Cranberry Sauce

Here lies my story:

Tuesday, February 26, 2002

Not but five hours ago I felt completely shook up. More sad in some senses. Just one of those stupid things you don't want to tell anyone you were actually concerned about because of how lame it is. But I'll say what it is anyway.

I am pretty self-concious, especially when I feel like I have to impress someone or prove a point. Although I do actually enjoy playing badminton, and I *do* play for the fun of it, but I also feel rather left out sometimes. I know I am not very good at it but in order to improve I need to get a lot of experience and practice against people who force me to improve. And I know they play people better than themselves to improve, too, I know already, but whenever it comes time to switch teams and I say I want to play, I just wish people wouldn't act like it's a burden.

Maggie and Mandy are a set, and then there's Carlie and Beth, and even if they don't (but I don't know) I feel like they look down upon me with resentement. So they have a year of morre experience than me. They always will no matter what it is I do anyway. But many times when I look for support, none of them are there and I just feel like collapsing in a heap on the floor. I don't want to be an obligation. Friendly tips are nice enough, but playing is more crucial. If you're going to act like you can't spare seven minutes of your day to beat me with a plastic and rubber implement then I really don't need it from you. (Jeez that came out very bitter and sounds not how I meant it but I think I'll leave it anyway. Just know that it's probably not what you are thinking.)

Jenny is a cool person; and also a good partner. But as is evident by her lack of practices, she isn't as serious about trying to improve as me. When she attends, i am privileged to have a partner finally, but I can't depend on her all the time. And when she doesn't come I just mill around the gym in search of play time. Today I only played seven minutes out of seventy five. Not very good odds, ya think?

And if you want to know the truth about what I think, the more I play and watch other people play, the less talented I think the "experienced" players are. (Here's where they would stick up for themselves and say they haven't played for a long time, and yadda yadda) But honestly they make the same mistakes as a lot of the other players make a lot of the time anyway. They're all still good players and all, I am not denying that, but not as great as I once thought.

Overall I become upset becuase smoetimes I think the value system is messed up when I look around. This has nothing to do with me since I don't expect to be a real good player or anything, but sometimes I wonder if there's tainted vision or whatnot.
Laura questioned at 10:23 p.m.

Monday, February 25, 2002

Remember how in elementary school everyone was eachother's friend and an entire class functioned as one? Each child put at a miniature table with three other kids and immediately become friends, many times based on the ability to simply "play nice". Of course, there were always those few who were ridiculed because of their introvertedness. Called Paste Eaters, Treasure Diggers, Poo Sniffers...

Why can't anyone "play nice" anymore? Spanish 3, you would assume would contain some mature people aiming for college; the kind of kids with intellectual views on the environment perhaphs, or kids looking to travel around and better countries with bad irrigation systems. You would think if they actually give effort to take a class that is not mandatory that they would at least try a smigen (sp?) harder to participate.

And, as is inevitable with most if not all foreign language classes whose teachers' first language is the one being taught, the instructor gets all the blame. Matt didn't do his homework. Oh but that is Ms. Molina's fault because he couldn't do it because she didn't explain it and when he asked she said he had to come to tutorial but he couldn't because he had badminton and he had to leave right that moment or else he would never find a way home. Yes, I am absolutely sure Ms. Molina would've taken time to wait and drive you home because after all, she would have had to stay there and walk you through self-fucking-explanitory homework. Gee, son, where there is a blank, you probably have to fill it in...

