No Title Given
I have been feeling sick and achie and cranky all day. With a pounding head ache and overwhelming sleepiness, I haven't been able to function today at all. And of course, I have a more active, more stressful day then usual. (Which would probably be an even comparison to any active, normal teen flexing a finger.)
I got into a little fit at my friend James yesterday, about him driving me to school. I do not mind if a couple of days he can't drive me to or from school. I can respect that he has things to do. But if it constantly differs from each trip to each day to each week without any sort of pattern to get used to, I might as well be riding the bus. I don't agree to make arrangements like that with someone to not have any dependability. He shouldn't have offered if that was how it was going to be. And I told him that. And he gave me a snotty "If that's how you want it, OK" response. Fuck you, James.
I'm also thinking of turning in my second period teacher, Mr. Harner. Today was a perfect example of the shit I don't think I can put up with: he preached to the class for an hour; outright religious preaching. And it's not that I can't respect his views, because I put up with it all last semester. But what about other people who are of different religions in his class, such as someone like me? (Not that I'm religious, but I disagree with him.) He goes on and on about how jesus paid for our sins, and that if we don't accept jesus, god won't accept up, and all of this other bull shit. Over and over and over. And students in my class ask him questions like he's the pope, and he eats it up.
The only reason why I thought it was time to report him, is when a girl beside me, named Beth, shared a certain opinion of hers with me. She is a very religious person, and usually her and Mr. Harner get in their own world talking a bout god. While Mr. Harner was going on, she leaned over to me and said she didn't think he should be going on and on about god, because she would feel bad for people of other religions who had to hear it. And she said if he were Budious (sp?), or of some other religion, then she would probably report him for going on and on like he does.
Inspiration and motive.
When I got home, I promptly started working on the script for a "WWWBoard" provided by my domain's server. They had recently taken away UBB as an option, so I went ahead and took the hours out of my time to blindly edit the lines and lines of code that came with he WWWBoard. It should be up soon on unpretty.net. And hopefully people will post. I will eventually get a UBB, but I'd like to see what kind of things people will post. And if I can even keep up with it.
My father had a doctor's appointment today, since he was having some tests done on him, and him and my mother were not supposed to be home until 5-6 PM. When they came home, I saw my father carrying a semi-large box. I came out of the computer room, tired from coding the WWWBoard, and promptly asked what was in the box. My dad, in a goofy voice and face, declared "I bought me a lap top!"
I have been bugging my parents for years to buy a new computer, for me, or for both me and my dad. But they have always said no, saying that the one we have is fine. Then, when I met Alan, Alan started showering my house with new technology, and even though my father did not want to admit it, he liked the change. Alan recently gave me a new printer, also. I guess this must have got a wild hair up his butt, and he thought a lap top would be a great idea.
We opened it up to take a look at it. My dad, knowing very little about computers, just kept going on about how pretty it looked in the store "all lit up." I was studying it. I really have never liked lap tops, and I didn't really want one. But I had so many thoughts going through my mind. I thought my dad really wanted it, and I was almost mad he bought himself one. But then again, I didn't want it, because I have so many things already tied up in this computer. Stuck in a rock in a hard place.
It took me a moment, but when my father kept saying I could have either to go in my room, I eventually picked this system, the one Alan has practically provided for me. My mother, who was standing over me, said in a smug face "You don't want the lap top?" It was in a hushed tone, nothing that my dad would respond to, and I started getting clued in that my mother wanted me to take the tap top.
Then we started tossing around ideas on what to do. I said that I could take the whole computer set in the den to my room, including the printer, and that my dad could have the lap top and the old printer, since he had seemed to love it so much. But, surprisingly, he doesn't want to use the old printer. He said he liked what the new one could do too much. God, if only I could have jumped forward in time and grabbed a recording of that for when he turned me down all of the times I asked for a new printer before. My dad proclaimed that if I took the newer printer, he was going to buy a tiny little printer that went with the lap top, which would run about $250.
Needless to say, when it was all said and done, my father was actually happy with the decision, since he really did want the lap top. But my mother. She made sure I felt bad. She sent me on a good guilt trip. She told me that my father had bought the lap top for me, and that he had gone around telling everyone at the hospital about how he bought his daughter a little compaq lap top. My mother was telling me this after I had quickly proclaimed "I hate lap tops" as I was opening up the box to take a look at it.
I told her she should have consulted me on it, and not to shock me with it. She said she was sorry for trying to surprise me. I told her she should have bought me a car, since I already had a computer. And that honesty seemed to get her even more upset.
I'm tired. I hope it works out with too much head ache.
No Title Given
I dread doing this. Which is the only real reason that I have been able to come up with as to my lack of updates. It all makes me feel fake and over dramatic. Like someone fussing over losing a penny. And this journal has caused more problems then solved. But in ways I suppose it has also stopped the actual problems from getting bigger.
Or maybe it is the time. I feel like I am stuck in slow motion. It doesn't feel like 2000, and it does not feel like it is already a month old, and approaching a month and a 1/2 fast. It feels like there should still be confetti on the streets. Or something like that. Something other then what it really is.
Me and Alan had problems, talked them out, had some more, and everything great. I asked him a test question, like I always seem to do with everything, and also like I always do, it turned out to be a "do or die" type of question. I asked him if he wanted space. He said yes. And I suppose I asked for it. Literally. Stupid me. And of course, for the rest of the night, I kept repeating "he wants space from me." And I understand fully I can control things like that, and I knew it then. I guess it all goes back to that hang up I have about some part of me, a very powerful part of me, that wants to be unhappy. So I had a good crying fit and went to sleep.
Everything was fine for a while. Nothing seemed different, and it seemed weird with the actual situation that was supposed to be occurring. It was almost forgettable. But Alan has started to make up for lost time. I have not spoken to him in about 3 days, because he has not bee online or called me, like he usually does. As far as I know, he gave me no notice of such an absence. I know he is well enough to be online, because I can see is ISP listed as having visited this site yesterday. I e-mailed him both days, and as far as I know, he has not read either message. "Space" or not, he knows how much leaving me upsets me. Especially when I am left waiting. And waiting. It's not fair.
For all I know he could have a death in the family, or be about to break up with me, or fucking some other girl. I don't know. And whether those thoughts are wrong or not does not matter. He knows I will think them. He knows. He knows I worry like I do. He could have least told me fucking something.
Someone else from my childhood memories died this week. Again, I was not really friends with him, as I was also not to the late Lee Aylor, but he still haunts my memories. And no matter what I may have thought or wanted at times, I always expected him to be there, and not really be a victim to his "bad boy" lifestyle. But sadly, after an argument about washing dishes, Alvin Washington, nicknamed "Weasel," was shot 6 times by his own father. 3 in the chest, and 2 in the back, and once in the back of the head, or so I have heard. They had loaded him in Peagsus (sp?), and when they were not even a foot of the ground, Alvin died. This was about 5-6 PM on Monday, January 31st.
So pointless.