Monday, November 7, 2011

Addictions

   I deleted my Facebook approximately one hour ago, and my eyes are already sore from not being sore. Also, I've already thought of six really awesome status ideas. But all good things must come to an end. Right, Nelly Furtado?
   Status Idea #1: "Bumping to dubstep so nasty I have to change it to porn when my mom comes in."
   This guy I met at a party had it as his status a few months ago, and considering I had fallen into a recent obsession with EDM (electronic dance music), it felt appropriate. I would put quotation marks around it. That indicates no plagiarism here; there's an understood anonymous author. Ri
   I'm having withdrawals because of it and it's stupid. At first, I had that euphoric feeling of accomplishment, like when I deleted my first MySpace in 2010. I had maintained that bad cat for three solid years. I signed up for Facebook about two or three years ago, but that's two or three years too many. I decided that I didn't want to see what anyone else was doing. I didn't want anyone to see what I was doing. You dig?
But it can be a pretty fun place that Facebook. I'm going to miss my off-the-wall friends and the sharing of vulgar opinions. I'm going to miss being a click away from saying anything I want to anyone I wanted. I have a phone, but that actually requires getting people's number instead of being able to spell their name, which I'm good at.
   Even though 1984 and V For Vendetta have me convinced that the government is conspiring against society and distributing discreet propaganda through television, I don't think they're behind Facebook. I have a friend that thinks that, but his liver and lungs are shriveled so I don't imagine he's a very reliable source.
   The main reason why I had to delete my SpaceBook (what CahCah's dad calls it) is that I spend way too much time trying to keep up on other people and not enough time on my more important duties, like homework or chores or taking care of my little sister.

   I had my first-ever ditch-day today. Not that I've never missed school for no reason before, because I have. I've been in the school industry since I was 3 and I'm currently 18. 
I didn't even tell my mom that I wanted to leave. I just left. Because I could. I went over to this dude Prometheus's. We played some Digital Monopoly, or some other whack-ass name that rapes my childhood, with four guys. They ordered pizza and listened to Tech N9ne's newest album Welcome To Strangeland.
   On my way home around two, I smoked a bowl and caught a head-change. I went to bed and slept until eight. I woke up when my mom opened her door. (I'm a very light sleeper.)

   "Do you have anything to tell me?" Mum asked in her bitchy voice. I immediately got annoyed because I knew she knew. Why is she asking me when she already knew? Stupid.

   "Nope," I said from under my covers.

   "What do you have to tell me?" Mum repeated.

   "If you already know, then why are you asking me?"

   "Because I want you to tell me."

   "You're fucking weird." Then I heard the door close.

   All that drama is not worth knowing who's in a relationship and watching people tell the most phony "to be honest"s ever. This Facebook has got to go. I would rather vomit UV Cake for five hours... again.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Too Much

She was switching back and forth from YouTube and Facebook.
She was making this demotivational poster and went to type "paint" into the search bar of her fabulous Windows Vista Start Menu.

But her fingers drew her to another word.
Another place.
Where she was sitting in a car, getting ready to smoke a bowl, when "Faint" by Linkin Park started playing.
And her heart ached from missing him.
Especially since his stupid-ass ex started dating one of her good friends and she had to see her stupid-ass face more.
And she could see that text in her brain.
Clear.as.day


"you were just a fuck, he doesn't really care about you...not trying to be mean but...."

The truth hurts like a mo'afuckin bitch.

backspace.backspace.backspace

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Remember

So, if this does end up being my last letter, please believe that things are good with me, and even when they’re not, they will be soon enough. And I will believe the same about you.


Love always,
Charlie

The Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chblosky, pg. 213