My bad..

Lol I had a random blank post open and forgot to fill it with words. Sorry.

Olivia

On perspective.

What do you think is worse? The delusion that one is beautiful when this is far from true, or the firm belief that one is not, whether or not it may be false? Maybe I am trying to say, is it better to have false confidence or crippling modesty or harsh honesty?

Or maybe I don't know what I was trying to say.

Olivia

On love-type-stuff.

I wonder whether I only want a relationship because society says I need one, or because I am actually lonely. Maybe I really just want to know that someone appreciates me..which is silly, because most of my friends like me more than I like me. (I guess if they didn't, they wouldn't be my friends, because..yeah. You know why, by now.)

I think I was fine by myself before, though. Through most of high school I just plodded along and waited to leave. (Then senior year I became good friends with dude, and I entertained a hope, but who am I kidding, nothing's going to come out of that.) But then lately I just keep thinking about it, I don't know if I'm hormonal or whatever shit. I'm sure that part of it was influenced by living with the girls this past year. Seriously, the majority of their brain space was occupied with relationship nonsense of one sort or another. One wanted a boyfriend the whole year, crushed on some people, nearly hooked up with some people, but nothing ever happened for her, to her dismay. One of them was guy-hopping for a while, liking a different one every few weeks and dropping them quickly; then she got a boyfriend and that lasted a few months, then I think she hated him or something.. One came with a boyfriend from home; then they broke up; they hated each other for a while and she was looking at a bunch of different guys; then she got back together with home-boyfriend but I don't know whether that was a real relationship or just friends-with-benefits bullshit; then I think they started hating each other again. But anyways.

Quite a while ago I decided that I just wasn't going to think about relationships ever, because I wasn't ever going to have one, so thinking about it was a waste of my time.

I wonder if it is cause or effect. Is this one of the decisions I've made that has led me deeper into this emotional pit I'm in, or is it the result of the pit? Perhaps, most likely, it is both. Telling myself I'll never be loved certainly doesn't help with the whole self-esteem thing. Obviously.

I don't think the state of mind is permanent. I hope not, anyways. I mean, I'm sure it's not; though I still think it's rather silly to hope for anything, it hasn't stopped me from thinking. Maybe this is unfortunate, or maybe it is good. I don't know.

So back to the original question. Do I need a relationship? Or do I need to think I need a relationship, in order to make myself more normal?

Why would I need a relationship? Is it a desire to seek affirmation, somehow? Am I looking for someone to tell me that no, I'm being stupid, I'm a better person than I think I am? (I suppose it's understandable if this is the case; I still don't think I believe it when my close friends tell me this. Maybe I need someone else to tell me, someone who I know thinks he loves me..if that makes sense. Maybe I'm being silly, because I know my friends care about me well enough.)

Am I actually just looking for someone to care about, whether or not he really cares for me? (Though I have said before that I have a great amount of hatred built up inside, I also think sometimes I love too easily, or too overwhelmingly. Maybe I deposit it on my family and my cat because I don't have anywhere else to put it. I feel kind of lame saying this.)

I have said before that I can be vain (in really odd ways); this generates another question. I suppose some relationships must be more self-centered than anything, for some people. Maybe they want someone to love them because it's a weird way of loving themselves..does that make sense? Do I want someone else to love me simply because I can't find the capacity to love myself?

Why do I say dumb things like this on my blog? Why am I a sap?

Good night.

Olivia

Yay forgetting to take Advil.

FUCK THIS TOOTH. THIS TOOTH IS A GIANT DOUCHEBAG.

Good night.

Olivia

ARGH YOU STUPID TOOTH.

Agh agh agh agh.

So, dentist did some fillings today. Top left side. Still have some more to do in rest of mouth.

Three hours after leaving office - top left still numb from novocaine - tooth in bottom left starts hurting. Like OW SHIT FUCK OW FUUUUUCK kind of hurting.

Figures it would be one he didn't work on today that would start hurting. And too late for me to tell him there is a problem. And in an area that wasn't numbed.

Keeping pangs at bay with Advil. Yay drugs?

Bluh bluh bluh.

Olivia

Doing things.

There is another person inside of me.

This person is pretty awesome.

This person is confident and outspoken and outgoing and happy. This person wants to wear pretty dresses and get tattoos and be loud in public and run around in circles for no good reason. This person has a bright vision for her life and for her future.

This person is being suppressed.

Occasionally I let her out to dream. I let her write stories, or draw silly whimsical things that I don't show anyone. I let her get hyper when listening to upbeat music, and sing along and dance around, as long as nobody is around. I let her get excited about things. She will see a glimpse of a music video staged as a masquerade - she has always loved the idea of masquerade balls, ever since she heard the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack; she loves the elaborate gowns and the anonymity; she has a thing for masks and just the concept of masks - and start imagining the perfect mask for herself. She starts doodling it and picking colors and contemplating making it. She's made masks before, after all. It wouldn't be hard. It would be fun.

