If I had to make a resume right now, the things I would put on it are as follows (This being said, I've never made a resume in my life and am completely ignorant about its format as well as its content):
1. Good at cuddling
2. Cries a lot
3. Can drive with left foot (or right foot or both feet)
4. Can change while driving (and not crash)
5. Is crying something one can be good at?
6. Good at crying
7. ?????????
8. Sometimes makes good jokes
9. Gets too emotionally attached
10. Doesn't sleep (but then sleeps a lot (???????))
11. Procrastinating is a skill, okay?
12. Racking sobs.
13. Oreos
14. ....................
15. Still not dead. (Survival of the fittest????)
I really like the question "If you could be any animal, what animal would you be?" I just don't like it when it's directed at me. (Hypocrisy levels are on the rise; stick with me.) Now I feel terrible for ever asking it to anyone else now that I've just thought about answering it. When I couldn't decide on an animal, I broadened the category: if I could be anything else, what would I be? Nothing. I would be nothing. Or maybe a speck of dust. I'll be under my desk if anyone needs me.
I'm supposed to be happy because I'm a second-semester senior and it's spring at GMVS, but the only times I'm enjoying myself are when I'm not on campus. And it's not that I don't love the people (because I do love some of the people). I miss Natalie and I want to catch up with Ellie and Eklutna and get coffee with Liezl and I want to laugh until my stomach hurts with Christine. But all the time on campus, I feel like I'm wearing some kind of mask. I want to be normal; I want to not feel pressured to act a certain way. I want to be who I was last year: completely engrossed and unashamed by my adoration of everything. I want so badly to be that girl and I feel like if I show anyone that I'm not her anymore, they'll disown me. But I'm currently slowly eating a donut and wishing that everything would stop. There's all of this static in my brain and everything I write feels like it's been written by somebody else.
I want to throw something but also lie on the floor and turn into dust. I just want to know if this is how everyone else feels.
*whispers* I don't have a source. I'm so sorry
I've always said that the reason I didn't like Martha on Doctor Who was because she was so desperate, always chasing after the Doctor romantically. I never thought she was inferior until she made me think she was so; it's not weak the way she has feelings for the Doctor. The weak part is that she was looking for his approval, that's the only thing she's looking for; her intentions are not pure and she searches only for the Doctor's affection as a route to happiness. Sure, she's excited by time travel (literally everyone is), but once they've settled into the time period, her greatest pleasure comes from impressing the Doctor. Eventually, towards the end of her story arc, she saves the Doctor, something only she can accomplish. She spends less time trying to earn his approval, she has more time and mental capacity to use on actually saving the world. Without him she is stronger. She's not like Rose, who feeds off of the Doctor's intelligence and capabilities; Rose and the Doctor make each other better but the way Martha's invested in making the Doctor better, ends up making her weaker. The Doctor and Rose were symbiotic; the Doctor was Martha's parasite.
Martha has a drive to use her intellect, arguably her strongest trait, to get the Doctor's attention, making her look like a fool. It doesn't work because the Doctor's intellect is a cereal bowl and Martha's intellect is a Cheerio. (That's not meant offensively, because Martha is extremely intelligent and a really good doctor and a great person, but the Doctor is 1500 years old with wisdom, knowledge, and intelligence that can only be gained by an Time Lord of such an age.) Rose wowed the Doctor with her kindness and bravery and helped him become enraptured by the vastness of the universe again (which every companion of his arguably does). Eventually Martha realizes that the Doctor isn't the end-all-be-all and that although her intellect is on a smaller scale than the Doctor's, it's still important; she has value, even if it's not on a cosmic level. She also realizes that her humanity dwarfs the Doctor's.
The way to the Doctor's heart isn't with intelligence or wit or cleverness. It's with humanity. (I mean, being intelligent isn't bad with the Doctor; he's just looking for someone to be that other part of him because he's already intelligent enough. It's like he's missing a limb; that limb is humanity and it can only be implemented by a companion.)
