I like following the desperate need to become "normal" or attractive. Of course, I wouldn't wish to be too "attractive" (I think I'm translating that into too "sexy" or trashy) but just a right amount of natural beauty and natural feel is good.

Growing up spoiled is probably the worst thing to ever do, because it blinds your senses and sense of reality. I wish I could drive. Or even ride a motorcycle. A Kawasaki would be nice, especially in this warm-weathered place. I'd like some gagues, just because I think smaller ones look cute. A gym membership would be nice…and those feathers? Girls at my school are going to hair salons and getting feathers mixed into their hair, and it fashionably looks positively beautiful. I desire it so badly, to want more and more and more, to be envied, to be happy.

But that's not truly happiness, it's just a false sense of satisfaction. I can't get everything I want, and I have to get over that. I want a beautiful nose, softer hair, wider eyes. But that doesn't come as naturally. You can never really have what you want. Especially when you want everything.

(Secretly, I've always had that natural curiousity of "what if I was a boy?" "what if I could go back in time?" "what if I blended in?" "what if I knew everything I know now?" "what if I ever did something worthwhile?")

But an epiphany, at least for me, is that I'm not such an amazing person. A bit of a horrible person, but everybody has a little pain at least on the inside, and I suppose that's just what makes us human.

I'm stating the obvious, but when I type it out, I feel like I've really said it and I'm really just getting over it.

In actuality, I'm just procastinating. I need to type the last half of my research paper, but I'm much too lazy to start. Instead, I'm letting time tick away, coming onto random networking sites.

Yoga is starting to settle me. This week I've been so busy, I haven't really worked on it, but I should. It's quite comforting. Whenever teachers or adults ask me what I'm into, and I reply with "yoga" (because I clearly have no other life), they always tell me a story about some person they know that does yoga or teaches yoga or something. When I can actually hold some kind of silly, small-talk conversation with someone in the 30's or 40's, it almost makes me feel a bit mature, even though it's ridiculous. I guess I'm just not used to relating to teachers.

Although it comes in handy, how socially awkward I am. I can use these teachers for references. My Algebra teacher always picks up whatever novel I'm carrying around and starts talking about it, asking if it's good or not. I enjoy talking about literature, though I often have negative opinions.

Our AP English class is supposed to start reading "The Hunger Games" next week. I finished that one week ago, only because my uncle sent it on my birthday. I usually tend to avoid teen novels because they seem too immature, I like the adult voices in mystery and drama novels. I also really like the Catcher in the Rye character's voice, the sort of sour feel.

Back to The Hunger Games, as a quick review, it's a bit of a short book. Another typical futuristic novel, teen boy, teen girl. They have some type of government that the author obviously constructed just so our modern society would dislike. But instead of presenting the idea of "Let's shut down this futuristic, crappy government!" in this novel (it's introduced in the following books,) the book just focuses around this naive girl. And here she is, being "rebellious" to the government, but never actually opposing it. And then she takes Peeta's heart, and she tears it up! She's so entirely blind, she doesn't see his actual love, and is like "oh, he's pretending to love me so we don't die!" but Peeta really, truly is deeply in love with her. So she pretends to go along. What happens? Peeta finds out it's a scam and his heart shatters. Poor Peeta. Poor poor Peeta. And during the confrontation, the main character…Katniss, she doesn't do anything. She doesn't say anything or try to be comforting or tell him she had any such feelings for him. She just stares as he walks away. Bad Katniss.

So, as the author's little marketing technique, I asked my mom to get the second book just so I can hopefully read that Katniss actually properly apologizes to Peeta. She had better apologize.

Dear Paige,

please stop chilling around DTribe, and actually write your paper.

I'm pretty sure my Chrome's spell check does not work on Depression Tribe entries, so the blog is riddled with mispellings. I'm sorry.