I had a fairly busy afternoon. Mom and Jared are going on a cruise tomorrow, so Grandma came over to keep an eye on things. We had dinner outside, which was great, except for the two yellowjackets who kept stalking me, then vanished as soon as I left to sit on the steps of the back porch. D:

Then we decided to have some smores cooked over the fire pit in the backyard, when we discovered we didn't have marshmallows. Or graham crackers. Or chocolate. So I bummed $10 off of Mom and bought some down at the Dollar General, and a bag of peachie-gummy-rings for me (though I shared with Gram, because she likes them).

Came home, did smores. I always like being around campfires. Fire is fab to look at, except when it's destroying your personal property and residence of eleven years. I had two smores, but everybody else polished off an entire bag of marshmallows and all three of the king-size Hershey Bars (they didn't have any of those neat bulk pack things, so I just bought a few at the gas station).

Things I saw while I was out:

A woman named Twinkle. She was pretty old--but still very, very pretty--and she was working the register at the Dollar General. She asked if I was gonna make smores, and I nodded. XD

A carful of total strangers honking at me urgently and waving like lunatics. It was very flattering, but still kind of odd. XP

I just blew through two units of my GED program in about an hour. Jesus! And I got an 89 on the test for it. (I got kind of tripped up on dangling modifiers.)

Two days into the GED, and I'm almost completely finished with one of the four subjects. Bitchin'! At this rate, I'll be done in time to hitch a ride to Columbus to lurk around the Value Center Arena.

In other news, I'm writing about a space cowboy. I'm not sure where the idea came from, but it's fun to write about him and his screwy companions. One of them is the requisite Simple Earth Girl who just happens to have great psychic powers. Another is a little flying robot. The other is a star-roving hippie alien who has a great cosmic VW-bus. This is one of those rare occasions where I really and truly like all of the characters. The story itself isn't particularly good--I've never been great at doing sci-fi. SKIENCE! Fantasy and superheroes are more my thing. It's been fun so far, though. Alien robots invade Earth (Sylvie, the Earth Girl, calls them "Iron Men", after the song by Black Sabbath) and the space cowboy asks for Sylvie's help getting to a secluded area in the park from which to attack the mothership. While he's busy fucking around with the computer, she takes a baseball bat, beats the control center senseless, and the problem is solved through property destruction.

It's full of crack and more FICTION than science, but it's still great fun to write.

Well, there's one hour killed for the GED. I took the writing pretest, and it was pretty easy. I had to write an essay--"If you could be any character from any TV show, book, or movie, who would it be?" I picked the Doctor. I was going to pick Ringo Starr from Yellow Submarine, but I think I would get an essay stamped "WTF?" in return. So I typed up some babble about wanting a life of interstellar adventure and intrigue and a time-traveling police-box. I wasn't really concentrating, but I think it came out more coherent than the average entry in this very blog.

My teeth are sore. Damn rubber bands!

I'm writing a story about a space cowboy for no particular reason. Cowboys rock, and space rocks, so what the hell? There's no real plot involved, except alien robots are invading Earth, and the space cowboy stops them with electrically-charged bullets. It's a short little piece of WTFery, but I'm highly amused by it for some reason.

So we went to FTCC. Again. The lady there was really nice this time, and wouldn't let me leave until I could repeat the steps to getting into the GED-online thing to her. XD I liked her. I think her name was Mrs Rickler. Anyway, she says if I am as determined as I seem, then I could have it over and done with in a few WEEKS. BITCHIN'! *does a dance*

Plenty of time to hook up a ride to Columbus to see the Who. >:D Bahahahaha! (Mom said she'd spring for a trip anywhere in the world that I wanted. I choose to go to a place I've been several times before just to see some sexy old men singing and playing their hearts out. ♥) I wonder if there are trains up to Ohio, or whether we could hook up a ride with someone? Internet-rideboard, here we come! (Much as I'm obsessed with hitching, I'm not roughing it out in the Ohio winter. Too damn cold, and I don't have a tent, and I only know my way there by sights.)

Then we went up to the house and tried to move my car. It wouldn't start and wouldn't even unlock with the remote clicker thingy. So Dad heaved a heavy sigh and took my car keys away so he could get it fixed.I got my last bag of stuff. Most of it is, in fact, Josh's old stuff--toys, shirts, books--but Dad doesn't just wanna toss it, so he decided that it's mine now. XD I'm now the proud owner of a stuffed huggin' monkey and a stiff stuffed red bulldog.

