atlas · eyes

Hey, Jess, you should exercise, and stop turning in shitty assignments, and get a job.

just, love, sinking pits,
steady beats,
like mobiles caught mid turn,
you turn around.

now stay. with. me.
it's steady and constant and loving
and breathing
god she's breathing
in this new coccoon.
move while it lasts.

listening to a song with a single violin, glancing out my window and seeing a yellow moon behind the silhouette of trees..

there are some moments in time that can only be described, while simultaeously falling to the power of cliche, as intense.

After school today, I'm setting up the lobby for my very first photography show next Monday and Tuesday. I have 20 photographs from the course of my independent study this semester. I've given out over 40 invitations, and I think most people will come, and a lot will bring others. I may even make an announcement next week for the school that anyone can come.

My school is evil and made it impossible to use wireless connections on our laptops. Luckily, I can plug into the network through an ethernet cable to the wall. I don't think they've figured out that trick yet, and I intend to use it until school ends.

Speaking of which, this is our last full week of school. Next week is four days of finals, then the next is graduation practice, and then hey - graduation. Then I have to grow up. Shit.

My dad is laying tile in our kitchen, and has therefore taken every appliance out to do the job. So right now I'm drinking cold coffee like soup from a spoon, because drinking it regularly is just a little too weird for me.

It's raining still and that's so relaxing for me. But for the house alarm going off int he middle of the night across the street, I slept so peacefully, and may take a nap today at some point.

Here's the truth:

I can't take criticism.

It brings me down. It makes me feel like shit. it makes me think I'm not doing enough, not working hard enough. It makes me think I'm not good enough.

Maybe I'm not good enough.

The people whose opinions I get aren't experts, by far, in the field. They praise me and I take that to mean something.

And then I get opinions from an expert and everything kind of crumbles.

shhhh. that impossible lightning-stop clamour is going to beign, to beat its heavy pulse, imprint itself into our bodies like we sat too long on a plastic-scrub carpet. stay clear of the halls, but the rooms will fill, will almost burst from the enormity of it, the endless parade of practically silent thunder.

the bell is going to ring. go to second block like a herd of cattle, our bells, metaphors for ones around our necks, clanging like the heavy ones that robots will wear, quite like us.

Dieting season is at its peak, and with it comes - I know, you can barely contain your excitement - food lists.

I am only doing this because I am a sad, obsessed girl.

All consumed during this day:

Breakfast: 1 banana, 1 cup coffee
Lunch: 1 cottage cheese serving with raspberries, 1 bottle water
Dinner: 1 PB&J sandwich, 1 juice box
Snacks: 5 spoonfuls peanut butter, 2 honey wheat pretzels

Not bad. Tomorrow, will replace cottage cheese with one cup of yogurt and a few pretzels. Need to mix it up a little every day.

Is this very very scary?

(bored)

space, an unfortunate habit that you can
trace, to the existence of
corner, an edge, the only connection to the
mourner, a deletion at the end of the board

like most, it's an open and shut case
no bells, no whistles, no ribbon or lace
there's no product of things torn, or
leaping back to that of their former

-----------

you're caught
in a ___ underground
it's hot
it's not
you're seethin

------------

here, the hot sky sinks in deep
and here, a meteor, caught in a leap
was pushing, pulling
on

ignorant and all of them rich, these are the kids.
bummed a ride on old man's card,
but caught lick and cane.
cried on her skirts achieving
lollypops for pain.
spilled their green ketchup
on mom's evening gown.
they laughed, whatever,
took their green on the town.
now they're at a waystation for two
still lugging their precious Playstations - get a clue

This day is just one of those that just.. keeps pissing me off.

I thought I had lost the touch to whipping up brilliant essays in a short amount of time, but I recently got it back, I think - minutes ago, I put together a 500 word essay on what historical figure I would meet if I could. I chose Rachel Carson, and we discussed where she obtained her passion and motivation while we hiked through peaceful forests. Before Christmas break, I wrote a 1000 word analytical essay the night before it was due on a very confusing book that I never read. Grade: A. I do know how to bullshit, and yes, I'm bragging, because this is my journal, damnit.

I believe I'm applying for a job at a local restaurant, as all other possible jobs have not worked out. It's good, though - I'll be making a decent amount of money, I think, and I need some hard work to straighten out my head. Too much time to sit around thinking is really getting to me, especially on Christmas break - you wouldn't believe how many "I'm losing my mind" journal entries I spared you from. But then I got drunk and everything fixed itself for a night.

So, wishlist, in case I win the lottery. If not, some of these things will be obtained through future job (which I need anyways, to pay for my new computer).
- Treo 650 Palm/Phone
- new Powerboook battery
- Powerbook sleeve
- Bluetooth USB device
- Airport Extreme card (or USB device) for Powerbook
- EyeTV (or any other software to run television programs on my Mac)

Yeah. I'm a greedy bastard.

I don't want to sleep tonight, but I'm so very tired. I feel like all I do is sleep, though that's not the case - my daily activities, however, don't merit any measurable importance that would clearly define a state of non-sleep.

I don't know what I'm saying.

There's a lump in my stomach, a ball gaining weight and settling even further into me with every moment. It's making me sick, yet not physically - because a physical sickness might be a temporary fix.

What-fucking-ever.

first day of christmas break. consists of:
- grapefruit for lunch
- 3 hours with the house to myself - yesssssss.
- singing to coldplay
- drawing (school project, will scan when done)
- christmas shopping - I think I'm done.
- watching lost - almost caught up.

jess likes lists.

Jess doesn't want to take her Biology test.

But it's the last day of school. I must continue reminding myself of that. It's the last day of school.

I'm desperately combing the internet for a Shakespeare monologue I had found last year. I can only remember that this woman wakes up, and I think she's beside a dead person - someone she knew. No, it's not Romeo and Juliet. I just can't find it anywhere.

Serenity came out and I didn't get it? What's going on?!

I get wild when I'm home alone. I:
- eat cookies.
- sing.
- put heating pad on mysteriously sore knee.
- take pictures.

My replacement Powermac G5 and display should arrive tomorrow. If it doesn't, I'll cry. What would be exceptionally fabulous would be a freak blizzard/ice storm to occur tonight, resulting in a snow day tomorrow. The ice would be cleared, however, just in time for AIT to make it safely to my house to deliver my computer. I would then have the rest of the day to luxuriously relax and play: download music, take pictures, browse deviantart and last.fm, and eat cheesecake brownies.

Have I mentioned how good the cheesecake brownies are?

This Jeff Buckley song is amazing: New Year's Prayer. I'm finding so much new music it's ridiculous, but I can't download any of it until my computer arrives, because of the fact that this poor Powerbook has.. let's see.. 231.4 MB left. I am incessantly harassed with warnings that my hard disk space is full and I should delete files. Do you think I don't know this, Sophia? I've deleted everything I could possibly part with, going through my photo folder three times. I refuse to touch my music collection another time, because of the many times I've been forced to throw precious music files into the trash. I want my fresh 160 GB. I want my bright 20" display. It's not fair that I got it for a few days and had to send it back for a week. It's not fair!

I'm stomping and crying and fussing like a little girl right now. It's fun.

Two pages of my four page essay done. It's allright. Not my best work, but what is any more?

I have subjected myself to the extreme effects of procrastination. Ladies and gentleman, an example of the purest form of putting things off is currently on display at the Poli household, as a frustrated teen sits at her computer, pulling out her hair and accomplishing mostly nothing as she browses deviantart and listens to music.

A four page, 1,000 word essay is due tomorrow on a book I didn't ever bother to read. It's going to be a long night.