• August 24th, 2009

    School starts tomorrow. But I'm just not feeling it. Usually there's a tension in the air, some kind of electricity, a calm before the storm. But there's none. Then I have all of these people asking me this stupid question, "Are you ready for school Brian?". Of course not. No one is. You just take it as it comes, you prepare best you can. Heck, I'm doing what I do every night. Writing this journal and listening to Hollywood Undead.
    My parents made the totally random decision that I should have another shelf in my room. I wouldn't mind the extra shelf, if it weren't for the fact that they totally left me out of this decision, which affects my living space. When I argued this, that I sleep in there and I should choose how things have to be arranged, they gave me the same trumph card.
    "You're not paying rent here, I'm paying the mortgage."
    I can't admit that I didn't see that coming. Of course, that's how fair everything is: my parents and the government. Those who have the money are in a higher level in power than you. And guess what people in higher power do? They rearrange your life as easily as they rearrange the furniture in my room now. Forget the opinions of those we rule over. Let's make their decisions for them! It's disgusting, and it's everywhere.
    And of course, every time I address this horrible truth, they deny it, or give me some bullshit reason. "I cook your food, I do all these things for you, I pay for this house..." They act like I beg them for everything. Even worse, it gives people the impression I am selfish and disrespectful. Take my sister. As I was arguing about the matter, she said, "Stop whining Brian, and deal with it." Good God, she thinks it's all about the damn shelf. No, it's about my freedom to make my decisions. And I can't live without freedoms and rights.
    But she doesn't get it. Because that's what's wrong with people. They only hear what they want to hear. You know why insults can hurt more than punches? Because when done right, if you know the mind you are insulting, the words hurt the people as they are the last things they want to hear. No one knows me well enough to truly insult me. My parents say the right words a lot, but they don't know the pain they inflict. Here are some of them: lazy, disrespectful, and the worst, selfish.
    Gabby accidentally did that. You see, it doesn't matter if they meant to. If they describe me as something I am not, it hurts. People don't realize the power of words, so they just throw them around. All Gabby had to do was say, "Brian, you're selfish.", and I fall apart. Heck, she was only joking. But my friends ought to know what breaks me down mentally, so they can avoid it.
    Back on topic, I never ask my parents for anything. Mom cooks out of free will, I couldn't care less if they didn't clean the house (but the thing is, she does), Dad needs the money as much as they claim I do. And yet they point their fingers and expect me to do whatever they ask. You know what I was doing while they rearranged the furniture (literal and figurative meanings applied)? I was washing Dad's Toyota Tundra. And they call me the selfish one? All I want is my say in things.
    I know it sounds weird, but I hate it when my parents do nice things for me. It's like they're keeping score. Next time we want Brian to do something, we'll just remind him we wash his clothes! That's what I feel from them. Not a ton of love, but a ton of debt. That more or less fuels my desire for independency. Because everyone should know that dependency is a liability you often can't afford.
    But nobody knows I think like this. To display my true nature to those close to me is unthinkable. True, they may avoid hurting me by accident, but it can also give them the power to manipulate me.

    Washing the truck wasn't that bad. It was nice seeing evening settle in, families taking walks and I having something to occupy myself. Sadly there were no stars visible in the sky, a sight I can stare at forever at the Azores Islands. Even more saddening were the people going around, searching through recycling bins for cans they can recycle for money. I wanted to offer the one who came to my bin some water, but I thought it would hurt his pride. If people don't understand anything, it's pride. I hate to be pitied. If someone offers me help, I almost always refuse, unless it's impossible for me alone. My parents still don't realize that I despise the phrase, "That won't work." I always reply with the same response, "I'll make it work." And I do, because to do otherwise would be an insult to my pride and giant ego. See, I actually admit to having one.

    This cross-country practice was the worst. We ran six 600 meters around the track, resting every 600 meters for forty-five seconds. Like an idiot, I didn't pace myself, and ran ahead of the group. I did fine the first couple of 600s. But the last four really took their toll. I went from a 600 meter time of two minutes twenty seconds to two minutes thirty-three seconds.
    Interesting thing is, I don't want to quit. It's funny, when you do sports you just build this mentality "If it feels like hell, it will help in the long run." And it's true. I feel stronger every day.
    Cool thing is, nobody gives you any bullshit. Sure, the older ones pick on you, but when I arrived, it's as if I have never been gone Friday and Saturday. It felt good. They don't care enough to miss you, but they don't give you any trouble either. Conner is the best. He always lends me a helping hand and offers useful tips, as he was in cross-country Freshman year and I wasn't. Of course, I didn't listen like an idiot. Like on the 600s, when he warned me to pace myself. I think he stayed behind on me those first two 600s on purpose, so, he can really gain distance when I slowed down by those fifteen seconds. It was his strongest way of saying, "You see what I mean?"
    That's another problem with humans. We refuse to listen to warnings or suggestions until we are in deeper s**t than a fish flushed down the toilet. I am always open to suggestions, but it's in my nature not to follow them until I see myself why I should follow them. I try not to act like that though. It's bad for my character and mentality.

    As for the schedule change, Mr. Nelson asked me my name and I.D. number. As I knew he would, he raised his eyebrows when I told him my surname was Goulart. People tend to link me to Terra Goulart, an upperclassman who ran in track. Her name is in the record books. So I made the inevitable explanation that we are not related, and that Goulart is a common Portuguese surname. God, I hate common names. Goulart is one thing, but Brian is another. I'd rather be named Matthias. I would name my son Matthias.
    That's it for today. I am waking up at six in the morning tomorrow to ride get ready and ride my bike with Crystal and Michael to school. That's it for tonight.