je veux seulement t'oublier

heyy lo.

Sun, 30 Oct 2005 21:20:57 GMT

1) Reply with your name and I'll respond with something random about you.
2) I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3) I'll pick a flavor/color of jello to wrestle with you in.
4) I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5) I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6) I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7) I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8) If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST.

ambition

Mon, 24 Oct 2005 05:34:08 GMT

my older sister just bought my younger sister the o'reilly factor for kids.

this single, isolated incident is just a microcosm of how the entire world is against me.

reminiscing hurts.

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 00:33:10 GMT

I love rainy days more than anything. I don't know...something about the gray sky is just screaming at me and telling me to be nostalgic and morose. Anyway...I was going through my music, and I listened to a song that I hadn't heard since I was in Paris. My reaction was definitely pathetic and overly emotional, but it helped me make the decision that I'm leaving the states once I graduate.

I also finally decided on my major: Foreign Language.

either that, or something involving etymology or anthropological studies of the way language develops. I don't know what they'd call that... I'd like to focus on romance languages...but middle eastern languages would be fascinating too.

What am I going to do with my life? I still have no idea. Probably nothing.

But I know I'll have an amazing time being dirt poor and travelling the world while the majority of people I went to school with are in ivy-league schools becoming doctors and lawyers and making far too much money.

Yes, I guess I'm partially jealous that I didn't have all the money in the world handed to me. I've been extremely bitter towards everything; I've been far too wrapped up in the lack of financial and emotional support that I've had from my family.

But, I don't think that I regret it anymore.

I've definitely had to do a lot myself, but, I keep overlooking everything that I do have.

I have a chance to do something with my life. I think somewhere inside me I have the drive and ambition to create a good life for myself. I'm really scared for the future, though, and part of me just wants to hide from everything I have to conquer to get through all of this. I think everything is going to be okay, but I'm still so angry at myself for constantly failing everyone's expectations.

Enough of that.

Il faut que je fasse mes devoirs. Et, aussi, j'ai besoin d'apprendre quelque chose...comme tout le monde.

Anyway, here are some long overdue pictures from my trip. I'm counting down the seconds until I get to go back.

The Ring of Brodgar...Orkney Islands, Scotland

The York Minster

devvy-pie

looking awfully tired...

on the way to orkney

Orkney again

devin and I...

london...

somewhere in england..

camden market in london...one of my favorite places

the globe

My first drink in england....hahaha...with devin

and finally...mon coeur

LA FETE NATIONALE!

From the eiffel tower...

uncle billy and company.

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 03:50:29 GMT

too much shakespeare.

I'm pathetic.

Mon, 03 Oct 2005 02:37:51 GMT

so I have to psychoanalyze hamlet for my AP lit class.

I'm sitting here, and I'm writing this essay, and I accidentally typo "Hamlet"

I look up at my screen, and there in the middle of the page, flagrantly underlined in red, is the word,

"hamelt."

why am I pathetic, you ask?

because reading the word "Hamelt" made me hungry.

and I don't even like ham.

and especially not melted cheese with ham.

artwork...

Mon, 26 Sep 2005 21:39:26 GMT

my scanner is finally working again.

Sun, 26 Jun 2005 10:30:00 GMT

I'm going to europe in 28 hours. I'm going to be gone for quite awhile, and I'm going to leave of this all behind. There will not be a number you can contact me at, and there will not be an address where I can be written to. I'm going to fulfill my current wish momentarily;

I'm going to disappear.

It’s such an amazing comfort that life can still hold such hope and infinite potential for greatness in these moments of emotional intensity.

The future is a wonderful place to be; almost as great as the present.

on my popsicle stick

Sat, 25 Jun 2005 06:17:41 GMT

what do whales spread on their toast?

jellyfish.

Sat, 18 Jun 2005 19:26:28 GMT

Congratulations, you've been Mormonised! Now you too can walk the Utah streets and feel absolutely at home within their social framework. Acceptance from the Mormon community is yours. We hope it makes your life a better one.

My Mormon name is Jessamina Denverly Dawn!
What's yours?

childhood yearnings

Tue, 14 Jun 2005 22:04:18 GMT

Tomorrow is one of those days that we wish was better than today. Today is one of those days that we wish mirrored yesterday. It's my last year before I officially become an adult. I never realized how quickly I've grown. It seems like I was just barely sitting in a tiny desk back in fourth grade, complete inattentive to my monosyllabic spelling test, just staring out the window, thinking about how old the sixth graders looked. I couldn't reach the sink. Adults all looked so big and scary. The grocery store was a massive sensory experience, with colors and smells and endless places to play hide a seek and an infinity of aisles in which to wildly plough shopping carts through. Now it's just a place of monotony, an errand on a to-do list. I miss this innocent, untainted vision of the world. I miss finding beauty in everything, and looking upon every mundane task as an incredible adventure. I miss not worrying about yesterday, or tomorrow. I miss only thinking about now, and how the future seemed like an impenetrable realm of darkness that even my imagination was incapable of exploring. Now that same future is the past. Now my bedroom isn't a castle, or a pirate ship, or an alien space base. It's where I try to sleep.

