Ad 2:
2016-01-17 21:19:56 (UTC)

Callous Concern

"Barnacles" by Ugly Casanova [this is my current favorite song. I am not eliminating any of the lyrics.]

I don't really need to see
So I don't need to see so I'll paint...
I don't know, I'll paint it black
I don't need to see
I don't see how you see out of your window
Well I don't need to see, I'll paint mine black
I don't need to see
I don't see how you see out of your windows
I don't need to see, I'll paint mine black

*I don't know me and, you don't know you
So we, fit so good together
'Cause I knew you like I knew myself*
We clung on like
Barnacles on a boat
Even though the ship sinks you know you can't let go
I was talking like, two hands knocking
Yelling, "Let me in. Let me in. Please come out!"

Black glass, dirt-based soap
Tell yourself, what you know
My friends, oh my friends
Bury your head, I'll help you bury your hands
Hard hit, hard to miss
The problems are, what a problem is

My light came off quick, call it your asterisk
*It's buried in a boys in a boys first book of the stars*
Saw it, a satellite, constant unblinking as
Buried at the bottom of the bottom of a brackish lake

I don't really need to see
So I don't need to see so I'll paint...
I don't know, I'll paint it black
I don't need to see
I don't see how you see out of your window
But I don't need to see, I'll paint mine black
I don't need to see
I don't see how you see out of your windows
I don't need to see, I'll paint mine black

January 17, 2015 Sunday 8:25 PM

Not much to say (she then goes on to write, like, a 2000 word entry) and I'm not very into writing right now. Not here at least. I've been writing plenty elsewhere.

I'm fine, by the way. As usual, the day after that entry proved to be better than the past week had been and it kept going on like that until, by the end of the week, everything was pretty good.

My hair is very, very soft and I smell nice.

So yeah. What, did I write on Sunday? Or Monday? Well, anyway, Monday was fine. Nothing too memorable except that Kenny – the leader of this club I attend at the YMCA – is leaving. I asked him to write me a recomendation for a program i want to apply to.

Tuesday, there was a field trip for Peer Leadership.

The trip was fine I guess, but not really. I felt kinda lonely the whole time. In the morning, I was just talking to Adrian and other people, but I wasn't really feeling too great so I was a horrible conversationalist.

(this whole week, my bedtime was at the earliest 1:30 AM. That day, I'd gone to bed sometime past 3. Plus, I've been avoiding coffee because I worried it was causing my shakes – apparently not. They're still here and are kind of more violent than they were before???).

So yeah. I talked a bit with this one lady that I met over the summer who was at the Peer meeting. I really like her. I'll call her Pam, I guess. She's got this shock-white hair that is very nice and dresses kind of like a hippie but in a good way. Her shirt was this cool looking screen-printed thing. Sorry, that's not very descriptive. I am a fan of patterns and she was full of them. Plus, her eyes were... blue I think? Or maybe a pale green? Green, I think, and one of her eyes had a splotch of brown in the iris.

But okay. Yeah, I sessioned with her and one of the few fellow hispanic kids who were in my grade and elementary school. Sorry for the long and confusing sentence, haha.

During one of our sessions, I avoided saying what I wanted to say by accidentally letting it slip that I want to be a writer??? So I tried backtracking and saying, "But that won't happen. I'm not good enough to make a living off that and blah blah blah."

But, of course, since it's a session, she wanted me to believe in myself and I appreciated it, I guess, but it's just...

She asked me why I was so hard on myself. Why do people keep asking me that? Who am I kidding, haha, I know why they're asking, I just... can't fucking believe it. Hard on myself? Sure, maybe I'm a little harsh but anything less would lead to expectation which leads to disappointment AKA my least favorite emotion.

I'm realistic, mostly. I wouldn't say that's harsh. And plus I think I'm always... overly modest?.... in an attempt to sorta make up for constantly thinking about myself. I'm fucked up. Well, most people are so I guess that term is meaningless.

Last night in my dream, I lived on a boat underwater in a submarine that was docked on the shore. Yeah, doesn't really make sense to me either. I remember I hurt someone.

yeah, well. Pam made me say "I want to be a writer." She wanted me to, like, shout it or something but... I don't want people to know that that is what I technically want.

