I can't even count how often I used to say that I was negligent. Leaving a couple of days, weeks between posts. Well, now I've left
more than 8 months go by. I wonder if anyone's noticed. Probably not.�I'm unnoticable, and that's how�I like it. Because all the ones who no one notices rule the world.
So, what has happened, you ask. A lot has happened.�Charlotte got her first boyfriend. Charlotte broke up with her first boyfriend�(if
you know anything about Charlotte [which I'm not sure you do] you will know that is a traumatic event). Charlotte seems to be on the brink of suicide.�Charlotte is scaring me and there is
absolutely nothing I can do but stand by her and make her meet with the school counsellor.
In non-Charlotte news, my grandmother may be dying. It's strange--then, what in my life isn't? What is strange is that I don't
particularly like my grandmother.�I'm sure that when she dies, I will cry and be sad.�But knowing that my dad is the way he is because of her, and knowing her thoughts and feelings a propos de some
things I consider very important, there is a dislike that has built in me (aided and abetted by her long absence in my life) that is persistent and unyielding. Like I said, it's
One thing I feel that I should have done a long time ago is talk about my school friends.�I'm sure I've mentioned them, but I've never
really given bios of them, which would be extremely useful in understanding some of my anecdotes about them.
Shall we begin with Charlotte? Okay:
Name:�Charlotte.�Age: Same as me. Life story:�Led a very, VERY sheltered life before coming to the school where we met.�Heavily
Protestant at first, but has loosened up since.�Prefers books to people, has an uncharted�obsessive personality�and�a ridiculous tendency to stress about EVERYTHING. I am almost sure that there is
a name for people like that, and I'm sure she has whatever disease it is. When�I say everything, I truly mean everything. Then she stresses about the imaginary things that spring
from her imagining all the terrible outcomes of her stresses. Yes, complicated. She fell madly in love/lust with a boy.�They went out for five months (practically married) and then he broke up with
her. She still pines for him.�He still hesitates before he hangs up the phone, almost as if he started to say "I love you." There's a seemingly complicated life for you. Char is almost impossible
to define. She is nonetheless one of my dearest friends.
Name:�Malaea.�Age:�Same as me. Life story: Comes from a very rich family, came from a rich school, plays the clarinet and has a house
in Hawaii (which she complains about often). Doesn't seem to understand how blessed she is.�People who don't know her think she's shy and quiet. Is essentially nice, but favourite pastimes include
complaining about her life, talking about her life, complaining about her life some more, and telling people to shut up when THEY complain about their lives. I swear, she's actually a nice girl.�It
helps that she is tiny and petite and innocent- and sweet-looking. No one suspects the cute one.
Name:�Emanuelle.�Age:�Same as me. Life story: Father is an important member of the UN, and therefore travelled around a lot as a
child.�Lived most of her life in Africa.�Likes boys (lots of them at once, and not for sex or anything) and shopping and pink. Is constantly pinching our cheeks and telling us how cute and chubby
(I still don't get it) we are. Wants to have lots of children.�Will proudly state that she is three years old whenever we ask her how old she is after she does something stupid. Compassionate, but
can hardly ever be serious.
Name:�Eric. Age: Same birthday as me, so my age. Life story:�Eric is actually a girl.�It's my nickname for her after we read
Lord of the Flies in English class, because we have the same birthday and are good friends. She grew up in a very
different environment from the rest of us--much less complete and/or in any way normal and/or very loving. Her family treats each other kind of like good friends who they don't like overmuch.
Either way, Eric loves shopping, partying, flirting with lots of guys, and telling people she's a dominatrix (now do you see why I have to give you backstory?). She has a twisted sense of humour
and revels in any prude's discomfort. Has a great heart, but a seriously crazy mind.
Name:�Mara-Sabrina. Age:�Same as me. Life story:�Mara is the one whose life story I'm not going to tell, because then we'd be stuck
her for a far, far way into the future. She comes from a family who lives on various parts of the globe, and who all dislike each other in general.�Mara is... well.�Some of her family is
well-off.�They don't share the wealth. We call her a hippie. Albeit a hippie with a really bad attitude.�She gets angry easily, but is all organic and earth-friendly and peace-love-grooviness
(except for when she doesn't like you). You don't want to get on her bad side.�Has strong opinions about world issues that are rarely the norm.�But hey! That's what we like about her.
Name:�Gia. Age:�Same as me. Life story:�I saved Gia for last. Because, out of all my friends, I like Gia the least.�In fact,�I don't
like her at all.�Call me cruel, go ahead.�I am not the most amiable of people, as everyone who knows me will attest to. But if there's one thing in my life that I abhor more than anything, it is
followers. I understand young children idolising their siblings or parents. I understand some people needing guidance from others. I do NOT understand people who pretend to have done things, lie
straight to other's faces to try to fit in. Copy what they say, what they do, what they think.�I cannot stand it.�I'm really sorry if you've done that, but really, there is nothing more offensive
for me than to be aped by someone I don't even like.�Gia comes from a large Italian�family. She is of less than average intelligence.�Wants to be a vet but doesn't have the grades. Has told us
she's bisexual, without showing any preference for women at all--well, except for me. But I'm getting to that. Anyways, what absolutely KILLS me about Gia is that she has no personality.�She does
whatever her mother does, or what the stereotype for Italian women is (therefore, to cook and clean and feed everyone and be motherly) or whatever Char and I do. It drives me to absolute
distraction.�I'd say she has a good heart, but that could be what her mother told her to be.�She could be vengeful and nasty and we'd never know.�She makes bad jokes ALL the time--bad jokes, the
ones that aren't funny.
Here's the part that really disturbs me:�She is always. Staring.�At. Me. All the time.�Without fail.�I really, really don't like
it.�It disturbs me.�It has happened since we met, and I have no idea why she does it.�Once I asked, and she said (while staring) "I wasn't staring,�I�swear!" I am almost 100% sure she
likes me likes me.�And that makes me really uncomfortable, because I'm not bi or lesbian.�I'm not homophobic at all�(I have a couple of bi or gay friends) but to have that attention
directed towards me is unnerving, to understate it.�If it were only staring that she did, I could deal with it.�But being constantly emulated and stared at and generally fawned on by this girl has
worn me down to my last shred of sanity. I have NO.�IDEA. what to do.
