A Town on a Hill

A pair of Jehovah's Witnesses rang my doorbell today.

We stared at each others' eyes through the glass window of my door. Then I went to my room.

I was compelled to not answer my door: I am not comfortable with people telling me that the apocalypse is coming and that I am going to hell.

And isn't it all about perception? What one person considers sin is what another person considers sanctity.

I am Roman Catholic. I believe in God. Usually I do not show it in the best way, but in the end I do.

A lot of people believe that Catholics are freaks, but we honestly stay in our niche. And I hate the idea of convincing someone to believe. It sounds like lying more than trying to make someone truly believe in God. And who are you honestly doing that for? You are doing it for your own sanctity, not truly for the benefit of God.



I don't like talking about religion. I feel really awkward when I do.

I will never punch an old white woman...

It has been a long time since I have cried.

When I think about the next time I will cry, I always perceive that it will be painful. Not emotionally, but physically. The tears will drop down, squeezing from the tear ducts. Or instead of tears, blood will fall. I have constantly convinced myself the next time I cry it will be this dramatic.

I cried today. It did not hurt at all. It came about smoothly, and it was how I remembered it. It's as if just coming from the ocean. You feel this saltiness, but it tastes good. It's comforting. It helps make you change from being tense to relaxed. It is very euphoric.

I realized how naive I have been. That the next time a situation like that happened, I would be strong. I could handle it. I couldn't have been more wrong. I felt like a little kid again, afraid of a big monster walking around.

I know there are no monsters, but it is easy to make misconceptions.

Silence

I shout but nothing comes out.
I whisper but everyone can hear.

Have you fed the fish?

Today was not a good day. The phrase "not a good day" is actually an understatement. I have never truly felt so unhappy in one day. By third period, I just wanted to leave. Who was I kidding? It felt as if every person in the human population jabbed a knife into my kidney and left me for dead. When I ponder-it was mainly academic factors of why I hated today but still. In English, my teacher made a comment on my vocabulary which I found to be extremely harsh. Like, I have a decent vocabulary; and I am part of the anomaly of people who actually use SAT words in my mundane conversations. Then in Calc, I got a 78 percent on a test that I studied for four hours on. So I basically was kicked in the balls, and once it started to be relieved, someone else kicked me in the balls. Fifth period slightly took away my problems, but not completely. But still, that comment made me feel fucking humiliated. And how can she say I need help on vocabulary when I sit next to the kid who starts sentences on essays with "In conclusion," or the one across the room who doesn't even have subject-verb agreement down. Maybe I am in denial, but even so: three-quarters of the population could not tell you when to use his or her versus their. It is more necessary in life to no things such as when something is singular or plural, right? I don't know. Ugh.

Song

I need to blog, but I don't want to think. I would usually talk about something on my mind-but nothing is. This is what happens when I don't get a day of solitude. It seriously is an essential part of my life. And it pisses me off when people take advantage of it. My mom does this a great deal. On Saturday, she will stay home until like noon, and during this time I seriously just want and need to be alone. I seriously do not care who you are, I need silence to think. And even if you aren't making a noise-your presence is ear-shattering to me. So this is what caps everything up:

"The Sound of Silence"-Simon and Garfunkel

Staffers

ASDF nothing works anymore....

I am sick of incompetent staff writers. Nothing seems to get through they're small naive brains. I am sick of every time I give them constructive criticism, they cry or complain. Welcome to the world of journalism. Who said journalism was a fun easy-going world? It's cut-throat. I am so sick of babying. I have no time for this and now I have to write a copy and two modules. To top it off, I have no dominate for my volleyball spread; and the next two days I am having to spend nights romancing my history book and the Scarlet Letter. GAH! DOES ANYONE CARE?

Swarming

Writing, may it be story essays or blog entries, is a very difficult thing for me. I am not a bad writer, and I love to write. But my head is like Times Square, I have about 50 thoughts on one subject and it's difficult to see each one in its entirety. I am only able to skim the surface and can never dig deeper. Instead, I hit the thought and then hurry to the next-digressing as much as possible. As I go throughout my day, I always am thinking "how would I narrate this in a story?" or an even geekier "what am I going to talk about in my blog today?" But as I go through the day what was once my opinion on, say, evolution, is now about generational gaps. By the time I get to the computer I want people to see BOTH of these topics, but right as I click "new post", the topics weave together and none of the profound statements I had make sense. It's all just jargon.

In the spirit of digression, lord I hate writing about myself for school.