31- Achieved

They say it typically takes 30 days for any one activity to start becoming a habit. And so, by that logic, blogging has become a normal thing for me- a habit.

At this point, if you haven’t seen this coming, I’ve decided, is where the daily cranking of posts stops.  Though I’ll be completely sad to do so, I’m almost positive everyone else had been screaming in agony by this point. Luckily, April’s now here, and they don’t have to take out our anger on the inventor of the blogging concept- they’re just thankful it’s all over. Me? I’d never think that way. 

I guess I do feel some sort of happiness now that it’s all over.  But by doing this, I’ve been able to attain some sort of strange, self peace.

Prior to March, for a few years now, I’d been questioning myself: Am I achieving enough? With the exception of school, I don’t do much. In fact, I hardly do anything. I’ve made numerous promises myself, some of which include sleeping early,  picking instruments back up, learning new languages, trying new things- none of which I stuck to. I was afraid that I’d become unnaturally lazy, all of sudden, and just at the start of high school.

Had I lost the ability to commit to things? If not, then why was I so, well, bad at it? Was there nothing I could commit to? It wasn’t like there was a solution. 

And then suddenly yet another commitment came around the corner: blogging, writing, every day.


Yet, somehow, through my Sense of Commitment Deficiency, I did do it.

My writing is nowhere near the professionalism of some real, hardcore bloggers out there- they were mostly comprised of naive, disorganized ideas which may or may not have made sense to others.

But that doesn’t really matter. What does is the following:

I’ve learned how to write from multiple points of view.

I’ve learned how to be more empathetic to different points of view.

I realized that I could indeed commit to something.

I feel good- at the very least, better- about myself.


Just in the past few days, I’ve signed up for things I never would have signed up for had it not been for this newfound… confidence.

Yes, that’s a good thing.


Though, I will admit- through the days, my computer screen has been stared at by my poor eyes for way more than it should have. Behind the screen, I’m often actually stuck committing to an idea, and it often takes me a few hours to finally stick with a topic and finish the entry. It’s taken its toll- I feel as if my eyes are slowly reprimanding me more and more- If you don’t stop staring at that screen, I’m stopping our mutual relationship. The point is, I have to give the Internet less attention- though that’s hard, considering nearly everything is built around it. But that’s just another commitment.

In short…

I love hyperlinks.



The above was an accurate depiction of what I felt. 


30- Spontaneous

I woke up this morning declaring that “Yes! Today, I will blog about being Contradictory!”

And when I finally sat down to write it, I decided I wouldn’t blog about that at all.

This has happened not once, twice, or multiple times on my March blogging- where I satisfy myself with one idea to blog about, but wind up writing something completely different- but all the times I’ve blogged. All the ideas I’ve had were hatched on the spot, and nowhere else.

It would have been so much more time-saving to use the ideas I’d prepared a day or two in advance. But still, my mind insisted on writing about the spontaneous ideas, not the ones I’d already had on deck.

One example: On day 17, I decided I would use “Thankful”, and then use “Unthankful” for a follow-up on Day 18. That never happened.
I wouldn’t exactly categorize myself as a spontaneous individual- I don’t take daring risks or suddenly do something unexpected all too often. But is spontaneity really just reckless, adventurous behavior?

People on the more audacious side of the human spectrum often pride themselves in how spontaneous they are- they are willing to charge into situations, be witty, foolishly clever, amusing, and not be wishy-washy. Yet I’ve come to realize that spontaneity is not simply putting your life at risk or riding roller coasters or becoming intoxicated.

When someone is spontaneous, they’re really just coming with a new idea, and following through with it.

Being spontaneous ought to be categorized, in my opinion, not as a character trait, but as a quality that everybody has, in some form or another. You can be calm, composed, and organized- and still be spontaneous. It’s something that comes with being human.



Lamps on my desk, I ate grapes

speaker, speaker, speaker






29- Dishonest

It’s 8:00AM.

I have a good feeling about today. I will get things done. I review my mental list of my to-do’s and what-I-want-to-do’s. Today will not be like all those other days, the days where the clock is only a tool for realizing I’ve done nothing.

Today will be good.

I will get what I need to get done for schoolwork, and I will do it before the sun reaches its peak in the sky. I will then move on to do all the things I told myself I’d do- finally start on those language courses, finally pick up those instruments, and, most importantly…

…I’m going to sleep early tonight. Finally.

I have a dentist’s appointment at 9. I will get as much as I can done before that- at least one task done, I know I can at least do that. Even only one task done will be good.

