You Electrify My Life

I suppose I should give updates on what's occurred in my life for the past week. (Hah, I say that as though something interesting has happened.)
Monday was school, the day that I became incredibly sick. When I went home, it turned out that I had a one hundred and two fever. After sleeping on and off, I ended up being up half the night with another fever. Mom stayed up with me applying various ice packs to my head. Tuesday I was home sick, too ill to take my English Midterm. I only missed two hours of testing anyway. We had a well deserved snow day Wednesday, and a delay Thursday, in which I went to school for four hours and took two midterms. Friday brought a Biology midterm that I'm rather unsure about. I don't understand Science at all. I can't tell you much from my last three years of Science classes. Friday night, Jess, Steph and I saw The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It was possibly one of the saddest movies I've ever seen. Today was more of nothing. I got sick (literally), but after that I was fine. Well enough to do my Single Ladies Dance over and over. That song will never get old for me.

Here I am again, Saturday night. This is actually one weekend where I didn't have much planned. I've been spending a lot of time with Jess and Steph. I kind of like it.

Tomorrow is Superbowl Sunday. I do not follow football, but my cousin Jess is coming over with her family, which should be fun if I hide my guitar. I love my guitar, but unfortunately, so does everyone else. I don't really appreciate people touching my Edward Anthony Masen Cullen.

Oh! Speaking of Edward, I've been to two guitar lessons! I've learned the E, A, and D chords, along with some finger exercises and I've done a little note reading. I love it so much. Every time a new little callus pops up on my fingers, I feel like Kim Possible. It's really not a big deal.

Nothing else has really occurred. I'm not too interesting

We, Too, Could Be Glorious.

To One,
Even when I try to be supportive, or attempt to be a good friend, I am wrong. However, if I'm clearly always at fault (You never said anything about that, by the way), why do you continue to stay my friend. You know exactly how to make me feel worth nothing. I'm a little tired of continually being put down (Unintentionally or intentionally as it may be), stepped on, kicked in the face, and blamed. I work so hard for you. I'll never forget the time you told me that a friendship should be effortless. If that is true, what do we have? An apprenticeship? Am I supposed to work my way up into friendship? Because if a friendship is supposed to require no work, I put in an awful lot.

To Another,
I beg for you to notice me. For the moment, this is all I ask for.
Thank you for being you.

"It Was My Last Act of Love." -Sylvia Plath

Sitting in the mah computer lab with my Franglais class. I should be preparing for my midterm on Friday, but the air conditioner is running so high that I can't concentrate. I doubt cold air is necessary to make anything reheat, considering that there are only enough computers on for the twelve or so students in my class. I'm wearing a sweat shirt, a scarf, and a North Face fleece jacket that I wear in the dead of winter, and I am still shaking. I plead child abuse, this is ridiculous. I plan on writing a very strongly worded letter to the principal the moment I get home.
It may not help that I'm fairly sure I'm already sick. Something in my hacking cough and aching joints that suggest it. Nowhere in this entire school is warm enough to escape my chill.
I have seven or so minutes left in the period. Seven long, shaking minutes. Even the hands on the clock waver as the minute hand inches closer to the time I desire. It seems to be going backward? Must look into this. My first midterm tomorrow should be interesting when the silence is shattered by my digusting cough. Four minutes. I can do this. I can do this. . . .

I cannot do this. Here is my plan. The second I finish typing this post I will throw back my chair, grab my books and run to the biology wing. From there, I should be warm huddled under the warmest vent in the school, that practically sends out fire. If I keep my layers on, I shouldbe comfortable in my chorus class next, that has a climate similar to Africa. And then from there I will run as fast as possible to my homeroom, throw my course selections at my teacher, grab my schedule and go.

One more minute. Success.

Short Post

It's weird to think that people actually read this. That someone, somewhere, who I most likely know (But who cares) actually cares what I have to say. I find it almost bizarre. Sometimes, I forget that this is even on the internet. But right now, I'm tired of just ranting and raving about myself. I'm really curious as to what you have to say. So here's a quick survey. If you read this post, please fill it out. Your responses will be greatly appreciated, and I will most likely respond. I suppose I'd just like to know about you more.

