fearless or just really tired, because I grabbed a blanket, plopped down, and was out within minutes.
This morning when my mom woke me up she told me that she got up at about 1:30 to use the bathroom and wondered where I was until she found me on the couch. I was a bit worried that would happen, but what was I gonna do? It was either move or not sleep all night. And I couldn't think of any viable ideas for lettin' them know I was goin'...I've found that wakin' people up in the middle of the night makes them grouchy, and they don't remember what you told them, anyways. And it was dark, so leavin' a note ["Dear Mom, I'm on the couch"?] wouldn't work so well. She was suprised that I wasn't scared to sleep alone, and also kinda worried that I was all "Nurr hull no I don't wanna sleep with these crazies" but I think I was able to convince her that wasn't the case.
I have now slept on the couch at all 3 of my hostfamilies houses! Though at Dani's it was actually in my room, so if I got up before anyone came to get me they never knew. Buahahahaha.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy [X a billion],
Nico
martedì, aprile 10, 2007
Dawson's Creek is the BEST
Hey hey hey!!
So Easter was kinda craze...heaps family an' food an' whatnot...I didn't actually eat THAT much though at lunch, and I only had a piece of salamz, prosciutto, and ricotta for dinz so it wasn't too bad.
To-moz is the first day back at school and I am so basically not excited, OMG. I have gotten used to sleepin' in, wearin' PJs all day and sittin' in front of the teevee, not a blackboard. Phuh.
I was thinkin' about it, you know [big suprise there], and I think the [main] reason that I have been feeling so bleachugh lately is that here I'm kind of, well, isolated, I guess. Haha funny joke, right? Isolated in the European city, not in the one-hoss Nor Cal town. But here, I only get online every couple of days or so, and even then I can't do nearly the amount of staying in touch with friends and catching up on news and pop culture things as I would like or am used to. I do watch TV but the majority of that is music videos or reruns of '90s shows. The only magazines and newspapers, really, are ones that I brought with or that my parents send with packages. So I'm just kind of stangant and starving for new information and inspiration.
Of course, back when moving to this house first came up, all I wanted was stagnancy. Well, now I got it. Be careful what you wish for, I guess!!
And to all the peeps that read this and get all worried up about me: thanks...it's nice to know that you care, but don't spend too much energy on it. I'll just keep pluggin' along alright...though if I don't have a BLT and Coke float on June 23, some shit is REALLY gonna go down.
One thing that was nice was I french-braided my hair today after my shower. It isn't quite long enough, though, so they are falling out a bit. We'll see what it looks like when I wake up tomorrow.
I also haven't really been feeling like Bee Electric lately. Or Bee Cupcake. Maybe it's cuz I changed my hair, and I almost always change my name when that happenz. I dunno. But I think I'm going to start going by Nico. Nico Jack[son].
Ketchup with ya later, Have a nice Wednesday!
Nicoletta Jackson
So Easter was kinda craze...heaps family an' food an' whatnot...I didn't actually eat THAT much though at lunch, and I only had a piece of salamz, prosciutto, and ricotta for dinz so it wasn't too bad.
To-moz is the first day back at school and I am so basically not excited, OMG. I have gotten used to sleepin' in, wearin' PJs all day and sittin' in front of the teevee, not a blackboard. Phuh.
I was thinkin' about it, you know [big suprise there], and I think the [main] reason that I have been feeling so bleachugh lately is that here I'm kind of, well, isolated, I guess. Haha funny joke, right? Isolated in the European city, not in the one-hoss Nor Cal town. But here, I only get online every couple of days or so, and even then I can't do nearly the amount of staying in touch with friends and catching up on news and pop culture things as I would like or am used to. I do watch TV but the majority of that is music videos or reruns of '90s shows. The only magazines and newspapers, really, are ones that I brought with or that my parents send with packages. So I'm just kind of stangant and starving for new information and inspiration.
Of course, back when moving to this house first came up, all I wanted was stagnancy. Well, now I got it. Be careful what you wish for, I guess!!
And to all the peeps that read this and get all worried up about me: thanks...it's nice to know that you care, but don't spend too much energy on it. I'll just keep pluggin' along alright...though if I don't have a BLT and Coke float on June 23, some shit is REALLY gonna go down.
One thing that was nice was I french-braided my hair today after my shower. It isn't quite long enough, though, so they are falling out a bit. We'll see what it looks like when I wake up tomorrow.
I also haven't really been feeling like Bee Electric lately. Or Bee Cupcake. Maybe it's cuz I changed my hair, and I almost always change my name when that happenz. I dunno. But I think I'm going to start going by Nico. Nico Jack[son].