So that said, now you understand the antics I deal with, specifically in that class. Juniors and seniors, a couple of my sophomore friends, and yet they still manage to find more than enough humore out of a fart machine. These students, (more or less; considering they go to school although they don't actually study) these of all people you would think would also be stuck in kindergarten where you are best friends with your neighboor. And I wouldn't mind. It's not horrid that the maestra keeps placing me in my same seat in the hell-hole of the universe. The people briefly converse with me, and they are entertaining, yes, but I just know all the dirty little thoughts going through their heads abotu how I hsould trade seats with Jessica. God only knows how many times I have switched my seat yet she insists of having me stay there. The people are not stuck up or anything, but I would rather be with those I can more easily and more comfortably identify with. She assigned our group projects based on where we sit. Although me being the canniving little bastard I am switched groups, but if I had to work with them it woudl be awful. (Yeah, yeah, spare me the "getting along with others" talk) I need an A in that class. Doing a project with people who still can't even use the present tense correctly is not the way to go. It's be bearable if they tried; asked for help maybe, but no, not these guys. They have to do it their own way; the wrong way, just to get the girls in the class to giggle about their video and please their hormones. As a contrast, the video which Carlie, Bryan, and I made was presented today, and our teacher called it "excellent" and gave us each one percent extra-credit. That is the "good stuff" I need right there. So I am pompous. Everyone needs to be when the world gets 'em down.

(Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold...)
Laura complained about language at 08:43 p.m.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

Things are better now. I've cooled my temper; cooled my emotions off a bit as well. During my days in front of the couch (presuming I keep missing badminton practice due to various reasons, although I attempted to go, but NO ONE was there!!) I have come to greatly enjoy Timothy Goebel and Apolo Anton Ohno. Geez, I can't get enough of them! Timothy is (obviously) a great skater and smooth like water, plus he has that absolutely overpowering smile, with eye wrinkles and all. And Apollo is just so honest it hurts, plus I like his modesty and how he's overcome obstacles. (yeah, yeah, you know...)

Anywho, I've also found more comfort in manga and anime once more, thanks extra-especially to Rumiko Takahashi! Rumic Theater kicks short-tale ass! Just the kinda escape I need. Humor; Romance...and all those great elements. Another attribute has been all these movies. I've seen quite a few films this past week, I suppose in an attempt to slip into another life dramatically different than mine for just a few hours. Of course, the best movies tug on my heart and make me more depressed than before, but it's all good in the end.

I think I've lost the talking ability I used to have. Erm, I know I always mutter under my breath and slur, but in all honesty, maybe I don't want people to hear what I have to say sometimes. Not everything is everyone else's business anyway. But despite my failing speech tactics, I have become more inarticulate than ever. Ask me any question (given the answer is "yes") and I will reply, "Yeah, it's great." Well, shit, I need to read a dictionary or something. My grandpa actually did that about ten years ago. Maybe I should take after him?
Laura randomized at 10:33 p.m.

Monday, February 18, 2002

An overwhelming amount of hectic events have littered my usually bland lifestyle. Where everything is normally beige, I would now consider it off the wall chartreuse. Items that normally wouldn’t be considered problematic have produced results of me feeling more insecure about myself than ever before. A hot tingly feeling sweeps over my face, and, although the wall thermometer reads around 65 degrees, I still manage to turn the fan on high and drink more ice water than an elephant consumes in a week.

Friday assured a tough weekend with badminton being overall disappointing because of my lack of great participation and skill. Saturday, then, the Great Movement began. Not as "great" as aforementioned, but quite a spectacle. My room's furniture in the hallway, the office's furniture in the living room; and the cat running about in between the boxes and buckets and various cleaning materials. Two days later, I am in my new cubicle of space (although it is larger than my old room) sitting and thinking of plans to improve myself.

The first step, as they all say, is to confront the source. So, here I sit, trying to figure out just why I feel so depressed and perplexed all the time. At any given moment, I glance down to see my hand flinching. Shaking in fear? Anxiety or worry? Some type of more general "shell" shock? Whatever it is, I guess the only way to strike against it is to complete my reasoning with an outage.

But now here is the real predicament: I just have no idea how to go about this. I think what is happening is that I am finally realizing i need to make amends with my father. I treat him horribly. I love him, yes I do, and I know he returns the feelings... But I am so hard on him; only in hopes it will anger him enough to fuel his improvement. For all the 15 plus years of my life, I have been trying to help him lose weight. Every day of my life, I think of how he may never live to see me get married; or to see his grandchildren or all those things that would at last prove he had raised me good and well, and that he would have something to be proud of. And now that I am trying my hardest and have come up with what should be the most efficient plan to ensure him both rewards he will enjoy and discipline to learn self-control; well, now he decides to rebel the most. I mean, seriously, rebel in the wrong direction. We make a deal he will have sweets rationed to him around Valentine's Day, and he goes out and buys a bag of chocolate and eats the WHOLE thing in the back on the yard, then opens the glass door smearing chocolate all over the handle. How disgusting is this? It's one thing to do something you back up fully for justifiable reasoning, even if you can't explain it to others, but when you do something just to fuck someone over, what's the point? They're only going to sneak back behind your back and rip your fucking ass off when you least expect it. So now, I'm just pissed. Not at him, but at me for throwing so many years through the disposal to become shredded up like everything else.