I had a dream that I was in a magical world full of witches, fairies, and demons. I was a witch with power over luck. But I wasn't very good at controlling it, so I accidentally flung hexes and curses when I got overemotional. Nobody wanted to be my friend, except this creepy skeleton guy (imagine: Ghost Rider sans motorcycle). He taught me how to properly use my s00per l337 magical powers and, as a treat, took me to a music awards show. A lot of Disney Channel people were there, along with the Who, for some very bizarre reason. I managed to beg an autograph out of everyone in the group. They allowed me to hang around on the condition I didn't act too fangirly and stupid. And miraculously, I managed to do that. XP Then the Skeleton Man dragged me away on important magical business (I remember shouting "Help! Help! I'm being repressed!" as I was). And we lived happily ever after. OMG YAY.

I have weird dreams, but I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world.

A random thought: Jesse McCartney's a decent actor, but a terrible singer. He should stick to acting and quit music. Then again, I'm biased--there's only room for one McCartney boy in my life, and his name is Paul. XP

One day, I will find the person who invented rubber bands for braces, and I will beat him with a sack of sweet Valencia oranges. D:

I'm only allowed to take them off when I'm eating, and it's a royal bitch to take them off and put them back on. I literally just had to rip one off of my back bracket so I could have my ramen noodles. One of them I pried off easily enough with the water-pik thingy and the other I had to tear off because in five minutes of trying to pluck it out neatly with the water-pik thingy, I couldn't get it LOOSE. I'm fortunate I didn't yank the bracket off, too.

So I have to have someone else assist me in getting them back in, because it's hard for me to perform my own dental work with my own hands, y'know? Which is a real bitch, because I don't like being an inconvenience to anyone, and nobody wants to stick their hands in my mouth. D:

In other news: I'm obsessed with this song. :D (Let My Love Open the Door - Pete Townshend) It's just such an awesome song.

And one of my friends on the KHFanficrants community on LJ recommended ways on getting up to Ohio and attempting to meet the band. BAHAHAHAHAHA. I'll have to bring a prop or two--I don't think an 18-year-old in a Dr Pepper T-shirt would really be considered a serious journalist, so that lie wouldn't work without some work. Even if I don't get tickets, I would like to lurk around outside of the arena just to be there in the same airspace as the boys. I have such a silly fangirl crush on them. I often wonder why I don't have any feeling towards band members that are more in my age range?

There are a few different reasons, I think--the era in which they began, the music that Pete writes (it's magic in lyrical form, and nothing less), the way Roger sings, the way they play their instruments. It's something that no other band has, and certainly no band that's popular with my age group has--bunch of whining pretty-boys with muddy guitars. Bah! Give me Mr Townshend with his roaring guitar, windmills, and stage destruction any day.

Or maybe I'm just a pervy old-man fancier. Seriously--I can't name one under-30 person that I have a Silly Fangirl Crush on. Johnny Depp, Pete Townshend, Roger Daltrey, Ringo Starr, Joni Mitchell, Gloria Steinem... I'm crazy, I suppose. But I like to think I'm crazy in a very friendly, harmless way.

I took a walk today. Not much interesting happened, except a person in a van with heavily-tinted windows stopped to offer me a ride. Since I couldn't even see inside the van, I declined--one of the first rules of hitchin' a ride is "Don't accept a ride you can't see in or out of." XP Among other rules. I found it highly unsettling that he wouldn't even roll down the window to ask; I had to kind of make out the vague humanoid outline in the driver's seat to figure out why he'd stopped.

And besides, I was waiting to cross the street to get into my own neighborhood. A ride would've been very unproductive.

I think I might ask to borrow Mom's old Army tarp and take a camping trip sometime this week(end?) I need a vacation, all to myself, and it could be considered practice for The Trip. The Trip has been postponed until Dad and Karen get over the fire. I'm fine--I'm completely over it--but I don't think they would understand my need to go on a journey of nonmaterialistic self-discovery and a religious experience, too. I don't think they'd cope with it very well, so I've put it off for a short while. But I still want to go, more than anything else. There are more reasons each and every day why I want to, even if nobody else believes in them or agrees with them.

I think I'm becoming paranoid about fire. Or something. I can smell smoke all over this house, but we've washed most of my things so the smoke smell is out of them. It smells like fresh smoke, but nothing is on fire--I keep walking around looking. I may just be going crazy. D:

Also, the wireless connection is screwing up, so I'm back on AO-hell for now. Bah!

And I found some yogurt-covered peanuts in a bowl. MINE. *munches* ♥

Mom said we might get a pet that's just for my company. But there are a bunch of restrictions. No cats (Mom's allergic), guinea pigs (ditto), no rats or mice (Mom's afraid of them), no reptiles (ditto), so on. That doesn't leave me with a lot of choices.

