Son Down, Son Up

To my dear followers,

That means you, weird Russians and Germans who use my blog to advertise your website that sells ad space (adception).

I apologize for the recent hiatus of posts.  I know you wait for each one for so very long.  However, I am happy to say that I have started another blog that follows my evolution from being a sleepy night owl to a peppy morning person.  I thought it might help people who feel trapped in their inconvenient (but fun) sleep cycles.  And no, middle-schoolers, that does not say "butt fun" in the parenthesis.  So if you would like to move away from the terrible jokes and life-threatening puns for a while, you can catch a more serious topic at sondownsonup.blogspot.com and hear some words from me that are more on the normal side.

I'm not sure when my next post will be, so until then, "(Line from Anchorman)".

The Heat Is On High

Here is something I don't think I have actually done on here yet: venting in a direct manner that people will surprisingly understand. Finals week is in 12 days, so let's flush out all the crap life gave me.

I am freaking out that I won't receive credit for two of my classes, both of which I have D's in. I am pissed at myself for being lazy, not studying hard enough, giving up too easily, and putting forth my worst academic performance since preschool. I am also pissed off that a multiple choice test could be hard enough for me to fail. One class has a 10-question test with hard questions, in a class with a teacher with a thick french accent who goes off on tangents and talks for three hours without the visual aid of a power point. Another class has a 40-question test in which the material is simple, the questions seem easy, and I study for a considerable amount of time for the test, but I've walked away with a D and an F on two exams. A third class offers a 40-question test with a "correct answer is not given" choice on half of the questions, and is usually right for three of them even though no one usually thinks of choosing it without wanting to strangle the teacher in order to get the right answer. Luckily for me, this teacher actually curves the test by a reasonable amount, and I pull off grades that will actually earn me credit.

I have eaten alone for most meals this week. Breakfast I eat later than everyone else, lunch I sometimes skip, but dinner pisses me off. I hate eating dinner alone, but it happens all the tr. Why? No one bothers to ask me to eat with them, even though everyone has to pass my door to get to the stairwell and people have my phone number. When I ask people to eat with me, either they already ate, will be eating two hours later, and say "I'll be down there soon" and don't bother or "forget" to let me know. Last year, I almost always had people to eat with. This is ridiculous.

The fact that I'm ranting to myself in a blog an not to my friends pisses me off because I should be able to rant to my friends about these things, but I don't spend enough time with them for me to be able to do that without feeling uncomfortable. I am also too proud to tell my home friends or friends from my old school.

I am running out of advice to give to my good friends, and I feel more isolated now than I have ever felt.

I am 19 years old and I've never had a girlfriend. It makes me feel like there's something wrong with me, that somehow the way I act is weird or creepy and I'm just completely oblivious to it all.

I have no idea how the world works. I don't know how professional you have to be with certain people, how confidential with certain information, or really even what is not normal behavior in public. I have no idea how to party at college or how to pick up a girl. I don't understand the concept of random hookups, let alone why people would seek out and prioritize physical satisfaction over wmotional bonding. I still have yet to understand why every girl I form an emotional attraction to just "wants to be friends" even though they could try it, just to see if things could work out.

I hate how my shoelaces come untied any time I walk for over five minutes.

I hate how a "check" on my government paper is only worth 3.5 points out of five, pinning my average at a D+. And it's impossible to participate in the discussion if the TA discusses topics no one has ever heard of.

Every part of my earphones have broken except for the actual functioning, and they are too expensive to replace.

Why do things have to cost money????? Don't answer that, that's what my government class is for.

When my window is closed it's too hot, but when it's open at night, there's too much noise. I sleep with my fucking fan on in the winter.

My mom calls me a lazy shit. It really helps my self-esteem and motivation when the person who has stood by me my whole life has suddenly lost faith.

I want to grow up to be a writer, which is the least sustaining job possible. I'm afraid that I'll be living in a basement or paying rent until I'm 40 when either my first story comes out or I decide to go bungie jumping and "accidentally" forget to hook the bungie cord up to the harness. I fear either the public will reject my work or I'll be too busy working a low-paying job or a dissatisfying job to do what I love to do.

Of course, one of the classes I may not get credit for is an important requirement for my major.

I hate Justin Beiber and the Carolina Panthers' 3-8 record.

The water fountain in my hallway always tastes like shit and always has some unknown, disgusting object blocking the drain.

My tongue hurts if I move it horizontally or if I stick it out, and it has been that way since my food poisoning almost two weeks ago.

My hair grows too quicky, it hurts when skin grows under my freshly cut fingernails, and every time I cut my toenails I predict that they will be ingrown one day.

The shade on my window is impossible to keep closed for more than five seconds and it really pisses me off.

My phone's battery loses charge too quickly.

I try to go to bed before 1:00 every night but always go to sleep after that time. My body clock is fucked up and I fail every time I try to fix it. Then, of course, I am disappointed in myself the next morning after getting up late and being late to class.

WHY DO I ALWAYS FEEL DROWZY IN ASTRONOMY?!?!?! C'mon, son.

