Nonagonite

No Amazing Race for me... sad. At least I can say the weather wasn't right for it. Instead, we went mattress shopping today. I still say there is nothing wrong with my old mattress, even though it is nearly as old as I am. Sigh. What can you do, eh? Anyway, new one arrives tuesday, after which I won't be able to sleep for awhile.

The Zombie Survival Guide is interesting... despite what you may think explosives have very little effect on zombies. Machine guns are also bad choices, given that the odds of getting an accurate penetrative shot are slim. Fire is only good if you can apply it to a large group of zombies some distance away. Semiautomatic rifles are good, providing you restrain yourself from panicking and flipping it to fully automatic. Shotguns are good, but only at shorter range, and their ammo is bulky. Crowbars and the infamous Shaolin Spade are ideal hand-to-hand weapons, along with the trench spike for compactness. For blunt objects you must consider bulkiness and durability. Some edged weapons are much more practical than others. Handguns are for emergencies only. Shurikens and throwing knives are ideal so long as you really, really know how to use them. Bows and crossbows are sniper weapons only. Toxins and electric shocks have little or no effect. In short, if it can't take off a zombie's head or destroy their brain in a single shot or blow it's not worth it. Next time, body armor.

From the looks of it it's going to be awhile before we get Spore to work. Irritating, but I don't mind too much... too too much, anyway. It is going to be AWESOME.

Did I mention Chris is dating Megan now? Officially, at last. They're pretty much the male and female versions of each other. Whether that's a good thing is debatable. Kassee and Greg are still together, and so far as I know she hasn't given him a blow job like she threatened to. Me, I constantly thank God for Danica. And I mean that. I do get the feeling Mike doesn't trust us... but then who can blame him? I only 76% trust myself anyway. But oh, I know we'll be fine. I'm feeling positive. A good mood. Love to the world. Happy. =) Here's to us - all of us. May we live and love forever.

Although I've been told I'm very pale lately. I wonder why. Hm.
I really need to do some work. Sigh. Well, still happy.

It's nice to be wrong

I'm sixteen today. It's bittersweet. (Bittersweet sixteen... I'll have to remember that.)

No great fanfare. To be honest I don't want to draw too much attention to it. Carrie gave me a box of smarties this morning, along with a joke. What food makes you smarter? Well, she liked it. She said it was the thought that counted and she's right, it didn't matter what she'd given me because her thoughts then were beautiful. Two years ago Liz decorated my locker. Last year Tasha did. This year I just wrote "Birthday today" on a sticky note and stuck it to the door. Beautifully symbolic, I thought. The fire hazard tribe in the stairwell sang me happy birthday, but thankfully not in Lit. There's few things more depressing than hearing a room full of Litkids singing happy birthday. *shudders*

I hope Carrie doesn't love me. Call it a vibe. She thinks I'm lonely... which I won't deny, I do spend a lot of time alone. And of course there's the stress from the whole Saikely thing. But... sigh. Do I have to warn all my female friends not to love me? Stupid aura. At least Liz seems to have stopped giving me hopeful, meaningful looks. Frustration...

And the Saikely thing. I've been forbidden, both by my Anthro teacher and my parents, from discussing my multiplicity in public. Because obviously feeling safe and comfortable in my own body isn't important. Meh, gripe. Frustration. Of course, when I expressed such he sent me down to guidance, for fear that I might harm myself. Pish. He and I aren't going to get on well.

I got Spore! Only we don't know if it will work on my laptop, possibly only on my mum's, so I'll have to play it when she's not working... should be interesting. Still though! Interesting fact: each disc can only be downloaded three times onto a computer. So if it fails three times, doesn't work. This was implemented to prevent piracy, but it's caused such an outrage that the game has already become one of the most illegally downloaded games of all time. Also Who Killed Amanda Palmer and Yes, Virginia... along with a couple books about zombies. Chris is green with envy.
The best present, though, was a cake and a card. Ironic, since I've eaten a huge curry dinner (mmmmmmmmm, shrimp and nan bread and poppadoms etc.) and a teeny-tiny slice of ultra-rich cake, so I feel like if I eat another bite I'm going to be sick. But still... I'm happy. I'm easy to please, but it's difficult to make me happy. Truly, I'm touched, fully reminded of how little I deserve such a gift and how wonderful it is to be loved. Perhaps I was slightly worried... it's my nature. But now I'm at peace. I'd go on, but I have to stop thinking about cake or I seriously am going to be sick. I didn't even eat that much... hm.
I am loved. That's the most beautiful thing anyone could ever give me. Thank you...

