"HEY. THAT IS MY SINGING 'BE HAPPY' BASS, AND IT BETTER STILL BE UP THERE...INCLUDING THE BATTERIES."

Gilmore Girls fix.
So sue me.
I'm still not packed out for State, I've barely touched the Plyler essay, and I could not care less about anything...
Tomorrow, I leave for Tampa.
It will be amazing.
And I'll see Alex.
That will be amazing. Or at least has the possibility of being amazing.
Egad.

THE SAT IS FOR SLEEP.

Actually, it was a nice opportunity to mingle with races from other public high schools...And to eventually be scorned by them.
I have yet to pack for State, which is a bad thing, seeing as we leave in 48 hours. Of course, I also have homework to do, and old-man pants to buy, and so on...
It's going to be a fun two days.

I clack and rattle at these keys with whatever feeble vapor still doth possess me. I am worn from weary travel, along the outskirts of sanity and the underlying meanings of reclamation. I feel the drudging pressure of burden and leadened sorrows slung daintily across the breadth of my shoulder-span. Each ungreased mechanism, each rusted joint flex into solid grooves, scraped and eroded from the continual back and forth of effort, of work, of valued labor.
Here lies the blind spot within my human nature. Here, in the perpetual glow and aura of light itself, I sit, my metallic soul basking in the utmost of void and the deepest of hues. It's hardly an instance of emotion or bleak, flailing anger; it lies solely in the context of alienated remorse, secluded regret, and, logistically, base and vile misunderstanding.
Why must I seek to restore shattered crystal that has degraded its value with each re-plastered shard?
Why must I remain so blind to the agonizing pleas of the few, the masses that surround me, crowding in ever closer, whispering my name with their impetuous and shrill voices filled with notes of a query I cannot possibly hope to supplement?
Why doth my heart retain its beating and my lungs possess pure breathing when that which lurks inside threatens to expose my ever-collapsing inhumanities?
There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
'Cause the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing.

HER NAME IS ALBERTA; SHE LIVES IN VANCOUVER.

AP Language, tomorrow, you will have met your match.
But for this evening, I laugh at how you dangle mercilessly just hours over my head.
At the moment, I'm on my way to the couch about six inches away from this chair, on which I will rest for a minimum of two/three hours, after which I will drag myself off of and trickle down south in the general direction of Venice, to celebrate the 70th birthday of my great-aunt, Frank.
[Editor's Note: Aunt Frank makes much more sense than Uncle Frank. Trust me.]
I'm certainly ready for "spring break" to reach the ultimate in closure. It's held very little for me, not to mention the angry extent to which I've realized that I wish desperately to strangle my ailing grandmother any chance in which I'm "blessed" with a visit...Think strangulation by spring roll.
Duck and soy sauce packets to follow, I guarantee.
MSG'd!

I AM PROUD OF AMERICA'S ASSENT INTO BATTLEDOME STATUS.

This should explain everything.

GOD ATTACK THE QUEEN: SEND BIG DOGS AFTER HER THAT BITE HER BUM.

I remain eternally jealous that Eddie Izzard posted something onto Warren's comment area on MySpace...
Imagine that: a transvestite and a male lesbian.
But we digress.
There's been a rowdy game of Phone Tag ensuing for the last three days between Elis, B-Rock, and myself, and our adventure tomorrow/Wednesday is becoming bleaker and bleaker by the moment...Unless I happen to let them catch me, undoubtedly losing the Phone Tag Cup and various Phone Tag Prizes, but ensuring that I'm not stuck riding the monorail with that dastardly fiend, Goofy.
Forsooth.
I'm going to meander my way out into the wilderness of my front yard, at which point I viciously accost our leaf blower, set it in reverse [Editor's Note: Now, a leaf sucker.], and destroy the leafy landscape that surrounds our home...
Ha, ha! I laugh in an evil yet gallant fashion!

AND THIS YEAR, THE EMO AWARD IS PRESENTED TO:

Have you ever had anyone look into your eyes?
I mean really look into your eyes.
It feels as if they know all the thoughts your thinking.
It is both exhilarating and terrifying.
It makes me tingle and it makes me melt.
And it's how I feel every time he looks at me.
Oh, yeah. I think so.

