Sorry for whatever chaos this may bring, but...
To the guys browsing as guests:
HELP!!! THE LESBIANS ARE TAKING OVER!!!
Erm, I mean that there are a whooole lot more girls than boys.
Don't say I didn't warn you, but:
In a few years, this journal will be buried forever.
It won't be seen.
It probably won't even be remembered.
Because the members on now will have probably left Oasis, they'll be replaced.
And because nobody will remember, it will effectively cease to exist.
It'll be a relic. A ghost.
You know, a lot of other things are like that too.
BOO! forty things about me! Betcha thought you'd seen the last of those, huh? Gahahahahahaha....
1) I've developed a special facial tick for people who do embarrassing things.
2) I was reading Harry Potter by myself in grade two
3) I've decided to learn Arabic to stop my brain from mushing
4) My writing style is developing so quickly that most stories I write only
Before I start, let me clarify something. I'm only in the eighth grade, and I realize how completely low-on-the-totem-pole it is. I know I'm young, and that, for the most part, my life in middle school probably won't matter that much. I also realize that, when it comes to the more undiluted adult-oriented topics, that if I take myself too seriously, I look like an idiot. I really do.
From Mostly Harmless, the final book of the five-part Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy Trilogy:
'It says in the brochure,' said Arthur, pulling it out of his pocket and looking at it again, 'that I can have a special prayer, individually tailored to me and my special needs.'
'Oh, all right,' said the old man. 'Here's a prayer for you. Got a pencil?'
H, as in "Hetero".
Hold on, I'll explain.
Well, you see, since I've heard the French are infinitely more accepting of homosexuality, and since I can understand the stuff, I decided to find out if it was true.
So, on a whim, I looked up "gai" on French Google.
Sue me. I was bored. But guess what? The thing about increased acceptance is true, at least on the Internet.
Life was a funny sort of thing.
A funny sort of thing, Lance thought to himself, because the rules to which it was to be lived were completely arbitrary: fuzzy, misjoined and ass backwards.
First of all:
Call me by your name.
Check it out.
Second of all:
"Hm? 'Call me by your name?' Oh, j'en aime! Je l'ai fini lire à soir dernier, et je le va lire à ce soir!"
There's me, showing off my awesome powers of French verb conjugation. Go me! Anyway, I've gotten pretty good at French, and have now decided to teach myself...something else.
I have a history of worrying myself to the point of illness. Recently, I've noticed that this helps. Does this help for you too? Or am I just an idiosyncratic nutcase.
Whenever I'm feeling stressed or overwhelmed, or am on bad terms with my inner demons, I do this: I close my eyes. And remember the ceiling. I picture myself, where I'm sitting, remembering the ceiling.
A lone figure stumbles through the school's hallways, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. Brave New World took shorter than he had imagined: his only intellectual life-raft had slipped away. He wasn't going to last much longer.
He clutches his head, collapses and starts hallucinating.
That's the sound of me mercy-killing my victim in a red cross bronze-something water-centric lifesaving lesson. First I thought I was just having bad luck. Then I realized that I was just a klutz. And a really slow learner. And that maybe some higher power just doesn't want me touching him.