Mon amoureux intelligent

So, first off, I'm plainly a genius in disguise as a crazy person. Because who on earth gets 97 on their Chemistry exam, when you were sure you were going to fail. I'm probably a more evolved kind of human, my brain works subconsciously at paying attention in Chemistry while I was busy breaking things, spilling acid, and reading Astrid's bible-dictionary. Plainly this is an approach I should take in all of my classes; do not pay attention, because your more evolved brain will pick up the things of importance for you to use at a later date. This is obviously the case because I did pay attention in Social, and look where I ended up. 72 on the final. This is a large disparity, in my opinion, and so therefore, to further study my capacity, I should not pay attention in class, ever. It's all for science, after all.
Sigh. I am so glad that that semester is over and done with (minus English AP. Did I mention I beat the genius in our class on that exam? Yeah, no biggie.) I am pleasantly surprised by my successes on 3/4 of my exams; I'm not just another mildly funny-looking face, as my mother keeps telling me. It will be funny to see if my marks suffer when I get lazy next semester in Art and Musical Theatre...

Also, listen to Mumford and Sons.
Goodness Gracious, I love them.

Also, I love Ryan Douglas McKay.
Plus, now he can be a brain surgeon because we know how smart he really is. Part-time masseuse. For me.

I like that word. Masseuse.

Also, I have recently delved into crossword puzzles. I enjoy them. They are wordy. I like words. Like masseuse.

Un peu de musique

Dans la cusisine

Dear Olive,
They will always be like that. And because we're human and not blessed with the Y chromosome that makes them so inconsistent and heartbreaking, we can't possibly understand why they do the things they do. All we can do is guess, cry, have an estrogen fit, and move on into the next pair of hairy arms we see fit to handle us.

I like to think I know how it feels, and because I think I might, I can tell you that nothing I say will make you feel better. Just less targeted. Maybe less alone.

Je savais que je vous trouverez au cirque...

I have a fear of being home alone at night. The reasons stemming this apprehension of the coexistance of me, isolation and dark and the studies being performed on said topic have been so far, inconclusive. But whilst I am here, alienated and deserted by my so-called parents at (guess what) a time that is suspiciously dark, as I cannot go to bed I have decided to come up with a list of potential reasonings behind my disquietude at the solitary sombreness I find myself in.

1) I watched too many Supernatural episodes, including the one about Bloody Mary, the one with the creepy humans who grew up in the walls and who eat people's dogs and lick people's hands whilst they are trying to sleep, the one with that ghost in the water (which is why I can't even get ready for bed, possibly- I can't turn on the tap without being drowned and/or swallowed by a mysterious ghostie with unproven motives), among others.

2) I like that this option came before the more logical strange, dirty, unshaven men breaking into my house, my phones losing service, my door without a lock, my inability to climb out my window, their pointy axes, daggers, guns, and other unappealing weapons.
The guns don't have to be pointy, actually.
But if they were, it would probably enhance the effect.

3) I am worried there will be an unfriendly alien in my bathtub.

4) The doorbell might ring and I will open it, expecting a friendly UPS truck or theory student my mother has forgotten about, and there will be an array of strange, dirty, unshaven men breaking into my house, my phones losing service, my door without a lock, my inability to climb out my window, their pointy axes, daggers, guns, and other unappealing weapons.

5) It's late and these sentences don't make any sense, which will probably send me into a state of confusion and I may even seize and have to be rushed to a hospital. EXCEPT THERE WILL BE NOBODY HERE TO CALL 911 AND I WILL BE TOO DEAD FOR EVEN GREGORY HOUSE TO SAVE, EVEN IF IT WAS LUPUS, WHICH IT NEVER IS.

6) Voldemort will try to recruit me (for my proficient skill and magical powers) when I'm here and alone and vulnerable, and I will confuse two of my favourite things in the world in a moment of weakness (Broadway and Harry Potter) and I will reply with "I'm just a girl who cain't say no" and then I will lead the world into a Death-Eater influenced Apocalypse. (Now I am also getting confused with Supernatural.)


Uhm...
Okay so new plan.

Helloooo.

Stupid boyfriend is in Edmonton. Doing some impressive athletic thing. Stupid impressive athletic boyfriend.

 

J'ai perdu le do de ma clarinet.

Things I have learned today:

My body can hurt in so many more places I thought it possible to hurt

The worst feeling in the world is the pit of guilt and/or the pit-like feeling right before guilt, trauma, or the end of the world

I felt this feeling 5 times today

Chemistry is for chemists and not artists

I want to be an artist

I need to be held together, lest I fall apart like the angsty teenage sheep I am and spill sheep guts and who knows what I else on your blue suede shoes.

Please stop staring at the sheep, it will only provoke her.

 

C'est moi, la tortue.

I believe in the divine right of mangoes.

I believe it's every dolphin for himself.

I believe in a thing called Chicky.

I believe in the power of dark chocolate on a weak soul.

I believe in owl post.

I believe, in a bag of carrots, there is the capacity to have at least one carrot worthy of the Queen of Sheba's lips.

I believe in the attractive forces of soft fabric and vibrant patterns.

I believe in the forces of galaxy eyes and sweet days spent rolling in the grass.

I believe in hot curlers.

I believe that good writing is possible in this age of teenybopper vampire romance and other such weepy fluff.

I believe in secrets.

I believe that stars are really just big molten pieces of rock, but through abstracting them they can mean

so much more.

Les dinosaurs attaquent.

1. You are annoying. And immature. And you drive me up the wall in an annoying Hummer.

2. I am trying to reach you.

J'ai le sense de...

I feel like everthing might slip away.

And God, I want cheesecake.