It's an impossible dream, and it's not my only dream either. I want to be an artist. And a mathematician. And a neuroscientist. And a psychology professor (specifically, I'd like to learn about adolescent psychology – Lord of the Flies has kind of got me obsessed with that area, just because I was fascinated by the interactions Golding wrote???)

Dammit, I wanna be an English major, too! (what the fuck do English majors even do?)

So saying I want to be a writer sounds dumb. It was one of the first things I ever REALLY wanted to be – I wish it as simple as I thought it was back when I first decided on that.

I'm frustrated. I could write, I kNOW that. But I don't want to write YA novels or some shit that gets pushed to the back of the bookstore because it's "okay but not too memorable."

I am that level right now. The YA and unmemorable level, lol. Yeah. I'm not sure I could get past that. Even if I did manage to overcome those obstacles, I'd still be a far cry from where I want to be.

The following is something I've never admitted to wanting out loud before: If I write, I want to write a classic. Do you see what I mean? Expectation leads to disappointment.

The same with art. If I go into art, I want to create a masterpiece. I want to pour my everything into whatever it is that I make.

I want to make people hurt inside. Really hurt. Feel an empty ache when they stop reading, or when they stop looking (depending on whether or not it is a book or piece of art).

I just want to cause pain, but the nice kind. The safe kind. Or I guess it holds the illusion of being safe when really, it can change everything about the way you interpret the world.

I wonder who I'd be right now if I never read Catcher In The Rye. Maybe I'd still be into romance, maybe I'd still hate the dirtiness of reality. That's not the point.

Sigh. I can't write. It will kill me to write. That sounds dramatic, Jesus. I just can't... I half-ass almost everything, and when I don't, it's never good enough. That's what will happen to me. Because, you know, being a writer sound so good.

But I remember learning the backstories of all these people I loved, and all I could see was... a bunch of terrible, terrible shit that somehow resulted in that book I was holding. Which is lovely. But also awful.

Like J.D. Salinger (I'm using him a lot today, haha). Y'know, I thought he was a genius after reading Catcher In The Rye. A couple years ago, though, I watched a documentary on him and it was just... gross. Real.

I know I have a thing for that sort of unfiltered view of life, but it always comes as a shock. And honestly, I have a hard time keeping MY life unfiltered. There are some things I won't think about and – this is horrible – sometimes when I look at my mom or dad or sister, I get this awful feeling in my stomach because I see their flaws and their shortcomings along with everything else and.... it feels dirty.

J.D. Salinger had a creepy thing for young girls. He shut himself up in a shed for days on end, apparently ignoring his children in favor of writing. He was socially awkward and known to be kind of rude. That's fine. I still admire him, his skills, and I know that with social awkwardness comes misunderstanding so it's possible he wasn't as awful as I'm making him out to be.

Oh, Jesus. I've gotten so off topic.

I wanted to focus on one part: J.D. Salinger locked himself up for days at a time, ignoring food and friends and family.

That's scary. And that's... kind of something I would do. Sometimes, I get so obsessed with ideas and I spend all day in my room, tearing out my hair and chugging water and creating something. I forget to eat and I avoid going to the bathroom because that means stopping.

I don't want to miss life. God, what am I even saying? I've completely lost it. I don't... what?

I think I meant to say that I can't be a writer. I lack the talent and I am afraid.


Jesus. I was going to write about how the other guy I sessioned with was very nice and he says hi to me in the hallways now but I always feel kind of scared that he'll want to strike up a conversation. I hate that I avoid people that way.

I also had a session with Music. I didn't say anything I wanted to say but he called me pretty and then told me H.P. Lovecraft stories.

After the field trip, I went to Lily's house and we worked on an APUSH project. Erica came later since she's part of it and we had a lot of fun. We talked about sick humor. It really made my day.

When I got home, I had a message from Adrian. He asked me if I was alright, since I was kind of quiet on the way back to school. I don't remember what I said in reply.

It was nice that he was so concerned. Earlier, he'd also complimented my hair. I told him he was really nice and he said, "No, I'm not nice, I'm just telling the truth," and I think I believed him for a second.

I think Adrian hates himself. A little, at least. Or maybe he hates himself and would never admit it. I might be projecting, haha.

But he definitely has issues with self-esteem. He bloodied his knuckles a couple weeks and it kind of made me upset. I told him not to do that and let my emotions trickle out with... callous concern? Is that a thing? It sounds contradictory...

