the drunken teetotaler's Journal
17th October, 2001. 10:55 am.
so who do you think is the most pretentious? i'd say estrangler. the name is pretentious and the title, and the writing, and the layout...
but i like the name, i like the title, i like the layout and i like some of the writing. when did pretending become pretentious?
i think i'm most pretentious when alone, and least spoken. what do you think?
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3rd September, 2001. 7:04 pm.
"how did the debate go?"
"you should have prepared more"
"remind me next year not to get you a Father's Day present, okay?"
i remember my first DAV debate...
"you were too quiet"
2nd: "you lost AGAIN?"
3rd: "hmm. third time lucky"
i remember my first school debate...
"you even lost a school debate?"
2nd: "well, a 50% success rate..."
3rd: "that's nice... oh, it was only a school debate?"
after winning the season...
"wait till the finals"
and this time it actually was my fault. i can't wait to tell them about the maths test...
i forgot... this journal was supposed to be teenyboppy cute weird girl. the bruised one was supposed to be full of Pseu's meaning. and she who shall not be named was supposed to be this sort of self-indulgent shit. i'll move it...
31st August, 2001. 5:08 pm. not to be teenybopper, but.... it's not much of an excuse, is it?
you know, so many people seem to think that suicide is like running away. yet isn't it confrontation? admitting there is a problem rather than going on like everything is dandy.
and some others think it's selfish. but if you think it's selfish, that means you think people care about you, and if you thought about it that much you wouldn't. you'd think you're doing everyone a favour.
would i be?
24th August, 2001. 11:19 pm.
no comment. no comments. no worries. no cares. no one cares. nothing there. or here. anywhere. s'gu
this is a No Need to Argue moment. "was it all a waste of time? coz i knew, i knew, i'd lose you"
*scene from movie is projected in my mind*
"to me, this is a religious moment. you and me, here, now..." but you're not. with me, here, now. not anymore.
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18th August, 2001. 5:32 pm.
ugh. i read over journal entries from a few days ago and think: that wasn't me, was it? and it wasn't. here's some more self-indulgent teenage crap... i need to separate myself from it.
subject: parental supervision forbidden...
parental supervision forbidden�
So I came home today, happy because it was a pretty day: no maths, science spent writing haiku, lattes with Nic and Olyviah at the Haitch place, and falling over on the tram.
Came in to a library fine for a book I didn�t even read, and a lecture from the folksen for being irresponsible, forgetful, childish, unreliable, etc. This (of course) leads to more about my flailing falling failing grades, bad reports, carelessness, disobedience and difference from smarter, nicer, more respectful and altogether better children and people.
As usual I pretend I�m deaf, take a bowl of ice-cream upstairs and shut myself in my room. Shove earphones in my ears, not for the music, but for the absence of Downstairs. I feel guilty, so I go and toot a few notes on my flute. This was a stupid idea, as it provokes a negative response from folksen downstairs when I return to enemy lines, about how I don�t practice flute, or do Chinese.
You don�t know how good my mum is at making me feel guilty. She�s wonderful at being disappointed. She tells me off for not keeping promises she forced me to make.
And it�s all my fault, because they are wonderful wonderful wonderful wonderful people. It�s so selfish of them to be so wonderful and caring. They tell me they never had the chance to do this and that and I should be grateful. They are right.
27th July, 2001. 11:55 pm.
i should stop telling random* people to love me.
*not really random, but a friend of a friend of mine. not that i have any listed here.
27th July, 2001. 11:45 pm.
home is where the heart is
does that mean i'll never have an Ithaca?
i'm broke and broken. i need to buy a brain first. and now a heart too.
the truth is, i always wanted to be impenetrable. uninfluenced. strong.
but now i'm a stubborn emotionless bitch. even monsters cry
20th July, 2001. 4:04 pm. every word in the english language has been used before.
i feel as though someone has turned off my life support.
like they have disconnected my oxygen supply.
and i'm drowning in denial. in pathetic puns.
but it isn't clear and clean and smooth like water. it doesn't rinse off, i can't wash my hands of it. i'm wallowing in self-pity. i always thought i was a pygmy hippo, i might as well be in mud. it won't come off. it covers me. i'm scared because i can't breathe like this. it's suffocating. i hate the way i write. i'm melodramatic and i overuse similes and i extend metaphors further than they should go.
there was that article on the daughter of Ted Hughes and Sylvia Plath. She's a poet, imagine that, never living up to expectations, always being compared. people commenting on how genes didn't do much for you. and she said that it felt like every word was owned by either her mother and her father. if she wrote about blood, people would say it was an imitation of her father, if she wrote about mud, it would be copying her mother. so she had nothing left to say except for water, which doesn't stick and is easily forgotten. BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER
i never understood that. what is water supposed to represent? i don't know. i'm past caring.
that isn't true. i'm actually caring more but i'm more afraid to show it. i asked people about one word to describe me. if i chose one myself, it would be too.
i don't want to try too hard or too much. the more i try, the more if fail.
i shouldn't be disappointed. i shouldn't be depressed. i don't know the meaning of sadness.
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17th July, 2001. 6:32 pm.
I think i've stolen Quiche Wood's
For the night before last I also dreamt that someone loved me. And it was lovely. It was a lovely phantasy.
I'd like to believe it could happen but my religion of the month is cynicism.
Easy to practise, but not so much in theory.
I might as well be Wiccan I'm so teenybopper.
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6th July, 2001. 3:03 pm. this is a story...
Back A Page
there was a girl whose
name was **-**-**-* ****
she was censor`ed.
"Once upon a time"
called youth, she would live
"happily ever after".
She entered teendom,
and cried "O Happy Dagger!"
Fashion is not cheap
So, when the schoolyard
smelt like teen suicide, she
was cool, as corpses
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