And, chances are no one's read this far. Oh well. It was mainly to get it off my chest. Now it is out there: I do
There.�I said it.
That is going to be all for today.�I will try to start posting on a semi-regular basis.
Song recommendation: The Chain, by Fleetwood Mac.�Love that song. Can play some of it on guitar.
Goodbye for now,
Here again is the one and only oddity commonly known as Annabel, come again to grace these halls of bloggers.
Just kidding. Grace anything, me? You must have me mixed up with someone. Hello again, and�sorry for being gone so long. It has been a busy (and when I
say so, I mean it) summer. I've traveled a bit--gotten to see just about my best friend on the face of the planet, who happens to live 5000 kms from me. She lives in just about the most beautiful
place I've ever seen. My mother (who I traveled with) disagreed on that count, but I would be completely willing to live there. Gorgeous. I've also gone to horseback riding camp for a week; that
was very fun, despite being put on every horse but the one I wanted to ride the most. I also applied for a job I don't want, read a book I highly anticipated and was slightly disappointed by, and
got a chance to get together with a few friends I hadn't had a chance to prior to my last post.
Read a few books... none really worth mentioning. Oh, besides Breaking Dawn. But I won't talk about it, because if I do, oh, man, will that post take forever.
Depends on whether or not I have the patience to type it all up, one of these days. Then again, I am not reknowned for my patience--rather, I am reknowned for the lack thereof.
So, since I am kind of at loss of what to say, I will say something random that has occurred to me recently. Anyone out there believe in a sixth sense? Ok, wait,
hold up. Let me preface this with something one of my favourite book characters (from one of my favourite books, from one of my favourite authors) said: "Every teenager in the world feels like
that, feels broken or out of place, different somehow, royalty mistakenly born into a family of peasants." I must say I feel like that all the time, and while I understand that most... some... a
number of other people my age feel that way, it's still true for me. Which bemuses me, because I can so barely relate to any�person I know. And now, about to go on a teenage angst rant about the
unfairness of life and how special and different I am, I can't help thinking of that and knowing that "You're not so freaking alone as you thought, smart one". Which, since I am an angst-ridden
(<-- key word)�teenager, doesn't help whatsoever.
And due to my extreme lack of concentration, I haven't even begun to say what I intended to. So like that quote said, I do think there's something up with me.
What? I don't know. But something. And since I don't believe especially in being able to tell the future or having a sixth sense, this is even weirder for me to make anything out of it. But I want
to say it to someone. My mother doesn't care. Neither does the rest of my family. So here goes.
Remember a few months ago I mentioned that I went to a family wedding (yes, I did. It's there if you want to look.) and I was all happy for the bride and groom.
I don't know if I mentioned THIS, but something weird happened. I saw one of my mom's cousins there, who my mother hadn't seen in a while, and I hadn't either. She was wearing a tight black dress
and holding her daughter, who's about 2. And, inexplicably, I looked at her and the only think I could think was, "She's pregnant." See where this is going? There was no evidence of it. It hadn't
been mentioned or announced. She didn't have a baby bump. But it was TRUE. She told my mother. That was instance one.
Instance two. More recently, I was driving with my mom and got suddenly really excited. For no reason. Again. I get that often: anticipating nothing. But the
feeling persisted, and when I got home, someone told me really great news about something I've been looking forward to a LOT (a movie release date got pushed forward) and I kept on being excited as
though that was what I'd been excited about in the first place.
This happens often. I try to dismiss it as my standard oddities, but the pregnant thing especially got to me. So I had to say it SOMEWHERE, to SOMEONE. No sense.
Don't know what to do about it... don't know IF there's anything to do about it.
Well, that's all for now. Ranting over. Going to try not to think about my strangeness.
Recommendation: Universe and You, by KT Tunstall. The acoustic version. It's so pretty.
Well, I've finished all my books--except Wuthering Heights. I took a break from that. They were all really, really good. The Host and
City of Bones especially. Except the plot twist at the end of CoB infuriated me. Grr. I won't go into detail, but I squealed "WHAAAAAAT?!" really, really loud and really, really
high-pitched when I read it. Oops. I think I scared my mom :P.
My favourite out of all of them, though, was The Host. It was captivating. You know when people say "It was a book I couldn't put down", meaning
that it was captivating and not literally that they couldn't separate it from their person? Well, when I say that, I mean it literally. I was at my friend Grace's birthday party (we went to see Get
Smart and had a sleepover) and I read for a total of... two and a half hours. With everyone there. Antisocial? Yes. Ashamed? Maybe. Regretful? Not in your wildest dreams. I can't even explain it.
Well, I can try. It's science fiction, kind of Body-Snatcher-esque. In the present time, a race of aliens (who call themselves souls) have invaded Earth. They are nearly completely indetectable,
due to the fact that they cannot live in their own bodies. They are essentially parasites who are inserted into humans and take control of their body and mind. The human who used to control the
body usually fades away, with the soul in complete control. The souls are not volatile or evil--they are actually peace-loving beings who didn't want humans to fight each other or destroy the
Earth. The price of that is that humans--well, they just don't get to take part in that world. There are human renegades as well: humans who are in hiding from the aliens because they don't want to
lose their bodies/souls/hearts/etc. The book is about a soul named Wanderer whose host body--Melanie Stryder-- refuses to relinquish control of her mind. Melanie worries constantly about her
brother and true love, who are humans in hiding. Eventually, certain events force Melanie and Wanderer to join forces and look for them. AWESOME, FABULOUS, INCREDIBLE. I absolutely loooved it.
(Guess what my recommendation of the day will be :P )
Anywho, that is just one thing. I passed my lifesaving course exam. Woot for me. (That was facetious.) It was really easy. I had been stressing for nothing. I
also jumped off the ten-metre again. It actually hurt this time--the bottoms of my feet were KILLING me. Ouchies. Forgot to point my toes. Oh well.�
My young cousins are coming to visit for a week. They are very sweet kids (a girl, 11, and�a boy, 7) and I'm excited to see them. We rarely spend time together
even when they come to visit us (they live very far away). I think I've explained this, though, so...