Then I shut her in again. That's enough for today. Back to the real world.

I live a careful, contained life.

I do not actually think I am two people, obviously. But I feel like I'm making it that way. One of me is the one who wants to do things. The other is the one who is protecting herself from..living. From happiness. From disappointment?

Fuck this bullshit.

Olivia

PS. After I wrote this post, I sat around for a while. Then I went and dug out my clay. I'm going to make a fucking mask. Even if I never wear it, I will have it. That will make me happy.

I can't think of a good title for some reason.

I think confidence must be confused in my head with arrogance. Confidence is a fault. Whenever someone tells me something I've done is good, I uncomfortably shrug it off, or occasionally tell them outright that they're wrong. What gives me the right? And furthermore, why do I even do this in the first place? One of my sculptures from high school not only won a Gold Key (statewide) in the Scholastic Art Awards, but also a Gold Medal on the national scale. According to the letters they keep sending me, that means that it is one of the best things they've seen from the entire country's high school artists. And all I can think about when I look at it now is Man, this looks like shit, it could be so much better. (I am probably not going to the awards ceremony in June because of this. How dumb is that?)

This is a good thing and a horribly fucking bad thing. Because I cannot for the life of me take a goddamned compliment. Whenever dude says something good about something I did and I don't disagree with him, he says 'Hey, you're getting better, you didn't put yourself down!'

I wonder why I do this. It's not like I haven't had enough support in life, or anything. My art isn't great, but it's also not horrible. I'm getting better.

You may be tired of hearing this by now, but..why don't I like myself?

...

So.

My mom's been talking to me about losing weight for a while now.

I keep trying to avoid this subject.

..I joined Weight Watchers today.

This makes me feel self-conscious. This ties into the me-never-wanting-to-ask-for-help thing that seems to happen a lot in my life. But I will try it.

Apparently I've only eaten half of what I'm allowed to today. This has gotten off on a weird start.

But here is a secret that I've never wanted to say out loud because I am ashamed. (I am telling you because I swore I would not keep secrets from this blog. Even if what I say is something that makes me want to beat myself up.)

All through high school, when I would get upset at myself, I would cram as much as I could into my mouth and then throw it up immediately. I think it was like some kind of bizarre punishment ritual. I didn't actually want to eat that shit. I gave myself a stomachache and then got rid of it. It was some sick kind of soul-purge. Sometimes I would cry a little, more because it was painful and disgusting than because of anything else. Then I would tell myself off in my head, and continue about my business. I only overate when I was angry with myself, and then it would all come back out. Whenever I was content, I would not eat very much. As seen today; I am allotted thirty-one points a day, and have used fourteen.

There. I think that was perhaps my worst secret. It makes me so fucking angry with myself, that I could dislike myself so much as to do something that stupid to punish myself. I mean, I knew it was dumb and pointless even as I was doing it. But I did it anyways.

Right now I'm sitting in front of my computer kind of awed that I actually decided to write this in my blog. Nobody knows this. I haven't even been able to admit it to myself, because I hate it. Now..it's on the internet. Make with it what you will, World.

...

Goals:
Lose weight.
Gain self-esteem.

Good night.

Olivia

PS. I sat in front of the finished post for a good five minutes, at least, contemplating whether or not to delete the whole thing and write something cheerful about how I started working on demo videos for my parents' company today, and maybe whine that I'm going to the dentist tomorrow and they're doing things to three of my teeth, so my face will be numb tomorrow afternoon, but..I couldn't do that. Because I need to start being honest with myself, and with you.

I'm just going to sit here sweating away the rest of my life-juice.

Blergh blergh blergh.

I was going to say something, but I no longer want to say it.

I'm in kind of a shitty mood. Also it's hot, which doesn't help at all.

Summer sucks balls.

Olivia

On Lost and those fucking rules that make watching things on the internet such a pain.

The Lost series finale was on Sunday. This means that Hulu had to take down all but the last five episodes of the sixth season. The first five seasons are up until the end of the year. But I'm upset, because I just finished the fifth season tonight. Will have to find some other way to finish, I guess. Boo.

I'm going to go pout somewhere. Good night.

Olivia

On my old camp, and letting go.

For seven years, I attended a camp. CTY, or the Center for Talented Youth, is a program run by Johns Hopkins University for..smart kids. We (and an article in the New Yorker published years ago, which circled the campus in countless photocopies, to our delight) called it nerd camp. It's based in various college campuses across the country; mine for the latter five years was Dickinson, in Pennsylvania. You live in the dorms over a three-week session, and take a course on a normal school day schedule, generally at college- or advanced high school- level. We all had to take the SATs in seventh grade and score high in order to qualify for the program.

