Stuff About Girls, and Stuff, and Poetry, and Stuff

I keep saying I’m not going to write another post until after Friday, and then I keep writing posts before Friday. Well, I’m nothing if not untrue to my word. So, today nothing much really happened – there are a few minor points that might be worth mentioning, but the main thing is that I’m still full of nerves and excitement and time seems to have, appropriately, slowed down on me. It’s Wednesday night now, so I’ve got the whole of Thursday to wait, and then some of Friday before I can go burst into Dr. What’s-His-Face’s office, point at him with manga-style pissed-off red lines pulsing next to my head, and holler, “Okay Dr. I-Don’t-Give-a-Shit, gimme my magic boy drugs and I won’t use my jujitsu to throw you through the wall.”

Well, I won’t really do that. Because I can’t. (If only life was a Japanese manga, though.) So, until the appointment which I’ve been alluding to FOREVER at this point actually comes around, I guess I’m just going to keep writing out my agitated, super-excited and nervous thoughts about it, and things in general. Today was your epitome of an average day at school; English class was good, lunch with friends was annoying but comfortable enough, and History class wasn’t. (At least we’ve moved on from the stupid second world war and are doing the cold war, which is infinitely preferable.) My new thing is to play the part of Iago when we’re reading Othello out loud in English class, and my teacher likes me because I’m the only one who gets really into it. I don’t know if my acting is even good or not, all I know is that I get loud and excited and Zoe even “shh’ed” me once between lines because she was embarrassed. For my summative, I’m going to do a monologue from Jack’s point of view when he gets back to England from the island (in Lord of the Flies), and I’m thinking about dressing up and everything. Anything for historical accuracy. I’m going to do a British accent, and I swear it’s not going to  be as horrible as it sounds – at least I hope not. I’m going to act like I’ve really gone off the deep end, which is the whole point of the thing.

Also I did another video for some obscure reason. Right here.

But nobody’s reading this, so nobody will actually click the link. I have accepted it as the truth. Doesn’t matter, though, I will spew out these lines whether or not someone is reading them or they are just falling into the general void of nothingness that makes up most of the internet. At least I can read them, which is something.

So. What do the spam bots ask of me? More transgender woes? I’m full of those. I could go on for weeks about my woes. Well, today my dad came over to visit, but we were stuck at home because it’s so goddamn cold around here that even the polar bears are getting pissed off, and there’s no sensible reason to go outside. My grandma ended up coming over and driving us to Tim Hortons, where we drank warm, sugary stuff and had a break from the frigidness of the world. (I also drank a whole medium tea, don’t tell my mom, that’s why I’m bouncing up and down in my chair like a frenzied monkey at eleven o’clock at night.) Well, I figure I’ll settle down in an hour or so, and even if I don’t, I’ve got my really long Shakespeare-style play to work on to wear myself out. Have I mentioned that? I don’t think I have, actually. So, I was so inspired by Othello that I started to write my own play, and I thought it was going to be really crappy until I started to get into it, and now it’s a few acts long and might actually turn into something good at the end. It’s about a transgender boy (because, of course it is, I can’t write anything else, apparently) who’s living in a kind of old-fashioned Shakespeare/fantasy world, and is threatened by an evil preacher who wants to kill him to “save his soul.” There may also be a romance involved, and some fancy soliloquies that are really overblown and stupid. But points of it aren’t actually that bad, and I’m proud that it actually makes sense and has decent characters and everything. The main character is naturally based on myself, although he’s a bit different – I’ve just been so consumed with all this crap lately that I need to write about it constantly, just to get it out of my head, and the play is really helping. I don’t think I’m going to give it a happy ending – it’s supposed to be a tragedy like Othello. Or maybe I will. I dunno.

My dad wanted to read it when he came over today, so I read some lines out loud, (the better ones, to make it sound like it’s good), but I can’t let him read it because of what it’s about. Pan, the main character, isn’t me, like I said, but he’s pretty freaking close, and he outlines very clearly his feelings about being in the wrong body, etc. That wouldn’t go over my dad’s head, that I know for sure. Instead I read him some of the good parts from The Fairie Queen, which is a weird middle-English poem by Edmund Spenser that, when it actually makes sense, is really cool. Compared with the Fairie Queen, my play Panlicentia is kind of a load of shit.

But Spenser is amazing, even if he writes half in gibberish, so I can’t really compare myself to him. By itself, Panlicentia is decent, although I can’t imagine it getting published. For my standards, anyway, there’s something to it.

So, more stuff? I don’t know. Ha, a “related content” thing just popped up below. It just says “Shit.” Nice one, WordPress.