As I mentioned, my suggestion today is The Host. Really, if you have a chance to read it, DO.
Bye for now!
All right. So I've gotten some comments, and I want to address them. Unfortunately, I can't see who sent them, so I cannot address you by screen name.
First, about the fact that a shooting star is not, in fact, a star: I am aware of that. I said (Duh, it's a STAR) because it is commonly called a shooting star, and I took it from the name. Thank
you for the link and pointing that out.
And about Wuthering Heights: It may just be my opinion of them (keep in mind that I am not done yet. I am at page 153 of this old, old paperback edition), but I do think that Cathy is just screwing
everything up with her melodramatics--why would she ACCEPT to marry Linton if she KNOWS she won't love him as much as Heathcliff?? Yes, convenience, knowing she wouldn't ever be allowed to marry
Heathcliff, but REALLY. She shows up and says "I love Heathcliff. And I just agreed to marry Linton." and then later throws fits over how her husband "treats" her--Sigh. You can't see me, but I'm
rolling my eyes. She's just screwing everything up.
Heathcliff? He's evil. Just an all-around nasty person.
Linton is a wimp, completely and utterly. He refuses to stand up to Heathcliff on his own.
Hareton is being corrupted by Heathcliff.
Catherine's brother (I always forget his name--Hindley?) is an a$$hole with a superiority complex.
Joseph is a bigot.
Sorry if I made any enemies with this. These are just my impressions of the characters, and I'm not done the book. But first impressions are a kicker, aren't they? I like the book itself. I just
find its characters not very likeable. I think the book's interesting because of it.
Not much is new. I got (one second, let me count...) 3 new books yesterday. City of Bones, by Cassandra Clare, Peeps, by Scott Westerfield, and The
Host, by Stephenie Meyer (also known as the amazing, incredible, fabulous�author who brought us Twilight). In addition to that, my mother's friend who borrowed Twilight from me returned it
yesterday, so now I have that to read too. It has been a while since I've been this happy.
Whoo. It's been quite a week.
I came on mostly to write about the new things that happened to me in the last few days.
Ok, so #1: I jumped off a 10 metre diving board. Can you say adrenaline rush? I was hyperventilating for 20 minutes after. So here's how it happened:
I'm taking a lifesaving course in the morning for this last week and next week. It's fun. I know some of the stuff already, but some is new. Our exam is next Friday afternoon. We were told that for
our exam, we have to be able to jump off the 5 metre diving board for this compact jump thing (it's�a way to get to a victim in water if you're jumping from high up). So our instructor let us
practice on Friday. We all did the 5 with no problem (I love doing it. Why? Ask the madwoman that is my inner self). Then our instructor let us play around on the boards. There are two 3 metres,
one 5 metre, and a 10 metre. Only three people chose to go off the ten: my friend Katherine, a girl named Bronte and another girl (who landed with her arms flat--OUCH!). Everyone else was on the 5
and 3s. So everything's wrapping up, and I'm the only one left who wants to go. I ask my instructor to go one more time and he says sure, because we're early anyways. So I start climbing up.. and
up.. and up. I had only planned to go on the 5, but made one of those stupid spur-of-the-moment decisions that make me so charming (). So I keep climbing, all the way up to the 10. By the time I get up there, I'm shaking and hyperventilating (there were gaps between the
steps and you could see ALL the way down). I was grabbing the handrail for dear life right after I passed the 5.
So there I am, on the very highest open platform intended for jumping I have ever been on. I was still shaking. I was questioning my sanity. I swear to God that I was considering telling my parents
to institutionalise me--once I got down. Which was my immediate problem. The kicker is, I had a huge, huge audience. All the swimming lessons had just finished, so all the kids, their
teachers, my lifesaving class, the other one, the lifeguards, and the parents were watching me. And calling encouragement up to me. Which created an incredible amount of pressure. There were
several counts of "Ok, Anna, on 3, jump! One... two... three!" with no response from or effect upon me. I debated just climbing back down the stairs, but since I'm as stubborn as all�hell and the
demons therein, I refused to let myself. So I stepped up to the edge, crossed myself, and jumped. The one thought I remember having? "Sh*t. This is SO New Moon." Typical me. I flew. I fell. I hit
the water, which didn't hurt at all, surprisingly. And the crazy rush made it worth the fear. Againagainagain!!
New thing numero dos: I saw a firefly for the first time. Why is this pivotal? Because it's a freaking firefly. I never even believed they existed until I saw one, due to the fact that it
just seemed so improbable. Honestly: bugs with lights on their rears? Oh yeah. They live with the green-spotted unicorn in my backyard. It was so pretty. It felt like a movie--the only other place
I'd ever seen one before. But what they tell you in the movies are wrong: their lights do not look like those charming incandescent lamps. Nope. Halogen all the way. It looked like the new
Christmas lights my parents bought�last year. That's really ok, though. A firefly!... I'm going to be incredulous over that one for a while.
And lastly, but importantly, my first shooting star. I didn't even think those existed either. But I happened to be looking up last night at my friend's country house when we were on her
boat on the lake, and I was the only one who saw it. It was beautiful. Gorgeous. Otherworldly (duh. It's a star.) . But seriously, one of the prettiest things
I've ever seen. What did I wish for? Lo siento. Can't say. That would ruin it, wouldn't it? But anyone who knows me well would know. Tant pis pour moi. It really is the thing I want most,
So there're the Amazing Adventures of Annabel the Awesome (haha, I just wanted another A-word in there). Haha, my life is so boring. I actually just wrote a journal entry about seeing my first
firefly. Heehee. I'm pathetic.
Book suggestion: Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte. If only to complain with me about how loathesome all the characters are. Honestly. Good book, though.
Goodbye for now!
Haha, I love the quote that's up today--the one about telephones. Take that, Boston Post!
Everything's normal up here. I am taking livesaving courses in the morning instead of swim team like usual. It's pretty fun; I like it. It's for the rest of this week and all of next week, then
it's back to swim team.
