Este es un Torneo para el Juego de Ghost Recon

 I don’t realize my volume until I shout over the thunder. It roars with me but falls slight to my temper.  I stop mid-sentence, and we both realize.

I’ll never get it finished, I’ve decided.  It’s worthless to even try.

I was better than the rest of them, and it felt good.

We drove together, stranger, for an hour.  Where did you go?  It was nice understanding you in your silly purple car.  Meet me again?

I watched it, but I fell asleep, so I didn’t really watch it, but I think I get the picture, and I think I got the sleep.

Wouldn’t it be nice if we could walk behind trees and not come back?

It itches and burns, the sun tingles, sizzles the skin.  It’s light on my skin; it tickles, flaunts its immeasurable (lack of) weight.  I convince myself it’s not there, then I have to—slap.  Dead.  Another one bites… my arm.  The bastard’s red bite in memoriam.

The smell of meat makes me sick.

Who says oysters are curious?  Are we really able to judge the curiosity of sea creatures?  Well, I suppose they were sort of asking for it when they dined with the humans.  Silly things.

I think my letters (if I wrote letters) would hold a lot more pomp and circumstance if I sealed them with pretentious, red sealing wax.

“Ceiling wax.”

I say I’ll stop tomorrow.  I’ll get my things in order.  I’ll get over this.  Ha.  Another day, and I screw it up again.  I’m so impressive.

I berated you, and you did nothing.  I wish you’d argue back at me.

I’m overwhelmed.

I’d love to travel across the country.

I seriously doubt that there is a more unpleasant feeling than the surprise—surprise!—of cold water anywhere, especially under socks under feet (the feet being yours, of course, not necessarily the socks, though).

Sometimes when she talks, I picture her with a microphone and a mirror.  That setting seems more fitting for any of her voluntary-for-her-awkward-for-us one-sided discussions.  The echo of “I love meIloveme, I love meIloveme” bounces from her mouth to her reflection and back and she eats the words, drooling over them, a look of desperation in her eyes.  Validation, please.  She writes herself a note of praise and digests it, never full, always hungry, never full, clearly that meal goes straight to her… head, though.  And her arms.  She has fat arms.

Sometimes, in the heat, the head seems like the perfect oven to bake a braincake.

I haven’t seen you for hours.  You lock yourself away like a pouting teenager, which, really, that’s what you are.  You think you’re punishing me.  You think I feel guilt.  You’ll get hungry, though.  You’ll get ravenous.  You know, that reminds me of those kids who got locked inside their house and started eating the drywall.  Remember that?  You wouldn’t, would you?  You forget a lot of things these days.  Maybe you’ll forget to come back.

I had a dream, and you were in it.  Do you remember?

Milhão de Blogs

Eu tenho uma internet banda larga pela Brasil Telecom, não sei direito o que aconteceu, no próximo post eu explico tudo direitinho...

O problema é, que eu agora não consigo postar no blog, me logar no Photobucket (Eu tinha feito um link especial para o Download Day...) e nem consigo me logar no MSN...

Agora eu estou usando um computador do escritório da Karine Modas...

Vamos ver no que vai dar...

...Mas eu vou tentar resolver...

E... A Brasil Telecom é uma bosta!!!

But even in Chicago I wasn't really that happy. I met a couple of good people that I ended up loving--Brigitte and Nickie, I could not have done that year without you--but most of the people in my program were vague and uninteresting, and none of them thought I was worth getting to know or befriend (other than the aforementioned, natch). I saw my family a lot, which was wonderful (the Molzab Experience is pretty lifesaving, actually), but that year was rife with disappointment. Not coincidentally, I wrote the final draft (well, not the final final draft, but you know what I mean) of AUT over those two years, and I'm incredibly, incredibly proud of it. It's the best completed thing I've ever written, in the sense that I think the writing and characters are very good, but also it is a definite expression of myself. It takes all the pathos of my life at that time, amps it up several thousand degrees, combines my restlessness with my struggle to be optimistic in the face of the gradual realization I was having that maybe people are not all essentially good. I dragged my characters across hot coals for three hundred pages to see--and to show--what they were made out of, like Kurt Vonnegut rightly suggests, but I ended on a vaguely hopeful note, which is the exact place I was at the end of my year of grad school, when I turned AUT in for a grade. I poured myself into that book, filled it up to the brim with my ruminations on faith and people and crime and absolution and possibility and courage. I hope that someday people get to read it, because you can only talk to yourself about such heady things for so long.