What brought most of us to CTY was our heightened desire to learn. What made most of us stay until we turned sixteen - the last year of eligibility - was the community. For many students, it was one of the first times people had really understood them. CTY was a place of education, but also of geeky references and deep conversations and a feeling of belonging that was out of reach for some in the 'real world'. One year the site director described it as living inside a bubble; the bubble was safe and friendly and felt like our home. Finally people could really be proud to be nerds.

It is important, I think, in those years, to have a place like CTY. If you are a kid who is sitting alone in the school cafeteria most days, reading a book..no more. Philosophical discussions cropped up everywhere, and people actually knew their stuff. It was common to see someone trying to memorize as many digits of pi as they could, just so they could look cool. Finding people who are like you instills confidence that before was not able to develop. (We had a common enemy, too: At Dickinson there is another summer camp, a ballet camp, and we would laugh about the 'rinas as they would laugh about us. We weren't allowed to talk to them.) We worshipped Douglas Adams and Rubik's cubes and Godzilla and Rocky Horror. Separated from all electronic media - computer access was virtually nonexistent; occasionally it would be required to write essays, but that was during study hall in the evening, or during classtime - we played card games and made duct tape art and danced all the way to the dining hall blasting Daft Punk from a pair of speakers and an iPod. Every afternoon there would be two scheduled activities run by the RAs, picked from lists the night before - 'mandatory fun'. These ranged from running around campus impersonating velociraptors to forming protest groups for such mundane things as Delaware to watching as many episodes of Invader Zim as possible in the relatively short period of time. Don McLean's American Pie was our theme song; everyone on campus knew the lyrics, and we danced to cues. And then there was Passionfruit. A group of whoever was willing to wake up at seven on a weekend morning to sit in a huge circle on the grass in the quad and toast, one by one, the things and the people that they loved.

Two years ago was my last summer at CTY. I was dreading the end. Three weeks passed too quickly. I had had one more year than most students got, being a year younger than the majority when I first took the qualifying test. ('Baby CTY', which I attended the summers after fifth and sixth grade, was held on different campuses with different classes, and was a completely different experience. Most people only got four years of the real deal.) By that year I and a group of my friends held high status; we were known mostly as the Cult, and referred to ourselves as such. Three of us, Reggie, Sarah, and I, had met during our first year at Dickinson, and two years later had become the base of the Cult; everyone who was a part of it knew everyone else because one of the three of us initially befriended them. We were a web. And in the summer of 2008, I was getting ready to leave the place that for years, many of us had called our second home.

While there, I was choked up.

After I left campus - almost immediately, in fact - I was over it.

I'm serious. I resolved myself at that moment to the fact that CTY was no longer a part of my life, that it was my past and that no period of mourning would be necessary. Each year after the session ended, we would go through what we called 'CTY withdrawal'. We missed it and each other achingly. We would keep in touch through email; the Cult has a Googlegroup, which allows messages and all replies to all members of the group. But in 2008, I was finished. I still kept in touch with my friends. I still missed the camp rather distantly. But while I used to always talk and fantasize with the older members of the Cult about returning as soon as possible as RAs or TAs, I no longer did. It would be fun to go back to work, I decided, but it wasn't..pressing. I no longer had that tugging urge to go back. I was done with CTY.

I am vaguely disturbed by my lack of sentimentality. When I became too old to attend, I seemed to completely detach it from the realm of my emotions. This scares me. I wonder, was this my hopeless resolve kicking in? The same thing that I'm afraid will stop me from thinking about dudeperson, from caring about forming relationships at all. I think that I might be subconsciously trying to protect myself from being hurt, but apathy is pretty damned scary. I want to finally be able to feel without being guarded. I want to be able to react and not worry so much about the consequences. My mom's always telling me that I worry so much before something happens that nothing ever can happen. That's probably the real reason why I have no life. Stop holding me back, Olivia. Stop holding me back.

So, back to CTY. I could have been stopping myself from feeling anything so that it wouldn't be so hard to leave a part of my life behind.

Then again..maybe I was just growing up.

Olivia

On pets, but mostly on Molly, because I'm still a dork.

I am thinking about ownership of pets.

Dude and his family went to the MSPCA yesterday to find a cat. They got one, and I'm still trying to convince him to take pictures so I can see her. But anyways. Apparently she is his mother's cat. So what determines this? Love? Time spent together? Money spent on food?

Molly is most definitely my cat. She used to belong to my mom's cousin, but when she and her husband and kid moved to Denver, they had to leave Molly behind, for some reason. So Molly was given to a friend who would find a family for her, and she did, at first. Then the friend went to visit home in China for a few weeks. And the family who took Molly realized that one of the kids was allergic to cats. So my aunt (or I guess technically she's..some convolution of cousin, because she's not my mom's sibling, but aunt is easier to refer to) asked my parents if Molly could stay with us until her friend came back from China and found her a new home. Of course, when my mom told me this, I was fucking ecstatic. I am totally a cat person. I have always been a cat person. I mean..I'd never had a cat before Molly, but I knew that I was a cat person anyways.