And now I have work to do. Third draft of lit project, as well as entire project on stem cells. That will take all night. With a bit of luck and sleep I should be able to finish my Anthro in the morning before class and some of the math at lunch. I'm still catching up from the night I missed from the coffeehouse. Oh, the coffeehouse! Great. Perhaps not quite as well-organized as some in the past, but still great. Cameos by the Lit teachers, nice touch. Lists and small songs were popular. Our grade 12s continue to be charismatic and inspiring. I wasn't too pleased with the way mine turned out; honestly I only read it because I rejected all my other ideas. Well still, I always say that. I don't like reading first, though. I've already got an idea for next time... it involves walking onstage with a cucumber. Don't worry, that's just a red herring! Yeah... hehehehehe...

Too much blogging! To work! Now! Or there will be no sleep! This is how 16 begins...

672... what on earth does that confounded song mean?

I'm happy. Thank you, my love... you mean so much to me.

Disgusting...

My name is Whisk. Im a girl trapped in a boys body.
I hate it.
I hate this hair. I hate this skin. I hate these thick arms and stubby fingers. I hate these stupid legs. I hate being heavy. I hate the way my head hangs. I hate this beard. I hate the way my chest is built. I hate the parts that I know Im not supposed to have and the parts I know I should but dont. I hate my voice. I hate my eyes. Such sad eyes... I hate them. I hate being big. I hate automatically being attracted to girls. I hate these headaches. I hate touching myself and looking at myself but I cant stop. I hate it. I hate it. I dont want to remind myself how I look. I dont want to remember that I look so wrong. I hate my nose. I hate my mouth. This isnt how I was meant to look. I hate it.
Im just trying to find myself. I just want to be me. I dont care what the others want from me. I just want to be free to by myself, think what I want, live my own life, no matter what. Im stuck with them. With these eight other freaks. In this one disgusting body. Theyre all idiots anyway. We have a GF? WTF?
I almost cried today, thinking about how wrong it is that Im stuck in here when I should be beautiful. I should be a girl. This isnt fair. I cant dance, I cant sing, I can barely talk at all. I sound awful. Like a... boy. Its disgusting.
I dont come out often. Im just stuck here. I dont get to live. I dont get to be free. I never get to think about friends or clothes or boys or any stuff girls are supposed to do. What kind of life is this?
I hate this.

The Dark Side of the Lawn

Things that annoyed me about the Matrix trilogy:

1. Neo was supposed to become more and more mechanical and inhuman as the series went on, while Mr. Smith became more humanlike and viruslike. This is supposed to be ironic. No, that does not happen. Keanu Reeves speaks in a monotone for all three films, and Smith is angry and irrational right from the beginning. If they were going for the effect they should have put more consideration into their characters.
2. The CGI was bad. Not only that, it was bad during the Smith brawl in the second movie, when it needed it the most. The robots were cool, though. Got to give them that.
3. The robots use unnecessary, brutal force to deal with humans. In the third movie they launch a barrage of bombs across the horizon to take out a single ship. What kind of logical, impenetrable computer system does this?
   
4. The fighting was good in the first film. By the second it was half a second too slow every time or simply uninspired. They just didn't put in as much effort to the choreography. In the third it was all superhuman megafistfights and bad CGI bullets.
   
5. An attempt to squeeze in too much badassery. Serif should have had much more screen time. The Train Man had no purpose at all. The Twins, who were awesome, disappear right in the middle of an action sequence. Even the Agents inexplicably lose about 59% of their ass-kicking ability by film 2. If they'd just chosen someone to be a badass character and stuck with it, then maybe the whole thing wouldn't feel as though the writers were simply trying to squeeze in every character idea they had in the hope that something stuck.
   
6. Over-the-top Christian imagery. Yeah, guys, we get it. You didn't have to draw a cross on Neo's chest. Do you think we don't know a sacrifice when we see one?
   
