WARNING: Excessive sleep can result in migranes

Heh. This is interesting.

For no apparent reason, I woke up with morning with my eye swollen shut.

I didn't do anything to make it look like I got into one punch boxing match. The Bastardly Parental Units deem it an allergic reaction. Most likely from my looks-nothing-like-the-Crow-but-I'll-use-the-comparison-anyway eyeliner. Heh. While deep down I know they're most likely right for once, I still swear they're just using it as an excuse to get me to stop wearing it. Sorry to disappoint.

Alternative lifestyle. You get the idea.

It's not that I'm going to have a whole identity crisis if I'm not wearing it. Personal appearance is only a small facet of being a dark person. (Not that it wouldn't be traumatic if I had to wear color. Ugh. I shudder to think..) But I like it. Swollen eye or not, I'm still wearing it if I can muster up the ambition to actually bother with it.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that?

Anyway....

Apparantly we're going to the mall today. The Brat needs to get a dress to go to a wedding of someone in The Family. I don't really consider them mine. Extended family has never really been a big thing in my social environment over the years. Either way, I'm tagging along just so I can browse through some trenchcoats, and perhaps see if I can't scrounge up a couple of Super Nintendo games at the Gamestop.

Of course, I'm saying this like I have money. Heheh. I don't really, actually. All I have left is a well, not measly, $100 that I got as a graduation present. Somehow I get the idea that I'm not supposed to spend it. But given the rarity of my mall access, I'll just ignore that little voice in my head. If indeed it is supposed to be unspendable, payday is on Thursday, and nobody needs to know.

Deviousness kicks ass, just for the record.

Second guessing is the root of blog destruction

I hate it when I go all spontenously second guessing.

Argh.

I was browsing through some xanga blogs. Honestly, I almost wish I would have put this one over there. Almost. Not to give the impression that I've any intention of moving my blog. That would not only be outrageously impractical, but would make the last year's worth of blogging an indescribable waste of time. Besides, the one I have here is just too cool to give up.

So here we are.

Long live blogger.com.

Note: Yawning may result in mass fly inhalation

I'm only half awake, but yet for some reason, I was compelled to blog.

Ah, the obbessive tendancies of my Internet addiction.

I have to go to work today. Every ounce of my being wants to change jobs. Which is kinda funny since every day I've had off, I've done a stellar job of not going out to apply for anything. I think my ambition needs to get a swift kick in the ass.

Along those lines, I was amusing myself earlier by filling out one of those personality tests when I came across the question (well, more like empty blank) that read: "Occupation".

What exactly am I supposed to say? Burger flipper? Cook? McDonalds minion? Lifetime slacker? Gee....they all sound so terribly prestigious don't they? Heh.

That may actually have been just the kick in my ambition's ass that it needed....

Sleep is for the weak

Another day.

Heh. Still in a foul mood.

It's not quite as bad as the other day. I'm slowly reverting back to total apathy, which is nice, because it makes resraint so much easier. Eh, but anyway....enough about me and my moods....

Just for kicks, I rented the Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets game yesterday. (The video store only has 8 games...believe me when I say I'd rather play Mortal Kombat) Whoever worked on that game needs start hitting there head on the nearest desk. Almost every time you go into a new room, or lose a life, it reloads the whole world. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to lose a life and then have to spend forty seconds just waiting for the thing to load. I've never seen such a ridiulous thing in all my years of gaming.

Not that I'm a hardcore gamer, by any means.

I always wanted to be, but I never had the cash to spend on games. A good example of this is my N64. I've had it since the year it came out and I only have five games for the system. Sure, I've rented a few, but yeah....the nearest video store needs to get a reality check....eight games don't really cut it selection-wise.

The only system I've ever considered myself a gamer on is Super Nintendo. That is a system where I've definetly gotten my parent's moneys worth. I think I've played around 150 games for the thing, and own more games than my other six systems combined. Heh. Not to suggest that I was ever particularly good at any of these games. The final levels of Donkey Kong Country still elude me, even to this day......

Eh. Victory will be mine.

Some day.

For now, I'll just revel in my not-so-recent victory of Final Fantasy X and X-2.

Scowl as if your blog depended on it...

Bleeding flames and damning hell.

Fuck, I am in such a bad mood.

It's one of those kind of general loathings so paralyzing, that you can scarcely blink, let alone stand up or swear outloud. One so deep that you can practically feel it in the core of your being, and you desire nothing more than to keep loathing forever.

It's a fine line I walk.

Half of me wishes to do nothing more than sit here loathing. The other half teeters towards raising hell on the next person to impede on my solitude. The Beast, for example. Every interruption, every question of what I'm doing is like the slow squeezing on the trigger of a gun. Heh. Not that I plan on shooting anyone.

Let's be clear on that.