Ketchup with ya later, Have a nice Wednesday!
Nicoletta Jackson
sabato, aprile 07, 2007
To-day we went to the mall
and there were some patent shoes and bags that almost made me forget that I was sad. Then I realized that I had left my moneyz at home. And that I couldn't actually afford more shoes and bags. Because I paid someone a lot of money to f*ck up my hair. And then I remembered how lame my life was.
It got a little better when we got home and watched Jumanji on the teevee. I was quite jealous of wee Kirsten Dunst's braidinz, as they [she had two] were quite long and thick. And, come to think of it, probably faux. Dang. Still...
Happy Day Everyone Thought Jesus Was Actually Dead!
And in case I don't get on-line, Happy Day That It Turned Out He Wasn't Well Kind Of But Not Really tomorrow!!
Call me the girl with the fried Egg heart,
Bee Electric
P.S. I heard the US Easter Bunny/Egg Hunt trad. described on a show on MTV Italia [since they don't do that here...losers] and it sounded rather silly and strange when a foreigner described it. Huh.
It got a little better when we got home and watched Jumanji on the teevee. I was quite jealous of wee Kirsten Dunst's braidinz, as they [she had two] were quite long and thick. And, come to think of it, probably faux. Dang. Still...
Happy Day Everyone Thought Jesus Was Actually Dead!
And in case I don't get on-line, Happy Day That It Turned Out He Wasn't Well Kind Of But Not Really tomorrow!!
Call me the girl with the fried Egg heart,
Bee Electric
P.S. I heard the US Easter Bunny/Egg Hunt trad. described on a show on MTV Italia [since they don't do that here...losers] and it sounded rather silly and strange when a foreigner described it. Huh.
Two months and Fifteen days
Is a long time to feign happiness when all you feel is miserable. It's also a long time to spend speaking a language that isn't your own, a language in which you struggle to explain even the simplest of thoughts, a language that keeps you, without fail, in the present because the past and future tenses are just too difficult to conjugate. It's a long time to be lonely, so lonely and desperate for the voice, connected to the face, connected to the body of someone whom you have known for more than two weeks. It's also the amount of time I have before I can get on an aereoplane and escape, first to London, then New York, and then finally to home. My real home, with my friends, my family, and my ocean.
I don't know if I can last that long.
I have to get out of here. I can't stand the suffocation anymore. And yet, it's that suffocation that is begging me to stay, that suffocation that is the reason that, no matter how much I want to, need to get out, I'm going to give in and stay. Stay here in this country that I have grown to hate, stay here and force a smile and tell them that I'm happy.
I constantly think about going home. Constantly. It's hard not to. And even as I do, I know that it is futile. The California of my thoughts is not what I'd find upon my early return. This misery I feel now is nothing compared to the soul crushing madness I was buried under before I left. How long would it take for me to slip into that if I came back? Not long, I reckon. But still, it is familiar. And there were spots of sunshine...spots of sunshine that I can never find here, not unless those who have known me for years, those who have known me before I knew myself were here, and that will never happen.
I can't go home. I can't disappoint this family here, in whose house I have been living for so little time, who have already done so much for me, who talk of trips to Florence and Pompeii, all for me. I can't tell them that I don't want their kindnesses. I can't because of the way my mom buys me cornflakes, I can't because of the way my sister hugs me, I can't because of the millions of times they've said the words "June 22". And besides, taking words from The Departed, 'I'm Irish. I'll live with something being wrong for the rest of my life.'
But I still can't look at myself in the mirror. I can't stand to put on a pair of jeans, even more so because that means we're going out, that I have to force myself to be social, that I have to break my thoughts away from a place where I never have to eat salami, fish, or chocolate bars with hazelnuts.
My usual methods of escape aren't working anymore. I've already read every book, every magazine so many times I know the words before I see them. The internet is only accessible every so often, on a computer that takes four hundred years to do anything. And the battery on StrongBad has decided to stop working for an unidentifiable reason.
Two months and fifteen days.
They tell you that from time to time you may wish to go home, but that it is just a phase. How much longer will this phase last? How many weeks do I have to stand this? Will it end when I am somewhere above Wales, seven hours from touching down at JFK? Will it end in eight weeks, when a fortnight is all I have left in this country and everything suddenly seems more precious? I don't know anymore. But I'm not sure I want to wait to find out.
Two months and fifteen days doesn't seem like much when you compare it to the nearly seven months I've spent here already. But it is still as long as the Aussies come here for. It is still a long time.
Hating and missing the greener grass,
Bee Electric
I don't know if I can last that long.