I'd met Molly a few times, but she was a bit skittish, and whenever we'd visit my aunt, Molly would hide under the couch or in the basement. (She's still pretty nervous around large groups of strangers. A few people are fine, but once we had some family friends over for dinner - eight people in total - and the whole time, I couldn't find her. Couldn't even hear the bell on her collar. Turns out she was sitting in the front closet, on the overcrowded shoe shelf. Smart, resourceful kitty. Occasionally when we have guests, I find her sitting on the shelf above the washer and dryer in the laundry room. This feat continues to impress me.) My parents, my dad especially, were adamant that she remain in the sunroom, and not come into the rest of the house. I mean, it was fine, because it was warm and spacious, but I felt bad. I felt that it was unfair. And it was basically my fault; a few weeks ago an allergist had told me flat-out that I could either get a cat - I had asked if I could, because I really fucking wanted to - or nail my foot to the floor, that the discomfort would be at the same level. I thought this was rather amusing, and wanted to go get one anyways, but my parents took him seriously. (So you can see how my mom's favor to her cousin made me happy. I had been told that I could not have a cat, and suddenly here she was.)

Anyways, they didn't want Molly shedding all over the house, because of the fucking allergist. I mean, sure, whatever. But I'd go out into the sunroom all the time anyways, and though when she first arrived she had been nervous and wary of everyone, I sat in there long enough that after a couple of days, she was used to my presence, and let me pet her without backing away after a few seconds. Having been accepted, I had a new mission: Getting her into the house.

This was..pretty easy, actually. My dad had a business trip to Europe, two weeks long. He left about a week after Molly arrived. He'd been the hardass about keeping her in the sunroom; my mom also thought it was better, but after I started letting Molly in after I came home from school, and informed her rather unconvincingly that 'oops she got in after I went to feed her', she gave in. I had the two weeks my dad was away to prove that I could live comfortably with a cat.

Strangely, I don't have allergic reactions to Molly. I'm worse with rabbits, even with some dogs. Stupid allergist. He'd said that on the 0-4 scale of..allergicness?, I was 2 for dogs, 3 for rabbits, and 4 for cats. (Around most rabbits I can barely breathe. Kind of sucks because I love them. I used to have a couple, and developed the allergy at that time, along with an allergy to every one of the ten fucking pollens I was tested for, plus, unfortunately, a lot of raw fruits. I miss the crunch of apples; I have to bake them now or else the inside of my mouth feels like it's on fire or some shit. What the fuck.) But anyways. Fuck my allergies.

I kind of just started squeezing Molly into the house, and into the family. When my dad got back, I think he was kind of expecting what he found: the cat that was supposed to be temporary was entirely too comfortable in her new home. He was basically resigned to it, though he kept saying that she wasn't staying forever.

It's been a year and a half.

I..don't really know why I decided to talk about Molly so much tonight. I'm a dork.

OH RIGHT. Pet ownership. Lol.

Molly is mine, and she basically owns me. When I'm home, we're very often a unit. It took two and a half weeks plus very much goading from my parents to persuade me to move back up to my bedroom; up until then, I was sleeping downstairs on the couch, because I wanted to be with her and she's still not allowed in my room (also the couch is super comfy). Sometimes Molly gets lonely or attention-hungry in the middle of the night, while people are sleeping, and wails loudly until someone comes out or she gets bored. When I'm downstairs, she usually sleeps through the night, curled up next to me or on my legs. She knows I'm the one who takes care of her while I'm home, because when she wants something she bothers me until I figure out what it is and fill the need. Sometimes I find her waiting outside my bedroom door, or outside the bathroom while I'm taking a shower.

She probably likes me because I give her bits of meat whenever I'm making a sandwich, or sneak her pieces of chicken when she smells it during dinner. I'm such an easy target for her begging. But I love her, so..I'm justified.

So. Is a pet's owner determined by who loves her the most? Whoever she loves the most, regardless of whether this person is the one who fills her water bowl and buys her food? Or maybe the responsibility of taking care of her falls to her 'real' owner? If you get in a relationship with someone and you move in with her and she has a dog who comes to follow you everywhere, sleep on your side of the bed, run to you with a toy in his mouth..when you break up after a few months or a couple of years or a deteriorated marriage, is it fair that she takes the dog with her? She paid to have him neutered, after all; hell, she was the one who found him on the side of the road and took him in in the first place. But he will miss your daily jogs, your playful wrestling. It will hurt him. So whose dog is he? Who is his human?

Molly is my cat, even though I'm now only home four months a year. She knows it. She loves my mom and my brother and my dad, but she knows I'm hers. I miss her whenever I'm not home; fuck, I miss her whenever the door is closed and she can't get to where I am. I plan on taking her with me whenever I manage to get a place that allows cats.