The next book I planned was to be different. Still a mystery, but a little lighter (Saturday I said to Cambria, "Isn't it sad that I think of MB as my 'light, happy book'?" Knowing much about the plot and characters, she concurred), more romantic, funnier. It seemed like the right project--after all, I was finally happy, really happy, the kind of happy I'd never been before--the sort of happy that you feel when you make it yourself. I felt like everything in my life was falling into place spectacularly, which should've been my first clue that something was amiss, because things never happen to me in that way. But I let my desire to stop overthinking for once override my superstitious inclinations, that little nagging voice in my head that said "Look, this is really unlikely--OPEN YOUR EYES."

I don't want to go into it, but suffice it to say that I no longer feel this way. On Friday, before everything changed, I was actually on the train thinking, "God, if I really end up with the life I've always wanted, what am I going to write about? Sure, I'll finish MB, but then what? How can I write GR (the project I have planned after MB, which is much darker than MB, sort of on par with AUT but maybe darker still? I don't know, I have a hard time measuring the levels of darkness in my own work) if I don't have any angst left?" This was sort of a silly conversation I was having with myself--of course my life wasn't really perfect and I certainly didn't ever expect it to be--but on the ride home on Saturday morning, devastated as I was, low and behold the first line and scene of GR came to me and I love them. I expected to have a burst of creativity after typing out about a paragraph and a half (just to remind myself for later) but I wasn't really focused enough for that this weekend. But then, suddenly the fear set in: Can I write MB now, feeling the way I do? Is my ability to write so tied to my own emotions that I cannot divorce myself from how I'm feeling (embarrassed and worthless and generally low) and continue on with the story the way I meant to tell it? Will I be torturing myself by writing a splendidly happy moment for my characters when I'm feeling like this?

If you're worried, don't be: I can do it. I pushed myself last night and told myself, "This is the world you live in now; forget the other one; adjust and create accordingly." And I did. I didn't finish that splendidly happy moment, but I continued it, and eventually I will write past it and then I will get over how I'm feeling and I will go back for the second draft and either be proud of myself for writing outside of myself or if it feels insincere I will fix it. But I can't help wondering how this will change MB--will the darker elements of the mystery come into play more than I had originally planned them to? Probably. But that's a good thing, I think. And I'm pretty sure GR won't suffer from my life finally being in order--thank God for small favors.

aeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ela criou juizo finalmente e vai cmg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! uhulllllllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

pronto, agora tô sussegada... haha

história verídica so para esclarecimentos.

bom, fui perguntar pro Marcus malvadão os docs que precisava pra inscrição do HCP... e ele me fala pra ver no blog da Ana; mas tem a Ana do GR e a Ana do HCP... dai ele me manda um emoticon fingindo grito de indignação e me fala que é a Ana do HCP; claro que a pergunta foi inocente, mas o emoticon valeu a pena.. rs

so tenho que pegar a música do créu [equinha] pra levar e quando o Marcus adorável não se comportar, eu acordo ele com a música bem alta no ouvido dele... e saio correndo! haha claro, alguém acha que eu quero morrer logo??? claro que um suborno de café da manhã caprixado deve acalma-lo né... mas a gente finge que não sabe disso... por enquanto!

ah sim, vamos todos para a Universal no dia do meu níver, com um leve teor alcóolico no sangue.. imaginem ir na ride do Spiderman levemente bêbada? o máximo! pelo menos não é uma Sheikra da vida... senão, era sair da Sheikra e ir carregada pro ambulatório!

bom, para quem quiser saber, e para eu me lembrar também, obvio, vou colocar aqui; créditos pra Ana, do HCP de julho 08; Ana, seu blog ta ajudando na hora do desespero que você nem iamgina! valeu!

gastos antes da inscrição.. típico de STB e Disney!

amanha tô indo com mama no Mueller comprar ingresso pro show do Roupa Nova - Roupacústico 2!

aceitamos ficar no máximo na 5ª fileira.... e la no meio! na frente do palco; nada de laterais... dói o pescoço, idade ta avançando.. sabem como é ne! so tenho 21 anos poxa!!

ah sim, R$120,00 a inteira,  fileiras 1 até a 15! básico! ainda bem que pago meia... aliás, ainda bem que estudo e mãe que vai comrpar vai comprar uma inteira e uma meia entrada; Teatro da UP... como diriam as meninas do HTP... luxo e riqueza!

alguém ja ouviu The Veronicas - Untouched?? viciei na música!

minhas amadas roomies Gabi e Andressa [ ou Andy, como o Marcus apelidou] vão me aguentar ouvindo música repetida.. espero que elas não reclamem muito... haha! mas é normal.. adoro ouvir a mesma música várias vezes... over and over again, u know!

STB amanhã? ainnnn

veremos!

