And yet again, OLP lyrics compensate for my inability to write what I want to.

Bleh. This is why I hate being alone on a Friday night.

I'm so sick. I've had a restless day of doing nothing. I tried to sleep, but couldn't. I watched about twelve episodes of Friends. I've only eaten soup and Alphabet cereal.

Save me.

I'm so sick of maintaining. Maintaining, maintaining, maintaining. Sometimes, I want to not care. I'm sick of playing nice. I'm sick of having to go to school, and try.

Maintaining and trying. Those two things are getting old.

I know it's stupid to complain about friendships, but does anyone else feel like a lot of their friendships are going nowhere? All it is is maintaining...

Sometimes, I just want to give up. I won't want to go to school, I won't want to go all out on an assignment to get a good mark, I won't want to have to text people back, I won't want to have to talk to anyone, I won't want to wear anything but baggy clothes, I won't want to have to do my hair, I won't want to do anything.

Just let me fucking rest.

I'm not good with a busy lifestyle. I get rundown and stressed out very easily, as you can see.

She'd never admit it, she'd never consider that she always needs better, she's wasting all her time crying.



Automatic Flowers by Our Lady Peace.

Go to 2:24.

Say what you want, but I'm in love with Raine Maida's vocals. It's startling and grinding at first, but it grows on you, for sure. That little yelp is incredible. I'm amazed by it, every time.

Canadian angst of the late 1990's.

I can't put it into words.

I just have the overwhelming feeling of 'average' again.

You know those shows on television where they hook up a regular person with a cool meetup with their favourite musician? I always watch those when they're on MuchMusic, and it makes me feel so happy and sad at the same time. Deep, I know.

I'm not one of those girls that cries at the drop of a hat, but watching awards shows and TV shows like that make me want to cry. It's so stupid. You can look and see how much fun everyone is having, and then I remember that I'm the loser sitting at home in my basement, crying at a television show.

I believe the phrase would be, "You know you're cool when..."

I had a whole big spiel to come in and write about. And the words just can't seem to come.

Sorry? Okay, it'll be my present to the SM community for the day.

One hundred. One-zero-zero. The one hundy. Good work, Fallen Leaves. You should get permission to use the slogan "Time Well Wasted."

And another day is gone. Another day of me going into school in the morning, telling myself, "Shut up today. Be quiet. See what happens if you don't talk. Don't supply any information about your life, don't tell stories unless someone directly asks you. See what happens." I will last about three minutes, and then the idea of me sitting there in my desk and not talking about myself freaks me out so much I turn around and do just that.

I'm self-centered, and I damn well know it.

I know I'm pretentious too. If someone yelled at me, "Fuck you Shanae, you think you're so much better than everyone else! You think you're so much smarter and better than all of us!" I'd say, "You sure bet I do! I fucking AM better than you!"

I have a very intimidating math teacher. She's a wildly smart woman, funny, and tells it like it is. I really enjoy her and love math class because of her, but she scares me so much. We had a substitute teacher yesterday who was messing us all up by telling us the wrong rules for some math thing, and I corrected her.

I told our teacher, "Yeah the sub didn't know what she was doing."

Of course the teacher went off on a tangent saying how we should be more respectful and less arrogant, while looking directly at me. I was fuming. I didn't even do anything wrong! I corrected the sub because she was making up rules that didn't even apply to what we were learning! I didn't say anything. Because that teacher would try to set me straight.

"Shanae, you cannot go around thinking you own the place! You are no better than any of us in this room!" (You have to know her to get how she delivers lines like this. It packs a good punch.)

"But I am better!"

"No you are not!"

I can see a heated argument involving the terms "arrogant", "bitch", and "conceited" being thrown directly at me.

And what defense would I have to that?

I do think I'm better than a large chunk of the people in my town.

Why?

I don't really know. I can't really explain why I do. I just... do. Don't most people see themselves as more deserving of happiness and benefits than anyone else?

I'm a jealous person, a stubborn person, and even playing with my insecurities won't knock down my preconceived idea that I deserve better than what I have.

Why?

Let's get a little nostalgic for a bit.

My username on this website: Fallen Leaves. A song by one of Canada's most popular bands... Billy Talent. (Maybe even Canada's second biggest rock band. Damn that Nickelback band!) Billy Talent was my first real music love; they opened doors, they got me into music, they helped me grow up, so on and so forth.

That was three years ago, when I was eleven. (Yeah, it's weird that I was that young only three years ago. I've grown up since then, thank goodness.)

And I was completely in love with Billy Talent.

And now...

Hey. You know what?

I'm going to see them. Live. On their Canadian tour.

I have floor tickets. I get into the concert earlier than the general public because I bought mine from their website.

Billy Talent.

I'm surprised I've refrained from using any exclamation marks.

I'M GOING TO SEE BILLY TALENT!

I'm starting to get sick of compliments. They don't mean anything anymore. People are insincere; they say the same things too often.

Mean it.



Oh hormones, aren't you just my favourite blessing.

Here's a little something to lighten the mood. One of my absolute favourite music videos of all time, with a really awesome song.



Enjoy!

Last night, when I was tired and starting to get into one of my 'moods,' I texted my best friend from camp and told him to call me. He did, and we talked for an hour and a half. He really knows how to pick up my spirits; I miss him so much. I know a good amount of people, and he is one of my absolute favourites -- the interesting thing is, he'd never know it if I didn't tell him. It's sad how the best people don't know how great they are, yet again that might be what makes them so amazing.

I just decided to come in this journal and jot a few more things down. Writing is a great habit to get into, but I can't seem to find the time/ambition to do it very often, especially in my 'diary.' [I hate that word. It sounds so tween and melodramatic.] I haven't even written about a major things in there. For example, my Marianas Trench encounters (which are a pretty big deal to me!) only get brief mentions, and the event involving a boy and a great deal of 'cuddling' [another word I despise] hasn't been written about at all.

I'm getting a bit too busy for my liking, and that's just with school, driver's ed, and volleyball. I have issues handling much more than a few basic things, which will pose as a major problem when I start hockey (I'm playing again!) and join club volleyball this fall/winter.

It doesn't feel like I have the time to unwind. I'm sure I've mentioned this before on here, but I honestly think this is related to me not being able to participate in an old hobby of mine -- watching Friends. I'd watch Friends so often, and just sitting there and watching my favourite television show helped me chill out, but since the DVD player doesn't have sound anymore, I haven't been able to watch. I joke that it's been so long since I've watched Friends that I don't know who I am anymore.

Writing helps me unwind, too. I honestly catalogue things sometimes, just to be able to say it happened. Like writing it down makes it concrete, and that other people will know and it won't be forgotten when I am. Writing helps me remember, it helps me understand, so on and so forth.

However, when I don't have time to watch Friends or write, I feel run-down and hurried. With the invention of text messaging, I don't ever feel like I have real time to myself. It seems as if it'd be easy to just turn off my cell phone, stop answering texts, neglect my Facebook account and MSN for a few days, and I'd be all charged up on Shanae-time that I'd be good to go again for a while, but egad! I miss the days of my summer camp, where I didn't need such petty methods of technology to amuse myself. The people around me were entertaining, and you are totally surrounded by awesome people, and you just feel so wanted and right.

Is this going anywhere? Probably not. Is anything going anywhere? ...probably not.

Ramble-Ramble-Ramble.

You burn your clothes and you pray to the stars,
Because you swore to God that you'd never end up this way...
I was thinking that if you know a way out,
Then I'd like to go with you.
And we can burn out like candles under that paper moon.

It was almost exactly a year ago that I met my first 'boyfriend.' Maybe a little more, maybe a little less. Every time I have to use relationship terminology, I'm going to put quotes in it, which will be a small amount of consolence for me. It helps me think that it didn't happen.

What was so different back then, a year ago? I remember the two main factors that contributed to me getting into the "relationship." Boredom and insecurity.

Boredom as in, "Hey, this might make things a bit more exciting. Might as well."

Insecurity as in, "A boy giving me a lot of attention. Fucking finally. He's a good enough guy. Might as well."

It wasn't as if boys hadn't talked to me before. It's not like my life had been barren of flirting or being complimented or people liking me before this boy. It just seemed so... harmless. The whole time I was in the 'relationship' and the whole time we talked, I knew how stupid it was. I remember writing - maybe I still have the entry saved somewhere - that I knew it was stupid and I'd regret it, but I was giddy and happy.

It's a bit ironic that it is one of my biggest regrets. It's not like we fucked or anything, even kissed. But it was so... teeny-bopper. I did something totally stupid and I hate-hate-hate it, even still.


Now, things are different. He'd be just another little boy that texted me all of the time and thought he was smooth. He was texting me the other day, before we were going to hang out at a volleyball tournament, and it further brought me into realization that if I had met him this summer, I wouldn't give him the time of day. He's a sweet guy (so much fun!) but I would talk to him for a week or two and forget about it. (Unless, of course, he's one of those pesky little rats that texts me almost every day and I'm too polite to tell to stop.)

This time around, boys seem to be plentiful. Great guys, too.

Just saying, it's weird how it all worked out.

This was a bit of a directionless written bit, but hey, aren't they all.

But you keep getting ready for that big parade.
Paper Moon - Our Lady Peace.

See, look what happens when I don't sleep enough? I'm tired and apathetic, and then get moody.

I had a busy weekend. On Saturday, I went to this huge volleyball tournament with my town's senior team. I didn't play much - actually, barely at all - but it was still fun. I met a bunch of people, which is the usual for me. I mainly hung out with this one guy, T. We'd be visiting and I'd be hanging out with him and his friends, I'd finish saying something, and his friends would stop and say, "You are one lucky bastard, T." "Why?" They'd gesture at me. "Oh! Her..." and he'd put his arm around me.

I had a whole bunch of things to write in here, but I can't focus at all. I'm really burnt out and am feeling a bit sad. I could go on and on about that volleyball tournament and the swarm of friends I earned (I was seriously mobbed after my game by a big group of boys all wanting to hug me in congratulations for actually getting playing time), or the party I went to last night that turned out to be pretty boring.

It's a 'blech' day. I need to make a good playlist...

Ben Kowalewicz is dreamy.

That is all.

I'm just a bundle of raging hormones, that's what I am.

In Health class, we had to fill out a checklist of qualities we associated with our classmates. For example, the sheet would say 'friendly' and I'd write down 'Bertha' or whoever it may apply to. Afterwards, we'd say the characteristic and everyone would say the name they wrote down.

I, feeling confident, was ready to put the tallies down and feel good about myself. However, instead I tried to tame the jealousy. The other girls were getting straight checkmarks on things like "nice," "helpful," "friendly," etc. I'd get a few here and there. Some people got every checkmark possible for a quality. The things I was most popular for was "nice penmanship," "good at music," and "nice smile."

It was disappointing, is all. Small potatoes, right?

I really do try to be a good person and make wise decisions. But gahh, it's gruelling work and it has been wearing me down lately. It'd be so much easier to simply not care about certain things, but I do, I really do. Maintaining things is so hard. As I've mentioned on many occasions, maintaining friendships is hard work, and sometimes doesn't even feel worth it.

Blech. I'm physically drained (kudos to that terrible volleyball coach of mine; I seriously believe I could coach better than her), emotionally exhausted, and just... out of it. That's what happens when I don't get enough sleep.

Maybe it's time for me to take a hot shower, turn on "Make Yourself" by Incubus or "Spiritual Machines" by Our Lady Peace, and cuddle into my bed and rest. Or, seeming as it is still early here, actually do my homework and so on/so forth.

I'm in a very bitchy mood at the moment. I've been mobbed by little boys texting me all day, and have been trying not to be a total bitch about it and tell them to shove it where the sun don't shine. A girl in grade seven has been texting me wayyy too much as well; I have to be nice to her since she's my mom's friend's daughter and so on and so forth.

My mother has been driving me insane. I know she's my mama and all, but dear goodness, she has little habits that drive me insane. Stop suggesting food for me to eat... if I say I do not want it, do not ask five more times and do not get mad at me for not wanting to eat it!

ssjdflkjasd;fljasdlfkjsa;dlkj.

I'm much too apathetic to attempt to do a stupid math review. Seeming as the Saskatchewan curriculum is ridiculously repetitive and insists we explain everything on how a person gets their answer, I do not see the point.

I'm so fucking sick of caring! I just want to be alone for a while.

Nothing ever was, is, or will be good enough. Nothing is attainable. Everything seems so temporary and pointless, and it really makes me wonder why I should even care.

Yes, yes, the typical teenage cynical attitude, feelings of isolation and whatnot… I know.

As I’ve ranted on many occasions, I get that I’m typical. I get that I’m average. Any self-confidence that I have seems to be shattered as soon as I go to events with many people, particularly school sport events. There are so many pretty girls, and at such a place, personality doesn’t matter. I have been told enough times that I’m ‘pretty’ to start believing it, but I feel so average surrounded by other teenage girls. I’m part of the crowd.

I almost hate having fun. It’s a strange thing to hate, but a part of me despises smiling and meeting new people and trying to spark up conversations with random people. I know how shallow it is, how the ‘friends’ I make at such events very likely won’t last, and how the boys there aren’t worth my times anyways. Today, I was at a volleyball tournament, and talking to new people and meeting new boys seems so silly. Who cares? What are the chances of actually making a connection with those people?

Slim, seeming as I can’t emotionally connect to anyone in the first place.

Maintaining friendships has become a pain in the ass. I appreciate my friends, but sometimes, I don’t really feel like being in charge of them. I’m an empathetic person (for the most part), and all sorts of people come to me to vent, confess, and ask for advice. I’m getting so sick of the constant communication. Screw texting, I just want to sit in my basement and be alone for a while.