Much as I like animals, I'd kind of like to have human companionship. I've never really had a lot of close friendships. I had a couple--like Kristen from third to sixth grade--but that's about it. I just can't seem to find a good friend and I can't seem to keep them, no matter how hard I try. I try to be the kindhearted, cheerful girl, I try to be the sarcastic, snappy girl, I try to be myself, and everything I do ends up failing, and everyone ends up running off with someone else--either a boyfriend, a girlfriend, or merely another group of people who don't like me. I think the last really close friend I had was Taylor. I haven't been in his physical presence since Christmas.

I go out into the world every day, holding out hope that I might find someone with a life philosophy and dreams similar to mine, and every day I become discouraged because the rest of the world seems to have given up on their dreams of hope and peace and settled for mediocrity and even outright terribleness.

I'd kind of like a sugar glider, but I'm not sure how well Sarge (Mom's bulldog) would take to a gliding rodent sharing the house with him. And I'd kind of like a creature that's big enough to come with me on a walk, but I know Mom ain't gonna let me get another dog.

So that leaves me with--what?

Maybe I'll look up chinchillas. Or bunnies.

We're going to the fabric store this weekend. I designed a cute costume that I'd really like to make for Halloween. Never mind that I'm not going anywhere much! I'm never invited to parties (a side effect of having no friends, I'm sure), I don't feel like trick-or-treating anymore because White Middle America has fucked it up, and I don't really wanna pass out candy, either. I wonder if there's a nightclub or somethin' open around here. I DO wanna show off my costume, dammit! XP

It's a raver version of a typical Halloween witch--orange shirt, short black cape, floppy witch hat, chem-lights on strings, jeans, tennis shoes.

If I can't find a good color of orange fabric (most of what I find is eye-bleeding day-glo orange), I'll be the raver-demon-girl that I designed as an alternate. It's cute, and I'd get to play with makeup (Halloween is the only day where I actually enjoy makeup, perhaps because during the rest of the year, if you wear Dracula makeup, you're frowned upon as a loony).

Either way, I've got some busy sewin' to do!

I haven't got a bloody dime to my name.

I live with my mother.

I live way out in the middle of nowhere, with the only contact with other people my age being visits to Wal-mart and through the Internet.

I don't have many friends.

I'm a high-school dropout.

People constantly tell me that I'll never amount to anything.

But I'm happy.

I'm happy. I enjoy what I do with my life--namely, thinking. Feeling. Observing. My mission in life is not to earn money and become trapped in an endless race on a rat wheel, searching endlessly for fulfillment through gas-guzzling automobiles and through go-nowhere relationships set up for the sake of mere companionship rather than any real, deep affection and passion.

I'm perfectly content to sit on the roadside, perched on someone's fence, watching traffic go past. I'm perfectly content to sit outside on a blanket, making jewelry, writing stories. I'm perfectly content to daydream my life away. I'm perfectly content with seeking meaning and fulfillment through my dreams, thoughts, and relationships with the only people I really NEED--me, God, and God's many various manifestations throughout the world.

It's when I'm doing what's normal that I become a nervous fucking wreck, that I become depressed and discouraged. It's when I try to drive somewhere--I become inattentive, panicked, and start sobbing uncontrollably into the steering wheel. It's when I hear "get a job!" or "grow up!" from my peers--I withdraw into my shell and lash out at whoever told me to do so. It's when I imagine the prospect of getting a white-collar job and living in a house by myself and paying bills--I panic and feel angry and bored, even though this has never happened.

I'm dissatisfied with the ambitions that everybody else has built up for me. I'm dissatisfied with the lonely time in which I live--I'm unhappy that everybody is so... isolated. Everybody thinks they can make it on their own, that they're okay by themselves, and they shut themselves off from their neighbors. Nobody helps. People walk through their lives on autopilot, only jarring into semi-wakefulness when they see something that's not blended into the background blur of their lives.

I don't want the life everybody else wants for me. I don't want to make the climb, like "Jerry" says in the Woodstock movie. There's nothing to climb for. He was right. I can sit down on the roadside, and all I want and need is there. I've got higher aspirations, higher goals, more important things to do than earn money and eke out the same existence my father and mother and the rest of my family do.

And that's what I want to do. My aspirations are strange, I'll admit--I want to do the kind of work Meher Baba did, the kind of work Jesus did, the kind of work that the great peacebringers of years past have done. I want a very simple, roving life. I don't want a mere existence; I don't want to merely occupy space miserably, the way Dad and Karen do. I want to LIVE! I want to move, I want to live out my dreams, I want to take charge, and I want to awaken others from their stupor.

Nobody else wants me to do it. That discourages me sometimes. My Internet-friends tell me that it's a stupid idea (though they're slightly more civil in wording it, the intent and tone is the same). My family demands that I go for a job that will pay everything my brother isn't earning; they want me to earn gobs of money and pay for an easy cruise through the rest of their lives. And this discourages me. Nobody believes in my dreams except for me. Nobody agrees with me. Nobody even disagrees with me in a respectful tone.