It's not the Doctor's fault that he makes people feel inferior; he's so blinded by his pain and sadness and drive to save as many people as possible. It's just that he's on a million different missions at once and while he helps people all of the time, he needs someone to help him. To help all of the universe, the Doctor needs a crutch. Rose sort of completed him: a pure companion, someone perfect for the job. But when Martha came along, she obviously wasn't Rose, no matter how much she wanted to be. And it was a drain on her personality to be running around, trying to squirm into the same box that Rose easily slid into. It wouldn't have mattered who the next companion was; she wasn't Rose and the Doctor would always be disappointed to look at her face and not see Rose. All he saw was how he let Rose down (AKA stranded her in another dimension). What I mean when I say that I don't like Martha, was that instead of being herself, she tried to be whatever the Doctor wanted, which she thought was the host to his parasite, sacrificing herself in hopes of gaining his love. And the Doctor let her.
Perhaps it's not Martha that I didn't like; it's the Doctor's relationship with her. I didn't like it until Martha told him she was getting out, until she realized the toxicity of their relationship, made up of her hurt and his disappointment, and decided that it had gone on long enough. That's why I like Martha.
Analyzing fictional relationships between fictional characters makes me feel better.
OF COURSE I'M NOT OKAY. HOW COULD YOU EVEN ASK AT A TIME LIKE THIS?
Juice. Juice. Juice.
Wait. What's this? What's that?
Parental unit! Are you seeing the what's-this-what's-that?
Parental unit! Help! Help parental unit!
Okay. I have your hand; it's all okay now.
"I have pretended to go mad in order to tell you the things I need to. I call it art. Because art is the word we give to our feelings made public. And art doesn't worry anyone."
- I Wrote This For You
***
Uh. I don't really know. Just stuff, I guess. Does anyone want to eat ice cream with me?
Psssh. Who needs parents? Without parents I can watch movies as late as I like. I can eat cereal at 11:30. I can pace throughout the entire house. I can pace and eat cereal at the same time. (Oh yeah. I finally got milk. I think I need some sort of adult badge that says: I went to the store and got milk all by myself.) I can dance around in my underwear to music from the early to mid-2000s. Was that too much information? Sorry. At least I'm good at dancing. Wait, I'm not a good dancer? Apologies reader. Sources have stated that I am a terrible dancer and that no matter what decade I was born in, I would still be bad at dancing.
A word to the wise. When you're jumping on the couch, be aware that you have a bouncy couch and that the ceiling is hard.
Have you ever felt your heartbeat reverberating throughout your entire body? Because I did for a little bit and my arms felt all heavy. Then I drank some juice and gatorade because I can do what I want because I'm so, like, independent, like, ohmygawd.
Why is it always today? Everyone's like "Oh yeah. I'll do that tomorrow" and I'm just sitting here thinking about how that person just avoiding completing that task for the rest of eternity. Bastards.
Sometimes softball is a drag because we'll do these really pointless drills and I always find it difficult to remain engaged in a dumb exercise that involves a single yellow ball, me, and about 13 other people who, judging by some of their skills, honestly belong in infomercials.
Anyway, where was I? Oh right. No parents. I can turn on every single light in the house and then turn off the ones in the basement because there's definitely something that lives down there and it probably wouldn't enjoy being disturbed by the likes of me. I can make cookies or lay here and scroll through tumblr. I could also pretend to be a writer; I do that sometimes. I could eat ice cream. I SCREAM YOU SCREAM; WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM. I DON'T KNOW IF THAT WAS THE CORRECT PUNCTUATION. I JUST LIKE SEMICOLONS. WHY AM I STILL SCREAMING? okay. that's better.
There's this scene in The Fault in Our Stars where Isaac and Hazel are playing video games and he's explaining to her how Gus always tries to save these school children instead of defeating the imminent threat when the only way to save the children is by defeating the imminent threat. And that sort of reminded me of Richard Cypher (wow. look. Another fictional character.) In the plotline of season two of The Legend of the Seeker, Richard and Kahlan and Zed are all supposed to be finding the Stone of Tears but all they've done is run around in circles and lose a lot of time and I'm sure a lot of people have died from their lack of promptness in finding the Stone; without it beasts are escaping from the underworld and tearing people apart (literally). The reason they're so behind schedule is because everyone is listening to Richard. He has been in charge for too long. I purpose a change in leadership and nominate Kahlan for the role; she's the only one actually questioning Richard's lack of sanity.