La frivolite

I have this endless cycle of days.
I mean, like, more than just weeks, repeating themselves every day. It seems like I do the same things in every class. Every day. Every single day. Like honestly. And in every hour. Maybe. Except maybe the real secret is that I just want something to blog about.
But legitimately.

Bio is my class for half-sleeping, half answering all of the teacher's questions because I'm a suck up. Actually, I really like bio, and I would consider being some sort of biology-professioned individual if I wasn't so sick at the sight of internal organs and blood and I wasn't made for the stages of New York. Too bad. The poor whales will have to do without me being their biologist. As well as the ugly men. Except I wouldn't be their marine biologist, only their doctor or nurse. I would be like House. Except not British, and I don't have a cane. Yet. If I ever do become a doctor, I may take my studies to England, hurt my knee in a...squash accident, and separate myself from my old life so that I could start fresh, with the last name of 'Apartment.' Yes. Yes.

Social is my class for getting angry, bored, tired, artistic, or debating- depending on how I feel about the teacher, people, projects, nationalism and things that are not nationalism on that particular day. Let me tell you something. I will never do anything in my life to involve Social Studies. I hate Social Studies. They should be called Unsocial Studies, because the only people who continue with Social Studies in their life or enjoy it in the least bit are those with no lives. And thus, are unsociable. Thus, Unsocial Studies. I always feel unsocial simply standing in that room with that teacher who I used to feel sorry for. Now I don't. Now I don't like her like the rest of the world.
(Like, seriously. I'm one of the only ones who pays attention to you. Get off your crazy horse and be a reasonable marker with my things or I will become just as bad as That Girl I Hate So Much I Want To Bash Her Brains In With A Bottle of The Stupid She Overdosed On. Hee-Hee.)

I will call her TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO. She will be my TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO and I will call her TGIHSMIWTBHBIWABTSSOO.

Chemistry. Ah, Chemistry. This is the class where we do stupid things, like steal people's butterfly clamps and laugh maniacally, hide the remnants of things we broke in other cabinets, spill acid on ourselves; others; the floors; the counters; and any other sentient or non-sentient being around,where we lament on our lack of care and/or knowledge about Chemistry, where we vow to shoot ourselves in the foot and slowly cut our heads off with dull knives if we ever become a Chemist or someone who deals with anything as redundant and clearly pathetic as hydrochloric acid that doesn't even burn a hole in your hand, where we complain about everything and anything that even comes up to a 0.01% on the complainability scale (if it is a day ending in -day, or where there is snow on the ground, or both, that number shrinks to about a 0.0001%), where we argue with silly teachers and stupid boys, where we analyse the contents of Astrid's bag instead of the components of some sort of Chemical mixture, where we try to spend as little time as possible and make up absurd excuses to get out of class (like Rachel has to go shoot up again and cannot do so in the proximity of our ogling classmates), (we haven't actually used that one before, we should), and other such useful and highly unchemical and really quite lab-inappropriate behaviours.

And then, English, where we learn not to use such terrible run-on sentence structure as I never have before (see above.) But English is just not really a subject to complain about, when we spent the last two classes watching a movie starring Ralph Fiennes, and decided that it is actually a prequel to Harry Potter, and spent the entire period(s) whispering "Kill the spare" whenever things were looking down for poor Ralph aka Voldemort. You know what else we do? Listen to Maggie, the next brightest young mind in the planet, come up with absurdly relevent and clever metaphors, exhibited below:

"Evil is like carrots...You need them to see good."

Yes, ladies and gents, we are in the presence of a genius. I'm not even being sarcastic a little.
No, I'm ACTUALLY not.

The only real problem with English, in fact, is that it's completely ruthless...

Ah well. You win some, you lose some. This actually made me feel like quite a more jovial person than I was 15 minutes ago. But now it is WAY past my bedtime. Goodnight, moon.

En arriere.

So, school. What on earth is up with that, is what I would like to note. Here are the problems I am noting with aforementioned penitentiary:

a) I can't remember why we didn't have our Bio Digestion exam before the break. Because, as predicted, I do not remember what pepsin does, why it does it, where it does it, and who makes it do it.

b) I don't like Social studies. What is up with Social Studies, anyways? Look, if nobody gets higher than 78 on a test, its a sign that the test was malappropriated.

c) Speaking of malappropriated, I do miss English class. I don't know if I used that word correctly. I hope I did.

d) Ah, and Chemistry. Let me tell you something, teacher. You need to let us know what needs to be handed in so we don't have time to lose it. Also, you need to give us things to study for, because I may fail my final exam, with the way things are looking. Also, you need to be less conscious of being our BFF and more conscious of teaching us properly, because when I come in asking for help and you talk to me about my friends instead of stoichiometry, its not helping. Also, when its less than -10 outside, you don't need to go start your car 10 minutes before the bell rings so you can be nice and toasty warm. Yeah. You don't.

Comme ca, le oiseau peut encore voler.

Why do we condemn...

I am so tired.
But I had the loveliest of nights. Last night. Not tonight. Tonight is full of tired and annoyances. But New Year's was, although in most peoples standards, rather lame and tame, a wonderful wonderful night. Sometimes, reconnecting with people can be the most liberating of experiences. Reconnection with others allows for a much larger insight into your own self. Or something.
Nah, I'm not pretending to be deep tonight. What I really want to do is go watch Benjamin Button, but I am conflicted as to whether I should or not. Frown. Because I think it will go on way past my bedtime, because I need to sleep. Also, I need to english essay. It's a verb, now. I need to english essay rapidly, efficiently, and so well-y, that I will get an incredibly high mark and blow our beloved teacher away...
Probablt not going to happen. I kind of like the whole falling asleep idea.

Mmm. Sleep.
Also, muffins are good.


I think I will try to be exactly the same, drastically different, and moderately average this year.
Or, I could just be drastically moderate.
Or passively dramatic.
You know.