Dear Friend

I feel like it would be much easier to write when slightly intoxicated. Similarly to the idea the the best writing comes from within a time of emotional turmoil, for that, I feel, is when the min is most stimulated. 

My laptop is at 41% and I have a research paper to write. 

I watched Prozac Nation, last night. It was about a depressed girl who goes to Harvard on a Journalism Scholarship. My point is that she writes on a type writer, and it’s a shame that I feel as though I would never be able to do that because I can’t spell, edit too much, and for some reason always spell becasue wrong even though I know it’s because, my left, ring finger is just way too ahead of itself. 

My Coraline book came in the mail today. I am totally prepared for a book that is nothing like the movie, but that’s okay. The movie is wonderful because of the artistry that went into the production of it, and I feel as though the book will excel in profound fiction writing and artistry, in words and illustrations.

I want to write scary children’s novels. I fee like it would be hard to write for a specific audience, because kids don’t like scary, teenagers don’t like stories without a love story, adults don’t like children protagonists. What I feel like some people don’t realize, are the allusions in these types of stories. They are about so much more than what is explicitly said. 

I have to finish The Book Thief, before I can read it though, and I need to write this paper before I can do pretty much anything. Just then I misspelled misspelled, before, and, and anything, twice. I am not a very good typer. I think I think faster that my fingers can move with meaning.

I’m listening to Coma Cinema, right now. There was a song by them on a CD Lydon gave me. He kind of fucked up recently, but I don’t really feel like getting into that because it hasn’t possessed any part of my mind as of late.

I don’t know if I have ever told you about Elias. There is one Elias I know that I have told you about, but this is a different one. To re-cap, if you feel lost (“To who am I addressing?” I ask myself): I dated him at the eld of last year, and it ended very covertly over summer, and was never addressed, even upon our return to school.

He has a new girlfriend, and has for a few months now. I have gotten really close with his group of friends, and we all ended up going to prom together, and now are like all friends. I knew that this was going to happen; we were going to go through our entire 4 years with a lack of friends, only to actually find the people we connect with in the last few months of senior year. I was right. 

Anyways, about Elias ( I don’t really want to write about this, but I feel like it would be beneficial in some way);

Hold on I have to finish my lit reviews before I finish this. I’ll be back later.

Dear Friend

I really like mornings and I really like being alone, but I do not particularly like being alone in the afternoons. 

The afternoon is such a dreadful time of day I have never leaned to enjoy it. I am very particular about lighting ad I love the morning light, but not necessarily, the afternoon light, especially in my house. 

I am going to finish high school i a few days and what do you know almost as soon as i started writing this, I really want to stop. 

I think such nice things, but I keep them as secrets in my head. It’s as if the circumstances of my writing them down would be a dire and hopeless disappointment, or that as soon as I got something to write it on, I will as already forgotten it. I do have a terrible memory.

I should get ready for school, but the sky still looks as if it were still 5:30am and is ruining my sense of urgency. 

I wish that I wrote on here more often because I really need to practice more. t’s important to make written records of one’s life, even the same if poorly written, for many reasons.

Dear Friend

I haven’t been here in a while. 

I have an idea of a story, and I feel like it has potential, but I have yet to find the words to fill it.

Perhaps I need to read a couple more books before I can start writing. Sometimes I feel competent, but lately, I well… don’t.

Usually I find myself full of words and so eager to let them all spill out, and of corse, right when I have a story to start, all I want to do is seclude myself with Brave New World or The Book Thief and M83, Steve Reich, or Explosions In The Sky.

Am I loosing my touch? Have I ever had a touch? I don’t think I really ever have, I think that I just really liked to write down what I was thinking and I knew that it made me feel better and maybe I confused that with a passion of some sort?

Maybe I can come up with stories but cannot put them into piercing words that fit the potential of the story itself?

I have a theory that I am at my best when I am going through a difficult or stressful time. 

Actually, I have come to this melting put of a conclusion:

1st off, I have to pee and I hate having to pee. It is so dreadfully uncomfortable.