Shut up Richard. Kahlan's a better fighter than you.
Ew. Kahlan. Back up. You'll catch his dumb germs.
She's totes gorgeous, wicked smart, and Richard's just like, "I WIELD THE SWORD OF TRUTH. BOW DOWWWWN." Kahlan must be thinking, "Gosh, you're lucky I feel in love with you before you decided to lose your brain. Now did that happen before or after you killed Lord Rahl?" *sigh* Someone put Kahlan in charge please.
ALERT: My house has no bread. What kind of house doesn't have bread? My house, that's what kind. Great joke, Sammi. Thank you, Sammi. You're welcome, Sammi. *Sammi sits in comfortable silence with herself*
Wowza! Just chockfull of things tonight! (This morning? Does it matter? We've reached the point where it no longer matters. It could be next Thursday and I still wouldn't care.)
This thing just made me quite sad. I feel like it's not true. But it still makes me feel wildly inadequate and unworthy. It points out all the ways I've failed to live up to what I've been given: the opportunity of existence. This thing reminds me of all the ways that I'm mediocre and utterly unextraordinary. It makes me feel like some kind of... teenage dirtbag.
'Cause I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby
Yeah, I'm just a teenage dirtbag, baby
Listen to Iron Maiden, baby, with me
Are you ready for another bad poem?
Another off-beat anthem?
Let your teeth sink in
Remember me as I was not as I am
And I said "I'll check in tomorrow if I don't wake up dead,"
I kept wishing she had blonde ambition and she'd let it go to my head
***
My heart is a grenade
You pull the pin and say,
"We're all fighting growing old
We're all fighting growing old
In the hopes
of a few minutes more"
To get, get on St. Peter's list
But you need to lower your standards,
because it's never getting any better than this
SLEEP IS FOR THE WEAK. goodnight. good morning. sleep well. don't sleep. it's of no consequence to me. unless any of you want to eat ice cream together, then that is of so much consequence to me. IF YOU WANNA EAT ICE CREAM WITH ME LET ME KNOW BUT ALSO BRING ICE CREAM BECAUSE MY DAD ONLY BOUGHT BLACK RASPBERRY WHICH DEFINITELY DOESN'T HAVE ENOUGH CHOCOLATE IN IT. h's and k's.
Oh. Wait. I should probably make it clear that I didn't kill my parents. They just aren't home right now. I'm holding down the fort, and doing a fantastic job if i do say so myself. *straightens bowtie and promptly falls asleep*
I sometimes forget that Harwood is an actual place of learning. I just started my fourth season of softball there and the girls I play with have always jokes about their school, "Nope. Can't count that high with my Harwood edumacation." Sarah used to jokingly call me "Privy" when I said something she deemed intelligent. (This isn't really all that pertinent because Sarah would call me "Squirrel" when I was being goofy and uncontrollable. Other times she'd just sigh exasperatedly to signify that she was talking about or to me. Poor Sarah.) Anyway, when I've become so bored that I think my brain is imploding, I generally just go to Harwood. I say hello to the lady who works behind the desk, sign in as a visitor, and write "Everywhere" next to the word "Destination:" on my nametag. The other day I was sitting in Becca's art class and making a bracelet (apologies to the public school system for taking 11 beads and some string) and this girl sitting at the table with us sighed before saying, "Ya know, I think I'm just going to write myself a note and go home."
"Well... what do you mean?" I asked.
Becky was also sitting with us, (I know confusing, Becca and Becky. At least you don't have to play ball with both of them on the same field.) and she said, "Yeah Sam. You just write yourself a note for a doctor's appointment or whatever and forge a signature. It's easy, do it all the time."
At this point, I was pretty much floored. "But... but, like, your parents...?"
The same sighing girl who suggested going home said simply, "Oh. Yeah. No biggie. I just text my dad and he'll be like, 'Okay.'"
