Maybe I'll post here once a month

A sentence every month. That wasn't my sentence, though. That one wasn't it either. That one... Um, well, here's my "real" sentence:

Ah, actually, I really have nothing to say - maybe something will pop into my head next month.

Enough

I hope I don't have reason to rant anymore. I don't want to rant anymore. It's just depressing, really, after the initial satisfication. No more of that, now, I hope. (Please?!)

Anyway, I usually wake up around seven on school days, do whatever I do to get ready for the day, and leave around 7:30ish. So this morning, I looked at the clock and did what everybody probably did sometimes during their life, at least once (if not, that's just unnatural). I looked at the clock and... guess what? It was exactly at 7:30. Exactly. I was like: great. Now I'm late. Why didn't anyone wake me up? Why is my day already showing symptoms of being horrible? This is too unfair.

And then I realized: the house (I mean, apartment) is way too quiet. I check, and everyone is sleeping. No school today? But why? And then of course I realize it's Saturday. I know it's Friday in America, and everyone's probably eating dinner or something. So I just sat there, looking dumb and tired, with my hair all poofy and messy, and my eyes all squinty, and I'm like half-asleep, but I'm in that middle place where you can't really wake up or go back to sleep, so instead, I just come to blog about it here, with all these run-ons and horrible grammar. So yeah. Wakey, wakey! (as my biology teacher, who's from England, would say........)

I want to kick something

But I won't. Because unlike other people I know, I'll at least try to be a good girl, and not do everything I want just for the attention and drama that will probably ensue. I'll limit myself to evil thoughts, like thinking how kicking someone's butt might satisfy my enraged self. Seriously.

You can probably tell I'm pretty ticked off. Because I am really really really really really really really ticked off. Mostly at almost all the people in ninth grade, and a little bit at me for being a hypocrite, but I'll tuck that sucky guilt aside so I can rant a bit with an-almost-cleared conscience. *Apologizes for complaints/whining/ranting beforehand, I just needed to get this out...*

*clears throat* So. Why are people so shallow? Why are people so selfish? Why do I get so easily annoyed by people at this school than any I've ever attended? Why do people want me to suffer because a) I get decent grades b) I'm (notice the quotes) "too f* tall" (that in itself deserves a grr from me) c) I get decent grades d) I can speak English so well (?!?!) e) I get decent grades? Why are grades so freakishly important here? Why is it fair that I'm the one they want to suffer, when I'm suffering enough already?!!!

GGGGAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

Remember Girl2 from that post on WordPress I made a while ago? Well, she can really get on my nerves sometimes (although sometimes she's really nice and fun to talk to, but...gahhhh!!!) She's basically the one that wants me to suffer. This is basically what happened, more or less:

Her: Nooo!! I got a B- on my essay...This sucks...
Me: Yeah....
Her: What did you get?
Me: You're just going to get mad at me. Like you always do. Why do you get mad at me anyway, if I get a better grade than you? (*Adds silently in head: Which is really, intolerably stupid of you, and I hope you realize it sooner rather than later.*)
Her: (*Whatever*) Whatever.
Me: Fine. I got an A. Happy?
Her: Nooo!! Ugh, I hate you. Why can't you suffer like the rest of us? I hope you get a bad grade on your next essay...
Me: (*Is silently experiencing rage, wondering what is this girl's problem...*) Um... (*Walks away to locker*)
Her: (*Follows, acts all mad, tugs on my shirt*) You're so mean. How could you get an A?!
Me:
Her: (*Squinty eye, frowns*)
Me:

And that's only ONE of the things that's ticked me off today. The other things also included people getting all "OMGahhhh" over grades, it was seriously way over-the-top.

People can be so....dramatic. (And that's saying a lot, coming from the "Drama Queen" herself. ;)

Oh, and one girl cried because she was getting verbally abused over getting the highest grade in one of our classes. And the person who was bullying her acted like she was the victim. And then all her *friends* just started grinning and laughing, not really knowing what to do, so they just went along with her...

Sigh. I'm the hugest hypocrite for not speaking up when I should, and just sitting there like a dunce, silent as usual. I'm really mad: at all those hypocritical girls and at all those hypocritical ME. Ugghlahness. Seriously.

The breeze caresses
my skin.
Flower buds bloom
before my eyes.
Morning dew
coats my feet.
Spring
overwhelms my senses.
This dream
brightens as
the fan turns my way
as the breeze caresses
my skin.

-Rebecca Joy-

I sit at my desk, writing about nothing, deciding to take a look around my familiar room.

There's a sliding door across from me, which opens out into this tiny little space that doesn't really lead anywhere. Outside the clear, sliding doors are more windows, with the shades pulled all the way down, moving slightly from the breeze that leaks under the window. Light pours through, flooding the small space and halfway into my room. It doesn't reach me, at my desk, where I sit in shadow.

Every spot the light touches seems to glisten and sparkle, clean and fresh. Everywhere else is cluttered, messy, chaotic. Dust is the floor's closest friend, and the smell of mold overtakes my senses as I look around my room, half-lit.

My bed, unmade, is hard and cold, a thin blanket pathetically crumpled to the side, strangled and limp. On top of the bed is a school uniform, the skirt fanned out like a balloon, and the shirt wrinkled somewhere underneath. My pillow has vanished, probably meant to be the next roof of my brothers' feeble attempt at their fort of sheets and chairs.

I turn in my own chair, examining a different part of my square, small room. The open wardrobe, hardly organized, vomits shrunken shirts and pants out at the base, waiting to be picked up and hung. Somewhere buried in the back are the rest of my school's uniform - long sleeves, coats, jackets, stripes, solids, skirts, blouses. All different, all the same.

After another turn to stare at my pitiful bookshelf, my lacking-of-books bookshelf, my eyes have traveled the whole of my square, small room. It's size is taken in by two small turns of a chair, with hardly any effort on my part.

A tiny sigh escapes my lips, not really knowing where it started from, or where it's headed. Today is a sighing day, a thoughtful day, a reflecting day, a self-pitying day. A what-if day, an if-only day. A lonely, quiet, uneventful day. A wasteful day.

A cloud has partially covered the sun. My room is in total shadow, now, not even bothered by artificial light, an artificial brightness.

I sit at my desk, writing about nothing.