Entries do not contain comment boxes, so don't comment. Are you looking for a less self-absorbed journal? You're looking for the wrong person. In case you care to know it, I also have a LiveJournal.

The heat is stifling.  I gave summer yet another chance when I walked through the neighborhood near RM, and I bore the heat so that I could walk into the air-conditioned public library.  I desperately need to move north when the only incentive to go outside is to find a more beautiful inside.  Reading The Bell Jar isn't helping; it's just killed my interest in abnormal psych.  It's all so foreign.

The letters in the mail that tell you that you'll receive an award should note whether you'll actually care about the award.  No one's going to show up for an honor roll thing; you want to be singled out, don't you?  I don't have much say in the matter, because I am capitulating to my parents in situations like these, and they like attending these things.  Oh, no. . . it's so traumatic to remember a speech about obligations on the same night as Awards Night from a little over two years ago.

People complain, "He's so hard to read."  I think I'm just the opposite.  Isn't it obvious what I'm thinking this very second?  I'm far too confessional at times.  This needs an outlet immune from Google.  I am also absolutely starving, but I need to take a walk, but I can't because I am tired, but I don't want to take a nap because I am sick.  Everything I've ever found worth saying escapes me when I'm exhausted.  Ugh. . . but, congratulations.

This is one of those trivial things that even I don't really care about.  I took the Dating Profile quiz that I saw on Patricia's blog, and my (inaccurate) results said that I am primarily 1. Practical, 2. Liberal, and 3. Wealthy/Ambitious; my top match is 1. Practical, 2. Outgoing, and 3. Funny.  There are so many problems with that, but the main thing is that I can't believe they labeled me Liberal when I don't discuss my views, ever.

Oh, I still think he's cute.  Not in the sense of "He looks cute," but more like "He is cute."  "Few people understand me when I try to make this distinction.  And you know, it occurs to me that only people with a firm grasp of English would be able to understand this distinction.  I mean, who knows how many such important nuances we miss when we read things in other languages?"

A friend filled out a meme about whether she had ever had a crush on someone totally unattainable, and she asked, perhaps rhetorically, whether anyone was ever really unattainable.  The answer, of course, is yes.  Anyway, just when I was starting to get reaccustomed to school, I have to take a bunch of exams and suffer through some standardized pain and then high school is over.  Just when I was starting to get the hang of it, I think.  But I'll be glad to get rid of a number of things.

"'Got plaid'?  What does your shirt mean?"  "You know Andrew Carnegie?"  "Yeah, of course."  "He's Scottish."  "Okay."  "You know kilts?"  "Yes."  "You know that pattern you see on the fabric?"  ". . . Oh!"

This entry really ought to be chock-full of melodramatic teen angst, but I can't spill some things right now.  Or ever.

I will never understand why I came home afterschool and read blogs instead of taking a moderately-needed nap.  I like coordinating Dif Eq absences with someone, especially when they're all (or mostly) legit, but it does mean I'm terribly confused.  I feel so bad that I'm probably going to have to repeat this course next year, but honestly, I don't know it well enough to take a placement test, perhaps not even if I crammed for it a little bit.  I do need a refresher in C++ and Java, though.

I can't be this old.  I think I'm really still just a sophomore girl at heart.

I am at home.  What a bad way to spend April Fools Day—normally, I look forward to putting little paper fish on people's backs (thank French class) or at least laughing at silly posts online, but this year I'm too conscious of what day it is to be fooled by any of them.  Still, Gmail's is rather cute.  I want infinity + 1 gigabytes of mail storage, even if it transcends theoretical limits.

It is so much fun to break the good news to people.  I suppose not everyone can be equally excited about it, but that's why I have to pick people to tell individually.  I wish I knew more people outside of the magnet programs around here; all this time I didn't think I could be any happier outside the high-presssure elitism, but now that it's almost all over, I'm not so sure.  It's not quite regret but it still nags at me a little.  Have I mentioned how I love that the letters don't all come at once?

I am stressed out.  I know I am not supposed to be, because it is second semester, but I have certain obligations that all decided that they take higher priority now that my grades "don't matter."  However, this is okay; I will get everything done.  I suppose this is just harder to do because there is less motivation to do it.  I never thought of myself as someone who only works toward a college acceptance, but I've started to look toward that now, too.

I have started receiving some spam at my Gmail address.  I don't know or remember where I posted it without any sort of protection, but I'm thankful for Gmail's spam filters.  This repetition of the word "spam" reminds me of (what else?) Monty Python, and I think last night I dreamt about being forced to do another nouvelle.  I think about school entirely too much, but I think I also feel better about it than I have in quite a while.

On February 8, I wrote something addressed to myself that was so cryptic that when I saw it again recently, I had to read it two or three times to figure out what it was about.  I wonder what is the point of something like that.  Speaking of senseless things, I also wonder why we are so eager to buy BUZZSTRONG wristbands.  I also happen to wonder about people who buy more than one BUZZSTRONG band, but that's not really relevant.  That does remind me, though, I'm very glad to find that I'm not hallucinating.