This entry is going to be relatively (actually, VERY)�short, because I have to go cook supper for my brothers. We have a swim meet tonight and my parents are going to a concert.
Music suggestion of the day (there have been a lot of those recently, don't you think?): The Scientist, by Coldplay. I love it. I'm going to use it if my parents try to make me go
into sciences after I graduate from my school. There's a line that fits exactly into how I feel. See if you can guess--it's slightly obvious.
PS: I'm reading Wuthering Heights right now. I've only just started, but does anyone else find Heathcliff kind of evil?
Guess who's ba-ack!
I had a very interesting conversation with my mother yesterday. She informed me and my brothers that if, by the age of 21, we did not drink, do drugs, smoke, or
engage in risky or illegal activities, she would reward us with a large sum of money. I know that is a kind of�maybe not-morally-acceptable way to deal with problems like drinking or drugs, but
it's guaranteed to work if it's my brothers we're talking about here. I'm great with it. I know for sure I'm not going to do anything stupid anyway. I mean, take a look at me. I hate hate hate and
DESPISE the taste of alcohol (so that's out), I'm afraid of needles, I cannot swallow pills, I choke whenever I smell smoke of any kind, the idea of snorting ANYTHING repulses me (so there goes
smoking and drugs), I'm not ready for a boyfriend (risky activites is out) and what on earth would I do else? I generally...�usually... essentially follow the core of rules set. I don't
want to get involved in illegal things. That leads to trouble and time away from reading.
Seriously, if someone offered me a lot of money to do something illegal, even if it was�a situation I was ok with, or a cause that I believed�in�(I have zero
examples for something that falls into those two categories.... hmm....) I would not do it if it meant that I would miss, for example, the Breaking Dawn party. Never. Which is pathetic, but it
would help keep me on the straight and narrow ; ).
Another thing. I had a loong conversation with Charlotte about true�love (see?! This is what happens when cynics read Twilight. Or rather, one cynic... me.).
She�has been trying�to convince me there's such thing as true love for everyone. It's not necessarily that I don't believe in true love, it's that I think that I don't think it exists for
me. Wait--this sounds familiar. Have I whined about this before? I do believe so. Well, what it boils down to is that Charlotte and I disagree about the availability of true love to everyone. The
Song recommendation of the day: I'll Keep Your Memory Vague, by Finger Eleven.��It's so sad, but really pretty.
I'm going to stop here, because I have to go to swim team. Hooray. This sucks.
It really has been a month. Wow. Whatever I said before about inconsistency takes on a whole new meaning here.
A lot has happened in the last month. Will I write it all out? No. A good deal of it is merely minutiae, and though it had an effect on
my month, it didn't contribute to my overall state of mind. Some good stuff, some bad stuff.
My cousins on my mother's side are now here. They visited for a few days, but had to leave because my aunt's exchange students were
coming and she was meeting them in another city. That was their excuse, anyway. It's true that the students were coming, but the real reason they do not spend more time with us when they visit is
due in large part to the fact that my mother and her sister do not get along. At all. In any way. So that leaves us, the children, stuck in the middle of this ridiculous feud that puts our parents
at odds. It was for our benefit that they stayed with us, and that our mothers did not explode at each other.
I finished school with 9 exams. I wasn't reduced to tears, but it was close. I have no choice, none at all, but to strive to be
the best, do the best that I could possibly, as a human, do. Why? One word: Parents. They expect me to be supergirl and perfect and infallible. Well, newsflash: I'M NOT. I'm not
perfect, not by a longshot, and I'm not infallible by any stretch of the imagination. I make more mistakes, large, small, meaningless, significant, or otherwise, than anyone I know. I may be book
smart, but I'm not street smart. I have a total of ZeRo common sense. I know myself enough to know that.
Another thing I noticed recently. Keep in mind that I am the definition of a bookworm, and next to dreamer in the dictionary there is a
picture of me (or there should be). So David's favourite music nowadays is Lord of the Rings music. I love love LOVE the Lord of the Rings. It's up there�as one of�my favourite books and some of my
favourite movies. But, inexplicably, whenever my brother plays the music (and he does, all the time) I get completely and utterly sad. I hesitate to say depressed; it just misses that category. But
I feel... desolate? I guess that's the word. My chest feels empty. My heart hurts. It didn't make sense at first. It is magnificently beautiful music, so why did I feel completely empty and
desolate? What I have come up with so far, and I believe this is the explanation, is that that music represents everything that I, as a dreamer/bookworm/girl who doesn't fit in in her own world,
desire more than is comprehendible and can never have. What do I desire so? Hmm. Ouch. I feel juvenile as I type this, but I might as well say (even though only a sense of deduction is necessary to
see it). I want adventure. I want magic. I want to quest for something. I want to experience something that no one on this planet or in this life would believe. I want to see things that can't be
seen here. I want magic, the extraordinary, fantasy. There. I said it. I want to live in a world with magic and go on adventures. I would give almost anything. Am I ashamed of this? Why, yes, I am.
But that doesn't stop it from being true. And I still want it. So I know that I cannot have it. And here is my brother, playing the music, unknowingly blaring heartbreak on a loop for me, all day
Could I ever even consider admitting this to anyone? Yes and no. Charlotte feels the exact same way that I do. We confide these things in
each other. And it makes it feel not so bad. But then I'm around everyone normal and it gets thrown at me, how blatantly different I am. And how unusual these wishes are to
someone who could be called normal. Which doesn't help the desolation.
UGH. I can't believe that I came on for the first time in a month and spent the time whining. I'm sorry. I will try to come on more
often, and maybe post something less philosophically whiny and teenage-angsty.
Song suggestion of the day: Viva la Vida by Coldplay. Really, really cool song.
Wow, I'm really bad at being consistent.
Another week has gone by, and while--looking back--it feels like it�went fast, each and every single
minute dragged and drags. A lot has gone on. Let's see.... last Friday.... nothing remarkable happened. I believe. Do not trust my memory for THOSE kinds of things. I have a different kind of
memory. But back on track. Saturday.... Oh yes!! Saturday was my cousin's wedding. She's so nice... I am so happy for her! All the best, S+C!!! We love you.