I have to get out of here. I can't stand the suffocation anymore. And yet, it's that suffocation that is begging me to stay, that suffocation that is the reason that, no matter how much I want to, need to get out, I'm going to give in and stay. Stay here in this country that I have grown to hate, stay here and force a smile and tell them that I'm happy.
I constantly think about going home. Constantly. It's hard not to. And even as I do, I know that it is futile. The California of my thoughts is not what I'd find upon my early return. This misery I feel now is nothing compared to the soul crushing madness I was buried under before I left. How long would it take for me to slip into that if I came back? Not long, I reckon. But still, it is familiar. And there were spots of sunshine...spots of sunshine that I can never find here, not unless those who have known me for years, those who have known me before I knew myself were here, and that will never happen.
I can't go home. I can't disappoint this family here, in whose house I have been living for so little time, who have already done so much for me, who talk of trips to Florence and Pompeii, all for me. I can't tell them that I don't want their kindnesses. I can't because of the way my mom buys me cornflakes, I can't because of the way my sister hugs me, I can't because of the millions of times they've said the words "June 22". And besides, taking words from The Departed, 'I'm Irish. I'll live with something being wrong for the rest of my life.'
But I still can't look at myself in the mirror. I can't stand to put on a pair of jeans, even more so because that means we're going out, that I have to force myself to be social, that I have to break my thoughts away from a place where I never have to eat salami, fish, or chocolate bars with hazelnuts.
My usual methods of escape aren't working anymore. I've already read every book, every magazine so many times I know the words before I see them. The internet is only accessible every so often, on a computer that takes four hundred years to do anything. And the battery on StrongBad has decided to stop working for an unidentifiable reason.
Two months and fifteen days.
They tell you that from time to time you may wish to go home, but that it is just a phase. How much longer will this phase last? How many weeks do I have to stand this? Will it end when I am somewhere above Wales, seven hours from touching down at JFK? Will it end in eight weeks, when a fortnight is all I have left in this country and everything suddenly seems more precious? I don't know anymore. But I'm not sure I want to wait to find out.
Two months and fifteen days doesn't seem like much when you compare it to the nearly seven months I've spent here already. But it is still as long as the Aussies come here for. It is still a long time.
Hating and missing the greener grass,
Bee Electric
mercoledì, aprile 04, 2007
Sucktastic Suckiness of my Suckster Life.
Sorry I haven't been updatin'... I don't get online much anymore, and even when I do this danged computer is so old and slow it takes forever to do anything. Plus I had to get my SEP app all wrapped up.
Since Easter holls start tomoz, hopefully I'll get some mighty nice entries done about the Rome Trip and then the suprise Costa Azzurra Trip.
Until then, I'll just tell you about today. TODAY IS THE WORST FRICKIN DAY. And it's only 5 o'clock. WT Hull is up with so many days lately being the worst? Basically today I was gonna get my hair dyed blonde, and was pretty much really excited about that. When we got to the salon, though, the folk were all, "Nurrz we can't do all yer hair blonde 'cause we're stoopid so we gots to do some brown and some blonde." Even though I had some misgivings [OK, a lot of misgivings...such as WT Hull can't they do all blonde, and also the blonde brunette look is so hardcore over!] I agreed to it because I was so desperate for blonde, any blonde. WORST F*CKING IDEA, EVER. What is wrong with me?
I started feeling worse and worse as I sat there with my hair all done up for AGES, and when they finally rinsed it all out and I actually saw it kinda, I felt like crying. And then when the dude was all blowdryin' it and shizZz I did start crying, but you couldn't tell 'cause my hair was all in my face. Aw-f*ckin'-ful. Especially the way he blewdryed it all big and nineties. WT Hull is it with peeps and givin' me Nineties hair? But basically it looked crapolicious. And then I went to go pay for it, and you wanna know how much that stupid f*ckup of a dyejob cost me? SIXTY TWO EUROS. Like a stab to the heart. Sixty two stabs to the heart, to be exact.
When my mom picked me and Miriam up, she asked us how we liked what we got [Miri got a cut & style...the dude blowdried it in this awful flippy ends way...not what she asked for at all]. Miriam said she liked the cut but that the style was so not even, and her mom's like, "Well did you tell him that?" Miri: "No." And then she asked me and I told her I didn't know...which basically means "No but I'm hoping I'll get used to it."
As soon as we got home I ran into the bathroom to cry in peace but when I came out you could still tell I had, even though I washed my face. My mom asked me if I cried and I was like "No...maybe..." and then started crying again. Way to go, Bee! So she basically figured out that both of us hate what we got and neither of us had the balls to tell the hair peeps that...even though, as she pointed out, we were paying. A lot. But dude, my hair looks like a rear end because I was stupid. It's not their fault...it came out like he said it was going to...I am just a tard and agreed to get that shizZz done. Whatever, my mom is going to the salon tomorrow and is tellin' them she ehn't goin' back no more 'cause they're lame. Isn't she rad?