But I'll find some way to make them see that this is my life and I'm in control. And that there's more to their lives than miserable existence.

Because that's what I'm going to do with my life. Whether anybody else likes it or not.

Dear Flirter Person:

No, saying that your mother would like me doesn't really impress me. It makes me point and laugh. You're 20something years old, I've put a lot of clever snarks, jokes, and semi-deep thought into my profile, and the best you can think of to say to me is "My mother would like you!"?

Please try again.

Proving Just How Picky Some Chicks Can Be,

Leiko

P.S. Would it hurt you guys to put up some information about your, y'know, personality? I'm not interested in reading a mere physical description of yourself and a vague "I might want kids someday and I like drinking" blurb. I'm interested in knowing something MORE so that I could deem whether you're worth further exploration or not. Of course, everyone is worthy of my love and friendship, but I still would like to find a friend and a confidant, and I'm so desperate I've finally just popped online to look. XP

P.P.S. Fuck you, place4friends. There's no way to contact these people that I DO find interesting, short of buying a big paid account. >:( And I'm simply too poah to afford that.

So much for the damn GED.

Okay, so, first, we went to pre-test. You know, see where I am. That's all well and good. Nice way to kill three hours on a Monday night.

Tuesday, we go up to the school again to see what I made. Turns out that I did just about the best you can do on the test, and if I'd taken the real thing on Monday, I would've passed. 95th percentile. Fab!

So Gram and I left with our hearts soaring on the dancing wind.

And we had to go back today to get further instructions. Turns out, the very inhospitable lady I was scheduled to see decided to put me in classes I didn't need, at hours I couldn't go. I think she used to work for the DMV. And I'm expected to show up tomorrow, several weeks late to start classes! What the HELL.

But Mom and Gram and I aren't having that--nobody can drive me there at 8 AM, nobody can pick me up at 2:30, and moreover, giving me new classes when I've already learned and obviously understood it all seems very counterproductive--so we're either going to pay a visit to Fort Bragg with the rumored place that will give you the real test as soon as you walk in the door, or we're going to that old Keystone homeschool thingo that I WAS doing (I only needed three more courses, two now since I passed another English and another social studies).

So freakin' much for the community college.

On the bright side, I saw this guy with really Pete Townshend-blue eyes and a shirt with the Knights of Ni on it. :DDDDDD He liked my Rolling Stones shirt, too. Bitchin'! I'll never see him again, of course, but he was nice for the short period that I got to hang around him.

I think that if I ever date, one day, I'm going to date a black Muslim man (or woman!), just to spite my dad. Have the deepest biological love for him, but I don't like him at all. He's a bit of a bigot, in a semi-harmless Archie Bunker kind of way. He refuses to listen to Cat Stevens and even calls poor old Cat a terrorist, simply because he's a Muslim. There is nothing wrong with Muslims. Out of all the millions and millions of Muslims, there's only a handful of extremists who bring up violence. The same could be said for Christians, Hindus, Jews, and so on as well. There's always a bunch of nutcases in any group who spoil the image of the saner majority. I once knew a Muslim girl who was excellent at math, and she helped me get a B on a project (only B I've ever gotten in math, ever) that I was having trouble with. She was very sweet and intelligent, and I liked her.

He's also not that big on gay folks, except Rob Halford from Judas Priest. He labors under that ancient, idiotic delusion that all gay folks are raving AIDS-carrying lunatics.

It is out of his hatred for the world that I try to love everybody I meet. I don't think we should hate anybody or discriminate based solely on skin color, belief system, sexual preference, or whatever. Jesus repeatedly said that one who loves his neighbor loves God. Meher Baba said similar things. Buddha said it, too. And I'm sure Mohammed and all the other prophets of other religions had something to say about it, too.

At the core of every religion is the unconditional love of God and the unconditional love for and of your fellow humans. I only wish people would realize this! That's our common, universal note--love. Compassion. Kindheartedness. Friendship. We shouldn't unite in hatred against others; we should unite in love with everybody we can, and we should teach others this same thing.

And I wonder what happens to the people like Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, who hate so hard on their neighbors and still pretend to love God! God loves them, too, but I'm sure God's quite sad that everybody has twisted the message of unconditional love into one of conditional, connotated love--hatred, that masquerades as love, is truly the deepest, most vile kind of hatred that exists.

It's my mission in life, not to make lots of money and live in a nice house with a husband, two kids, and an S-moo-V, but to awaken people. People go through life on autopilot these days, completely oblivious to their loving hearts and the need for love throughout the world. I want to shake them out of it any way I can. I want to help them to see, to learn, to do.