My mom’s going to be mad at me if I don’t go to bed soon. She’s been in a crappy mood lately, because she’s sick, and I feel like I’m walking around in a minefield with her. I am trying to be better about the various annoying things that I do, but I can’t be perfect, and one of the things she gets the most annoyed about is when I stay up too late. It’s eleven now, so I should probably be getting ready – but writing on my blog calms me down, and it’s become a thing that I do lately, a nice routine. Plus I only go to school for two afternoon classes, anyways, so what does it matter? If only I lived close to the school like I used to at my dad’s house. But we live all the way in the suburbs, so it’s a good thirty minute drive into the city, and then I have to take my stupid bus ride every day back home. Usually I wouldn’t mind it very much, but since it’s so cold out lately it’s just not fun at all. I might run into a wandering polar bear or something.

That sounds ridiculous but it actually happened somewhere. Sure it was in a little town a fair ways north of here, but, when you think about it, aren’t the ice caps getting melty, and the polar bears are being forced to stand all scrunched-up on little blocks of ice floating around in the water now? You’d think eventually they’ll be pushed pretty far south. My cat just bashed his way into my room and is going around being distracting – I NEED to fix my door. It’s loose enough that with enough force he can get in, and so he does; it’s really annoying, especially at three in the morning. I think he’s already gone. I feel like he just comes in sometimes to check that I still exist, and to bother me, and then leaves again, until he comes back next time because he needs to check again, or something. Cats are really weird.

So, I should probably go to bed, I suppose. I don’t really want to. I don’t know. Whatever. I made Zoe laugh really hard in English the other day – she even turned red, she was laughing so hard. Meanwhile poor Borong, who sits on my other side, was staring between us trying to figure out what was happening – in her defense, it didn’t make much sense anyways. Sometimes I just say things or do things, and I get these really gratifying reactions from Zoe that are probably somewhat out of proportion. I’m NOT actually very funny, at least I don’t think so; but I totally understand how things are so much funnier when you’re with your friends. Sometimes Zoe says stuff and I can’t stop laughing – like how in German class she was asked what her favorite color was and she answered “meat and potatoes”, because she isn’t too good at it yet. That one had my laughing for such a long time, and even now I can’t hold in the hysterics. Meat and potatoes. Only her.

I haven’t really made any new friends, except for Borong, but she isn’t too great at English since I’m pretty sure she just moved from China, so we wouldn’t be able to hang out as easily. I’m on friendly terms with a handful of people, which is nice, but I’ve got no other real friends, other than Borong. In History class I’m pretty much alone, like Squidward in that really obscure Spongebob episode, and even though it’s a real pain and it’s bad for my anxiety, at least the teacher is really awesome. And there’s a girl named Claire (I love the name Claire) who sometimes looks at me when I talk (which is rarely), which might only be because I talk rarely, but still. I don’t know about Brooke from English class, another girl who looks at me when I talk – I haven’t noticed any obvious staring from her recently, but that doesn’t mean she’s stopped listening. I think that looking at people when they talk, and more than just once, must be a sign of vague interest, if not outright liking – but what do I know? I sit at the back of History class so I just get to stare at everyone’s heads. Claire has to make a concerted effort to turn around and look at me when I say stuff, which she actually sometimes does. Twice in recent memory. Do I need to calm down a little about that?


No, but like, seriously. Tell me if that means something, I’d honestly like to know, jokes aside. I don’t understand the finer points of the social world, although I have a decent feeling that looking at people while they talk means more than nothing, if it doesn’t mean something more than something. That doesn’t make any sense.

Yes, I must go to bed now.  Good night.


About thecellarboy

17. I write, play music, and have a cat that likes to bang his head against doors until they open. View all posts by thecellarboy

2 responses to “Stuff About Girls, and Stuff, and Poetry, and Stuff

  • pikaperdu

    Sometimes actual people read blogs. 🙂 I also enjoyed English class when I was in high school. Including the Bard but excluding Romeo & Juliet. (Those two always annoyed me.) Anyway, cheers. I wish my conversational writing style was as good as yours when I was 16.

    • thecellarboy

      Thanks a lot. And also for being a real person. It’s depressing when all I get is an endless stream of spam on my blog, and really nice when someone who’s an actual someone leaves a comment. (Oh, and the best Shakespeare romance in my opinion is the one between Viola/Olivia/Orsino in Twelfth Night, naturally I would like that one, but it’s the best because it’s so unconventional. Anyway I must stop this comment before I ramble off to eternity.)

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