Report Blog Entry
Shyshy slept with me last night, shes my dog. She was good, never barked at all or woke me up at all throughout the night-- and day honestly; i slept in till 1pm. I finished New Moon last night, or atleast a rewrite of it. Someone on Ao3 rewrote the whole entire thing (132k words and all) so as Jacob would win over Bella, and the characters wouldn't be insane weirdos. Also minus the estranged racism of the original book. I prefer to call it (new) New Moon. Now of course, since ive consumed all this media about Twilight and werewolf boyfriends-- i am unironically into werewolve boyfriend tropes now. Great! Very teenage girl of me. Whevener i imagined Jacob while reading new new moon, I liked to see him as the original actor casted for Jacob. Hes a lot prettier, and honestly just not as scary as the other Jacob looks. Plus hes actually indigenous, unlike Taylor Lautner. I think its so fucked that for the indigenous actors, they had to bring proof of their ethnicity-- then had to cut their hair for the plot. It was just so unneeded and colonial. But whatever, back to werewolves; at least im not one of those girls who was super into Werewolf!HarryStyles tumblr imagines or wattpads or something. Least i have that going for me. Right now im uncertain if ill just look for more longfic Jacob works, or just look for more werewolve boyfriend type books on Ao3.
A whole new universe/book to get into would give me an excuse to make a new pinterest board for it, but on the other hand, ive gotten pretty attached to the werewolf system of the Twilight books, as racist as it originally is. Its much nicer to have lycanthropes explained as a community and family (or in this case, a bunch of rowdy teenage boys running around Washington), rather than a violent disease, or some abusive hierarchy of rich, abusive man-children, and jealous vindictive women only written in to torture and cause relationship tension for the female lead. I hate dark romances so much. Theres no romance in dark romance, just possession.
Im going to my grandmothers next weekend. Schools a bust. I went yesterday for the first time in a week. Cried before putting on my makeup-- which was a smart move! I felt so dull afterwards that i didnt cry after putting it on, and was able to just get through it when doing it. I felt so shitty the entire day though, got a little work done. Hung out with T and A, since the original A had to be somewhere else during lunch. We talked about boys, they stalked the boys, and that was that. I didnt get messed with at all today by any boys, even though i felt very pretty today-- which was good! Im glad i can look nice and avoid harassment at the same time!
During 4th was the worst though. The room stunk, but the other kids were going to do an escape room. I was pretty excited to hang out with some of the people in the class-- because even though theyre cringey to me and i dont nessisarily like them, itll provide entertainment and something to talk about with my dad later. But Ms. B thought i should work on work instead. Which is expected, and i did. I left the room since it was loud and again, stunk. I went into the smaller room and to avoid crying again, went to the bathroom with my lighter. I saw Mr. T on the way there through a crack in another classrooms door, and imagined him like i did with my other teacher before. Finding me in the hallways, emotionally distressed-- and giving me the attention and concerned, sympathetic look i really really wanted. But daydreaming it is nice enough, i dont need anything to actually happen. I know simply the action of me replaying the idea of it in my head is fullproof guarantee enough that itll never happen. The simple acknowledgement of want i feel, is proof enough that itll never occur.
I think, since i hadnt needed to do it in a long time, i went a bit overboard with the lighter. It hurt on impact, abit more than i was used to. I remember gasping in air, and my body dipping down to clutch at my arm after every lick of the lighter. A red mark remained on my arm, larger, and more permanent than i was used to. Usually they go away by the time i get back to my seat, or some time after that. But it didnt go away, and even developed a small welt, soon to be blister im pretty sure. It hurt a lot. Having my sleeve down, even with the compensation of soaking that part of my sleeve in water to comfort the burn; hurt with every movement of my arm and readjustment of my sleeve. Having my sleeve down was an option too, with the privacy of the small room. That wasnt great either though, as the air hitting my arm hurt more. I didnt cry during 4th, or afterschool though, which was evidence in itself that it worked. I put a bandaid on it afterclass and hoped for the best. Looking at it now, the red mark has faded away completely, and peeling away the bandaid i see that the welt is gone too-- the only evidence of it ever existing being a small, crescent moon of a scar left on the inside of my arm; only noticable if you know where and what to look for. I will pretend its the same cresent scar Bella has on the inside of her forearm too!
Jesus, ive written a lot for not having a lot to write about. Thats what i do like about this secret diary of mine-- i can just go and go and go without my pen drying up, my hand cramping or my book running out of pages. My page may look mysterious-- weird even, with its lack of a name, or anything else appearing on it, and i do like it like that; but at the end of the day honestly this is just a diary of a teenage girl in the east coast whos happy with the minimal interaction this page gets. A once in a blue moon kudo is enough for me. I really do love this little place of mine. No one ever, will see this-- as public and accessible as it is. The few people who will be browsing and refreshing the recent blog posts page when i post this will have not the eye to be caught, nor the effort to read all through and view my innermost world, that at the end of the day-- isnt very innermost at all. Its a secret hidden not in a journal behind a bed, or on a flashdrive locked in a drawer. Its a secret hidden amongst the public eye, a jumble of words side by side every other entry of jumbled words on this site.
Its not all that special, and never has been, but to me-- its nice to pretend, and acknowledge how private a public post can be.
You will only ever see me if you look for me.
And god knows, as well as i do, that no one is looking for me.
Logging off.
Comments
Comments disabled.