=P

não tô prometendo mais nada ultimamente... sempre desfaço meus planos mesmo!  

ah sim, vi Transformers ontem... fui deitar às 5hs so! haha cedinho poxa... curti muito, mas queria ter visto no cinema...

ah sim, Marcus, valeu por postar o video do Dreams Come True Parade no seu orkut especialmente para mim! =] amo essa parada! e ainda bem que ainda tem na Disney! tô com saudades de ver a Parada na minha frente, dar tchau pra todo mundo, tirar fotos... u know what I mean! ah sim, te adoro seu malvadão pentelho! haha [beem carinhosa eu nee! normal!]

bjos

Now the faces of Jackson's children have been revealed, are they really his?

By Alison Boshoff
Last updated at 10:31 PM on 28th May 2008

They appear to be absolutely normal, and utterly unremarkable.

There is nothing about the girl, with her flowing brown hair and fine, pretty features, or her two handsome brothers which would merit a second glance.

But, on closer inspection, there is perhaps just something in the way which the older of the two boys is looking, in eager glee at his surroundings which lets you know that he is enjoying a moment of rare freedom.

For these are the rarely seen children of Michael Jackson.
Michael Jackson's children

Revealed: Paris, left, Prince and younger brother Blanket visit a Las Vegas bookshop in the early hours - without their usual disguises

They have spent their lives being veiled, shrouded and even masked in public.

Until very recently, only those in Jackson's inner circle would have recognised them.

They have been brought up in the most peculiar way in gilded isolation - without friends, conventional schooling or even a mother.

The children have had a tiger cub to play with at home, but never a friend.

Theirs has been a totally unconventional existence: they have feasted on Kentucky Fried Chicken in presidential suites in hotels across the world, and shopped at London's Hamleys toy store in the middle of the night.

They have trailed across the globe after their eccentric father, who seems to be in a state of flight from the scandal which sticks to him, and the financial meltdown which is imminent (Jackson gets through around £500,000 a month, and is seeking to refinance his considerable debts.).

Saddest of all, they have just lost the nanny they called "Mom" and who Jackson was said to have been on the brink of marrying.

And through all this, they have seen the world only at one remove - through a disguise.

Jackson, who has long loved to cover his face both to hide his macabre plastic surgery and fend off the germs he fears, has said veiling his children originally started as a way to protect them from potential kidnappers.

He used to tell them it was all part of a "game" with photographers.

However, it always looked disturbing, even a little gothic, to see the children masked, and you have to wonder how it made them feel to hide their perfectly normal faces this way.

The last time they went out, to see a show in New York, all of them - including Michael - wore wigs and dark glasses, even when they went backstage to meet the performers.
Jackson's kids

Under cover: Jackson with Paris and Prince in 2005

When they went to Disney World, they all wore masks over their eyes, as well as baseball caps.

At Berlin Zoo, when they were still tiny, their faces were completely obscured by scarves.

Last week, though, Prince, Paris and Prince Michael were pictured visiting a Las Vegas bookstore.

They browsed through children's books, while their father stayed in the music section.

He was, as usual, covered up with a scarf and hood.

The resemblance between Prince and Paris, the older two, is striking - both have the same colouring and delicate bone structure.

Six-year-old Prince Michael - known as "Blanket" - is much darker than his two older siblings.

It was Blanket, or course, who was dangled off a hotel balcony as a newborn by his father, who later said: "He enjoyed it. He started to respond by going 'eeee'."

So what of these three motherless children? What is the truth about their extraordinary lives?

And what kind of a father is Michael Jackson - if he is indeed their father at all?

Those close to Jackson say he started a family in an effort to banish the demons of his own childhood.

He was bullied and beaten by his father, Joe, who turned him into an international star before he was a teenager but never, according to Jackson, showed him love or affection.

Debbie Rowe, a nurse whom he met during a dermatological consultation, and who became his second wife, said she agreed to bear children for him because he was so desperate to be a father.

Jackson would pace the corridors of his Neverland home cradling baby dolls and talking to them, such was his yearning for a child of his own.

When they married in 1996, she was seven months pregnant with Prince.

Rowe told an ex-lover she had agreed to try for a baby using artificial insemination as a "favour to a friend", though she did not name the "friend".

Jackson has repeatedly denied that his blue-eyed son, born in February 1997, was the product of artificial insemination.

He was "made the natural way", he told interviewer Martin Bashir.

Rowe went on to give birth to Paris Michael Katherine the following year, even though she continued to live apart from Jackson and her son.

It seems to have been more of an arrangement than a marriage.

Jackson has admitted that he "snatched" Paris from the delivery table within seconds of her birth and "took her home with the placenta all over her".

He giggled during an interview at the memory of how excited he was to have another baby, seemingly unaware of how disturbing his behaviour had been.

