first off, I feel so inclined to explain perhaps a few more unneeded facts about myself, the author. yes, it did indeed all begin when I was a child, but the details are not important. we are currently focusing on just that; the current time and place. I am, as of now, at the tender and evenly golden age of 14. I sometimes worry that maybe I am burdened with thoughts and worries that I really needn't stress over. I currently reside in Nine Mile Falls, Washington, a few minutes away from Spokane. right now, however, I am in California, the city of La Mirada, the county of Los Angeles. how long I have been here, I know not, but surely it's been less than two weeks, and less than two weeks I surely shall further stay. I am not a child prodigy (though that definitely would make things easier to explain) and why I feel compelled to point this out, I do not hold the knowledge of. I quite enjoy this pointless rambling, seeing how I am able to fill the pages more quickly while doing less thinking. that is for later.
ever and ever constantly am I pondering of things I'm sure everyone ponders at least once in their life. naturally, this includes basic human-nature-type questions, most of which begin with "why" and contain "are we here?" or "god?!". a few begin with "what," however, and I must make it known that I have not neglected you, my dear sweet little question-opener. the number one thing on my mind, though, has got to be that all-too-familiar sense that I'm simply missing something. that everyone else is in on a grand and divine secret. the secret to life, and I simply haven't proven myself worthy to be "in the know" just yet. is there something they all know that I don't? which brings me to my next point: criminals. they must know something the general population doesn't. they must be the highest form of human beings, seeing as they can deceive us so easily. those junk-smuggling druglords, so slick and sly and smooth-talking; those magnetic-fingered kleptos, able to get whatever they want for free; and of course those mass-murdering homicidals. they've gotta be the best of the best; doing humanity a favour by cleaning out the unworthy scum that over-populates, and is the majority of the people on, this planet. now, let's get one things straight; I'm talking about the ones that haven't been caught. those peons holed up in the slammer for life, they deserve it for being so careless about their deeds. of course, some of them could've been great. they're the ones who've been foiled by our great and wonderful law-enforcers. a rainbow of justice, with different colours assigned to different branches of crime-control. of course, the police are obviously purple. no question there. back to foiled amateur crooks though.... the ones catching them, the ones trained to "think like criminals," I'll tell you something, those are just the pussified version of criminal masterminds. they are the ones who want to somehow be connected with the glamour of crime, just minus the risk. they are the ones too scared to do anything wrong because they care so much. no offence to anyone, I hope. I'm simply writing my ideas. though I must confess, I've made most of this up as I've gone along. I could go on, pointing out how Jack the Ripper was doing us a favour by slaughtering cheap whores, but I won't. I've gotten much too carried away with this one section. in summary, I'm waiting. I'm waiting for something momentous and life-changing and earth-shattering to happen, so that everything will change and be different and be better. but of course, in the back of my mind is that nagging voice of the most annoying person in the world-me-saying I'm wasting my time and nothing's going to happen. I know it. things aren't just going to be mapped out for me.
but I'm not ready to accept that. "what?!" you say. "you're crazy! you've just written it out and you still don't believe it?" well, I'm stubborn, what can I say? and so I wait for something that won't come, will never come. I wait for beautiful...nothingness.
people. I have described my outlook on certain people. don't hold me to that, however. I am consistently changing my mind about people, as their minds are consistently changing about me. at my skool, you have to understand, the people are...sheltered. and this, this what irks me. the complete ignorance of these people. I think rather differently, as you can safely deduct from reading this, and thus logically you would think I also dress differently. this is correct. it hasn't always been so, tough. in the earliest stages, when we would move around constantly, the people ignored me at skool because I was new, I was poor, and I was stuck-up. now, I most certainly was not the latter of the three. this is where the beginning signs of ignorance step up. I wasn't conceited; I was reserved. not stuck-up; quiet. not self-centered; shy. not full of myself; solitary. see the pattern? finally, we moved to Washington, where I've been for almost five years, the second-longest I've stayed in one place. I got "comfortable." I began to "express myself." this was the end of 7th grade and throughout 8th. that's when the ignorance stepped in full-blown. "look at Angie. she is wearing a black shirt and black eyeliner. she must be gothic! we are going to ignore the fact that she is wearing regular jeans and sneakers. it is just that bit of black that matters. now that we've started childish and pointless rumours, let us go chew tobacco and get drunk, just like our good ol' pop." the next day, perhaps my choice of clothing would be jeans, again, and a blue shirt. uh oh. I'm wearing black eyeliner though. "let's ignore the preppiest girl in skool who is also wearing black eyeliner because it is hidden behind mountains of eye shadow, and is also wearing a black sweatshirt and black pants, and let's go tell Angie how gothic and STUPID she looks today. hee. hee." well, my little mind-peers, since this is my visualisation, I say you go and pick up your handy hunting rifle, shoot your tobacco-chewing ignorantracistincestcommittingbastardofafriend, and then aim for your head. yes, just like that. lovely.
ah yes, love. so gorgeous and wonderful and splendid and glorious and brilliant and LOVELY. oh, love. so sacred and special and super and great. I thought so too. but then again, it might not really be love. it's been so frustrating, having the media scream at me that love is always happy and joyful and content and with love your life is perfect and your Christmas dinners are immaculate. cloud 9. rose-tinted glasses. LOVE LOVE LOVE! so is it love if sometimes, for simply split seconds, I completely and totally loathe the person I love? please, I beg, tell me this is natural. because I want to love him so much. I know he loves me even if he doesn't always show it. he doesn't have to. underneath the yelling, and the 16-foot-thick outer layer and the cold, piercing eyes, inside he loves me...doesn't he? he told me so once. even when he decides I'm neglecting him. is it love when you tell yourself you wouldn't try so hard if you didn't love him? I love him, I think. it's always there...it just doesn't always surface and stay there. do you love him, ms. price? well, I can't really answer that question.
time for a conclusion. surprisingly, my hand is only mildly cramped. it is now 3.56a on the foggy, ever-dull morning of July 10th, 2003. I have placed a pop cultured "EAT Krispy Kreme DOUGHNUTS" hat atop my mildly insomniac head. (read the next part in an annoyingly German accent...) reasons for this action are beyond me, but I believe it is a subconscious plea for attention.(end accent.) I have opened the blinds and noted with pleasure one of my favourite suburban scenes: a musty red-violet sky, and empty street against it, and lazy clouds of fog billowing beneath the sickeningly yellow and artificial light of the street lamp. tomorrow, I go out to a theme park to act my age. it will be most enjoyable, because I got sick of these unstoppable urges to write. it's turning me into an obsessive-compulsive. I'm closing the blinds, and the last thing I see is a giant black palm tree, silhouetted in front and diagonal of that symbolic street lamp. no one will ever know what joy can be derived from a street lamp, as I do. good night.