And I got to see all my little cousins for the first time in a long, long while. They are all so adorable.
I love one of them like she were my little sister. I wish she were. They are all incredible and wonderful and I wish I could see them more than twice or three times a year... but those are the
breaks of having an antisocial family. Well... antisocial is an overstatement. It is my mother's side I am talking about now. On my father's side the only ones left are my grandparents and an aunt
(the rest died a long, long time ago, in the war.).
My mother's family, on the other hand, is pretty well never-ending. There are just so MANY of them. And my
mother, father, and two brothers find family gatherings tedious and needlessly time-consuming. The major issue my mother has with it is that she finds some people in our family petty and gossipy
and not very nice people, so she tries to stay away from them as much as possible. I understand that to a point. But really, I wish with all my heart that we weren't the only branch of our family
living in this city. I would loooove to see all the young ones more often. This is, however, not my decision. I do no have any jurisdiction over the visiting times of my family
Sunday, I went to see the Prince Caspian movie with one of my great, wonderful friends named Isabel. Izzy
and I had the best time EVER. And when we got into the theater, we saw Zoya working behind the concession stand. We talked for a bit (she had just gotten the job) and then went to go watch. IT WAS
SO GOOD!!! Haha, Prince Caspian was HoT!! Even though I get terribly annoyed whenever people make comments throughout the entire movie, that is precisely what Iz and I did. I started laughing so
hard when the Telmarines first spoke--THEY ALL HAVE HISPANIC ACCENTS!!! And so I spent the whole movie giggling whenever they opened their mouths. (I'm hispanic, and I found it hilarious.) We both
had a great time. After, she came over for supper and we talked for a long time. It was very fun.
Monday was our last comping group meeting. I said bye to everyone for the summer, and we all went out for
ice cream. Tasty.
Tuesday I had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon. Everything's fine. Physically, at least... And then I had
a Spanish project due the next day that required scrapbooking, so I stay up two hours extra to finish it. I am utterly artistically retarded, so although I tried my hardest, I have seen my
4-year-old cousin produce better works of art. Remind me never to draw anything again.
On Wednesday I went to a concert with my parents. It was a classic rock band, one of my favourites. I loved it.
I am glad I could go, though initially I hadn't wanted to. I was (and am) exhausted from all the late nights, and that guaranteed to be another one. But I went and enjoyed myself
Thursday I had nothing to do (besides study and do homework, but those don't count).
Today we had what we call Field Day at our school. We got dressed up in our House colours and did relay races,
played kickball, and made presentations for the teachers. It was fun, and my house won ALL THE KICKBALL games, and the extra 100 points for�bringing in the most non-perishable food. I'm very proud
Sigh. That was long... and most likely very boring to read. If anyone did read it completely. Which I doubt.
That's fine. Most people have better things to do than listen to a fifteen-year-old girl complain and ramble about her life. I wish I had something better to do than complain.
Recommendation of the day... hmm.... for a movie, how about Prince Caspian? Yay!
Ugh. I am sooo tired of problems.
I wish my life were different. It's hard to pinpoint exactly what kind of different, but I do not like my life. I am not suicidal, don't worry. I am
just... uncomfortable. I don't know what it is that makes me feel this way.
Maybe I know myself too well. I can tell you, without a trace of doubt, that I have pretty well non-existant self-esteem. I was taught not to like myself in
school. Not by teachers, of course. I remember distinctly being eight years old and in class at my old school. We were working on drawing this ridiculous picture for a cookbook we were making as a
class. I remember talking to the kids seated at my table. I asked to see their drawings. Each and every single one of them, when they held theirs up, said, "Well, it's really ugly, but here it is."
And when they asked to see mine, I held mine up and said, "I like mine." And the expressions on their faces! As if I'd made some terrible faux-pas, by admitting I liked my drawing. It made me
And then I began to understand later that all their compliments, too, were false. We were taught to "be nice"-- and just where do you stop with that? People out
and out lie about their opinions of things. I have. It wasn't generally accepted to say anything but "Oh, your ENTER SCHOOL PROJECT HERE is sooo nice! You're going to do so�much better
than me!" If you didn't say that, you were mean. If you were mean, you had no friends. For a while I had no friends, because I said what I thought. I eventually learned, though, to see and compare
for myself while smiling falsely and saying how lovely everyone was. Comparing unbiasedly? Maybe, maybe not. After all, who can I ask about it? Has no one else but me noticed? I don't want to
Besides that, I am completely analytical when it comes to my opinions. I can pick apart my thought processes.�I can be extremely objective when it comes to what
I think (especially when I try to decide my opinion on something). It's sometimes almost scary. I can at one time be extremely practical, almost to the point where it's not practicality anymore,
and extremely empathetic and sensitive. I don't know how that's possible, but I am like that. At other times I just can't be hard and objective. I am actually very, very sensitive and sometimes
that part of me comes out and won't go away. I am vulnerable, and it pisses the analytical part of me off.
I am having an extremely hard time living with myself right now. I am not self-loathing. It's just that I have so much to think about and decide and there is not
a single person on the face of the planet that I can tell everything that is on my mind. Not one. How is one 15-year old supposed to deal?
I suppose that's why I feel like I'm older than I actually am. I feel old inside, like an adult more than�a child. And I wish I were a child again, in some
I am not in despair. That's the wrong word. I guess the word is alone, and feeling helpless. It would help so much if I had some self esteem, but I don't. So I
will manage. I will make it. I will try.
Not as bad as Char's aunt dying, but....
My mother got a letter from one of the best friends, who lives in the United States. I had mentioned a few times in the past (ie, back when I was young and
stupid) that I thought it would be pretty cool to study in the United States. At the time, my parents were against it. They listed all the reasons (for example, the DISTANCE was the big
one, but there was also something to do with the way grades are organised there and how�I would have to leave VERY soon, pretty well next year, so that would be a problem... the list was long.) and
told me it was unlikely.