That being said, I am just about thisclose to a Britterz style break down, head shavin' included. Head shavin' ESPECIALLY included. All I want is to go home. I am sick of this stupid country. I am sick of not having my own life. I am sick of having to go to some shit parruchiere and over paying to not get what I want. I am sick of having to pretend all the time. I am sick of having to eat. I'm sick of being an add-on, an appendage. I'm just sick of everything. I want to go home. This is what I am thinking almost every second: "I don't want to be here." What makes it hard is that my family here is so nice, and they are being so good to me I don't want to hurt them or disappoint them or anything by leaving early. But I can't help it. I'm going insane. I have to get out of here.
I don't want to go to the dance tonight...I don't want to do anything. All the crying has exhausted me to the point that I just want to sleep. I want to sleep and when I wake up, I want to be at home. Home as in America. California. Gualala. 46170 on the street that makes me glad we have a P.O. Box.
Soz for being negz but she can't help it,
Bee Electric
Since Easter holls start tomoz, hopefully I'll get some mighty nice entries done about the Rome Trip and then the suprise Costa Azzurra Trip.
Until then, I'll just tell you about today. TODAY IS THE WORST FRICKIN DAY. And it's only 5 o'clock. WT Hull is up with so many days lately being the worst? Basically today I was gonna get my hair dyed blonde, and was pretty much really excited about that. When we got to the salon, though, the folk were all, "Nurrz we can't do all yer hair blonde 'cause we're stoopid so we gots to do some brown and some blonde." Even though I had some misgivings [OK, a lot of misgivings...such as WT Hull can't they do all blonde, and also the blonde brunette look is so hardcore over!] I agreed to it because I was so desperate for blonde, any blonde. WORST F*CKING IDEA, EVER. What is wrong with me?
I started feeling worse and worse as I sat there with my hair all done up for AGES, and when they finally rinsed it all out and I actually saw it kinda, I felt like crying. And then when the dude was all blowdryin' it and shizZz I did start crying, but you couldn't tell 'cause my hair was all in my face. Aw-f*ckin'-ful. Especially the way he blewdryed it all big and nineties. WT Hull is it with peeps and givin' me Nineties hair? But basically it looked crapolicious. And then I went to go pay for it, and you wanna know how much that stupid f*ckup of a dyejob cost me? SIXTY TWO EUROS. Like a stab to the heart. Sixty two stabs to the heart, to be exact.
When my mom picked me and Miriam up, she asked us how we liked what we got [Miri got a cut & style...the dude blowdried it in this awful flippy ends way...not what she asked for at all]. Miriam said she liked the cut but that the style was so not even, and her mom's like, "Well did you tell him that?" Miri: "No." And then she asked me and I told her I didn't know...which basically means "No but I'm hoping I'll get used to it."
As soon as we got home I ran into the bathroom to cry in peace but when I came out you could still tell I had, even though I washed my face. My mom asked me if I cried and I was like "No...maybe..." and then started crying again. Way to go, Bee! So she basically figured out that both of us hate what we got and neither of us had the balls to tell the hair peeps that...even though, as she pointed out, we were paying. A lot. But dude, my hair looks like a rear end because I was stupid. It's not their fault...it came out like he said it was going to...I am just a tard and agreed to get that shizZz done. Whatever, my mom is going to the salon tomorrow and is tellin' them she ehn't goin' back no more 'cause they're lame. Isn't she rad?
That being said, I am just about thisclose to a Britterz style break down, head shavin' included. Head shavin' ESPECIALLY included. All I want is to go home. I am sick of this stupid country. I am sick of not having my own life. I am sick of having to go to some shit parruchiere and over paying to not get what I want. I am sick of having to pretend all the time. I am sick of having to eat. I'm sick of being an add-on, an appendage. I'm just sick of everything. I want to go home. This is what I am thinking almost every second: "I don't want to be here." What makes it hard is that my family here is so nice, and they are being so good to me I don't want to hurt them or disappoint them or anything by leaving early. But I can't help it. I'm going insane. I have to get out of here.
I don't want to go to the dance tonight...I don't want to do anything. All the crying has exhausted me to the point that I just want to sleep. I want to sleep and when I wake up, I want to be at home. Home as in America. California. Gualala. 46170 on the street that makes me glad we have a P.O. Box.
Soz for being negz but she can't help it,
Bee Electric
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