Your kinda musky, sweaty and salty. Which is just how Emmett likes it! It means your sporty and outdoorsy! Fun and know how to have it! He thinks its sexy.
Sooo... if I was into vamps, I might end up with one who liked the fact that I stink. Well- it sure beats the whole "personal brand of heroin" thingie.
Moving on.
-Things I'd like to do in about 17 days, randomly ordered- 1. Find out what's the deal with this Twilight craze 2. Watch movies. (I have a pretty long list.) 3. Read books, voluntarily 4. Read Twilight (as of yet, it doesn't count as a book) 5. Start running regularly. (In case of a natural disaster, or a zombie invasion, I'd buy myself a couple more seconds to try and do whatever it is on this list that I haven't done yet.) 6. Spend time with friends. (Sitting alongside each other as we desperately mug is time, but not the usual definition of fun.) 7. Clear my room. (yeah. right.) 8. Make a whopping big sculpture out of my notes. (I'll put up a picture if I actually succeed) 9. Try playing DJ Hero. 10. Spend time with my bro. (before he grows too old and too busy to hang out with jiejie) 11. Fix my guitar. (Despite his name, Hardy isn't that... well.. hardy.) 12. Take tonnes of quizzes. (What is your "true" eye colour? What flavour of jelly are you? What does your smile say about you? Which super villain is your long-lost twin?) 13. Bake. ...and a bunch of other things I will put in my next post. For now, my captivating lecture on migration calls to me. Calls? Yeah right. More like screams, howls, yanks my hair and my conscience.
My first negative youtube comment! Yaaaay! Why do I feel happy about this? Eh. Well. I guess it makes me feel like enough people are watching my videos for there to be a widening variety of responses. So, yes, someone telling me that I'm "awful" is strangely heartening to read. Not that I'm asking for an onslaught of criticism. My frail, female psyche can't take it, and I would be forced to fall back into destructive habits, liiiike...
"I dunno." She says, with a tone that suggests that she is rather lost. "Mhmm, so what do you know?" "Eh?" She is definitely lost. "Let's cut to the chase. You. Know. Nothing." "But I- I- erm..." "Exactly. The only thing you could honestly claim to know, is that you don't know anything." "W-wait- but-" "Do you even speak English?" "I- I mean- that is-" "Ou-yay eak-spay glish-enay?" "MOMMMEEEEEE!!!!"
••• •••• •••
Yes, that was the sound of your brain stabbing itself.
This colour scheme makes my posts a little easier to read now, yes? Well, I'd just like to tell you all that I've had a wonderful day, I'm feeling really happy right now, and I'm actually not being sarcastic about this, at all. No, really. I'm happy. Really!
And being in this bizarre state, that is, being happy, I have very little to write about. I seem to normally exhibit strands of creativity about me when miserable, suffering, or undergoing a combination of the two. I guess it's sort of similar to the "Ok" syndrome. The usual victim of the said syndrome is conversation with a decent lifespan. When one asks, "Are you ok?", the other is usually prompted to answer, "Yes." This signals the end of the conversation, because unless you have a nice, solid barrel full of things to whine and complain about, there isn't much to talk about. At most, the question looking into the "okayness" of things will stretch on rather thinly to ask about the other person's pet, or loved ones, or primary occupation. Urgh. I can feel the awkwardness creeping up my back even as I describe this syndrome to you.
Anyway, so the point is, starting a blog entry without any clear goal in mind is much like being asked, "Are you ok?" Seeing how my current satisfaction with life momentarily outweighs my woes, I must simply answer, "Yes."
This being said, the conversation, or blog post, is terminated. ••• •••• •••
ps Yes, that was ratherly a waste of time to read, wasn't it.
Oooook, how do I know this? Well, because I saw it, thrice. And it crawled up my leg, once.
Do I -know- this? In that really fancy, schamncy, non-trivial, epistemological sense of the word? Well.. let's see. I have a belief, I have justification, my justification supports my belief, and played a part in producing this belief. So the only requirement left is that this justified belief is true. Hmm.
A part of me yells: "But I saw it!!! And it crawled up. My. LEG." The other part is going: "Yeah well, it could have been a hallucination. I mean, your room is pretty dimly lit, and you were under a fair bit of stress. Maybe you created this roach to distract yourself from the horrors of cramming." "But... but..." protests the less sophisticated end of my mind. "Aaand, you're the only one who saw this...roach. Considering that there's a strong possibility of your having imagined it, your 'seeing' it is not a strong enough justification." "Yeah but I SAW IT." "Mhmm. Just like you 'saw' that guy giving you the-" "AAAAAH." "...What." "BLACKOUT." "..." "IT'S DARK." "Yeah. And are you sooo sure that this 'blackout' thing isn't just a figment of your-" "SHUT UP."
...I know. They're pretty annoying when they're bickering. It's worse when they're having fun. The noise...
Anyway, it's KI tomorrow. 3 hours of explaining the fine mechanics of prying one's mind open with a crow bar, and the sorting of the mental spew-age that results from such an intrusion.
Hmm. About... 9 hours till it starts? If I were the sort, I could use the 9 hours to start a war, win it, thus attaining the power to write history however I fancy it to be. Being a scary dictator, I would then influence my historians to come to the conclusion that, if not for the unfortunate timing of a certain war, I would have written the most fantastic essay ever, and gotten a shiny A for this paper.
Rawr. Then again, if I were a dictator I would have gigantic monuments of 343 built everywhere, and have the perfect number painted on all walls and ceilings and floors... Pretty. But. Erm. That would be. Erm. Hey. That would be pretty cool.
Let's start a war! Oh don't give me that look. They've started wars for pettier reasons. Actually, they've started wars for no reason at all. At least mine are aesthetic.
Instead of cramming my brains, I'm scanning through my notes, and just plugging in whatever gaps will let themselves be plugged. And once in a while, I hop onto youtube and look for a performance that impresses me even when my eyes are closed. Yes, I know many people hate Lady Gaga because she's supposedly a man and is very strange. Hmm.
She's crazy. In a really cool way. Hearing people like her sing makes me feel better somehow.
So... tomorrow's it. It's going to all start and "before you know it," they say, "before you know it, it will all be over."