I just sort of sat there in awe, quietly sliding beads onto my wire. The last time I was at Harwood, I sat through a chemistry class and made Katie Martin's teacher like me more than her. (Consequently not that hard because I wasn't trying to give the teacher a hard time.) I just get so bored and run out of things to think of without other people's input and at Harwood there is learning but it's really relaxed and it's fun to hang around with my friends, always being a little bit distracting, and make a complete fool of myself because I don't know anyone. I get to run around the halls or slalom between people in the lunchroom; don't forget complimenting random strangers on their t-shirts and shoes.
***
Today I learned that I'm barely mechanically inclined enough to make crescent rolls. (Seriously though, what is up with the packaging? It said to poke a hole along the perforated lines with a spoon but I ended up doing a lot of stabbing (????)). Also, are Eggo waffles with nutella on them an adequate breakfast? I just made cookies (Speaking of this, what do I do with the left over cookie dough? Can I eat it? I feel like I would get salmonella; that would be just my luck. Also, having put an entire stick of butter into a bowl, I'm not as excited to eat it.) I need my mom because the milk is sour and putting on something other than pajama pants and driving a total of five minutes down the road to the gas station to get some more milk is definitely not on my list of abilities.
I hate all of the things that I'm doing, but I can't think of anything else to do, so I'm just continue to drink seltzer and make any kind of food that doesn't require milk. (God, I want cereal.) I was watching How I Met Your Mother, because who doesn't need a new unhealthy obsession, and I looked over at my seltzer and all the bubbles were floating to the top and then popping as they reached the top of the water. Then I thought about how I was glad that bubbles of condensation aren't sentient because they race to the top only to pop and lose their shape, their form, everything that they are, as they join the rest of the molecules in the air. Many of them rush to the top, others seem more hesitant but still hopeful; eventually, they all meet the same fate. Any of their efforts to reach the pinnacle of their existence, to find the highest point, simply lead to their untimely death; it is a race to a euphoric end of existence: simultaneously sad and totally exuberant. I need to stop drinking seltzer.
Why am I relating to a snake? Empathy toward a reptile should not be this easy.
I watched a documentary about The Shining (I won't be sleeping for a week.) and ignoring the one guy ranting about how the footage we saw of the moon landing was faked, it was really interesting, but also really long, and it included all of these clips from movies I haven't seen and some I hadn't even heard of. But before that, I watched Bo Burnham's show called "what," which is what I least regret from the past few days of only shifting when one of body parts became numb or needed to click to tell Netflix that, yes, I am still watching.
Caution: Bo Burnham can be somewhat offensive. (I mean, the poem is called "I Fuck Sluts." I don't really know what you're expecting.)
I started watching The Naked Gun and immediately regretted it because transitioning from conspiracy theories about the The Shining to slapstick humor isn't very smooth. I was thinking about reading Lolita but also about reviewing/discussing Divergent because I started rereading it the other day and Tris was making me so mad and I have no idea how Four was putting up with her. I was just reading and I kept thinking, Calm down Tris. Calm down Tris. Calm the fuck down Tris. You're going overboard right now. You're putting too many emotions on the line right now. Did you really just say that? Ohmygod. You're trying to give me ulcers. Go away Tris. Then I put the book down and Eklutna took it back; I was simultaneously upset that I couldn't go back to it at my leisure and glad that it wasn't there, tempting me into anxiety under the pretense that I'll enjoy the plotline and characters the same way I did last year; I started rereading the book in the hopes that it would keep me up until 3am again. Instead, it was easy to put the book down and when I came back to it, I was drowsy by 11:30.
I don't have homework. I have nothing to procrastinate. What does that even mean? I could write I guess. Oh. I'm writing now. Not about anything. If this has no purpose, if what I'm doing right now has no point, is it even writing? I think a more adequate name for it would be rambling. Or blathering. Maybe I'll come back to this later.
