dirty little whirlwind, i'm pinned to the heart of your swirl.
DISCLAIMER: this is a personal blog (i just want to write about my life 😭) and does not necessarily reflect the views, opinions or perspectives of my employer or church.
i’ve been branded with the scarlet letter L. it’s searing hot and i can feel its burn press up against my skin. i scratch at the scar it leaves behind but it just won’t go away. it’s the blood that courses through my veins; these tales flow through and in me.
today i was called out on it; i was rightly accused and i wrongly denied. i told my story and almost believed it myself. did you know that’s one of the surest signs of a pathological liar?
i guess i’m deserving of my title. but i want to change that. i promise myself i will, but that’s just wishful thinking. i toss these oaths to the air and they drift meaninglessly up towards a sky that’s full of broken promises. but i want to stick to my word, and i want my word to actually mean something; i want it to be worth something; i want it to have value.
if the earth beneath me were to tear open right now and swallow me whole, how would people remember me?
me and my dreams are at war again. i dream of freedom and summer and school is my prison. every time i look out a window, i feel like running out, in the middle of class, and i imagine how liberating it would be to stretch my arms out wide in open sunlight and then turn around, look into a classroom, and smile. but every time i look up at blue skies, i question them and wonder when it’s going to rain. because i’m in that kind of state of mind right now; doubting the good and expecting the bad and hoping for a thunderstorm so at least i’d know i wasn’t wrong.
there’s a lot swimming in my head right now, and it’s all drowning; every thought is fighting the other, pushing themselves under as they claw their way to the surface and gasp for something that could be air. i take a deep breath and calm myself down and focus.
but it’s hard to sit in a front row seat of a tragedy and watch helplessly as everything turns to shit. i watch stalk still as a family falls apart. there is nothing more heartbreaking than seeing a mother cry for her child. and i am absorbed and astounded with a sick fascination by the intense amounts of love and hate and strength and weakness. and then she breaks down and i break down and when i get home, i think about homework and it seems so small and unimportant. how am i supposed to do this? how am i supposed to make everyone happy?
and then you walk into the picture and i’m confused all over again. i can’t read you. if you spoke in pictures, they’d be all blurry and hazy and out of focus. i would stop and stare a while and hope for something beautiful, but it always ends in disappointment.
cryptic smiles and secret eyes were never really my thing. i’ve never been particularly good at piecing together a puzzle; i know i have to start at the edges and the corners, and i think i’ve done a good job at that, but it’s the middle part that gets me. all your colours look exactly the same. how do i know which piece goes where?
this is going to take forever.
i’m busy rehearsing for plays and stitching seams and decoding people and doubting and questioning and loving and hating and hoping and fearing and they want me to focus.
sketchball: you’re beautiful.
me: thanks.
sketchball: am i beautiful?
me: look, are you merely hunting for a compliment which you hope leads to some sort of sexual encounter or would you like me to actually treat that question philosophically and delve deeper into the complex world of aesthetics?
sketchball: what?
what would happen if i started applying mr. dick’s lessons to the real world.
i spent the day with thadea, one of my closest friends. i find it nice that even after having not seen each other for while, we can start a conversation as if we never stopped talking. it’s a natural flow, and that’s when you know you’ve got it right.
below: a pretty old photo of us taken at a sleep over at nicky’s.
high school security guards all seem to hate me for some reason. their eyes follow my every step and any sense of subtlety is thrown out the window; i’m instantly incriminated and automatically antagonized. i don’t get it though; it’s not as if i come off as any sort of threat whatsoever. do i just reek of mischief and mayhem?
i hate how people like that tend to abuse the little power they are given. once, when i was visiting another school, i had a security guard follow me as i walked around. he purposely waited for when i arrived at a place filled with people before he stopped me and began his power-hungry rant. i told him i was going to the office and he yelled at me to shut up. any semblance of authority goes to their heads. i mean, you’re a high school security guard; does it give you some sense of pride and satisfaction to bully passing students?
it’s especially bad with ttc employees. they can be such a pain in the ass. i mean, fine, i don’t have my student card, but i’m in my school uniform and definitely look under eighteen. it sucks that i look too young to buy a beer but bitchy ttc employees won’t let me use a student ticket so i’m left stranded in the middle of a huge city. have they no hearts or sense of compassion? i guess if i were stuck in a booth behind a pane of glass all day, i’d find any excuse to yell at anyone too; it would just make things more interesting.
“can i have three adult tickets please?” “WHAT KIND OF A NUMBER IS THREE? WHY NOT GET FIVE OR TEN OR TWENTY, LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE?”
“sir, may i have my change?” “CHANGE? GREAT IDEA. FIRST, CHANGE YOUR HAIRSTYLE. THEN YOUR CLOTHES. AND THEN YOUR FACE.”
i also bumped into ruth, who i haven’t seen in the longest time. i’ve always had some sort of deeply set respect for her. she carries a sense of self, knowing and authority without coming across as a huge bitch. there are always those friends you wish you talked to more, or hung out with more and ruth is one of those friends. we drifted over topics of love and life and other such trivial things for fifteen minutes before she had to leave for class.
headed off to lysistrata after all the hanging out. i feel like such an awful actor in that play, but there’s a reason i’m so pissy during rehearsals; come showtime, let’s hope i can actually stick to my character. but what is my character? am i a diligent, obedient and stern soldier or a fearful, reluctant coward? i should probably ask my director these things.
maybe i should brush up on my acting skills? i’ll go over a bunch of monologues tonight and try to make myself cry.
i find myself sick again, coughing and sneezing at whoever’s unfortunate enough to lay in my virus-plagued path.
i think my immune system is waging a war against me and it’s definitely winning. it’s armed with nukes and a-bombs and all i have is a measly little pitchfork to defend myself with. i shall tie a white cloth to the end of it and dig it into the dirt, as if to say “you win! i surrender! just please don’t last until the weekend!”
my father, still trying ever so hard to reform me from my sinful ways, insists that this new illness is a result of my late night outings. i’m sure it’s just some onset of spring fever.
on the plus side, i like the way my voice sounds when i’m sick.
