I Feel It In My Bones

I must have started at least five new posts in the past month and a half-ish, and failed to complete them.

I just...can't bring myself to address some unknown entity that may or not be lurking on my blog, reading inner thoughts that I blather blather occasionally. Why even have a blog? Because, I feel like I'm forgetting things, you know?

Like I'm forgetting things that should be important to me, and at one point were important to me, things that I always thought I would be, things I always wanted to be, things that were so completely vital to my being that I thought I would be swallowed if I didn't keep them in check, close to my feelings.

I think I just can't be bothered to care about those things any more.

And the strangest thing is that I'm not even bothered by the fact that I can't be bothered.

Maybe this is maturing, yeah?

Maybe it's the teenage apathy I was supposed to have begun experiencing long before now.

Maybe, as it seems to always turn out to be for me, maybe it's a combination of them both.

I can't be bothered to figure it out.

Even this is a waste of time.

I really am turning into a teenager, ugh.

Particle Man

Hey.

Hey, you!

I haven't written for a while. I feel bad.

I'm another year older, I suppose. But my birthday consisted of going over to my grandparents' house, not being able to talk to any of my friends, and watching Tin Man. Kind of crap. I miss everyone. 

I miss everyone.

I miss everyone.

I miss everyone.

I miss everyone.

I miss everyone.

Who is this person, and what have they done to my social life?

I'm having trouble thinking, my head is jumbled

and concentration is impossible.

Will You Bite The Hand That Feeds?

   As of late, I am realizing how critical I am of everything. I seriously can find something wrong with anything. Also, I am starting to feel intellectually superior to a vast amount of the people I know. It's a little bit preposterous, and pompous and annoying, actually. One of my biggest issues is that, for some reason, many people expect me to be a lot less intelligent than I actually am. I learned to spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in 3rd grade, and I've never gotten anything less than a 5 on a writing test. I watch the History Channel for fun and can read faster than a lot of people can type. This is not to say that I think I'm a super genius or anything ridiculous like that, but I'd honestly like some credit where credit is due.

   I am also starting to realize just how much it annoys me when people punctuate or spell things incorrectly. I want to punch people who mistake "-ies" for "-ys", and will seriously throttle the next person who writes "your" instead of "you're". Things like that just make me so irritated. 

   This post is arrogant and bitchy. It suits my personality very well.

   Screw this, I'm gonna go play Crazy Taxi.

MuhMuhMuhMuhhhh Music?

Ahemhemhem.

My Summer Playlist (capitalizing the first letters means BIG BUSINESS) is coming along nicely. I will be updating it as the summer progresses, but here we go:

Claire's Summer Playlist:

So Says I by the Shins

Nine In The Afternoon by Panic At The Disco

Everything Goes Dark by the Hoosiers

Stuck On Repeat by Little Boots

One Hundred Years by Frost

Ruby Blue by Roisin Murphy

Write A Song by Dave Matthews Band

Lazy Eye by Silversun Pickups

If You Want Me by Marketa Irglova and Glen Hansard

1901 by Phoenix

Sofa Song by The Kooks

Flathead by The Fratellis

Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

The Hand That Feeds by Nine Inch Nails

Back Stabbin' Betty by Cage The Elephant

Weekend by Ladytron

The Road by Tenacious D

We Looked Like Giants by Death Cab For Cutie

Weekends by The Perishers

In One Ear by Cage The Elephant

New Shoes by Paolo Nutini

Hello, Brooklyn by All Time Low

:33

You know you wanna.

Surprise Hotel

I have a new addiction, and it costs a lot more less per ounce than cocaine.

I think friendship bracelets will be my downfall. I've been consistently making at the very least two per day for the past week. My right wrist sports six at the moment, my right ankle owns five.

I just bought 72 new skeins of thread for them, and I'm pretty sure that I'll end up buying more in like, a month or less.

But for now, I'm happy. I am not looking forward to the withdrawal symptoms.

Boom Boom Boom Boom

Holy mother of crap.
New favorite website.
http://www.rcrdlbl.com

Go! Frolic in the deliciosity that is free, wonderful indie music!
Aren't you glad I informed you of this?
Mmm.