However, the kicker is, now that I have STOPPED wanting to go, stopped this ridiculous idea that if I go, my life will be different and better and
well "Isn't the US better anyways?", my mother gets a letter from her American friend (who is extremely nice, by the way). She sent along this article about how international students who have the
proper marks will get accepted NO MATTER WHAT to certain American colleges. No matter what. As in, no matter the distance or the financial need, if they want you, they will do their utmost to get
you. And now, my parents are enthused.
The thing is, I am not. Not as much as I was. I don't want to leave my friends. I have a pretty decent life here, besides the ridiculous trivial things that are
bad. Of course, there are problems that run deeper, but for the most part I am semi-content. I guess. The big thing is that I don't want to pick up and leave my piano lessons, my camping group, my
friends (especially the ones I don't go to school with), and everything else that I love, that makes me who I am. A year ago, I would have jumped at the opportunity. Now, I feel an incredible
amount of pressure to decide--and that's pretty well what I can't do.
There are other things as well. For example, my parents would want me to study to be a doctor or lawyer. Neither of which particularly appeals to me. And what
can I say to them? That is what they expect of me. David actually came up to me and said: "If you become a writer, I will never speak to you again." What?! WHAT?! HE IS FREAKING
13 YEARS OLD. He knows NOTHING about wanting something big that you are being pushed away from. He is only saying that because he knows my parents disapprove.
Ugh. Life SUCKS.
Eternal pessimism. I annoy myself. You know it's bad when that happens.
Song suggestion of the day: A Long December, by Counting Crows. Completely and utterly depressing, but very, very pretty.
I am not an idealist. I know things are currently rolling down a hill, and have yet to hit the bottom. I know this for many reasons which I will not list here
for the sake of the obscene amount of homework waiting for me.
Has it really been only a week?? It seems so much longer...
I'm sorry for not writing for a while. It has been incredibly hectic and troubling and just plain exhausting around here for a while.
Hmm... what happened, what happened.... last weekend I went camping. It was terrific and I had so much fun with my friend Grace and the other boys (and girls:
Juliet and Arianna) in my camping group. We are all different ages, but we get along well. Grace and I are oldest, so we had to look after the other kids (none younger than 11, which made life
easier), but they're a good group. There was no trouble from our kids. The trouble came from others.
It was Friday night and we were setting up camp. Grace and Michael had gone to get food with the supervising adults (of course there were adults!) and I was the
only senior left--the one next closest in age to me was Alex, who is�13. We were having a lot of trouble with our kitchen tent, and some other campers who were nearby saw us struggling came over to
help. They were Americans. One of them actually introduced himself to me like this: "Hey, I'm Nathan. My friends call me Nate. I'm pretty much�a hillbilly." I. Nearly. DIED. Laughing. Internally,
of course. I wouldn't laugh at him to his face. But I could forsee trouble. The weekend we chose was popular with the campers, so there were plainly many boys there (that is not a comment on girls
and camping--I camp, don't I?) and girls camping drew boys like dog biscuits draw particularly dumb golden retrievers. Nate wasn't even that handsome or nice, for God's sake. He was incredibly
immature. I am sure that had I been wearing anything but a super-loose flannel button-down shirt his eyes would have zoomed to my chest. So even as I was enduring darling Nate, poor Juliet (11) was
dealing with an admirer of her own. He was flirting ineptly with her, and eventually she became so mortified that she edged over to me and urgently muttered "SAVE ME!" So I told the boy that she
was busy and had work to do and tried to imply,�thanks for the help, don't bother stopping by again. Heartless? I don't think so. He really was being very forward, and he couldn't have been older
than she was. This little conversation, however, was a kind of foreshadowing to the role I would play at this camp: Spokesperson. Even in my blackest moods, even at my most antisocial, I would be
expected to be the group's voice. How I got saddled with that role kind of escapes me, but that's what it was.
That night, little Juliet stalker boy showed up OUTSIDE OUR TENT. Thanks a bunch, David, for pointing him in the right direction. He was there whispering
"Juliet? Juliet?" And I once again spoke up for her (at her prodding--she absolutely point-blank refused to. She also begged.) and told him to go away and leave us the hell alone. He
The next day, during the activities we'd organised with some other campers, Nate came to talk to me again. This time Grace and one of the adults, Harry, were
there. He approached me and asked if I wanted to meet him later at his campsite. I am pretty sure I looked horrified. I am fifteen. For me, that is YOUNG. And here I am, at CAMP, and for
the first time a guy asks me out (in any way). Seriously?! Seriously?! Talk about one screwed up first-time. And the worst part is, during ALL of this, Harry and Grace were smiling vaguely
into space and sauntering away, pretending not to pay attention. Some friend YOU are, Grace. I'm not that mad about that part, but I wish she had helped. I ended up mumbling something about being
on supper detail that night and something about busy and not allowed to date, and then running away. I was mostly traumatised, though. Meu Deus. Later, Grace and I came up with a story-- I had with
me a very pretty sterling silver ring I had bought recently (I know, taking a ring to camp, not the brightest idea) and I was going to wear it on the fourth finger of my left hand. If I saw him and
he asked again, I would tell him it's a promise ring from my boyfriend, and that I was sorry, but I wouldn't cheat on him. This was a flawed plan (seeing as I'd already told him I didn't date) but
we were very teenage-girl-ish and immature. Luckily for us, we did not see Juliet-stalker or Nate the rest of the weekend. (What's that you say? Of course I didn't hide. I just avoided
The actual camping was fun, however. I met up with some friends that we had met the year before and we cheerfully re-exchanged emails (apparently theirs had
crashed, or something along those lines). It was very funny. I didn't even know they were there that weekend, until a woman I didn't recognise yelled "Annabel!!!" very loudly from across the
campsite. It scared me witless. Some�random woman yelling my name and waving to me? As we began talking she told me who she was, though, so it made more sense. And I visited her group's site and
got reacquainted with her son (who Grace later pointed out was very attractive.) and stared at by everyone with a Y chromosome. Grace came too, and she got the same. Seriously. You'd think that all
the boys get locked in girl-proof closets. I don't consider myself that attractive, but I got stared at. Weird, no? It was very uncomfortable.