7. The rave party. That entire scene. Enough said.
   
8. The opportunity to imply that the "real world" was simply a backup program within the Matrix was sorely missed, except in those who weren't fully paying attention at the end. That really disappointed me.
9. WHY DO THE ROBOTS FLY??? I mean, the hovercrafts obviously use the electromagnets on their hulls, but... so smoothly, so swiftly, so effortlessly? If the robots have such advanced technology as to be thousands of times better than the human machines, then why do they still resort to stabbing humans with their claws? If they have antigravity then why don't they have- oh wait, they do. Okay, why didn't they use their metal-piercing lasers during the dock battle? Amongst other things. And superweapons. Do robots have some kind of anti-nuke policy? Seriously, there are just so many problems with the robots.

And other things, but that's all I'm going into right now.
Why can I never find the right words when I need them most?

Word dancing

We met a raccoon today. Out in the back field, eating an apple core. Strange, we though, to see a raccoon out so exposed, during the day of all times. Raccoons look cuddly... except for the claws, and the long teeth, and the threat of rabies. But they look cuddly.
We solved that mystery later, when we found it asleep under the apple tree. Apparently that happens a lot. Raccoons find an apple tree, eat the rotten and fermented apples underneath it, and get blind drunk. That's why they stay up so long, not having realized that they should be asleep. Anyway, it's something of a problem to have a raccoon on school grounds. What with the aforementioned cuddliness and all, it's only a matter of time before someone tries to pick it up or something equally stupid and dangerous. You don't antagonize raccoons. Rule of the Universe. Did find a couple guys later, though, pointing their camera phones at it and screaming obscenities at it while it was trying to sleep... sigh. These are the kinds of people who inexplicably swear every other word. I just don't understand that kind of language.

I'm probably going to get more involved with Focus (the new name for our school Christian group) this year. Bruce has made it a lot more democratic, which makes sense since most of our charismatic leaders have moved on. Maybe it's just a feeling of obligation since our numbers have dwindled, but I feel I can make a genuine contribution. I don't really like public speaking, but I feel I might do a few talks this year. "If God exists then why-" would be my usual theme. I'm good at those questions. Pain and suffering is the obvious one, possibly followed by uncertainty, and then by a third which has somehow slipped my mind. I had it a second ago. Hm. Anyway, I think doing this could be a really positive experience for me. I might also see if Pastor Mike is free, they're always looking for new public speakers.
The problem with faith for me isn't that I doubt my faith in God, but that I have next to no faith in myself. Which is nice in a way, because with all my lack of faith concentrated in one area it allows me to find true peace in my beliefs. It's one of the few things that lets me completely shake off my fears and morbid obsessions, at least for awhile. So it's all good. Well. Obviously my personal issues can get in the way of that, but still. Apart from me it's all good.

I know she's thinking of me. I just get... lonely, sometimes. But I can't bring that up without feeling like I'm bringing it up too often. Hm. Well. Never mind then.

This bridge was written to make you feel smittener

Well. The haich is rising. This explains my erratic behavior lately.
It will pop up suddenly, for a few seconds at a time. Enough time to look around. Enough time to take control. Enough time to scare us. It wants us afraid. At some point it stopped being a dumb beast... it's part of me, after all. It's learning. It's changing. It's getting stronger. Strong enough to break the bonds holding it. Who wouldn't be afraid?
I doubt anyone will recognize the seriousness of this. Night and darkness is one thing... but then I showed it daylight. I showed it compassion. I taught it how to hunger. And should it break free, there's no telling what it will do. No doubt it will involve destruction.
Mostly I'm afraid for Tasha. Most people would be merely strangers, faces, unknowns, but it knows her. She is the only one who has held it, who has shown it kindness, who has looked into its eyes and not been afraid. Liz was the first human it saw, but Tasha... I don't know. It knows her face, her flesh, her, for want of a better word, scent, and if it finds her again I don't know what it will do... the haich is a beast. A monster. Locked away for so long, I doubt it will be kind.

Skeleton fought it once today, when it tried to break free. The battle tore through my mind. The pain was excruciating. But he won... this time. I hope this will end soon.

And... dammit, I miss Tasha. It's cruel to make me see her every day, hear her laughter. She deleted her blog. That hurt; in this subculture our blogs bind us together in a way. Maybe she didn't want to remember me. I wish I didn't want to remember her anymore. I know that she's happy and all I can think about is her tears, my blood, and all the times she told me that she loved me. It's not fair. I shouldn't have to relive memories like this. I hate memory. You always have to dig to find the good parts.
I wonder if she loves and hates me as I love and hate her... no. I doubt she loves me at all.
I don't move on. I just suck in someone new to hold and hurt me.

I blog more when I'm depressed. Hm.