I’m established as a joker, a cheerful person, the person you can always have fun with. I find it strange that I have that rep. I never get the opportunity to be thoughtful or serious anymore.

I used to be a serious kid, or at least more so than now. I was never unfriendly, but I wasn’t nearly as talkative as I am now. I still remember when my mother tried to stage an intervention for a darker, more moody version of me, back in the golden days of seventh grade. “Why are you so unhappy all of the time? It hurts me when I see you hurt. Be happy around me… please.”

Which marks the moment when I started faking it. It seems like I haven’t gotten the feeling of the perma-smile off of my face, and my cheeks feel strange when they aren’t arched in a grin.

I’m always exhausted, and maybe that relates to me being so perky and cheerful all of the time. I have guards up, and I have to work so hard at not yelling or crying or doing whatever it may be that I’m emotionally drained.

I barely have time to write in here anymore. I talk to so many people in a day -- people at school, a handful on the computer, forums, and I have about six people that regularly text me it seems. I'm a busy girl.

I need some peace and quiet. I need some hugs!

A good hug does wonders!

On Saturday, after I wrote my previous entry, I went to the town R is from with my sister and two teenaged guys from my town to hit up another party. So I hung out with R some more. Nothing happened. R’s a mess, for sure – it’s something I didn’t want to mention before. He’s in grade ten and still fourteen, and drinks like he’s eighteen. He gets wasted out of his mind almost every weekend, he rode a pedal bike into his wall, and he can easily watch porn on his tv in his room; when there were eight of us in his room, he changed the channel to it. Yeah, not the greatest guy ever, but hey… it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.

I still have a red mark on my stomach from when he whipped me with a Twizzler. Haha.

I met some random guy at the party on Saturday. He was drunk but hilarious. He was tight with my cousin, so I got introduced. At one point, he asked me to look for someone with him, and he said he was probably in his Jeep. So we walk over to his Jeep, and the person isn’t there. He opens the door and sits down. “Come here… I won’t bite. Come sit with me.” I’m nervously laughing but I don’t necessarily back off. He puts two fingers in the front pocket of my jeans, pulling me in to him. We were getting close, and I say, “Soo… do you know how old I am?” “No, why?” “I’m fourteen.” “What! No! No way! You’re fucking lying! No! You are so lying! That is not true! You can’t be fourteen! You are way older than that! You’re in grade eleven, at LEAST! Grade twelve! You’re in grade twelve! What! Noooo!” “…yeah man, I’m in grade nine. How old are you anyways?” “I’m eighteen!” He pulled his hand out of my pocket and stood up. “Listen, I’m so sorry.” He kept on shaking his head and saying, “No way!” and mentioning how weird and awkward it was.

At another time, this guy was trying to get past me in a crowd. He stops, smiles, and looks at me. He was about twenty-three, and let’s just say wasn’t the easiest on the eyes. He throws his arms around me. “You are beautiful! Just like a picture! Wow. You are going to be such a cutie when you get older. You will break so many hearts. Your dad should be worried about you.” He walked away, shaking his head and smiling at me. I said to him, “Yeah, well… I’m young.” (As in, please stop touching me, mister.) After he left, I burst out laughing.

Needless to say, I feel good about myself, still. I have been getting so much better with who I am – maybe I’m still a little woozy from all of the drunk people’s ‘friendliness’ from that night and the night before, but hey, let me feel golden while I can.

PS: I realize that writing something like that probably isn't the smartest thing to do on an Internet journal.

The party was fun. To give a main idea of the party, people were pleasantly surprised I made a cameo at this particular social event, and I was usually greeted by a tight hug and "Yes, you're here!" I was hyper enough to not care how awkward it was that I was drinking water whilst everyone else was drinking actual alcohol.

As always, I shall warn you, I may sound vain here. I am vain, but I don't mean to be all of the time. I'm still savouring the increasing amount of male attention I get. Many drunk guys I know/am somewhat friends with like to sling their arm around me and plead for even "a kiss on the cheek." I find it highly amusing.

[Sidenote: B was there. He was not one of the slobbering drunks trying to get with me. We had a few conversations. I think I'm good with things now.]

Four people from a neighbouring town slept at my house. My cousin, his girlfriend, their friend, and their younger friend, R. Of course, younger for them still means a year older than me. I've known R for a while now, but it's not like we've ever hung out or really done anything together. At the party, he kept joking, "Yeah, I'm sleeping in your bed tonight." "You can go for it man, I'm not moving though. I'm not giving up my bed for you. Sleep there if you want." Nearing the end party, we started talking more, joking around further, and hugging. Then again, everyone hugs.

On the way home, I had to sit on his knee. I suppose there was an extra space for me, but I never made use of it. R grabbed ahold my my hand and entwined his fingers and mine. My cousin (him and R are really tight) was laughing and saying, "R, don't you dare! Be careful with her! Don't try anything!"

When we got to my house, R hops right into my bed. My sister came and looked and playfully yet seriously said, "Nuh-uh. No way you're sleeping in her room! Get out." I said I didn't care, and would kick him out when I wanted to go to sleep. I went in and talked to him a few times, and he'd grab my hand and try to reel me in, and I'd smile and say his name cautiously.

Around two o'clock, when everyone else had retired, I was heading to my bed. Of course he was still awake in my bed, and said, "Ah come in. I'll leave in a few minutes, just sit down for a bit." I was uneasy about it, but I was sick of caring. I hopped in.
Before long, he had reeled me in again, his fingers wrapped in mine, our bodies close. Now, despite the amount of major flirting I do, I'm not comfortable with sexuality too much yet. I'm fine when everything is in fun, but if there is the actual chance of things happening, I get awkward and shy and embarrassed.

I knew people didn't want us sleeping in the same bed, fearing that he'd try something with me. When my cousin's girlfriend came in to sleep in my bed with me (to find R and I 'cuddling'... I hate that word), she didn't really care, and I reassured her, "Bah! I wouldn't do anything anyways." She left, and R and I continued to just lay there, basically... well, spooning.

And yes it is a little weird writing this...

We basically were wrapped in each other, not asleep, but not talking. It was weird being so close to someone and being able to feel their breath on my neck and being so close I could hear their heartbeat. Which sounds hopelessly romantic, but hey, I'm a teenaged girl, give me a break.

"R, you'd better go... people will snap if they find us in here." "I will go, in a few more minutes." "Okay."

We talked a bit, but it was mainly just being close, and him trying to be smooth, and for the most part succeeding. So much could've happened. I easily could've kissed him... actually, he did kiss me once, but that was on the cheek. Sometimes our faces would be directly together, and I would honestly have my nose against his nose, and my lips would be on his. I knew he wanted to kiss me, for those moments he'd try, but I'd bury my face in his shoulder or neck.

At four thirty, he left. I didn't really want him to, but I was partly terrified of if my sister came in to check up on me, or if my brother walked by, and I was a little scared that he'd try something I wasn't comfortable with.


Just thinking about this stuff again feels nice. He was so warm, I was so warm, we were so close. Really, it is stupid to do such things with boys at four am, in a bed alone, but I did anyways. I somewhat wish I had kissed him or let him kiss me when it would've been so easy, but I'm still scared I'll do something I'll regret.

So far, I don't regret this. It was so nice, so different.

Ahhh.

Tonight, I'm going to a party. A real party. This guy in grade eleven, actually a neighbour of mine, is having a decently sized gathering (well, as good as it gets in small town SK), and I have permission to go.

I love socializing. I really do. Meeting people and making new friends, and yes I do realize how lame that sounds, is really fun to me. However, from the parties I've been to, watching the drunks is the most amusing part. I'm more of a conversation person; I like getting to know someone, and I love visiting. Seeming as I don't drink yet, it's just awkward going whilst everyone is wasted.

Besides, I'm a bit scared of ever getting drunk. I'm very afraid that I'll be a slutty drunk. Very, very afraid.

But 'nyways.

What else is new?

My first week of school is done. Once again, I must bring up how much I dislike my classmates. We get along well in the summertime, when the choice people I'm speaking of aren't showing off to the rest of the kids and aren't trying to sidetrack the entire class. You know, I'm pretty sick of watching the same seven or eight guys getting into arguments of one person's dad's name, or which sports team is going to do better, or which movie was funnier.

I don't understand how they can get screamed at for being immature, attention-seeking, greedy, rude, and disrespectful people, and as soon as the teacher turns away, look over to a friend and snicker like, "Hell yeah, look what I've done." They really disgust me sometimes. Don't they have a conscience? Don't they care?

I click on my own journal so often to come in and write an entry, but once I come in and start typing, it's so hard to actually write. It's not like I have an actual lack of things to talk pointlessly about, but I'm realizing I don't like writing in here too often anymore because people judge me. When I write in my diary (le gasp, I'm a loser), I don't say much either. I judge myself too. Rereading the entries in which I do write about whichever problem or situation I'm facing, I look back and go, "Oh dear, what was I thinking?" So many pages are dwelling on B.

I guess I like cataloguing things so I can sit back and revisit that moment sometimes, but that's a double-edged sword. Do I really want to record down times where I had a silly crush on some seventeen year old guy friend of mine? Should I want to read an old angry entry ranting about my family?

I'm thinking that I'll eventually stop writing... I feel judged on here, and I judge myself elsewhere.

I started a concert scrapbook. So far, it's pretty sad looking, and honestly makes me feel like some sort of crazy-fan or stalker type, seeming as the three concerts in there are from the same band. I really like scrapbooking, actually. It's something to do at 2am when you don't really feel like sleeping.

Although, doing all of these small little things that I enjoy don't leave me feeling thoroughly happy. Finding a really good song makes me happy... temporarily. Achieving awesome marks make me happy... temporarily. I enjoy those things, but I can't really say that they make me happy. Even, say, my meetups with Marianas Trench and reaching some of my dreams doesn't make me 'happy.' I feel like I've been chasing shallow dreams, but maybe I have. There's a temporary happiness, and it can be looked back on and reminisced in and still put a furious smile on your face, but I still come back feeling unsatisfied.

If I were to very truthfilly fill out one of those Facebook quizzes, and it asked "How do you feel about your life?", the word used would be 'unsatisfying.' It's not like I hate my life, no no. I have it easy! My parents love me, I'm good at sports, I make friends easily, I've met some of my heroes, I have good marks, boys pay attention to me, so on and so forth.

It's not like I hate my life at all. I'm just not thoroughly happy.

Make sense?

Yes? No?

I think I should sleep instead of scrapbooking at 2am.

You're frustrated by the cracks in the pavement and every mother's back, once again.

"Why don't you go for it? You could totally get with him! Do it. At least kiss him. It's perfect. You'll probably never see him again. First time is the best. Go for it!"
"But... but... he's probably a player, and I barely even know him!"
"So what? And you're a player too!"
"Good point..."
"So go for it!"
"No! I'm too... no. I can't."


Ahhh, a day in the life. I was at a wedding dance, and just so happened to start up a conversation with a pretty blonde boy and his blue-eyed friend. I was hanging out with two guys in my class, and us four decided to go for a walk around the town... er, village. Three of four boys wandered off, and the blonde one stuck by me. The one boy in my class texted me, giving me make out advice. I showed the blonde boy, and he laughed and said he wouldn't hate that idea.

I said no.

I always say no.

"So what? And you're a player too!" The guy in my class saying that.

I always say no...

Never mind, I don't feel anything. It only hurt a bit.

Egad. I'm listening to a song about bulimia.

You always win.

Laugh it like it works, bleed it like it don't hurt, knock you off your feet, even if you need me, I'm tearing you apart, and I hate how I need you. Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones...

I get overwhelmed easily. I try to stay calm, and slip into a strange quiet sadness. Exhausted and cold, she's not ready to go, so the ghost on the phone helps her safely into her dream. I'm known for a bubbly personality, yet after I spend a night joking around with friends and can still feel the muscles in my cheek pulling at a smile, I feel miserable. The only time I really struggle with self-loathing is after I spend time laughing and joking. I know that it won't ever change but it hurts the same.

I feel shallow.

Random updates:

-Over the past few days, I've had to do farm stuff for my dad. This includes driving a semi.
-One of my best guy friends admitted to liking me. I knew it all along, but he cares more than I'd ever thought.
-One of my guy friends from camp also likes me. Which is awesome, because he's like my musical soulmate. We said we'd go see Our Lady Peace together.
-A few friends met Mark Hoppus of blink-182 recently. I told one friend to say hi. She did, and said Mark says hello back, and sends me his smile. A small victory, but hey, it's still pretty cool.
-While I was driving the truck today, I found an old hits CD from back in the day. I realize how much I miss Third Eye Blind. And how much I love the song 'Misery' by The Mofatts.
-School's starting this month. Already. Wow.
-I'm still but a wee grade nine. Sigh.
-I get to go see Marianas Trench again soon. I didn't think I could top the first show I went to of theirs, after getting the setlist, meeting the entire band, making Ian the drummr laugh quite hard, and him knowing my name before I met him. Sure enough, I did kick the first show's ass.
-I still find myself grinning as I reminisce in the memories of seeing Marianas Trench the second time. All four guys remembering me, Ian yelling, "HI SHANAE!" at their soundcheck as I walked by, Mike also yelling, "HI SHANAE!" as he was taking pictures with other fans. Ultimately, I smile at being pulled onstage, watching the encore from backstage, seeing Trench's camper, and giving Josh Ramsay his guitar for Shake Tramp.
-That story is probably the one I will tell my children.


