I'm Writing Again.

Not just blog writing, or journal writing...

I'm really writing. Novel writing. And after a dry spell of a couple years, it's fantastic to be back at it. I love the spontaneity of it. I don't know how it is for other people, but writing for me isn't just sitting down and forcing something out. It has to come to me. So, lately, I've been in the middle of class or driving down the road, and I have to stop everything I'm doing or pull over so I can find a pen and a piece of scratch paper or tissue or something to write on.

Sometimes it makes me feel crazy. It's like an obsession. The smallest little things - leaves being scattered by the wind, or a look in someone's eye - will trigger a string of words that fit together so perfectly that I have to write them that very moment, just so I don't lose them. And then people ask me what I'm doing, probably because I look a little off my rocker. Not that I really take notice of the fact that they're talking to me until I've scrawled out whatever was swirling around in my head...

I live for this.

Maybe I'm Starting A New Routine:

Late-night blogging.

I'm not going to bother with starting every post off with "I don't really have anything to say", because it would appear that I usually think of something as I go. So I do have something to say. I just don't know what.

I actually wasn't sure if I wanted to write tonight (maybe because I don't know what to say...), but Evan told me I should, because the more I write, the better I get. I suppose I can't argue with that...

Late-night blogging.

It makes me think of some love-struck, hopeless romantic with a cup of hot coffee, sitting in bed with their notebook on their lap, typing away.

I don't know if I fit into any of those categories.

...Maybe the first two. And maybe the last. So half, then.

Late-night blogging.

The beginning of a story, perhaps?

...No. Never mind. Too cliché. The opening of a cheesy romance movie, maybe.
And I'm fairly certain I just spent ten minutes trying to find the key code for that stupid e at the end of cliché. I think the accent might be backward, but I'm not looking anymore.

Okay, I really don't have anything tonight. Anything that I happen to mention is going to seem totally random and out of nowhere.

I hate writing like that.
So I'm going to bed.
Actually, I'm going to go read Tess.
Maybe I'll talk about that tomorrow night.

Sorry, to all of you who actually thought there would be something interesting tonight.
That was false advertising on my part.

Sue.

Welcome Back.

Funny, it's been almost a year since my last post.

And I don't really have anything important to say, just to save you the time searching, but it's almost midnight on Sunday night and I'm sitting here, listening to "Last Christmas", by Wham!, and have nothing better to do. So I'm writing.


I was a little disappointed in myself, I have to admit, when I read the little caption below my blog title that I'm sure I once thought was witty and realized that I used the word "smally". I keep telling myself it must have been a typo. I just can't figure out what I really meant.


...Probably smally.


I'm eager to be done with high school. I feel like I need a new start. Although, I suppose, if I really wanted a new start, I shouldn't have taken classes at LBCC this year. Because now I'm just used to it. And I've realized that it sucks just about as much as high school. The only upside is that you don't have to do your homework to get a good grade. I'm a fan of that. I'm a little disappointed that the classes aren't any harder, though. Actually, I'd argue that they're easier. After four years of advanced, college-prep classes at South, my classes at LB are a little anticlimatic. For example: I took my first mid-term last week. History of Western Civilization. Fifty questions. I finished in ten minutes. It was probably the easiest thing I've ever done in my life.

I bet the whole college thing would be more enjoyable, though, if I actually knew what I wanted to do with my life. "Oh, Chelsea," they say, "most people your age don't know what they want to do with their lives." Most people have an idea, though. If I even had an idea, that would be convenient.

I have no idea. Not one.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I know what I wanted to be, until last year. I wanted to be a teacher. Since probably third grade, I've wanted to be a teacher. But I changed my mind last year. I'm too much of a pushover. And, by the time I'd be old enough to be a teacher, class sizes will be about fifty, and I just don't want to deal with that every day.

And I've wanted to write since I could form words, basically. But the only semi-steady writing out there is journalism. And I really am just not feeling that. I want to write a novel. Several novels. But that's kind of a hit-or-miss career choice. It's the artsy, nerdy version of those boys who say they want to play for the NFL. I either get lucky and write a winner like Miss Rowling did, or I end up a "struggling artist" forever. No, thanks.

I saw a quote once that said "There is no greater agony than bearing an unwritten story inside you."

It's pretty much the most truthful thing I've ever seen. Too bad getting the story out is a lot easier said than done, hmm?


What I think I'd really love, though, would make me no money at all. And by "no money at all", I don't mean that I simply wouldn't get to live a life of luxury. I mean that I would put way more money into it than I would ever, ever get out of it, because I would not get any money out of it. So, unless God decides it's a super idea and hands me a winning lottery ticket, that's out of the question.

Bummer.

Here's The Thing.