Okay, here is my conclusion (post bathroom break):

I work best when I am going through a difficult or stressful time, and this is not necessarily a bad thing, most people’s talents shine most when faced with adversity. When I am going through a time of unavoidable emotion, there is a significantly higher chance that that emotion will be translated into my work, then similarly, onto the reader.

I am not ready yet. Elaboration: one would preform better at a certain job after they have gone to college or a trade school in order to be educated in that field. I think that I did not make a mistake thinking that I have a passion for the written word, however, I feel as though I do not want to start this project until I am ready. Until I have had experience writing short stories, have been taught how to effectively give a character life with words and the things that one could not know as necessary to learn before filing the potential of an idea, but are aware of its pertinence once it has been made apparent to him.

I think that my by junior year of college, I will have the potential to fill the potential of Under The Hill or similar. 

I am considering studying abroad in the Uk (Bristol) my sophomore year. 

On a kind o f related note (not related to bristol, but to writing), I got a lot of inspiration from my brother and all of the grief I feel from him, but I juts can’t seem to harness that. Most of the time his terribleness (for lack of a better word, or just my impatience to think of one),  just annoys me, rather than inspires me. I feel as though maybe the loneliness I will feel when I leave home (my physical home from 90% of my childhood when I move houses in July (most likely), and my family when I leave for college). 

UGH I JUST RAN INTO SOMEONE THAT I RIDICULOUSLY ENVY IN LIKE ALL POSSIBLE AREAS IN WHICH ONE CAN ENVY ANOTHER AND I FEEL LIKE POOP NOW. OF CORSE SHE HAD TO ASK WHERE I AM GOING TO SCHOOL BECAUSE IM WEARING MY CAL SHIRT JENNY GAVE ME, AND I HAD TO SAY SONOMA AND SHE HAD TO SAY CAL WICH IS LIKE SIGNIFICANTLY MORE SELECTIVE AND OF CORSE SHE HAD TO LOOK PERFET AND OF CORSE SHE HAD HER SUPER FUCKING HOT BOYFRIEND WITH HER UGH I HATE HER SO MUCH. AND IT SUCKS EVEN MORE THT SHE IS REALLY NICE AND EW. NOW I JUST FEEL LIKE DEATH. 

Dear Friend

I’m in the same place that I am usually. In 976, “doing the homework that was due weeks ago,” but not actually doing it. For some reason I am in a pace where the idea of engrossing by brain into that work seems incredibly dull and toxic, almost. I’m listening to James Blake. I’m really tired. Not really in the sense that I want to go to sleep, although I definitely could, but more so that moving my hands and body is difficult. 

No one in here is exciting to me, today. and my foot is asleep. 

The food on plates cruising by look wonderful, but I just cut my hair and have gained a couple of pounds recently so I cant afford to eat when I don’t need to. 

I don’t feel that bad about not doing my homework because the guy next to me is on facebook. 

I have the chills and I don’t like bending down cause it’s bad for my neck. I need to make some chiropractor appointments. I would call right now but I don’t feel like it. I haven’t felt like it in weeks or ever that’s why I haven’t had a much needed appointment. 

Maybe I shouldn’t be listening to James Blake. Even though it may be a little louder than m83 or something, the tones and synthesizers are drowning and seem to take ahold of my spine and eardrums and take them into some purgatory of sound and lack of production. 

I skipped school today. It ends in a hour, or about an hour and 20 minutes. My neck hurts. Today isn’t as great as I wanted it to be. My neck hurts. 

I also have to pee. I just went like 15 minutes ago so it’s a pretty irritating ting to deal with. I hate having a small bladder. 

I wish that I could find Anthony Gonzaleze’s POBOX. I would love to send him things. I’m not sure what I would send, but it would be something and it would be relatively good and he could see into me through something. Or even if he didn’t read it I could think that he did. 

I’m listening to The Antlers now. I don’t know why I am so tired. I need to quickly finish this tea and get some coffee. 