Usually I am thankful my parents don't read this; but right now I wish my father could read this and understand how I feel. I could never say this to his face. That reaction of his; I have no idea what it would be...he is a very mysterious man...
Laura rambled on at 10:36 p.m.

Thursday, February 7, 2002

Yer all a buncha fekkin' indoostree whores!
That doesn't have much to do with my entry but I must say... silly, silly society!! Haven't you learned yet that "alot" is actually TWO WORDS!! A lot! Got it? And it's puke not "peuk." Christ, if you learn two things from school, why can't it be these things? Two of the smallest details ever yet no one can get them right except for those few who now go on my list of elite kids with real minds!

By the by, I have archived, folks, to make less scroller for the homeless guy with one finger who visits my site from the library. (His finger was run over by a train one year when he was train-hiking) Yes today has been a crzy day involving a great badminton session and headphones and radio, algebra and tests, color-change markers and play-doh.
Laura kicked it at 09:50 p.m.

Wednesday, February 6, 2002

This is my house, these are my rules; First rule is I never lose in my house...
Bleh, silly song stuck in my head and I, I don't know how to stop it. I've gone through about seven cds and still no previal. I'm also drawing my crappy mitosis/meiosis poster using those color-changing markers that really doesn't have that great of an effect. Ugh, seven more drawings to go. My back hurts from slumping over the posterboard and I want someone to massage it but no one is around.

Sometimes I wonder if I will be alone my whole life. I love my family incredulously, and whereas other kids my age hate theirs, I just adore mine. Sure, they may get over-protective at times, but of course, right? But what happens if my entire family is killed in a plane crash on their way to some over-hyped family reunion? Usually I end up not going to those things for one reason or another. Wow...without them I would be living in Almaden with people who actually have money to spare. People who would buy me all the craft and art supplies and cds and books I want. People who don't give a damn about me. And I would be sleeping in a cold bare room balling my eyes out just to get to sleep. I have a pretty vivid imagination; I just don't bother to write out the details. Thinking about these situations sometimes actually makes me cry because I can actually experience it inside my head. Of course, the contrary is great, enacting scenarios of adventure and romance... (and shit like that) Put me in a room with empty walls and I'd do just fine. It's like that story we read today where the earthlings send all these people with this blood-rust disease to live on Mars, and one of them can make imaginary places spring into everyone's heads through all six senses. I forget what it was called but it is written by Ray Bradbury. Anyway, I should start drawing again.
Laura dreamed in digital at 10:42 p.m.

Monday, February 4, 2002

Yeah I've earned some flat out mean and bitchy reputation. Well that may be all well and deserved, but it's not as accurate as you might assume. And remember, don't assume. Just because I happen to write about certian people who rub me the wrong way doesn't give anyone a reason to think I'm a mean little sucker. Well, I'll tell you what I am. I am honest in that when people don't want to hear the truth, quite often I will tell them anyway. And that makes me a bad person.

Besides, isn't it better for me to type out my aggression on here than go out with a pistol like so many others have? And furthermore, my fits of anger are always short-lived. You piss me off, then okay, I'll be angry "on the inside" for about 3 hours tops, write about it, and it will be over. If I see you tomorrow in the hall, I can say Hello like a happy little girl scout with bright eyes and braids. I never really feel the need to make a "make-up" entry, or to say, okay, that's over now. If I did that every time, well, my total entries would double. And frankly, it's healthy to record ups and downs, contemptuos moments and blissful euphoria. Besides, no one wants to read anything without emotion, and that is one thing I have plenty of.
Laura repented at 10:26 p.m.