The upbringing of these two children was, from the first, every bit as disturbing as his own dysfunctional childhood.

They were not allowed to associate with other children, and did not attend school or nursery.

Instead, their father was with them day and night. He would do everything for them, watching cartoons with them and singing them nursery rhymes. He also shared their room.

There would be a new toy every single day, and the children were encouraged to spend their time climbing trees with their father, or having water balloon fights with him at his Neverland ranch.

He bought a tiger cub for them to play with.

Jackson, who was said to be heavily under the influence of painkillers (a legacy of his multiple plastic surgeries), retreated into a second childhood with Prince and Paris.

There was a team of nannies but they were mostly sidelined - Debbie Rowe once recalled that she wasn't even allowed to change her babies' nappies, as Jackson wanted to do that all himself.

"Michael pays so much attention, I would have nothing to do . . . It is unusual, but I don't think it's weird," she said.

Later, she changed her tune quite radically and said that she would not have another child for him even if he offered her £50 million.

Reports from Neverland indicate that everything had to be perfect for the children.

Jackson, who has a phobia of germs, wanted the air in the nurseries to be filtered and constantly checked.

Nannies had to wear gloves when preparing food, and threw away utensils after only one use.

Debbie quickly disappeared from her children's world. By the time she filed for divorce in October 1999, she was only an occasional visitor.

She did not ask for custody of them.

These days, they do not even know that she is their mother. Their last contact with her came in 2005, when they were brought by their nanny, Grace Rwaramba, to see her at a Los Angeles hotel.

Rowe was aghast to discover the children called Grace Mom. Who, she asked, had they been told she was?

"A family friend," said Grace.

Rowe was initially angry, and said that the children had been abducted on fake passports.

Eventually, she signed a further legal agreement giving up all claim to them in return for an enhanced financial settlement (£750,00 a year, on top of her initial settlement of £8 million plus a house).

So the children - Blanket was born thanks to a surrogate mother who Jackson says he has never met - have been raised with only a father figure.

Jackson often takes them abroad and on those late-night visits to museums and shops - usually between 2am and 3am - when everything is closed to the public.

One who saw them during a tour of a museum in Vegas a few years ago said that while Jackson was looking at the classic motorbikes in an excited state, the children were noticeably sleepy and pale.

It seems that Jackson is obsessed that they might be kidnapped. In Berlin five years ago, he ordered his security team not to allow anyone out of the lifts until he and the children were hidden in their suite.

He also insisted management swept the room for recording devices, and requested special filters for the air-conditioning units.

Uri Geller, Jackson's friend, said with understatement: "They do not have a normal family life as you or I would know it."

Others, though, insist that the children are very happy.

Bryan Monroe, of Ebony magazine, met Jackson and his youngest child last year, and said: "Blanket was not masked - he just walked into the hotel room and shook hands.

"He sat down and watched cartoons. I was struck by the father-son relationship that appeared to be very authentic."

Is Jackson, though, their biological father? He has always insisted that he is, even though Rowe has remarked: "Michael knows the truth. He has to come clean."

Their fair skins would seem to back her up, but Professor Steve Jones, an expert in genetics from UCL, says it is possible that they are indeed his biological offspring.

He said: "If Michael Jackson had, say 500 children with Debbie Rowe, you would expect some of them to be very white and some to be very dark.

"On average, they should be somewhere in between, and that is what you have here."

Whatever the truth, the three of them are his life. Which is why he was so terrified of going to jail on charges of child molestation.

After being acquitted, the singer (who turns 50 in August) returned to Neverland only to pack up, and has not returned since.

First, the Jacksons went to Bahrain. Then they moved to Switzerland, and then Ireland.

At the centre of this peripatetic life was stunningly attractive Grace Rwaramba, whose job title was nanny, but she was far more than that to Jackson and his children.

Grace, originally from Rwanda, was Prince Michael's first nanny - a position of great trust.

She also looked after Michael, and after his trial, no one got to speak to him without her say-so, including his own family.

The pair were so close that many insiders said they would marry. Indeed, last summer Jackson's legal team apparently were charged with finalising Grace's divorce from her first husband.

Their relationship was certainly the longest Jackson has ever managed with another adult.

Grace shared his humanitarian drive and would spend hours planning projects to save children living in poverty.

She supported Jackson's wish to adopt five children from the developing world, a plan that never came to fruition.

And Grace apparently believed Jackson had been a victim of terrible smears at the trial and might yet be rehabilitated.

She encouraged him to change manager, lawyer and record label.

But she has suddenly found herself surplus to requirements and has been frozen out.

Some reports say she is suffering from the auto-immune disease lupus, which may explain why she has been dropped from his life - the singer has long been terrified of contact with anyone who is sick.