The guy next to me is totally sketch. I mean I may look a little weird cause I’m sitting with one knee facing upwards, bent so that my thigh is touching the side of my body, typing away, looking, what I can only imagine, as dead, as people question my reasoning for sitting so un-lady-like while wearing a dress (it’s okay, have leggings underneath).

This tea is really strong because I didn’t take the bag out, but maybe that will give me more caffeine.

I just need to keep writing until I can fathom  writing about something other than my innate thoughts. 

An elaboration to my thoughts of the man sitting next to me: He is wearing sweatpants, running shoes, and a brown, zip-up jacket with the hood draped over his head. He is using a mouse on a dirty mouse pad for his laptop, and his computer bag is pretty worn. He just got up and lef his keys with something that looks to be a white hotel room tag bearing the number “16.” His black iPhone with the glass crushed in the corner is sitting next to his little info box (that thing that hooks up to a computer and carries extra info I don’t remember what it is called), hooked up to his chunky Samsung computer. I can only see the back of a different key chain tag, but I am going to assume it’s a membership card to a gym.

Because this man got up to stretch, I am able to observe the man sitting in the spot one beyond mine. He keeps looking around, for a but I thought that he was looking at me, but I don’t think I was the focal point of more that 2 of those glances. His motions fluctuate between looking at his computer, glancing up, and bobbing his head to the music am am assuming is grasping him from within the Beats strapped around the top of his head.

Today, I told myself that, if anyone asks, that my name Is Grace, I go to Brown University, and, although I am on spring break, I have to work on a project that is due next week. 

The guy came back and he is (I have to fart) not the most fun to look at, nor does he look particularly nice. A somewhat good looking man  just came in. I may analyze him later if he is any bit interesting. He has headphones in, so I figure that he will keep to himself to the most part. 

The idea of being productive with my essays is becoming slowly less disgusting. 

My music paused between songs causing me to hear the music playing in here and I think it is some sort of country but I know that I probably don’t like it. 

I need to use the bathroom and I am going to as soon as this line dies down and the lady gets out of there. Also, the new guy isn’t attractive. 

The music in here got a lot louder, fuck. 

CRUCIAL UPDATES: The man I thought that may be attractive is wearing a Hollister sweater and therefore, is irrelevant. My favorite person in here is the man with the Beats because he strikes me as the least stressed. And most important: the man seated next to me is almost definitely psychotic.

I was in the bathroom when the door started shaking due to violent knocking. This is simultaneously rude and odd because 1) he must know that the bathroom is in use seeing as in getting up to use it I walked very close to him (necessary as the isle between tables is narrow), and 2) one would easily know if the bathroom is in use as the 100% noticeable sign on the door states that this is so if it the door doesn’t open with a slight push. Hereafter, as I walked out, the scowl I had planned for this perpetrator was not put to proper use as his eyes were winced closed in the head resting in the inside of his arm that was glued to the wall. He was is there for a few minutes, he just got out. I wish I had a sense of smell so that I could know if this behavior was due to the diarrhetic effects of coffee. He is also still on Facebook. 

I think the, usually insignificant. amount of caffeine is that tea has made me feel a little better.

What if I were to write a book like this.

It would probably get really boring. I could write a long, descriptive introduction of various people in a coffee shop, somewhat as I am doing now, then create a fascinatingly ridiculous plot, using the characters that I had described in the cripplingly boring introduction. Only so many people would be able to get through the intro having fully interpreted the descriptions, therefore, only a few would get to embrace the story for how wonderful it really is, as I would lace those introductions with various metaphors, symbols, and foreshadowing. The climax and resolutions would not be very long, and the book would (most likely) be relatively small. 

The characters would have to be more interesting that the individuals whom I share this space with at the present (excluding the horrid man next to me and the musically enthused man next to him).

I have been writing here for an hour, letting my to-do list grow as I do so. I suppose that I should order a late and get to work. 

But real quick, I need to write about something so that I won’t word barf (of any medium) it to anyone. Real quick.