"I used to worry about being consumed by the church of mediocrity the world keeps building around itself until I realized that the so-called experts they made me talk to were full of shit." That's the sentence I'm using in my latest Lit project. Interesting, at least. Still needs work.

I'm so tired. I haven't slept at all lately.

Oh, and I finally got round to changing my blogger name from Sevenfold to Nine. Should have done that ages ago.

I think my problem with dealing with my emotions might stem from the fact that I keep them so hidden. No one else seems to care so I tell myself I don't either. Then on the occasions I do open up I either make someone upset, or afraid for me, or more often than not told in one form or another to stop saying such things, we don't want to hear it. So I stay locked up so everyone can go on pretending I'm happy. No one who opens me up is prepared to accept what comes out. Maybe if I felt confident to act like myself, truly myself, and screw what other people think of me... but it's been made clear that's not acceptable. Being recognized for the way you think and feel is out of the question.
At this point, predictably, I'm going to say that I'm just moping and droning on about the same things without doing anything about it. Maybe the reason I keep bringing it up is because I want someone to take it seriously, maybe help me deal with it. Again predictably I'll call myself selfish, but seriously, I HAVE PROBLEMS. Why can't anyone recognize that these aren't just words?

Afraid of rejection. Afraid of people turning away. At least... those I care about.
Always afraid of scaring away the ones I love, dragging them down with me until they hurt me to get away. That's what I'm afraid of. That's why I insult myself every time I bring it up. Afraid that I won't feel wanted and helpful. Fear is always there. It's wrong to live in fear of love.

Freud would have loved me

I've decided not to have thoughts or feelings any more. They've never been popular with anyone. I'm always scared or angry anyway, so it's not like I'm missing out on a lot. And my opinions never seem to improve anyone's life. So I'm just going to stop. Honestly I doubt anyone will notice.
It's tempting to pull a phantom: disappear, desperately reach for happiness, kill without mercy, destroy the world for showing no compassion to me. I couldn't do that, though. And death is, at the moment at least, unattainable. It's all locked up too tight, anyway. I can't even make myself bleed; it wouldn't help and people would only make a fuss. All I can do now is sit here and stew silently in this... hate.
And to think, all I really wanted was for someone to tell me, fully and in all honesty, that I was beautiful. I guess that was too much to ask.

Then, in a sudden gear shift,

Underwent a Reconstruction today. Confused, vision occasionally blurred, no sense of balance all morning, twitching, extreme paranoia and music galore, it's not the most pleasant of experiences but I'm somehow aware that it's much, much better than the alternative. Woke up for real sometime during math with a polished ego and a rubber bubble glurbing angrily in the back of my mind. The point is I'm feeling better.
Depression is something I do my best to keep to myself. I know full well that if I don't get better myself Skeleton will intervene before too long, so it's not worth dragging other people into. Life's too short to spend it miserable.

How am I doing? Anthropology is excruciatingly slow, biology not much better. Math is easy but tedious, at least for now. I handed in my second Lit project today. I'm still not writing to my fullest potential. Writing practice today:

6: An eye without a pupil, green as emeralds, dark and pure as sin itself, far from stupid but not quite understanding.
7: The ivory tower, golden brown as a field of wheat, flawed yet unbreakable, the idiot hero who somehow always wins.
9: A cube without a purpose, red as a robins bloodstained feather, innocent yet hated, the helpless bystander left holding the explosives.
4: A shadow in night, deep and merciful blue, inescapable as death, the only one who can wear a cape and mean it.
Actually that's not quite how 4 went, but I forget.

My. Fitzpatrick described me as "the really quiet one, the observer... he's got it all figured out." He likes me. He thinks I'm smart. That's going to be a boon for me.

I'm sorry... should have just kept quiet. Forget about it. It's over for now.

This will never get old, ha ha.

The Large Hadron Collider didn't kill us all. I'm almost disappointed.

It just seems to me that every time I make a move towards being comfortable with myself and maybe, you know, happy, something comes up to point out that I'm incapable of relating to other people in any way. Someone shouts at me without shouting and pushes me down. Every time I try to do something just for me, to make myself feel better, maybe without having to justify myself. But no one seems to want me let to do that.