I'm going to make it a thing. From now on, that phrase means to try and show you care through abrasive words or actions. An insensitive way to be sensitive. Like Mr. Sandwich.

I was actually mad he bloodied his knuckles, though. Mad, I guess, but not really at him. It was a disgusting kind of anger. It was me thinking the worst thoughts.

Me thinking, "Attention seeker," before I could even really take a breath. I just got bitter. I think sometimes I want to hurt myself that way. I used to bloody my knuckles, too. I don't, now, because that would show other people that I'm not okay and THAT is not okay.

So, what. I'm bitter because he has the courage to do something I don't? Because some made up barrier is stopping me from expressing my emotions? Oh, boo-hoo. Fuck me.

I can't bring myself to worry about Adrian. I don't think he would kill himself, but I guess you can never tell.

I just... I look at him, with the injured hand, and I just... want to watch. Want to understand. Want to study him clinically, pushing glasses up my nose and jotting down strange behaviors.

Me, I fake emotions to get myself through. On some level, those feelings aren't fake; I just have to amplify them, I guess. Because I don't want to lose his friendship and I don't want him to die.

But at the same time... I don't care. That's becoming my main thought, actually, and I'm not even slightly worried.


Wednesday. I was tired as shit and there is a 99% chance that I cried the night before, honestly.

I don't understand myself. I'm totally cut off from emotions one moment and then... suddenly I'm not. Okay.

Well, anyway. I went to school. It was fine. I probably talked to Isaac and Liv and Drew. Drew probably annoyed me, and I probably tried ignoring that annoyance because it felt unfair. I probably liked Isaac's smile and that doesn't bother me. I remember this one thing Adrian said: "Why do crushes have to be such a big deal? I am perfectly content being friends with someone I have a crush on without expecting them to like me back. It's fine. Why does everyone make it such a big deal?" Or something like that.

That's kind of how I feel about the subject, too. I think I'm kind of into Isaac but I am not expecting anything to come of it, just like with my crush on Birdy, which may or may not still be present. Who knows.

Nothing will happen with Isaac because he's way too much like me, as far as I can tell. Before we became kind-of friends, I almost never saw him with an expression on his face. He walked down the hallways at a very regular, relaxed pace with headphones in, staring straight ahead and still not making eye contact with anyone.

I do that (so does Birdy, from what I've seen. I don't stare at either of these people, FYI. I just remember things).

He's very quiet but is pretty interesting when he does open his mouth.

His right hand was swollen as fuck this week. He got in a fight with his brother or something. I wanted to poke it. Jesus, it was SO swollen.

I probably leaned on Liv that day too.

After school, I did... stuff. At six, my dad brought me to this local education building.

In my school, juniors and seniors have the option of spending half their day at school and half their day at this education center (which I'll just call Quest) in specific programs. They're specialization programs, like cooking or law enforcement or cosmetology.

I was going to the education center because that day, they were having a presentation for a program that was sponsored through Quest. It's not the same as the other programs, though, and it's only available to seniors.

These programs are supposedly really difficult. One is a STEM program (in that program, I know that kids have to attend a college Physics class at my dad's school. In case you forgot, my dad is a professor dude). Another is a Medical program which is situated at the hospital down the street from the high school. Then, there is an art program downtown.

The program I want to apply to is called World Sciences or something. It seems... super fucking difficult. But also cool because it ties in with a lot of my interests, like psychology and the human body (I was considering the medical program for this reason but decided against it because I am not a people person haha).

yeah, well. The presentation kind of made me feel tiny. My dad knew the professor who teaches the program, though! COol. Plus, I saw my Geometry teacher there and I love her.

I am still going to apply. I'm so scared they won't accept me. I'm more scared that they will.


Thursday was fine. I felt better.


Friday was fine. I fell asleep at 8 PM and didn't wake up until noon the next day.


Oh yeah. Earlier this week, my mom told me my family was supposed to visit this weekend and I cried because I have so much homework to do and family means no time. but they're not here. They're in New York City and so I hope that by the time they get up here, I'll be done with the majority of my work.

I am relieved.


I had a spa day today. I made this weird hair mask thing and a face mask too, so I'm soft. I also painted my nails for the first time in forever. I feel pretty nice.


