oh dear i've been feeling down.
i tried wearing a nice bright yellow skirt to add some cheer to the world. it didn't help much because it's transparant and the sky-water makes it even more so.
i feel wet and icky.
and i don't think i'm going to participate in the P.E. part of the day today because i feel all nasty style.
i just want to go home and take a hot bath.
then there's more dreaming of ccc and used to be.
which is a ridiculous concept; i know it wouldn't help me to take more coricidin now. it wouldn't even affect me the same way anymore. i know that for a fact. i'm on a different plane where it just leads to arthritis and big time vomit.
but it's like the old lady that still tries to fit into hotty clothes. that's me.
i want to cry.
i was standing right in front of the cough syrup aisle, right? and i had money clutched in my nasty little fists.
but i didn't buy it.
and i din't steal it.
and i felt bad. not for wanting it, just for wanting it in front of someone who didn't want me to want it.
but i'm always wanting it so why hide the want?

today mr chollet read my short story aloud to the class. i can't believe he did that. it was odd. it was like...i mean yeah i gave him my permission and all but i didn't expect it to actually sound like a story. i wrote that story in 3 hours while mark and kaydee and jared were downstairs yelling drunkenly. i wrote it sober, i wrote it quickly. when i turned it in i expected him to tell me something on the lines of "well this has some potential but it's crap until you do something else with it."
but he reads it to the class and it actually sounded like a story. and there was a teacher reading it aloud to a group of listening students. it was just crazy that's all. i still hold my opinion that it was one of the crappiest stories i've ever written, though towards the end i was really into it. it was like...the words were just coming out the way they belonged. they weren't my words at all anyway.
maybe life's okay.
maybe life's evil.
maybe my hand's starting to hurt from typing so much but i can't really stop.
i really can't wait to get out of here. to get home and get some much needed rest. i don't even mean sleep i just need to be alone in my little hole of a room. to breathe and stare and breathe and stare. that's about all the comfort i need right now.
of course instead i have to go straight to that sweat hall and lift weights.
i have an F in that class if you can believe it.
i don't care.
i want to get out of this system where they have all this control over me. control to say, hey go to class.
control to say listen to me i'm the teacher
control to call ME disrespectful.
control over all the other kids
obey.
do not question authority.
they live we sleep.
sure it's just some lame thing from some lame movie that didn't even explain the end.
that doesn't keep it from being true.
i just wish i had a way to stop myself from...thinking.
to put off that consciousness.
i'm sick of it, really.
and i'm sick of this worthless body, too. what with asthma and psoriasis and a constant stomachache.
but i'll keep going with the flow down the rapids to the waterfall just because i'm afriad to climb out and get lost.
whatever.
so there's this hottie.
and he walks in
and woo hooo now i'm looking at his cute...ness.
no more words

So the story goes a bit like this:
victoria and remo kind of break up.
everyone is screaming
i'm trying to sleep
jared says: "Fuck you victoria, why don't you leave."
she said she wants to and can she have a ride
he says no.
me and mark smoke cigarettes.
remo is crying
he says if i want to kill myself than isn't that the way i'm supposed to die
he calls her a stupid bitch
i ask her if she wants to talk and she said i don't want to talk to anyone.
i screamed fuck! jesus fucking christ! why are we all so angry! why can't i just go to sleep so i can wake up early and dress cute and look all cute for kj!
and this girl katie gave mark head
we watched this lame movie the island.
we went to the bottom of the driveway because cigarettes were delivered.
and it was 10 dollars from my glorious mushroom money
but that doesn't matter because we're not going to get mushrooms.
now watch, i'm going to get home and they're gonna go oh well we bought mushrooms but not enough for you.
which is not true
because
at least i have kools
that's why we live in cool and look cool smoking kools

i feel like a frenchie.
it's a mini!
i want some coricidin
i could pull that off if i wanted to.
with lia no less

The epistemology of love asks how we may know love, how we may understand it, whether it is possible or plausible to make statements about others or ourselves being in love (which touches on the philosophical issue of private knowledge versus public behavior). Again, the epistemology of love is intimately connected to the philosophy of language and theories of the emotions. If love is purely an emotional condition, it is plausible to argue that it remains a private phenomenon incapable of being accessed by others, except through an expression of language, and language may be a poor indicator of an emotional state both for the listener and the subject. Emotivists would hold that a statement such as "I am in love" is irreducible to other statements because it is a nonpropositional utterance, hence its veracity is beyond examination.

