not labeled for individual retail sale

13.12.05

...

i < 3 my boyfriend.

6.12.05

i hate it when people lie to me

It's really cold out and Amber wouldn't let me go upstairs to get my comforter. Nor would she let me brush my teeth. I literally froze to death during the night; our radiator wasn't turned on because we don't control it. I really have no idea why I still acquiese to go to this school. I don't get the whole point of this blog, either. It's a far cry from asking for the help of utter strangers online, but is it really? Do I really hope that if I whine and cry and spill forth a frothing of poetic nonsense enough some kind-hearted physicist would post a comment that reads, "Hey dear, it's perfectly okay if you stay over at my house since you can't stand your home, and you can't stand your school either. I don't need to question you because I know there are some things you can't explain, ever. I understand that all people make some mistakes, and you made a very big one. I forgive you."? Do I really hope the dean of admissions of MIT would somehow stumble upon this site and read the actual reasons behind my seemingly mediocre transcript and let me in anyway? Do I really hope that someone could vouch for my existence, making sure that I'm not a reject from a factory assembly line, that I'm not damaged material but material that's been damaged, a thread spun from pure air, which isn't so pure anyway. It's not like I'm asking for pity here. I'm only asking if anyone else in the whole world is sane, and if they are, where are they hiding?

I went upstairs and heard a stream of conversations. None of them were interesting. I seem to have lost how an tight, hacking community felt, or how an aloof, crazy, bubble-wrapesque mathematicial community felt. I've forgotten, in the short few months stay at this hell. There used to be so much caring. So much you could even taste it, it was a part of the atmsophere, I swear it was, I swear I saw it and I'm not just making some shit up, it wasn't just idealistic, it was real, it was real because I saw it once, or maybe twice, or maybe negative eight times; I don't know, this school has really fucked up my memory. Some girl with thick braids stooped down to someone's face to teach her QCD despite already running late to the funeral of her mother. A young boy wearing a turquoise shirt was pouring water back into the drinking fountain. People refused to talk about shoemakers unless they were one.

I felt so cared for. I don't care if they were mostly ethereal, I don't care if my real friends these days hug me at night or offer their food or blanket or love. I don't want to be offered smiles. I want to be offered intellectual security.

I'm getting sick and tired of people telling me things will get better. Shut the fuck up! No, they won't! That is an amazingly immature tendency that 90% of humans seem to shackle onto. I don't want to be told lies. I want someone to look me in the face and tell me what I should do, instead of blindly dwelling on the current quite unchangeable situation. The problem is, when I express clearly what I want, people see that as permission to try and change who I am. I don't fucking want to be changed, you jackass, I want you to give me some sound advice! And you know what's sad? Most of that sound advice isn't worth jack, because they're trite, overrated, or said by people who haven't even experienced what they're saying. They're said by so-called adults and psychologists and invited dinner guests and in-laws and cashiers and famous mathematicians and cats and hobos and your mom. They're always uttered by people who tell you that they're right and you're wrong, and that you should be more open-minded and accept older people's word simply because they're older, and that you shouldn't always assume that you're right. They're always the misunderstood do-gooders who are never appreciated and frequently stomped upon, and I am the troubled (stereotype here) that can be remedied with a dash of cliché comforts. After all, it worked on everyone else, right? I fit in a box labeled Everyone Else. The Greeks also managed to square a circle. And every time I try to tell them that this doesn't really help me, people start saying how conceited I am and how I always think I'm different from everyone. I don't know why no one ever sees the contradiction in that sentence, but I guess many mathematical truths were proved through contradiction, so I should take your word for what it is because you're right and I'm wrong, and I don't even know if you ever even listen to me because I'm only a 14-year-old girl, and automatically I must be naïve, inexperienced, f'ugly, and insensitive.