Five-day weekends seem a bit excessive.  I'm proud not to have gotten anything done, and even though it's time to get back to work, I continued my slothdom by taking a walk in the snow and documenting my Norman-Rockwellesque neighborhood.  This is the stuff digital cameras were made for.  Well, this, and recording incidents of vandalism at events as dorky as quiz bowl tournaments.  This one's to you, Howard High School; we may have been snowed in, but we had fun.

Yesterday evening, I was lamenting the fact that my brother went to four or five different places in one day, and that he clearly has more of a social life than I do.  Chris said it best when he said, "That's probably true, but you get to hang out with quiz bowl players.  It's quality, not quantity."  I like laser tag, but I really miss the old suits.  My accuracy used to be important, and sticking my gun around a corner to shoot people used to make it hard for them to shoot me.

Who knew I'd be one of those mildly annoying people who focus too much on friends' newly acquired fame?  Whatever the level, at least it'll be over soon enough.  I just wish not everything in my life were quiz bowl, because that's not socially acceptable and hinders my ability to get the IB diploma, but it's a lot of fun.  I, too, really want one of those hypothetical "BuzzStrong" bracelets.  I don't really have anything left to say, which is why my LJ hasn't been getting much action.

Being positive: A team finished 1st and C team finished 6th at yesterday's tournament.  I'm very proud of all of my friends and teammates, and I was impressed by every team we lost to.  The Siege of Ellicott wasn't so bad.  It was frustrating to have a lot of downtime between games, but the end result was that the day turned into a great deal of socialization and very little actual quiz bowl.  I like how underclassmen often act like elementary school children.

I don't search people I know on Google much, but I've done it once or twice for a number of people I know, particularly if they ought to turn up some results, but I've failed enough times that I've been annoyed.  Why don't my friends and acquaintances have unique names?  But I looked myself up again and realized that I can't be found with just my real name.  There are other ways, of course; in fact, fairly easy ones, but it's still a tiny source of comfort.

It only occurred to me fairly recently that if people still link to this page, people I know will find it, whether I advertise it myself or not.  I want to acknowledge that I am fully aware of how melodramatic I can get and how trivial many of my worries are.  I wanted this page to reflect the thoughts I wouldn't put on LiveJournal only because people wouldn't be interested in commenting, but I've been abusing the lack of feedback.  Or maybe it was just a bad semester.

I didn't watch the inauguration because I was out of the house for a good deal of the day.  When I did turn on the TV later, though, I saw a lot of people gathered around, heads bowed.  They were praying.  At a state event.  I couldn't turn off the TV because other people were watching, so I hammered out a few unrelated words on the computer and fled upstairs to read about hicks red state voters in the Washington Post Magazine.

It's so difficult to care about frivolous things like philosophy (and specifically, Theory of Knowledge) when there are weighty issues that demand my attention.  For example: when a coach promises that you can record his singing and post it on the official web site for all to hear, what do you do—work on preparing the audio equipment or work on winning that bet first?  I guess I can always enlist Mr Rodney, the AV teacher, in setting everything up.  It's going to be great fun.

I declare, as usual, that there is minimal correlation between effort and grades.  I got a C on a History quiz I studied hard for because I neglected to review yesterday's notes.  I don't remember things for 24 hours on four hours' sleep.  I've had about 12 this week and it's getting to me.  I would sleep now but I have to eat first.  Some things people just make me happy, but there's no way I could spend even more time with them.

The Aviator (theater), Eternal Sunshine (DVD), Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (DVD), House of Flying Daggers (theater), The Incredibles (theater) (3rd viewing), Lolita (DVD) (1.5 viewings), My Fair Lady (DVD), Ocean's Eleven (DVD) (probably 8th or so viewing), Phantom of the Opera (theater), Read or Die (TV) [anime movie], Shrek 2 (DVD) (2nd viewing), Spaceballs (DVD), Spider-Man 2 (DVD) (5th or 6th viewing). A Winter Break well spent, at least December 24-31; but this was the worst January 1 ever.

I need a day or two or seven to catch up and calm down and stop taking out my frustration (anger? moodiness?) on other people, especially my family, because no one deserves this.  I feel so guilty for it, but I still start yelling and I wish I could quote some angsty song lyrics to summarize my feelings and get on with wallowing in self-pity, but I'm too lazy to search for them.  I'm kind of hungry, if that's a feeling, but other than that, I just hate the world, and by the world, I mean my inner self.

There's something wrong when I can't come up with FDR's successor, the Treasure Island ship, Ogden Nash, a certain Anglo-Irish playwright, and too many other things to mention.  I shouldn't play after eating sugar, after stressing out about something that isn't my responsibility (why can't adults take charge?), when I'm moody, when I'm sleepy, when I'm in perfect mental and emotional condition.  I wish I had been more stable about everything, but some things are inevitable.

Quantifying happiness would just have brought me down today.  There are a handful of people who make entire crappy weeks feel better, and I should cherish that—well, no, but at least enjoy it—while it lasts.  In the meantime, one of the biggest reasons my lack of time management is killing me is my drastic energy (not mood, though that too, to some extent) swings, which I'm sure are easily attributable to the food I eat or, even more easily, the food I don't eat.