Why do I love her so much?

Olivia

Just in case you were wondering.

TOY.
STORY.
3.





That is all.

<3,
Olivia

Okay almost done talking about the website.

New resolution: Do not be miserable.

I think it's a good one.

...

I'm nearly done with my website! (For the third time..) Have a couple of coding things to work out still. (If anyone knows how to extend the content div to the bottom of the page, please please please tell me.)

Recently I have started writing again - I wasn't even able to finish one story during the school year, but now I actually have time sitting on my ass so I might as well pick it up - so maybe there will be a section for that too. Maybe. I am very self-conscious about my writing (well, about everything, and especially art, but given the nature of my career choice I will have to get over that), so it's a big maybe. I may start up a bit of a blog for the site, as well. It will probably just be linkspam of artsy stuff I like plus the occasional piece of actual news.

I am so happy I decided to pay more attention to coding for this version of the website. I mean seriously. Before a few days ago, I barely knew what the fuck a stylesheet was, let alone how to actually use one. I just put all my CSS in the head, and had to copy-paste it to each individual page, and then if I wanted to change something, I had to go back and change it on every fucking page. And I rather like that I'm learning Javascript. Baby steps, yawl. Dreamweaver has become a very good friend this week.

So anyways, now that that project is nearly finished, on to the next. Time to..produce more art..because I really do need to do more art..

...

But not right now, because it's four in the morning. (Last night I didn't sleep until a little past four thirty. So dumb. Then I felt guilty when I slept in until noon. I always get upset when that happens..) Anyways, good night.

Olivia

PS. I'm really sad because I won't be able to catch up with Lost in time to watch the finale on Sunday. (Dude why did it have to be on Sunday. They should have left it on Tuesday with the rest of the goddamn season.) I'm only fifth season sixth episode right now. So unless I can watch thirty forty-five-minute-long episodes in the next day and a half..it's a no. Baaw. I was really hoping I could. (And I mean, I was on a streak for a while, but then this week I barely watched at all. Bluh. Then again, it's actually a good thing. Because that means I wasn't sitting on my ass all week watching a television show on Hulu; no, I was sitting on my ass all week designing and coding a dumb website and getting frustrated because I don't know enough about coding.)

Violent Acres.

Have I ever linked Violent Acres in this blog? This is a very interesting woman. She knows what she's talking about. This, for example, about girl bullying. She's pretty fucking harsh on..everybody, though.

...

Argh okay turns out I forgot to finish writing this and instead spent a good chunk of last night reading instead. Oops. Yeah.

Olivia

Adventures in coding, continued.

What actually just came out of my mouth as I opened the fridge: "Hungryhungryhungryhungry OH MY GOD BAGELS we have bagels I didn't know we had bagels but I guess we do have bagels HOLY SHIT I have a bagel I'm going to EAT THIS BAGEL."

I'm..kind of silly.

...

After a long and frustrating day of trying to keep coding in line, I finally started experimenting in Dreamweaver and following some tutorials on the Adobe website, and a couple of hours ago my image gallery STARTED WORKING. WHOO. And after this two-day intense self-inflicted crash course on coding, I finally understand more about what I've been doing for over five years. I mean seriously. I hadn't been using stylesheets until now; I hadn't known how. I was copy-pasting the same CSS into every single page..so dumb.

Javascript is extremely logical, and I feel like it's something with which I could really develop proficiency, but I'll have to start learning from the very beginning. Yay fun? We'll see when I have time. Whoo adventures in coding.

...

So yeah, that was my day. I'm probably going to dream in tags. Good night.

Olivia

Oh boy coding.

I spent the vast majority of my day trying to make Javascript be nice to me. Some day I'm going to actually read the book through, and know what I'm doing. Right now I have to satisfy myself with copy-pasting the bits I need and going back and begging them to work.

Today's score: Javascript 4 - 2 Olivia.

Right now I am eating a ham-and-cheese sandwich and drawing flowers. Such is my exciting lifestyle. Tomorrow will bring more code-wrestling. Then hopefully I'll still have some time to continue the job hunt.

Good night.

Olivia

I'm gross. I fail as a girl.

I was going to add this as a PS, but thought the tone change would be too weird.

I think chicken grease is more effective as a lip-glossifier than lip gloss.

That is all.

Olivia

On belief.

Have I ever mentioned this? Sometimes I am jealous of people who have the faith to believe in a god or some kind of higher power. Seriously. Fuck my skepticism. When I was little I had a vague belief in the Christian God just because my friends were all religious. I accepted it because they talked about their god as a fact. I don't remember what made me realize that I really had no ties to their faith at all, but it went out the window quite effortlessly.

