...

I honestly do not know what to write about today. I intended to write something funny or witty but there is just nothing really particularly funny to write about. And, I really doubt you want to hear about the HIV/AIDS assembly we had in first period. I think so, only because it was just so ridiculous. 


So, of course, I am going to tell you any way. 
   
In the state of Washington, this stupid law says that in high school, every year you have to learn about sexually transmitted diseases (or STIs as they call them now).  So, once a year, every year I have to sit through an assembly that is so pointless and ridiculous that I might as well die. I won't die, and when I say every year, I mean freshman health, sophomore, jun, sen. I almost feel bad for the speaker....


Mariah Stork and I were sitting next to each other in the PAC (performing arts center) up in the upper levels marveling at the wonders of how to prevent HIV/AIDS and pregnancy and various other infection, diseases whatever. Ms/Mrs. Knott (not joking) the Church Creek Campus/Lincoln Hill High School nurse was the speaker for this lovely entertainment. She was doing her best, but kept stuttering and pronouncing things wrong and misreading things. Comedy gold. I decided to further our entertainment with a running commentary. Beautiful right? The assembly just went on and on and on. There really isn't much to say about my commentary. It wasn't very funny really. 
     Unlike the mental running commentary I had going when dad was lecturing us older girls because the little girls had run off. 
Dad: "What am I supposed to do now?"
Me: *inwardly* Give us shot guns and handguns and hope for the best! 
I thought it was funny. And, I don't really care if you don't. At the beginning when Dad first started talking I was pretending to be ballet-ing around  the room. It was quite entertaining. I can't remember half of what he said. Which is great, because if I did, I probably would have a head full of mush instead of a brain.

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!

I'M THIS AWESOME.

OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!

I DID IT! IT'S POSSIBLE YESSSSSSSSSSSS! YES! YES! 
Okay long story short: I want to get into a really nice floral school and might be able to do running start and ahhhhhhh!!!!!!! I just need to talk to my principal and yes!!!!!!!!!! NNNNNnnnnnnNNN!!! I might be able to have a Certified Advanced Floral Degree when I'm just eighteen. KICK ASS RIGHT!? And then be a wedding specialist when I'm nineteen. AHHHH!!! THIS IS GREAT! Obviously I am crazy excited. I am going to meet Mr. Milnes my career advisor whateveryou'resupposedtocallit tomorrow and discuss this and KICK SOME ASS and get back to FDI and feel AWESOME. Because they're all for it. It just depends if the program is for it y'know? No, me neither. Anyways, who cares what other people say, they can 
Shut up, because I'm talking now. 

Josh's post on Perspectives: Fight

Josh got me thinking, about all the really bad stuff I've dealt with. Okay not just some "really bad stuff" some real nasty shit. And when I say that I mean it. It wasn't fun, and as Josh said in his post, it's like a big haze, nothing feels real. Well, he doesn't say that but that's what it was like for me. It was just this maze, a confusing ball of feelings and a sickness kind of. A medicine induced sickness. Now, I mean it when I say medicine induced, I explained the whole story to my neurologist and he confirmed my worst fears. 


  For the longest time, I used to hurt myself, I called myself names, and just gave up on life, I had no hope. None at all. It was horrible, like drowning, no matter how hard you try you can't get it. It's like the worst kind of drowning. The kind of drowning where you're trapped inside a car. Hurting yourself, physically, is like a car crash,  the same kind of car crash as drug abuse. It's terrifyingly addictive. I would know. I used to, I bear scars on my right wrist from it. There's a mantra that people who are like me, people I used to be like have: 
      Across the street not down the road. 
Across the street. Across the wrist. Safe cutting. Well, no it's not safe at all, you can mess up using a shaving razor and I did and it was terrifying. 
Down the road. Suicidal cutting. Down the road references the pathway of your veins. On my wrist you can see a little bump from the scar tissue. I could never forget it if I tried. Hurting yourself wears you out mentally, you sleep like a baby afterwards and it's a horrible thing. It takes a lot out of person, to actually bring yourself to take a razor to your skin and dig it inside of your body. It's gruesome and horrible and thank whoever your god is for not having to witness it.  
   And, for those of you reading this who hurt yourselves, I know that you're hurting, but think of the people who are close to you. I almost lost my best friend from those two springs that I was hurting myself. It's really quite an unattractive sight. I got lucky. For having such wonderful friends n junk. I know goopy silly romantic blah blah dribble dribble arse bull. But, they're pretty cool people and erm, yeah. Luckily for me, all of that haze, the depression was medicine induced. Spring is my growing period. And with some medications when your hormones get all wacky because of a growth spurt side effects from medications show up. Mine? I got depression. And hopelessness. Looking back, I didn't actually want to kill myself. It just seemed like an answer to stop all that. Luckily, my doctor noticed when we told him everything and he said what I was fearing: my medication was messing with my head. Making me reckless and compulsive and messing with my moods. 