I leave for Europe in thirteen days. The alacrity building within me is so intense... I think I'm going to explode.

Tue, 14 Jun 2005 08:34:50 GMT

I left my life back in that elevator. I left it in the concrete corner, with the hairline cracks dancing up the walls and the rusting railing standing parallel to the three chipped steps. My dreams blew away with your cigarette ashes, exhaled with the second hand smoke from your lungs that I'd purposely ingested. I never thought I'd stand there alone, screaming your name and making myself hear your laughter echo once again. It wasn't you. It was only the reverberation of my own desperation. I couldn't see myself searching there in the future, seeking any physical remnants of the past. I couldn't imagine closing my eyes and laying naked against the concrete, feeling the austerity of the gray walls and picturing you hovering in the corner, being everything and nonchalant. Picturing you, once again being my own physical manifestation of my little-girl-daydream.

Mon, 13 Jun 2005 09:08:36 GMT

The world is falling to pieces and I'm incapable of putting it back together. It seems like every time I make even a little progress, life just falls back into recession. I don't think happiness nor sadness really exists. I think reality is what we make it, and if we're happy, it's because of how we perceive things. It goes for being down as well. Depression is just a way of perceiving the surrounding world. But how can I shift into optimism? I want to be happy. At least, I think I do. I've never really understood anything. I've just made myself believe it so I can establish some false clarity in an ever-changing world. Life is so pointless. Everyone dies alone. People detach themselves when they know they'll lose someone close to them. Why take the time to love someone? Factoring in all of the time it takes, and all of the arguments that occur, and everything else... the time actually spent giving and receiving love is so minimal. It's never for them, either. It's never for the other person involved. Love is just a method for receiving self gratification. For having someone there all the time to reassure you that you aren't useless, that you are serving a purpose. But they only say those things because they seek that same reassurance in return. The only successful motivating factor for humans is greed and selfishness. People love to gain attention. People give compliments to receive them. People donate to charity to feel better about themselves, to feel like their lives actually contribute to helping this world. People talk to receive attention. People supply replies to feel intelligent. To feel needed. It's a never-ending cycle of complete futility. I don't want to love anyone, or to hate anyone. I don't care anymore if intense emotion is my only creative inspiration. I want to be indifferent. I want to maintain a state of complete equilibrium, I don't want to feel anything extreme. I don't want to have to try so hard to impress anyone anymore. I just want to learn who I am, and try and be that person. By writing this, by posting it so people are able to read it, I know that I'm practicing complete hypocrisy. I don't really care. I'm completely self centered, I'll be the first to admit it. But I'm not going to waste my time trying to convince people that I care about them when they don't believe it. Because rare little incidents of me striking out somehow erase years of kindness and complete selflessness. Because I'm just here on the side. Because people talk to me when they don't have anyone else. If they don't have anyone else. Because I'm always at least second on the list. Because, at work, I'm the know-it-all kiss ass. Because, at school, I'm the shy, quiet one who doesn't speak unless she has something profound to say. Because at home, I'm the "abusive" one who is somehow reminiscent of her father and "causes just as much pain" as when he was present.

Because I suppose I have to love myself before I can love anyone else.

boredom + insomnia

Mon, 13 Jun 2005 07:31:03 GMT

bored? miss me?

Take my Quiz!

you know you want to.

Wed, 08 Jun 2005 06:50:44 GMT

I should be doing my homework. But I'm not. I'm leaving for europe in 19 days. I've been extremely confused lately. There is something about life that just leaves me feeling so empty. I feel like I'm not doing something. I feel like somehow, due to my own lack of effort or awareness, my life is absent of positive factors that are present everywhere else. I'm not even trying to create a false pain or complain about how alledgedly sucky my life is; because it isn't. I don't need to create sadness in my life to find purpose. My current circumstances are so much better than they were when I was younger... Why do I still constantly feel like something is missing? Why do I still become so emotional over the smallest instances that really should be of no concequence..? I have a lot of people in my life that care about me. I don't have any terminal illnesses. I'm blessed with so much... but at the same time... I don't know. I feel like all of my efforts are really leading me nowhere. I can't concentrate on anything anymore. I don't know. I don't feel like I belong here. I don't see the world the way anyone else sees it, I don't react to things the way other people do. I feel strange. I don't want to work to reach a certain goal in my life. I don't spend every day dreaming of where I could be, I live every moment trying to appease my senses for that instant. Is this wrong? It seems everyone constantly tries to work towards a common goal... only to get nowhere. I can't really articulate what I'm feeling. I guess I'm just finally experiencing the futility of human struggle. Does it have a point, I mean, really? It could be argued that a sense of accomplishment is what is sought after...but even that is just a momentary feeling until the next wave of disillusionment sets in. whatever. I'm going to bed. I can't express myself properly.

