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I've been complaining a lot, lately. I hate that. I hate complainers that don't take the initiative. Hypocritical, yes, but that's how it goes. I give out all this advice, you'd think I'd be able to tell myself to suck it up and do a, b, and c, and then get on with my life. I don't know so much. Probably my advice is bullshit, doesn't even work. Or no one listens, anyways. That's what it's always been, me talking but not a lot coming out and not a lot of people listening to it.

You can tell I'm past that whole anger stage by now. When I'm mad I start turning into some sort of thesaurus, all multisyllables and arrogant. Stream of consciousness with a big vocabulary. I'm beginning to wonder if my arguments are as bad as my writing is.

I shouldn't complain. I hate complainers, and I hate self-pity and I hate a damn lot. And I hate stupid people, and rude people, and I'm both, I guess, which brings me back to hypocrisy. Or circular logic or something. I hate stupid people because I am stupid, which makes me hate stupid people. I guess I only say I'm dumb because no one else -- I mean, that matters, I mean. This is the internet, and you can't exactly make these great opinions this way -- no one else is telling me I'm smart anymore. Which is good, I guess. Remember that one article, about the kids getting told they're smart and consequently slacking off. That's me. Except instead of try to do easy stuff, I just don't do it at all. Teenager, you know? But a dumb one. At least I'm not failing anymore. Not like that's telling me I'm smart, that's just that I finally decided to turn in a few worksheets. But nothing on them was really right, so what's the difference.

See, and dumb people and smart people don't mix well. Sort of an oil and water thing. Which I guess would explain the distance between my friends and me. They told me I was uptight a while ago, did you know? You probably did. I complain a lot and I run out of lines, so I tend to repeat myself. But they told me uptight and that's why I wasn't making friends. Which is weird to me, because who'd be friends with an uptight person, and there they were, or so I hope I guess. They keep shutting me off, and I guess I deserve it. I don't really share their interests: boys, music, guitar hero 3. I mean, I sort of do -- I listen to music now and then and stuff, I know what they're talking about, I just don't like the bands they melt over. And I play video games, and I know guitar hero 3, it's just hard to talk about how excited you are -- with a lot of 'i's -- when you suck at the game. I figured maybe I'd pass the time during my bus rides and bring my ds to school ... that was a video game, right? They didn't like that so much. I guess only certain games are cool, or whatever they call it anymore. My teacher seemed to like it. Two of them, even. My friends, though, they told me to stop bringing it.

So I did. I'm a pushover. You get that way after a while.

I'm trying to teach myself not to cry or to get mad or to make opinions or think. Everyone's happier that way. The teachers are, the kids are, my mom is, so I am as a result. I mean, the only reason I should get upset is if they are, you know? I've got a good life. I don't really have reason to get upset at all, even. But sometimes I mess up, like when I mentioned how I didn't like the grammar on a poster, because I get the English language, it's my forte, I do grammar. It was just a mistake, and it won't happen again, because they didn't like it so much. I got a little mad. That won't happen either.

Sometimes I mess up in school or in dance. It's a lot easier to take the disappointment when you remind yourself that it's not like it'd amount to anything anyways. The not good enough card is less of an upset when you remind yourself that it's not like you'll amount to anything anyways. I mean, I'm just some kid, fifteen years. At this rate, if I'm not good enough now I don't see much of a future for me.

There are the few healthy fears, and the few healthy obsessions, too. I mean, it's normal business to imagine the words they say behind my back -- because they have to, I mean, I do a hell of a lot to make fun of, and it's what happens to me: I exist, I perform action, consequences. Pretty straightforward formula. And the one about whether people like me. Especially about the people that do, or did. But then there's the other stuff. Like if anyone will really like me. You know, capital l, or italics, or whatever, whatever. I wouldn't go for it, I don't think, or maybe I would, but no one ever will because I'm not really anything, I'm no one, and nobody evers falls for a no one.

And I'm not really normal.

I mean, I don't listen to music. I guess this isn't normal. I shouldn't do that, I should go find some bands or something. I can't really bring myself to do it because they don't interest me. Anymore if you don't agree with someone it's grounds for insults, so you have to watch your back. And I don't do the myspace/facebook scene ... or the going after guys thing ... and I'm religious, and I don't do drugs, and I guess those are pretty out of the ordinary, too. I can see the drug appeal anymore, though. Especially after those sometimes, where I mess up -- like when I wrote the essay for the final, and we submitted it to this turn it in website, and it grades you out of six and I got a 3.5 for two of the things and a 4 for the other two. I can see the drug appeal there, but I'm not a druggie. My friend likes those, though, druggies. She says she attracts them or something. I guess that's because she wears miniskirts and shirts two sizes too small, but I can't really say that to her because honesty anymore isn't something you do.

And I'm a bɪtch. And I hate bɪtches, because they're horrible ... but I can't make myself not one, and I've tried, and it's just what is wrong with me and why am I so angry and what happened, and why am I mean. And why, why why. I try but it can't happen.

And I guess I just really hate me. And everything I do, because everyone hates fυck-ups. But like I said, I've been complaining a lot, lately. And I hate complainers.