MEH.

Well, our Political forum will momentarily surpass 900 posts...Which just proves how much time the AP Language students have to bicker ignorantly about topics they have little understanding of.
Always a good thing.
I'm excited that this is the last hour I'll spend in the News Room for a little over a week. The hour could not end quickly enough.
Swizzle. Pammo isn't here today. And she has to sign my State form.
Oh, swizzle.

THE FOLLOWING BLOG ENTRY ALSO EXISTS ON ANOTHER JOURNALING WEBSITE. IF YOU HAVE ANY RETORTS TO THIS BLATANT SELF-PLAGIARISM, EMAIL ME AT seeifigiveacrap@barrynet.com.

[Editor's Note: Click on the link. I dare you.]
So, perhaps I could find a little more time over the next few weeks to blab all over my poor, lonely blog until it's covered in spittle and is utterly boiling over with rantified Kelley-in-a-bottle.
Ugh. Imagery.
What to say...Well, it's Wednesday, which implies that tomorrow should be Thursday, which guarantees that Spring Break will begin as soon as Wolfy proposes to Elise and breaks the heart of her softball-playing-parrot-toting-lover, Ms. Kimball.
That seems to make sense.
What will the break hold? I'm not so sure.
Any suggestions?

HOW DO YOU EXPRESS ABSOLUTE, UTTER, PAINFUL EXHAUSTION IN ONE SENTENCE; ONE MEAGER SENTENCE CANNOT POSSIBLY EXPOUND UPON THE UTMOST MENTAL FATIGUE, THE EPITOME OF INTERNAL STRIFE: LOSS, ACHING, PULLING, AGONIZING, STRENUOUS, DILAPIDATED, UNASSISTED THOUGHT.

I guess that's how.

"EWW. PLEASE TELL ME THEY'RE NOT FLIRTING ON BLACKBOARD."

So, the Political Board has exploded in what is claiming to be "virtuous debate."
I hang my head in shame at those rabble rousers...
Saturday was the night at Sak to end all evenings. Byron kidnapped my oblique frame, and we romped on a magical bus to view the late show for absolutely no cost!
I don't know if I can go into significant detail in my typing...It's something that can only fully express itself in spoken Kelley dialect, and I certainly don't have the energy to translate via keyboard.
Not when I have multiple choice questions to complete.

MMM...CRABS.

I don't see what's so wrong with Stalin's Crab Army.
As long as they bring butter.

NO ONE MOURNS THE WICKED.

Which is probably why no one has bothered to call me this afternoon.
Heh. I'll deal.
Actually, the week has finally subsided, with nothing but our State meeting this evening, followed by a lesson in self-preservation I'd like to call Keeping Kelley Awake During The Drama IV Show. It's a working title, but we're proud of it.
Crash, go the cymbals.
So, Elis is off in La La Land [Editor's Note: The land was decisively named by the King himself, La La La Voom, III.] with new beau, Matt; K-Max has asked Jen-Gerh to the Prom [Editor's Note: Giggle.]; CMoore cannot stop complaining about his love life [Editor's Note: Which currently involves both Anthony and Casey, his "biznits."].
Kelley is single, and all is well.
Haha! Haha!
I feel like dancing to "Eye Of The Tiger" in utter victory fashion.

"I JUST THOUGHT I'D LET YOU KNOW," SAYS VERTICAL HORIZON.

We have taken the liberty of adopting another fallen squirrel. He was surrogately named "Peanut," but something within me screams for change in that process. Something more legitimate, perhaps.
I'm pulling for "Paul."
[Editor's Note: As in "Plyler," not "Stalker."]

IT'S BEEN A HARD DAY'S NIGHT.

I've been popping pills like a pathetic poodle. Which is alliteration, if you care to know.
I am in Physics. I am obviously doing a great deal of work.
In total reality, I'm addicting fellow classmates to MySpace. Soon, the world will be dominated by a race unaccustomed to legitimate internet research, but only mindless drooling on websites devoted to "upping your friend count."
The true dream of millions.