meaningless words

Mon, 09 May 2005 07:05:03 GMT

if you were going to die, and you had only one hundred words to tell the one person that means the most to you right now how much you care about them, what would you say?

nothingness vs. somethingness

Mon, 11 Apr 2005 09:55:50 GMT

I finally found a test prep book for AP Lang. I wasn't going to buy one, but I want a five on the exam.

Okay, enough about trivial stuff.

I've been reading a lot of Sartre [+ other existentialists] lately, and it's making me really depressed. It made me realise that most of my beliefs are grounded around the ideas of fate, and serendipity, and a master plan that ties everyone and everything together. I always somehow cognate in the back of my mind that everytime I make a decision, even if it's extremely minor, like choosing where to eat lunch or the color I want to paint my nails, that it will have some profound affect on my life and could potentially steer the course my life is taking. But I also have this idea that it is predetermined, that whatever decision I make was already decided, that no matter how many times I change my mind from red socks to pink socks to purple socks to green socks...I end up with green after taking of the red.....and it was predetermined. Yes, this method/belief is constricting... it removes the potential free will that humans have, and the power over our own destinies... but it feels so comfortable. It feels safe. I can't explain it. I don't want to even fathom a world without structure or purpose -- a world of nothingness. I don't want to be accountable for my poor choices or the lack of direction in my life. I want a firm reason to stand for the state of my current situation. I want to hope for the future. I want to know that there is always something better coming. I want purpose and reason for suffering.

Somehow I know I'll end up being an existentialist. My thought process will become absent of all notions of destiny and intention and fate. I'll live just to live. I'll be secure without having to have my idealistic mental barrier. I don't know. I want to believe in fate, and romance, and intuition. But at the same time, I know Sartre is so much more intelligent than I will ever be. The same goes for Kiekergaard, and everyone else I've read lately. I don't know what to believe. I don't know whether to continue living the way I am, or try and change the way I think, or think about a whole different idea altogether. Every question I ask seems to lead to more questions, which lead to more questions, which lead to me seeking nothing but endless numbers of answers.

I don't know. I'm tired.

Tiredness =
[a] result of habitual insomnia over the last few nights
[b] closing repeatedly and not arriving home until 1am (could be applied to previous solution)
[c] massive amounts of familial, financial and academic stress
[d] giant notions of unrequited love tugging at cerebral area and screaming "THINK OF ME!!!"
[e] nothing. because nothing matters. we merely exist. It's all placebic. (is that a word? okay, just imagine the adjective form of "placebo" and insert it there. thanks. I'm too tired too look it up.)

good night.

Wed, 06 Apr 2005 08:17:43 GMT

My hands are cramped. I've been drawing all day... it's nice to let them stretch a little. It's been so long since I've had a day like this. I used to just sit and draw for six..seven...eight hours at a time. Since I started working, I've lost my patience for it. I guess certain aspects of life have to be sacrificed for others.

I have had a very enligthening day. During astronomy, we were studying the moons or rings of some random planet -- they were all named after letters from the greek alphabet; alpha, beta, cappa, gamma, delta, phi, epsilon, etc... Well, a certain stunningly brilliant girl dazzled the entire class with her intoxicating intellect as she remarked "That is SO AWESOME! They are all named after fraternities!!!"

she was serious.

I was pondering ways to gauge open my various pressure points with the sharp edge of my desk as to evacuate me from this mortal sphere as quickly as possible.

I wasn't successful.

I hate how I'm in love with the idea of love. I'm not in love. I want to think I am, but I'm not. Romance is appealing. Love is not.

Romance is long walks on the beach. Romance is having a John Cusack movie marathon chased down with endless pink lemonades whilst using your significant other as a pillow AND a blanket. Romance is chocolates, and bunnies, and pink lingere, and perfume advertisements, and attempting to find your soul mate through reality television. Romance is forced compliments, and "happiness", and lust, and saying just the right things in hopes that they'll lead to just the right places.