I entered a contest for third/fourth/fifth row tickets at a Who concert. I've probably got a snowball's chance in hell of winning, or perhaps a better chance of being mysteriously warped back to Woodstock, but I figure it's worth a shot, isn't it?

Something to be said for persistence, I guess.

I watched the Who on David Letterman last night. I don't like David Letterman at all and I felt like hurling the remote through the screen during the show. He gave about 10 minutes (maybe less) to Whatshisname and Anne Heche, but there was only two minutes of singing for the Who--not even an extra 30 seconds to pimp their album or anything. What the hell? No time to spare for rock n' roll LEGENDS? No fair!

But the song they sang was lovely, and they looked awesome. ♥ Much love for them, no matter how short a time they had.

I'm going to Dad's tomorrow. Dad and Karen have temporarily moved in next door--Dad couldn't stand living in the hotel, so he asked Brian if he could borrow the house for awhile. They're gonna start rewiring the house next week. I wonder if they're going to repaint? If they do repaint, I'd like to do my room in a green, yellow, and brown color scheme. I love earth tones. The steel-gray-and-lighthouses that my brother had before just wasn't doing it for me. I don't plan on spending much time there after I get my GED--after that, I'm frickin' OUTTA HERE, exploring!--but it would be nice to crash there occasionally on return trips.

Monday is the day I go back to see if I have to take any review classes before the test itself. And after the test, I get the damn diploma. Once I get it, I'm not stickin' around. I might go visit my brother in the mountains (or, at least, use that as an ulterior motive for hiking around the mountains until this time next year). Or maybe I'll go to my beloved, sweet Myrtle Beach and spend some time on the ocean. Or maybe I'll bounce all around the country by backroad and see everything I can! I'll just have to ask Mum to buy me a small tent, some wintry clothes, and a good pair of hiking boots. (I love my sandals, but I don't think hiking through the winter would really call for sandals.)

So many plans to make, such a short life!

I honestly do not know what possessed me to go to Chuckie Cheese's with everyone else. I managed to tune out all of the screaming children around me and got the most tickets I've ever gotten from the games before (176--I'm so lame). It got me a small can of Play-Doh, and it made me happy. I love Play-Doh. :3

Called Dad. It turns out he and Karen have moved in next door--in Brian's house. I could move back with them if I felt like, but I think I'd only add to the stress level, so I'll stay out of the way over here, no matter how much I dislike the people here (except Mom and Gram). OH OH and Dad said he'd give the Columbus show a shot. BITCHIN'. *does a jig* That'd be all the Christmas present I need for the next ten years. :D

He said they threw most of our stuff away. I wonder what they ended up taking off to clean? I wonder if my computer's okay, with my fantastic LJ icon collection, fabulous Beatle-photo collection, and buddingly-fabulous Who-photo collection? I miss paging through all of those icons. And I miss lying down in my own bed to watch TV. Everything's out of the room now except for a mattress, two empty guitar cases, and a bunch of plastic hangers. I hope our records are okay, too. I bet I'd have a bitch of a time trying to find all of those records Dad had in those crates.

I know it's only stuff, and I'm actually kinda glad most of it is gone. Most of it, I wanted to get rid of. But a few things--the records, the player, the videotapes Dad spent hours recording--have so much sentimental value, and I miss them very much.

*passes out in a heap*

Busy day today.

First, I had a triple-chocolate muffin that Mom baked herself. :D That was good--it got me energized, and I needed it after only three hours of sleep. Then we headed to Grandma's and picked her up, then off we went to FTCC. I finished the 35-minute test in 15 minutes and the only answer I wasn't 100% certain of was "What is 3.5% of 200?" Mom said I got it right, though. Hooray for lucky guessing! (Seriously. I just checked the first answer the pencil landed next to and Mom said I got it right. Bitchin'!) As I walked out, some guy complimented by shirt. :D (The Dark Side of the Moon shirt that's lately become one of my favorites.)

They said that I could come over next week to see my test results, and that I probably wouldn't have to take any preparation classes for the Big GED Test Thing.

While we were over at FTCC, we wandered around the rose garden. Even though it's a bit late in the season for roses, there were still a lot of really pretty ones on the bushes.

We ate at Olive Garden for lunch. I had some alfredo stuff and filled up on breadsticks, too (GOD, I LOVE THEIR BREAD... what?) The waitress reminded me of Romana from Doctor Who. O___o I even half-heartedly looked around for a curly-haired man with a long scarf waiting in the wings of the restaurant. I'm such a goddamn nerd sometimes, I swear. Also at the Olive Garden: A Bug covered with Grateful Dead and Beatles stickers. :D

Then, off to Dad's house. The cleaner-people were there, and they've taken away most of the stuff in the house, either to be cleaned or disposed of. We picked up my clothes, most of my posters (except the Abbey Road one--it was too high for me to reach without standing on a chair), and some toys I forgot Josh still had! Seriously. I thought he'd gotten rid of Kirby the Koala long ago. But he still has 'em all. :DDDDD Huzzah! I loved Josh's stuffed animals just as much as I loved my own. ♥ Kirby's in the wash right now. I remember we went to Florida one time, and Josh accidentally left Kirby in Georgia at a hotel. He made us backtrack to get Kirby back. XD It was funny.