it's when you see the person and you feel like there is true beauty in Life and Form and Ideas. and that's when you melt in kjs arms.

so i have a urinary tract infection.
and it's kind of lame.
and at 8:00 i'm going to take some pills, i think.
that's like....morning
end of lunch
8
like that.
and MILLER MILLER MILLER!!!
i love ceci kaykaykay
fuck yeah i do.

there is a guy named kj
and he makes me so utterly happy
and everything he does
makes me want to do anything for him.
and i say to myself, keep your feet on the ground!
but when have i ever listened to myself.
and kj is the most spectacular person i've ever met
and i don't want him to tire of me.
and i just want to kiss him in my pantry a little.
and i just want to watch some lame movie and laugh at it with him.
and i just want to get a little drunk
then mark goes "what the fuck is my problem."

i'm kind of amazed because it's like our worlds collided.
and it's like a smashing wizard who went to the beach with a lollipop in his sweaty little fist.
by that i mean, i went to that place. that's when my world collided with that boy with blue hair. and we had a bit of a moment. the kind where we laugh and we all bring out number 2 pencils. and it was a whole line of kids wanting to get out of high school early.
and i rocked shit at the english part.
and i got to the math and my brain was going HUH?
and i realized hey cecilia (ceci) you don't have a clue how to do this. and my eyes creeped over to this blonde girls paper. she was wearing earrings and nice clothes. and i figured she must be better at math than me.
then when the paper came with my score.
and i failed by one question.
and i laughed so hard i cried.
then the next thing i knew i was starting back at one like that stupid song by mark willis.
and there's this golden boy.
and i am so hungover. and it is bad.
i feel like i am the whiskey. i've transformed.
and it's not a good thing not one bit.
my name is cecilia
and i am just another day.

my head itches

i have no idea what to write about
i mean, i have the story
and i have the idea
and i have the way of telling it
but i know that it's sloppy
and i know that it'll just be crap.
funny thing is that later on, next year maybe, i'll reread it and find out that it was pretty good after all.

the question is whether illegal drugs should be legalized for medical uses. The answer is hell no. Illegal drugs should be legalized for Every use! that's not right either hold on...
obviously, since we're already giving everybody a shitload of drugs (prozac, tylonal, dextromethorphan hbp)and claiming it to be okay, why is there even a question.
legal illegal
two minds
but the correct answer is this--> illegal drugs should not be legalized for medical uses. There are other, safer, non addictive drugs that provide the same benefits. Also, there is the possiblity of addiction. Suppose a patient is using THC and finds it so helpful he or she continues more than is recommended and more than is healthy!
here, a problem rises: what are the side effects of marijuana? Munchies and paranoia.
that's a lot of supposing
fuck this

it is february 16th 2006
that doesn't mean anything to me
but it is almost lunch
and wow it seems like 3rd period was so long ago
and there are still several hours left in this wretched school day. call it 3 hours and 9 minutes.

then it's just a bitter memory of a girl that doesn't do her homework.
then it's just backwards and i'm like wait what?
but at least i have a pack of prime times.
and lunch means food


straight is great!

september 11th was a long time ago people
talk about a scare tactic
i think all this shit needs to be forgotten so we can all go out and buy a beer
speaking of beer
it's valentines day
marks alone and sad
messy breakup + mark ortiz = cecilia berry acting as active listener
which ends up with the both of us drunk, almost every time
so valentines day 2006
equals beer
maybe even vodka
i could see that happening
if we had money we'd go golfing

i wish kj weren't grounded
and i wish we could go to a fatty party right now
but that isn't going to happen
but that's okay because
vicodin wave!

I told you people Dick Cheney was dangerous.

Let's all wish a full and speedy recovery for Harry Whittington, the man Cheney accidentally shot on Saturday while they were out in the Texas boonies hunting quail. As for the trigger-happy vice president, let's hope he takes this unfortunate episode as a hint to pack up his shotgun and go home. Lord knows he's done enough.


Ready, Fire, Aim
Let's hope the vice president takes this unfortunate event as a hint to pack up his shotgun and go home. He's done enough.

