If you walk away, walk away, I will follow.

My favourite song by U2. My father once told me a story about how he was at a U2 concert when he was younger. It was when U2 was just starting out. The crowd liked them so much that they were called out for an encore four times. Four times! That's awesome! Continuing on, they played this song because they had nothing left to play for them. This was their hit, and I love it.


Today, I stayed after school to work on my AP World homework and then later to study for my unit test tomorrow. It was actually very productive. A lot more productive as opposed to as if I was sitting at home distracted by my computer. My only problem was the lighting. The light about my cubicle desk was not white, but blue. I was fascinated by the different colours it was turning my belongings. Does everyone believe me now when I say I have an attention disorder now?


I also managed to finish Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk. I will say it again, please, if you see a copy of it anywhere, pick it up and read it. In all my kindness, I will not be posting what I thought about the book until after my friend Ali reads it. 


In addition to today, I went into school at around 10:40 because I didn't feel well this morning. I couldn't participate in National Stay Home Because You're Well Day because, well, I'm not well. My mother offered to let me stay home for the rest of the day, but, I couldn't leave people hanging at lunch. (Yes, if you are wondering, I did go into school just to keep my friend Tracy company at lunch). 


I don't mind my classes towards the end of the day. I just hate science class. I kept telling myself last year that biology was going to be great, but that's because I wanted to be a pediatrician. Things have changed now, and now I want to be an English major. Maybe I could minor in music. I'm not sure yet. I feel like something that both involves the arts is kind of dangerous. Yes, I consider English an art. If you're creating a work of writing, it is your own. It's your creation, and it is art. 


I am now reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. I was going to start reading it about twenty minutes ago, but there was a quote before the first chapter in French. Naturally, I was curious, so I spent the next five typing it out with correct accents and everything. I'm not sure if the meaning would change if I put it into Google Translate without them. Here's the quote:

"Les utopies apparaissent comme bien plus réalisables qu'on ne le croyait autrefois. Et nous nous trouvons actuellement devant une question bien autrement angoissante: Comment éviter leur réalisation définitive?...Les utopies sont réalisables. La vie marche vers les utopies. et peut-être un siècle nouveau commence-t-il, un siècle où les intellectuels et la classe cultivée rêveront aux moyens d'éviter les utopies et de retourner à une société non utopique, moins "parfaite" et plus libre." - Nicolas Berdiaeff.

Translation (I think the French language is really pretty, excluding the fact that it's horribly nasal).

"Utopias appear to be much more feasible than was once believed. And we are now faced with problems far more distressing: How to avoid their final completion? ... Utopias are realizable. Life marches towards utopias. and perhaps a new century begins there, a century when intellectuals and the educated class will dream how to avoid utopias and return to a non-utopian, less "perfect" and free." - Nicolas Berdiaeff.

I'm going to go into my literature nerd corner, now. Don't mind me. I feel so crunched for time right now. I don't want to start an entirely new subject if I feel that I can't finish it. I suppose I'll try. I've got a half an hour to make things happen. 

Liz came to lunch today, and it was exactly like any other fifth period lunch. She came in a little bit late, Tracy was sitting down, beginning to eat and Katarina sat with her books on the table, looking a little bit terrified. I was still on a high from just seeing Rob (Please, don't mind me, and please, for the love of God, don't think any less of me because of this) and getting ready to eat. The cafeteria was loud and I managed to block it out for a little bit. Liz sat down and her face was full of disdain. I simply said hello, and she began to talk about how Michael is stealing her best friend.

She realizes that they're drifting apart, but, she feels that because of him, they're drifting a lot faster than they should. What she doesn't know is that is how I exactly felt when she came into the picture. It settled itself, but, I can honestly say that I have been in her position more than once. I don't say anything. We (Being Tracy, Liz and I because Katarina has left for the library at this point) talk about how Michael doesn't really know how to balance his friends. It's the truth, and as much as it pains me to even talk about him behind his back, the only way I'm not going to have an end of the month social breakdown is if I talk about it. (It's not PMS, I swear).

As a result of this, I wrote a poem (Kind of) about the situation from Liz's point of view. She won't know. I mean, the first two verses are from her point of view. The rest kind of just developed from what I have been dealing within my mind for the past three years.


"I can't make myself believe.
In you,
or anybody.


You download yourself
and one becomes ten.
Ten becomes fifty.


My perception is skewed,
and I don't want to know,
anymore.


The only person I forget my moral,
on people,
the world.


Truth is,
hatred flows through my veins.
Dislike cannot come close."


I have no title for this, so, if you can come up with one, don't be afraid to comment. I have a bunch of untitled poems which I can't come up with a title for. Which, I meant to say, if you do follow my blog (in a stalker like way), please don't be afraid to comment. I'm up for criticism. 


Goodnight.