After that, I will come back, and I will start the attack on my other to-do’s, and I will win.

And then the not-to-do’s- recently I’ve planned to sign up for several new things I’ve never done before. I will finish signing up for them. I will be uncomfortable doing so, I will want to not do it, but I will- because today will be a good day. I feel it.

Nothing will distract me today. Okay, granted, a few things will- but nothing too severe. I will use the Internet, and I will not let it outflank me, not today.

Today, I will outflank the Internet. I will be more productive than I have ever been before, and I will finally start doing things.

Today is a good day.

The fact that hundreds of my previous days have fallen- a feast for the Internet- does not matter. Forget about that. Leave that behind. What’s important is the present, they said. But didn’t they also say to remember the past? And invest in the future?

Distractions. I am getting distracted. And only fools get distracted.

I shake my head. Today, I am not a fool.



28- Messy

I sat down at my desk yesterday to meet a horrible sight: It had been cleaned.

All the scraps of paper, rulers and scissors, glue sticks, wires, doodles, and folders had been either trashed or put into a neat pile.

You didn’t clean it up,” my mother said, “so I did it for you.”

I sighed. And I tried to work. I really did. But I could not. I could not be productive with so little clutter around me. So I took a few pencils and threw them over the table. I brought over several cups and napkins and placed them in various places. I scattered the rulers and books and folders throughout. I folded papers, drew cats on them, designs for guillotines, the works- I let these float onto the floor/table. I plugged in headphones and various wires into the computer.

And suddenly I felt much better.

Today, I sat down to meet another horrible sight: It had been cleaned.

I took several deep breaths. Then I went to confront my mother, prepared to argue my path to messy-desk glory.

I failed.

I had a hard time getting across why I liked having messy surroundings, as if it were some intangible, abstract concept. All she said was that being neat is always better- and that having a messy desk would influence my sister to have one, too.

Well, it wasn’t always better- I believed in this wholeheartedly- but I found myself tongue-tied anyways.

At school, I like to be neat. This is because I have to find things, and I have to prioritize speed- plus, to throw things all over the desks, which aren’t mine all the time, wouldn’t be right. At home, though: I have leisure, I have freedom, and for some, bizarre, reason, a messy environment, full of “senseless” clutter, is the one I feel the most comfortable in.

I think I’ll avoid trying to come up with an explanation for this. I feel like if I do, it would ruin the effect of it. Just a hunch.

My mother also told me a messy desk would lead to a messy mind.

Maybe that isn’t completely a bad thing.


27- Immortal

I wake up. I’m awake. For several moments I sit there, blinking, taking it all in, and realizing:

I woke up.


No. Oh, no. Not again.


As the truth  begins to dawn on me once more- I woke up– I start entering a state of frenzy. “No,” I mumble. I rapidly give myself a pat-down- feeling my hands, arms, legs, everything- and confirm it’s all real. I am not dreaming. I am awake.

Out of my mouth erupts a horrible, eerie wail as this is confirmed. I stagger to the room, the room where I go to every morning.

I take one of the knives from the floor and, without hesitation, thrust it into my stomach. There is a searing pain, but nothing more. I pull it back  out. The pain, the horrible pain which I’ve grown fond of, day by day, for 250 years, fades away in seconds. I am not dead.

It did not work. It did not work.

I fall to my knees, and realize I’m breathing hard. I sit in silence.

Then I scream. I ram into a wall and swing my skull into it over and over. I take a bottle of oil and smash it against my head, and it shatters, leaving a pool of it spreading on the floor. Grab the match. Try lighting myself first. When it is to no avail, like it always is, I light the oil. The flame starts almost instantly and grows exponentially in size. I leap into it, soaking as much of myself as I can in flames. It burns me. It does not kill me. I do this all while screaming.

Then I just collapse. I collapse in the midst of the fire. I can only lay there, listening to my own hoarse breath, as I stare at the ground. The flames dance around me. They dance on me. But I am still alive.


I stare at my own reflection in one of the broken bottle shards. I still look young. Practically like a kid. My appearance is one of the things that’s stayed with me these past 310 years, but the one thing that’s stayed with me for all 327 years of my life is my date of birth.

March 27.

327 years. I cannot die. Being young and invincible- that’s what a lot of people foolishly wish they want, but I want nothing more than to just die.

I have tried everything. Everyday, I try the knife. Every week, I try the poison. Starvation and dehydration? I’ve been doing that for decades.

