This is one of those moments when I wish I was omniscient. Do the gods like being gods? Who knows. But one thing they must not have is secrets. Unspoken words. Implications, feelings, things that don't make sense.

If only I had a penny for every time I felt like I was missing something. When someone gives you a look, and you are not sure if that look is how they normally look or if you did something wrong or said something that reminded them of something wrong.

And once you begin thinking and second guessing, it's all over.

As for justice

I know there is some. Sometimes. But other times, it's just not fair. Of course it is that way. But why is it that for little concerns things work out quite niftily, but on large-scale things everything goes awry? I'm being awfully vague here, I know.

But please, please. To the powers that be, for once let there be justice. I'm prepared to offer a good piece of my future fortune for this. Not my justice. Someone else's. Please?

I think I'm confusing my blog with that drawer in the kitchen where I put all the random items I find during the course of my life. More later.

Hey,

What is this life thing about, anyways?

Stress

Overall this year is really much better. There's no constant swamp that's gaining on me, threatening to suck me under. [Kind of like that mural at school...]

But this still isn't always easy. I can laugh at the homework load [sometimes], but the sometimes everything just overwhelms me. It's hard not to choke on the pressure, the grades, the meaninglessness of it all.

There's so much of humanity everywhere I look. So why is it so cold?

Censors...

on myself. I realized that the most difficult school projects that I come across are those that are more personal. 10 page research paper? Not much of a problem. Heartfelt paragraph discussing my goals for this year? Big, big problem.

I suppose this has always been happening, but I never really paid much attention to it. I would just compose a generic, superficial paragraph, take my points, and never look back. Perhaps it is because this year I am writing more - not just in my blog, but in other places: my "chronicles" [fancy name for a journal recounting the day's events in meticulous and rambling detail] loose leafy sheets where I rant, stories, stories, and stories.

I suppose I shall have to choose. Hide, which is always a safe [nothing wrong with safe] option. Or learn to speak out. [Which is not safe at all. But gratifying, because you know that you have an opinion, and everyone else knows so too. Which means there's proof and witness that you're not a turnip head. With no brains/substance/original thought.]

Eh? What was I doing again? Oh, right. Working on a website for Imaging class.

Instructions for "Artist Statement Page": Write a brief artist statement that explains your philosophy on your art. Discuss what kind of art you enjoy looking at, what art inspires you, and what kind of art you like to create. Discuss what elements of art and principles of design are the focus of your work. Possibly include what area of digital art you find to be your specialty

Even this is difficult. I know a lot of people will probably bs this. Should I? Because part of me wants to have fun with this, and hopefully dazzle everyone with my wit and thoughtful prose [yeah, right]. But another part of me knows that it would mean letting people know how I think [even if they don't care, I know, and I care, and I'm the one I have to live with.] and I'll probably get the same amount of points as the next bs-er.

Why do I like being so darn secretive? Maybe it's an attempt to create more layers to myself because everything else is a mess and not that deep.

Gr. Bottom line? I'm uncomfortable [and always was] with letting people "get to know me" and since I've gotten closer to writing, it's become more personal. And now I am hesitant to show my writing to anyone...
[Exceptions:
1) My English teacher, because it's a writing course and I want a good grade and you can't get those by faking.
2) Erin because she's in my English class and she's pretty much my closest friend.
3) Susan, because she's also a close friend and my writing buddy and being writing buddies would be difficult if one person refuses to show their writing...
4) My blog - here, of course - I can write whatever I feel like with little censoring except for the names, mostly because I feel pretty safe knowing that no one will read it {Except Gadi, my one reader, by default, the fourth person, who is a writer himself and has a blog where he writes...odd friendship, since he moved. Well, always an odd friendship, because he was somewhat scorned when he was here. Probably by me. But I don't remember. But then again, they say a bully never remembers his actions. So if I did, Gadi, I'm sorry.}

I think that's pretty much it. *shuffles awkwardly away*

Writing these blog posts is always very interesting, mostly because I never know what I'll end up writing about. And they make me feel better. They take an awful lot of time, though. Good thing I don't have much [any] homework tonight. Good thing I don't have much homework this year. Only had enough room for three aps. Well, four, but I didn't want to take an ap art.

I think it's time I stopped now.

Response to "Artist Statement Page" [Maybe.]: I believe that art takes many forms, transcends the field of logic and reason. I enjoy looking at digital art, because I spend ridiculous amounts of time on the computers, and sculptures and grafitti [on the few occasions when I make it outdoors]. I can never tell exactly what inspires me. My art is like dreams - I know they have come from my experiences in one way or another, but they are so conglomerated that they are indistinguishable from each other.

I just dropped an entire roll of toilet paper in the toilet.

Yes. It was brand new; never used. My hands slipped, and plunk. It fell. I stood there in shock for a moment, staring at the tree I had just killed.

At least it was before I used the toilet. Even so, there was no way I could use the toilet paper...that would defeat the purpose of toilet paper. I double shopping bagged - the roll was surprisingly heavy after taking about half of the toilet water with it.

No one was downstairs. I bagged the roll, tied it up, quietly set it in the trash, and answered nature's call.