A new nanny is in her place. The Jackson family unit is tighter than ever before - and that's just the way Daddy likes it.

"World Tour" traz uma série de novidades de peso para a franquia, como a inclusão de vocal e controle em forma de bateria - "a mais realista da categoria", segundo o trailer divulgado, com três "pads" coloridos, dois pratos e um pedal de bumbo -, assim como fez "Rock Band".

Além disto, foram reveladas as primeiras imagens do editor de personagens - agora, é possível criar seu próprio astro do rock - e do sistema de composição de músicas. Com a função Music Studio, os jogadores podem criar suas próprias canções e compartilhá-las via internet através do site GH Tunes.

Para isso, o jogador poderá formar uma banda virtual - criando nome, logotipo, capa de disco e tudo mais - e competir online nas Batalhas das Bandas. Há também uma modalidade multiplayer entre bandas, com até quatro instrumentistas virtuais por grupo. Por ora, ainda não se sabe se o Wii e o PlayStation 2 também terão esse recurso.

Seleção de astros

A Activision não revelou a lista de artistas presentes no game - o trailer afirma que terá "o maior repertório já visto com os maiores artistas" -, mas confirmou a presença de canções de Van Halen, Eagles, Linkin Park e Sublime. Além disso, o guitarrista Ted Nugent e a banda independente The Answers alegaram que cederam músicas para o game.

"Guitar Hero: World Tour" não é o único lançamento da franquia prevista para esse ano. A Activision também trabalha em "Guitar Hero: Aerosmith" (X360, PS3, PS2, Wii), dedicado à banda liderada por Steven Tyler, e em "Guitar Hero: On Tour", estréia da série para o Nintendo DS

Fonte: UOL Jogos

Já era o Rock Band hehe!

El miércoles por la tarde, después de trabajar, pusimos rumbo hacia el Pirineo. Llegamos bien entrada la noche, descargamos los víveres y los enseres y nos familiarizamos con lo que iba a ser nuestra residencia durante esos días: un bungalow de madera con buhardilla, 1 cama de matrimonio, 1 sofá-cama y 3 camas individuales, cocina, microondas, baño y estufa de virutas de biomasa.

Excursión al Estany de St. Maurici, Estany de la Ratera y Mirador de l'Estany

Ruta que hicimos

Al día siguiente ya nos pusimos en marcha hacia el parque. Para ello había que subir hacia Espot y seguir en dirección al Parque Nacional hasta llegar al párquing, lugar de donde no puedes pasar si no es con taxi-4x4 (pagando).

A partir de aquí empezamos a andar entre medio del bosque por un camino hecho de tablones de madera, estilo los northshore de las MTB (momento friki!), hasta llegar al puente que cruza el río Escrita, donde dejamos el bosque y empezamos a andar por prados. Seguimos andando dejando el río a la izquierda hasta llegar al cruce con la carretera que sube al Estany de St. Maurici, cerca de el Pont dels Pallers. Todo ello siguiendo el GR-11.

Caminando por el "tablao"

Por los prados, de camino al lago de St. Maurici

De nuevo nos adentramos por el bosque siguiendo un sendero sombrío con varias placas de hielo, que daban algún que otro susto (en un futuro mi culo lo comprobaría). En este punto empezábamos a ganar altura hasta enlazar con una pista que venía de la carretera. En un repecho final nos encontramos una ermita embutida en la pared de roca y la presencia de nieve en el camino. Pasamos el desvío que lleva al refugio de Ernest Mallafré y en un tramo de zigzags final llegamos a la presa del Estany de St. Maurici, a unos 1900m.

Sendero, con hielo

Ermita, cerca del lago

Mi sorpresa fue cuando vi el lago completamente helado, la verdad es que había mucha nieve para ser la época que era. El paisaje era casi artístico con Els Encantats de fondo, vigilando que los de Barcelona no se lleven el agua del lago, presidiendo desde su trono el bonito valle.

Estany de Sant Maurici, helado

Els Encantats

Una vez descansamos decidimos ir al Mirador de l'Estany, justo al otro lado del lago y en una posición elevada. Desde este lugar se vería todo el lago junto al macizo de Els Encantats. Cogimos el sendero que bordea la derecha del lago, en la zona de l'Ordigal, hasta llegar a la Cascada de la Ratera, alimentada por el Río de la Ratera. Seguimos subiendo por el sendero hasta dar de nuevo con el GR-11, ahora en pista forestal. Adquirimos altura hasta llegar a l'Estany de la Ratera, a unos 2130m. Aquí ya con mucha nieve, se hacía casi imposible andar sin raquetas de nieve. Todo y con eso decidimos seguir hasta el mirador.