I don't want to change what I'm doing, I just wish I was doing what I'm doing with someone else because my ideas keep bouncing off the walls and hitting me square in the face which, as you can imagine, isn't very pleasant. So, as much as I complain about people being the bane of my existence (directly following the word "moment"), I sort of seem to need them to assure me that my slow descent into madness hasn't become the slippery slope. I also think that I should be rewarded for putting up with my mother calling, on average, about three times a day to make sure I haven't lit the house on fire. She also keeps asking if I'm eating. "I just made some pasta." "There was a thing of mac and cheese." "I'll definitely (not) make some hamburgers." In reality, I'm just devouring songs by the Arctic Monkeys and roast beef.
Ladies and gents, I've found a new catchphrase
Dear Alex Turner,
Can you not with the cheek bones?
Sincerely,
Yeah. That'd be great
It was close, so close that the walls were wet
And she wrote it out in letraset
No, you can't call me her name
Tell me where's your hiding place
I'm worried I'll forget your face
And I've asked everyone
And I'm beginning to think I imagined you all along
I elongated my lift home
Yeah, I let him go the long way 'round
I smelt your scent on the seatbelt
And kept my shortcuts to myself
"If you ever wake up and your voice doesn't sound like your own, the only thing left to do, is scream."
If you're reading this, it probably isn't meant for you. If it's not your birthday, this probably isn't meant for you. If you don't have curly blonde hair and an affinity for your own split ends, this probably isn't for you. If you don't romp around in your matching green-and-gray-striped pajamas, if your favorite animal isn't a three-toed-bear-atee, it doesn't mean you're not special, you're just not my favorite roommate. If you're not Christine (i.e. gorgeous, hilarious, and too smart for me), this just isn't for you.
Now that we have eliminated (more than) the majority of the readers, I can begin. (el oh el.)
My dearest Christine,
I'd like to congratulate you on turning 17 years old. (You are now fit to be a dancing queen.) This, I thought, was the best way to wish you a happy birthday. I'm not very good at birthday videos, which seems to have been the way you wished other people happy birthday during middleschool.
This is quite difficult. I'm just sort of making it up. We had a good start and now I'm sort of floundering.
I just want to tell you that I love you in a million different ways and point out how important you are to me, but trying to do so is making my face all red.
Love, I hope that you're having a good day filled with plenty of frosting, because it's the best part, and lots of hugs, because you're so good at them.
At this point, I would simply like to sing you (read "serenade you with") the song of our people. Perhaps a dramatic reading? Opera-style? The interpretation is up to you.
"I'm on that good kush and alcohol
I got some down bitches I can call
I don't know what I'd do without y'all <---- (this was not what I thought he was saying. ENUNCIATE PLEASE MR. WAYNE)
Imma ball 'til the day I fall"
(I believe this song is called Bitches Love Me by 'Lil Wayne and Drake.)
Moving right along, just call me Keith Horn. I was thinking about 10th grade today and when you asked me if would eat a sandwich that had been sitting in the sun all day, my answer of "It depends what kind of sandwich" was obviously not the correct one. Thank you for being so adamant about my dental hygiene.
Just a reminder: people don't throw rocks at things that shine; people throw rocks at people who throw other rocks at them.
Another reminder, I don't think I'll enjoy living with anyone as much as I love living with you. Okay. This is getting gooey, which is an attribute that should only be attached to chocolate chip cookies.
By the way, I have learned all my parts to this song. Have you? (Oh... the wax.)
While we're here, I might as well just say that you're super cool and you're going to have trouble finding a roommate as good as yourself to live with next year.
I like the way your face lights up and you do that little squeal when you get excited about something; when you laugh sometimes you get really breathless and say my name because my goofiness has gone off the charts. Or the way you harumph when you're frustrated. When you make that weird, oink-ish noise in the back of your throat, I can't help but think how much it pissed Ali off. I'm going to miss you talking in your sleep because it always cracks me up at five in the morning. Don't worry, I know that you can put maple syrup on anything. But the dead baby jokes man, those just. I just. I. I. I'm sorry.
Truthfully, I'm only here to talk about TFIOS, okay? Including this clock:
Get it? Because time is a slut?
Koalas? Also, how do you remember that joke about that winter-termer that never came to school? Because you told me last week without even having to think about it for a minute and I forgot what you had said about ten minutes later.
