"It's Different For Girls" by of Montreal [I really like this song, which is weird for me since normally I don't love this kind of music – except for MGMT, but these people are cool and I enjoy the music video]
It's different for girls
They've got sensitive language
They've built miles of defenses
They're not numbed by oppression
**They want to make a scene
They want to be adored
And then they want to be left alone
when they get bored with that***
It's different for girls
They are mercurial creatures
not a masculine dissonance
Or sexual currency
**Though some of them are demons, all of them are gods**
Though some demons are women
For every one psycho bitch, there's 10,000 hateful pricks
It's different for girls
They like chaos and mystery
And they like to combine them
Sometimes they act crazy
But that doesn't define them
It's different for girls
They're not expected to fight
They're expected to sit and take some lesser man's shit
Though it don't feel right
No, don't feel right
[Do you hear that people? I am a god. Also a mercurial creature, which is just a beautiful phrase and I'm happy it exists. !!]
Still August 10, 2016 Wednesday 10:30 PM
Alright people. So this line of thought started... I don't know when. Probably over vacation. I've been thinking about it since then.
But I was reminded today, because in Creative Writing, Mr. Rayes read the first half of my story, which scared the shit out of me.
The problem with me is that I'm kind of dark in my writing most of the time. Which is a little bizarre – most of the shows I watch are comedies. Twenty minutes a pop.
("Y'know, that's a real comforting idea, Rick" is all I can think of)
Anyway, I was sort of embarrassed because it's, yeah. A dark story. I tried not to be melodramatic, and I think in that way I was successful, but still. I'm really hoping the people in my class don't think I'm fucked.
At least Chelsea doesn't. I might've given her a different name on here, damn it.
I did a lot of research for that story. I wrote it way back in December as part of a bigger project, and then totally restructured it in March. I've been tweaking it ever since, and made some pretty major changes earlier this month – okay I know this is boring but whatever.
Most of my research was on emergency operator protocol (I asked some actual operators online and I also listened to recordings) and stages of decomposition
(sooo I looked at a lot of pictures and read a variety of articles, detailing all kinds of weirdly awesome stuff like lividity – livor mortis, I think it's called – and slippage.. rigor mortis, that coating people get over their eyes after they die, the rotting of the body from the inside out.
I also wanted to know how it smelled, which was kind of harder to find. Different people say different things. I think it depends on the environment. Some people say it smells sickeningly sweet, others say it's like a rotting steak or something, meh???
The pictures were kind of horrifying. I don't know why I was surprised by all the dead body pictures on the internet but I was. There was blood. It was weird to realize that these people I was looking at were dead.
Also, lividity is really scary-looking.
I saw this one photo of an older woman, maybe in her seventies, who died alone in her home while sitting on her couch. Her face was slumped forward and she was barefoot, so the blood settled in this circle around all her facial features – bright, bright red, like a plum – and her feet were purpling, skin pale-ish gray. It was terrible but I can never look away from that sort of thing.
It's amazing and horrible and this whole thing was, for lack of a better word, fun – it was a fun project.
I also watched a video of a very cheery middle-eastern or maybe Indian – bad at accents, I'm sorry – dude giving examples of rigor mortis. Some of his bodies had some blood caked on them, but he was such a happy guy – it kinda took away from the horror of it all. What a cool man.)
Sorry, sorry! Not what I meant to talk about at all. Jesus, I suck.
Sorry. Anyway, Mr. Rayes read my story and I was terrified because people already think I'm a weirdo – since I'm quiet and all (and, in one kid's case, because he heard the story of how when I was twelve, a chased a couple of my friends around the house with a knife. In my defense, they sorta broke into my house). In the end, I managed to calm myself down, though, because it's only like thirteen people in that room and most of them are nice. Some don't go to my school or aren't in my grade, so yay, a plus.
And, annndd. It's pretty likely that I won't be in class with these people this school year so whatever. Except for maybe in Calc. But still.
Mr. Rayes was really nice about my story though. He didn't make very many corrections (he got rid of the "home" in "home phone" and changed "alright" to "all right" which still makes me mad but also... maybe I should just surrender to Strunk & White).
He stopped to point out parts of my story that he liked, and talked about how the development and characterization was pretty good. !!! Which, good. It was only the first half, but the story came across exactly how I wanted it to, to Mr. Rayes at least. I'm still feeling mildly itchy about it having been shown to everyone.
(As a note, we've been reading the class's Creative Writing stories in class since Monday. The people in my class are good writers.
I feel like an asshole, 'cause I realized that I was pretty sure I was gonna be the best writer in class, but I'm not sure any more because they're all really good and it makes me happy.!!! They're good! They're GOOD! Obviously, I've been tainted by fanfiction and fictionpress, because people post absolute crap on there sometimes – me included – and I guess I just got this idea that most people really can't write.
And it's not true!!!! At first, I was like, oh no, inadequacy, but for the most part... I just love stories. Good stories especially, haha, and there's something especially beautiful about seeing a real, live person and then hearing the story they wrote?? Sorry for that awkward sentence, but do you see??? They're beautiful. The people are.
Even that kid Gordon, who I dislike. He's still a pretty awesome writer.)
Afterwards, Mr. Rayes had me answer a couple of questions about my intentions when writing the story. My hands were shaking and my lips went numb.
Sooo later that got me to thinking, god damn it, why does my body have that kind of reaction to things?
Which then made me remember a conversation I had with my grandma a couple weeks ago.
I don't remember how we got on the subject, I just know she said, "You cried a lot as a child. No one knew how to comfort you."
And I remember this very well, so I told her, "Well – I don't know. I think it was because when I was little... everything hurt? I don't know if that makes sense."
My grandma nodded. "Ohhh.. So you mean when we touched you, it actually hurt you?"
Me, "No, no, I didn't mean literally. I mean.. emotionally, everything hurt. I was very sensitive."
And now I am thinking about how I was so sensitive and I wonder what that means for me, for my genes. What part of your brain controls emotional reactions to external situations?
Because when I was little, I cried over everything. I cried when an adult spoke to me with the wrong tone, or when I didn't get what I want – duh – or... for a lot of reasons, although now I am realizing that most of the times that I cried without finding comfort was because of adults. Adults terrified me. I had my first panic attack because of an adult, ahhh, memories (if that even was a panic attack – maybe I don't have those. Maybe I just have something similar to them, symptom–wise).
SHit, man, I don't remember where I was going with this and it's nearly midnight – I stopped to watch some Jake Bugg music videos – and yeaahahahhah.
See ya, I'm sleepy, sort of.