Cascada de la Ratera

Estany de Ratera

Dejamos la pista (o lo que imaginábamos de ella, debido a la nieve) que llevaba al refugio de Amitges para coger un sendero que nos llevaría hacia el mirador con mucha dificultad, debido a la cantidad de nieve. Perfectamente podía haber un metro o más. Finalmente llegamos al mirador y pudimos contemplar lo espectacular del paraje en estas fechas, cuando se entremezcla el verde con el blanco.

En el desvío para ir al refugio de Amitges

Sendero hacia el mirador, con mucha nieve

Llegando al mirador, sí es el cartel!!

Estany de Sant Maurici y Els Encantats

Nuestra idea de bajar era por el lado izquierdo del lago de St. Maurici, por la zona de las Marrades del Port y el Pletiu de Subenuix, pero debido a la cantidad de nieve y que esta no estaba pisada por nadie, y por tanto no existía sendero, decidimos no arriesgar y bajar por donde vinimos, eso sí muertos de hambre.

Al llegar al bungalow nos comimos un buen plato de macarrones para olvidar el hambre y el frío en los pies.

搭配LOMO LC-A

6/6 澳洲

我準備好了！

Dear you,

You’ve put me through hell this year.  Honestly, I’ve never had such a varied range of emotions directed toward or caused by one person.  I would probably make a fairly decent actress now, thank you.  I can channel the assortment of feelings you’ve given me.  I can cry on cue because of you.  You’re so generous.

This is how you won me:  You were overwhelmingly charming.  You were a gentleman, when every other guy my age was an ass.  You were smart.  You were soft-spoken.  You claimed to be as nervous and antisocial as I was, so we connected.

You made me feel special—important, even.  You said I was your favorite person.  You flattered me, and I fell for it.

I thought we were going places, you and I.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I discovered other random girls we both know (and made fun of together) also just happen to be your favorite people.  “He’s shy,” one girl says to me.  “He really opens up and tells me his problems.  He tells me I’m his little confidant.  We’re so close.  He compliments me all the time.”

She’s so cheerful.  She’s showing off.  I want to strangle her.  You were mine.  Bastard.

Of course I felt betrayed!  Also, though, I felt embarrassed.  How did I let you fool me?  You probably laughed at my ignorance in the privacy of your evil (smart, soft-spoken, nervous, antisocial) mind, or, rather, with that girl.  You tortured me with our lack of physical contact.  We had chemistry.  You had contact with others.  You said I made you nervous.  You seemed awfully comfortable with others.

You don’t like me.  I’m not special. 

You know, I’d pay you to tell me that.  It would make this so much easier.

I’m cutting you out of my life.

Yep, we used to be best friends.  Screw it.  You tortured me this year.  I can’t let that go.  Maybe we’ll be friends again eventually, but I’ve got to get over you and your sick sycophancy.

I’ve wasted too many nights of long days in the fetal position for you, holding my waist tightly for fear that if I let go, my emotion will materialize and literally spill out from my gut.  Honestly, the emotion leaving my body would be a good thing, but I’m worried about the form it would take.  Perhaps it would look like you.  Perhaps you’d crawl out from my chest and leave me broken open and vacant, staring, heaving for air or words or emotion.  Perhaps I just couldn’t handle that.

…so I hold my waist tightly and hug until, eventually, sleep overtakes me.

Aaaayy..... que quieren que les diga, me desaparecí por el tiempo y el espacio... MARIO KART WII me absorbió por completo, que juego mas completo (claro si no fuera por el detalle del voice que no tiene) la verdad es que me he viciado por completo y nada ni nadie me a podido despegar del televisor, el juego personalmente lo recomiendo en un 100%, una de las cosas mas importantes, es que es recomendable para cualquier persona, por que es muy intuitivo... pero no por eso fácil a la larga, el juego online es SIN DUDA ALGUNA lo mejor que tiene el juego, de hecho es el online mejor logrado en un juego de Wii, pero en fin.

Bueno ya que estamos de vuelta, vamos a seguir entregándoles más información al respecto.

Saludos

Rugzak klaarmaken, wandelschoenen aan en op pad gaan !

Wandelen !

Maar deze keer iets speciaals.

We gaan ons eigen stukje GR markeren !

Een wandelpad van ongeveer 15 km lang tussen Kluisbergen en Ronse, van het Kluisbos naar het Muziekbos. Dat gaan Bert en ik onderhouden. Dat betekend toch zeker 2 keer per jaar de wandeling doen, met rode en witte verf bij de hand.

15 km heen... maar ook terug !