I don't follow one of those deep philosophies of life, either. No Confucianism or Buddhism or Daoism for me. None of this the-world-is-one stuff. I don't believe in karma, I don't believe in any kind of life-death cycle. Although sometimes I want to, I don't - can't - believe in anything after death other than decomposition. I wish I had spiritual motivation to be a good person. Sometimes I even wish that religious fanatics were able to scare me into aiming for heaven. It's probably a good thing I don't believe anyone is watching me from on high; I am not, as of right now, living my life the way I'd like anyone to see. And I don't have anyone to blame.

I am 'superstitious'; I knock on wood and avoid certain numbers, for example. But these are cultural influences that implemented themselves into my set of compulsions. I am not really superstitious at all. The former started as a joke, and eventually started manifesting itself as an obsessive mandatory action. I knock on wood in multiples of three, like I count and meter applause in my head, not because I actually think it will affect anything, but because it is something I must do. (An aside: When I applaud for people or performances, the number of times I clap express my opinion of what has been done. It's like a rating, but only I know what is happening and what it means. It's dumb but inavoidable.) As for thirteen..well, I've always had weird relationships with numbers. Want a quick peek into my head? The best numbers under twenty are eight and eighteen, followed by twelve and seventeen, followed by four and sixteen. The worst are thirteen and fourteen. It all fits into the logic of my brain. Patterns, it seems, are my religion.

I am a just-in-case person, a what-if person. I often wonder how events might have panned out if something-something had happened a different way. And I want to be early for events and classes and meetings, so that I will not be late, or so that I can get a good seat, or whatever. And I want to always have my options open, to a point where it becomes almost a fault; I am extremely indecisive in many areas. But clearly I can't cover all bases when it comes to religion. And anyways it wouldn't work; unfortunately, I can't force belief. I wish I were that open.

A note you may or may not find interesting: I starting writing this post after reading several of many comments found on the internet bashing Scientology. That L Ron Hubbard was able to create a religion / cult / whatever-you-choose-to-call-it is rather impressive to me, actually. Enough people believed what he said. Whatever you want to say about Scientologists, at least they have the capacity to believe in something. I can't believe in anything.

Sometimes I wish I could pray. Even if it didn't do anything. Sometimes I wish I could believe that fate might do me a favor.

I live my life for myself, not for anyone who might be looking down at me. This is good or bad.

Olivia

Website, arts, cats. PS, candy.

I'm redesigning my website, and my visual identity as a whole. The current thing has been pissing me off of late; the coding is messy and amateurish and doesn't work in some browsers, and I'm just getting kind of fed up with the layout in general. So new things are happening.



That's the almost-for-sure new logo. Opinions? (Here's all of the final choices.)

- Some reason, my dad seems to always be the final word on things like these. Not just because he knows a lot about this stuff and because I deeply respect his opinion, but because..he seems to be almost always right. The way he reasons just makes me see the problem at hand in a different light. Fatbird (the first choice - yeah, I nicknamed him) used to be my favorite of them, because looking at him made me giggle. When it was down to first and fourth, though, one is cute and one looks more professional kind of, so there we go.

The layout is going to look a lot cleaner, I think. The gallery will be better organized, and I'm weeding a lot of stuff out. Also, I have decided: I really need to start making more arts. I need to get off my lazy butt and make more arts, because I do not have enough arts. I need like a zillion more arts. My arts are looking less and less impressive the more time I spend on the internet. This summer shall be dedicated making more and more-awesome arts.

Arts. Yeah. Arts. Whoo. Let's do this thing.

...

Also a cat for you.



Molly doesn't talk much. Like at all. Only when she really wants something. When there is no food where food should be, she stares at you until you move, then walks towards her bowl, stopping along the way a few times to turn around and make sure you're following her, and when you get there she stands in front of the food-void and if nothing appears right away she looks up at you, gives you the huge sad cat eyes, and opens her mouth a tiny bit and emits this tiny little 'eh' sound. Besides the begging 'eh' sound, she very occasionally does the yelling 'reowr' thing when she's scratching her ears, and sometimes in the middle of the night when she's lonely she sits at the base of the stairs and whines until someone wakes up. (This is one reason why I've been sleeping downstairs on the couch since I got home; I get to be with her, and she sleeps next to me all night.)

...

Good night.

Olivia

PS. So tonight's main distraction from sleep is Candyblog. Last time I looked at the clock it was ten thirty; now it's twelve thirty. I just spent two hours..reading about..candy. I think for the rest of my life instead of eating I will look at food porn. It is just so satisfying(ly distracting).

FILLERLOL.

Lol okay.

Well fuck. It's my two hundredth post. Probably the most recognizable accomplishment of my life to date. Kind of sad..

But seriously. I've been writing all this time about stupid things in my life, and if you've read this blog you know more about me than almost anyone else does. I feel like I shouldn't be so open on the internet, but at the same time it's a relief.

...

