Okay, so why am I not doing my homework? Because I'm going to work on my NYU application instead. And why am I not doing that? Because my fingers are too sore to hold a pencil (I just practised the cello for a nice amount of time). So where did I find the strength to type?... Good question. One that I will avoid answering, thanks!
Okay, lately life has been uber-hectic. I haven't replied to half of my emails or any of my notes (but I will! I promise!). I haven't even started my English essay that's due Friday. I haven't studied for my French test. I can't think. I'm a blah-b again. I hate the blah-b state. The one where all emotions and normal thought processes take a detour to insanity. Today on the bus I drifted off thinking about a painting whose creator's name I couldn't place. All I could see was the painting. And the kid sitting next to me started talking to me, and I didn't even hear. I still can't remember the name of the painter... all I can think of is Rosetti, and that wasn't it! It was that allegory of autumn, and she was a woman with red hair and a blue veil and a basket of fruit, and her complexion was pink. She looked just like my mum. But I don't remember who it was by!
See? I'm doing it again.
And last night, instead of going directly to sleep, I stayed up much later than usual reading Daniel Deronda. But then I laid in bed thinking of words that rhyme in French and in English. "Heure et fleur" and "hour and flower". Both sets mean the same things, and they both rhyme! Isn't that weird? I couldn't grasp it, and I stayed up like an hour too late thinking about it, and I woke up sick this morning, with a cough and a sneeze. And on top of that, I had a strange dream that made this wonderful metaphor about divorce, and when I woke up (a half an hour before my alarm sounded), I laid in bed thinking about what a reassuring dream it was, and what a vivid metaphor. And five minutes after I started getting ready for school, I couldn't remember it to save my life.
There was a time near the disator of Halloween when my dad finally told us all to our faces that he didn't even want to be around us at all that I couldn't function at all. I'd stare blankly at walls, but not realise that I was doing it because I was so absorbed in my own thought. But they were nice thoughts, like thoughts of paintings, or the characters in books I like, or good movies. Then over Thanksgiving when it finally struck me, I was just filled with rage. And since then it's been rage, but an ebbing one. At first I felt rejected, but then I realised I always have been rejected by my dad, and it's better to have him gone in any case. Then I just became angry that he would do this to my mum, brother, and I, and then blame it on us! Telling us that it was our faults! Telling me he wasn't going to lose his job until mum made him-- he's the one living with his employee! He's the one taking five prescription drugs in large doses with alcohol! He's the one not going to work until noon and leaving an hour later... on the days he feels like it! He thinks that by riskig his job, he's especially hurting me, since it means my college education. What he doesn't understand is that if I have to sell everything I own, I'm going to college-- I'm a heck of a lot smarter than he ever was, and ever will be. It irks him, I know it. I scored higher on my SATs, take better classes, have the better GPA. He resents me for it, for my creativity. He resents my mum for her beauty and genius. He resents my brother for being everything he wanted to be-- an upstanding and popular little gentleman who makes good grades and has lots of friends.
But now all of those thoughts are receeding back into a calm determination, and replaced by silliness. I feel like, despite the determination, my mind is just drifting on autopilot all the time. Today, in AP English class, instead of paying attention to the play being acted out in front of me, I was drawing a picture of William Shakespeare as a pirate, with an eye-patch and a hook. It was a really good picture, it looked almost exactly like the one that you see most often of him, but he looked like an angry pirate! It was pretty cool, actually.
I should make it bigger and post it.
Not the point... wait, what was my point again? Just pray that it goes away for me. As long as it's not as bad as before... before my mum hunted me down with my brother's diabetic supplies everyday to test my bloodsugar! I don't blame her. I probably should test more often, since I'm at such a high risk. I can't get it, though, because my dad (who shall thenceforth be referred to by his first name-- Leo-- I declare it so) doesn't have to pay child support for me, and I don't know that I'm covered under his medical insurance after divorce when I turn 18. That's a couple hundred a month, diabetic supplies! My brother wouldn't feel alone, and I could already take care of myself anyway, but I can't let the financial burden fall... though, there's no way to prevent it but prayer. And here we are, to the beginning of the paragraph again!
I should just go work on my essays, and absorb myself in something. Like Daniel Deronda! (Why is it taking me so long to read this book? It's too good! Far too good! I have to savour the interesting ones... it's interesting to play with the idea of character foils in this book... very fun, indeed.)
Le titre est par Françoise Hardy... je ne pense pas qu'elle soit liée à Thomas Hardy... je suis liée à le Governator! Oui, c'est vrai! (Allez, conservateurs! Allez!) "Girly Men!" Haha! Non.