It Seems Like Years Since It's Been Clear

My glasses just broke. The left arm's been holding on by a thread, and now it's popped clean off. By "popped" I mean somehow a hinge broke in some weird way that doesn't even seem possible because the other arm doesn't even have a hinge or a joint there, so... what? I've managed to stick it back on with some scotch tape, and now I look ridiculous.

I mean, I know I should be grateful that I even have corrective eyewear and people around the world have no eye glasses and blah blah, but. My glasses are already old and scratched and that kind of dirty you can't really clean and they're crooked and some of the paint is chipped off, and now they're held together with tape.

And I have no health insurance and the money in my checking account is dwindling and I have no job and no qualifications for one and my mother has no job and my father's money is stretched thinner than it used to be and anyway he shouldn't have to pay for his 24-year-old daughter's eyeglasses.

I probably need another eye exam since it's been about 2 years and that's not cheap and I have the kind of face that looks like shit pretty much always and especially when I wear glasses so I can't even buy the cheaper frames. In order not to be so hideously ugly I'm hauled away by the police for disturbing the peace I have to wear specific kinds of glasses which are impossible to find because everyone wants ironic hipster ~nerd~ glasses and I hate all of them.

There was a show on Fox (since cancelled because it was shit, and sexist) where a female character spends money stupidly with the idea that ~everything happens if you wish hard enough~ and her boyfriend has terrible nerd glasses. And at the end of the episode she says she loves him because he loves her in spite of her stupidity, and he says he loves her because she loves him in spite of his dorky glasses. Uh, what? Dude, you have a choice. Even if you need special kinds of glasses, they come in attractive shapes that aren't dorky and hipster-shit. I know from experience here, okay? They can make special glasses not look really stupid. If they meant she loves him in spite of his dorkiness in general, well, sure, I guess, except he's still just a nerd and she's a complete idiot who expects money to fall from the sky. (See what I mean about that show being sexist?)

anyway glasses are important and shitty ones ruin lives and I am poor and also stupid. If I'd made different choices at the age of 14 ten years later I would not be here whining about this. bleh. (look what a mess this entry is, remember when I was a writer? whatever happened to that? Now I hate myself for my terrible writing and for my ugly face and its stupid glasses. I don't think I can even wear contacts because of the prism/depth perception thing and my sensitive eyes and wow, I really hate myself today.)

-7:25 AM

You know what I hate? Slide puzzles. Slide puzzles suck. A lot.

-5:39 AM

Today I had to attend a driver's class... er, thing? Where they tell you a bunch of statistics so you can get a permit? Dude, I sat there for four hours and I still don't know what I was there for. And I had to get up at 6:45. After about an hour's worth of sleep.
You see, I have *dramatic music*...............
My annual sinus infection. I am dying of sinusitis here, people. AGAIN. FOR THE THIRD YEAR IN A ROW. I realize I have one of the best immune systems in the world, considering my annual sinus infection is the only illness I ever get each year, but still, I think I have a right to be seriously upset about getting sick the one time I have to get up early. The cough's better than usual, but I think it's because I've only been sick since Wednesday. I still have a ways to go before the cough. It starts with a sore throat, then the nose runs, and then the sinuses implode, and then I cough for weeks. I did discover a new cough/throat drop that seems to supress things pretty well, I'm pretty excited about that.

Sooooooo, I guess all this means I'm going to have a permit soon.
I'm... definitely not sure how I feel about that. I'm currently predicting comments full of "OMG!", so I'll let you do that now. <3