So, there's a good chance I might not be at South next year.

Well, I would for one class.
(Global Studies 12)

But I think that's it. All of my other classes will be at LBCC.

Although, I'll technically still be a student at South. I'm not graduating early, exactly. I'll still be walking with the rest of my class, and, since I'll still technically still be a student at South, they'll be paying for my classes at LBCC.

So... After this year, that's pretty much it. I think. I still have to fill out a bunch of paperwork and take an acclimation test or something like that, so that they know which classes to put me in. But, yeah.

And The Dirty Truth Comes Out.

Let's just get right to the point, shall we?

I was anorexic.

Key word there would be 'was'.

As in, 'am not anymore.'

As in, 'I don't need you to try and fix me, because I'm not broken. So don't.'

Now you all know "what's going on" and you can stop asking me if I'm okay every five minutes. I'm fine.

This is not a cry for help.

This is a cry for some peace.

I'm tired of skirting around topics and watching you all walk on eggshells when you talk to me.

And if you'd like to continue to call me an 'anorexic freak' now that you know that I really was anorexic, go right on ahead - as long as you use one or the other. You want to call me anorexic? Fine, the truth hurts, hmm? And you want to call me freak? Whatever. You're entitled to your opinion.

But when you call me 'anorexic freak', it's not only insulting me, it's insulting every person on this planet who has ever suffered from an eating disorder. And let me tell you, that's a lot of people. Conservative estimates say one out of every 100 people in America suffers from anorexia, with approximately 95% of them being female. Only America, and only anorexia. And that doesn't count who-knows-how-many-people who won't admit it.

So if you want to call me anorexic, fine. It was, after all, previously true.
If you want to call me freak, fine. Your opinion. I can handle it.

But if you say 'anorexic freak' one more time, I'm going to have to say something for the 2,984,443 people in America who can't say anything for themselves, because you're making a hideous overgeneralization.

And I'm honestly, truly fine. I don't need your sympathy, because nothing is wrong anymore. I don't want to be your community service project or your pity target. At least have the decency to treat me like a human. Like the same girl you've been friends with for however long, because that's who I am. I just hit a rough spot and got a little bruised up.

That's all I have to say. And people might talk. People probably will talk. Gossip spreads fast.

But guess what?
Go right on ahead.

I'll show you what it means to turn the other cheek.

Welllllll....

I don't really know what to post.

Uhmmmm. Well. This is exciting so far. I think my blog has kind of officially died. My journal is suffering as well.

Snap. I feel so braindead. I woke up at five this morning to prepare for a debate that I would've had first period if school hadn't been canceled. Yeah, I got lucky. I'm kind of starting to hate American History. Someone remind me that, when I'm in college and I'm a history minor, I really should not take any American history classes. I don't think I'd go. And chemistry is basically the devil reincarnate, I have decided. At the moment, it's even worse than Pre Cal. And that's saying something, coming from me.

English, however, is the highlight of my day. Or, school day, at any rate.

Only, now I don't know whether I'm going to major in English or Creative Writing. A double major in those two would be a lot of writing. Who knows.

It's really sad that this is my first post in who knows how long, and I'm talking about school.

Ew.

Something else.... hmm...

I'm trying to learn how to knit. It's a lot harder than it looks, when you're trying to teach yourself. And incredibly frustrating. But I'm bound and determined to learn. Eventually... I hope.

And the needles make me think of big metal chopsticks. Because I'm just so Asian.

I went to the library today. Because there was no school. And I found four books. That I am very excited to read. Because Bleak House, by Charles Dickens, lost my attention after talking about fog for a page and a half. Maybe I'll read it someday when I'm stranded on a deserted island, and that's the only book I have with me, and I'm so hot that I would love to read about fog for a page and a half. But until then, I'll be avoiding it. For now, I have A Great And Terrible Beauty, by Libba Bray (I've heard it's very good.) ; Girl With A Pearl Earring, by Tracy Chevalier (She looks like me. I have to read the book.) ; Bread And Roses, Too, by Katherine Paterson (About a women's strike in 1912 - My history teacher would be proud); and The Hidden Diary Of Marie Antoinette, by Carolly Erickson (It just happened to catch my eye. I'm excited to read it.).

I was excited last night after buying thirty new songs with my lovely iTunes giftcards. That was fun. I felt so technologically advanced. The iPod, though, will be a bit slow in coming. Maybe I'm just a bit too impulsive. Or maybe I'm just a bit too contemplative. Maybe it was just a bit of Christmas cheer leftover. Who knows. It'll come eventually though - I think. Unless something better catches my attention. In which case, I'll just have to keep waiting.

I think I've said enough for now.

And this whole 'label' thing makes me laugh. Haha.