My sleeping habits are worse than they have ever been, which leads me to contemplate while struggling to meet minimum word counts at ungodly times of night.  I can easily churn out 1000 words for literature in under two hours, with time factored in for posting helpful comments in online fora, but it's torture to write 1200 words for philosophy in more than twice as much time.  I don't know if this disparity implies a greater knowledge of literature or a greater willingness to produce terrible work.

After five minutes with ______, I was ready to scream or cry, and I might have if I hadn't left the room and ran into _____ just then.  _____ changed my day multiple times, but I do feel bad for it.  Not skipping on skip day made me feel like a loser, almost as much as getting really excited about seeing the alums I don't even know walk around school.  At least I wasn't hallucinating when I saw them.  I wish everything could be solved by a trip to ___.

A lot of things in the past forty-eight hours have made me want to injure the desk with my head.  Fortunately, given the desks I've sat at and the headaches I've had, this has not been possible.  I'm thankful for a few things, but mostly I've just accepted that certain dreams could but probably will not come true, and that maybe I'm wrong about what I want.  If so, it doesn't matter whether (insert event here) happens, because I'll end up happy anyway.

I hate how the stupidest things brighten my day, but I space out and don't fully experience what I'm supposed to look forward to.  So go ahead, stalk me, I don't care anymore.  And in a different sense, I don't care about a lot of things.  I hate burnout and I hate feeling completely detached from my own life... it's not my own anymore if I distance myself from [insert confidential information here].  But that's enough from me for today.

I've reverted to my second semester tenth grade self.  It's hopeless but true.  Take pleasure in the little things, because the world has nothing profound to offer the pitifully unsuccessful.  While I was at Barnes & Noble, I opened Harold Bloom's selection of poetry and was reinspired to read "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by Professor Bloom's phrase, "crippling self-consciousness."  But he's got a picture on the cover of the book, and he's an old man.

It's July 31's entry: redux.  Hurray for not letting school interfere with my education (English > Physics) and for paying more attention when 67% of my teachers are absent than when 0% are.  What an awful and great way to end the first quarter of a horrible year.  I've been advised to cherish it, to work hard, to play hard, and to be apathetic, but I can't hold advice in my head and follow it at the same time.  I wish it didn't all feel over already.

I was clenching the buzzer so tightly that my aching hand, arm, and wrist prevented me from buzzing in on "Carpal Tunnel Syndrome."  One English teacher wrote "unclear" so illegibly that the student couldn't tell what she said.  When I hesitate to walk into the room for fear of looking foolish, I pace back and forth outside, then get caught by someone leaving the room and look even more foolish.  My brother said there were two things; first, he had a bad memory, and second. . . . he couldn't remember the second.

I need to stop clicking 'Send' before I intend to send an email.  I'm sure this will matter someday, but in the meantime, I'll occupy myself with dorkier concerns, like whether a quiz bowl question I heard a few days ago was factually accurate, or whether the ideal distribution can account for creative themes.  Almost all of my ideas involve embarrassing players in front of their teammates by making them buzz in on facts they're ashamed to know.

I'm beginning to suspect that a lot of middle class America's depression comes from lack of exercise and lack of sleep.  And, of course, for those at the right age, an excess of standardized testing.  No, it's not that bad, or so I say until the score reports come.  I feel guilty when I can't reach my goals--real goals, not a stupid number on a test, because I can certainly do that--and I don't feel like a full person.  That's mainly when I whine like this.

As I told McK today, quiz bowl > school.  It is obviously more lucrative--look at the recent article in the Post--and infinitely more entertaining.  Luckily, there is some overlap; I talked about how I can skip a paragraph in Palmer when I see "White Man's Burden."  I realized about five or six sentences into the story that I was boasting to a teacher about slacking off--to a teacher that will write some very important recommendations, no less.  I just don't do that.

There are so many things I don't understand.  Why does no one comment when I wear red for once, especially after everyone observed that I wore all black when I always wear all black?  Why does my dad suggest Cheney step down since he's so wealthy?  He ought to be acting in his own self-interest.  Why am I wholly incapable of intelligent thought while seated in a classroom?  That last one is going to pose a problem all through this year.

Starting English journals at midnight is one of the worst ideas I've executed in the past few weeks, and that includes starting Extended Essay revisions well into the evening.  I wish I could say I had a good excuse, but I'm never off doing something productive instead.  So now my eyes ache a tiny bit, which is fine, since it's a half day.  I had a wonderful time remembering what it's like to have actual energy during the day (or at all) and it's a good feeling.  One tiny thing to note: I still have no life.

Considering how much I like low-pitched voices and clear sound, it seems appropriate that my voice strays up a bit, nasally and faint, when I have a cold.  I hate my immune system almost as much as I'm apathetic toward school.  I can't believe it only took me four weeks to burn out.  I'm tempted to aim for zero points on Physics homework this year... I don't like this.  I've gotten readdicted to Wired and I've even started listening to music.  What on earth... I can't think of anything right now except that my bio ought to be updated to say that I always arrive less unfashionably late.

I've been watching the Jeopardy! Tournament of Champions when I can, and I've been getting very, very few questions correct.  While I'm a little upset that I missed Tom Walsh's first round game, I've been enjoying it in a slightly masochistic way.  I don't dislike regular Jeopardy! because of its low difficulty level, but getting a taste of a more intense answer-and-question game may have whetted my appetite for season 21.  Until now, I've only watched for the contestants... although if I think about it, that probably won't change.  Yeah, I'm looking forward to the rest of the ToC.