Here in Oregon, Apollo, that gorgeous manly hunk o' sun god, has decided to curse us with a ridiculous amount of heat.
Like that kind that melts you to your couch and makes you want to live off otter pops and water for the next ten years?
Yeah that kind of heat.

Christ on a communion wafer, it's hot out here.

She's Always Buzzing...

I seem to have circled

Myself with the daisy chains that had once

Lain against bare legs on the grass

Hidden in my secret park,

With their yellowing faces

That turned towards the light

As their linked tails curved gracefully

Around my sun-fired head.

I suppose I have entangled

Myself with the quiet vines which 

Grew upon the trellis my mother carefully stowed

Behind the chimney spewing nonexistent smoke,

Their arrowhead tops twisting around

The frame placed to snare them.

I think I've trapped

Myself in the ratted weeds 

Living in the unkempt backyard which survives only for my dog

While he plays behind the bushes of

Unoriginal flowers not requiring a name-

For it will be unoriginal too.

Singin' The Key Of Night...

   I go to an arts school.

   It's been mentioned about 32672347834 times so far, but I thought that I would reiterate.

   I go to an arts school.

   I don't plan on being an artist when I grow up. I'd like to be a news anchor or a talk show host. I feel like I should be ashamed, but I'm not. Everyone around me moves at an artist's pace, fast to the point of exhaustion, or slow, so slow that you barely notice, but this seems not to hinder the pace at which I move. I know that my school is the right place for me to be. Do they make news anchors/poets? I doubt it. Maybe I'll be the first.

   But I still have a nagging feeling that, despite my love of art, creating art, living art, I feel that I don't have anything to show for it. I can't display my paintings, I can't sing a song, I don't dance, I can't form a sculpture, I can't play music. I can only write. Where does that take me? With a painting or a song or a dance, you can spend only a few seconds deciding whether or not you like it, whereas, with writing, you need to take the time to read it, to understand it, to let it sink in.

   In a world so chaotic and fast-paced and recklessly in love with itself, who has time for that? Who has time to listen to whatever angsty teenage words that I jot down between my erratic and occasionally sluggish social life? I don't know. I really don't.

   The human condition is one that tells us that we must find answers to our problems, our questions, our goals. I sure as hell haven't found anything.

   Enlighten me.

-Claire.

Do I Think That I'll Be Saved By Something I Create?

   I've been a little bit pensive, dreamy, whatever you call it lately.

   I haven't been writing for a while, and I don't know why. It has always helped me to figure things out when I don't know where to turn, but I just haven't been inspired. It's not really a good feeling, like everything is just coiled and knotted up inside of you. And I'm not saying that I would be writing super important, heavy, deep things. I'm just saying that I feel like I need to get it all out.

   I don't really think that this blog would be a good forum for a brain-unloading, I've always left that to my notebooks, so I'll just rant and sigh on about my life I suppose.

   I'm back from Winter Break, which was spent (like practically all my freakin' breaks are) in California. I'm not saying that I don't like California, I love it with all my heart, but it would sometimes be cool to have a break that I can spend with my friends. I know about the whole "custody says Dad gets to spend time with you" thing. It's mainly just the August visit. I don't EVER get to spend my birthday with my friends.

   I want to be able to have friends over for a birthday party, to have a sleepover and wake up and be older, to get presents from friends on my actual birthday. But that might just be me.

   I know that I sound ungrateful, but hey, I'm a teenager, what can you do?

You've Got The Money And The Heartache...

   I hate being sick. Trust me, I'll say it again. I. Hate. Being. Sick.

   When your throat dries up, and your nose runs its own marathon, and your head feels like an over-filled balloon, and all you want in the whole world is to just sleep,  that's the kind of sick I'm talking about. Not some wussy little cough. At ACMA, (my high school, in case you were wondering) people hug. A lot. Given the hugging, sickness gets passed around like those donation plates that church forces on you. 

   I should've known I would be sick. I really should have. The tip off was probably the fact that almost every single one of my friends has been home sick for at least one day within the past week. Another tip would have been the call from my school district talking about how influenza levels have shown that this is an epidemic. But no. I decided to go to school on Monday, despite the headache and sore throat.