But hitting? That is forseeable. Almost expected. Something I'd rather like to avoid, but it seems as though my surroundings are bent on annoying me as much as possible. Kinda like a blast back to the old days. Back in elementary school when I was a major menace when it came to anger management issues. Back before glorious apathy overcame me. And I wasn't your normal, screaming let's-cry-and-bang-our-fists-on-the-nearest-wall-like-a-pathetic-moron kinda angry kid. No...I had this look. This absolute look of burning hatred coupled with utter silence. Sure, I might have ripped something apart, or smashed something, but there wasn't a word. A little eerie, in retrospect. Scared my teachers half to death.

One could almost feel bad for those special ed. teachers.

Almost.

Sympathy is hard to come by when you realize how messed up that whole system is. I don't think schools can even fathom the fact that perhaps they do people more harm than good. I've seen some of my old special ed. classmates.....you might say they're a bit on the extreme side of the permanent dork and social retard spectrum. It's not that they were ever retarded, but like me, apparently needed some type of "emotional education".

That's nice. Fuck a kid up in the head just because she won't smile, or have a normal childish temper tantrum.

But I think that's straying a little far from my original point, if I can remember what it was.

Kinda funny to think how I've ended up then. Ironic almost. Now days it is almost impossible to send me into rage anymore (severe annoyance, yes, but not rage). By no doing or conseqence of my previous education or whatnot, I've turned into an apathetic, antisocial, volunatry outcast. Oh sure, I'll plaster on that almost amused face for my family, and I'll force my voice out of that instinctual monotone for basic politeness when needed, but take them away and I'm as cold as stone.

And I like it.

I always hear about people being told to "break out of their shell" or to "heal" and become what society deems as normal. People don't seem to take into consideration that not everyone enjoys normalcy. Emotion is as appealing as diving into a pit of boiling acid.

Another interruption. Brat....the thin ice you tread on cracks. So very close to shattering....

I can't even muster up the ability to pretend to be nice. Hell, I can hardly speak. Really is like old times then. If someone calls me fire eyes (what they used to call me when I was truly pissed) I shall officially deem old me returned...even if it is just for a day.

Oookay...this is getting entirely too long winded. But do I really care? Not especially. It's probably better than brooding in my swealtering hot room.

And again, she interrupts. She has her back turned, so she obviously can't see my glare. I almost stood up. Bad sign. I don't particularly want to do that. But dammit...leave. me. alone.

Is that really so hard?

Solitude is a glorious thing. It's almost like meditation, even if when by yourself you're blaring music or watching TV. A certain kind of balance is maintained. A mental psyche kept stable. Some people need it more than others. Like me. I need it almost as much as I need air (or caffine... a pretty close comparison either way). The Brat doesn't understand this obviously. She's always pestering me to go to parties, or hang out with her friends older sisters blah blah and more pointless blah. It's as if she can't see the bold line between being to shy too hang out, and just finding the company of other people to be an intrusion on one's personal space. And it's not that I can be near other people...it's only when they notice me or try and interact that the disgust fully forms.

Heh.

I guess some of us really are born into the shadows.....

Lets skip the anger and move straight into rage.

One of my cats is gone.

From the looks of it, some fuckhead took my cat. Who the hell just up and takes someone else's cat?!? Now admittedly, it is a particularly unique cat, but nevertheless.....good grief. Heh. One might try to tell me that perhaps my cat ran away or suddenly became up close and personal with the underside of a truck. Doubtful, especially since the Beast admits he saw someone messing with it earlier.

I'm not the fondest of cats, but if there's one thing you DON'T do is...

Take. Something. That. Is. Mine.

I'm one of extreme possessiveness. In elementary school I couldn't even throw away a broken pencil because of the mere thought that someone might take it from the garbage. (Which begs the obvious question of why I would even care if I had it in the garbage to begin with...) Things haven't really changed over the 18 years of my existance. I may not brood over the fate of a pencil, but hell forbid anyone touch anything I'm still using. I even hit someone once for messing with my CD player. The Brat, being the Amighty Kleptomatic that she is will barely glance at something of mine without express permission.

I believe I've made my point.

So of course, my day has been spent not worrying over the fate of my cat, but fuming in intense hatred of the person who had the audacity to even glance at my feline "possession". Damn them. They've ruined a perfectly good day of apathy.

See everyone? This is why you should never own pets if you're over possessive. Let that be a lesson to you.

Suffocation from the masses is a terrifically slow way to kill your personality

My cat is stalking me.

Yes. Stalking me.

Every waking moment of it's existence seems to be geared towards finding me. I daresay if I didn't have such a thick door leading up to my lair, it'd have the thing broken down in a desperate attempt to cling.

Heh. I don't do clinginess.

But to give you an idea to the extent of which I am being stalked, consider this: I was walking outside in the pitch black, when all of the sudden I feel something brush up against my leg. Now, luckily for my cat, I didn't kick it out of reflex. But in order for it to be outside in the first place it has to go through the whole hassle of getting out the "window". (I put it like that because it's not exactly a window anymore. More like half a falling down window frame being held up by plastic.)

Ah well. I really didn't need to share that, but I don't have the ambition to post anything more interesting. Not that I particularly care if my blog is interesting. I highly doubt anyone reads it anyway.

But on the off chance someone is: You've read my blog. Now I own your soul. MUAHAHAHAHA...