I dreamt a disturbing dream in which a nasty female teacher lectured me on thoughts that I lecture myself on during the day.  I turned red and told her to shut up, but it pierced more than it does when I tell myself, because I don't like to listen to myself.  I tell myself I'm being foolish and immature and I quash the thoughts.  I wish I didn't have dreams so regularly, and I hope they don't veil anything.  I went to sleep thinking about the mention of Freud in F. Scott Fitzgerald criticism and I woke up resenting an anonymous lady I hated.

Since when is having a short temper part of being neurotic?  When did deceit and ignorance and every undesirable trait stealthily merge?  I can't imagine why I feel the way I feel but I'm also convinced I need to rip something apart and breathe the way I want to.  I don't understand it in stories or anecdotes but it makes sense when it happens to you.  Life doesn't imitate literature or I'd be only the person I am at my worst moments.

I don't understand myself at all.  How could I have been so nervous over such a simple question?  I probably looked solemn and scared, about to ask something confidential for reasons behind the public veil, possibly something whispered in hushed tones.  I was so relieved to see his own solemn expression fade into a smile and to hear sudden warmth in his voice.  (It's not how it sounds.)  I cringed as I smiled back, then I fled the room.

Try to remember that teachers can hear you whisper and mumble from fifteen feet away.  Either classroom acoustics are incredible or people are lying through their teeth when they say you're too quiet.  Try to keep the good study habits that have mysteriously sprung up thanks to the math teacher (as in, now have the whole week's assignments right away).  Try to forget that you accidentally turned in your French summer homework without doing all of it since you can't change it.

I want to like the new players at It's Ac, but they're too quiet.  Introductions were predictably boring.  I loved that the rooms were split; I desperately hope that's how things are run this year.  I'm uneasy that in a room with two large teams, there was only one guy on each team, which means RM '07 may be mistaken for an all-girls' private school.  Since when does the team reflect the IB ratio?  Chris said "I don't mind!"

I'm starting off the school year with half-assed homework and virtually no studying.  Isn't that how it always goes?  I made the mistake of listening to Sandstorm while I'm writing an outline for French and I think of people playing DDR instead of people raving.  I know who to blame.  Oh, and if I ever doubted whether English > History, I know now -- as much as I struggle with the French language, I love Les Justes -- I love literature.

School will start soon.  I'll stop being a summer bum and work harder than I care to on tasks that don't mean anything.  I'll get mediocre (or bad) grades and pay dearly for my incredible slackerdom throughout the past two or three months.  I can't wait to get back, but I'm scared as hell that it's not going to all work out perfectly.  Life's not life with insecurity, is it?  If you never experience it, you're my hero.

I feel awful.  It wouldn't be a far stretch to call me racist, would it?  I'm ashamed and irritated when my parents mispronounce words (i.e., deviate from standard American English).  I don't just value conforming to the standard for clarity; that wouldn't be so embarrassing.  But I look down on Asian accents more than any other.  I can't believe I've never outgrown that childhood fixation on American accents.

I started watching Family Guy commentaries around 2 in the morning and finally went to sleep at 6 when I'd polished off all of season 3 and most of the bonus material, but I woke up at 9:30 and immediately got started on season 1.  Is it possible to idolize Seth MacFarlane any more?  I doubt it.  I think I watched fourteen episodes with commentary, which is around five hours of his voice.  My days aren't all like this; I was inert because I was feeling a little ill.

I hate myself for spending time online.  I've lost six hours of my life for naught.  I hate myself for sleeping in late during summer.  I lost another four hours.  I'm loathe to spend time outdoors in this area, but I can't do anything productive when I get neurotic by my relatives' mere proximity.  I feel bad for being so moody once in a while, and even worse if it turns out that I'm like this all the time.

I don't think anyone looks at my feet, but I've been wearing the same two pairs of shoes, one red and one blue, for the past two years.  They've been falling apart, so I went to the store today; both pairs are black.  The sneakers have plain laces (which I couldn't replace with Spider-Man because character laces are for children's shoes; i.e., not long enough for mine) and the dress shoes have velcro straps, both of which I'm wearing for the first time in high school.

My mom jokingly asked whether all the people at the AgFair were white hicks.  (Is that mild or crude?  I'm terrible at English vernacular.)  I thought about it and realized that there were so many non-whites that it looked more or less like every cross-section of the county that I can think of: incredibly diverse.  I'm lucky to live in this area.  I can't imagine what college will be like if I'm suddenly in a tiny minority.

I have no self-restraint.  I made a trip to Barnes and Noble to get the right translation of Madame Bovary (by Bair, the Bantam Classics edition) and instead ended up with The New York Public Library Literature Companion, Amazing Spider-Man Vol. 4, Ultimate Spider-Man Vol. 10, and League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 2.  I am properly ashamed of myself.  I don't even have enough room on my bookshelves for these.

