I am utterly pissed off. Unbelievably pissed. Going to kill the administration. How can they possibly think that a meeting about two stolen keys off of a laptop keyboard is more important than an informational assembly about homophobia, a topic that appears to be avoided at all costs here at Derryfield. I am so sick-so sick of the losers at this school. I don't understand how they can do this to me.
I've been out for a while due to the traumatic return to school and the scariness of impending finals. Anyways...nothing happened yesterday, at all. My assembly for educating my class on the horrors of homophobia has been moved to Friday, but I'm cool with that. As long as it happens, all is well. I came out to my English class today when I read a passage about being bisexual from my autobiography.
I am at war. Sort of. Talked to my friend Mac today. Discussed anarchy and whether or not I think that croc girl is hot. She is hot, for anyone who's wondering. Tall, long legs, model-ish. Unusual but beautiful face and a great sense of fashion. Not my point. So anyways, we're talking about croc girl, and in walks Mac's friend, star wars boy. star wars boy is very wierded out by our talk of girls. Apparently he didn't get the whole, "Lit From Inside is bisexual" message.
A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
What is "love?" I hear people apply the word to all sorts of things, and rarely, it seems to me, do you hear the word love used to describe what it actually implies.
I'm in love. But I'm never going to get the girl.
I am afloat amidst a sea of printed papers, buoyed only by the scent of overripe strawberries. Trying not to dip my head under, for fear of being swallowed up by the monsters hidden in the words. I bob up, and down, on wordy waves, and wait for someone to find me. Eventually, the pages become taller, the waves, more violent. I look up, at the calm grey sky, only to find that it has erupted, in silent crashes of thunder and streaks of white light-ning. My world is turned upside down, and I lose the strawberry scent, that has carried me so far; like losing a lover, when you need one the most.
Everything is out there, everything is in the world, somewhere out there. And I feel so tiny. All these people with clashing opinions, fighting with words, politics, and guns. I am hiding. Agreement is impossible, when one side had deluded itself into believing that it's ok to hurt people who've done nothing wrong. But fighting for the right side, is still fighting. So I am fighting too, because sometimes to help, you have to hurt.
I've been told that writing out your own will at the age of fifteen means depression. I'm not depressed anymore, I just want to make sure that people know what to do when I'm gone, whenever that may be. The only problem is, I don't know who should have any of my stuff; I have friends, I have family, but I don't have anyone who understands. Understands me, what I want. I'm asking too much, far too much.
Coming out, I am. To the world, and school. I'm not changing my mind. I am sick of keeping part of myself a secret, so I'm not going to do it any more. Anyone at school on monday, assumes I like guys, makes a bitchy gay joke, "Scusemoi, yeah, you. I don't know why you think that's funny, and I could just say that I'm offended for moral reasons, but it gets personal, because I'm bi. Oh, don't raise your eyebrows that way, and no, I'm not just saying that to 'be an individual', it's actually the way I am." (Yes, I do feel the need to defend myself, cut me some slack, it's hard to be the one of very few who bother not to dress and act like everyone else at the school, and in defending my actions, I have realized, the people I go to school with understand you better when you're in their faces, and when you affirm who you are) or something like that.
Yep. That's who I'm going to be today. Ask me, and I'll tell you "Yeah, my name is Lola." I'm not going to act like a different person, at least not purposefully (yes, I spelt that wrong, I think), rather, I will just sit back and see what different bits of my personality the name "Lola" brings into focus. Who knows. It's really dreary out today, not at all sunny like yesterday. I think that I'll go to the park. Maybe it will rain, I'll have to bring my leopard print umbrella (it's one of those little foldout ones! Simply deliscious) and I'll wear my comic book-print all stars (they have kitty kat laces). It'll be so much fun. I think I'll be swedish, and make friends with little girls on the playground. I'll feed the swans, too. Fun fun. Well, that's about all. I'll bring a book too, or a notebook; writing or reading.
I hate my father so much in this moment. I would tear his head off if I could. Usually I adore him, he's so nice, and accepting, best dad I could imagine having. Not right now though, not at all. I don't see what possibly made him think that taking my brother to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy without me would be ok. I just do not understand it. I'm the one who's read the entire series three or four times, I'm the one who obsessed over the movie for months before it came out, I'm the one who was nice enough not to see it with my dad on my birthday because my brother was out of town.
Because I am living, we are all living. Even if we are all dead, in a sense, although I'm not sure which. Perhaps it's because we all have hopes, which we are constantly waiting to have fullfilled, so in essence we cannot truly be alive, because we are waiting to live. So maybe we aren't dead, maybe we just float somewhere in between life an death, in between those seldom minutes when we achieve our desires, and finally live for a little while.
Dumb headed-ness because my friend Shireen seems to ignore the fact that I'm bi/lesbian; she thinks that I'm really into guys right now, which I'm not, unless they're wearing makeup, and even then... but anyways, she sent me these pics of guys she thought that I would think were hot. I didn't think. She ignores who I am because it scares her. It isn't fair. And I try so hard to make her understand, but she refuses to aknowledge my true self. It's sad, because I'm losing her and she's been my best (only) friend for three years.
Every day in this world brings something different. Wow, deep (not).
Some existentialists say some variation of, "every person lives in a different world, cannot experience the world of their peers, because every person has a different view of the world, and senses thing differently." Vaguely, something along those lines. Makes life seem kind of lonley; knowing that I'm the only person in the world experiencing life the way that I am.
I am walking in the park, hand in hand with this beautiful, brown-haired girl. We are free; free and happy, arms swinging, we smile. I bend down to the ground, pick up a daffodil, broken at the stem, and slip it behind her ear. She kisses me on the cheek, and we continue to grin. A man with a dog walks by us, I know him, his dog is named Trucker and he owns a yoga studio on Main Street. I go there for classes sometimes.