	Here lies my story: Tuesday, February 26, 2002 Not but five hours ago I felt completely shook up. More sad in some senses. Just one of those stupid things you don't want to tell anyone you were actually concerned about because of how lame it is. But I'll say what it is anyway. I am pretty self-concious, especially when I feel like I have to impress someone or prove a point. Although I do actually enjoy playing badminton, and I do play for the fun of it, but I also feel rather left out sometimes. I know I am not very good at it but in order to improve I need to get a lot of experience and practice against people who force me to improve. And I know they play people better than themselves to improve, too, I know already, but whenever it comes time to switch teams and I say I want to play, I just wish people wouldn't act like it's a burden. Maggie and Mandy are a set, and then there's Carlie and Beth, and even if they don't (but I don't know) I feel like they look down upon me with resentement. So they have a year of morre experience than me. They always will no matter what it is I do anyway. But many times when I look for support, none of them are there and I just feel like collapsing in a heap on the floor. I don't want to be an obligation. Friendly tips are nice enough, but playing is more crucial. If you're going to act like you can't spare seven minutes of your day to beat me with a plastic and rubber implement then I really don't need it from you. (Jeez that came out very bitter and sounds not how I meant it but I think I'll leave it anyway. Just know that it's probably not what you are thinking.) Jenny is a cool person; and also a good partner. But as is evident by her lack of practices, she isn't as serious about trying to improve as me. When she attends, i am privileged to have a partner finally, but I can't depend on her all the time. And when she doesn't come I just mill around the gym in search of play time. Today I only played seven minutes out of seventy five. Not very good odds, ya think? And if you want to know the truth about what I think, the more I play and watch other people play, the less talented I think the "experienced" players are. (Here's where they would stick up for themselves and say they haven't played for a long time, and yadda yadda) But honestly they make the same mistakes as a lot of the other players make a lot of the time anyway. They're all still good players and all, I am not denying that, but not as great as I once thought. Overall I become upset becuase smoetimes I think the value system is messed up when I look around. This has nothing to do with me since I don't expect to be a real good player or anything, but sometimes I wonder if there's tainted vision or whatnot. Laura questioned at 10:23 p.m. Monday, February 25, 2002 Remember how in elementary school everyone was eachother's friend and an entire class functioned as one? Each child put at a miniature table with three other kids and immediately become friends, many times based on the ability to simply "play nice". Of course, there were always those few who were ridiculed because of their introvertedness. Called Paste Eaters, Treasure Diggers, Poo Sniffers... Why can't anyone "play nice" anymore? Spanish 3, you would assume would contain some mature people aiming for college; the kind of kids with intellectual views on the environment perhaphs, or kids looking to travel around and better countries with bad irrigation systems. You would think if they actually give effort to take a class that is not mandatory that they would at least try a smigen (sp?) harder to participate. And, as is inevitable with most if not all foreign language classes whose teachers' first language is the one being taught, the instructor gets all the blame. Matt didn't do his homework. Oh but that is Ms. Molina's fault because he couldn't do it because she didn't explain it and when he asked she said he had to come to tutorial but he couldn't because he had badminton and he had to leave right that moment or else he would never find a way home. Yes, I am absolutely sure Ms. Molina would've taken time to wait and drive you home because after all, she would have had to stay there and walk you through self-fucking-explanitory homework. Gee, son, where there is a blank, you probably have to fill it in... So that said, now you understand the antics I deal with, specifically in that class. Juniors and seniors, a couple of my sophomore friends, and yet they still manage to find more than enough humore out of a fart machine. These students, (more or less; considering they go to school although they don't actually study) these of all people you would think would also be stuck in kindergarten where you are best friends with your neighboor. And I wouldn't mind. It's not horrid that the maestra keeps placing me in my same seat in the hell-hole of the universe. The people briefly converse with me, and they are entertaining, yes, but I just know all the dirty little thoughts going through their heads abotu how I hsould trade seats with Jessica. God only knows how many times I have switched