I went on a sort of date with Dj the other day. My reason for saying “sort of” is the key point of this minor confusion and reason for this: 

Elias said that he told him something along the lines of, “maybe we could figure something out while I’m in school.” This has me assuming that e assumed there was something with the possibility of progression between us. However: at the show (the date was that he bought me a ticket to see St. Vincent and gave it to me on Valentines Day), he really didn’t seem interested at all. So my theories are: 1) he was interested, but after hanging out with me on valentines day he was no longer, but game the the ticket because he already bought it, 2) he as interested but heard me telling people that I wasn’t, 3) he was interested, but the increase of obnoxiousness of my tweets scared him off, 4) he was interested, but became interested in someone else, 5) he was and is interested, but is really bad at showing it, 6) he was and is interested but doesn’t want to progress the relationship as he realizes that any sort of progression is futile while he is in school, 7) he was interested and still is but is going to drop the whole thing because he realizes that I won’t go to his school, 8) he was never really interested, but persuade it because I seemed surprisingly available to him. I could go on. There are may possibilities. 

There is a part of me that just wants to ask him, but obviously the average person inside of me yielding any sort of confrontation. I mean I would do it over text, so the risk would be super minimum. Also, that fact that I don’t really want to date him is a huge chip off of the ice-block of rick, for no matter his response, there would be like 1% emotional effect.

I really really need t get to work now. 

I am forever grateful of you, nonexistent reader (don’t look into my reluctance to proof read too much).

I am sick of the glorification of “crazy.” If you’re crazy, you’re crazy. That’s it. 

Insanity doesn’t create art (although we have seen it to be a contributor to some). Don’t ever wish insanity upon yourself for the sake of art, or something you perceive to be artistic in the public eye. 

Those who are crazy aren’t all beautiful, worn looking qirls, crying in their rooms smoking a cigarette while taking pictures of the cuts on their wrists. They are big tough gym jockeys running around the house screaming profanities at their families, old, fat men doing somersaults in the street because they lost a shoe etc etc

I don’t know what is worse: being completely insane to the point of mindless oblivion faced with no choice other than to face the fact that you will never function as a “normal person” in society, simply watching from behind your eyes in a brain that cannot even begin to interpret what you see around you, or living as a seemingly “normal” member of society from the outside only to come home from your 6th job, hoping to not get fired because your insanity is restricting you from making normal human attachments, feeling empathy for anything or anyone but yourself, however; having to face the fact that your constant self-obsession slapping yet again, as you in the face when you forget to go to work and get fired again, or forget to acknowledge your significant other resulting in being left alone, again, or forgetting to treat your family as human beings, doubling back into self-obsession for there is no one else to turn to as your family is disgusted by the sight of you as you have obliterated all possibilities for pity in your violence in words and physicality. 

Dear Friend

If feels weird to write in a coffee shop. I usually write on Tumblr, however; I feel very self conscious that people will see and judge me for being so stereotypical. I would judge me as well if I were in their position. I mean look at me, pretending to “work” as if I hold some level of importance in life.

I have recently been concerned with the common question of passion. That is, “what am I passionate about,” “what am I going to do with my life,” but more importantly, “if I could choose any job in the whole world, what choice would make me happy?” I am concerned with this question for it has been a while since I have been able to answer it. I mean, I have “known” what I wanted to do for the last 4 years of my life, but now when it comes time for me to “choose” I am at a loss.

I give this credit asb. I thought that it would be my refuge this year.  I thought that I would be able to overcome the loss of my soccer career almost solely with my position as Commissioner of Community Service. I thought that this position would let me exercise my ideas to spread the word about various world issues, however; it has only shoved me into participating in and advocating/advertising for things that I know are completely pointless, do nothing for the world around us, and some that are even somewhat detrimental to that world. This position has also given me a fascinating realization that I am not going to change the world, contrary to the belief if my fellow senior class. This is because I have no interest in partaking in a career in which I am to painstakingly force passion into others who simply have no interest.

In elaboration; I have tried so hard, in the last two years, to make people understand the things that are happening around us. To reach outside of their little bubbles consider the problems other people face(or even just the lives they live and how they differ from ours), and maybe participate in a simple project that could help someone other than themselves. This has caused me grief and has served to be a task of far more grief than joy.