1 mei was het zover

onze eerste keer (ahum)

Een beetje laat vertrokken, wat er voor zorgde dat we pas om middernacht weer bij de auto waren (woeps)

Maar dat kon de pret niet drukken, we hebben er allebei van genoten, 't was echt fijn, een prachtige omgeving !

Original Source [NY Post]

• Jackson Working on Comeback album [Ireland Online]
• Jacko hard at work on new album [Denver People]
• Michael Jackson starts serious work on comeback album [SAWF]
• Michael Jackson puts personal life on hold to promote new CD! [Hip Hossip]
• Michael Jackson swears off the ladies for new album [Masalaweb]
• Michael Jackson bans kids from Studio [Best Rumor]
• Michael Jackson Comeback Album!! [Celebrity Unplugged]
• Micheal Jackson working on comeback LP [Usher Fanz]
• MICHAEL FOCUSING ON HIS ALBUM [UCrave Blogging]
• Jackson bans kids from studio [DianzHongWang]
• Michale Jackson working on new album, bans kids [Team Sugar]
• Michael Jackson Swears Off The Ladies! [You didn't hear it from me]
• MICHAEL JACKSON WORKING ON BRAND NEW STUDIO ALBUM: "NO WOMEN AROUND ME".... [Toya's World]
• Mike Has Sworn Off Women [Bossip]
• No Distractions For Jackson Recording New Album [Audiotube]
• No Ladies for MJ! [Manifesto Part 2]
• Michael Jackson bans children from the recording studio [Celeb Talk]
• MJ Back In The Studio...but all by himself [The Source]
• Michael Jackson back in the studio [Showbiz Spy]
• Michael Jackson Serious About New Album [PinBoard]
• Michael Jackson swears off the ladies for new album [Kommehtapnn]
• Mike disses the Honeys and his kids for music [Celebrity Fried Rice]
• Michael Jackson Swears Off Women [Ximblr]
• MJ's back in the studio [Media Outrage]

Yesterday I decided that if, last night, my friends did not attempt to contact me in any way, the friend breakup would be official.  I would get up today and stop thinking about it.  I can't very well change the situation, can I?  I would get up and stop thinking about everything.  I would finish my homework for the weekend, then go and purchase new friends, wherever you do that.

I don't know what to do with myself.

They didn't even try to contact me.  I thought this was hurting them, too.  I thought I was a good friend.  Maybe they never needed me like I thought they did.  They obviously never needed me like I needed them.  They seem hardly as affected by this as I do. 

Maybe I'm being overly dramatic?  Maybe it's nothing?  Maybe they don't even know I'm upset?  They just think I've randomly avoided contact with them?  ...because perfectly sane people do that quite often, right?  Hmph.  Maybe they were incredibly busy last night?  I don't want to assume that, though, because if I do, and possibly get hopeful again, I'll be informed of some heartrending betrayal I could never have imagined.

That's how my luck works.

So, I went to bed depressed, entirely dry of tears.  I'm dehydrated.  I think it's all from crying.  Is that pathetic?  Heh.  I can't move myself to cry unless the situation is dreadfully inappropriate for crying.  I can cry in my car, while I'm putting on makeup, while I'm attempting cheerful conversation with my parents, anytime I'm alone for more than three minutes, except when I want to cry.  Don't get me wrong -- crying is bad.  I don't ever want to cry, really.  I just want to get all my crying done so that I won't cry in awkward places anymore.

That was off-topic.  I went to bed depressed.  I woke up depressed.  I think I got worse.  I think I've realized they really didn't care about me.  Ouch!  Then I start wondering if anyone really does?  Then I don't want to know the answer.  Then I decide I'm going to distract myself by making a feast of a breakfast, even though I'm not hungry in the least (just thirsty and sad), and I'm going to start on my homework for the weekend. 

Guess what!

My USB flash drive, containing all of my information needed for my research paper, is GONE. 

My heart rate began increasing -- rabid, savage, desperate.  No, no, no, no, no.  I searched.  I ravaged my computer desk.  It's not here.  I bolted to the kitchen and searched the table and the countertops.  Why can't anything go my way anymore?  My thoughts were starting to turn in that forbidden direction.  I grabbed my schoolbag and began digging furiously.  After everything that happened this week...  Tears.  Damn it.  Shit.  Ugh!  I was moving on from this!  I don't even care about my flash drive at this point.  I'll manage without it.  Honestly, losing it gave me more work to do this weekend, so I'll be better distracted. 

But it brought me back to thinking about my awful week, not forgetting it. 

I want some heroin.

I've been weird lately.  I've been in maybe the most depressed state of my life over this past week.

That sounds dramatic, but I'm serious.

