Dear God IT'S ALIVE

*cue dramatic thunder and pipe-organ music*

Anywho, yes, I am alive despite not posting to this blog in a while. Sorry. Bad habits die hard. For the numerous people invested in my life- oh. Wait.

Sorry, that's supposed to be sarcasm. But people are, supposedly, reading this blog now? Why, I've no clue, but their presence is not unacknowledged or unappreciated. Shout out to the lovely ladies Kristen and Miranda for enduring my teenage ennui and far-too-purple prose! Everyone who reads this blog deserves a ton of ice cream for their troubles. Though Ms. Claire may get 2 cartons because I think she puts up with the majority of my teenage idiocy. (Thanks Claire c :)

Ben & Jerry's for everyone!! Or whatever your preferred ice cream brand is < 3

But update! Things are better here at Casa de Alice. My mother has come to the realization that I'm not socially stunted, my aunt is off on a weekend getaway and my sister is as adorable as ever. And, apparently, not going to college. Or at least not yet.

My mother and I had one of our Talks tonight. The Talks aren't like the "Birds and the Bees Talk" insomuch as they're really awesome, impromptu discussions that just sort of happen and end up leaving me feeling happy and optimistic. You can see some of the aftereffects of another such Talk here and here. But we talked about the divorce and how awesome today was (the whole family [save for my aunt] watched the 70's movie of The Great Gatsby, with Robert Redford and Mia Farrow in it. We took a shot of sparkling grape juice every time we heard "Old sport") and a lot of other things.

Lost in A Maze (Of a Thousand Rainy Days)

I am in a funk.

(my mother's words, not mine.)

Though it's true. I'm just sort of. . . meh. My eyelids are made of lead, and I'm taking long, long blinks. There are bloody scratches down my arms, my thighs, and I find myself fidgeting. Picking and trimming and biting and frowning and jiggling and wriggling toes and cracking knuckles. The bags beneath my eyes have reached truly epic proportions, but I'm too busy staying up until dawn to notice nor care.

All those Glittering Dust Motes

I have the terrible tendency of daydreaming.

Doctor Who References and Late Night Ramblings

It's 3 AM- well, no, 3:24 AM- and I've started to get a little teary-eyed.


No particular reason though, to be honest. Just that lovely teenage thing were little things mosh together into one big whopping Thing, and attack you relentlessly in the middle of the night when you get up for a glass of water. Self-anxiety and confusion and resignation to aspects of the future. Anticipation and nervous excitement twisting knots in my stomach as I smile and cry all at the same time.

(I think it's pretty safe to say my time of the month may be approaching)

Some Days

Sometimes the light goes gray.

Somedays, the clouds bunch together like flocks of pussywillow, and the sky hangs heavy with the moisture that refuses to let go.
Somedays I wrap a scarf around my neck and pretend I'm somewhere else, somewhere Northern, somewhere without dry heat, and sunburns in March.

And somedays I sit on this floral beige couch, wrapped in a scarf and wearing boxer shorts, and I just stare out at the sliding glass doors, and admire the way the overcast skies reflect in the golf course's fountain.
Then the air conditioning kicks in, and I dig my toes into the cushion on the other end of the couch, and sigh a little too loudly.

The Secret Warmth of Solitude

The opening topic that I'm touching on extraordinarily briefly today is true love.

(The groan of everyone who read that is entirely well-earned)

After many years of searching, I've determined that my one true love is none other then my Macbook Pro.
Seriously.
I fucking adore this thing.

Oscar-Worthy Imagination at It's Finest

I used to pretend my life was a movie.

There would be certain moments, just a second's worth, of something that felt vaguely cinematic. It'd be beyond fleeting, but it was all my young self would need- I'd already be singing the crude theme and scrawling fake names with a purple glitter pen- imaginary opening credits, into a notebook.
I'd flip through the pages, pausing on the ones filled with the creators of this imaginary masterpiece, and then I'd make a point of acting as if I was on film (but, of course, was completely unaware of it. My 7-year-old acting skills were really quite something).

I'm Awfully Off

Sometimes I can't help but hate myself, and more often then not, my life.

And sometimes self-insecurity will hit me like a brick wall, and I'll just kinda of freeze and look at all of the coolly dressed, confident, attractive people that flow around my frozen stance, the literal pebble in a stream. They have friends. They have a happy life, at least to some extent.

And so do I! I'm not claiming not to have friends, or a decently happy life. Just. . . Just all of my friends (or at least a good number of them) are virtual. And many, if not all attempts on my behalf to change that fact, merely do the opposite of it's intentions, and result in my being more alone then ever.

Percentages of Illusions

I talk to myself every day.

Sometimes, murmuring snide comments under my breath. My sister always asks what I said, and I act surprised and say "Nothing,". She says it drives her insane, and wants me to stop. I say it's a free country.

But 80% of my talk-to-myself is different then what my sister thinks of it as. It's when I'm alone, when I'm in my room, when I'm trying to fall asleep.

Technically, I don't talk to myself then.

I talk to the figments of my imagination.