I could've probably written something extremely random and dirty in the above points, because few people in their right mind would read through that. :)

I went away to a summer camp for six days. I went last year, and enjoyed it immensely, and although this year wasn't the same, I still had a lot of fun. Last year, there were no cliques and there definitely wasn't any drama. This year, throw a few good looking boys into the mix, and lawdy do the claws come out!

But yes, it was fun. I made some new friends, reunited with old friends from last year's camp, and got a fresh boost of self-confidence. It sounds cheesy, but you leave this camp feeling so much better about yourself. This entry will probably contain raving, but since I'm not used to raving, it'll likely come off as senseless bragging. Either way.

We have these things called 'people posters', and basically everyone writes nice things about you on it. It makes me feel so happy reading mine. Most of the comments complimented my way of making other people feel welcome, my friendliness and infinite energy, my sense of humour, my sincerity, the quality of my hugs, and the "Wow, you're gorgeous!" spiel. One of the boys even wrote that I was the funniest girl he had ever met.

The award I got at the end of the camp was "Most Likely To Stay Golden." I didn't quite get it, so they explained it to me. It has to do with the poem 'Nothing Gold Can Stay', and also the book 'The Outsiders.' (I know the poem, but haven't read the book yet because we're doing it next year for a novel study.) As one guy explained to me, "It means that you're the most likely to stay absolutely perfect and amazing." That same boy wrote on my poster, "As Eden fades to gray, nothing gold can stay. The author of that poem must have never met you, because I'm sure you'll be golden forever. I found out really quickly how friendly and awesome you were, and you continued to be nice to people. I wish we lived closer, because you're an awesome friend."

Hearing comments like that make me feel like a good person, which is a nice flip-side to my usual cynical approach to myself.

Also, I was unofficially named the second 'hottest' girl at camp. (Okay, the first was seventeen and going into grade twelve, and I'm going into grade nine. I'm not too torn up about the loss. Plus, she was gorgeous.) People kept swooning over how 'cute' I am, and I received many compliments on what a naturally gorgeous girl I am. When I actually let a counsellor put makeup on me for the dance, she said, "I don't really want to do much for makeup to you. You're so beautiful already, you don't even need this stuff."

I miss the place where people genuinely liked me.

There was drama, though. There was this one girl, AG, who really liked this boy, AM. I knew of the little thing they had, so I'd try to talk to AM casually. Another one of my friends trotted over, angry, saying, "What's your problem? Do you purposely flirt with other girls' guys?" "...what are you talking about?" "You were all over AM!" "What? Was I? Oh. Well... it wasn't intentional. I definitely didn't mean to." Basically, as that story wraps up, AG liked me as a person but wanted to scratch my eyes out when I was allegedly stealing her man.

I made a good friend. Well, our friendship will be good if we keep in touch. Of course, he was the one I had a tiny girl-crush on. He's a wonderful guy, with a great sense of humour, sincerely kind, friendly, and happily enough, good-looking. He also is incredibly insecure. He was telling me about how people thought he was battling anorexia. He said his biggest fear was ever being fat again. His friend said that he had lost eighty pounds in four months. (I honestly do suspect some sort of eating disorder.) On the last night, while we were hugging, I said, "Look. Don't worry so much about the weight thing, okay? You're a great guy. You're very good looking. Just... don't let it get to you, okay? I'm a girl. I don't weigh what I probably should. I don't eat sometimes, just because I don't want to. It's... yeah." He looked up at me with the saddest blue eyes and said in a low voice, "Thank you." And we hugged some more.

Anyways.

We were texting after, and although we were -*cough*- flirting, I was being serious, and so was he. He was very impressed that I could look the way I do without wearing makeup or doing my hair. He said I proved his thought of girls having to spend lots of time on their appearance wrong. More importantly, he said he'd rather be with me than one of the typical high school dance girls that seem to be the shot of every teen male's fantasty.

I told him about how I did think he was 'pretty'; I later had to explain that 'pretty' is my word for 'hot.' I told him what a great guy he was, on and on.

Gahhh. This makes me miss camp. And all the love of camp!

End rave. :)

It has been a little while since I last wrote in here, but seeming as my life isn't that exciting, there's no real reason to constantly update this thing.

I haven't talked to B in about a month and a half. Last night, I had a dream about him. (I also had a dream that I borrowed Angelina Jolie's dress for this one classy party thing, but gave it back to her because it didn't fit right. We were sharing a hotel room. Don't ask why.) I was in his school, and he came up to me and started talking to me hurriedly, and he was turning red in the face but was obviously excited. "Yeah," he said, "You should text me sometime you know." Flustered and embarrassed, he ran off. It was a weird dream, alright.

Also mingled in my dream was something to do with being late for a hockey game, but losing my shirt or something like that. I was dashing to the rink at the last second, and a boy called out my name. "Hey... I'll never see you again," he said. In true Fallen-style, I ran up to him and gave him a jump-hug, clinging onto him. "Sure you will," I told him, "we just have to stay in contact." He hugged me harder. I woke up, smiling, and sadly realizing what a pathetic, desperate, and lonely little teenage girl I am.

A few days ago, I had a dream that I lost my virginity. The dream was extremely far-fetched, not only for the reason obviously stated above, but that it was too Chandler Bing of Friends, a fictional character. And, well... Chandler never gets laid. (Yes, I'm smiling at my own joke. I love Chandler Bing.)

Maybe they should send me out in the woods or something until I learn how to survive on my own.

Maybe I should learn Spanish or something.

Hmm...

I need to call a friend that will gladly listen to my random chatter, such as above.

I almost had the milestone of getting my first kiss last night. La-de-dah. And wait! Milestone? All my friends assure me that getting kissed is small potatoes and that it's not all I'll hope it to be.

Probably not, but still. I already screwed up the concept of 'first boyfriend' by falling into the silly trap of teeny-bopper dating. I probably shouldn't be so guarded about something as petty as a first kiss -- or maybe, I should be proud. I don't know which. Either way, this entry is going to come off as teenage girl dramalama, so if you aren't a fan of that, I suggest you click away, my friend.

The one dubbed as "My Husband" was around last night, and although flirting was very strained and he seemed to be very closed off and quiet, I still was around with him. He and his friends were leaving, and they laughed and shouted for him to give me a kiss. While we were in the middle of an embrace. (Yeah, it's one of those things I do -- hug people. A lot. I love hugs. Especially tight, close hugs with very pretty boys such as my spouse.) I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. Our lips inches apart, he says, "Do you want that kiss?" I felt shivers go through me, that happy cringe in my stomach, and the excitement increase throughout my body.

"Yes. No. Maybe... I don't know!" I nervously laughed and turned to the side, nestling into his shoulder further and further. "Sorry... tomorrow maybe?"

I was so close. It's probably something I should just get over with...

I think it's interesting that in a whole new environment, knowing only one person, I somehow rose to popularity in a group of people that knew each other and where some had went to school together. It probably sounds vain, but let's face it -- I, Fallen Leaves, am vain, and have been for as long as I remember, and probably won't stop being so any time soon. I get ragged on for bitching about my faults so often and never making a major effort to change them, but... goshdarnit, I'm apathetic, and I love making excuses.

Everybody has seen the movie Mean Girls, right? Does anyone remember how the guy says, "Everybody has mean in them. Regina's just more up front about it." That's what I am. I don't smother my faults with false niceties. I'm the one that, in a conversation with a stranger, easily admits my flaws. Yes, it is a self defense mechanism, but it's so much easier than pretending I'm perfect.

Wow, I sure know how to stray from an original topic. Oopsies.

As I was saying in the start, I think it's interesting that this group of girls liked me so much. They were begging for me to return to their ball team next year, and to play hockey with them, etc. They swooned over my sense of humor, happily tried to imitate my sarcastic swagger and apparently British-esque voice.

I find it so strange because the people in my hometown sure seem to dislike me.

People everywhere else always want to hang out with me, talk to me, etc, but when it comes to my own little ol' village, everyone pretends to like me and swallows their obvious distaste for my idiosyncrasies.

Sorry for the whymsical way of writing today, I'm just in a happy mood because a great guy friend of mine has a 'crush' on me. No, not B. Someone else.

Excuse the scattered entry.

Sleep is needed.

People keep saying how beautiful I look in the photos from grad. Right now, I don't feel beautiful.

Nah, it's not one of those entries. I'm too tired to feel much of anything. Besides exhaustion.

Goodnight, SM land.

Would anybody be interested in hearing a short story on how a few guys in my class discovered the 'feminine product' pocket of my bookbag?

Great. I'll tell you.

My friend, who plays hockey with many of my classmates, said, "I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but [he] said that him and some guys were going to put garbage in your bookbag and accidentally opened the pocket with your... stuff... in it."

I'm not concerned that they found my pocket full of tampons and pads. What do I care? Fact of life. However, I am concerned about why they were planning on putting a bunch of random garbage in my bookbag. I know it sounds trivial, much like many of the other incidents like this, but once again I ask, "Do they really hate me that much?" And how did the conversation come about in the hockey dressing room with my friend that they had attempted to do this stunt? Which boys were involved? I know the one for sure, and can guess of two or three others.

First that silly text messaging thing (I still don't know who started that, by the way), then one of the girls I considered to be one of my 'best friends' not inviting me over for her birthday (sounds trivial, yes, but it's a get-together of her 'closest friends' and she doesn't even bother to make a sad excuse for my absence until I bring it up 'jokingly'?) and now this.

It shouldn't bother me as much as it does, but it's such a damn cliche that sounds like it has been taken directly from the cheesy health class videos about bullying.

When I was younger, I was bullied, yes. It was more name-calling, exclusion, and behind-the-back BS that's usually reserved for bitchy females. Over the past year, I thought I had gained ground with my class and was finally forming friendships with many of them. I know they still find me weird and, of course, annoying, but I thought there was a small appreciation for my eccentric ways. I thought the tables were turning.

Oddly enough, I still reign as one of the 'popular' kids. I haven't yet decided if I'm a good person with good intentions or an absolute bitch with hidden motives. I'm polite, I give people hugs when they're sad, and it's not as if I always put myself before others. Yet, I do do typical 'girl' things, like gossip, use people, etc.

I was thinking the other day if I was one of the kids in those poems you read in English class. You know, about being the loser as a kid, but finally being popular as they got older, and instead of carrying out the revenge they had always been plotting, offered kindness and their hand to their former enemies.

A little from Column A, a little from Column B.

I am bitter, true. I certainly have done terrible things, absolutely. I take advantage of people on occasion, yes. But doesn't the idea that I feel guilt about that afterwards mean that I still have a conscience in tact? After all, I'm the one who feels bad after only running one in a half laps and calling it two. (To which Suzie, mentioned in below entries, says, "I don't think I even have a conscience anymore.)

In this dreamland,
The kids are alright
And the sky is blue.
We all got wings
And know how to fly
I'm headed to the moon!
The sun on my face,
My head in the clouds,
Time on my side,
My feet off the ground,
I'm not coming down!

Dreamland - OLP.

I wish.

My mother and I got into a talk about Dad, and how unfair it is that he expects us to work for everything. She told me I was beautiful and intelligent and shouldn't ever cut myself short. She said that whatever problems she and Dad were having, it was not my fault. Ever.

I love my parents, but it scares me seeing them raw. Mom cries often in front of me now, on our car rides. She'll say things like, "I don't want your sister to ever marry her boyfriend. Just because they are highschool sweethearts doesn't mean they have to be together forever." Her and Dad were dating in highschool. She says, "I haven't done anything for myself since I became a mother."

I took my finger, and tried to make her smile by perking up her cheeks. She started to cry.

I put on "Are You Sad? (Live)" by Our Lady Peace. It's mellow. "Could you pick a slower song? Geez. This is going to make me cry."

With my sister graduating, I'm going to be caught in my parent's turmoil with no hiding.

Stupendous!

Have a good night.

And if I burn out, and slip away,
This is just a part I portray,
This is just a part I portray.
You're beautiful;
Can I hide in you awhile?
This is just a part I portray,
Don't know how I got this way...



The world really needs more a capella intros.

Egad, I'm tired, and burning out. Thank goodness I only have on final left before summer break. Even then, I'll be busy.

"Sorry, I don't have flaming boobies." - Ben Kowalewicz.

Ha-ha, crack jokes at this being my sixty-ninth entry.

I should really be studying, or doing something, but... I worked a bit today, and because I have no stamina I'm exhausted, plus I fell down a flight of stairs and hurt my ankle, and... excuses, excuses. I just hate studying.

Last night, I had a dream that I was a certain pop star. I was playing a little concert in a small venue, and although there weren't too many people there, I was happy with the turnout. As I continued on singing, people started to leave. Soon, there were only twenty people in the crowd. Still, the people waned. I was left with three fans. And then there was one.

I also dreamt that I was playing ball with my team, and that I started coughing up blood. My coach then announced the team captain for provincials. It wasn't me. I quit the team.

I don't know what these dreams mean, or even what relevance they have. I have my guesses.

Anyways, this is sort of a 'random thoughts' entry.

Have a good day. :)

There's this girl on my ball team that texted me out of the blue one day and started telling me about the problems of her life. Actually, she'd start with the BS of, "Oh, something's wrong, but I don't want to talk about it." I'd make her tell me. And this is a girl I barely even know.