I asked Mr. Washington if he would write me a recommendation for the above mentioned program and he said that he would. Later, he found me in the guidance office getting my transcript. He gave me a copy of the article we need to write a summation on (I asked for it). Then, he asked me about the program

(he thought I was going to apply to the Art program because he's seen my work. I told him that I couldn't because I didn't have a portfolio and there was way too much performance involved – acting and shit. Gross).

Before he left, he said (to one of the guidance counselors), "This is the most I've ever heard her talk. She's brilliant."

God, he always says the nicest things and it causes so much inner turmoil – I start asking myself, what exactly is 'brilliant'? God fucking dammit.

Oh. Another thing. I'm going to have a heart attack.

I hate that I got first in my class. People keep reminding me and I fucking hate it because I don't think I can maintain that. So far this quarter, I've fucked up a lot. Missed a shitload of gym and Chemistry assignments. And I think I really messed up my APUSH DBQ. I hate, hate, hate the pressure because now I've gotten my own hopes up, now I believe that I should remain on top and I don't have the fucking ability!

Jesus. I'm fucking crazy and here's why: I'm going to ask for extra credit in order to boost my grades. Do I have time? No. Am I going to do it anyway? Yes. Why? Because I fail all the time and if it happens one more time I'm worried that it'll kill me. Actually, I'm worried that it won't. Why is that today's theme?


Apparently, I'm more stressed than I thought. I didn't think I was that stressed. I mean... that sounds so stupid. Of course I'm stressed. I just... I don't know.

Point is, on Wednesday I tried completing my homework during lunch on Mr. Sandwiches computer (I failed to finish and I want to cry).

They have taken to calling me "VCunt" haha. It used to be Veronicow and Veronicunt but the nickname has since evolved.

(Just a note: I'm not at all offended, they're not making fun of me. It's their – and by their I mean Sandwich and John and other people – sense of humor, which I share)

They also came up with this super fucking weird hand gesture to signify VCUnt!!!!!

And Sandwich, he sent this kid up to me in my Precalculus class. The kid pointed at the door and through the window I saw Sandwich making the gesture and it actually made my day because it was so funny and I think the people around me were confused since half of them probably don't know who the fuck he is.

The kid he sent was actually familiar. First of all, I'd had a conversation with him earlier that day. Second, I had a crush on him in third grade and as a result, was pretty mean to him. I really fucking hope he doesn't remember that. He moved away after that year and I didn't expect to ever see him again, but he returned to our school this year. He's a pretty nice guy.


Here: I was stressed and didn't notice. People kept telling me to calm down and I was like "???" because I didn't really feel like I was about to have a panic attack, I just felt... depressed. Adrian said I looked fine, but Alexis... yeah she kept saying, "Calm down. It'll be fine."

On Friday, Mr. Sandwich stopped me in the hall on my way to Spanish and said, "Hey, I'm glad you're looking better. We don't like a stressed Veronica," or whatever.

Point was, he was expressing his concern in a non-cheesy way and I was surprised. I didn't know people were that... I didn't know they cared so much, haha.


Still haven't asked to see Pat. The timing feels off.


My room is clean for the first time in over a month (I hadn't had time to clean it before).

It's nice. Makes me feel slightly less suffocated.


I ordered Fahrenheight 451, The Toothfairy, and The Republic of Trees online.

The last two are supposed to be somewhat similar in theme to Lord of the Flies. I can't stop thinking about that book. It really is the best thing I have ever fucking read.

Also, I probably mentioned this, but I watched Pan's Labyrinth last Friday.

I am in love with that movie. I have a weird thing for dark fairytales and children who are forced to endure terrible things.

I was going through my notebooks the other day and I found a fairy tale I had completely forgotten that I wrote (probably at the end of 8th grade or beginning of 9th). It was... weird. Creepy. I liked it, but it was unfinished. I'd written like five pages, but it wasn't enough.

It was about a queen who absorbed the townspeople's emotions. The whole thing was sort of fucked up. I read Catcher In The Rye and Grimm's Fairytales (and also Tom Sawyer) while I was in the hospital, so maybe that's where it came from.

Elise's birthday is coming up. I keep thinking about that.


I'm sorry this entry is so confusing. It's like I had a thousand thoughts in the spaces between paragraphs that never really got written down, so... yeah. You're reading some key thoughts that managed to escape my brain, but everything else kinda went up in smoke.

It's snowing very hard outside. The wind is blowing and it sounds like a monster, Jesus.