I think I've covered just about everything.

Choosing The Right Tiles

If people are like artwork, then what does that make me? I've been told many times by many people that I'm just a combination of people in one entity. I'm a tye-dye. I'm a quilt, patched by the seams. I'm a melting pot of natives and immigrants we call the United States of America. I am not any one painting; I am all of them. They make up a mosaic of morals and mannerisms from everyone around me, the tiles cemented together by the impression they had on me to form a single work of art: me. But I am no longer considered a painting. No, I am a mosaic. However, I am a tricky mosaic. Only certain tiles reveal themselves to certain people. Only one person has seen the entire work of art, and that is the art itself. It knows everything inside, the background, foreground, and middleground of each painting. It is a gift.

And yet, it is also a burden.

It takes all of my concentration to reveal my true colors. Being me has become increasingly difficult. Having absorbed all the uniqueness that made my mentors likeable, I have lost what has made me likeable. People know me for the other paintings inside of me, but not the one tile that began it all. The one that knew there was good in the world; that the good guy always wins. In my quest to become greatly unique, I have become great, but I am also generic. Average.

But don't doubt for a second that I'm not proud of who I am.

From being ordinary I strive for extraordinary. I will now take an oath to be the best that I can be. To always share the best parts of me with everyone. I have all the traits, all of the paintings, I just need to choose the right tiles, and discard all the rest. Start a newly refined mosaic.

Let's start by removing the laziness and the need to not give a crap that high school poisoned me with.

Motivation: found again.

Artwork Is Personal

Normal people are like paintings. There are images in the foreground that jump out at you almost immediately, such as farmers holding pitchforks. Once you are familiar enough with that aspect, you may begin to examine the middleground (is that even a compound word? I'm a writer, I should know this). In the middleground, you may find something that you would not have seen during your first glance. Maybe, behind that twisted, screaming man, you see a beautiful horse on a farm. Then, you find that the twisted man still has a nicer side of him. And as you look deeper into the darkest depths of a person's painting, you might see something few have seen before. In all of that darkness in the background, you'll find a yellow dot. But not just any dot: a star. It illuminates that one spot in the corner of this living painting. Through all the dark secrets, embarrassing moments, and memories we would love simply not to remember, we have a reason to resurface them. Because once they darken a person enough, the victim will soon realize that those memories are lit just enough to bring positivity and happiness through the negativity they bring. They shape us, make us who we are. And, eventually, we may only hope that one day we will be able to be shaped into a dot ourselves; to be the star that lights up someone else's night sky.

Battling The Eraser

It is the pencil that puts words on a page.  However, a small part of the pencil, the eraser, hides those words from intrigued eyes.  In my quest to write, I have succeeded in devising a story--two now, actually--that I am proud of.  I have all the words in my head.  Though some of those words have safely reached the page, others have been stopped by my own personal eraser.  This is not the pink menace that threatens to rid the world of all printed language.  No, my enemy is much worse; laziness.  The very act of not acting delays my motivation and my accomplishment.  I fear that, as time passes, I will no longer be able to finish my work, whether I lose interest or forget where I wanted the story to be taken.  It is an inner battle of wits between me and my eraser, to see who will perish first: me, the eraser, shaven completely and scattered across New England, or me, the pencil, too short to hold and create the words that I desperately wish to reveal to the public.  My determination is strong, but my longing for academic success and social interaction distorts my drive for completion.

The victor is yet to be seen.

Inspiration VS Infringement [EXPLICIT]

Let me be clear: My intent is never to take an idea from someone. I research every one of my ideas to see if they have been done before. I take extra care to make sure that I'm as original as possible. But let's face it. There are aspects of certain stories that I like. Not necessarily a specific idea, but more of a general concept or style. Of course, this argument won't help me in a court battle. And that's the thing about being original: either it's been done or it's copyright infringement. All the aspiring writers out there just want to make a living doing what they love, and then some greedy SOB (son of a billionaire) wants more dough. So, rather than publish the writer's works, they sue his ass for all it's worth. And trust me, a writer's ass is worth a lot. We sit on it for so damn long typing away at our keyboards. So, the writer is so poor that he or she would do anything for money, even get a job putting fringes on scarves. And I know for a fact that I am even less willing to infringe a scarf. So please, to all you publishing companies, TV stations, production companies, and, hell, scarf makers out there: how about instead of falsely accusing us of stealing your ideas, you either let us live our lives, strike a deal to publish our work, or af least appreciate that you've inspired us to express our creativity in 350-or-so pages.

Bookception

You can never have too many Inception references. Now, for those of you who have been reading from the start (which is basically the two people that will read this), I have finally decided what the central theme of my blog should be on: writing. Yes, I'm writing about writing, whether it be my writing, someone else's writing, or just writing in general. And I'll occasionally throw in a random story about something that's frustrating me (which could also fall under the category of "the way the world works") or about life in general. Except being a college guy, it won't be that general because I'll probabaly just end up writing about a girl. You'll see.

On the subject of bookception, keep in mind that I'm also writing about a writer who writes about a writer. Really interesting stuff.