I feel myself dissolving into bits of color and flecks of light. I am sound clips. I am samples. Someday I will walk away from all of this and I will not say goodbye. And you will not notice me leaving, until maybe a few years later. You'll wonder for a moment where I got to, and then move on as people always do.

I am nothing but temporary here. I have made no lasting impression. My footprints will be swallowed by the earth and my name lay whispered, forgotten.

The life of a soundbite is an empty one.

I want to run away to some unknown city, be swallowed whole by light and noise and skyscrapers and people. Millions of people. And not talk to a single one.

I want to lay down to sleep inside of voices so loud they crash through my skull until I cannot hear again. Lights so bright I'm blinded.

I want sensory overload.

Dreaming.

Some days I feel like I am changing so quickly I cannot recognize myself.

Today was relaxing, a good day for thought. I painted for three-quarters of it, the other fourth spent typing an English writing exam. I had a small revelation about my childhood, involving my obsession with sunflowers and a forgotten memory that may have never actually occurred. But perhaps I'll post that later, it's a rather long recollection and my hands are extremely sore from guard practice.

Dad is in Atlanta on his final interview. I hope the job comes through for his sake and mother's. I cannot bear to think how the cracks in the foundations will widen if it doesn't. I do not want to see his face in defeat, again. He deserves better. He is better.

Currently, I'm satisfied. But numb. I keep having moments where I want to spring around screaming and shouting to give myself something noisy and energetic to do with my time. I dreamed of sunshine and airplanes and kissing someone last night. I woke up heart pounding to a dark, silent room and a dark, silent house. I feel empty and without passion, refusing to accept this is how things are.

Is it alien to be a girl who doesn't date? I want love, and romance, and passion. I spend too much time thinking on it, honestly. But over the past few months I've had too many chances to fall into a relationship-all with decent, dependable boys who'd be nice enough and maybe even amazing. But I keep ducking the advances and acting like the lingering hugs at the end of a hangout aren't noticeable, gently letting people down and hoping to not lose friendships. There's only one I feel any desire to hold onto, and I'm starting to be convinced that save a total loss of his senses he feels and wants no such attraction to me. Which is livable, in honesty, for I would prefer a friend these days to a tumultuous six or nine months, maybe a year or two, to be followed by heartache and angry words. And this boy, well I'd rather save him that pain. It'd be hard to convince myself I could make him happy.

These romantic wishes and fantasies aside, I'm starting to find the ability to enjoy my time alone, something that has eluded me since I was young. I'm reveling in it, actually. It's nice to know I can like myself enough to need no one else around. Or ask anyone else's advice.

I made extreme headway on a painting today. I've never painted before, and I'm excited at the newly acquired skill. I'm enjoying myself. It's a fine way to tune out the mess in my head, relax a little. I'll post a picture when I'm finished-I haven't been this excited for something since my first roll of film freshman year. I only regret not finding this joy sooner. But such is life. I think I may not have been ready for it a year ago.

I want to go on an adventure.

"Let's get out of this country" by Camera Obscura

Let’s get out of this country
I’ll admit I am bored with me
I drowned my sorrows and slept around
When not in body at least in mind
We’ll find a cathedral city
You can convince me I am pretty

We’ll pick berries and recline
Let’s hit the road dear friend of mine
Wave goodbye to our thankless jobs
We’ll drive for miles maybe never turn off
We’ll find a cathedral city you can be handsome I’ll be pretty

What does this city have to offer me
Everyone else thinks it’s the bee’s knees
What does this city have to offer me?
I just can’t see
I just can’t see

Let’s get out of this country
I have been so unhappy
Smell the Jasmine my head was turned
I feel like getting confessional
We’ll find a cathedral city you can convince me I am pretty

What does this city have to offer me
Everyone else thinks it’s the bee’s knees
What does this city have to offer me
I just can’t see

My fan will not turn off, and the consequent breeze is turning my fingers numb. I am wearing three shirts. Socks, even. But I need my hands to type, and I have something that needs saying...

But what?

Lately I falter when at the edge of the summit of my thoughts. As soon as I am resolving, deciding, and formulating a small understanding of the muddle, it slips. Sand through murky water. Sinking unseen.

I realized today I hate school for the fluorescent lighting. The ceilings that feel at once too high and too low. The entire idea behind the architecture: to create a welcoming learning environment whilst maintaining the apathy of the sterile, governmental look to the building. Make it bearable for 8 hours, but not 10. Certainly not 12. 3 years, not 4. No, but the end of 4 you're sprinting out of the place hoping that it doesn't lash out some sort of fantastic tentacle-like appendage and drag you back to its center. Actually visually that's sort of a funny idea. I'm not making much sense.

I was also thinking about normality, especially in the closed commons during lunch. Zakk slipped into reading today before long, as I was out of words and past forcing them given present situations. I was glad to see the boy with a book anyway. I'm glad to see anyone with one. But looking around at well rounded American teenagers my mind gets inextricably more blown than it did visiting the Hirshhorn Museum last weekend (by the by, if you haven't gone, go.). I wonder what it's like inside of their heads, where school is the first ever present priority and family, friends, boys, church, everything falls in a predetermined order around them. I watched couples, I wondered what it would be like to act so zealously involved in a crowded room, imagining myself in their shoes, attempting to fit myself into their niche. What is it like to not ask the big questions? I'm not trying to generalize, but few I've ever known my own age have asked them. I've spent my entire life with the questions What else? Why not? Why? How? pounding through my head like a steel drum. The concept of not accepting anything easily is the binding on my bones and I'm entirely ignorant of what an existence sans-wondering is like. Is it boring, to live that life? Or would it only be boring for those like myself, who refuse to be content. Are they happy? Do they ask themselves if they're happy?

From the outside looking in, everything seems more simple in life looking around a high school lunch room. Until I realize those lives seem nothing like yours, and are probably nothing like they seem.

I wish I could start running and never stop.

Here's hoping for 2009.