This afternoon Sarah and I got into an argument over whether or not I am attractive. (Answer: no.) It was kind of funny actually.

...

I have nothing more to say.

Olivia

Ohbytheway.

Also, the next post will be my two-hundredth in this blog. Jeez.

Frustration and Lost and frustration over Lost.

I had an idea for what I was going to write today. I was thinking about it this morning, and I figured it would be good to put in my blog. But I decided that I would wait until later to write it down, because it was too early to start the post.

Dunno what I was thinking. I've written morning posts before. The only reason why I usually wait until night is that that's when the day is over, and I can write about the day. But anyways..I can't remember anymore. It's upsetting me.

...

I have been watching too much Lost. I am in the fourth season already; actually, since the fourth season only has thirteen episodes for some reason, instead of the usual twenty-one average (is this because of the Writers' Strike? Don't remember what year that was), I'm already halfway through the fourth season. Sheesh.

Today I was commentary-ing at Christine over Gchat. I noted that it was basically exactly what I do whenever I'm watching a movie and blogging about it on the side, except that she talks back. Yesterday I was commentary-ing at my forum buddies, several of whom - and one Lost fanatic in particular - are the reason why I started watching in the first place. (Also Sam and Kay from my acting class. They are also obsessed.) Good thing I'm not blogging along to Lost, because I'm averaging around seven episodes a day, or something. Kind of terrifying; probably unhealthy..

"There is so much of this knocking-people-out-with-some-kind-of-object,-usually-a-gun-but-occasionally-a-boat-paddle-or-something in Lost. If all the episodes were condensed and sped up to make a three-hour movie (Lost: Subliminal Messaging Edition), I would make a drinking game based on people hitting other people on the head with heavy things. Whoever plays it might be dead at the end."

"I don't think it's a very good idea to keep one's gun in the back of one's waistband. If something catches and it fires..you'll lose your butt. (Yes, I have been thinking this ever since the Losties found that first gun.) "
"they could... put the safety on?"
"Uh..that's..true. I feel really dumb now. (But guns in close proximity to butts still make me nervous.) "

These kinds of things go through my head while I am watching.

...

Anyways. I wouldn't expect anything thoughtful out of me for another few days. I'll have some good notions and then they'll go out the window once I start worrying about who's going to die next and what the fuck is happening on the island and why things are happening when they shouldn't be happening and hm I am a spoiler junkie and I remember something about this from Wikipedia but all of a sudden I actually know what it means.

If I see you within the next couple of days I will probably give you a cookie. I discovered a new cookie. And it is fucking awesome.

Olivia

The right way to do it.

If you are planning on jumping off a bridge and ending your life, you probably want to walk to the bridge instead of driving to it. Then you will have more time to think about your decision and your sorry existence and all your mistakes and the loved ones you've hurt and how nothing ever goes right. Plus maybe some kind stranger will pull over and ask if you need a ride, and then say some nice things that will be just what you needed to hear to change your mind.

If you lived in a movie, anyways.

Olivia

Not really anything.

Read Eric's blog. He knows how to make words. (He also knows how to make comics, and I am jealous of this skill.)

...

Did my first retro-raid today, kind of. Mostly hung back with same-level guildie while dude ran in with his eighty and killed shit. Then got shiny loots. Whoo. Was occasionally useful in helping kill things. Whoo.

I need to level more.

...

I feel like most of my days are either hanging around doing nothing or driving around everywhere.

I drew today, though. So that's something.

...

That's it. No fancy thoughts tonight.

I need to start doing stuff with my life.

Olivia

Life-waster.

I'm kind of wasting my life.

All I've been doing is watching Lost and hanging out with my cat and halfheartedly pretending to unpack. Tomorrow I will start doing things. It will be good. Just watch.

Olivia

Just a thought.

I've been watching a lot of Lost. So many people getting shot. I've been lighting candles and burning matches and dipping my fingers into hot wax. I've been thinking about bullets burning through flesh and fat and skin.

Fire is fascinating. So is death.

Olivia

Shut up alligator.

I'm tired, so you get this.



Olivia

Jobs bullshit.

I filled out nine retail job applications today.

I need a job..

I wish I could find a job that would actually be good for me..

But for now we settle with whatever gets money.

Gotta wake up early; sending my mom to the airport tomorrow at six in the morning. Good night.

Olivia

PDA.

Finishing what I started.

...

I was thinking about PDA.

While I was on the bus heading back home, there was a couple sitting across the aisle from me. They were all over each other, cuddling and kissing, the entire fucking ride. It was kind of cute. It was kind of really obnoxious.

So. PDA: public display of affection. Is it an act of narcissism, or a loss of self-consciousness? Do you love someone so much that you must be constantly open about it, or do you want to show the world that you are loved?

Most of the time I'm not big on hugs in public. It just makes me feel awkward. I wonder how many of you have been subjected to my quiet one-armed quick embrace.

