Je ne parle pas le français.

so i signed up for first year french in the fall. let's hope it goes well. along with that, i chose to take the following one-semester classes:

College Composition.
Mass Media.
Legislative Government.
Environmental Science.

let's hope my last year in high school doesn't suck.
i will try to make the best out of it, though. i've got no
choice, really.

oh and i'm hoping to know enough french by the fall to get through the first semester and be moved up one for second semester.. so that i learn more vocabulary and what have you.

after trying to teach myself some stuff i just know:

salut. comment ca va?

tres bien.

merci.

annnnnnd

Pardon, Madame [/Monsieur] , parlez-vous anglais?

80s me getting a musical fix this week.

this isn't really like me, but for some reason i've been listening to musicians like Bruce Springsteen, Cyndi Lauper, David Bowie, Queen, Blondie and Depeche Mode for the past week more than usual. You can't blame me though. i mean seriously, who doesn't love Lauper??

im a horrible procrastinator.

rather than get ready for school, im waiting for spongebob to come on. i'd much rather stay home, watch spongebob, top model marathons and drink tea. instead i have to go wander around hallways for about seven hours. that sucks. i don't like high school.

true fact: eventually, the searchlights will find me.

it's time for me to start to get ready for school. first day of school in two weeks. not ready. once again, i haven't slept. in fact, i've slept less than before, but before i go find my uniform and what have you, all i wanted to do was mention something. we've been through this countless times, yet it seems i never learn my lesson.

i spill all my guts.
every single thought that i end up wishing i never told you, i tell you..
and all i get in return is half finished sentences, the start of a thought.
nothing.

and it just makes me feel like i've done something wrong. like everything
is my fault.

but that's fine.

it sort of reminds me of that quote from Say Anything.
"I gave her my heart, she gave me a pen."
only.. i don't have a pen. lol..

poem from a room.

this grass-stained heart is my sunday best.
these asthmatic lungs are breathing heavy.
heavy.
i've got a heavy head.
lead that keeps me grounded.

i've got my hand on my heart.
like a patriot at a baseball game.
i suppose that would make you the anthem.

lucky. lucky.
yes i am.
not knowing how this will end.
i can say i'm lucky.

you know.. i've got a crush on your ears.
promise me you'll never become Van Gogh.

i've got a crush on your wrists.
promise me you're nothing like Aron Ralston.

it's true.

i try to sleep.
not think about any of this.


i can't.
instead i roll up dollar bills into telescopes.
i swear i can see god.

if i were your one wish, i promise i'd try my
best to come true.

it's the least i could do after being blessed
with your breath.