This is important as I have always wanted to join this line of work due to my passion for it. As I have previously alluded to; I may not be very passionate about it. I am disheartened. This seems to be the point. My passion has not overcome this past of obstacles and I cannot foresee if I can have a future in something so unrewarding.

The fact that I am swayed from a line of work pertaining to global aid by the public’s (or my peers’) lack of interest may seem selfish. Infact; I feel selfish writing it out, but I justify my change of heart with the following:

1) How am I to possible perform a job passionately and effectively without that passion? I will be of no immense use to my employers or the recipients of my “work” for my discouraging past will hinder any progress or innovation. (I am aware of my “here and now” outlook, and that my feelings may change).

2) I need to find that things that I am passionate about and good at so that I may make my dent in this world and be satisfied with the work that I did.





This paper is a unfinished, messy representation of a very stressful topic. It has warmed me up to writing, yet neglected to calm me down enough to perform the “work” I am faced with at the present.

Maybe I’ll try again.

 

Dear Friend (warm-up)

I need to warm up my slush of a brain or something because I cannot think about anything of substance right now. Maybe it’s all of the noise. I thought I could drown it out with M83, but that isn’t working so far. 

I wish there was no such thing as noise, sometimes. Noise is so stressful, it pushes me over the edge. I can turn the music up to drown out the outside noise, but then I would need to turn the music down in order to hear my thoughts. This would only result me me being overwhelmed by a null version of both nuisances. 

I cant turn it up enough. I hate noise. Everything is still going. Why can’t it just be quiet. 

I wish there were just a nice quiet library or somewhere I could study, undisturbed by this non-stop chaotic world. 

I heard the San Diego Library (the freshly constructed one) is pretty cool. I wonder if it is quiet there. 

That seems wonderful I think that I’ll go there tomorrow and finish this thing, Today I absolutely need to finish the outline for this research paper. I also need to review/edit the As I Lay Dying Essay. I should probably get hopping. 

For some reason looking at those pictures of the library calmed me down. 

There is this guy here and he isn’t like terribly attractive, but for some reason when I looked at him I got really excited to grow up. He just looks like someone I would be friends with when I’m 21 and In college. I’m not going to elaborate further on this.

Recently I’ve been freaking out because I’m pretty sure that I am not going to get into the UCs and even if I do, I don’t really even love them. Like, when I was there I never had the kind of feeling like “This is where I need to be,” like so many people say is the feeling you’ll get when you step on the grounds of the campus of the school you’re destined to attend. In addition, last night Claire, Leslie, and I watched a movie where we saw things that really made us think about where we are thinking/hoping to go.

For instance, I didn’t apply to washington or Oregon because so many people told me I wouldn’t be able to handle the weather, that it’s too far, and I would get depressed etc etc. And I listened to them. And now I really wish that I hadn’t. Buuutt: I’ve come up with a sort of plan:

Well; I basically just researches UW for the last hour but i think that is relatively constructive. There is only like a 56% admittance rate, so I can’t really bank on getting in. I’ll just visit and weigh my options when I know what schools I did and didn’t get into.

I think it would be nice to stay home for a semester to work, save up some money, and apply for a shit ton on scholarships so that I won’t be in a sea of debt when I graduate. There are so many majors at UW, so if I wanted to switch majors, I wouldn’t have to be drastic and switch schools altogether. 

I am going to wait on lingering on this subject/potential decision until I get my responses and go to Seattle to visit. 

I guess this was a nice warm-up. I have to pee.

Sincerely

change of plans

Dear Friend

I really wish that I felt like writing more. 

I don’t hate it when I’m doing it, I just don’t feel as though I have much of anything of depth to say in any sort of interesting way.

I guess it just comes down to not feeling good enough. 

I could write a fairly mediocre book if I was dedicated enough to. The problem is though, that it would be fairly mediocre.