Love is bitterness. Love is meeting someone and having them convince you that you are the only one for them, then leaving you for someone more appealing. Love is falling for someone more different from you than anyone else in the universe, except for the person they are already dating. Love is those few moments when you're alone, and the days that follow in which you ponder the two and a half syllables they muttered in your direction. Love is reading Freud's Interpretation of Dreams in hopes of finding the reason that you feel this way, while in reality, just losing hours of precious life and eventually wondering what the hell he was actually thinking. Love is mentally recording song they ever hum, every place they ever mention, and every look they ever give. Then, love is going to those places and playing those songs while trying to pretend that the cold breeze brushing on your bare shoulders is their hands trying to keep you warm.

I'm tired. I'm going to go shoot myself in the eye.

Then I'm going to go to bed.

...

Mon, 28 Mar 2005 09:03:31 GMT

There is this older man that comes to the movies at least four times a week. He always picks female box cashiers and concessionists to help him, and he always comes to the guest services window after his movie to phone a taxi. We aren't supposed to, but we let him use the office phone. He always has a little box of italian chocolates with wrappers that have aphorisms about love on them in six different languages. I always take one. He makes us laugh, just because of the way he shamelessly and disgustingly flirts with anything that has a vagina. His accent, his archaic pickup lines, his fraying tweed jacket, his messy attempted comb-over hair...But on a deeper level, it makes me extremely depressed... Some people never find love. Or, if some people do, they end up losing it right when it starts to feel comfortable. Right when they start to feel complete. I don't want to be him, longing for something I never had and trying to extract it from anywhere I possibly can. Or, even worse, attempting to recreate past circumstances and experience momentary elation that will never mirror what I had before. If I ever have it.

h o t s e x

Thu, 24 Mar 2005 05:54:28 GMT

yes, everyone knows

i am the shit.

looking around.

Wed, 23 Mar 2005 08:23:27 GMT

I hate that scent has to be the strongest relator of memory. It triggers random flashbacks at the most inconvenient times. You will be standing in an elevator, or a waiting in a line, or walking in a crowd, and you'll catch a whiff of some cologne or a certain brand of cigarette smoke. Or, if your karma is especially bad, a perfect and completely recognizable mix of both. And it makes you stop. And your head spins. And you are reminded of that perfect time..that you can't exactly place.. or compltely remember.. but whatever you were feeling at that moment, you are feeling it now. Happines, elation, laughter, hilarity, jubilation. But only for a second. And then it's gone. The scent. The memory. The momentary infusion of utter and complete bliss. And then you realize, it wasn't real. The thing or person or place that created it isnt even there. And then, you feel alone. I feel alone. Not just in a placid solitude, but the kind of alone where you feel completely absent of anyone else who ever could understand. The bad kind of alone. It's like living in a perpetual state of deja vu.

Reason #52342 why people should stop smoking.

floating in aphelion

Fri, 18 Mar 2005 21:55:00 GMT

The sun generates light due to thermonuclear reactions within its core.

I suppose that's why I light up when I look at you.

I'm still cathing your hints of a perihelial future.

?

Thu, 17 Mar 2005 23:29:39 GMT

Thu, 17 Mar 2005 08:20:32 GMT

Does prolonged exposure to gaudy neon light fixtures give you skin cancer?

If so, I'm dying young.

It's so strange constantly looking at everything bathed under a tint of orange. or blue. or red. or green. or a sporadic, flashing amalgam of all four. It makes everything else so... dim. The sky isn't blue enough; the grass isn't green enough. Perception can become so distorted. Is the suit navy, or are the neons making the black brighter? I don't know. All of these flashing, burning, insipid lights are starting to give me headaches. Modern megaplexes are like giant fly buzzlights-- everything flashy is placed prominently on the facade to attract aesthetically driven consumers who end up carelessly throwing their money away. Consumer or not, I just want to run away.

I learned how to thread today. It's a whole different world up there, everything is so calm. The walls aren't flashy and mirrored or plastered with pictures of scantily dressed women. Your eyes don't hurt just from attempting to visually take in your surroundings. The carpet is absent of the swirly star shaped designs that no one ever looks at anyway. It's a mass of hallways-- you can get anywhere in the entire theater just from the booth. It reminds me of underground passages in old opera houses, minus the moisture and vermin. I guess I am just a hopeless romantic, but there is something so alluring about the hum of a clicking projector and the flashing bulb beneath the reel barely illuminating the person standing next to you. The shadow conceals them enough that you aren't distracted by their appearance, but reveals enough that you are able to look into their eyes. It's flattering on everyone. I technically wasn't supposed to be up there, let alone handling the projectors, but I guess certain people have faith in me ;). It made me want to stick around for quite a while.

---

Wed, 16 Mar 2005 06:33:03 GMT

I don't remember the last time I felt like myself.