Usually, I try to be extra kind to people that 'open up' to me. Usually, I try my best to take them under my wing, so to speak, because on the ball team, I do serve as an older sister figure sometimes. After a few days of her pestering me, asking me if I had ever cut like she does, probing around in my business, she began to catch the hint. "Are you mad at me?" "No. I'm tired." "You seem to be mad..." "Okay. I think you're annoying. I'm sick of having to take care of people. I'm losing faith in humanity. Sorry."

It feels like I'm hardening over.

I'd feel bad about so easily shaking this girl off and pushing her aside, but... it's not that big of a deal to me. I'm just so fed up with dealing with other people's problems; Don't get me wrong, I do feel needed when people come to me and sincerely want my 'words of wisdom', but this girl, for some reason, pushed me over the edge. I couldn't deal with the pestering, the pleas for attention. When true friends come up to me and spill their hearts out, I'm fine with it. When B starts venting about how he feels inadequate and like he'll never be good enough, I'm one hell of a friend. This was just... ah.

If my 6th/7th grade self approached me like this girl did, what would I think?

I'm not even sure if I want to answer that question.

The older I get, the more I hate my past.

My writing seems to have only gotten worse, as well as its content. Here I am, day after day, bitching about some stupid male figure that I shouldn't waste time on, and the typical highschool beauty queen.

Take me away from here.

It's a good thing I just had some bonding time with my parents around the campfire in our backyard, otherwise I'd be getting in one of those 'woe is meeee!' moods. Even the littlest thing can set me off. Like you know, B saying that he got some girl's number after a few guys told him to hit on her (which is uncomfortable, because B doesn't flirt, um, pretty much ever) or seeing "Suzie" winning academic awards at the undergrad award ceremonies at school yesterday. It's not fair that she's extremely beautiful, fun, athletic, and can maintain a 96% average.

Sigh.

I hope that one of these days, I'll have one of those viciously awesome friends I read about in teen fiction novels, that'll be over at your house in minutes when you say something is wrong, and will hold you while you cry for no reason whatsoever, and will be there to kick anybody's ass for you.

*Cue "Friends" themesong.*

I could write a big long entry about the feelings that I always dive into when I’m tired and in ‘one of those moods.’ To do that, though, would be futile. There’s not much use in writing the same thing you’ve always written, is there?



I know you must be upset I can’t find meaning.
I’m sorry, we’re sorry,
We’re all scared, all scared…

Is Anybody Home? by Our Lady Peace.

And, well, since words have become meaningless, I’ll post this.

In my last entry I mentioned a song called Masterpiece Theatre I by Marianas Trench.

This entry I get to rave about being able to see that song be performed live.

And now, I will rave about being able to see it be performed live... again!

That's right. I'm going to another Marianas Trench concert. Ian Casselman will remember me, I promise. I'm so, so excited, and so very tempted to use more than one exclamation mark when I say...

I'm going to another Marianas Trench concert!

First it comes on quiet, creeping slow. Clever words and phrases only stain, I remain so lost and buried under everything that I need, when all I want is you.

Lawdy, lawdy, I love that song. Masterpiece Theatre I by Marianas Trench.

...what? I'm feeling whimsical right now.

Maybe I spoke too soon. A few entries ago, I said I wouldn't change anything about myself.

Oh, how I loathe me sometimes.

And how I loathe you. You disgust me. I hate seeing him anywhere near you. I hate your beauty. I hate your flirting. I hate how you could have him if you want, but don't want him. I hate how you still play with his mind, never releasing him from you.

I hate me for not being good enough.

Last night, I was talking with my cousin/classmate about one guy in my class, and how we enjoy to 'beak' each other. "Did he ever tell you what he was going to say that one time?" "No, he didn't. Why, what was he going to say to me?"

"Oh, he just told me that there was this forward going around a while ago about you. And it said something like, "Shanae is the biggest fucking queer in all of *town*. Don't hang out with her or even talk to her. Forward this to ten friends."

I was hurt, but I laughed, assuming that it was another tall tale cooked up by that random guy in my class.

I was talking about it with some of the girls at lunch, and one said, "Oh, yeah! I actually got that one once. I was going to tell you, but it totally slipped my mind. He sent it to me, and I was like, 'What the hell?'"

I brought it up with some of the kids in my class. "Yeah, he told us about that." "He sent it to me and I asked him why he'd even send it on." "He told me that someone from *neighbouring town* sent it to him."

Awesome. I'm the victim of text messaging forwards.

And apparently, I'm a queer that people hate so much they have to write BS about and encourage their friends.

I know some people think I'm weird, but I never knew they hated me that much...

What an ego boost.

Looks like the calm before the storm.

You'd better swim.

I forgot to post the actual link for what I wrote about below.

I'm brilliant, what can I say.

http://mmva.muchmusic.com/favourite-canadian-video

Marianas Trench. Cross My Heart.

Do it, do it, do it!

(Seriously. It's my job to do these things -- I'm part of the street team. And that street team got me things like a guest list spot and a hell of a lot of love from the guys in the band.)

Soo, would anybody like to do me a quick favour? Please? It'll just take a few seconds!

Copy this link into your browser and vote for the one that says "Cross My Heart" by Marianas Trench. Pretty please and thank you. I better start "Trenching" and actually attempt at helping them out. Thank you so much. :)

PS: I have no idea if that link works out of Canada. Try anyways. Thanks! For real.

And now.

Instead of making sad tries of endorsing a Canadian pop-rock band that enjoys breaking out in vocal harmonies (as I discussed with the bassist, in which he began to belt, "La la la!"), I should be doing homework. English homework. I usually love English, but this set of questions isn't exactly easy to answer. Thank you, dear teacher, who is also my friend's dad/gym teacher/old hockey coach, for dealing these questions out.

"If you could change any two things about yourself, what would you change? Why would you change it?"

Uh.

Awkward...

What would I change? Let's go physically.

There's my sweet nose. I'd like to see that change into something 'prettier.' But if I changed that, then everyone else on my face would be out of proportion and it wouldn't work. Or it'd be nice to have one of those naturally fit and athletic bodies, too. Or nice feet. How about nice hair that was easy to maintain?

Superficial stuff.

Nice skin.

I'll probably write about physical things I'd change about myself. I don't feel comfortable spilling out things I'd like to change to my English teacher, the short little guy with a shaved head and goatee.

If I weren't so inhibited by that, what would I write?

"Two things I would change about myself are..."

I can't believe I drew a blank. I don't know what to put. I can't think of anything that I greatly want to change about myself. There are things I don't have control of (like, 'Hey I wish I had musical talent and credibility!'), but other than that, I can't think of anything like, "I wish I were normal."

Because my own weirdness is beginning to grow on me. Yes, I don't like it at times, but who would I be without my constant random music info pouring out at all times, or without my sad, sad attempts at achieving Chandler Bing wit? Where would I be without my sarcastic rants, or boy-crazed nature?

Exactly.

We talked about it for even longer. We're clear now. I cannot believe I actually told him so much of that. He was shocked that I had waited around that long. "Shanae. Don't try to wait for me. Please."

I asked him about what exactly happened at that 'dance' a few months ago. I told him that everybody, myself included, thought he was interested. ...not the case. That hurt, but I'll be fine.

"B, don't tell me the mere thought of us has never crossed your mind."

"Shanae, I'm telling you this for your own good. You need to move on. I've already taken four years of your time. I don't want to take any more."

At lunch today, Suzie was talking about her weekend. She said she got drunk and made out with two guys -- one was her year and a half long crush that she still hopes will happen. "I mean, it's not as bad as your whole 'B' thing." "Yeah... about that."

I tried to explain without giving away too much detail. I didn't mention the real reason we got into the conversation. B wouldn't enjoy me telling her that he still likes her and can't get his mind off of her. "Oh and Suzie, I know who he asked out." I gave her a look. "Hey, it wasn't me!" "...what? But... he said he asked you." "...well if he did I didn't catch the hint!"

Immediately I felt like shit for even leaking any information to her. It was totally disloyal to B to even let her know that I knew, I think.

So I guess I'll be moving along now. I'm so glad B and I are friends. He's a great guy.



And for the record, I got a homerun in my ball game last night. :D

I told him that I don't actually like him, but because of what I had felt for so long, I'm reluctant to ever start anything with anyone else. I think it's actually the proper time to use a Friends reference.

Ross is deciding between Rachel and Julie. Chandler comes up with the great idea that he should make a list of pros and cons for each. Under cons for Julie, he says, "Julie's... Julie's great. But... she's not Rachel."

I have had tons of great guys throw themselves at me. But I never grew a serious interest in them. Because they're not B.

The reason I'm not very upset about this is because there's still that stupid hope that, "Yeah, it'll happen..."

Oh well. Enough of this.

Bunnies and rainbows and sunshine!

And I keep encouraging him to tell me more about the situation, how he feels, and offering advice. I want to help him, I really do, but hearing about how this has been going on for around a year crushes me. There were times when I thought he was into me, yet she was always on his mind. "I can't get her out of my head," he says.

The comment on my last entry asked why I don't just tell him how I feel.

I did. I told him in March. Things got awkward and uncomfortable.

I don't want to ruin our friendship anyways. It's nice to have someone to talk to every day, to talk about stuff with, and so on and so forth. It's just hard...

I'm a bit curious as to why this "Suzie" didn't come out and tell me, "Hey, uh, B likes me, and um, asked me out once." When I'm going, "Ohhh yeah! I really think things are going to happen soon!"

Damn my naivety.

And now, here is a song that describes my situation almost to the dot, if you reverse the genders.

Surrender - Billy Talent

Well, for the first time that I can remember, I cried over a boy. Ha, yes.. I did. You see, I was talking to B, and teasing him about this one girl -- "Suzie". On and on the conversation went, and then I finally figured it out; yes, he likes her.

A stupid reason to cry, right? Well I'll say.

Suzie is the epitamy of perfection. She's a dancer, with a beautiful body, gorgeous hair, and is nearly flawless in her appearance. Guys love her. To add to her natural beauty, she just-so-happens to be fun, friendly, and flirty. Great news for the rest of us. I like Suzie quite a bit, but after time and time again she has taunted me with, "Ahhhh B! What a kid, right Shanae? Me and him were talking this weekend..." and purposely flirting with him, even though she knows damn well how I feel. She knows he is my weakness (well, one of them), and uses it against me. She does that to the rest of us girls at school, too, and then brushes it off like it's no big deal.

B and I had been getting so much closer lately, and then this. I couldn't believe it. I thought I had some sort of jaded chance, and I thought he was way too smart to ever chase someone unattainable and manipulative like her. As he started to explain how he felt, and how confused he was and how much internal conflict was involved with having feelings for this "man's dream," I couldn't take it anymore. I called up my friend in her hotel room (we were at a hotel), and I went over. She opened the door.

I ran straight into her arms and started crying.

Of all the years of 'boy troubles', I've never cried over one. It's so frustrating to think that, after all of the talks B and I have had, after all of the years I've waited and all of the other boys I've brushed off for B -- just in case he'll be coming around soon! -- he likes somebody I want to bitch slap.

This friend and I cried for awhile together, and she vented about her recent breakup, and I vented about how unfair it is that a smart guy like B should want anything to do with a promiscuous girl like her. "I feel so shallow," he said.

Damn well, you'd better.

However, I'm still the guy's best female friend. Today, after a horrible, fretful sleep, I'm digesting it a little, and I told him, "Okay, you have some options. Hide all of your feelings, and hope they fade. Or just wait it out, and see what comes of it. Mind you, attached to that is a false hope, and it seriously screws up your future relationships. OR you could go for closure."

I speak from experience. I've done all three of those. All to him. Still, there's that stupid fucking hope...

Am I a bad person for being happy that she wants nothing to do with him in that way?

Probably.

Oh, teenage drama. Don't you love it?

Track was today. Although I beat what I jumped in triple jump in the first level by eighty-three centimeters (big improvement!), I still placed fifth and do not move on.

There was a great number of people at track today. That guy I used to, er, 'go out with', another guy I had a two-day fling with at a drama competition, and an assortment of other random friends. (For the record, I regret ever having anything to do with the boys I just mentioned.)

Yeesh.

People keep telling me how cute B and I would be as a couple.

Things like this make me want to warn all girls younger than me to stay away from boys until they're sixteen.

After watching my friends compete against me in track and beat me, and seeing their naturally toned and athletic bodies, I was jealous. Yet, to think about it, why the hell do I deserve nice attributes like that, or happiness any more than they do?

I am no better than them. I'm average. I need to get my head out of the ground and realize that other people deserve what I want just as much as I do.

The school track meet is tomorrow. Wish me luck!

I joined javelin at the last minute - seeming as the top two make it on, and there are only three people including me in it, I thought I could raise my chances of making it on.

My cousin is graduating this weekend. He's the one that was like a second brother to me (and we nicknamed the spare room in our house as his room) and it seems so crazy that he's wrapping up high school already.

B and I were talking yesterday about how fast everything is moving. After all, he gets his licence next year. Elementary school doesn't seem that long ago...

I posted an entry earlier ranting about the new Our Lady Peace song (twas awesome live, but in studio they made it into generic, uninspired, and made-for-radio BS) and raving about the new Billy Talent song and video.

Turns out the Billy Talent video was leaked. Links have been taken down. It was great for the time being.

For whatever reason, there is a memory from around when I was seven or eight, and it always shines clear in my mind. I'm driving with Memere (French for "Grandma/Grandmother"), and we're talking about something. I remember saying, "I think people with blue hair or whatever are really stupid." I remember us chatting about how silly it is to have piercings or odd colours dyed into your hair, and so on and so forth.

Fastforward to now, six or seven years later, and my young childhood morals have totally changed. I remember proudly telling my parents that I never wanted to move to the city -- I just wanted to grow up and raise a normal family in a small town like mine.