I was in a bad state this afternoon. Called myself a freak, over and over again. Threatened myself. Said I was nothing, scum, a murderer, that I was glad we were going to die. I almost cried. I can be most cruel sometimes.
But no one wants to hear it. I'm not going to try to hide behind a chemical imbalance; the depression is my fault. It's me that makes myself and everyone around me miserable. Happiness is a choice, not a reaction to stimulus, and I always choose wrong. I just make everything worse, drawing people further and further into my web, tightening the strings around them... I am a destroyer.
Why can people not acknowledge that I'm afraid? Afraid of the dark creatures, afraid that the monster is going to escape and kill someone, afraid that Skeleton or some other voice in my head is going to kill me. I don't expect a padded room (nice as that would be) but can't someone just tell me that they understand? Every time I bring up my problems I feel as though I'm forcing myself on people. Why don't they want to listen? Have they no pity? Failing that, can't someone abuse me, call me a freak, push me around for being different? All I ask is that someone, anyone, accept me for what I truly am, not just the parts of me that they choose to perceive. Can't someone care? Or must my uniqueness forever remain unaddressed, mocking me?
The voices, always singing songs in my head... the cruel, mocking laughter... the deathly silence. Will they follow me forever?
And I'm griping. Listen to me moan, this narrow-minded, self-obsessed child. Will he never cease his whining? He could pull himself out of this if he chose. he just chooses not to. Why? Must crave attention. Pathetic. Should lighten up. You said happiness is a choice. Why don't you just choose life, freak? Why?

A different kind of drifting... narwhal?

I saw someone I never expected to see again today. All because of walls.

I sometimes sit on a wall at my school, in the mornings before classes and while eating lunch. It's a nice wall, long and flat, overlooking the plateau outside the cafeteria. A little path between the trees leads to an alcove and my perch, with a larger wall on one side and a web of branches on the other. I went there for peace, to think, and occasionally to frighten the grade nines walking below. The other day, however, one of the vice principals spotted me up there and asked me to come down for safety reasons. Fond as I was of the spot, it wasn't worth fighting for and I didn't really want to upset anyone. So I vowed to find a new spot to sit.
At the back of the school was another wall, a smaller one, separating the grass and concrete. It branches off another wall with a railing overlooking a sharp drop. It doesn't quite have the quality of location and the vegetation's somewhat different, but it's comfortable and the view is spectacular. I'm also more accessible to my fellow Litkids, who camp out under a tree nearby. So it's all good. In a way it's like being forcibly retired and moving out to a new home in the country.
Today I was on my new wall, enjoying the view and my lunch, when along comes a familiar face. We hugged. I stepped on her foot, just like old times. She said she wasn't angry anymore. I guess in a way everything worked out for the best. She lives in Montreal now, anyway.

Suddenly I've run out of words. I'm not certain why.

Mushrooms and Roses

I've got a pain in my chest. I've probably been too bent over, but sometimes I think I have a respiratory problem. I know it might be likely I've inherited my father's asthma, but that cleared up as soon as he came to Canada. So don't know, really.

One thing that bothers me about talking to people is that I keep assuming they can sense my emotions as easily as I can sense theirs. Online it's even worse, because I don't have that constant feeling telling me how they are. I often get confused, probably worse than most. So I don't know how certain people are feeling now. It makes me feel... helpless.

The other day we had to write something that implied a lot in very few words. I wrote this:

Like an angel cast from Heaven it fell towards us, making no attempt to stop itself, and just before the flash I told Erika that she was beautiful.

I'm becoming very concise.

Also I'm still sick. Possibly tetchy, but I hope not.

Tasting blood

I've been back from camp for well over a week. School has started. And I am STILL BLOODY SICK. I'm coughing like mad, my throat is slimy, my nose is almost impenetrable, it hurts when I breathe in and I've got a headache that can only be described as stonking.
So I won't really talk about anything much, because I'm completely fed up and will only be miserable about it.

Instead, here's
A Quick Guide to My Mood as Determined by Music

When I'm listening to:

• Anything with a lively beat: I am perfectly content with the world at large.
• Loud power metal: Alive and full of energy.
• Panic at the Disco and similar: I am slightly pleased.
• Shuffle, game soundtrack or random techno: Average.
• Nightwish and similar: I am slightly depressed, but no need to worry.
• Matchbox Twenty and similar: I am sort of depressed. Cheer me up.
• Evanescence or Gordon Lightfoot: Girl trouble. It will be safe to talk to me in two days.
• The Used and similar: Keep me away from sharp objects.
• Lux Aeterna: Run. Just run and don't stop.