my seat yet she insists of having me stay there. The people are not stuck up or anything, but I would rather be with those I can more easily and more comfortably identify with. She assigned our group projects based on where we sit. Although me being the canniving little bastard I am switched groups, but if I had to work with them it woudl be awful. (Yeah, yeah, spare me the "getting along with others" talk) I need an A in that class. Doing a project with people who still can't even use the present tense correctly is not the way to go. It's be bearable if they tried; asked for help maybe, but no, not these guys. They have to do it their own way; the wrong way, just to get the girls in the class to giggle about their video and please their hormones. As a contrast, the video which Carlie, Bryan, and I made was presented today, and our teacher called it "excellent" and gave us each one percent extra-credit. That is the "good stuff" I need right there. So I am pompous. Everyone needs to be when the world gets 'em down. (Not everyone here is that fucked up and cold...) Laura complained about language at 08:43 p.m. Wednesday, February 20, 2002 Things are better now. I've cooled my temper; cooled my emotions off a bit as well. During my days in front of the couch (presuming I keep missing badminton practice due to various reasons, although I attempted to go, but NO ONE was there!!) I have come to greatly enjoy Timothy Goebel and Apolo Anton Ohno. Geez, I can't get enough of them! Timothy is (obviously) a great skater and smooth like water, plus he has that absolutely overpowering smile, with eye wrinkles and all. And Apollo is just so honest it hurts, plus I like his modesty and how he's overcome obstacles. (yeah, yeah, you know...) Anywho, I've also found more comfort in manga and anime once more, thanks extra-especially to Rumiko Takahashi! Rumic Theater kicks short-tale ass! Just the kinda escape I need. Humor; Romance...and all those great elements. Another attribute has been all these movies. I've seen quite a few films this past week, I suppose in an attempt to slip into another life dramatically different than mine for just a few hours. Of course, the best movies tug on my heart and make me more depressed than before, but it's all good in the end. I think I've lost the talking ability I used to have. Erm, I know I always mutter under my breath and slur, but in all honesty, maybe I don't want people to hear what I have to say sometimes. Not everything is everyone else's business anyway. But despite my failing speech tactics, I have become more inarticulate than ever. Ask me any question (given the answer is "yes") and I will reply, "Yeah, it's great." Well, shit, I need to read a dictionary or something. My grandpa actually did that about ten years ago. Maybe I should take after him? Laura randomized at 10:33 p.m. Monday, February 18, 2002 An overwhelming amount of hectic events have littered my usually bland lifestyle. Where everything is normally beige, I would now consider it off the wall chartreuse. Items that normally wouldn’t be considered problematic have produced results of me feeling more insecure about myself than ever before. A hot tingly feeling sweeps over my face, and, although the wall thermometer reads around 65 degrees, I still manage to turn the fan on high and drink more ice water than an elephant consumes in a week. Friday assured a tough weekend with badminton being overall disappointing because of my lack of great participation and skill. Saturday, then, the Great Movement began. Not as "great" as aforementioned, but quite a spectacle. My room's furniture in the hallway, the office's furniture in the living room; and the cat running about in between the boxes and buckets and various cleaning materials. Two days later, I am in my new cubicle of space (although it is larger than my old room) sitting and thinking of plans to improve myself. The first step, as they all say, is to confront the source. So, here I sit, trying to figure out just why I feel so depressed and perplexed all the time. At any given moment, I glance down to see my hand flinching. Shaking in fear? Anxiety or worry? Some type of more general "shell" shock? Whatever it is, I guess the only way to strike against it is to complete my reasoning with an outage. But now here is the real predicament: I just have no idea how to go about this. I think what is happening is that I am finally realizing i need to make amends with my father. I treat him horribly. I love him, yes I do, and I know he returns the feelings... But I am so hard on him; only in hopes it will anger him enough to fuel his improvement. For all the 15 plus years of my life, I have been trying to help him lose weight. Every day of my life, I think of how he may never live to see me get married; or to see his grandchildren or all those things that would at last prove he had raised me good and well, and that he would have something to be proud of. And now that I am trying my hardest and have come up with what should be the most efficient plan to ensure him both rewards he will enjoy and