"When you're angry, you get more specific," my brother tells me.  I am angry but I refuse to be specific.  Crypticness is the way to go when writing online.  I guess I'm annoyed because I'm trying to adjust my sleep schedule while I feel a little sick and weak.  I hate to delve into that whiny side I exploited in some earlier entries, but I do have a whiny side (don't you?)  Nothing's worth as much as feeling energetic.  I can't lose that at 17.

I ought to end this unhealthy fixation on sleep.  I hate myself for waking up after noon; if I do that, I can't fall asleep until 3 am (when my brother was still playing video games, and audibly).  I set my alarm to wake up at 8 something and I did, when my brother had already risen to play some more video games, still audibly.  I feel like I'm wasting time when I really need the rest, and I know there must be an easier way to adjust my schedule, but I'm too sleepy to know...

I called her to confirm some plans, or so I thought, but I stayed connected to get a feel for chatting.  I speak with her so infrequently that I've started to feel distant and nervous.  I tested her response entirely by accident.  I can be an obsessive person, and I talk about a small number of topics incessantly, but I'm usually completely unaware of it.  She completed my sentence when I trailed off, "It's a constant reminder he's . . ."

I was reading my own page today and I remembered that this layout is disgustingly narcissistic.  I also remembered that I have difficulty spelling words like "narcissistic" when I'm feeling this far under the weather, and told myself that these days are what portable DVD players were made for.  Do you have any idea how useful these toys are?  I can watch movies anywhere, even while walking on the treadmill.  (The regular TV will not do because the treadmill is loud.)

If I kept a list of people I wish I knew (or knew better), that list is a bit long right now.  And, strangely, dominated by people with a few first names.  As for fictional characters, I'm nuts about a certain singing demon barber and hope to be back in the front rows for closing night.  Finally, in non-people matters, I love the Testostertones' rendition of "Breakfast at Tiffany's" more than the real version.  Nice job.

I've had an eventful 36 hours, and all three were great, but the one that really needs to be written about is the one that I'm reluctant to write about, at least publicly.  I want to be cryptic and make my hypothetical readership guess at what I mean, but it's this: there's this sort of fascination with people (is it just extroversion?) that I don't understand, except to say that it's strictly platonic and seems totally random to me.  But I had a good morning because of it.

Not very open letter to the buyer of a stamp and ink pad at the Spy Museum gift shop: I may have made a poor first impression, but yours was fantastic.  I wish I'd spent less time in my own dorm room... I wonder if anything would have gone differently were I allowed in the fourth floor lounge (or rooms?).  Silly me, settling for eye contact and fleeting conversations.  I would have relished the pessimism and geekiness if I had had my senses.

I'm in love with my lazy days.  I ordered a friend's birthday present (which should arrive in 5-9 business days else Amazon is on my List).  I indulged in some Amazing Spider-Man, which segues smooth as silk into watching some Spider-Man DVD extras.  Don't forget more racy LiveJournal icons of a certain movie villain than I can forgive myself for making.  I hope I don't have nightmares, but wouldn't that be beautiful retribution?

It's more convenient to love Barnes and Noble than independent booksellers because B&N will be the only one standing in a few years.. maybe.  Regardless, I walked out with The Amazing Spider-Man Volume 1, The Amazing Spider-Man Volume 2, The Amazing Spider-Man Volume 3, and The Waste Land and Other Writings.  I want to hum the Sesame Street song I never actually heard on the show, because one of these things just doesn't belong.

The first thing I saw on television today was Clinton and Kerry and Edwards holding hands and cheering loudly.  I know nothing about politics, so I want to make some comment about the candidates' looks and especially Edwards's very youthful looks, but I won't.  Instead, I'll eat some peanut cake and make Doctor Octopus icons (<3) and leave you with this quotation: "When you grow up, make sure you control your kids.  Make sure they can appreciate your interests."

I don't write enough about shallow topics.  Accordingly: I'm a sucker for Spider-Man merchandise.  I bought the two newest graphic novels of Ultimate Spider-Man as well as a little tin container keychain, which I'm so afraid to lose that I'll likely put it up in my locker rather than hang it on my schoolbag.  Secondly, while thinking about what I would really like to double major in if the world were perfect, I heard a certain someone on Jeopardy! say he did the same. <3

Eww, report cards arrived.  I've been out of school so long that my language skills are melting.  Look, I can't even write standard sentences.  I remembered junior year when I looked at my report card and I couldn't believe that I was judging myself on those numbers.  Luckily for my ego, the grades fall within my personal range of acceptable grades.  One more B, though, and I would have been making a fuss for days.

I went to the movies with my brother and my dad, ten minutes past the scheduled time.  As we walked down the row in the dark, my brother walked into a broken seat and warned me not to do the same.  After I carefully stepped past it, I confidently started walking again, and ran into another broken seat immediately.  In the theater too dark to see anything, I couldn't see any stars.  I told my brother, "It's like a video game; a cruel trick to those who ignore the time."

I suppose I could analyze my aches and fatigue as physical manifestations of my emotions, but I wouldn't want to read too far into something when there's nothing there.  Which reminds me: I enjoy some of the anecdotes in "Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman!", but the writing style is unbearable.  It breaks the most important rule (show, don't tell) without good effect, opting for sentences like "It was very exciting!" instead of writing so that the reader feels excited.