Usually with me, my levels of snarkiness and verbal abuse are directly proportionate to how comfortable I feel around you. The people I love get sarcastic jabs and lots of pokes and light punches. It's kind of bad.

But I'm a total dork for my cat. Whenever I'm around her I'm constantly telling her how much I adore her, and she doesn't even know what I'm saying. It is almost embarrassing how much I express my love for my cat. (I must be turning into a cat lady. Oh god.)

Back to the point. I think couples are kind of sweet. (They also depress me sometimes, depending on my current mood and outlook on life and prospects for my future.) But PDA isn't always very pleasant. So sure, kiss sometimes. But don't have wrestling matches on a four hour bus ride.

Thanks.

Olivia

Stuff that isn't finished.

I hate my voice. It's annoying. I wish it sounded like it does in my head.

...

I was thinking about PDA.

While I was on the bus heading back home, there was a couple sitting across the aisle from me. They were all over each other, cuddling and kissing, the entire fucking ride. It was kind of cute. It was kind of really obnoxious.

...

Oh fuck I didn't finish this last night. Uh. It's nine at night on Thursday and I kind of abandoned this post. Uh. We'll pick up tonight. Sorry bout that.

Olivia

Image and stuff. Also, Lost.

Sometimes I look in the mirror and actually think I'm okay today. Then in my head the thought is immediately followed up with 'just compared to yourself, though; this is only okay by your standards'. I can't seem to stop degrading myself.

It's getting tiresome.

...

Dude and I were talking about nude models last night. One of our acquaintances, who goes to Ringling, posted a Facebook status asking if anyone would be willing to let him draw them naked. He got some responses from friends. I know some photo majors who takes nudes of themselves and/or their friends, and most of the time the images are gorgeous. But I can't imagine having a friend model for me. Models in class are one thing; I don't know them - I don't even know their names most of the time - and they're being paid and they're there specifically to be drawn naked. But people I already know? I wouldn't be able to focus on drawing.

I think you'd have to be pretty self-confident to pose nude for a friend's photos, or for your own. Or for a classroom of students you don't know. I admire these people.

...

I started watching Lost again. (I watched half of the pilot on Hulu at my dorm before giving up on the shitty internet connection.) It is turning out to be a pretty cool show.

Now I am seven episodes in. And I'm hooked. Oops.

...

That said, good night. Gonna go watch some more Lost and take some Advil for my freshly root-canaled tooth and go to sleep.

Olivia

Yeah home.

I'm home.
I'm happy I'm home.
My cat is happy I'm home.
Not much more to say tonight.

Olivia

PS. Last night was so weird. I couldn't settle; the emptiness made me restless. I was reading and then pacing and then sitting and then loitering on the internet without actually doing anything and then reading again and then wanting to go to sleep but not being able to fall asleep, and then pacing again, et cetera. It was so strange.

Yeah. Stuff.

I can't think of anything to talk about today..

I moved out. My room echoes. Going home after class tomorrow. YAY WHOO.

That's it. Don't have anything else. Talk at you tomorrow.

Olivia

PS. Hey Eric, if you're reading this, you should start writing your blog again. That would be cool.

PPS. I don't know why, but I'm ridiculously tired. It's only eight thirty and I am seriously considering just going to sleep now..

Done packing.

I just finished packing. So weird. I have way too much stuff. And yet here I am done, and my life fits in boxes, and it's just so strange.

I probably won't write a post tonight; I'll be in Flushing. So if that's the case, this and the last post are what you're getting for today. Which is twice as much as most nights, although not in content.

Olivia

What happened this morning.

I woke up at four thirty this morning to the sounds of Brooke and Cody (her ex) yelling at each other. Apparently Brooke and Lauren haven't been talking for a few days because..Lauren kissed some guy Brooke liked, or something? Brooke asked why Cody was mad at her. Apparently Lauren was now crying in the stairwell and Cody went looking for her to see if she was alright, which is apparently more than Brooke did. Brooke said that she'd only been giving Lauren space because she didn't want things to be awkward, and Cody threw it back in her face with a "I know how you are, Brooke; you make everyone feel bad about themselves and make up bullshit". Around that time Brooke started crying, and then I really started feeling bad for her, because..this is the way girls are: They can be as bitchy or manipulative or underhanded as they want, but when you rip off that layer they're either completely fucking vulnerable, or faking it to make you sympathize. While Lauren thought Brooke was ignoring her, Brooke thought that Lauren was ignoring her. Then apparently they talked through text, and Lauren said it was fine and that she was going to sleep, but apparently she just stayed there crying. And that's when Cody stormed in yelling about the idiocy of the politics of girldom.

I don't want to hear this kind of stuff. It makes me uncomfortable.

And all I could do was lie there listening. And I had to go to the bathroom.

And that's what happened this morning.