Things have totally flipped. What happened between then and now that changed me? Why do I have such a different outlook on life?

I trace back events in my life. I remember my best friend, who has since moved away, and how inseparable we were, and how utterly horrible we were to this other girl. I remember my love for sports and pride in being 'one of the boys,' yet I still managed to be pretty high maintenance for a nine or ten year old. Grade four, I remember starting atom hockey, which brings in body contact and that character I still bring up -- B.

The year after that, my best friend and I had a bit of an eventual falling out. I ditched her, and was more interested in playing with the boys of my class and the older girls. I was told off by that set of friends, and spent the rest of my time licking wounds and trying to patch things up with old pals of mine. Grade five marked the time that I first felt depression. “Oh, silly Fallen, you were eleven! You couldn’t have been depressed!” Wrong. I did feel it…

Big change. Grade six.

Blame puberty?

I had started my first year of peewee hockey, meaning that I was playing with B once again. He told me that his favourite song was this song called "Fallen Leaves" by a band named Billy Talent. I had already known of them, but at that point, didn't have any passionate interest in music. As a sad attempt to impress him, I started listening to Billy Talent.

That started an obsession. The first Billy Talent CD was the only CD I listened to. Over and over and over and over, I'd listen to those twelve tracks. Finally, I had something to care about. I was building up teen angst, and the music only helped me along. I began to idolize the guys in the band, and adapted to the morals and views of Ben, Ian, Jon, and Aaron (to some extent). I was starting to try to establish myself as a person, and the angst I was experiencing was changing my personality. I lost interest in sports (again, to some extent) and I found myself wanting to explore more, and started to feel that my small town was caging me in.

One day, I stumbled across this site by accident. I saw it as an opportunity to connect to people about this fantastic ‘Billy Talent’ group I was infatuated with. In fact, if you feel like discovering my old posts, travel over to some old comments on their page and see the heavy naivety I was still shedding. It’s a bit odd to think that I learned so much on an Internet website, but hey, things happen.

Avril Lavigne’s song “Girlfriend” happened to be another one of my favourite places to post. There are some real gems in there, my old rants and raves from being twelve. It’s interesting to go back and read what I had said, and the things I told everyone I would never do. I vowed to always stay a tom-boy, and everywhere else on here that I spammed, I wreaked of close-mindedness and ignorance. (“What is an atheist?” I once asked. Oh wow…) Religion was still a huge part of my life at this point.

I started journaling. It was a passage to letting out all of my anger and confusion. I discovered the forums, and was introduced to other places, cultures, thoughts, and ideas. It opened my mind.

Eventually, things began to change. After spending almost a full year of grade six by myself, with only my two Billy Talent CDs and one Three Days Grace CD in my music catalogue, grade seven came along. I was starting to smile more, open up, but I was still trying to be rebellious and show that I wanted to be different.

Hello, hello, black clothing and skinny jeans.

I was very angry in grade seven. People didn’t like my new style of dress, but I found a strange friend in my homeroom teacher. She made me feel like it was okay to not be completely in love with sports, and that music was an important thing in life.

I wanted attention from boys. I was sick of B and never knowing what to do about that crazy kid. Boys caught on to me. There was one in grade nine from another school, and, even though I regret the experience of ever liking that boy or telling him personal things, I grew from it.

I liked the attention from boys so much, and was sick of being teased by my brother and other people for my black clothing. Gradually, I slipped into a more eased, tom-boyish style, resembling a mini Avril Lavigne, come to think of it…

Anyways.

I began my reentry into the socially accepted part of my school. Still known for being a bit angsty, weird, and Billy Talent obsessed, I didn’t try to build friendships with people my age. I turned to the people in grade twelve that also liked the music I did, didn’t care about hockey, and were just happy to be having fun.

Grade eight. Normalcy. I had lightened up throughout all of grade seven, and by the summer before grade eight, I was once again established as the hyper, friendly, and crazy one. My music taste had since expanded, and the paranoid but strangely optimistic Our Lady Peace entered my musical sights. Of course, I DO listen to other stuff than just that, but they were my main music for the summer and into the winter. My religious views were more of a, “Find something you believe in”, and people were starting to like me.

All through this year, I’ve been progressing towards “normal.” I still can get fueled up on an anti-stereotype rant, and people have finally accepted that I can and will talk about stuff that nobody cares about (music), and that even though I’m weird, I’m fun. Now, my classmates and I get along pretty well, I laugh a lot, and I really seem to be the cat’s pajamas when it comes to boys. (And yes, in case you were wondering, B has been in the back of my mind ever since he first came up. That’s a long story for another day, however.)

I truly am happier now. I’m more comfortable being weird, and my anger has seemed to fade, or at least I have learned how to focus it in a healthier way.

It’s been a long road so far. I don’t really expect anyone to read all of this, but it’s interesting to see it all written out.


And I'm afraid to sleep because of what haunts me
Such as living with the uncertainties
That I'll never find the words to say
Which would completely explain
Just how I'm breaking down.

Sleeping Sickness - City and Colour.

B -- also known as the guy I may or may not have had feelings for about three and a half years (give or take a few months) -- and I have been talking more and more. The topic accidentally got onto something we hadn't really talked about before. He said, "It's not like you have a shortage of confidence, though." I asked, "Are you being sarcastic?" "No..." "Oh! Oh. Um. Awkward..." "You do, don't you?" "Um..."

We got into a pretty 'intense' conversation, just about the teen angst we have and on and on. He said he had no idea I felt that way, which is odd, because I had always figured he knew that I did.

It turns out we're not so different, after all.

Now, things seem to have changed. We seem tighter, closer. We seem to be so much more comfortable with each other. He, one of the most closed off guys I know, is opening up to me.

I love building better friendships.

For now, I'm too damn excited to even bitch and moan about my mom's emotional roller coaster rides and her crying in the car because of, as she admitted, her and my father's incompatibility.

No.

Because for this.

I'm wallowing, once again, in musical happiness!

Our Lady Peace's new album, Burn Burn, is set to be released on July 21! Our Lady Peace's new single and video, All You Did Was Save My Life, is set to be released on May 25! All You Did is released three days after Billy Talent's first single, Rusted From the Rain, from their new album, Billy Talent III. Also set to be released "soon" is the video for All To Myself, by my dearest Marianas Trench. I've seen pictures from the shoot, and it looks like the video is going to be hilarious.

Awesome...

I'm growing up. I'm actually growing up.

...it blows my mind.

Also, I've been trying to shut up when I write in here a little bit. You know, "Say what you mean and mean what you say." That sort of thing.

Things sure change fast.

...wow.

My last few days have actually been busy. Yeah, I know - busy! It's odd to say, in the least.

I've been playing a lot of badminton, been forced to practice for track, and have been going to ball practice. After having an entire year off of sports (besides volleyball), it feels good to be back. I don't like sitting around and doing nothing, no matter how much I actually do it. Besides, this is a good way for me to get some fresh air and exercise and to get out of the house.

I have lots to say, but nothing particularly interesting for anyone to bother to read.

I'm not enjoying track. I used to be quite the athlete, back a few years ago, but it seems that everyone else got better and I stayed the same. People tell me that sports are good for self-confidence.

...ha, as long as you're good at it.

I hate having to come in after dragging myself around the track for two laps and only making it a sad, sad seven or so meters in triple jump. I feel disappointed in myself and get frustrated. I hate not being the best. I just can't take it. All my life, all of the adults around me and the kids around me have told me how awesome I am at everything, from school to sports to making friends. I've never really had to... try. Now, I'm not able to get away with first place just by talent anymore. Even when I do practice and practice at something, I don't come out on top. It drives me insane.

I just... cannot stand to lose. It's a problem, I know, but I HATE not being number one or at least near the top.

Like I said before, I have grown up being told how great I am. (Ha!) I can't stand to disappoint people. They tell me, "Oh, you did fine! You played well, and they were really good..." It makes me want to scream, because I always see myself as being able to do better.

You'd think that would be a positive thing, but no, it ends up being twisted and wrong.

Maybe this is why I lost interest in sports. They sometimes make me feel really, really bad about myself.

Oh well.

All's well that ends well, right?

Technology scares the crap out of me. I have a cell phone and an iPod, and I am not impressed when I don't get at least an hour of Internet time per day. It's an addiction. The constant need for "staying connected" has gone too far. These things were invented to keep people together, but in a way, it's tearing us apart.

I really, really am getting angry with technology and the way it's taking over.

And I'm really angry that I'm consumed by it, too.

We're all just waiting, waiting to die.

Waiting... - City & Colour.

The honesty in that surprises me.

Alone, alone, alone.

Once again, I'm sitting here, fucking wishing for stuff that could be so close, if I just dared to reach for it.

I wish for passion.
I wish for direction.
I wish for ambition, goals, and purpose.
I wish for something to get excited about, every day.
I wish for originality, and true personality traits that draw people in.
I wish to be admired, loved, and looked up to.
I wish to be recognized, and cared about.
I wish to be taken seriously, and not brushed off as another hormonal teenager trying to make their way in life.
I wish to actually be something other than another hormonal teenager trying to make my way in life.

I wish, I wish, and I fucking wish.

Nothing.

I have apathy. I have the inability to emotionally connect to people. I have a feeling of alienation and loneliness. I'm flooded with confusion, indecision, and detachment.

Once again, I fucking wish I wasn't so typical.

Brush me aside. I know everyone else feels like this. It's not like it matters anymore. I'm the tiniest grain of salt on the world's beach. I am insignificant.

When you try to speak,
But you make no sound,
And the words you want are out of reach,
But they've never been so loud.

Beside You - Marianas Trench.

Well, well, would you look at that. I've made it all the way to my fortieth entry. Over the years, it's probably a three hundred fiftieth entry, but that's alright.

The concert was amazing. I met the band, discovered how incredibly nice and funny they were, and had some good laughs with the drummer. I have many stories to tell, but I've already told them so many times, so I won't repeat them in here.

As for the actual music? Well, let's just say that I really liked the band's music before, but now, I cannot stop listening. There were moments during the show that I almost cried, I was so unbelievably happy. Music is powerful. I always want music to be part of my life.

I wish I had something to write about in here.

And in my hand, I hold concert tickets! I cannot wait to go to this concert. I've only been to two before, and those were before I was really old enough to understand music. Sure, I loved it, but it didn't mean nearly as much to me as this concert will.

I've been waiting for weeks, and just now, it hit me. I'm going to a fucking concert. I'm going to see a band I love perform songs I love live. I am on the guest list to this concert. I get to hang out with real musicians I see on TV. I get to meet my heroes.

I remember going to Universal Studios and seeing this local band playing a gig. And I remember standing there, amazing, feeling the drums in my rib cage and my foot tapping along, and feeling wonderful. This? This is that, except it's going to be a band that I know and love and have listened to for a long time. This is amazing.

Live music = love.

I'm sorry that my entries are infrequent. I remember being addicted to writing in here, and I'd post three entries in a day, even four, and now, I decide to pop in about three times in one month.

I've been very busy lately. We performed our drama production at a competitive level and didn't do nearly as bad as I thought we would, and it seemed that everyone thoroughly enjoyed my costume. (I was a figment of the imagination -- represented by neon green spandex leggings, a tank top, and black spandex short-shorts.)

So much has been happening lately. As mentioned before, I'm even realizing more where I'm fitting into this social picture. It's weird being able to say that girls actually like me and want to be my friend, and guys talk about me and want to "get with me."

My sixth and seventh grade self would hate me. Oh well.

I'm beginning to realize where I fit in the social circle of my school and the other small towns around me.

Uh, since when was I in the cool crowd? It's kind of cool, I admit. Looking around to the girls I hang out with at lunch hour, I suddenly realized, "Wow. We're going to be it when the older generation graduates. We're the future girls of the school." The aspect scares me a little, but it's a lot sunnier than my outlook on where I was going to "be" from last year, or even the year before. Social outcast no longer.

I'm changing again.

I'm not as angry anymore.

I'm not depressed.

Scared? Absolutely. Depressed? No.

But everything's gone black!
You're looking for that sun,
You're looking for that light.
Lonely? You're not the only one to feel this way.

Everyone's A Junkie - OLP.

Yes, I will expand my music taste eventually, but Our Lady Peace has so many songs about society or loneliess that quoting their lyrics is so easy.

My eyes are hollow; my bones begging for sleep. I will make it through tomorrow. I'm useless with these wooden wings.

Exhausted and emotionally drained. I'm chasing something unattainable, aren't I?

I know that I've been on a music high lately, and haven't really written anything about what's going on in my life, but let's face it - all that IS going on in my life that's getting me excited is the approaching concert date in which I get to see my beloved Marianas Trench (they're a little power-pop band, I know, but I love them anyways) and the fact that Our Lady Peace are finally updating us about their album.

I love the feeling of new music. I love seeing my favourite musicians on stage and looking at each other with a grin on their face that says, "I forgot how good this feels. This makes me happy."

I love the feeling of a song wrapping around me like a cozy blanket, draping me in its warmth. I love finding songs that make me kick back and go, "Oh, wow, this is amazing."

Excuse the music raving, but it's been a while since I've felt so damn good about something!

I'm here to spread the good news, my friends. And by 'good news' I mean, "Fucking finally, Our Lady Peace give me something to get excited about and release the cover art for their upcoming album."

In celebration of this event, I would like to post a video. I have mentioned this song many times, and, even though the video may inspire you to ask, "What the fuck?" I quite like the song. The quality isn't great because the song is from 1994, and the person who ripped it had to mess around with it a bit, too. I'll keep rambling on and on about this video and the absurdity of it, but hell, let's just focus on the song, shall we?