I'm immensely tired now. Mom couldn't help me (her asthma acted up while she was inside for a moment), and Gram is Gram--she's old, not as strong as she used to be. But she did help me a little bit. She picked up some old, kinda sooty but still very fluffy pillows and orphaned towels that we decided to give to the no-kill animal shelter (they're always looking for donations of supplies). We managed to get all but one bag inside, and I left a note that told the cleaners I was planning on keeping that bag, we just didn't have room in Gram's Camry. The rest, though, they could toss.

What a workout!

*passes out*

*deep breath*

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

*pants heavily*

There's a Who concert in Columbus, Ohio! YAAAAAAAAAY!

Now, this is a bit further than even New Jersey. So why am I so excited?

Because that's where my uncle lives, and that would mean free accomodation. I bet Dad could swindle him into it somehow. Johnny's a pretty big Who fan, too. I bet he'd drive me there, or at least drop me off in Columbus a few hours before the show so I could find my way there.

My heart is just SOARING now. I've got a fighting chance at seeing them now! D'ya think it's a sign?

I can barely type coherently, I'm so excited. Yes, it's December 11--months from now--but still! I can't wait! I'll have to tell Dad tomorrow when I see him (we're dropping by the house, and he might be cleanin').

SQUEEEEEEEEE!

*dances in circles and squees self hoarse*

Squee! It says the Who are gonna be on Letterman on Thursday. *jig* I don't like Letterman, but it's the WHO.

It looks as though that's the closest I'm gonna get to seein' 'em live this year. *sulks* Unless I finish that stupid GED thing within the next few weeks. (I only needed one course--English IV.) Mom said she'd pay for a trip anywhere I felt like when I graduated. And my current hope is to get a ticket to see the boys. And if I can't see Pete, Rog, 'n the rest, I'll go to Myrtle Beach and watch the ocean for awhile, and that'll make me feel better for missing it.

My new song obsession is Love Reign O'er Me. Holy crap, what a fantastic song. I've never even SEEN Quadrophenia, and it still makes me feel like riding a Vespa in the pissing rain along to the beach, angry at the world... he's a magic man, that Pete Townshend, and his magic is exercised through song.

*shrieks* Who. David Letterman. Thursday.

I'm going to the hotel just for that. (Mom doesn't get NBC, CBS, etc., on the satellite. I don't know why.)

Because you all know how miffed I am that I probably won't get to go, and that'll probably be the closest I get to seeing them. Unless I put my headphones on and turn up Live at Woodstock really loud. *sulks*

Mom and I are going to FTCC either tomorrow or Tuesday to see about that GED thingo. Jesus. Finally. She said she'd give me rides if I needed them (she knows how much driving freaks me out and she doesn't force me into doing it). Bitchin'.

Now all that's left is to figure out where I'd like my ticket for when I get through with it. (Mom said she'd pay for a trip anywhere I felt like going when I graduated.) I only really needed to finish one credit (English IV) to graduate. I hope I get done with the stupid program really quickly. At least, before the Who leave the US. Maybe then I'll have a slight chance of seeing them, or at the very least, being in the same city and lurking around behind the arena/auditorium/whatever.

And if I don't get around to that--I kind of doubt I will, because the universe seems to be against me when it comes to that kinda thing--I'll just go to the Smokies. Maybe Gatlinburg. I love Gatlinburg, although I've only been there once for a few days (Mom had her wedding there), and ever since, I've always wanted to go back and stay longer.

I dunno, though. I guess we'll see if I test out of that GED thing (Grandma called them up awhile ago and they said they had a 25-minute test to see if you actually needed to go through all of the coursework or not). She said it was pretty basic stuff, too--like simple math, grammar, and basic science. I'm pretty sure I'd be able to get out of it--long as they don't put any calculus or shit on that test.

So who needs sleep, anyway?

I've been coming up with more silly spells and effects for that goofy little story I'm writing as a favor for myself.

My favorite so far is Keith Moon Psycho Destruction Fireworks. Which is... just what it sounds like, really. Keith Moon was just thrown in there because Luna Nesmith is a musically-themed magic-user; all of the spells somehow derive from songs. Like "Black Sabbath" produces an area of darkness, "Hier Kommt die Sonne" illuminates it, "Little Wing" gives her wings, "Two of Us" creates a duplicate, and so on. Basically, I'm not sharing the story with anybody else. It's just my own big stupid joke. XD Nobody else'd get it, I suppose.