   Self-fulfilling prophecy. So here I am, feverish, hungry, and tired. I can't sleep for some reason, I can't eat without feeling like I'm going to throw it up, so I am stuck.

   I should probably do homework, but I reeeeeeally don't feel like going upstairs to get it.

   

   Honestly,

   I'm just going to sleep.

   BYE!

      -Claaaaaaire

My Little Wonder Girl

   So, uh, hey. I haven't been here in a while, have I? My bad.

   I suppose that you, my reader, are probably either Shelby or my mother. Hey guys!

   It's almost a habit, you know? Addressing the invisible blog-lurker, as if they're actually there. Which they/you most likely are not. Life continues.

   It's a new day, right? We have a new president, whole new administration, but more importantly, I have a new keyboard, leading to my whole new outlook on life.

   When electronics lay dying at your feet, it almost gives you a God complex. Now, I can barely touch them and they'll break. I could trip and all things with circuit boards in the surrounding area would give a little rattle-scream and  short out. I am like...death to the motherboard. (Oh Claire, how punny!) It is just a way of life that everyone around me has learned to deal with.

   I am also prone to breaking lamps, vases, assorted ceramics, important antiques, and the occasional finger. I am constantly bruised, as well as covered in scars and odd lumps.

   I am now off on another adventure.

   Madames et Monsieurs, Adieu.

   (Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?)

    -Claaaaaaaaaire

Do Whatever Comes Naturally To You

Purple-painted sky,

my head is in the clouds.

I live in tomorrow,

hiding from the present.

I'll keep you to myself,

sealed with a kiss

and wrapped in a paper-thin bow.

And when we're not all trapped

in the middle of this bullshit everyone calls life,

and we've dispersed to the edges,

we'll look around and realize that

we're all okay.

We were to begin with,

we just strayed from our luminescent path.

When we find our way back,

(I swear we'll find our way back)

just promise not to run too fast,

sometimes I trip and fall.

I Miss The Way You Look So Sad...

   So!

   Haven't updated in a little whilesies, have I? I'm painting my room! Orange, yellow, and red, much to my mother's dismay. But it's not her room, is it? 

   My love life is currently (as usual) nonexistent. But, you know, one perseveres. In terms of schoolwork, I'm pretty on top of things, doing homework and the like.

   Okay, so whilst writing this, I've had an epiphany. I have a ridiculously lame life. I don't have a lot of friends that I hang out with outside of school, I'm not really doing anything socially interesting, my plans for the weekend got cancelled (It was SUPPOSED to be a concert, but my mom decided she didn't want to take me... even though I offered to pay for gas. Thanks, Mom!)

   I don't really have any close friends other than Shelby... though she has five best friends, so most of my weekends are spent alone. Awesome.

   Wow, I dislike self-pitying people. I SEEM TO HAVE BECOME ONE. I'm gonna end this now.

Love,

Vindictive, Egomaniacal, Calamitous Claire

S!

Shelby the sadist sucks at selling stuff.

The eeeeeend.

Picture of the Day

It is the world's tallest man meeting the world's smallest man.
Can anyone say "Awwww..."

Suffice It To Say, There's A Time And A Place

   So, if you didn't already know, poetry is my thing.

   I like to read it, love to write it, it's just a niche in which I feel I fit. So why is it that, no matter how proud of something I am, I am always second-guessing it? The second it enters the hands of a peer, I go wobbly around the knees and immediately attach a disclaimer.

   "It's not very good, I wrote it really fast, I know you won't like it, it sucks...etc."

   Even though I know it's good, I know I spent time on it, I just can't get past the fact that they might not like it, might think of a million things wrong with it. It's a very real struggle to me. After handing my poetry collection to my mother to read, (she was interested) I just wanted to rip it out of her hands, say "No, this is complete s***, you don't want to read it." But I knew she did want to read it, it wasn't complete shizzle, whatever. I knew it was fine, I really did.

   I swear.

Brinda, Alla Vita

   Just another sleepover?

   I THINK NOT.