Little things happened.  For one, my brother moved out.  He was the brother to whom I could rant and ramble about my awful days.  He left me.  Another thing, he took my cat.  That cat is magical.  If I didn't have my brother, the next best thing would have been the cat, but, you see now, he took the cat with him.  Sad me.

Ugh.  Then I discovered some things about my friends.  I learned of some dishonesty.  I learned of a little betrayal.  Some abandoning.  I felt awful (still do).  I felt rejected (that, too) and worthless and uninteresting and unneccessary.  I couldn't justify my existence.  That's something awful to go through. 

Don't think me shallow, either -- that having one falling-out with friends could make me question my life all-around.  It's not like that.  This friend breakup made me think, and when I think, I think too much, and it's usually pretty harmful.  Violent, sometimes.

I don't know.  I've got to get off my high-horse and realize that not everyone cares about me.  Not everyone is concerned about me.  Not everyone likes me more than others.  My friends chose others over me, and that hurt a lot.  My week consisted of lots of curling up in a fetal position, covered in blankets, squeezing the stuffing out of a pillow, and crying--hard. 

This week, I hurt myself.  I'm not that kind of teenager!  I've never been one for self-destruction, but this week, it seemed like physical pain was the only thing I could control.  I made scars.  I'm doing slow damage to myself in other ways.  It makes me feel good for the moment, though, even if it's greatly detrimental to my health.  I feel like I need this.  I lost my friends (they left me, actually), and I lost my one confidant.  I had no where to go!  I had no one to talk to about this, so I substituted the comfort with controlled pain.

Today I thought I'd be better.  The hardest hit of my friend breakup came yesterday (new news of betrayal about which I had no idea), so I was probably at my worst then.  Still, I tried to pull myself together, painting on my little happy, cheerful facade and going out with friends.  I hurt the entire time I was out.  I never get upset like this, and I don't know why I'm taking this so badly.  Today was going to be good, I thought.  School would be easy, and I could avoid jerk ex-best friends.  I just felt pained.  I told jokes to friends so they'd think I was ok.  I don't think they realized I never laughed or took the least bit of amusement in the jokes or any of the trite, shallow, fake conversation we had.

I'm cutting myself off.  I don't want to do it, but I don't see another option.  I've got no one to talk to, not that I'd talk to just anyone, and I'm aching all over.  I just want to shower off this week.  Will it go away?  Will I come out emotionally refreshed?  Or, when I get a moment alone, undistracted, will I break down again?

I can't do this for much longer, and I can't fix this.

Really.

I don’t really think I need to sleep, though, honestly.  I’m doing fairly well in school, as per usual.  I make some really bizarre jokes that I truthfully find tremendously amusing, you know, because I’m not sleeping.  I get my homework done very early in the day, so I’ve got plenty of time to sit and stare at the wall or lie and stare at the ceiling—it varies, because I like to mix things up.  I’m exciting in that way. 

Nights can be really annoying when I actually try sleeping, of course, because it doesn’t work, but, again, I think I’m doing perfectly fine without the sleep.  It’s overrated, right?  I mean, sure, there are side effects:  very inconsistent moods, paleness, bags under eyes, weakness, sore muscles, headaches, worsening of already severe caffeine addiction, extreme boredom (because I’ve got all night now), and general intensity in everything.  General intensity in everything is sort of fun, though.  It also means everything is a big deal to me.  I’m thinking way too much lately—more than usual, even!  I try to sleep, but my mind keeps going.  My body aches and yearns for the rest, but my brain is at its highest volume at night, evidently. 

More thinking means more overanalyzing.

More overanalyzing means more panicking.

More panicking (obviously) means more stress.

More stress means hair loss, methamphetamine addiction (again), no more fingernails, possible appendicitis (because when I was in elementary school and Lacy McLastname had to get her appendix taken out, someone said it happened because she bit her fingernails… that’s stayed in my brain for over seven years… strange), headachesheadachesheadaches, consumption of dangerous amounts of caffeine, more loud music damaging my ears further, driving entirely too fast, the urge to climb into a tree and die, generalized anxiety disorder, boring and extraordinarily long rants, self-consciousness about said rants, generally questioning myself more, frantically wanting to cut myself off from human interaction at all (or just cut myself), and the desperate need to reevaluate my life altogether.

Stress is bad, you see.

Gosh, I just love that every single blog I ever post is centered around stress. 

There—inconsistency of moods.  I’m snarky lately.  I’ve got sass.  I also think I grimace a lot more, and I really honestly don’t mean to do it…  I’m just tired.  I show my fatigue in my face.  Keeping with the inconsistency, I’m typically either laughing or glaring at something.  I’m sure I look confusing.

Ah, well.  Who needs sleep when you've got caffeine, right?

Right?