discipline to learn self-control; well, now he decides to rebel the most. I mean, seriously, rebel in the wrong direction. We make a deal he will have sweets rationed to him around Valentine's Day, and he goes out and buys a bag of chocolate and eats the WHOLE thing in the back on the yard, then opens the glass door smearing chocolate all over the handle. How disgusting is this? It's one thing to do something you back up fully for justifiable reasoning, even if you can't explain it to others, but when you do something just to fuck someone over, what's the point? They're only going to sneak back behind your back and rip your fucking ass off when you least expect it. So now, I'm just pissed. Not at him, but at me for throwing so many years through the disposal to become shredded up like everything else. Usually I am thankful my parents don't read this; but right now I wish my father could read this and understand how I feel. I could never say this to his face. That reaction of his; I have no idea what it would be...he is a very mysterious man... Laura rambled on at 10:36 p.m. Thursday, February 7, 2002 Yer all a buncha fekkin' indoostree whores! That doesn't have much to do with my entry but I must say... silly, silly society!! Haven't you learned yet that "alot" is actually TWO WORDS!! A lot! Got it? And it's puke not "peuk." Christ, if you learn two things from school, why can't it be these things? Two of the smallest details ever yet no one can get them right except for those few who now go on my list of elite kids with real minds! By the by, I have archived, folks, to make less scroller for the homeless guy with one finger who visits my site from the library. (His finger was run over by a train one year when he was train-hiking) Yes today has been a crzy day involving a great badminton session and headphones and radio, algebra and tests, color-change markers and play-doh. Laura kicked it at 09:50 p.m. Wednesday, February 6, 2002 This is my house, these are my rules; First rule is I never lose in my house... Bleh, silly song stuck in my head and I, I don't know how to stop it. I've gone through about seven cds and still no previal. I'm also drawing my crappy mitosis/meiosis poster using those color-changing markers that really doesn't have that great of an effect. Ugh, seven more drawings to go. My back hurts from slumping over the posterboard and I want someone to massage it but no one is around. Sometimes I wonder if I will be alone my whole life. I love my family incredulously, and whereas other kids my age hate theirs, I just adore mine. Sure, they may get over-protective at times, but of course, right? But what happens if my entire family is killed in a plane crash on their way to some over-hyped family reunion? Usually I end up not going to those things for one reason or another. Wow...without them I would be living in Almaden with people who actually have money to spare. People who would buy me all the craft and art supplies and cds and books I want. People who don't give a damn about me. And I would be sleeping in a cold bare room balling my eyes out just to get to sleep. I have a pretty vivid imagination; I just don't bother to write out the details. Thinking about these situations sometimes actually makes me cry because I can actually experience it inside my head. Of course, the contrary is great, enacting scenarios of adventure and romance... (and shit like that) Put me in a room with empty walls and I'd do just fine. It's like that story we read today where the earthlings send all these people with this blood-rust disease to live on Mars, and one of them can make imaginary places spring into everyone's heads through all six senses. I forget what it was called but it is written by Ray Bradbury. Anyway, I should start drawing again. Laura dreamed in digital at 10:42 p.m. Monday, February 4, 2002 Yeah I've earned some flat out mean and bitchy reputation. Well that may be all well and deserved, but it's not as accurate as you might assume. And remember, don't assume. Just because I happen to write about certian people who rub me the wrong way doesn't give anyone a reason to think I'm a mean little sucker. Well, I'll tell you what I am. I am honest in that when people don't want to hear the truth, quite often I will tell them anyway. And that makes me a bad person. Besides, isn't it better for me to type out my aggression on here than go out with a pistol like so many others have? And furthermore, my fits of anger are always short-lived. You piss me off, then okay, I'll be angry "on the inside" for about 3 hours tops, write about it, and it will be over. If I see you tomorrow in the hall, I can say Hello like a happy little girl scout with bright eyes and braids. I never really feel the need to make a "make-up" entry, or to say, okay, that's over now. If I did that every time, well, my total entries would double. And frankly, it's healthy to record ups and downs, contemptuos moments and blissful euphoria. Besides, no one wants to read anything without emotion, and that is one thing I have plenty of. Laura repented at 10:26 p.m.