I'm switching meds now which is good... I guess. Who cares? Well... I probably should more than I do. 
Well... 
      Shut up I'm talking.

My blog audience.

Well, hm. According to the stats thingy on my blogger dashboard people in Russia have been reading my posts. I guess I'll have to start using the conversion dealio. Fun right? Sorta. I'm learning Russian actually. Which is going to be awesome when I master the language and talk to my children in Russian and have them learn English as a second language. Well, pick up some Russian while they're little and then still be able to speak English around relatives. Pretty neat. Although for the English part my dad would understand them because it was my dad who got me interested in learning Russian. I know систер (sestra) and most numbers один два трее четырех пять шесть семь восемь девять дыесят (one two three four five six seven eight nine ten or a-deen dva tree che-tireh pyat shest syem vosem devyat desyat) SO now I am going to copy and paste this and turn it into Russian and decipher it, copy and paste the whole thing and practice. Sweet. 


Руссиан:
Хорошо, хм согласно статистика всего в моем Blogger приборной панели людей в России было чтение моей должности. Я думаю, что мне придется начать использовать dealio конверсии. Развлечения право? Не. I' m обучения российской действительности. который будет иметь колоссальные тогда, когда я овладеть языком и говорить на моих детей на русском языке и их изучения английского языка как второго языка. Хорошо, типа "пикап" некоторых российских хотя они уже мало, а затем еще будет возможность выступить английский вокруг родственников. Довольно вол.

Я надеюсь, что вам понравилось мое английского на русский язык.Спасибо за чтение.      

All alone. On my own.

Well, today-as the title says-I'm all alone on my own. It's a weird feeling. Just writing about it is giving me goosebumps. Needless to say, it's always weird to be on your own in a house even if you've lived there for years. It's just a creepy feeling. You over-react to everything even if it turns out to be nothing. I know this, because it happened to me earlier. After my mom and sisters first left, I was just hanging out and then I SWEAR TO JESUS'S FLYING UNICYCLE SOMEONE WAS AT THE DOOR. I checked at least four times. It was most likely just the baby chicks pecking at the bottom of their cage but who cares it was scary as FUCK. So, I'm home by myself, and everybody's out doing shit. But, oh well, this is how it usually is anyways. I said there never would be any room in Kecia's car ever, and it keeps proving itself again and again. The thing with Kecia and her car and shit is that every weekend Spencer, and Ann and all them go out with Kecia and I told Spencer there would never be any room in her car for me to go with them places. He said that it wasn't true. I went once. And so far, that's been it. Yeah yeah yeah I feel left out whatever. Yada yada yada. I mean really? I don't care too much. I miss Spencer and really, that's about all that happens. Sure, feeling left out sucks, but, there's Paige. And Paige is more fun to hang out with anyways. We were talking earlier about her coming over and us writing a play about sex where the only costume was nudity. She's busy this afternoon, but there's always the rest of this week. It's... Thursday. And, school doesn't start again until Monday. That's a couple of days. And, I could always start writing the script and have Paige come over when she isn't busy and we'll put on fake mustaches and accents and finish the script. See, I think good ideas. We might even wear monocles. Because, we are geniuses and geniuses are we. If that's something a genius would say... Oh well! Who cares? I certainly don't. I mean... Me? A real genius? Hahahahah try certifiably insane. And you're more on the right track. I mean, honestly. I don't really care too much for school. I could be doing bigger and better things than reading about the Holocaust and memorizing triangles and all the shit we've been learning about. I could be out learning about floral design instead of memorizing plant names. I mean, come on there's more to the work world than what the school's think we need to know. There's a lot that they teach us that is absolutely un-neccessary  to what we actually need to know. School is shit. That's final. I don't need to know about the square root of pi to be a florist. It's not applicable to what I will be doing. Shapes and junk yeah definitely. But I don't really need to know any math beyond algebra uno. And, once again I am RAMBLING!!! WOOH! THANK YOU! 


     Well, just as I said last time.... It is a matter of life or death. Wait... That's not really what I said. Ah yes, it was...
Shut up I'm talking.