1. Your name?
2. Your favorite color?
3. If you could be a dragon, a flying camel, or an invisible bus driver, which would you be and why?
4. What is your favorite emoticon?
5. State your standings on Twilight: Team Edward, Team Jacob, Team Switzerland, Team I NEVER READ TWILIGHT, LEAVE ME ALONE, or Team I Have Yet To Read This.
6. Comment ca va?
7. QUICK! NAME A COLOR AND A TOOL!
8. Would you like to take the stupid test?
9. What would you say is your biggest fear?
10. What are your feelings about sewer grates? Friend or foe?

If I have not previously stated, I'm weird. And genuinely curious.
And now I'm off to The Chef's Table to see Kicking Daisies and some RUSH cover band? Maybe?

ROAR you later.

Check Yes Juliet Here's The Countdown, Three, Two, One You'll Fall In My Arms Now

Welcome to Midterms week. Basically one of the two weeks during the school year where everyone hates each other, everyone hates their teacher, and nobody cares about personal appearance because they're too busy cramming in what they were too lazy to learn before. They may as well retitle it Self Centered Week. Everyone assumes they're the only one who has to study, the only one who will do badly, the only one whose parents care about their grades. I have a few words for you all.

Dear Self-Centered Students At BHS,

Hi, my name is Jessica. You may know me, since I've been listening to you gripe and cry about your PERFECTLY FINE GRADES ALL YEAR. You may know me personally, or I may just be that girl who's unfortunate enough to stumble upon your conversation as I people watch.
Let me put you into catagories for organizational purposes.

A. The Honors Students.
These students are my personal favorite. They like to complain about how much pressure they're under alll the "*whiney voice* timeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. My parents are like, totally on my back! I suck and Mommy and Daddy hate me, that's why they paid for these fifty dollar jeans, my credit card, and whatever I ask them forrrrrrrr. Ughhhh my life sucksssssssssssssssssssss!". Here is a newsflash for you, honors student. If you can't handle an honors course, don't take it. Your parents don't have to approve it. They can't make you take an honors course. And just because you're *in* an honors course, doesn't mean that you're smarter than everyone. I particularly hate the girls (It's ALWAYS only girls) who condescend me because I'm not in an honors class. All I have to say is that I'm fairly sure I'd rather do well in an academic class and know that I'm intelligent enough to know when I'm suitable for a higher class, than to take every honors course thrown at me and complain about my bad grades later.
A sub category of The Honors Student is The Perfectionist. The perfectionist is the student who complains about Bs. Excuse me while I fight the urge to hit some sense into you. Do not tell me that my B's are a good grade and then complain that B's are simply not good enough for you. What are you trying to say? That B's are okay for me, I'm not going anywhere after all. No, clearly I am mentally challenged and a B is fabulous for me, but Heaven forbid you get a B. The apocolypse must be looming if you do *thunderous gasp* As well as Jessica. Because I'm clearly challenged, and matching in grades is such an insult.
I'm honestly offended. I know for a fact that I'm not challenged, I'm sorry I removed the stick from my butt and realized that a B is a GOOD GRADE. I swear to myself that the next time someone complains about their honors course, their parental pressures, or their terrible B+, I will say something.

B. The Slacker.
The Slacker is a new breed of the Honors Student. They don't do anything at all, and then complain about how they don't get it and are failing. All I have to say is HELLO! TRy DOING SOMETHING LIKE THE REST OF US, PLEASE.

I'm getting very frustrated even thinking about these two types that consume my school. As if Midterms weren't enough. But I have a few words for all of you.
The Honors Student: Shut up or stop complaining.
The Pefectionist: A B is a fine grade. Cool yourself. Or just shut up.
The Slacker: Step up your game. Or shut up.
I think what I'm trying to get at is that everyone needs to just get over themselves and start studying. Present company probably included.