-10:02 PM

Suddenly everyone's going on about colleges.
I think the fact that we're being forced to choose now is distinctly unfair. How do we know about careers? We've never had any! How do we know about colleges? We've never been to college! How do we know if we want to go to a college in another state if we've never been there? We're given bits of paper and black-and-white photographs and told "Here, make decisions that will affect the rest of your life, and be careful not to screw up." The decision-making, rational parts of our brains don't finish developing until our early twenties, and yet here we are, far away from then, trying to decide what to do with the lives we're going to have and know nothing about. I don't know entirely who I am right now, or who I'll be next year or in five years or in ten years. I don't know what I'll like, or if I'll be kicking myself for what I've chosen now. I know what I'm good at, which is, unfortunately, very little. I'm a writer, I always have been. And that is all I am. Unfortunately, I am most certainly NOT a journalist. I really couldn't care less what's going on around me. I also don't like people, and I suppose journalism has to do with people. Also unfortunately, all I hear from people when I say "I'm going to be a writer" is "That's good, but you won't make anything." Well, I don't think I won't make ANYTHING. I'll make stories. I love stories. I'll make myself happy. I will not, I ABSOLUTELY refuse to do something I don't like doing at least some of the time. My college resume is abysmally dull and short, which is my own fault. But it's all a bunch of hypocrisy: community service hours are complete crap in my opinion. Many of the people who get them got them simply because they had to, not because they actually wanted to help people. A lot of community service isn't really any kind of service to the community at all. Our resumes tell blatant lies. We got to clubs, yes; we go into a room and sign our names on pieces of paper. But our resumes make it sound like we were outstanding club members and role models. Well, if we're ALL role models, who exactly are we role-modeling for? Our resumes tell only half of the truth. And they completely ignore the things that make us people: what we like, what we care about, what actually does mean something to us. Instead we tell the clubs we "joined" and we go on and on about the grades we got. My college resume makes me look like the only things I care about are the Humanities club, the Spanish honorthingie, and those few times I sold soda and nachoes to football-watchers. In fact, I care about a lot of things, things that aren't the focus of clubs or other such groups, things that won't give me "hours" or "credits". I don't have many titles, or have raked up hours doing something no one cares about, but does that make me less of a person than anyone else? We can't all be presidents and secretaries. We can't all pretend we care about things we don't. And we can't put down "I like to build things with legos and draw pictures and write stories and take walks through forests". My resume should say "I am not 'normal'. My favorite color is pink, and I have obsessive-compulsive tendencies. I am choosy with my friends and even more picky with my male companions. I don't like girls who are fake and boys who are assholes. I love to read and I love to write. I write stories about people who die. I also write romance. I write silly little things that don't make clear sense but that make sense to the part of you just below the surface; the kind that you 'get' but can't explain with words. I refuse to cut more than two inches off of my hair at a time, because I like long hair. My hair is dark brown, and between you and me, I think brown is the best hair color there is, next to magenta. I absolutely love animals, I like to look at them but I don't like to get too close to them, hence the fact that I am a writer and not a zoo director or a vet. I am not skinny; I'm not fat, but I'm very close to being overweight, because I like food. Unfortunately, though, I've got an awful phobia of ovens, and so I cannot pursue a career in cooking. This is ESPECIALLY unfortunate because I love baking; I'm very good at it but I need someone else to handle the oven. I suppose I could be a fashion designer, but I have such unique tastes that no one would buy my clothes. Also, I cannot draw to save my life, thus hindering my creative abilities. My life is devoted to The Beatles. I am an environmentalist; I recycle. I have a pet parakeet.
These are the things you should know about me. It should not matter that I pretended to be a devoted member of the SNHS or that I conveniently forgot to mention I was the president of a club where I was one of three members. It should not matter, and indeed it doesn't, that I was so bored I went with my friends to sell hot dogs and nachoes and sodas to the people who showed up at football games. I do not even like football at all. Nor do I care about the greater good I have served by using a tiny can-opener on a too-large can of processed cheese substance. What matters is what's in my heart, and what's in my brain; my favorite color over the time I sang in Spanish to hospital patients who were more disturbed than helped. This is what you SAY you care about, and yet you so obviously don't."
But I can't get into college based off of that, and my credits are all screwed up and my ACT scores are crap and I've never even taken an SAT test. Ah well, I suppose I'll go to school at some stupid technical college they advertise (with VERY VERY BAD ACTORS) on daytime TV. And I'll write in the evenings, and my life will be crap, because it didn't matter to colleges that I like pink and birds and the Beatles, and writing is all I could ever do.

-11:59 PM