For most of my life I've scoffed at my friends who dream about universities they worry they won't get accepted to.  I smiled, smug with the knowledge that I aimed lower and tended not to wish for what I couldn't have.  I don't like to abuse clichés, but my plans have shattered, taken a 180º turn, or otherwise changed drastically.  I developed a crush on a school above my means, both academically and financially, and yet I can't wait until my rejection next spring.

I still have mixed feelings about this past weekend and the end of everything.  Life seems better in retrospect, when my mind filters away the foul and leaves me to remember only the highlights.  I'm determined to make this summer better than recent ones, which demands less vegetating but more reading; fewer hours in front of a backlit screen but not necessarily more under ultraviolet rays.  I'm determined to make it better but with forgetting, will that even matter?

I was dreading this weekend's tournament until I realized a very happy thing.  I've complained for a long time that I go to school for the extracurriculars and that a lot of my classes just get in the way.  I think I've finally achieved that perfect separation.  My last exam and my last assignments were turned in today, just this morning.  My last tournament is this weekend.  Yes, we're going to a quiz bowl tournament after school's over... we're such geeks!

I'm told that in some regions of the country, they intentionally write questions of varying difficulty and put some easy clues at the beginning of the question in order to keep people from always assuming that the first clue isn't very gettable.  What the hell is that?  Screwing over people who play with actual strategy?  More specifically, with PACE, bonuses bounce back.  You shouldn't be able to win without buzzing in... isn't it supposed to be important?

I feel as though I'm getting progressively more immature as life goes on, or perhaps just as high school goes on.  I can't resist the urge to complain about my day, even if I don't have a wide audience, and I did have a day to complain about today.  In between grueling four hour practices and generally feeling sick and laughing at tactless friends, I'm more than ready for the year to end.  I'm not even looking forward to nationals anymore.  I hate PACE.

Between fantasizing about college admissions and wasting time as usual, I'm having a really difficult time focusing on anything.  I hate natural sciences... hate labs, hate lectures, hate the material.  I can't imagine how college could possibly change my opinion, since it's so pervasive.  But I have to deal with Physics for four days and a year and try not to tear all my hair out in the meantime.  Maybe I could major in some area of the humanities...

I once convinced myself that I could systematically improve myself through analyzing my mistakes and consciously learning from them.  I suspect I was trying to rationalize my self-destructive habit of picking apart my mistakes simply to dwell on them.  Yesterday, I tried to mentally cover up something that bothered me exceedingly much, but I wasn't very successful for the first few hours.  But I think I'm borrowing all my best epiphanies from other people.

I can't help but feel that if only I screwed up fewer consecutive things, I would be much more in control of my life.  As it stands, I think my screwups need to be spaced out much more evenly.  I thought I was more mature than I apparently am.  Maybe composure doesn't lead to a calmer self beneath the surface.  But, I angst, and unnecessarily much.  Still, even if it's angst, I'd like this to end soon.  I want a break.

Today, I was supposed to say something.  It was quite simple and I was certainly the closest to an expert in that room, but for some reason, I froze.  I don't feel like I ever redeemed myself.  I want to write it off as a bad day.  I do worry, though, that I can't explain what happened.  Why did I just shake my head?  Couldn't I have said something nonsensical to stall for time?  And more importantly, why did he wait for me?

I'm having trouble falling asleep these days.  You know that feeling when you lie down, mostly drowsy, strange thoughts awash in your mind?  When I'm trying to sleep and my mind starts to wander, a funny memory pops into my head and I burst out laughing.  It's a good thing no one can see or hear me when I'm trying to fall asleep, because it would look absolutely ridiculous, little giggles in the dark.  It's also inconvenient to my sleep and, therefore, health.

I sure am on a roll with getting people mad at me.  I managed another one or two yesterday, though I can't go into detail.  I feel bad about writing cryptic entries, but that's why it's better to write this in a non-LJ setting: no one's Friends list is being cluttered by all the mystery.  But I was very happy yesterday afternoon.  And it's unexciting when I try to retell the story, and if I keep it to myself, I can replay it endlessly.

I giggle because I'm at home and don't have any classes I need to attend for another hour.  In the meantime, I'm writing a short paper that I should've written (or at least started) a month or two ago, which makes me laugh because toward the end of the paper, my pace slows down and I write a sentence every few minutes.  I wouldn't even call it an essay at this point, given how choppy it reads and how many non sequiturs I threw in.

I'm having trouble with several areas of my life at once, and one of those is academics.  Not that I'm genuinely failing, but it's frustrating to fall short of my own goals so many times that I have to question whether I'm choosing realistic goals.  I can do some of the work, but I can't remember ever being motivated to do anything for nine consecutive weeks, and I don't think the system can change that.  But I also feel terrible guilt; I feel thoroughly irresponsible.

My voice translates a note or two deeper.  It's coarse and bitter.  I'm slightly hunched over, so I look shorter than normal.  I feel angry, impatient.  I scream when I disagree, I feel destructive.  It's not what it sounds like.  I want so badly to refer to Hyde, but that wouldn't be an appropriate way to call a cold.  It's just a cold.  Nothing else, and especially nothing insidious.