There are many, many more camp stories, but I will save them for another day.
This week is "Arts Fest" at my school. Our band performed last night. We did great.
Aside from that, I am drowning in work. The stupid French project is nearly done. Talia's contribution was hours of arguing over nothing and typing up part of
the finished copy. On top of that I have several more projects due next week--though thankfully no team ones. One Spanish, one History (Mao Tse-Tung, anyone? Don't quite know how I ended up with
him), and one English. That last should be fine... I hope.
On top of all that, I was chosen as a judge for a writing competition for stories written by the teachers, so I had to read and judge about 10 stories. Some were
good, some... not so good. The winners deserved their prizes.
Charlotte's aunt's funeral went on while I was camping. After it, 15 of her relatives went over to her house (Charlotte's) and got drunk. She said it was
interesting being, along with her little brother, the only sober ones in the house.
And, beneath all this, underlying all this ridiculous complication, resides the persistant obsession. It helps me when I'm sad, it creates conversation with
Char, and I love the books, but still, I know it's unhealthy. One day I will stop obsessing. I know it. Just not one day too soon.
Book suggestion: I am the Messenger, by Markus Zusak. Decent.
If I am not completely overwhelmed, I will write again soon. And, who knows, maybe not complain as much.
This last week has been pretty tough. A lot of different stuff going on... many distractions... not much homework has been done, I can tell you that.
Monday was normal. I bought a pretty ring after school and am wearing it right now. However, I walked around all Tuesday with it on the fourth finger of my left hand, and only realised after I got
home :P. Someone told me that's bad luck, but I am not superstitious in the least, which is kind of strange. I am really into fantasy books, so you'd think that I would have more of a
supernatural turn of mind, but I'm not supernaturally inclined in that way. Other ways, of course. But not superstitious.
Tuesday wasn't that bad, but I must admit that I am having a difficult time concentrating in school because all I can think about is the book. Don't think I don't know how unhealthy that is. I do
know. And I am disgusted with myself. That won't stop me, though, from still obsessing. I really do know how unhealthy it is. I manage to suppress it enough to function moderately normally. But a
lot of what I say just runs right back around into the book.
Wednesday. Todya was hardest of all. Today I got the news. Charlotte's aunt has died of cancer. I have met her, and she was a completely lovely woman. I am very, very sorry for my dear friend. She
doesn't deserve this, and I feel so badly for her family. I actually did not know that she died until I came home and checked my email. Charlotte did not say one single thing in school, even though
it happened last night. I am going to be there for her. She was hit harder then me with the obsession, and now she has this on top of being a good student, daughter, and friend. She has asked me to
stop sending her links to whatever I find about the book, and I will comply. I just can't imagine how incredibly hard life is for her, so I will do what I can to help. I hate feeling helpless, and
that's how I feel now. I know that I can't say "It will all be ok." I have never said that before. I find it extremely condescending and downplays the person's grief or stress. I am trying as hard
as I can to be there when she needs me. I will keep trying. That is all I can do... and it infuriates me. I hate being helpless.
As well, in English class today we started talking about true love. Not surprising, but when asked, most of our class doesn't believe in true love. I don't think I do. Or rather... not for me. I am
not looking for sympathy. Please, don't feel bad for me. I just don't believe that there is a guy sitting out there LOOKING for me. Or even just WAITING for me. I just can't see that. I put on a
good show--I often seem like I have high self-esteem. But I just can't see anyone being in love with ME. It seems probable for�a lot of my friends, but... Maybe this has something to do with the
fact that I do not know ONE COUPLE who seems to fit the generally accepted definition of true love. That doesn't help. But...
And so I am not in such a good state. I wish I were. I will stop complaining now and go away. Hopefully tomorrow will be better. I will bring something for Charlotte. Not sure what.
Wait-- tomorrow, better? I have History. There goes my day.
Ugh. Pessimism. I piss myself off.
Before all who see this:
I, Annabel, do swear upon my dear grandmother's grave that I will never, NEVER verbally abuse my future�children in any way. I will not call them names,
or take my anger at someone else out on them, or treat them worse than I treat myself. Before you all, so sworn.
That is not in any way due to my parent's treatment of me. I am not at all abused. But I disagree with my parents'�handling of certain situations. I
won't get into that.
Ahaha. On a lighter note, I just saw earlier today on the main page that the top 10 things, you know, like the "We promise we won't give out your
private entries like food samples at the local grocery store", there is a number that says most entries are short and casual. HA! As if any of my entries could be considered short. Does that mean
I'm breaking the rules? :P
It's cloudy outside today. It's looooooooovely. Ah. And it rained a bit earlier. That's all it takes to make me happy. I love the clouds. Now all I need
is a thunderstorm.... or a windstorm.... or a snowstorm (I would kill for one of those�)....
I spent another few huors on fansites today (yes, yes, I know, I have no life. It is incredibly amusing to be lifeless, though�) and got some INTENSE avatars, or icons, or whatever it is�you call them. I love them all. By now I must have around 50. Slightly ridiculous,
but I DON'T CARE! My mature side is waiting for the obsessed side to snap out of it, but I doubt that will happen any time soon. It's too fun.
PS THAT IS NOT AT THE END: I don't have multiple personality disorder. I swear. :P
Normal day. I had weird dreams, but then again, I never have normal dreams like everyone else.�And I slept on my back strange, so it hurt all day. Ah
well. Such is life.
I will go now. I am not imaginative enough to think of a suggestion at the moment, so I will leave you with a quote (from Twilight--quelle
������������“I had to run out, to get away before I could speak the words that would make you follow….
����������� “You would have come.”
����������� “Without a doubt.”
Ain't that lovely, folks? Haha, just kidding. But a disclaimer so I am not sued: I am not Stephenie Meyer (I swear), I do not own the novel Twilight or
any of its sequels, I am not the editor, nor am I in or producing or directing the movie. I am, however, a huge fan of Twilight. Please, don't sue me.
Still,�those are some�of my favourite lines in the�book. I am obsessed. I know. At least I admit it.
Well, I will go. Goodnight!
