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Kiwi Crocus
07 July 2009 @ 01:25 am
I am having junior high nightmares from looking at old deviantart stuff. Because I kept having "I haz Spanish project to doooo" problems and "zOMGz maths gonna eet me again" problems but mostly "HOLY FACK I've got ANOTHER science homework check tomorrow and I didn't do anything! Shite!"

All were followed by diligent scribbling. The Spanish occasionally made sense. The maths was for Varieur, so I just scribbled and she gave me a cookie. The science was for Murtari so I wrote a few good answers and then got distracted thinking about breakfast, which I never ate.

And then there would be the freak-out over science tests. The bi-monthly, "Uhm, so, our teacher didn't teach us anything, but we have a test. GOOD GODS, GUYS, WATERWEGUNNADO?" And I would wake up at 4 a.m., write little packets for the sections of the chapter, ace the test and take a nap. Ali would revise for hours each night and get a C.

Incidentally, junior high was when I realised that schooling was ridiculously unfair.

I also realised that I would never have any trouble in English. (I never have.) I also realised that if the teachers were female, I would probably crush on them. But that also went for Spanish. Or gym. Or history. And once even maths, but that was blasphemous.

Junior high makes me lulz. Things were simultaneously amazing and depressing.

But awr, I remember Mrs. Osborne. I was so cutely obsessed with her. D'awr. And it's kind of ridiculous that I still visit her, but she is amazing and so I am not surprised. It just makes me grin like a dork.

Because, let's face it, after half a decade I am still a huge dork. And I still procrastinate my arse off. And I still freak out the night before my science homework is due or a test is scheduled.

And, uhm, the chemistry teaching assistants were cute. And the ecology ones. And all the others.

Some stuff doesn't change, eh?

I will leave you with words from my 8th-grade Spanish teacher, who was crazy and short and reminded me of a chipmunk, so I called her chipmunk. "CONJUGATE YOUR VERBS! IF YOU NO CONJUGATE YOUR VERBS, YOU FAIL TEST! CONJUGATE YOUR VERBS!" We then watched Finding Nemo, because junior high is sensible like that. And no, I did not invite her to the "SPANISH IS OVER!" party that I threw when the class finished, despite her reading about it out-loud when she caught the note off whatever girl I was throwing it to.

Man. I was a little poop. Someday I'm going to write memoirs about junior high and laugh my arse off, 'cause I didn't even go into the band director, and he's the icing on the cake.
 
 
Current Mood: nostalgicNostalgic.
 
 
Kiwi Crocus
07 July 2009 @ 11:47 pm
I am...blech, frankly, I am blech.

I stay up until 4 a.m. because it's peaceful being alone, and now I'm used to staying up this late. I'm used to at least being up until midnight because at university everyone's awake until midnight, or at least there are always SOME people awake until midnight. In this household everyone goes to sleep by 10.

It drives me loony. Which only makes me wonder how I'll be next year, when the majority of the house goes to sleep at a reasonable time. Thank heavens I'm next to John, who stays up pretty much as late as I do. And I've got to pay by the 9th, which mother will kill me about, because there will be transaction fees.

I wake up after noon. Today I didn't leave my bed and bedroom until 4.30. Why? Because I didn't want to. It isn't enjoyable.

My brother...I love him. I love him despite that he is an arrogant jerkface whom I am often generally uncomfortable around. I don't like the comments he makes, the way he makes them, the way he sounds, his facial expressions, the general arrogance that wafts off him and gags me...

My mother...I love her. I love her despite that she can drive us all mad with her mood flips from super happy peppy blondie to her soft voice that clearly reads 'the person listening to me is an idiot' to the hard voice that is the ultimate statement of her unending Rightness and the other persons ceaseless Wrongness.

My uncle...I love him. I love him despite that he is completely crazy and cannot function with other human beings unless the conversation is on a few select bands, motorcycles/mechanics in general or his cats. Always the cats. I never want to be an old woman with no lover, because I have now seen an old man with no lover and only cats, and it is madness in its purest form. The cats are basically my cousins.

Don't get me wrong. I love cats. I adore cats. If you ask what my favourite pet is, there is a high likelihood I will respond cats. But I love cats for BEING CATS. For being independent creatures who enjoy the nighttime and are just as likely to give you a 'hah, fat chance, that' look as they are to come weave between your legs. As my father and I described it together, "We like cats for being cats. We treat humans like animals because humans are animals. He treats animals like he treats humans." But he treats the humans better than animals, namely because he hardly deals with humans, only the cats. I am a recluse in many ways. He surpasses me tenfold. That is also why I don't think it's fair that he teases me (to the point of harassment) endlessly about my own habits to get some alone time.

But he's right. I am pushing this 'alone time.' I am pushing it to the point that I don't want People Time. Because as I mentioned, I love these people, but they are driving me MAD.

This house which I so love is driving me mad. The leaking roof doesn't bother me so much as the perpetual ashes and smell of smoke. Not pleasant campfire smoke, or fire-in-the-woodstove-to-keep-us-warm smoke, but Marlborough and other stupid chemical-laced sticks of fire. Cat food everywhere. The sound of "Hopey Hopey Hopey! Awwr, she never comes in anymore, because you all are here and won't try to be friends with her..."

Wrong. I am friends with Hope in the way that two catty female felines are friends. We tolerate each other, we are occasionally kind and snuggle, but most of the time we observe each other coolly at a distance and leave the other well enough alone. My father gets along with the cats. My mother tries, and within two breathes Hope hisses at her.

I do love Maine. It is one of my heart's home. But this Maine is now my uncle's. It is cats and motorcycles and simple jokes.

So I end up staying in my room, and then staying up late in the living room with the Internet. Sleeping more than the 8 hours that was ever my limit at university.

And I know that I'll get home, and it will be pleasant for a bit, and then it will be all Ooooeeeer Rawley and Amanda Relationship! And I will get sick of things, and I will get sick of people, and I will be back in my room. Because when I can't deal with people I just stop doing it.

My eyes right now are forever focused on the future--"when I get home" "when I get to Maine" "when I get home" "when I get a job." I have hardly noticed that I have two feet firmly in the Present.

I am not balanced. Thursday Grampa and Memere join us. I don't know if I will be more or less balanced. I will be crammed upstairs in the Stalley room, right next to my parents bed.

No, I do think I will go further mad. Perhaps then I will stay up until morning, go for a walk and go to sleep when everyone else wakes up. But my grandparents wouldn't like that. And at this point I actually consider them more sane than the rest of my family. I pray that remains so. I think I need to go on an outing with my father at some point. I have a feeling that will help.

I can't believe that it's 5 past midnight and I am the only one awake. This has grown foreign to me.

Time to read fanfiction, I think.
 
 
Current Mood: frustratedFrustrated.