I Can Almost Feel My Nerves Fraying

Over the course of my life, my inner gears have become tightly wound to the point of my teetering on the brink of total malfunction. Two friends and I had some drinks at my house Friday, and not even my Salty Dog (grapefruit juice and vodka, in a glass with a salted rim) could loosen the knot of my paranoia. I predict that I'm either going to leash out and become a total menace the instant I leave home, or I'm going to die of high blood pressure before I turn sixteen.

On an unrelated note, we proceeded to see 300 tipsy, which was a really excellent idea.

Greetings from the Coffin

I surprised myself by feeling exactly like a vampire today. I had this urge to slink into the dark, and I was starting to really enjoy the idea of sticking my teeth into someone's neck and sucking out their warm blood.

Blood blood blood. The more I think about it, the more I like it. Something in the way it flows beneath the skin.

Scissors

I trimmed my bangs unevenly. I did it hastily, with too much faith in my hair-cutting skills. I don't care too much, but my mom will. She has a reputation to uphold, I suspect.

Here's a dilemma I've been facing: so long as it's not life-threatening or crippling, I really don't think self-mutilation is all that heinous, and I feel like I'm missing something. A good friend revealed recently that she'd been tempted to cut herself, and I told her that to do so would be bad but I couldn't put my finger on the reason why. The best reason I could think of is that she'd regret the scars later.

At the ARC (a ca de mic re source cen ter), there is one nice ARC lady who is small and soft-spoken and has a quaint, notably eccentric sense of fashion. I remember once when she was looking for a test I had to take, her calico sleeve rode up and I saw the yellowy scars of violent cuts ravaging her forearm and thick on the inside of her elbow. It was fascinating.

Maybe I Need Glasses

No place ever seems the same to me. Somehow, the places I know acquire totally different atmospheres every time I visit them. Maybe I'm not seeing clearly. Maybe I have metaphorical cataracts.

For example, tonight, I feel like a stranger in my room and the rest of my house is flatly depressing. Just sitting here at my computer, I feel so out of place that my skin is prickling. I can't help but wonder if it's because I've just moved my computer into my room, and I haven't had my computer in my room since the ninth grade.

My only solution is to go to sleep and hope I wake up somewhere else.

Photogenia

I am ridiculously unphotogenic. I'm not unattractive; unfortunately, the way my life on film has been going, it seems as though history is going to remember me as a fat ho with a face like a stretched-out asshole.

I had a small breakdown on Sunday; I wrote pages of profane gibberish and destroyed a magic marker cap with my teeth. It was interesting but predictable.

I hope I don't become hateful and depressive. I have some depression running in my family.

The Representative of Generation iPod Speaks

My iTunes library somehow got wiped out, which has sent me into BLOOD-BOILING PANIC. It still exists on my iPod, but knowing I can't back it up makes me really jittery and motherly around my iPod. This worries me. I realize I would probably bite my own arm off if all of my music got lost, and I kind of feel like a crack baby.

Promenade

Prom was not lame.

That's a contradiction in terms. Prom is lame by definition; anything involving teenagers putting on formalwear and dancing badly can't be anything else.

Despite this, prom was actually a rather fun time. It was a sea of rented tuxes and jewel-colored polyester dresses and unflattering fits and rhinestones (I even saw two tiaras) and "Omigod you look fabulous"es and awkward chaperones and stupid dancing and cheesy photos, but it was, against any sort of logic, a rather fun time. The food and music and location were good, and it is pretty fun to do something over-the-top like prom with good friends. The glamour of such an indulgence is thrilling in a way that's kind of silly.

So long as you don't take it too seriously, there's fun to be had at prom, I discovered. That would be the key point to take away from this entry, by the way.

Hard Drive

My biggest fear, aside from mind-readers and syringes and being trapped in a cage with a big crazy bird, is that someone will examine my computer. I would forever regret someone discovering every inane detail I search on Google, all the pictures of people I don't know that I look at on Facebook, and especially all the words I look up in the dictionary. I use a lot of words that I don't know the exact meaning of, and I look them up compulsively later. It would be like exposing a big ruse.

"No," I'd plead. "I really am that smart. Please."

Woe, Woe, Woe is Me, Me, Me

I'm getting sick of my face. I can't find anything new about it, which is boring, and I get a little more pissed off whenever I see it. Oh god, prom pictures are going to kill me, with my stupid smiling face over and over and over again. Maybe I'll disfigure myself to ease my boredom.

I've also been hearing my name everywhere for a while. I hear Tess Tess Tess Tess Tess spiking people's conversation, popping out from corners and shadows. Tess the Paranoid Egomaniac... that's going to look great on my gravestone.

I realized recently that most of my thoughts aren't worth thinking, which was horribly depressing. My life seems hopeless right now - not particularly depressing, but hopeless. I feel like I'm swimming in milk.

This entry reminds me of a zit filled with shit.

Scene from a Bad Movie #1

My friend and I had met a friendly Muse fanatic at the concert, whom we were talking to when a tall asshole shoved his way in front of us.

"Dick," my friend muttered, rubbing the place on her arm that he had just elbowed.

"That's hard to do if you're not mean," I said; we were packt like sardines in a crushd tin box.

"Or if you don't have a great excuse," our new acquaintance added.

"Yeah... it probably helps to fake a terminal disease or something, like, 'Excuse me, I have cancer'," I said, laughing.

"Totally," the girl said, "You know, I did that when I actually had cancer, and no one believed me."

At this point, God could have either given up on his joke on me or melted me into the floor, but unfortunately, he did neither.

Bigger and Better Things

I went to a Muse concert with my friend yesterday. I'm not crazy about Muse, but my friend is and it was a good time just to see her spellbound by the music of her favorite band making the hem of her pants shake. They do play well live, though. They were spacey. The lead looked like an alien wearing the skin of an emo kid.

If you asked God, I'm sure he'd tell you that he made concerts and marijuana for each other. This was a concert I would have loved to be high at, but my friend is so chaste and opposed to drug use that I would have been disgusted with myself. It was her first concert, too - I don't mean to equate her to a child, but being high there would have been wrong for the same reasons.

I'm always impressed by how primal rock concerts are. The air is so thick with sex, drugs and rock that if you breathe it, you're almost sure to get pregnant with a little monster that makes you want to sweat and scream and trip and fuck. Then you're pushed back out into your stale life and the fetus hiding inside you dries up and dies quietly, fatally malnourished.

On a note that's only somewhat seperate: I want to drop acid, I want to drop acid, I want to drop acid.

Future Development

I had been meaning to see my first Woody Allen movie for a while, in a kind of halfhearted apathetic way. I was impressed when I did, both by its being better than I had expected and by its impossibility. The problem isn't in the premise, it's in the effortless replacement of a handsome, seductive character in the lead role with a scrawny, bespectacled, easily nauseated one. It's like a sloppy cut-and-paste job.

After thinking for a while, I realized that Woody Allen created a persona less of a single character than one of a couple: the inexplicable "Beauty and the Geek". He's done more for this relationship than any man or woman this Earth has ever seen, and by God, he's gotten away with it. I can't believe it.

Unfortunately for you, you knew all of this already and just wasted your time.