I was going to study for history, but I foolishly spent the greater part of the past five hours reading blogs and eating ridiculous amounts of food.  No, wait -- I need to rephrase that last sentence.  I don't have some kind of eating disorder, I just feel too full from the (probably normal) amount of food I ate, since I have a cold and therefore a depressed appetite.  But the cold bums me out too, as usual, so I was mopey until I ran on the treadmill.  What a waste.

I needed a certain anthology of literary criticism for my Extended Essay, but it's been overdue to the school library since the Thursday before last.  I tucked it into my school bag this morning, certain that I'd remember to renew it and pay the fines when I went to a class that I'd have in the media center today.  I proceeded to pull out the book during class and forget to renew it.  Yes, I brought it back home.  Yes, I am irresponsible.

I was sick on Friday and I'm sick today (Sunday).  I felt fine at GDS yesterday, which was Saturday, which obviously means that quiz bowl is good for one's health (or the mind works wonders on a feeble body).  I guess I'm not very sick, but even with a simple cold, lethargy strikes and I find it incredibly difficult to do anything besides sit or eat or lie down, because it's hard to do anything purposeful with a sore throat.  Well, anything besides worry about being unfunny.

I was so excited about being captain of the B team that I forgot that we would be completely crushed several times throughout the day.  And, of course, we were, three teams in total.  I was so sluggish during the first prelim game and the first playoff game that I was high strung for everything in between, leading what was possibly the most giggly team ever in existence.  But there were a few games I played terribly, and a few questions I will regret, for failure haunts my footsteps.

This morning, I felt stressed out in a negative sense, in the sense that I have no control and am failing.  Throughout the day, thanks to a number of relaxing classes, I stopped taking myself as seriously.  After the non-senior tournament in the afternoon, I felt even better; even though I was incredibly stressed out during the games, I narrowly came in second (as opposed to third) in both prelim games and proceeded to dominate my playoff bracket.  I got a much needed ego boost.

I wonder if I'm the cause of this problem or if he is.  He's the teacher; he's supposed to be the mature one.  But when I'm having academic issues in his class, I think it's perfectly valid to ask about grades.  I can understand why he's annoyed at me, but I still feel resentful.  I'm not so stressed out that I'm sleepless over it (that's from other issues) but it's still uncomfortable.  I need to get past this.

I strive for composure.  I know I don't often achieve it, but it's my ideal and it guides my actions.  It determines who I admire and when I make self-depreciating comments.  So when I want to scream, "Can't you see why my lack of confidence is justified?" I force a smile (or, failing that, a faux-stoic expression) and bite back the words.  I'm not saying that I'm the only one who ever feels this way, but I still have these thoughts.

Certain people whose opinions I hold in high regard told me today to be more confident.  I'm sure my lack of confidence must have felt annoying to them because I do sometimes seem like I know what I'm doing.  I also know, though, that there's a difference between feeling confident and affecting false confidence, and I'm not sure if others can always tell the difference.  When I genuinely lack the former, I usually attempt the latter, but they ought to understand why I do the latter.

After extensive meditation on the subject, I've concluded that the only person who cares about my IB Computers score is my teacher.  I might care a little bit for my ego, and my mom might care a little bit if it's too low, but no college is going to care if I get a 7.  With that conclusion, it's difficult to care enough to study diligently.  Right now, I'm eager to sleep or, barring that, read for leisure.  I think sleep's much more likely.

I have a headache and I'm feeling lethargic.  It's all right because I can remember being happy and energetic, and I know I'll feel that way again soon enough.  Yesterday, I thought about what makes me happy, and I came up with a lot of little things, like people I don't know well remembering my name and calling me by name (inferiority complex?), like my friends seeming excited to see me.  Then I thought about what makes me unhappy, and it's too often my own doing.

It's sad how little I cared going into most of my tests so far, and how badly I did as a result.  I went to sleep at 8:20 the night before BC Calc and was so clueless on two of the free response questions that I wrote lyrics to "Facade," but I didn't even get the lyrics right.  During Physics C: Mechanics, I was tempted to write little questions in the margins ("Why does the College Board seem to have philosophical conflicts with the International Baccalaureate Organization in determining the curriculum?")

AP Physics C: Mechanics utterly destroyed my soul.  Michael mimicked the test well when he pretended to punch his friend in the gut repeatedly -- he was the test, his friend was a student taking the test.  I studied enough to know that many of the questions were reasonable and that I might've done better with more studying and if I'd covered more of the topics in class rather than at the last minute, but proportionate to how much I knew, that was one of the worst standardized tests I've ever done.

I've been feeling sick since this past Tuesday (exam month! wonderful timing!) and I suspect that my PACE anguish is partly to blame.  Now that I've completely bombed eight full gamesets, I hate PACE on a personal level.  I've abandoned any pretensions of logical arguments, because I'm so bitter that this is (together with AP exams) ruining my health.  I don't even remember any other time with so many mild, intermittent pains.

Notorious for missing questions at practice mere hours after learning the topic during class, she insists that there should be no correlation between classroom knowledge and quiz bowl knowledge of computer science.  She hates female authors and Viginia Woolf hates her, but on a good day, she beats English teachers to lit tossups.  Suspiciously enough, the lit questions she answers always tend to be about the same ten works.  Her lesser known skills include opening automatic doors and missing previously heard questions.