None Of Us Thought It Was Going To End That Way

Currently, I'm singing. It's a vain attempt to clear my head and keep from crying. I honestly do not understand people. Why do we do these things to ourselves? A vast majority of human suffering is self-caused. If only we would listen to the inner hermit in all of us and keep to ourselves. Friendships and relationships are our downfall. We've made it so that once we step into that feeling of comfort with a person, there's no turning back. The second you step into the ice water that is human relationships, there is no turning back. Friendships and relationships are, in fact, a lot like an icy pond at the beginning of spring, when it just starts to get warm. You have to muster the strength to get in, and when you do, it's a shock. For a while, things are good, enjoyable even. You float on the surface for a while, tentatively almost, until you muster the energy to dive in. It's an awkward yet comfortable dive. You feel at ease in the darkness. But eventually, you must come up for air. And you crash through the glassy surface of the water. You gasp to fill your lungs with the reality that is necessary for survival.
Survival is now my main priority. I plan on leaving the pond that is dependancy on my friendships and relaionships. Friends are starting to feel like an exhausting waste of time. I have run out of air to stay under, even when it feels like I want to explode, I've told myself that it's best to stay here, with the people who love you.
My best friends barely talk to me anymore. I feel exposed without them.

Cold water robs the body's heat 32 times faster than cold air.

Friends who refuse to speak to you rob you of your sanity 99 times faster than cold water.

Give Him Your Love, Give Him Your Love To Save Him

Some Rage Against The Machine quotes. In study, procrastinating in the library. This computer is hard to type on, but it may just be that my frozen fingers are having trouble typing. Here we go.

Life is prison, no parole, no control
-Without A Face

When I tried to cross tha white walls
Walk unseen past tha graves an tha gates, born without a face
One motive no hope ah, born without a face
Walk unseen past tha graves an tha gates, born without a face
One motive no hope ah, born without a face

You say fortify, reaction, you divide
And you say fortify, reaction, reaction
And you say fortify, reaction, reaction
You say fortify, reaction, you divide

-Without a Face


The hills find peace
Locked armed guard posts
Safe from the screams
Of the children born as ghosts
-Born As Ghosts

It's a beautiful world we live in
A sweet romantic place
Beautiful people everywhere
The way they show they care makes me want to say
It's a beautiful world
Oh what a beautiful world
For you

It's a wonderful time to be here
It's nice to be alive
Wonderful people everywhere
The way they comb their hair makes me want to say
It's a wonderful place
Oh what a wonderful place
For you, for you, for you, for you, for you, for you, not me
-Beautiful World

You can kill the revolutionary
But you can't kill the revolution
-Can't Kill the Revolution.

Last Straw. I'm Tired Of This.

All this time I was wasting hoping you would come around
I’ve been giving out chances everytime and all you do is let me down
And its taking me this long but baby I figured you out
And you think it will be fine again but not this time around

You don’t have to call anymore
I won’t pick up the phone
This is the last straw
Don’t want to hurt anymore
And you can tell me that you’re sorry
But I won’t believe you baby like I did before
You’re not sorry no more, no more, no

Description of My Town.

This is what I handed in as a description as my town.

There is a constant sense of discomfort in **********, whether it is the unbearable summer swelter that leaves a sticky sheen of sweat on your skin, the bitter winds of winter that no amount of expensive sweaters can keep from chilling your bones, or the feeling of arrogance that settles over the people. **********, the small town in Connecticut where there seems to be a constant sense of boredom and dismay, where the latest trend is suffering, and we have all played the pity party game. Teenagers practice their looks of tortured angst; they have nothing to complain about. The sidewalks are comparable to the conversation in this small town- leading to nowhere, yet offering no escape, and scarce, like the number of intelligent conversations not consumed with complaints about the money that burns a hole in everyone's pockets. Escape is the common dream among teenagers, who discuss the glamorous places they'd escape to, school in The City, California; vacations on cruise ships escorting them across the ocean to places better than here. The mothers are career women or stay-at-home-moms, who make desperate attempts to be "One of the Girls" with their mortified daughters; the stench of embarrassment floating over the town like a cloud, a shadow. Fathers heading off to work with their briefcases, play the ever-present and always important Daddy. Boys, skateboards tucked under their arms, are too cool for this. They have better things to do, the sense of a hidden agenda gleaming in their eyes, hidden by shaggy hair of all colors. The houses, here with their green trimmed lawns, landscapers mowing away, stand nest to the more average abode of the more humble family. No matter who ou are, there will always be a sense of **********, not always detectable, but there nonetheless, a gleaming badge of honor to some, a bruise to others. Welcome to **********, Home of the Poseur. Hope you can handle the heat.