202 years ago, at age 125, I joined the military, hoping to die that way. I signed up for the most dangerous things. I must’ve been hit by bullets hundreds of times, but no one ever asked- in the midst of the warfare chaos, they were just glad to see a man survive the battle.

But when the officials caught me surviving a skydiving attempt, with no parachute, the media somehow became involved. They made a fool out of me. They ruined me. They told everyone about me, the officials of everything tried to contact me, and I was under surveillance and attention all the time. They killed me.

My life was reduced to nothing but waiting as all my loved ones aged, and aged, and aged, and eventually became deceased. That was my life.

I escaped. They have been trying to find me. But they never will. I am not going back to them.

You question if I’ve tried it all. The one thing I have not tried was going beyond our atmosphere- outer space- because I do not have a rocket. I don’t plan on going back to civilization and asking NASA to do me a favor any time soon, either.

I will never love again, rather- I will never feel anything ever again.


For the past few centuries, my sanity- or what form of it remains- was held together by a single shred of hope. Perhaps this was the doing of some higher being or dimension, I thought, and so I began to fantasize on the thought that perhaps I would die on my birthday, 3/27, on my 327th birthday.

My last glimmer of hope, which was, I suppose, just the product of a spontaneous, desperate hysteria-  is now shattered, like the shards of the bottle I had smashed. I am envious. If only I could throw myself towards the ground and shatter as easily.

I suppose I already am shattered. I am dead, in nearly every way possible. The days mean nothing to me anymore. And yet I am still alive.

I chuckle a dry chuckle as I recall moments between me and my friends, hundreds of years ago, jokingly wishing we’d never die.

I chuckle.

Immortality is death.



26- Apathetic

Another morning, another alarm. I feel the same, awful self I am in the morning, with the same eyes and the same bleariness. Why do I even bother?

Why do I even bother?

Forget brushing. I’ll sacrifice that for an extra 3 minutes of laying down and closing my eyes. There’s no point in brushing. I just brushed last night, and didn’t eat anything afterwards. 

I really don’t feel like eating anything in the morning- and to be honest, I don’t need to. I’m not hungry, and I don’t feel any different with breakfast, anyways. I can go without breakfast- I don’t really care that much about it.

Drag myself down, all the way down to the bus stop, and I hear a fellow high schooler groaning about they hate the wind. What’s their problem? Wind is no big deal. 

Now that I’m at school, I wonder to myself if there’s any purpose to this at all. Why should I pay attention? I won’t be using any of this information. Oh, wait, I know- for tests, so I can look good for my college applications. Why does everyone care so much about those? I don’t care. I don’t care about this like they do. 

I’m not a stressed-out worrywart like them. I’m not like them.

All I need is to be happy- and I’m not happy when I have to play by these college-application worshiping rules. The way I do things, if I say so myself, are much better. How would I even live going about the way they do? 

I don’t care.



Pride+Ignorance+A touch of rebellion+”Experience”=Apathy

The above is not necessarily an accurate representation of what I feel/felt during the day. 

25- Intoxicated

It started in humanities, when we were viewing the presentations on Africa. I decided I didn’t like what one of the presenters were saying, so I stood up, walked over, and smacked them.

After that, though my vision got blurry, I could see that neither my classmates or the teacher reacted; rather, they just stared at me, some with mouths open in awe with the what the hell? kind of look. The point is, no one was stopping me. So I went ahead and smacked all the other presenters.

And that’s when they began to react, a great protesting, and before I knew it, I found myself in the guidance office.

“Are you aware of your actions?” they asked.

“Sure I am, sonny, I’m perfectly aware.” Nothing wrong with the truth.

“Let me ask you,” I continue, “are you aware of your actions?”

They stare at me with the same look. I wait patiently.

Then, carefully, they ask me, “have you been consuming any sort of…”

“Well, I’ve been drinking a lot of this liquid lately,” I reply, starting to drawl out my words. “It’s got a yellowish sort of tint to it, and I guess it’s not very common for people my age to drink it.” I smack my lips for a good measure.

At this, they say “that’s enough”, and tell me to stay seated. They began to call someone on the phone. That can’t be good.

So, I stand up for myself. I’m allowed to do that, ja, Fräulein? I walk over, and smack them. Then I leave the room.

I figure I can’t go back to humanities, so I make a beeline for the exit. The person at the door asks me where I’m going. “I don’t know, I’m intoxicated,” I say.

Once I’m outside, I take pause near the flagpole. Then I take several bites of it. It’s merely a snack, but I’ll find stuff to eat later.

