Captain's Log: 2005.07

07.11.05: One Blurred Mass

When I opened WordPad it felt like I was going to write out some long speech and here I am fishing for some pitiful sentence to fill the big white nothing in front of me. If you think about it the screen is not even truly white. Then again, if you perceive it as white then that is your reality. Just another example of how one's actuality is not necessarily the grand truth we, as a rule, expect it to be. Why is it that the more I learn the less I know?

I can understand the people who spend their whole lives searching for a reason. It matters not what the reason will explain because, in the end, it is the same thing to me. One of the times I woke up a few nights ago I remember thinking, "No fool, just go back to sleep." Which was much easier thought than done, I add. There might have been a storm outside, but I was too far detached to ever know for sure. The amount of sleep I get does not overly concern me. I could be unconscious for millennia and still not get any actual rest. In return I am able to almost always remember my dreams. Not even I am arrogant enough to state I can recall them all. Besides, I assume some scenes are best left repressed.

Better me than someone else who cannot take it. The last thing the other people need is a newborn psychopath running around here in the doldrums of human civilization. I do not exactly derive satisfaction in seeing people going around destroying the planet I live on. Someday humanity will desert Earth, Luna and probably even the very light of Sol. Whether it is to the afterworld or another galaxy depends on how well things go in the next couple of years. Honestly, I do not know whether I want to interfere with its course anymore. Being neutral has its benefits; more free time and the like. Either way, the whole matter is history for another tomorrow.

I think I actually growled just now. Things would be simpler if I knew what it is I am looking for. You know, besides a place to fall backwards and scream all the built-up obscenities that would pierce the moon itself. It is hard not to waste such a curse when I am feeling so melancholy. At least people will know that if I swear at them I am serious and that they should run as if the hounds of hell were on their scent. Nice, I just saw a spider and it is currently watching me. Where there is one there is more.

Oh, I cleaned my room the other day, but it may have actually been a while ago. Now my aged clip fan is spinning again to spread the scent of old rain and citrus throughout my room. One might think that those are unable to coexist but one should know by now that I am odd. I could find things more quickly when my room "looked like a tornado hit it." Besides that, the only other change is that now I can lie on the floor and flick rubber bands in the air while trying to catch them with my training sword. Sometimes I just use my left hand. I do not know why, maybe I am trying to hit a random space-time anomaly.

All of my books smell like dust and parchment paper. Even the ones I purchased two weeks ago. When I am supposed to be asleep the only thing I can do is either drift or re-read my collection, so they have no right to be dusty. That is okay though because I have come to enjoy the smell. I really am a relic, aren't I? So this is what happens when I use a collective update. How frightening.

It may be that the old astrologers had the truth exactly reversed, when they believed that the stars controlled the destinies of men. The time may come when men control the destinies of stars.

Arthur C. Clarke (1917 - )

07.25.05: Roundabout Moon

My hair is darker now… but no one seemed to notice so I assume it is not terribly different. All I did was eliminate all of the yellow. Yellow hair, put simply, is not my thing. The red is a bit too evident now, however. Oh well, try and try again. I need to schedule a hair cut so I can see again. Summie is done talking about her hair issues.

One of these days I should make a new layout for this site. Honestly, I will be as surprised as anyone if that day ever comes. My well of inspiration must be clogged with a general lack of caring. Maybe I should see if I could go to a boarding school for my last two years of high school. I do not particularly loathe the place I attend; I just think that at this point even a change of scenery would help me.

My brother got my other brother one of those large blow-up hammers that squeak spitefully when you hit something. *stares at the wall for a minute* Why God, why?

Two nights ago I had one of the normal dreams. I was surprised, since those are pretty rare for me these days. The dream started when I opened my eyes and was surrounded by water. I have never had the pleasure of visiting the sea, but I think that must have been it. It just had am ancient presence about it. My grey running shoes sank half an inch into the water but I was otherwise standing on top of it. The water just flowed around them and the bottoms of my socks were utterly soaked. I crouched down to look at the fish below me and blinked. When I opened my eyes again I noticed there were windmills surrounding me at set intervals. I walked over to one, curious if they were floating too. It was not though; its base disappeared to sight along with the depth of the ocean. I climbed halfway up and balanced myself to watch the sun rise. Then I woke up.

I use the word "I" a lot, do I not? Well, it is my story, after all. My school should be able to give us our yearbooks soon. They ought to give us the books at the end of the year so we can fill them up with overused and mostly pointless comments. At least by the time we all see each other again, people will forget to ridicule my usually unflattering picture. I am just a painting over photo type of girl. Or probably neither, but who cares. I must be too complex to capture by ordinary means. Quite.

Um, maybe I shall go draw for a while. I should be thinking about what I am going to do for my birthday. Gnu, I always seem to have appalling luck when it comes to those. Truthfully, I do not care much about turning sixteen. Simply another day to be jarred awake. Presents are okay once in a while. Call me materialist, if you perceive it so. People might finally quit getting me lip-gloss, dolls and bath sets. Should I dare be so hopeful? I know, it is the thought that counts, but how much consideration did they really put into those gifts? Ah well, I cannot expect others to know what I want offhand. Even I am not precisely sure what it is I want, but I assume it is something that cannot be handed to me. Such is the way of desire.

Even he, to whom most things that most people would think were pretty smart were pretty dumb, thought it was pretty smart.

Douglas Adams (1952 - 2001)

All ramblings of Erica Feggestad 2000-2008