The man is out of control.

Then again, out-of-control is the way this whole administration operates: Ready, fire, aim. Global war on terrorism, global war on poultry, what's the difference? You see something moving, shoot it.

Sorry, Harry, my bad.

It's been clear for some time that Cheney came to office with a revanchist agenda, and he has pushed so hard in his campaign to assert autocratic powers for the White House that even his allies on Capitol Hill have begun pushing back. No wonder, given the way he treats them. On electronic spying, Cheney has essentially told Congress that if any members would like to discuss checks and balances, they're welcome to talk to the hand.

His uncompromising drill-and-guzzle position on energy makes a lot of oil industry executives sound like tree-huggers. When the subject turns to measures that could actually begin to lead this country toward energy independence, such as conservation and alternative fuels, Cheney begins checking his watch and barely tries to stifle his yawns. But let someone raise the prospect of drilling in the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge, which couldn't even begin to slake America's energy thirst, and he lights up with such glee that it's impossible not to think of Mr. Burns on "The Simpsons."

Conservation sounds like one of those sissified foreign ideas. Drilling, now that's what America is all about -- at least the America that spends its weekends on a 50,000-acre ranch in south Texas with a bunch of fellow millionaires, shooting at quail.

Typically, Cheney's office didn't bother to tell anyone for more than 18 hours that the vice president of the United States had shot someone. A vice presidential shooting doesn't happen every day, and I, for one, would appreciate being informed whenever the man who's just a heartbeat away from the presidency peppers a 78-year-old attorney with birdshot. But Cheney apparently is taking his cues from Jack Nicholson's character in "A Few Good Men," the ultrapatriotic Col. Nathan Jessep: "You can't handle the truth."

Cheney seems to believe that we want to know far too much about what our government is up to. He doesn't have to tell us who came to the White House and engineered the administration's "Happy Days" energy policy; he doesn't have to tell us whom the National Security Agency is spying on or how it's doing it; he doesn't have to tell us anything about the conduct of the war on terrorism that this administration is waging in our names. Anyone who leaks information to try to keep us informed, such as the unnamed whistle-blowers who told of the secret CIA prisons and the unauthorized domestic surveillance, will be hunted down. (No shotguns involved, one hopes.) Of course, at times when public opinion is trending perilously the wrong way, Cheney apparently is happy to play the Washington game and leak information that bolsters his argument and tears down his opponents. According to press reports last week, Cheney's former aide Scooter Libby now says it was his "superiors" who instructed him to do the kind of leaking that has him facing trial on federal charges.

Foreign policy wise man Brent Scowcroft, who served with Cheney under George Bush the Elder, famously said that he doesn't recognize the man who now occupies the vice presidency. I wonder what happened.

A pop psychologist might speculate that Cheney was shaken by two stunning blows. One of them -- the Sept. 11 attacks -- was suffered by all Americans, but it's hard to overstate the extent to which George Bush the Younger and his inner circle took Sept. 11 personally. The other blow is Cheney's personal health crisis, which has entailed a series of heart attacks and operations. It's easy to imagine that the fear of a new, even more catastrophic terrorist attack, combined with the intimation of his own mortality, could produce the kind of out-of-my-damn-way inflexibility we see in Cheney today.

But I doubt the vice president would have any patience with this sort of navel-gazing. Just lock and load. The rest of you, don't forget to duck.

It was radio host Tom Joyner who came up with Cheney's Valentine's Day poem:

Roses are red, Violets are blue, Say something I don't like, And I'll shoot you, too.

free piano (santa rosa)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reply to: sale-132425064@craigslist.org
Date: 2006-02-08, 8:48PM PST


oak upright . needs 1 string replaced , and tuning . I can deliver. good practice piano.52'' tall.