I will follow the wind, pardners, just because I don’t know what to follow. The only problem is that I can’t tell which way the wind is blowing. So I decide to go into the woods.

At the entrance, I spot a black and white cat, a tom, also trotting towards the trees. “Are you heading to the woods, too?” he asks.

“Yes,” I reply, and we walk side by side. We don’t talk at all, not even when we stop to have lunch, which consists of deer feces and venison.

Eventually, though, the silence gets to us. We talk about our lives and what we’re interested in. I learn he’s a rather young cat who dreams of becoming the owner of a professional painter one day. This wouldn’t be so he can paint, of course- it’d be so he could paint himself purple, his favorite color. It’s his favorite color because that’s what grape juice is the color of. He likes grape juice very much.

He was born without limbs. Did I mention that? He sort of wobbles around, and I think he looks awkward, but he gets by just fine. And I say, whatever works for him is all good.

We agree on a mutual pact to go in the middle of the mountains in Pennsylvania. To do this, I walk to the nearby college campus. It isn’t long, as I expected, before one of the kids, leaning on the trunk of his car, asks me if I’d like to buy some drugs.

I laugh, tell him I’m intoxicated, then smack him unconscious. I climb in the car, which already has the keys in the engine. The cat asks me if I’m sure I can drive. I get the message.

“Would you like to drive instead?” I offer him.

And suddenly we’re off. He can’t steer, so all he’s doing is jumping and staying on the gas pedal. We’re only going straight, but I’d set the steering wheel so that we’d end up in Pennsylvania.

Much to my surprise, we didn’t crash into any other vehicles- they moved out of the way for us.

“This is great!” Mr. Cat screeches. “How long do I get to do this?”

“I would say two more hours or so.”

Two more hours it is, until we finally see the peaks of mountains in the distance. We don’t want to leave the car just sitting at the base of the mountain, so we dismantle it. We eat the parts that are edible, then leave the rest in an unrecognizable heap.

The mountains were huge- I couldn’t see them in their entirety in my field of vision. Yet, as the cat had told me, there was a house somewhere in the middle of it all. So we begin climbing.

I’ll tell you, though I wasn’t quite myself, I could still feel the fire of exhaustion in my legs as we made the trek. Step after step, up steep slopes- it’s quite the workout. My parents call me in the middle. “Where are you?” they ask. “In the mountains,” I tell them, and they pause. “Oh, okay.” Then they hang up.

It’s nearly sundown by the time me and cat reach a small house that’s sheltered at the base. We ring the doorbell, and inside is an aged man. “Oh ho!” he cries. “I’ve been waiting for you, sonny boy.”

He tells us he’s leaving the mountains, so we can have the house for ourselves. Since the house has nothing in it but a double bass, a table with paper and ink, a lamp, and an accordion, he says he’ll grant us three items of our choosing.

We tell him we want an apple tree, a sufficient amount of grape vines, and purple paint. He takes these items out of his pocket, wishes us good fortune, and merrily skips away.


It isn’t long before we have an abundance of apple juice (a liquid that is tinted yellow and isn’t such a common drink for my age) and grape juice. I paint the cat purple.

We now spend our days writing, painting, playing Spanish Music, and drinking fruit juice.

It’s a good life.





The above is not an accurate description of what I did today, nor what I felt. I do not support, nor was participating, in the consumption of alcohol. Apple juice is better. 


24- Relieved

I’ve never had a real enjoyment from eating food. I can’t distinguish between well-cooked and not-so-well cooked, nor have I ever felt something was too salty or too sweet, etc. I guess I don’t have a knack for food-tasting.

But, there are two cases in which I will enjoy eating: One, if I’m eating Cheerios (because they’re bland- neutral), and two, if I’m starving.

By starving, I don’t mean the “haha, I’m starving” kind of starving. I mean starving, as in, I haven’t eaten for 24 hours and my body responds by shaking. That’s when I enjoy food.

Eating feels great, to me, after a long period of time spent being hungry. In fact, any sort of relief feels good to me, especially after uneasiness of sort.

For example, drinking something feels so much more refreshing after just being thirsty. And relaxation only feels nice if it comes after a time spent being stressed out. Sleeping only feels nice if I just physically exhausted myself.

I’m not sure if anyone else feels this way. Maybe it’s because we enjoy the state of things returning to normal. But then, I find myself becoming bored, or disappointed when things are normal for too long. It’s a vicious cycle.

Today has been stressful. It makes me look forward to tomorrow, which will hopefully be more relaxed day.

I look forward to the relief.