I guess I don’t understand that I’ll keep getting better if I do it continuously. I even tell myself every night that I should have written that day. That I should have written something

I guess now I’ll give an excruciatingly basic relay if my excruciatingly basic life now, as per usual. 

Fucking DJ bought me a ticket to St. Vincent. 

My friend Kayla has to go to a concert for one of her classes so I invited her to go with me like last week. Also, I posted on twitter that I wanted someone to go with me because it took her a little while to respond. Henceforth this one [wo]man crew became that of 4 when Daylen and Lydon replied that they were going /wanted to go. However; the consequences of recent events have disassembled this group. 

Friday was Valentines day. I was supposed to hang out with Miranda and eat donuts and watch movies or whatever 1/2 cause it was Valentines and we’re singles and 50% cause those are both really fun things to do. But she got the stomach flu the day before and that plan was shot. So, I didn’t have plans, and when I usually don’t have plans I hang out with Claire and  Leslie (which is like 80% of the time), so I figured I’d do something with them. However; despite the alleged “Senior Ditch Day” and the fact that most of my friends didn’t go to school, I went to school that day and I’m like getting sick or something bla bla bla uninteresting stuff  slept all day and wanted to go out so I said yes to DJ’s offer to hang out. Earlier that day I thought about how hanging out with him may give off false implications, but upon further examination, I realized that I 1) I responded at like 8:30 and we didn’t leave till like 9:30 so it was like really informal and 2) I didn’t super care because I just wanted to go and do something.

So we went to the beach because the beach at night is obviously the best and whatnot. Bla bla bla some one irrelevant things happened and then he said something like “well is is Valentines Day…” and the whipped out these tickets. Like, he obviously saw my tweet and then bought them. It was so thoughtful and really nice and stuff I just wish I liked him more, I mean, like that.

I went through fazes throughout the entire next day of “I could like him” to “I could absolutely never date him,” to the ultimate result of my festering thoughts: “I could absolutely never date him.”

You have to think of everything when it comes to starting a serious relationship with someone. 1) do you like him? 2) are you attracted to him? 3) would your mom like him? 4) would your brothers get along with him? 5) will your dad/other men in your life think he’s a pussy and undeserving of you? 6) does he like to do 70% of the things that you do? 7) do your tastes in music (etc) have remote similarities? 8) can you have depthy conversations? (ones that you can learn from each other rather than talk at each other?) If your man of interest doesn’t give you reason to check yes for at least 6 of these, don’t do it. 

When considering DJ, I can only check like 1/2 of 1 and 2, 3, 1/2 of 4, prolly 6, and 7. Therefore, I cannot date him. 

This is an ingenious formula. 

I’ve exhausted this topic. 

This is a peculiar thing that has come up: evidently, I have become insistent upon the idea of hooking up with Sam. For some reason I just feel like he would be really good at it. Maybe I’ll take him to prom. That would be fun. 

I really hope there is a huge after party for prom. I like my friends, but would like to go to like a bigger party with more people from school cause prom is like a finale to high school and although I don’t like most of them, It’d be cool to like get drunk with all of them or something. I can’t think of anyone with a big house that would have a party tho. Maybe we could get a big group together and rent out a beach house for the night! That would be so fun. The only problem is that I’ve heard a lot of horror stories of the police coming and everyone getting kicked out and stuff. But I’m sure that we could play it smart. 

If I took Sam to my prom and we had a beach house we could hook up in one of those super nice rooms and I could just ask him if we could just have one night of meaningless, physical affection, then go back to being friends. I mean, I think it would be fun. I feel like he’d be good at it. Maybe I’ll even ask him b4 prom. I’m just getting real antsy I guess. 

Actually, I probably won’t even see him until prom or maybe after. 

I’m done with with 

love

poo

Dear Friend

I got settled. 

I am relatively happy now. 

Someone asked me something about like school or something like a school activity and I got really really angry inside so I’ve asked if people could just not cause I see that that is a trigger subject.

Anyone who tells me that I have to do something involving an activity that said person could achieve on their own will make me explode in my current state.

bye