CRAIGS LIST!
FREE PIANO
NEEDS 1 STRING REPLACED
BUT...
FREE PIANO!!

he wants to go to new york
i want to be with him
this raises an interesting question

we have to do a debate in civics.
and this will be so very hard for me, because i don't believe in right or good. And i especially don't believe in wrong. So how the hell can i pull this off?
i'm reading watership down kids.
and i have this idea. and it doesn't mean anything to me
but i'd rather take care of myself.
and that means...well
what does that mean?
i wish i were stoned.
i feel like a bitch
i feel like i'm worthless
and i'm wearing a dress.
it's nice.
it used to be really long, but i cut it.

can't wait to hang out with roxxy.
we'll be doing that soon.

this weekend will be watership down
and the last unicorn
and my stupid boyfriend is grounded
which means i'm going to have to steal my truck and pick him up in the middle of the night.
:(
that won't work out.

then again...when kj's in new york won't that change everything?
won't i be completely restless?
and won't a plane be nothing?

well right now who cares
i found the rest of the salvia
smoked it
went searching for something else
nothing
i found these cough pills, comtrex. i looked it up and it has aceteminophin, that guisophex shit, and chlorophorian malate. which basically means it would have killed me if i'd tried to take a crapload of it.
but i guess that applies with everything.
i found hydroxicut.
who the fuck wants to take hydroxicut?
i think what i'd like to find most would be a cigarette.
but my dad stopped (blood clots in his lung and all)
and my mom did as well
so with the smokers of the household quitting, i don't have access to cigarettes.
so i'm kind of like RAWRRRR

but that's not the point is it...?

anyway, i found the virtue of selfishness. i'd been looking for it for so long. i've forgotten why i even wanted to read it.
i totally want to watch waking life.
i've gotta reread 1984...and enders game.
no time.
i could always read enders game for points.
hey hey hey
is that a mirror in your pocket


i miss kj.
i could go to marval!!!!
:( remo doesn't have any gas.
we're just stuck in the fucking house
no gas
no beer
no car
my dad's sitting right there all fucked up on oxygen and blood clots
remo doesn't smoke pot anymore
we eat dinner together now
it's like...since my dad's here...we're this...real...family type thing.
it's kinda nasty, you know?

by the way, marks' been talking about suicide.
he said he always comes outside all pissed off and the thing that keeps him positive or normal is the trees.
and he was crying when he told me that and he got on the subject of the trees and his eyes started clearing up and he was just normal again.
and then he was talking about how he didn't think he was supposed to be here. like he doesn't belong and maybe his Fate is to die by his own hands. and he said, this isn't a cry for help, i'm just...this is how i feel! and he asked if i would understand that, if all his family would be able to understand that it was what he Wanted, to die. and he said, i've thought about suicide before, but this is different i feel like it's Time.
and i said, time... funny thing.
and when he seemed dry of words and tears, i said you know what i think? i think we should go snowboarding!
and he looked so surprised! so shocked taht i would talk about something that wasn't either depressing or like... one of those talks people give "oh it's not all that bad" "well you're not going to kill yourself Are You?" "just remember that i love you"
and he started to laugh!
and he said, hell yeah! we should go snowboarding! remember when you went off that jump and you fell right on your back!
and i laughed
and i said, that was the same day i hit myself on the head with my board because i didn't know how to get up
and we laughed.

then we played with sammy a little bit

then he and victoria and my mother went to san jose because vicky has to go have a check up. and, probably, they'll return with a dog.
a nasty little jack russel terrier dog.
_<


who cares about the future, i don't have time for that right now.
fucking ruby tuesday.

maybe i should be a nun
maybe i should be mother theresa
maybe i should be the bloke on essax road with all the answers
maybe i don't know how to add

it's hard to figure out what is important.
it's hard to figure out the meaning of life
<mans search for meaning> when there doesn't seem to be one beyond what you make it. what i make it.
i feel like i'm...floating away
like i'm every color in the world.
like i'm not made of emotions or flesh or even water. like i'm made of electricity. One electric thought.
one flash.
one instant.
that we like to call cecilia berry.
right now.

so there's a sex abuse victim carrying U.S. colors for the olympics. and it's just kind of symbolic to me. like the U.S. is being molested. i'm just talking about policies, forms, it all reminds me of the Vogons. and it reminds me of molestation and tax reforms and the National Security Agency. and it makes me smile. not to say actual sex abuse is a funny thing.
it's just relative.
and that's funny.
even rules are relative.
equal education?
equal rights?
it kind of makes me wonder about those elephants.