I present to you Our Lady Peace's "Naveed."



Don't be shy to judge and reply, my people. I enjoy feedback, even if it is negative.

I'm so exhausted. I'm drained, and I don't even know why. I feel so lost and like I'm wandering aimlessly.

I'm still trying to make sense of what life is. Every confusion screams in my head, every question is either unanswered, or unearths more questions. I try to block it all out.

I just feel hopeless.

I can't stop thinking about growing up and getting older. My birthday was about two weeks ago, BP got his learner's licence, my sister's getting prepared for graduation, my friends are leaving highschool... it's scary. Since I was twelve, maybe even eleven, all I wanted to do was be older. I wanted to be able to drive, I wanted to be able to party, and I wanted to be moved out of the house.

Another thing that's scary is that people always tell me, "Oh, enjoy it while you can, it's the best time of your life, you're young!" I don't want to be a person that says that. The people that do say that aren't as happy as they once were.

I have so much to say about this, so many thoughts, but I can't put them into words. I guess my main point would be that growing up is scary because it's change, and things will never be the same.

Am I lame for relating this to "Friends"? Part of the excitement of life is being able to move on, grow up, get to other levels and stages; part of the dread of life is knowing that things won't ever be the same, and you won't be able to sleep in until twelve in the summertime, and you won't be able to feel the thrill of a new boyfriend or girlfriend.

Part of me wants to stay where I am, and part of me just wants to get the hell on with it already.

Long story short, I fixed whatever I was trying to call my "problem" with BP. I saw him yesterday, and realized that the signals that usually scream out that I like somebody weren't going off. I wasn't (that) nervous, I wasn't turning red in the face, I wasn't shaking, and I couldn't hear my heartbeat in my ears. So I just told him that whatever was going on before wasn't anymore.

It's scary, because I know that there will always be a little bit of a yearn for him. He's my childhood crush, that went on to be my pre-teen crush, and even into being a bit of my teen crush. It's silly, but every other "boy" I seemed to stumble upon wasn't quite the same. I always put comparisons between them and him, and BP always reigned as the winner. I guess it all comes down the idea that he'll be the person I'll always like.

Perhaps even scarier than that, and much more exciting, is the concept that one day, we probably will become an item. We both said it's highly likely. Finally getting what I've wanted and achieving - well, I guess 'dreams', in a way - what I've tried to get for so long is terrifying. Because I somehow figure that I'll be happy once I get him. It's a totally stupid thought, yet I always seem to be entertaining it.

It'll be horrible living that one dream, and realizing that it isn't everything I'll ever need, and realizing that I've spent so long chasing a kind of shallow dream.

What's worse? Never reaching your goals, or reaching them and still being unhappy?

In true Fallen Leaves fashion, I said too much to this guy. I played around too much, suggested too many things to give him an idea of how I felt.

Yeah, BP and I definitely had a wonderful conversation of:
BP: Tell me!
Me: No! I refuse! But you know my weaknesses!
BP: Tell me right now! Please! Don't do this to me!
Me: You know. Believe me. YOU KNOW.
BP: I don't think I do!

Which eventually led to me saying, "I don't want to say it because I don't know how you feel about the whole thing. Does that clarify?"

"I think a little bit, yeah."

He figured it out, and although we never officially said it, he knows that I like him. I didn't want him to know, but I get so caught up in conversations like this, and I was still trying to play a bit of a game to see if I could get him to say what I wanted him to say in it, and really, it just ended up with me apologizing and him telling me that it was okay. "I swear, I didn't mean to do it!" "It's fine, it's fine. There's no need to apologize." "It's going to be awkward now, isn't it?" "No, I don't think so. Well, maybe a little."

This is why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to boys.

This is why I wish I wasn't such a manipulative bitch and didn't try so hard to hear what I want to hear.

This is why I wish I'd shut the fuck up when I talk to him.

Damn.

I saw a guy and talked to him for about ten minutes... I used to really, really like him. We joke about it all of the time. I miss hanging out with him. And I don't want to admit that I still do like him. I'll keep that one to myself...

I wrote that in my last entry... what... three days ago? I saw the guy again. For argument's sake, we'll just call him B from now on. I'd go into details explaining the "history" between us, but all in all, we played hockey together, I liked him for three and a half years, for about a year I didn't like him, and now, after seeing him and talking to him more, the feelings are back.

When I saw him about a week ago, I masked the truth with my sense of humor and general "joking" style of speech. "Hey man? You? Me? We'll happen. Eventually." At the dance last night, with his arm around my waist and my arm around his shoulder, he said, "You're right. We probably will happen one day."

I should shut myself up before I regret writing this on here any more. I'm sure nobody on here would eagerly read the typical teenage crush stories. It bothers me how average I am.

And now my only consolation is that this could not last forever. [Just a Phase - Incubus.]

Again with the typical teen drama. My parents had a fight (thankfully, I was gone). Dad's still at church because it's Ash Wednesday and he goes to things like that. Mom said, "What pisses me off is that he can be an a-hole all week and then come Sunday, he's a good boy because he goes to church."

Ehh. I'm so glad I wasn't here for that. I was at the rink, running the clock. I saw a guy and talked to him for about ten minutes... I used to really, really like him. We joke about it all of the time. I miss hanging out with him. And I don't want to admit that I still do like him. I'll keep that one to myself...

I got Masterpiece Theatre today. Marianas Trench's new CD, with some songs produced by Raine Maida and some by Greig Nori. Greig actually does some vocals on two songs. I haven't given the album a spin yet, but I'm really excited.

See? This would be a wonderful time to have a best friend to tell all of this shit to. Instead, I come and write on an online journal.

Pathetic.

Being frustrated and not knowing entirely why you are frustrated leads to one thing - more frustration. I go slip in and out of phases and emotions and slide from negativity to positivity to negativity again. It makes me feel alone, like nobody will ever understand what the hell is going on in my mind, yet I know I'm not alone, and so many people feel the same pitiful things as I do. Which, yeah, pisses me off a little bit, because than I can't justify my own anger and insecurity with anything other than "hormones", or, more so, "being a teenager."

I so badly want to be reached out to, to be taken in and tenderly taken care of, to be held in someone's arms until I feel a false sense of security and confidence. I want to be needed and useful, and not just to my family. I'm not necessarily demanding that I need a boyfriend that will love me fo' eva and eva!!!! , but even if some of my friends would make more of an effort to make me feel wanted that would be nice.

My friendships are so fragile. I feel so insecure around even the closest friends I seem to have. I let loose, be silly, laugh, and make jokes, and they laugh, but I can see the peeking expression of, "Um, what the fuck." I can be serious and want to get into a discussion, and I feel the air they give off about it; "Why are we talking about this?"

I wish I had someone to get excited about seeing. I wish I had someone to share my excitement with. I wish, I wish, I wish.

And I wish I didn't always feel so fucking alone.

What makes me angrier about typing this out and posting it? I know that I'm not alone. And I shouldn't have any reasons for it. And there's so many damn people who feel the same as me.

Maybe I wish I was alone...

Typical teenager.

I found my old "diary" the other day. It was in my old room upstairs, hiding in a box in my closet. There wasn't much written in it, but enough to get an idea of my once innocent mind.

The first few pages were written when I was grade two. It's understandable that I'd be simple and naive at that age, but still, some of the stuff I wrote was so simple and naive that I swear my draw actually dropped. I wrote things like, "I miss my dog so much! But I know he's in Heaven now. Nobody knows how much I love him. I hope when I die, I'm good enough to go to Heaven so I can see him again." I seemed to take a two year break, because suddenly I was writing about things that happened in grade four. It was about my current crush, a boy in my class, and the "drama" that was unfolding in that. What really hit me was the introduction of a person that I didn't know would hold so much - dare I say - significance in my life.

Everything seemed so much simpler. "Girl J isn't my best friend anymore because she said this. So now my official list of friends goes Girl K, Girl B, Girl T, Girl E, etc..."

What marks the point of my innocence being taken away? Actually, I remember the general time I started to change. It sounds cheesy, but it was the time I first decided that I loved music. Ah, yes, my introductory days to such a band named Billy Talent. That eventually led to my constant abuse of the song comment pages of this very website, which led to me accidentally discovering the forums, which exposed me to so fucking much.

Is it sad that the "person I am today" is so heavily shaped by this website?

Yeah, yeah it is.

...I wish the "newest journal" would actually update every time there's a new journal. I don't think I've ever seen my journal up on there since SM 2.0 came out. The same journal will be up there for hours.

I'll just blame that for never getting any replies. Haha.

Anyway.

I can never seem to communicate what I really mean. Rarely do I ever step back from writing in here and smile and say, "Damn, I actually made a point there," or do I finish an English question and feel proud of what I did, and on and on.

Even now, I'm sitting here with my fingers on the keyboard and getting frustrated that nothing comes out right.

And when that feeling happens, I know to either delete what I wrote or give up and press "Submit."

I got into an argument at school today. There's no use going into details, but to summarize, we had a substitute teacher for gym class and nobody was following any of the rules of the game. We were playing geurilla warfare, and instead of actually doing what they were supposed to, about seventy-five percent of the male population was chasing each other with the huge gymnastics matts we were using as things to hide behind. Nobody was trying. Our sub made us play a new game; again, nobody tried. "Let's play floor hockey!" They kept yelling. Fed up, I told them to sit down, shut up, and pay attention. Two particularly "powerful" boys started to tell me that I was wrong, blah blah blah, the girls never want to play floor hockey, blah blah blah. I said, "You know what? You guys are so damn immature you can't even behave for a sub! Like, we're playing a fun game and you're chasing each other with the mats! Grow up a little bit! You're worse than five year olds!"

Naturally, I started to walk away. If you knew the people in my class, you'd understand that there's no purpose in sticking around to see them scowl at you, yell, and repeat exactly what you said.

One yelled, "Yeah? We're immature? Look who's walking away!"

Yeah, walking away is so immature. I went into the change room, got into my regular clothes, and shot hoops.

This isn't a one-time thing. This shit always happens at school, and it never hurts any less to see them angrily glare at me; it never hurts less to know that as soon as I leave, they're tearing me apart; it never hurts less to know that whatever I said doesn't affect them at all.

We've had this argument so many times. Me telling them to grow up and actually behave once in a while so we can get something done, them telling me that I was "doing the exact same thing!" minutes before.

Am I as bad as they are? Am I really? Are all of my comments that insensitive and immature?

Some of the things I say are pretty bad. I admit. However, despite how bitchy I am and how many times I fly at the opportunity to insult a few particular people, I have a burning pride knowing that I'm better than them. It sounds so entirely conceited, and it sounds so entirely ignorant, but let's put this into perspective.

If somebody confronted me told me the things I told them, I'd take to heart what they said. I'd think about it and mentally note that I have a major flaw to fix. When they're told what I told them, they don't think about it; they don't care. They're told so many times that they need to grow the fuck up and there's never any change in their behaviour.

I do change my behaviour.

I have a conscience. I feel remorse. I try to mend myself.

They are stubborn. They don't care what goes on. They're determined that they are right.

I feel shitty if I say something I really shouldn't have. They're happy because somebody laughed at what they said.

Overall, this is a war that can never be won. There is no way in hell that anybody is ever going to get through to these people.

End fucking rant.

Now my only consolation is knowing this could not last forever.

Just a Phase - Incubus.

Word up.

In ten years, they'll be unhappy, poor, and in the same 360 people village. In ten years, I'll be long gone. Long fucking gone.

In social studies class, we're doing a research project on religion. Our teacher handed out a booklet of information to us, and assigned us a religion. Which did I get? Yup. I had the broad topic of Christianity. Two other girls and I read the whole class about the various branches of Christianity, and we're still only half done reading.

It's interesting reading it from such a bland perspective. The way the information is presented is in a very factual way, saying, "They believe this, and they are commanded to do this," and so on and so forth. The emotion is really sucked out of everything, so it doesn't feel like anything I'm truly familiar with. I said to the girls with me once, "If this was a religion we didn't know about, wouldn't everything seem absolutely wacked?"

All a matter of perspective, I suppose.

One of the many branches of Christianity - I can't remember what it was called - suggested that humans do not have free will, and that everyone's fate is already determined. It suggested that God had chosen who would be "saved" and who would be "damned" before the human had any chance to make its own way through life. I somewhat agreed with that perspective.

Hormones determine the choices we make and so much of how we are. Circumstances are set out for us from the get-go. We do make choices, but however, choices are extremely influenced by the surrounding environment and the hormones a person has.

The way I've seen it for a long time is that, whoa, God could really screw us over. Things that get passed through genes like depression and addictions, things that influence us and our choices like molestation and abuse, etc, determine so much of who we are that it may not be so much "character" but more so environment and chemical make up.

Then again. Just an opinion.

And what the fuck do I know, right? I have no idea what I believe in.

My weekend was awesome. I visited my cousin in another town, and visited some friends from there, too. At times, it was awkward being around all of these teenage boys without knowing them all too well, but in the end we had fun.

Particularly, I was excited to see one guy friend. I've known him for about two years know, and let's just say that he is quite the character. He was cracking jokes about me not technically being allowed to watch 14A movies, which led to me hitting him, which led to some... well, let's just call it obvious flirting. The thing is, while it's happening, I'm very unsure on whether or not it is "flirting" or if it's just friends fooling around. My cousin clarified for me after, and said, "You and him were flirting." (My cousin likes to tease me.) For whatever reason, that makes me incredibly... happy.