Thank you for always braiding my hair; you're welcome for braiding your hair terribly like two times during Flex Term. Thanks for always being sweet. Thank you for putting up with my tears (I'm sorry). Thanks for the cupcakes and the cookies and for helping me name my dad's truck. You're the bomb-diggity. *dances away awkwardly*
I just found this. Explain?
dayr you arrr
#justjoinedtheilluminati
never forget
WATERMELONDREA
dat duckface doe
Sincerely,
Your favorite, and also least favorite, roommate. <okay
Semicolons are kind of cool because they connect the two independent clauses but only if the two clauses are related to (or controversial to) one another. They're like two little individuals, both are separate and different thoughts, but about the same subject; they just happen to be inhabiting the same space. (How To Use Semicolons) <--- Worth a click. (Side note. I really like semicolons. I'm never really sure if I'm using them correctly, but I like them a lot; I'm just gonna throw them in there whenever I want to.)
"I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it's about to end.
And if you're never going to see someone again, it'll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, 'It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.'
And maybe if you're never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it'll shine and you can order everything off the menu you've never tried. Maybe, if someone's about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin. Maybe, if you're with a group of friends who'll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you'll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, 'This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.'"
Here's a tip. Don't become friends with seniors because they leave you. Here's another tip. Don't become friends with underclassmen and juniors because you have to leave them. Final tip. Don't make friends. Don't leave your room. Or your bed. Only move when you want cookies. Drink juice. Be unsure whether you need a break from everyone or want to be around them constantly. Be annoyed at everyone's existence but when you let them know that they're bothering you or that you want to be left alone, be prepared for their anger towards you. Be never good enough at anything, but merely mediocre enough at everything that people think you have value but also make you feel bad for not being a star at anything. I think I should stop giving advice.
Sometimes being a person is difficult and I still can't wrap my head around why. I should be able to get out of bed, organize my clothes, do laundry, clean up my desk, eat something other than Thin Mints, and do homework. I have the time; I'm not even that tired. But right now, writing is really difficult and I'm supposed to be writing about how unhappy I used to be and that's all good and well except I feel like some kind of phony (Holden Caulfield would hate me). I don't really remember feeling so alone; I don't really want to. I filed that into "Things I'm Not Anymore" and I don't really like going through that file. It's filled with spastic five-year-old Sammi (This spastic age also seemed to last well into my preteen years.) and boy-crazy twelve-year-old Sammi (yeah, yeah, yeah. Insert gasps here.) and a slightly-more-than-morbid fifteen-year-old Sammi. I've distanced myself from that; why would I waste time thinking about who I used to be especially when it has no bearing on who I am now?
Why am I more excited about semicolons than people?
In other news:
(I can't find a source for this and I'm so sorry, but it's got a water mark (????))
Also, they are making a movie of Papertowns and even though the theme of the book should make this the most important quote:
The only quote that I need (NEED, need) to be in that movie is this one:
“I don’t think I’m very good.”
“At what?”
“At kissing. And, I mean, she’s done a lot more kissing than me over the years. I don’t want to suck so bad she dumps me. Girls dig you,” he said to me, which was at best true only if you defined the word girls as “girls in the marching band.” “Bro, I’m asking for advice.”
I was tempted to bring up all Ben’s endless blather about the various ways in which he would rock various bodies, but I just said, “As far as I can tell, there are two basic rules: 1. Don’t bite anything without permission, and 2. The human tongue is like wasabi: it’s very powerful, and should be used sparingly.”
Ben’s eyes suddenly grew bright with panic. I winced, and said, “She’s standing behind me, isn’t she?”
“‘The human tongue is like wasabi,’” Lacey mimicked in a deep, goofy voice that I hoped didn’t really resemble mine. I wheeled around. “I actually think Ben’s tongue is like sunscreen,” she said. “It’s good for your health and should be applied liberally.”
I have no words Mr. Green.
"I could call you baby, I could call you, dammit, it's a one in a million Oh it's the rolling of your Spanish tongue that made me wanna stay"