I notice, strangely, that whenever I see the Who or the Beatles or Woodstock or anything associated with that era on the TV, my heart pounds like it's never done before. I hear that's what love is like; I wonder. It pounds, and my face gets red, and my happiness just soars like never before. It's the most tragically-doomed of all love stories--in love with an era, longing to return to a past that I was never part of. Makes Romeo and Juliet look like Dick and Jane.

In other news, I'm tired of using this laptop. D: The little mousey-pad-thingy is making my finger hot. Which sounds dirty, in an odd kinda way.

One of the unsung great guitarists, I think, is Criss Oliva from Savatage. Hell, Savatage itself is a great unsung band. Great guitar, great songs, great singer. They need more attention. X3

It's rather strange, I've noticed--the more time I spend around this happy, cheerful, talks-to-each-other-on-a-regular-basis Cleaver-style family, the bitchier and more sarcastic I become.
But the longer I spend around Dad and Karen, Smartasses Supreme, the cheerier and more hopeful I become.

I wonder what the hell that's all about. I wonder if there's any way I can somehow mix it together and be, all at once, a hopeful sarcastic cheerful bitch. I wonder if that made any sense at all. Anyway, you'd think it'd be the opposite--you'd think I'd be happy around the happy ones and pissy around the pissy ones. I don't know why this is.

I think part of my problem is that, after a year of only visiting here sporadically, I've become used to bitchery and sarcasm, and it gives me a chance to build up my love and hope for the world. It lets me know that every time I manage to make Dad smile or grin or laugh, I can do the same for other such people in the world. But here, at Mom's, everybody's happy all the time. There's no challenge at all. I enjoy being challenged by Dad's and Karen's hardened hearts. It's practice, if you will. Sure, the conversations and discussions aren't the most philosophical and intellectual, but we still talk about fairly deep matters over there.

Nothing here is really that intellectually stimulating. Everything must be kept on the level for ten-year-olds. No matter how hard I try to strike up interesting conversations and discussions about philosophy, spirituality, and things of that sort, I'm always met with "BUT WHAT ABOUT THE CHILDREN?" Perhaps I'm only good at melting the hardened hearts of bitchy adults who think in terms of adulthood, instead of everything centering around children. This could be a whole new challenge, I suppose, but every time I try, I end up wanting to tear my hair out. Either they're too dim to get a subtle segue into philosophical discussion or they're too occupied with the CHYULDRUN.

And since there's not much challenging me here, I think that's why I'm so bored these days. Nothing challenges me, and because nothing does, I get bored and spend twelve hours per day sleeping on the couch in front of the television.

God bless Mom for being such a nice person, really, but she isn't that great for stimulating conversation these days. Maybe I'll hit her up for a ride to that damn GED thing, get it, and go on that trip (she said she'd spring for a ticket anywhere I wanted as soon as I graduated).
I think I'll phone up Dad tomorrow and ask if I can come over to the hotel for awhile.
As weird as it sounds, I kind of miss his bitching and I miss Karen's nonstop stupid prattling about office gossip. It's weird. Before the fire, I couldn't wait to just run up to Eckerd so I wouldn't have to deal with it.

Grass is always greener, I suppose.

It's also too LOUD here. Everybody's always talking. About nothing that interests me. Perhaps I feel strangely left out; I feel more intelligent than the CHYULDRUN, and I simply refuse to dumb myself down in order to speak to them. I'm not so desperate for conversation that I want to hear them talk about what they did at school or "UM UM UM UM UM".

Sometimes I suspect that I might be crazy, and babbling entries like this only further my suspicion.

I'm watching the UK Music Hall of Fame thing again and I've just about slayed myself squeeing. I've been watching it for about three minutes. It's on Jimi Hendrix now. I love Jimi very much, and Slash amuses me. (I'm not the world's hugest GNR fan--I like GNR--but he amuses me to no end.) This came out last year and I was kinda whacked out on Percocet when I first watched it. Now I'm watching it with a more-or-less clear head, and I'm just stunned. Wow. The Hendrix clips are just blowing me away. I wish he were still here.

The Who clip--I just saw a few seconds of an "upcoming!" bit for the rest of the show--just about made me shriek. I'm a crazy fangirl, no kidding... *sweatdrop*

And there was a short commercial with pictures of George Harrison and "All Things Must Pass". It almost made me cry.

