WARNING: THIS IS NOT FUN STUFF. THIS IS WHAT'S GOING ON IN MY HEAD. YOU MAY NOT LIKE WHAT IS WRITTEN HERE, AND PLEASE DON'T TAKE OFFENSE TO ANY OF IT. JUST A WORD OF WARNING.
I'm so depressed I can't hardly talk about it. See, it's so bad that I put in a double negative... I've really gone astray there. But really, that's an exaggeration. I'm not depressed at all, just saddened, I suppose.
Earlier this evening I went to an orientation back at the hallowed halls of our school (read: heh, I think not), for the new iPads our grade is receiving... and it just got to me so bad. I'd really rather not take a Holden Caulfield approach to life, because, as much as it hurts me to say this, my beloved Holden is just not healthy,but I really was bothered. Like, a lot. When you're at a 2-week sleepaway camp for artsy and intelligent teenagers that are JUST LIKE YOU (meaning they write their own plays in their spare time, and poetry, and write actual snail mail, and paint murals on their kitchen walls, and, above all, tolerate my constant spew of Ouran/Death Note/George Costanza references), followed by a 2-week trip to goddam--oh no--EUROPE, our town is not exactly a sight for sore eyes. And jeez, am I feeling sore right now.
This town is the worst place for me, or anyone who's DIFFERENT. Holden would hate it too. (Don't you love how we're on first-name basis now?) It's just so... stupid. I mean really. That's why this summer was the greatest--I got to get away from all the phoniness and stupidity at least for three months and be with people who are above things like, well, Instagram, and now I'm delving into stuff that I can't post on a public blog, so it'll stay within the pages of my cherished smelly-leather journal instead. And if your beliefs are different than mine, I applaud that, but I'm going to be honest here. I would suggest leaving this page, if you think otherwise. As well as this whole blog. I'm really not trying to say that you, dear reader, are unwelcome in reading this. It's actually the opposite, I love sharing ideas with people! But if you're going to get angry with what I'm saying, I'm attempting to save you from all that bitterness by just coaxing you into moving on with your life. Just like Lemony Snicket would do, hey? And I apologize in advance if you DO feel provoked by this or something, but I'm a writer, and a rather controversial one at that. I speak my mind. So hey, don't say I didn't warn you...
On that happy note, I'm sorry about all that! New paragraph.
So I'm trying to set myself on the right track. I'm going to surround myself with things from France, from Deutschland, from Suisse and Belgium and Luxembourg and Nederland, and from everywhere else that I want to be. And then I won't be here, and I won't get all caught up in it. You know, IT. Indescribable stuff. I simply call it 'it' and that suffices, I guess. I speak in a patchwork of languages now, like, "Maman, danke pour il latte!" or something like that, and that helps. I eat my French granola in a cereal bowl from Monoprix when I get up at 6:00 a.m. to have a run or a bike ride or a poetry session. Or to write short stories about my neighbors, or to write monologues in Spanish or German or Italian. The majority of my school supplies were purchased at various stores (Monoprix, Geant, etc.) in France. Hey, my very location is Maastricht, Nederland! So you see, I'm really all right.
And my soon-to-be Spanish teacher will probably despise me when I start answering stuff on tests en Francais. Oops.
Earlier this evening I went to an orientation back at the hallowed halls of our school (read: heh, I think not), for the new iPads our grade is receiving... and it just got to me so bad. I'd really rather not take a Holden Caulfield approach to life, because, as much as it hurts me to say this, my beloved Holden is just not healthy,but I really was bothered. Like, a lot. When you're at a 2-week sleepaway camp for artsy and intelligent teenagers that are JUST LIKE YOU (meaning they write their own plays in their spare time, and poetry, and write actual snail mail, and paint murals on their kitchen walls, and, above all, tolerate my constant spew of Ouran/Death Note/George Costanza references), followed by a 2-week trip to goddam--oh no--EUROPE, our town is not exactly a sight for sore eyes. And jeez, am I feeling sore right now.
This town is the worst place for me, or anyone who's DIFFERENT. Holden would hate it too. (Don't you love how we're on first-name basis now?) It's just so... stupid. I mean really. That's why this summer was the greatest--I got to get away from all the phoniness and stupidity at least for three months and be with people who are above things like, well, Instagram, and now I'm delving into stuff that I can't post on a public blog, so it'll stay within the pages of my cherished smelly-leather journal instead. And if your beliefs are different than mine, I applaud that, but I'm going to be honest here. I would suggest leaving this page, if you think otherwise. As well as this whole blog. I'm really not trying to say that you, dear reader, are unwelcome in reading this. It's actually the opposite, I love sharing ideas with people! But if you're going to get angry with what I'm saying, I'm attempting to save you from all that bitterness by just coaxing you into moving on with your life. Just like Lemony Snicket would do, hey? And I apologize in advance if you DO feel provoked by this or something, but I'm a writer, and a rather controversial one at that. I speak my mind. So hey, don't say I didn't warn you...
On that happy note, I'm sorry about all that! New paragraph.
So I'm trying to set myself on the right track. I'm going to surround myself with things from France, from Deutschland, from Suisse and Belgium and Luxembourg and Nederland, and from everywhere else that I want to be. And then I won't be here, and I won't get all caught up in it. You know, IT. Indescribable stuff. I simply call it 'it' and that suffices, I guess. I speak in a patchwork of languages now, like, "Maman, danke pour il latte!" or something like that, and that helps. I eat my French granola in a cereal bowl from Monoprix when I get up at 6:00 a.m. to have a run or a bike ride or a poetry session. Or to write short stories about my neighbors, or to write monologues in Spanish or German or Italian. The majority of my school supplies were purchased at various stores (Monoprix, Geant, etc.) in France. Hey, my very location is Maastricht, Nederland! So you see, I'm really all right.
And my soon-to-be Spanish teacher will probably despise me when I start answering stuff on tests en Francais. Oops.
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