Sep 04

jack the overrated

So this was partially born out of a conversation my mother and I had about how ever ripoff serial killer in television is doing jack the ripper and partially off a writing prompt I found suggesting serial killers are connected via the dark web. I apologize if serial killer comedy crosses the line. This is a semi continuation of a tiny write I made a while back, which I will put at the bottom if I can unearth it. Didn’t start out to continue that, it just turned it that way. 

“So. For my next one, I was thinking of Jack the Ripper.”
”Jack the Ripper?”
”Classic, right?”
”So not classic. Dude, Jack the Ripper is so overdone. I mean, I was talking to Rob just last week, and he’s just done Jack the Ripper! And Tammy from Sheffield did it years ago, remember Tammy? She was so mainstream. You want to be as mainstream as Tammy?”
”What? No! I just thought... it’s overdone because it works, right?”
Aug 19

end of summer boredom

i have a week and a half, 
maybe two,
before school starts. 
tenth grade, 
which means more homework. 
i did my back-to-school shopping today.
i still haven't done my precourse work 
or the essay that i need to write
for the experiment in international living
by september first. 
i know i nee to do them both,
but it's too easy to put it off
and blame my parents for forgetting to remind me. 
and now i'm back in that august frame of mind
where i'm bored of all this doing-nothing, 
ready for something to start up, 
ready to see my friends again,
almost even ready to eat lunch at the same time each day
but i don't want this to ever end, 
i don't want to go back.
not to the institution
to more stress. 
to homework. 
back to scalding tea in a to-go cup
that's still stained with the flavor of someone else's long-ago coffee
(tea and coffee,
Aug 10

disorganized thoughts

i've been back for exactly a week. 
one week of sitting at home watching television,
listening to music,
and trying to convince myself i'm writing. 
one week of driving on the wrong side of the road
and pricing things in pounds
when they should be dollars. 
one week of feeling like what little self-confidence i gained
dribble down the drain and away. 
one week of constant reminders to do my precourse work. 
i'm not sleeping well.
it's been so hot, 
you lay down at night and doze in bursts until morning, 
willing yourself not to look at the clock. 
my mother insists i'm jetlagged. 
i never heard of anyone staying jetlagged for a week. 
one of my dad's friends offered to read my television series scripts.
he's a screenwriter, he's produced some things
and even though this is what i wanted--
to be taken seriously--
i don't know if i deserve it. 
Jul 28

in between

everyone said i’d change
while i was away. 
i couldn’t imagine being anybody different
just like you never notice what’s changed
until you look back and see
it’s not the same anymore. 
have i changed?
have I become someone new
so caught up in the chaos
that i failed to notice?
because i look back
and around
and i still don’t know where i fit. 
here or there,
at home or away
i spent a month surrounded by people my own age
but i never quite matched
they were too strange
but it’s been long enough
and busy enough
that i can’t fully imagine
what things were like before
whether i’m the same frightened girl
in a new york airport with an overpacked backpack,
a banana,
two bags of granola and no plan
or whether she’s somewhere different
eating granola and fearing the worst. 
in a way i almost wonder if i’ll go home
Jul 03

full speed ahead

i decided to do this
way back in december.
i guess when the future is far away enough,
you think you can do anything. 
now it's the day after tomorrow
and doing anything seems like a bit of a stretch. 
i travel well. 
i want to see the world,
and i want to choose a new corner of it to settle down in
but the future is always ahead of me. 
in the future, 
i am a badass, somewhat morbid, wise-beyond-her-years young woman
who can handle anything
because she's changed from now. 
the day after tomorrow, 
i am underslept, sweating, 
and unsocial. 
the day after tomorrow, 
i go flying off into only the semi-known
ideally to get to know it better
but it's frightening, 
to fly away alone--
or without anyone you know--
when you're staring it down
instead of admiring it from months away. 
Jun 08

words (a rant)

a few disclaimers: 
first, i fully ackowledge that screaming "fuck" down the hallway
was not the most mature or sensible way for him to respond. 
second, i recognize that the word "slut" is not one meant to be used in polite company,
that it carries enough connotations
that even i, 
embracer of profanity, 
don't use it. 
i don't see, however, why quoting it as said by someone else
is disrespectful. 
i acknowledge that, as this is your school (sort of)
you have the right to attempt to keep goings on
safe and appropriate for all students. 
with this taken into account, 
i object. 
i object to the tone you used when you stepped out, 
after lingering behind a wall for the duration of our conversation, 
disrespecful and borderline threatening. 
it is the tone of voice which suggests
you are all too familiar with the casual use of the words
you vetoed. 
May 22


i used to say i was afraid of going insane. 
which is true. 
insanity is terrifying. 
but i've been thinking
that even though there's a specific phobia name
for going insane. 
i'm a controlling person. 
i have to have both the remotes near me when i'm watching things. 
like the world might end if someone else adjusts the volume. 
and in a way i think i'm afraid of going insane
because insanity is the ultimate loss of control. 
the same way i'm afraid of drugs
of alcohol
and anaesthetics 
because those lower your inhibitions. 
your control. 
like maybe i'm afraid
that if i lost control, 
if i stopped inhibiting myself, 
then the person it uncovered
might not be someone
i want to be. 

an incoherent thought i first had at like one in the morning. i know it's short. 
May 16

cursing my brain out (politely)

i don't like to talk. 
well i do, 
i talk a lot. 
i like joking around. 
but i don't like going deeper. 
i don't like telling people how i feel--
maybe because i always cry, 
or maybe i always cry because i'm not used enough 
to discussing my feelings
to know how not to cry. 
or maybe because i like denial
and if i'm upset and can just sulk
i don't have to say "i'm upset"
so in a way i don't have to really be upset.
i like to say my thoughts make sense. 
which isn't really true. 
i'm mean to myself
so no one else has to be.
i cut myself down before anyone else can
to ensure i won't be disappointed. 
somehow, it generally doesn't work. 
i don't have a clue who i am
or who i'm supposed to be, 
just this mess of a teenager
who constantly takes on different characters
different semblances
trying to find someone to strive to be
Apr 09

to the teachers who think i have a time machine

do teachers not understand time? 
does it not enter their brains
that if i left at eight o'clock a.m. on friday
and returned eleven o'clock sunday night--
and was quite literally busy the entire time
then i actually, physically could not have done the homework. 
screw school policy 
and screw the rules there should be
you can't expect a student to follow a rule 
when they're not allowed to. 
do you not understand that? 
if you wanted us to do the homework in time, 
then maybe you should have posted it 
at a time when we actually could do it. 
this isn't just our fault, you know.
are not grade-making machines
with all the time in the world to stay up
obediently slaving at a computer. 
we can't put up
with everyone expecting us to be perfect. 
it's a privilege to go on a field trip. 
so it's a privilege to be given no time to do homework
Mar 29

so what happened?

i remember when i was in first grade
we learned the alphabet. 
the teacher stood up in front of the classroom every day for a week
teaching us all the possible nuances there could be
of the letter "a." 
meanwhile i sat in the back fuming
because my mother started teaching me to read
when i was going into kindergarten. 
for god's sake, 
i knew what an "a" looked like.
in second grade one of my classmates told me proudly
that he was illiterate. 
i remembered wondering why on earth that would be a good thing. 
i had a lot of problems in third grade
but my academic performance was not one of them. 
going into fourth grade my parents looked at other schools for me
and i shadowed a student for one day. 
in the car going home, i excitedly told my parents we'd had a spelling test--
the words were actually hard, 
and i'd even gotten one of them wrong. 
i was overjoyed.