Is it too early to start counting down?

Seriously. Is it? I have no idea, but I'm going to count down at any rate. There is only fifteen more days of school, excluding weekends, as soon as this day is over. Fifteen! That's almost survivable. Unless, of course, I tank my finals and create all sorts of exceedingly horrid complications for myself. In the spirit of summer, and freedom, and all that, this post is going to be a series of random little blurbs concerning the present state of my life, but not necessarily how my day went. Don't fret, I won't be doing this on a regular basis. Just for today. I don't really remember much of what happened to me today, actually. Most of it was obscured by my english state testing and general sleepiness. I accidently set my first alarm for four thirty nine this morning, instead of five thirty nine. Ow.

I really do hate the spiteful nature of all of the test proctors at my school. My finger slips, I move ahead in the test before we're meant to, and I get this five minute cross examination about cheating and ill intentions. If it weren't for my meek, 'I'm terribly sorry' thing I'm able to do, I'd probably have been to the principal's office. Overreacting about every little thing under the sun seems to be a Northern VA speciality, nobody cared about state testing at all in Washington. Of course, they have this thing about everyone in the school passing, no one getting their test thrown out here, so I suppose it's sort of understandable. Wouldn't want to be the error in the system.

On a more musical note, I found another song I can get hopelessly addicted to. It's been a while since I've had a specific song addiction. I miss that. The title would be, 'Not An Addict' by Sally Anthony. Well, originally, it was by a band called K's Choice. Their version is nice, but something about the girl's voice is too... thick for my liking, I guess. I greatly prefer this version. Pandora radio, who I normally feel is the direct spawn of the devil himself, introduced me to the song a couple of weeks ago. I liked it, but not enough to go to the effort of taking down its title and looking it up, or bookmarking it. It played it increasingly more, just enough to get it to grow on me, but not enough that it got annoying, and now I find myself singing along while it plays for the fortith or so time on Youtube. That's another thing. I can actually sing this song. I can tell, because normally, my failure of a voice cannot match every note in a song, but now, it can. And I can hear it matching. And it gives me this odd little euphoria. I suppose that might contribute to the addiction. Oh, haha, I'm addicted to a song that explicitly mentions not being an addict...

I need a life. Speaking of that, Tears For Fears is (still) stalking me. It all started when some music recommendation thread or site or something like that, said I ought to listen to them. I didn't want to, because eighties synth pop isn't generally my thing. Note the generally thrown in there. Then Adam, one of my favorite people in this world, took on Mad World on American Idol. I fell in love with his version of the song, was a little surprised to hear that it was a Tears For Fears thing, didn't listen to the original. I think I was involved with some conflicting obsession at the time or something. A week or so later, I was listening to music with my parents in the car, and I heard a song I liked, so I asked who it was by. Turned out to be none other than Tears For Fears. The fourth incident happened when I was listening to Walking With Strangers, by the Birthday Massacre, and some comment mentioned that they'd ripped off Tears For Fears. Fifth incident happened last night when I was watching television and Shout was playing during one scene. I had a love at first listen thing with this song, went upstairs and listened to it, tried to ignore the fact that the world had successfully made me voluntarily listen to, and admit taking a liking to, them. Stupid Tears For Fears. Stupid eighties.

My hair has turned a nasty shade of green. Well, if one was being generous, they could call it aqua. But it's not very pretty.

The impossible has happened: I'm ahead of my friends in teen living! My sewing is coming along swimmingly. This is mostly due to the fact that the teacher instructed me to sit beside her so she could survey my feeble attempts at stringing velcro through the slots of the fabric of my boxers. Turns out, I was doing it totally wrong, and ripping out stitches while I was at it. I now have to stitch together the inside of the legs, trim off the jagged edges, and fill out my self evaluation within forty minutes tomorrow, but whatever. If I can handle elastic - stringin', I can handle anything. Nobody could even attempt to call me stupid today, exiled to the teacher's table or not. I'm beating them by quite a lot, and I even explained something to one of my friends.

Now it's time to take a turn in to the figurative twilight zone of my mind. When I was eating dinner tonight, my father made some comment about Popeye The Sailor. The cartoon. I'm sure you've seen it. That show was pretty much my childhood, along with some of the other stuff aired on Cartoon Network, and, of course, ponies. But that's not important. For some reason, when we lived in Cambodia, I used to have these really demented dreams. My mother blames it on the television I watched, along with all of the things I was exposed to. Landmines, starving orphans, that kind of thing. In retrospect, that can probably be used as blame for everything. However, I had this one recurring day dream, I guess it was, that hadn't much of anything to do with television. In it, a little girl wandered into a dark room, found her father drowned in ketchup, the television, which provided the only light in the room, was turned on to Popeye. When I say drowned in ketchup, I don't mean that it was making a swimming pool all over the room or anything. It was all over his face, strangling him. I have no idea what a psychologist would say about it, but it was sort of insane, I used to be almost fixated on it. Every time I was alone in the dark, I'd think of that. Somehow, everything about fascinated me. The drowning, the vague queerness of everything in the room, the way the television was turned to one precise part of one precise episode. I hadn't thought about this... thing for a while until tonight, when my father mentioned Popeye, and it all totally came back to me. Whether I'm disturbed, or totally normal, or just a little bit off my rocker, I don't know. Figured I'd just throw that out there so I'd quit thinking about it for a while.

I have to go practice piano, study for a science test that I'm probably going to fail, and pretend I completely forgot about algebra extra credit, because I no longer care about my potential future eating gum off the sidewalks. Which means I have to quit musing to myself on here.

Music today is easy to sum up: Not An Addict, Sally Anthony. Some Bella Morte on the bus, too. I thought about listening to Tears For Fears, but then mentally slapped myself and didn't do it. I want to listen to Sponge, perhaps I'll get around to it later. I need some Mudhoney on my iPod, they seem like the best bus music ever. Unfortunately, most of their songs are about sex. Actually, I'm pretty sure all of their songs are about sex. Some of them are more subtle than others, but most of the time, they're pretty dang blunt. 'Suck You Dry', for example. Love that song to death, but my mother would have an aneurysm if she saw it on my iPod or iTunes.

That's all for now. Thank you for humoring me through this crazy post, if you're reading.