Preliminary results of today's AP prep soul searching: I am the future and the future looks grim; I am the queen of concise verbosity.  I listened to songs until I could imitate the voices verbatim.  I made an aborted attempt to make the entry rhyme but I quickly realized that it would have resulted in, without a doubt, the worst journal entry I have ever written (ignoring those I submit for English).  I can't study or focus outside of a classroom.

I listen to country music on the radio when I'm in the car with my mom, partly because I like it, partly because she likes it, partly because I'm used to it.  But when I'm at home or have my portable CD player (I try to avoid bringing it with me, as it encourages me to ignore the world around me), I tend to listen to the same CD for days and weeks on end; if I'm at my computer, I'll have a single song playing ceaselessly.  I wonder how other people can constantly switch tracks.

I loathe the last two PACE packets we played today; one of my teammates' comments about PACE being "the illegitimate child of Quizmaster and NAQT" is spot-on, even if I was in a foul mood post-practice for being outbuzzed by him on lit questions.  PACE's variable difficulty is terribly frustrating, and its uselessly difficult math and science questions are inconsistent with their "easy" lit (so says an English teacher; I thought the lit was about NAQT level, if NAQT ever wrote non-biographical lit).

I'm so giddy after seeing Jekyll and Hyde for the second time (already closing night!) and I'm thoroughly speechless.  That was, without a doubt, the best show of anything that I have ever seen.  I can't express how much I admire what my friends onstage and in tech have accomplished -- I tried to tell them when I mobbed the stage along with about half the audience, but I ended up repeating "awesome," "incredible," and "good" with unacceptable frequency... but that show was so hot.

I've spent much of my life watching other people's actions, not necessarily because I was afraid but often because I didn't feel that I was capable enough.  Well, I'm going to set things straight now.  I'm going to stop forcing myself to do what I really do not want to do and am not good at anyway -- math team.  I'm going to concentrate on what I really love -- It's Ac, both playing and management.  And I'm going to balance it with my schoolwork, at that.

I'm delighted with how today's quiz bowl tournament turned out.  TJ loved it (the best team in the nation, although not my personal favorite to root for since you always know they'll win) and that's the highest praise a team can get.  All my hard work paid off and I'm going to be editor (Tournament Director?  I get a title for all the masochistic efforts I put in, right?) for next year's!  He sort of offered it to me before and promised it too, but it's finally announced.

After over one thousand miles on the road with my well meaning father who knows next to nothing about the college admissions process, I'm starting to think I want to go somewhere with few other Asians.  It seems that's not too difficult; unlike the insular little set of upper middle class suburbs where I've lived most of my life, the rest of the U.S. contains very, very few Asians, as do the less selective (or non-technically focused) universities.

When I stopped by the community college library to renew some books and pay the fine, they told me that I owed the library seven dollars and fifty cents.  I felt guilty, but my mom laughed it off.  How lucky am I that I can afford to shrug off enough money to buy a paperback book?  Don't I take my life for granted most of the time?  Then again, if I didn't, I'd be walking around with my jaw dragging on the ground, in awe over everything I see.

With my new precious treasures fresh from the bookstore, I'd be happy for the rest of break if only I could avoid those reading headaches.  I guess in my old age, I can't read for as many consecutive hours as I used to be able to.  I also can't tolerate as many hours staring at the computer.  Good thing I like print better than flat screens these days.  I can't help but reread old favorites and tear through satisfying brainless reads instead of do homework.

If you'll forgive one more sentence of angst for today:

I wonder if I've ever felt truly happy and genuinely safe at home, and whether I ever will.

Sometimes I wonder why I don't look forward to breaks from school as much as most of my friends and classmates and virtually all people my age do.  Then when I remember, I smile a bit and frown and scowl a few times just for good measure.  One reason's sad and annoying, though not tragic, and another reason's stupid, but endearingly stupid.  Sometimes I also wonder why I don't wonder as often as other people claim to, and I think I probably just don't think much.

10th grade taught me

• to laugh at my own mistakes
• to do math quickly without a calculator
• to think carefully and always plan ahead
• that literature imitates life
• pessimism (of all things!)

11th grade taught me

• to laugh at others' mistakes
• to forget all the math I ever learned
• that planning never works
• that life imitates literature
• optimism (not that it shows!)

Parallel construction: it's a good thing.

It's too bad my procrastination skills peaked early, or I wouldn't be facing high standards with low capabilities.

I finished reading Lolita.  There are no words.  I'm stunned by Nabokov's skill with language, especially after reading the novel rather slowly and absorbing as much as I could, relishing the read more than I normally would.  What makes the passages ring so well?  How does he write in his second language with such ease?  His teasing, self deprecating remarks regarding Lolita make me absolutely hunger to read his other novels.

Who selects mascots for high schools?  I know I heard a story about a middle school mascot, the blue devil, that was put to a vote because some people complained; as the story went (as I heard it), the same mascot was selected again.  But besides such strange cases, who selected the mascot when the school was founded?  Why do many older schools have alliteratively titled mascots?  And why would anyone choose, of all inanimate and vaguely phallic objects, a rocket?