23- Expectant

I believe I’ve finally figured the secret to the poster in one of my classroom’s walls, that says: “If you have low expectations, you’ll never be disappointed.”

As I woke up today, groggily, at 9:50AM, I realized I was two hours past the time I had resolved to wake up at: 7AM. I had a number of “biggie” tasks to complete, and I couldn’t get them done during the middle of the day because I had to go somewhere (for an event I won’t specify, but it was enough to make me sigh in dread).

I made a conclusion, right then and there: this day would be terrible. I wouldn’t be able to get anything done, I’d have to go to this place I’d been dreading to go to, and even after that was over, I’d still have a number of biggie things to complete. And I would put them off until the nighttime, because that’s what I always do, like the sad, pitiful excuse of a human I am, and sleep late and feel tired the next day. It would be a mess. And I could already see it.

I have an app called Mr. Mood. Every day, you’re supposed to tell it your mood for the day- don’t ask. At 10:00AM, I set to the lowest level- the sad face.

Well, as it turns out…

The dreadful event didn’t occur badly at all. In fact, it went well. Subsequently, I was able to go home sooner than I thought and get some biggie stuff done. I’d also got some things that were long overdue (not school-related) done. I felt good.

Was it because I expected today to go badly?

I hear it from myself and others all the time- “I always feel better about things if I have lower expectations/feel pessimistic about it beforehand.”

And though more rare, the opposite is true: If you have high expectations of something, then that something will usually disappoint you.

I think this phenomenon is closely tied with normalcy. It can be said, after all, that normalcy is, in a way, the “middle” of  high and low expectations.

That being said, I hypothesize that when someone has high expectations, their expectations eventually become what your mind considers to be “normal”. This vacation is going to be great, you think. And so your mind accepts the fact that this vacation will be great as the normal, or familiar, situation. It becomes the thing that’s supposed to happen.

And therefore, when the vacation is just like a normal vacation, that is below the standard of your high expectations. Your mind interprets this, then, as a result that is worse than normal. Disappoint.

The “vice versa” is rather obvious- this vacation will be stressful and unenjoyable, you think- and when the vacation turns out to be normal, your mind interprets the vacation as being better than normal. Happy!

This potentially explains why some people will moan and groan about how terribly something will go, or how much of a failure they will be/are- so that they will be more satisfied with the results.

Conclusively, how “well” something goes isn’t determined by how well it actually goes- it depends on what you expected it to be.

So, we should all self-pity ourselves, yes? We should rally all of our pessimist brethren. Encourage them! Come on, say it with me: Tomorrow will be a horrible day! Tomorrow will be a horrible day! Tomorrow will be a horrible day! Huzzah!


As I said- you can give yourself the illusion that something went “okay” or “better than you expected”, but the reality of what actually happened remains the same.

If you always have low expectations, therefore, the quality of what you do will also lower. You’ll be satisfied with your low expectations- which has now become the norm- and as much as we like to denounce overachievers, this is not good.

Yes, if you have low expectations, you’ll never be disappointed. But you’ll also never truly succeed- a costly price to pay for an illusion.

22- Childish

I had some fun at the playgrond yesterday. and we plaed on the slid and swings. It was grat fun because i like the playgrond. 

“Yawn” I said as I woke up today. the sun was shining outside and I know it would be god day. 

When I drank orange juis for brekfast, I saw a der in my backyard because it was sunny. it is eating grass. it dusnt eat other animals lik a lion dus. The der must be really nice because it dusnt eat other animals, but it eats grass so that isint nice. but grass isint an animal.

then I have lunch. I ate some soup. If I was at school then I would eat a sandwitch and juice, and i wudint eat soup. 

Next I Draw Cars. I lik draweng them with difrint colers and writ down there prices and how much they wey. i drew 3 cars a red one a blue one and a green one. the red one is 910 ponds and you need $200,00 thousand dollers to buy it. the blue one is 810 ponds and you need $680. the green one is very big so it is 1600 ponds and costs $200 gazillion money. 

i dont lik showing it to my mommy and daddy because they just say it luks coot. coot is like a der. My drawengs are not coot. thay are intristing and cool. 

then i ate dinner. next i saw a bird outsid my window because it is sunny. I wish i was a bird but not because I want to fli. i am scared of tall hites. if i was a bird maybe i wudint be scard of tall hites. 

nevirmind, because what if birds are scard of low hites? they mostly fli, and we mostly walk. we arint scared of the floor, but they might be. eether way I wud be scared of something. i like the Earth so Im glad im human.