   Dish-pirating is hard work... To be a dish pirate, you must fulfill two requirements. 1: Wear ridiculous velvet pirate hats without complaint, and 2: be named Shelby or Claire. You must also enjoy washing dishes.

   So yesterday, before Shelby joined me at my abode, I took a little tumble. Down 14 stairs. I then hit my head on the tile in front of the door. Why did I do this? BECAUSE I SUCK AT LIFE. I'm ridiculously accident-prone, if you haven't read my profile, therefore if there is a possibility for me to get hurt, I will get hurt. Just something I've learned to deal with.

   "Be nice to me Shelby, I'm concussed!"

   Oh dear, I'm babbling. I think I'll wrap this up.

GOODBYE.

Love Always,

Bumbling, Babbling, Calamitous Claire.

It Smiles Like Disaster

   Soooooooo. Hello again! Yes, you, my invisible reader! You most likely don't exist, but I persevere. 

   I do not understand teenage relationships. AT ALL. "Ooooh I love you, we're in love, we're perfect for each other, everybody's jealous of what we have, TRUE LOOOOOVE."

Then comes the "I don't love you anymore, I'm really in love with your best friend, we loooove each other! Nothing will tear us apaaaart!"

WHY? This makes absolutely no sense to me.

It's not love. In any way shape or form. You want love? Look at my grandparents. Teenagers are so emotionally unstable, who are we to judge that we're in love? It's ridiculous.

   I really didn't want this blog to be just rants, and so far, it hasn't been. Out of the three posts before this, none were angry teenager-type rants. So I deserve one, right?

   Back to ranting. TEENAGERS IN RELATIONSHIPS ARE ANNOYING. Hey, I'll be the first one to say that if I was in a relationship (which I'm not), I'd probably be annoying too. I just wouldn't bulls*** like I was in love, even though I honestly wasn't. Because that's more annoying than making out in hallways or giggling like some weird, possessed five year old.

Love Always,

Cruel, Jealous, Calamitous Claire

Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Beeeest Friend...

   Warm-hearted person who'll love me til the end...

   Well, her name is Shelby. She has idiopathic hypersomnia (AKA Sleep-too-much-itis). We only have two classes together this semester. We take too many pictures, have a webshow, and make chili-mac. We spend summers together and are there for each other for everything. Her father is a cupcake with an affinity for swords and masks. She makes me cry everyday- from laughter of course. She knows my mother almost as well as I do. She hugs my sister more often than me.

  She doesn't have to be related to me to be part of my family.

Just Put On A Smilin' Face

   I think we need to stage an intervention. I'm becoming fast addicted to the most potent of drugs- USA Network. Yes, the TV station. It has everything I need to satiate my addiction,what with NCIS, Law & Order:SVU, Monk, Psych and...House.

   It all began with a trip to Hawaii. I admit that it was beautiful and sunny for the most part, that is, when it wasn't raining. During these torrential downpours, Marie, my mother, and I were pretty much confined to our hotel room. This hotel room was the proud recipient of a flat-screen TV that only got news channels, Nickelodeon, and USA.

   Whilst Spongebob can be entertaining, it just doesn't really provide the drama of a drug-addicted doctor or an annoyingly clean detective. I now watch shows on this network every single day... I'm afraid I can't stop.

  One more re-run can't hurt, can it?

New Beginnings

   Seeing as both my mother and best friend managed to get blogs before I did, I figured I'd try it out. 

   Today I saw my *Official High School Transcript*. I swear the world stopped for a second as I came to the realization that what I do right now actually matters.

   Not an awesome feeling, as I got two C's. Two C's that I promised my mother were better. And they were. Until final tests rolled around and I realized that I've learned nothing in Biology. Well, I've learned things, but excuse me if I move the phases of mitosis out of my head to make room for more important things...like getting addicted to Tap Tap Revenge for the iTouch. Damn you Shelby Burdge.

   I suppose I could've done much worse. I didn't fail any classes, but I doubt my mother will accept that as an excuse. But this semester, I tried. I really really tried. I did my homework, studied (when I could), and worked during class. It's not gonna be enough though.

   But hey, I pulled a B in Ceramics. The one class I have no skill in whatsoever.

   Awesome.