This friend, though, has some serious relationship issues with his ex-girlfriend, and that ultimately leads to some very twisted love triangle. I won't go into details.

I had so much to write about coming into here, but decided to really skim things down. It's not as if anybody besides a few choice people read this anyway, but still. I was going to write about all of the events that happened, but then I remembered that - despite this being called a "Journal" - I don't want to come in here and write about what happened to me in a day. I much prefer getting other things out, like emotions. However, shit like that just doesn't come to me easily anymore, or I don't feel like typing, or access to the computer isn't exactly possible, etc, etc.

Eh, who cares. I'll just stew about the things I actually do care about, keep the thoughts running in my head but never write them down. I don't like telling my friends about "crushes" anymore, because usually they fail horribly or nothing happens or a bunch of other typical teenage drama BS. If anything, I'll go write in my diary that's hidden in my room where nobody can judge me but me.

Damn.

Ultimately, I feel defeated and hopeless so much of the time. Constantly, I ask, "What's the point? Why would I want to do that? What do I care?" I'm totally lazy and entirely apathetic. Once again, I wish I had something to be passionate about and to look forward to each and every single day; something more meaningful than coming on the Internet or going home to watch TV.

Imagination can't resist to laziness. [Happiness & the Fish - Our Lady Peace.]

Give me meaning, give me passion, give me something to work with. I need a purpose, I need direction.

Wow, it's been a while. Has anything major happened in the past few days? Not really. On Friday I bought a CD that I already owned in mp3 format, but I also picked up Wide Awake Bored by Treble Charger. It's mainly similar-sounding music with cheesy rhymes, but I really do like it. The instruments and vocals are very soothing, yet manage to make me want to sing along loudly.

On Sunday I visited a friend from Camp. We hung out at her house for a while, sat around, talked, etc, and then went to the mall. I realize how different socializing is for us; for her, to socialize, she'd go to the mall. For me? If I want to "go out," I go to the hockey rink at senior games.

Nothing else particularly interesting has happened to me lately. I've been thinking about how odd it is that I know a few "perfect" guys. I know two or three, and they're really great and super nice to me, but they seem to be hung up on people they can't be with or bitchy ex-girlfriends.

I don't have anything to say, so I'll just stop talking.

It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be. It was open casket, and I refused to look inside because I knew it was just a body and an empty shell. Besides, it would just scare me and haunt me, and there was no use in that. I didn't sit with my family; I sat in the back pew so I couldn't view inside the casket.

The worst is over now.

And I didn't even sob. Yes, I cried, but not uncontrollably.

When the casket was being lowered into the ground, I looked over at my brother. He was almost crying. He and a few of my other cousins carried the casket.

I'm glad it's done and I'm glad I went.

There's not much more to it than that.

My Mom was just explaining to my brother the details of Grandma's funeral. The wake and prayers are tomorrow; she was saying how there would be a closed casket until the family got there, explaining what my brother would do as a pallbearer, explaining how there would be a viewing if anyone wanted.

"I'm not going to force you to look if you don't want to," she said.

I don't want to go. I love my Grandma, but I don't want to go. Everyone will be giving me hugs and crying, looking at me like my whole world came down. Everyone will be telling me things like, "She's in a better place now," and "God chose this as her time."

I don't want to hear it. I don't want to go. I don't want to be in the same room as a dead body. I don't want to be in a room with a lifeless body that was once my beautiful Grandmother. I don't want to see my brother and my cousins carrying her casket out to the big long car and putting her in there. I don't want to see her be lowered into the ground. I don't want to hear the eulogy, and I don't want to see the picture of her blue eyes and big smile on top of that casket.

I don't want to go to the prayers, I don't want to be there. I don't want to deal with death. I want to forget about everything as fast as I can and go on living like I did before.

I love you Grandma, I really do, but I just don't want to take part in any of this.

I need a hug. A big one.

And for the first time since her death, I'm crying. Not yet... but my throat is so clenched and my eyes are welling up more than ever.

Death...

My Grandma passed away yesterday morning. Mom told me while I was still in bed. I just nodded and said, "Okay."

I'm sad, but it's not like it wasn't unexpected. I've had a lot of time to prepare for it. I said my goodbyes, and since that one day, I haven't gone back to see her. I knew she was going to die soon, and I didn't want to go through all of that again.

She was ready to die. She wanted to. She was sick of always being sick.

I feel that it's better this way. It may sound selfish, but I really do.

I'd write more, but there's only so many times I can tell a story.

I'm wandering through life, waiting for something to happen. I need something to do.

I gave the link of my journal out to someone I know again. Rereading what I've written, some of it is like, "Shit! Why did I let someone I KNOW read this?" The worst part of it is one specific entry, and I'm sure you'll be able to figure out which one it is.

Thinking about it, though, brings up the question, "Is this really the deepest and darkest part of myself showing through? When I come here to vent, is what comes out something secretive or something I've tried to hide?"

I remember thinking this, I even remember writing it, but I don't really remember where. It's just that... years ago, when I'd try to explore my own mind and see what I could find, there was a barrier I'd refuse to cross. There was a specific line that I'd stop myself and say, "No, you can't go there. You can't think that." In a way, I was trying to protect myself from my own thoughts. It's not as if they were anything particularly hideous or surprising or disturbing; I just don't want to think them.

I don't want to know them, I don't want to have to have that thought, I don't want to know what's going on.

One day, I urged myself to go a little further. To find out more about who I was and what I was pushing away. That line isn't really there anymore. If it is, I don't notice it.

Part of me wishes that I never crossed that line. I'm a bit disappointed with myself to find out that there's not much past it. That maybe there isn't all that much to me. That what I write in here is as far as I go - it truly scares me. What if this is it? What if this is as "in depth" as I can think? This isn't much at all!

I sure hope there's more to me than this.

I have very intense dreams nearly every night. I like to think that they mean something; they're not just magical movies starring me that play in my mind at night. I've learned a few things from my dreams, actually - what I want, what I don't want, what I'm scared of, my weaknesses, on and on.

I look forward to going to sleep to see what I'll dream next. I have dreams following three main themes:
1) Love.
2) Meeting a personal hero.
3) Death.

Obviously, the first one isn't that surprising or anything ground-breaking. I'm just constantly flooded with curiosity of what everything would be like, and that wonderment translates strongly into my dreams. I will wake up and still feel the emotion I held in the dream, still feel both weak and strong with passion. There's usually the same guy as my significant other. I don't like him like that, because he's nineteen, but he just represents so much that I want.

The second one involves good times, living it up, and getting to meet people that I strongly admire.

The third one represents all of my biggest fears. I have nightmares involving close friends dying, or discovering a corpse, and even finding hell. I wake up in a sweat, with a burning fear and find myself filled with paranoia.

Dreams must mean something, right?

I had an absurdly good day. Despite the slow morning at school, it was amazing. Talking with my classmates about graduating was nice. I asked, "If we were graduating this year and you had to pick an escourt from this class, who would you pick?" and "Who's going to be the hottest in three years?"

I don't mean to brag, but seven out of twelve guys in my class voted for me in the second question. That's a confidence booster, right?

After school, I went hot-tubbing. A guy in my class invited me over, and two other guys from my class were there, too. We had a great time.

I'll keep this short and sweet. I have a senior hockey game to attend.

There is nothing quite like the joy of rediscovering music you've long forgotten about. Sure, holding your newborn child for the first time is great, and marrying the person you love is wonderful, and riding a lawnmower down a busy highway is fantastic. But this? This is happiness in its purest form.

Although that may have been a tad sarcastic, I do mean it when I say that rediscovering old music is amazing. I recently had someone for this very site recommend music to me. I searched them on youtube, and found out that they sang I song I used to love years back. When it came out, I was only six years old. I remember singing along to it, and my brother saying, "This is a bad song, you shouldn't listen to it!" I never really found out who the band was and never thought to search for it. The song is called "American Pyscho" and is from this band called Treble Charger. It's pretty much a pop-punk song, but hey, I still love it.

Last night, I remembered that I had found a CD with "American Pyscho" on it. I found it on the road in front of my house, picked it up, listened to it a few times, put it away, and forgot about it. I pulled it out yesterday and stuck it in my player.

The Big Shiny Tunes 5 CD kicks off with a bunch of old songs I love. By "old" I mean, well, from 2000, but they're just the classics that I used to pretend to know the words to. There's Kryptonite by Three Doors Down, The Bad Touch by the Bloodhound Gang, Adam's Song by blink-182, Load Me Up by Mathew Good Band, Take a Picture by Filter, on and on and on and on. There's even Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus on there!

Listening to those songs put a huge grin on my face. The nostalgia from it all was amazing. It brings back memories, the golden days, and almost every song on that CD makes me say, "Oh, MAN, this song!"

Anyways, after that, I popped in a CD that I used to listen to non-stop. It was honestly non-stop... every time I had a spare minute, that CD was playing. It was Billy Talent's first CD, just called "Billy Talent." The level of obsession I had with that CD is way more than I have now with Our Lady Peace. I was just in a mood to listen to something that I used to love.

It's funny to think that one day, the music I'm so passionate about now will be forgotten about. I will discover something new, tuck the CDs somewhere, and one day stumble across them, dust them off, put them in, and feel this wonderful feeling. I'm sure that everyone has one of these bands. Didn't you listen to something constantly a few years ago? Did you move on and forget about it? Think hard. Now go and listen to it again. It feels fucking awesome.

Sorry this was kind of a lame entry, but you know what? I just wanted to share this shameless stroke of happiness with people. Rediscovering forgotten music is so fun.

PS: Yesterday I ordered two Treble Charger CDs. I can't wait for them to come in.

I feel very exhausted and drained. I'm tired, hopeless, and have utterly no passion in my life. On days like these, I feel horribly alone and long for so many things I know won't happen anytime soon. After all, happiness isn't something that can just be seized, and it definitely isn't going to show up on my doorstep one day, begging to be taken in. Happiness is not a fish that you can catch.

I feel so dissatisfied with so many things happening to me. It's not that anything particularly bad is happening, besides the fact that my Grandma continues to suffer through her bad health and recover, even though she wants to die. One of the worst things that is "happening" to me currently is the idea that nothing is happening. The days loop in and out, having little-to-no change, and getting stale. There's only so many hours I can spend on the Internet (especially without anyone to look forward to talking to). There are only so many episodes of "Friends" I can watch before wanting to have real friends of my own like that.

It seems as if I'm wandering, floating from event to event, and waiting for something to happen. It's like I'm waiting for something better to come along, and pushing aside everything else to make room for my pointless hope. Nothing's going to happen unless I make things happen.

I know that everyone feels like this at one point in their life, with a few exceptions. "You need to understand, there's nothing strange about this." In science's words, I am a normal teenager that's experiencing normal hormonal changes.

Almost every day, I ask myself, "What the hell do I look forward to?" I note a few CD releases, a few social events, a few concerts that I probably won't be 'allowed' to attend, and ultimately, meeting someone or finding something that will make me feel good. How long will I be waiting for these things? How much longer do I have to make do and just exist? I wish I could be something more. I wish my outline was more than a blur. I wish I was confident. I wish I was happy.

Unrealistic?

As of now, it sure seems so.

I had a dream that left me with... well, a good feeling today. The idea of it is kind of crazy, but be a pal and just go along with it, mmmkay? It's odd, I know.

I dreamt I was at camp again - but this time, the camp was specifically for gay and lesbien people. I was very confused, because in my dream, I had just discovered my sexual orientation, I didn't know what to do, and I was torn between choices. In other words, I was bisexual. There was one activity that our camp group did, and that involved gathering everyone at the camp, joining hands, and standing in one big circle. Some event was supposed to spin off from there, but I don't really remember what it was... anyways.

To make a shorter version of this, I started flirting with a guy, which I'm assuming wouldn't be allowed at Gay Camp. Although there was a beautiful girl next to me, all of my focus was on this gorgeous guy with shaggy brown hair that was linked to my hand.

I don't know how the dream ended. My alarm rang (and I was pleasantly surprised as a song I love came on the radio not long after).

The point of the story (or as close as I'll be able to conclude) is some kind of confusion in my *dramatic air quotes* sexual orientation *dramatic air quotes*. Obviously, I like the male gender. That's a no-brainer. Secretly, I have a sharp interest in girls and check them out all of the time. Judge me, whatever, shit happens. I'm just saying, there's a reason that I can freely say, "Holy man she's hot!" to my guy friends more than "I used to hang with guys all the time." There's a reason why I know which girls are really, really hot in comparison to just average, and it's not just the usual girl reply of, "I want to know if I'm prettier than them."

Perhaps it's just curiosity?

I know this was a pretty stupid entry, but, well, I haven't really said this 'sexuality' stuff out loud to anyone before. I don't think I'm bisexual, but I'm definitely curious. All of this reminds me of a brilliant song line I've loved for a long, long time. And it pretty much defines the general confusion involved with all of this.

It's kinda hard with all that sexual confusion
Sometimes you don't know if you're gay or straight
But what's the difference, it's a wonderful delusion and
Most times you won't make it past second base

High School - Jeremy Fisher.

Jeremy Fisher's a typical acoustic guitar strumming sensitive guy, but I really like him. This song is very nice. Check it out sometime, I say.

A week ago today, a girl from one of my neighbouring towns committed suicide. My friend was in her class, and she, obviously, was all torn up about it. Apparently, nobody suspected it and she seemed like a very happy person.