I thought of a bunch of cool effects that could be used on the staff from my dream, but unfortunately, I can't come up with a cool story for it without it sounding like a carbon copy of the Runaways series. Bah! But still, it'd be a pretty bitchin' thing to have magic spells patterned after fantastic songs. I've got a very long list of effects I've come up with from most of the bands I love. Black Sabbath would cloud an area with darkness; Little Wing would give one the ability to fly; Two of Us would duplicate you; Across the Universe would teleport you; Hier Kommt die Sonne would illuminate a room; Won't Get Fooled Again would dispel glamours and disguises; Iron Man would give you armor; Sweet Leaf would grow you some vines; Fight the Power would give you superstrength; A Quick One would give you superspeed; Enter Sandman would put people to sleep... and so on. There are about two more pages' worth of that.

Good God, I've got too much time on my hands. I should take longer hikes.

Awhile ago, I read a batshit essay about how superheroines in comic books should bear children. Only recently, after my rekindled obsession with superheroes and comic books, have I been able to babble out a semicoherent response.

Can you think of how fucked a superhero's kid would be? There are lots of canon examples of superheroines who have kids that wind up pretty screwy. How many kids do Cyclops and Jean Grey have now, and how many of them are evil in an alternate timeline? Being superheroes, I don't think they'd have a lot of time to devote to their kids. Because, quite often, the most complex matters are reduced to black and white terms in comic books, the superheroes in question would have two choices: either let evil take over the world or keep an eye on the kid. Yeah, they could hire a nanny or something, but can you imagine the screening process they'd have to go through?

And never mind the superheroes never having time to spend with their kids--could you imagine how often the kid would get brainwashed, kidnapped, serve as a human shield, or become cannon fodder? How many times has that happened to Jimmy Olsen (Superman's adopted son at one point)?

Let's say that the kid had superpowers of its own. Okay. He can defend himself from supervillains. How long until the book focuses solely on the superchild instead of his parents? It would be kind of understandable if the heroes retired--didn't the Green Arrow do that at one point and let his son take over?--but in the case of, say, Superman, he isn't retiring anytime soon. Superman will not retire until the literal, physical planet has crumbled to dust.

Sometimes the superhero-with-kids thing can work, but most of the time, the kid is fucked if he's born to superheroes. Either they're not getting much attention, or they're kidnapped every other week.

I had a dream that an insane arsonist kept trying to kill me, and the police wouldn't listen. Three random bystanders helped me out, though. One was a pudgy guy with brown hair and John Lennon glasses; one was a cute goth girl named Mona; one was a skinny Middle Eastern guy with red eyes and superpowers. Bitchin'.

I also remember that we snuck into The Covenant while it was playing and sought advice from a wizard on how to beat the arsonist, who seemed hellbent on frying me alive one way or another. Perhaps related to fire paranoia? Who knows?

Anyway, I liked the three bodyguards. They were nice. ♥

Also: I'm addicted to solitaire. @_@

Got back from Grandma's just now. :3

Thursday--we went to the HealthPlex and worked out.

Friday--FUN :D We got up and did nothing until about 1, whereupon we went to the Airborne and Special Operations Museum. Gram volunteers there Friday afternoons. I wandered around downtown for a couple of hours. It was kinda nice. This cute Latino boy kept hanging around our table while we were at dinner and teased the other waiters for our amusement. I felt flattered; it was an ego boost I needed, 'cos I've been feeling down the past week or so. There was also this really cute, fuzzy kitty outside an antique shop. I sat down on the sidewalk and played with her (I have a long yarn braid dangling from my backpack and she liked it). It was a gorgeous cat; silvery, with calico-ish markings.The rest of Friday was spent watching Doctor Who and Highlander. XP

Today--Busy busy busy. Got up early for my kayaking class, which was fun--we got the instructional part done in about half an hour, then paddled around for the next two and a half hours. It was very relaxing, and I got some good thinking done. I also picked up some water lilies and played with them. Some nice old guy chatted with me about water sports; he was a white-water rafter, along with his wife (who was in the class, too). He said I was a nice girl and wondered why I didn't have more friends. More ego-boosting. Which was good. :DThen we went to Jersey Mike's and Gram and I did mock the menu-person heartily for writing it "Hungery Mike". The lady at the counter said we were the second people to catch that. Then she blamed it on Seventy-First education. Roffles~

ALSO!

It turns out that Lynyrd Skynyrd is coming over to the Cumberland County Fair. Bitchin'. Maybe I can go see them, since my chances of seeing the Who seem about equal to a snowball surviving in hell. They looked better, but I don't wanna ask Dad for all that money now that it'll go toward repairing the house. It sucks, but I guess I'll just have to listen to my CDs instead. It's more important that the house is restored to its former glory than going to see the boys, isn't it?

On the bright side, that's what the Internet is for, and if I turn the sound up loud enough, it'll SOUND live. There's always a bright side. :3