i was watching America's Next Top Model, because Carla sent me a crapload of it. And it was so...brainwashing for lack of better word. All the criticisms given to the model were so...simple. I mean, any girl watching could say I can identify what that model's doing wrong! then they go, well I could be a model! and then they're in advertising school learning about make up application and bringing the emotion from within. Like Carla.
But it's all wrong! because all that money they give to the girls on the show...it doesn't really exist. that's not going to happen to everyday girls like carla.
the best thing you can do, cecilia, is go to college, or at the very least get some college reading material, and learn poli sci, and get into the True system.
not the shitload of ants, bumping antenea off eachother.
i mean Real.
where you know what you're talking about
and you know what they're talking about
then maybe there's something you can do about it.
but this is serious business and serious business doesn't include New York.
the only thing...is that i'm unfamiliar with that place.
why go start all over there when i have the... beginning, you know?
it's like pulling apart a sweater.
or like when you're about to start one and you're looking for the end of the yarn. and you find the part that will make the ball spin and spin and spin and spin. that spinning will get heckah annoying, so you might as well just reach in and grab the other one.
bad metaphor. that went the wrong direction.

when i say these people are in the wrong direction.
i know i'm not in the right direction.
and it's hard when there's no left
and it's hard when there's no right.
especially when your metaphors do backflips.

in other words, i'm not going to new york, no way jose.
my family is too important to me, and i don't got no familia in New York.
it might not seem like it but i have a plan
a simple plan, but a plan nonetheless.
i will get a simple job and will ride a bike to get there.
this has been my plan since the beginning, when i thought i was going to move to ireland
before i wanted to be a mortician or a dentist
or a cute little wife in a cottage.
which i've never wanted to be for the record.
but i want to live with carla, sort of. i think me and her could live just the quiet life we need for inspiration.
because i'm not alive unless i'm inspired.
not that i'm ever inspired to do anything useful, but i'd still rather be inspired than uninspired.
not to say i'm ever bored.
rarely bored, right?

i remember in freshman year when i had that counselor, the same one that said where you sit in a room has nothing to do with anything, she said that you have to go out into the real world and get a job in order to be independant. and i said to her, well that would just make your more dependant, wouldn't it? and on people you have no reason to trust. she didn't have much of an answer for that. and that was enough for me, then, to flunk my cephelopod tests without a second thought. since it doesn't matter anyway.
basically i've always had the wrong attitude
but recognition does necessarily lead to change.

rarely, in my case.

i guess the thing is that i'm not paying attention to the right things?
or are they not being presented to me?
and what does it matter since....(all we are is dust in the wind)
the way i see it i have a purpose: to help my brother, my nephew, my sister, my parents, myself.
jesus ....



i don't want to be a number. And i hear pennywise "land of the free! free to control your lives!" and i know that i'm already a number. but not if i...have all the right information. what do i need a number for if i know already?
i should get skilled in hard labor. that's useful.
i get the feeling it's coming to an end.
the money, the ways
the world as we know it.
i'm prepared for disaster
unfortunately that's about all i'm prepared for.

on new years, when ana was panicking because she thought the world was going to end, i was oh so calm. i just nodded.
pity to die on coricidin.
now...
coricidin sounds like a plan.
a plan that complicates all the rest of my plans
because it just leads to erratic thoughts that make people think i'm nuts. what does that matter, my thoughts are already permenantly erratic.
proof of that EVERYWHERE.

bored bored bored all of a sudden.
45 minutes left of class.

dang i'm sick
i got the chills
i got the sore throat
i mostly got the chills.
fuck chills.
FUCK CHILLS!
you know what chills reminds me of?
thrills and chills!
fucking chollet, right!
fucking Coricidin Cough and Cold HBP status right there.
i have a cold
i have a cough
*cough cough*
i have the chills
i feel like...
some coricidin!!!!
and i hear in my head
papa smurf could i lick your ass! yeah lick my ass bitch
and i'm laughing and laughing
and i says to myself
you're going to the mental institution

i just got home
i'm on the scholars honor roll with a whole bunch of other people that aren't likely to amount to anything.
a grade is just a grade, it doesn't mean you learned anything.
maybe that's the difference.
i feel less sick than i was during school.
Much less pissed off.
i'm just a nutcase!
i'm just a teenage dirtbag!
but who cares?
i'm so excited!
and i'm so happy!
and i'm watching seinfeld, a rerun i've seen run and run and rurunned.
i gotta paint my nails.
boy oh boy
the end.