All over, people from her town were writing poems, gathering old pictures of her, and putting her name in their signatures of their text messages. I didn't know her, so I can't speak on her behalf. But to think... if she was a quiet and ignored type, like a few people in my class, this would be the ultimate accomplishment.
What am I talking about, you ask?

The cry for attention. What if this girl wanted to be loved, wanted to be recognized and known, and didn't know how to achieve it? Is that what it really took for people to appreciate her? Were people really that ignorant of her existance, or was she really ignorant of the love she was getting? What went on in her mind before she literally 'tightened the noose?' My friends that actually knew her said that she was a very cheerful, upbeat, and kind person.
It just proves that nobody can ever fully know someone. I don't think it's possible to know someone, inside and out. There is always a secret, always something tucked away in a corner, covered in dust like a forgotten book. I'd say I hate this idea... but I don't. I don't think so at all. How boring would life be if everything was exposed, and there wasn't a single private thought, and what you saw was all you got? If there was nothing more behind what you initially knew? That would be so boring and uneventful.

And yes, I realize I'm asking a bunch of stupid questions that don't want/need/have answers.

Keeping on the topic of suicide, I really want to say something. I might piss a few people off with this, and some people might even let out a little cheer. And some people may have already clicked out from my journal and went back to watch their clown porn or whatever the hell they are into.

I think suicide is selfish.

Nah, it's not an original thought, I know.

But there's a person that is so lost and depressed and has burnt all of their bridges, and they blind themselves with their emotions. They blank out the people in their lives that actually care about them, that really do love them, and lock the door, pull down the blinds, sit in their room, pour gasoline, and light a match.

When they want to get out, it's too late.

I know; other people's lives are shitty. I think mine's oh-so-horrible sometimes, even though I know damn well that I'm a very privileged person. But I don't think a person's life is ever so bad that they need to end it. If you end it, there's no chance of recovery. There's no chance of things getting better. There is absolutely no hope left for things in regular life to improve.
Anyways, to wrap this up, I'm going to post a youtube video of one of my favourite songs.



This song talks about almost everything I did after in the past two or three paragraphs. I know I've written about this song before, but I deleted my journal, and I'm writing about it again. Just to refresh your memory. I even embedded the video for you so you don't have an excuse to get out of watching it.

The person in the song and video removes themself from society, burns all of their bridges, cuts all of the cords of communication, and blinds himself with his problems, blurring out the people that care about him. In the end, he regrets it.

The song is "Clumsy" by Our Lady Peace.

It wouldn't hurt to reply to this. *Innocent smile.* I don't even know what happens when someone replies to my journal. Tell me how much you hate Raine Maida's voice or that you want Jeremy Taggart's glasses, or that my whole entry was stupid and unoriginal, I don't really care.

Thanks for reading.

I know I haven't written much in here lately. And to think, I used to write in here every single day, sometimes even three times in a day. I guess I don't really know what to write about anymore.

I'll come up with something sooner or later.

I suggest we learn to love ourselves
Before it's made illegal
When will we learn?
When will we change?
Just in time to see it all come down.
Those left standing will make millions
Writing books on the way it should've been.

Warning - Incubus.

One of my favourite Incubus songs. Go listen. Now. Please?

I confess:

-I wish I had a more dramatic and troublesome life so I could justify my self pity.
-I used to create drama for that reason, and to have something to write about in this very journal.
-I'm very uncomfortable around the elderly and the sick. They make me think of death.
-I'm trapped between believing in God and not. In the end, I think I'll end up 'believing,' but that still won't make me go to church willingly.
-I don't like young children very much. I'm jealous that their lives are easier than mine.
-When dramatic things happen to me, I'm secretly happy that I can have something to bitch about.
-There used to be a wall I refused to jump over when it came to my thoughts. A barrier, say. I cross that barrier now, and it scares me to be honest with myself. Sure, it's scary to know what's really going on, but I'm more afraid of the idea that what I see is all there is to me, and after that, there is nothing.

And lastly:

-I know this isn't that much of a big deal to anybody else, but I post it here anyways in hopes that someone will care. But why should they? I'm just another average, insecure, whiny little girl that can't find her way in the world.

She's looking for some purpose
She feels faithless,
She feels earthless,
Born to run.
She's struggling for purpose,
I tell her,
"Hang on, you know it's worth it."
You've just begun.
You've just begun.

Earthless - Raine Maida.

[An acoustic, guitar picking, slow song. Almost in the spoken word genre.]

Grandma had a stroke last night, went into a coma, was rushed to another hospital, came back to the "Old Folks Home" in my town, woke up from the coma, and was fine. She was talking, making sense, and demanding to go play bingo with everyone else.

They took x-rays and see that she has severe heart problems and water in the lung.

I went to visit her in the hospital to say my goodbye. This same scenario happened about five months ago; she had two heartattacks and things looked fatal, and I went to say goodbye to her, and the images still scar me. She somehow pulled through. My auntie, who is a retired nurse, doesn't think that Grandma will rally out of this one.

It may sound selfish, but we're all ready for her to go. She's not ever going to be the same, things aren't ever going to be right, and nobody wants to be riding the roller coaster of her health. It's hard on everyone, to think that it's the end, get all worked up, to have her recover and repeat the cycle not long after. I'm ready for her to go. I love her, I really do, but it's time.

Mom went into the hospital room before I did, just to see what kind of shape Grandma was in. Mom said I didn't want to see her, because she was thrashing around and moaning. I started crying.

"I feel bad, but there's no point in going in there if she won't know who I am. All it'll do is scare me. I said my goodbye five months ago."

My brother and Dad went into the hospital room to see her, and they said she was fine. I worked up the courage, and went in. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. She wasn't like the last time; she wasn't a tiny wisp, weak and frail - things weren't nearly as drastic.

"Hey Grandma." I held her hand. I talked with her for a little while, talked with my aunties and uncles, and said goodbye.

"I'm going to go, Grandma. I love you." I gave her a hug.

She looked at me. "I love you too."

I started to choke up.

"And Grandma? I always wished I could have your blue eyes. I love you."

And I left. I went to the patient's lounge and sat around with some aunties and uncles. We went back to Grandma's room before actually leaving. The same thing happened, and I told her I loved her, and she said, "I love you kids." And she kissed me on the cheek. Twice.

She told me and Mom how she was ready to go.

"Ready to go where?"

"Ready to go home."

It's her time, and I'm content with that. I'll cry, I'll be sad, but I know it's for the best. Things just need to end, eventually, and there's no hope for things to ever truly get better. It'd just be the calm before the storm, before the next time everyone's hearts break.

And if I don't make it
Know that I've loved you all along
Just like sunny days that
We ignore because
We're all dumb and jaded
And I hope to God I figure out what's wrong.

4am - Our Lady Peace.

[4am is an absolutely amazing song. It's really going to help me... even though it is depressing. It's about a dream Raine Maida had about his father, and that his father was dying, and he couldn't make it in time to say goodbye. The song totally has the pain and confusing and sadness of death in it. Thankfully, I did say goodbye. I love you, Grandma.]

Mom's adopted. She told me today.

Her, my sister and I were in the car on the way to the city, and we were talking about baby names and things. Eventually, the subject got onto Mom's parents, my grandparents. Grandma's recently taken sick (again) and Grandpa died when Mom was six years old. Grandma and Grandpa were very old when Mom was born, Grandma in her 40s, Grandpa in his 50s. I was making a joke about Grandpa's age when Mom was conceived.

Mom laughed, and then said, "Do you want to know a secret? Well, not a secret..."

I had no idea what was coming. "Sure."

[Now, for future reference, everyone I mention in this entry will be who I've always known them as, and things will get confusing, yes, and probably seem like some hard redneck math question. Listen. Mom also refers to people as I'd call them. So for example, she would call the woman that is my grandma "Grandma."]

Mom's oldest sister is at least 20 years older than her. We'll call her Auntie Ir.

Mom started crying. Not sobbing, but tears streaming down her face.

"Auntie Ir is my mom."

My sister and I sat there, in shock. "What?"

"Auntie Ir is my real mom. Grandma adopted me."

Once again, my sister and I sat there, in shock, asking, "What?"

"Let me tell you a short story. When Auntie Ir was in university, she got pregnant. And she had me. I'm her daughter. This was the 60s, so that was looked down upon. We had to hide it. Grandma adopted me. Grandma is actually my grandma. She's your great-grandma. What you think are your aunties and uncles and my brothers and sisters aren't. They are technically [Mom's aunties and uncles. I found all of this out when I was sixteen. My biological father showed up and this fucking creep tried to be a dad. And you know what? I told him, "Fuck off, I don't want to talk to you, I already have a Mom and Dad."

I kept saying, "Wow. Never saw that coming..."

"How could you have? She's always been known as auntie. How would you know otherwise?"

Suddenly... things clicked. I understood why Mom had emotional problems. She was faced with all of these things suddenly - abandonment, the knowledge of being unwanted and an accident, finding out that her family history was a lie, and wondering who she really was. I understand her a little better.

She also told my sister and me that she never really kept it as a secret and never meant to keep it away from us. She wanted us to know before Grandma died. Technically, my great-grandma. She said she didn't think it was that important, because even though Grandma wasn't biologically her mother, she still was... well, Mom to her. Grandma raised my Mom as one of her own.

I feel the same way. Auntie Ir will never be "Grandma" to me. Grandma is the woman with the extreme blue eyes that cooked me perogies, worked in the garden, played with kittens with me, and did puzzles. Auntie Ir will always be the auntie I never saw because she lived in BC.

I feel horrible for my mom. Imagine being sixteen and suddenly finding out that your sister isn't your sister, but your mother, and your mom is your grandma, and your siblings are your aunts and uncles. You'd have no sense of who you are. It really makes me sad. And I feel so weird, now, thinking of all my aunties and uncles that aren't actually that, and how they've always treated me like I really was their neice. And how Grandma was always there for us, before she got sick. All of the technicalities make me sick to my stomach.

My Mom was an accident. Her existance was a mistake. My existance is dangling from a thread, barely there.

I feel horrible for Mom. She says that she has long since dealed with everything and it shouldn't affect us. Honestly, it doesn't bother me that much. It does, but not in a crisis-way. She says the whole community knows, but never talk about it anymore. She also said she doesn't want us to talk about it to her or bring it up again in the community, just because it was so long ago and doesn't make a damn difference. Mom also said that nobody EVER talks about it.

Now I look at my aunties and uncles in a whole new light as well. They took in my mother, their real neice, as a baby sister, treated her as that all along, and never cut her down for being adopted.

I'm going to be even more sad when Grandma dies. I have so much more repsect for her. She adopted my mother. She already had however many children, little money, and a 50-some year old husband.

In summary:

Wow.

Christmas this year was pretty good. There weren't any incidents involving parents fighting, my sister didn't storm out of the house in tears and disappear in her car for hours, and my brother wasn't getting drunk in Australia. The most dramatic thing was my sister and I having a little squabble. Can you blame me for being grouchy after being cooped up in the house with the same people for nearly ten days? The correct answer is yes, yes you can blame me, because I should have better self control than that.

I currently feel selfish. Yesterday, an auntie and three uncles came over for supper, and they brought my grandma. Grandma's health has been going downhill over the past couple of years, and has been inches away from death more than once. I was too occupied with feeling sorry for myself to really have a conversation with my rarely-seen relatives. I kept thinking how much it sucked not being able to eat Christmas supper because of my throat, and how I just wished everyone would leave me alone or show me some extreme sympathy or something.

Sure enough, I wake up this morning and they're all over at our house again, except for Grandma. Mom told me that Grandma wasn't doing too good, and they were all at the hospital and she invited them over for some leftovers.

I disgust myself with how self-absorbed I am. Then again, no matter how much negativity I pour over myself, I know I'm not a bad person because I am conscious of what I do and feel remorseful about it.

If only I could prevent myself from being some sort of egotistical bitch to choice people around me, I wouldn't have to feel guilty, right?

Hell no. There's always something else I can blame on myself.

I'm a liar just like you and that's okay.
I'm guilty... guilty just like everyone today.

Liar - Neverending White Lights (ft. Raine Maida)

Sure, those lyrics aren't spectacular, but the vocals in that song and piano intro are ace.

I'd just like to jot down a short little entry.

Merry Christmas everyone! It's a few minutes away for it to be officially the 25th where I'm at, so for those in Australia, sorry I'm late.

I'll leave this entry at that. People are over and I should really cut my hermit-time down.

Merry Christmas, once again.

I deleted all of my entries again. I wasn't satisfied with what they said. All I really did was talk about "boys" and rant about bands. That disappointed me. It made me look shallow. Although I kind of am, I don't want people to think that of me.

I want people to think I'm beautiful, intelligent, interesting, and funny. So far, that has all seemed out of reach and a total unrealistic and unattainable goal. I don't know how to reach that. I've grabbed so many bits of different personalities and crumpled it into one mess of a thing and pass it by as "me." What's really original here; the actual person or the combination of qualities that were stolen? Hmm. Exactly.

Individuality is nearly impossible anyways. There are so many people trying to establish themself as true human beings, as one-of-a-kind people, but at the core, we're all scared, lonely, and longing for love.

I know you must be upset I can't find meaning.
I'm sorry, we're sorry
We're all scared, all scared...

Hey... is anybody home?
Has anybody wasted tears on the loneliness
That everyone becomes?

Goodnight, the truth has come out that everyone's needy.
White teeth, a ticket to meet God;
Be all that you envy!
The shotgun under your bed has started breathing.
You shot it, you shot it
I'm bare, I'm bare

Is Anybody Home? - Our Lady Peace