I would first off like to say thank you to the person who commented on me, but I must decline the offer to email. It is, to be truthful, for my mother. She as of yet does not know that I have a
blog, and I am pretty sure that this secrecy cannot last much longer (I am, after all, using her computer). My mother has issues with the while blogging thing, and has spent a good deal of my life
pounding the concepts of "Internet Safety" into me. This blog, for example, is not allowed. So, against the day when she discovers this account, I will not email. Maybe that will lessen my
punishment. I apologize sincerely.
And now,� a terrificly exciting account of my day (ahaha. As if.) A rather normal day, with one outstanding exception. Spanish class. Oh, the pain. Make it stop. Seriously, I have this teacher who
WOULD be nice to me, were I not part�Spanish (from Spain) and she not South American. So, while she acts SO nice to me, I know she gets furious with me whenever I speak in a spanish accent (for
example, dice, which is pronounced in Spain DEE-thay and in South American DEE-say) and go out of my way to use spanish expressions. I know. I am not so nice ; ). But it's my heritage, and
I am allowed to pronounce things the way I bloody well please. So today in class, we were discussing this Spanish smut book she's making us read, and I was trying to come up with the right words to
say something, and I said "Pero, pero, pero, pero--" Which is the equivalent of "But, but, but, but--" and she gave me this look and stopped me. And then--AND THEN-- she looked at me, and, in front
of the entire class, told me, "You know, you Spanish people always do that. The stuttering, I mean." I was like, "WHAT?! What did you say?!" And then she just laughed it off with the rest
of the class. I mean, RACISM?! That's one complication that I do NOT need right now, thank you very much. Seriously, senora. �Porque no puedo hablar como quiero hablar? I don't know what I should
do about it. I don't want to report her (or if that's even a good excuse to report her at all.... probably is though) because then she would hate me more, and convince everyone that I'm
overreacting. FRIG. Damn. I curse her.
Other than that, normal day. Had to work with Talia again on the French story, and she was as.... I hesitate to say useless, but there really is no other way to put it. She tells me I'm
monopolizing the project, but she doesn't do ANYTHING. She relies upon me to make all the decisions. While I am a pretty dominant (read that moderately�bossy�) person, I gave her free rein today and said, "Ok, Talia, what do you want to happen next?" And she spent more than half the class
dithering. In the end, I had to GIVE her two options and, when THAT was too much for her, make her choose a number to choose the path the story would take. Grrr. So. Annoying. Sorry, Tal, but
Oh, and also. A girl in my class named Zoya has also read Twilight and makes me look not-obsessed. It's slightly ridiculous, actually. But I had a long talk with her today about it, and she went
into detail about how Robert Pattinson (the person playing Edward in the movie--aka Cedric Diggory, for those who have seen Harry Potter) is her soulmate and they will meet and marry and have
little Zoyberts. (She didn't say that, I just did ) And then a conversation with Charlotte about how she is SO going to the
USA, to Washington, to Forks, to La Push, to find Jacob. It was a little hard for me. Because no matter how hard I try, the afore-mentioned (in one of my older entries, I believe) adult, cynical,
"Grow up, you baby" voice inside me kept on telling me how ridiculous it was. I so want to believe it's all true (the story), but I know it's not. And several people have not quite realised that
yet. It... I... I almost wish that I was 7 again, so I could tell my mother all about Harry Potter and how I knew FOR SURE that I was going to get my owl mail letter on my 11th birthday. And
actually believe it. I really, really wish that all the places in my books existed. I always have. The difference now, though, is that I have the voice in my ear, telling me how pathetic I am for
wanting that.�It's aggravating like you wouldn't believe. I try very hard to shut it up, but sometimes either A) that's not the best plan for the situation I'm in, or B) It refuses to be silent. I
wonder which will win out in the end. I know which one would be better, make it easier for me, but that's not the one I want. Is that wrong? I don't know.
Hmmm..... suggestions... How about a movie? When it comes out, Prince Caspian!!!! AAAH! Excited.
Lastly, I would like do dedicate this entry to my grandmother. It's been 7 years, Abuela, and I still miss you. May Day will never be the same for me. Enjoy Heaven, you more than deserve it. I love
you so,so much. Besitos.
I'm so proud! I got a comment! Thank you, whoever you are (Sorry, I still haven't quite figured out how to check the comments properly).
Today was better, but still a little hard. Mostly because in both English and French we have received projects involving writing a story with a partner. Personally speaking, I very much prefer
writing alone. The English project is not so bad, because I am working with Charlotte (who also has aspirations to be�a writer) and we work well together--when we're not laughing hysterically over
something that no one but us understands. We are managing to turn out a pretty decent Balcony scene (Romeo and Juliet, comtemporary style. It is basically a competition to see who can make the
least clich�d one. Some people have gotten the idea, and others... are straight from whatever shows the girls watch).�The French project.... is not going along so well. My partner Talia continues
to claim that she "doesn't read. Seriously, Annabel, I have NO ideas." It is just about the most frustrating thing that can possibly be inflicted upon me: being saddled with a partner who's just
there for the ride and having one of the "smart kids" (as I am unhappily known as. As in, I wish I weren't known as that.) do the work for them. I really don't mind Talia as a person, but honestly,
it is completely infuriating to have to do ALL the work. She gets mad at ME because I made the mistake of saying, "Oh, wait, I�have an idea--" and then saying that I didn't like it. She�flipped
out, and began to complain that I was being annoying. I have actually written and come up with the ideas for EVERYTHING.
Sigh. I will stop complaining. Right...... now. *blinks*...... Ok. That didn't work. I seriously want to, but whining won't get me anywhere right now. I will stop. Or at least do it very,
very quietly. Ahaha. Tiny writing. It takes very little to amuse me. Just ask Char or Mara.
I must go now, because I have to help with supper and my piano teacher should be coming tonight, so I have to boly my food.
Recommendation: How about some classical? (My piano teacher would love me�) Hmm. This is a pretty well-known one, so you
shouldn't have trouble finding a clip of it. The Four Seasons, by Vivaldi. Particularly Spring. I love them.
I must away.