Isolationism seems to be at times completely unavoidable. Falling merely into the vicious cycle that is normal mediocre life brings one into the inescapable current on a beach with no lifeguard. Within a short period of time the strings will be cut, and yet another cycle of freedom and its downfall to isolation will occur, only to give way yet again to the well known cycle. The view that it lends however to the surrounding environment enhances the beauty found in its own isolationism, and soon after, hopefully, the routine will fall short of the viciousness and revel in a higher level of peace, education, and social satisfaction.

the culmination of the year is approaching in a fashion that i did not quite expect. the pride i had in myself last year has faded with my downfalls and grades this year. I remain happy and optimistic, yet tarnished, and every bit as mildly self centered I was the previous year Depsite the numerous occasions that ugly pronoun is used throughout this entry, and this diary as a whole "I" really is getting old. Colleges expect the accomplishments of the "I" while teachers encourage it. But what does the conscience behind the "I" do when it feels that "I" is used to frequently? Quick to judge, criticize, ditch, slack, work, doing everything and anything that is not told to be done. Even the words the fingers type out onto the plastic keys have no value. Optimism is still the driving force that fuels the vehicle of self however. Positive thinking has become a cliche obstacle, and the issue of cliche has already been addressed. The constants of the experiment are breath, color, water, and sun, but only a quarter of the variables remain to be determined.

There's a dilemma that seems to run rampant through most kids today: We think we're something special because we know we're not, therefore, for the plain fact of being just "ordinary" we're different, and therefore special. But it's a vicious cycle, stoned or not, complications arise where the "industry of cool" blends with the "Indie" lifestyle. Unwanted lables are unavoidable, burnouts are smart kids are loadies, are indies, are hippies, are at buffalo records. Gas prices keep on going up and hemp is still illegal to grow. But what do I know? I think I'm ordinary, so I must be pretty damn special. Narcissism much? If you can't beat it, you don't want to join it, what can you do about it? Apathy is a great start.

grow up.

The endless sheets which should be enveloping my consciousness lie around me as I sit at my contained chaotic temporary trivial universe sipping at my earl grey and honey. This slow haze is nothing particularly unusual except for the fact that it has come quite early in the year. True, apathy is something that has plagued me for near two years, however this newly found intense feeling for something more meaningful than the nonsense that has brought the beings formerly considered my aquaintances down the overall age of three and one half. Talk of this veneer of knowledge seems endlessly tedious, as I am constantly reminded by some divine way of the assignments I have, am, or have yet to complete. January is a cold month. The young man at my doorstep yesterday spoke of snow in Ventura. His demeanor sweet, but eyes reddened of herbal tendencies. Substance consumes as they are consumable. The red that is to appear during the hour of eleven tomorrow morning brings me back to the unavoidable unwant for people who lack considerate demeanors. Simply one hundred and fifty days are left of this treatment plan that is named Senior High School. And as much as she would like to remain not only anonymous and in the mindset of which what has been writen is of meaningful and necessary merrit, she falsly believes she is much too mature to believe that trickery can bring her to be any more than typical.

I am now, and shall be until spring, an official applicant of the University of California. Once my dad filled out all the billing information, he stepped away from my computer and let me click the submit button. Although it was a mere click of the mouse, for some reason that didn't stop me from become extremely nervous over the entire ordeal. As I was waiting for my dad to overview my application, I saw my entire high school career flash before my eyes. I felt like I should have been crying, but then again I have chronically dry eyes, so that was out of the question. Even now as I sit an hour after the process has been completed, I feel as if I've just reached the top of an enormous fence that I've been climbing since freshman year, and only now will I begin my journey down the other side.

And all I have to do is think.

The Return is playiing the Roxy on Thursday night, I have been invited, and by the disapproval of my parents will not be attending. I wish the show were two weeks ago so I wouldn't have to deal with parental rules.

so good.

As of now SATs are about 17 hours away, I am not (and choose not to be) at magic mountain, and will be leaving shortly to see The Upbeat in SB. Because of this my parents are going postal, and I will be grounded if I'm one second past 12. Chances are, I'll be late. But I choose not to care.

Hate, Pollution, and Egotism, this (already) pessimistic society surely does not need an ounce more of either. ______ If every bullet was replaced with a smile, and every gallon of gas replaced with a tree, our world would be filled with happy people and trees. _______ Certainly there is nothing wrong with consciousness and optimism. _______ We can fix this thing.

Chelsea -- [noun]:Groupie

I love stepping out of a cold classroom and being reminded that the air is still warm. I love seeing the signature sign of dog ownership smudged all over people's car windows. I love knowing that at the end of the day I will always have a bed to rest in. I love knowing that I can look up and see the stars on clear nights. I love watching instead of talking. I love feeling like everything is going to be okay. I love the smell of fresh coffee beans. I love how I have the opprotunity to sleep in the sand after a hard day of school. I love knowing that if the world were to end tomorrow, I'd go about my life as normal as possible. I love the ability to stay calm. I love being reminded that everything will eventually turn out alright. I love when a good song comes on the radio the instant I start the car. I love being nudged by Maggie, getting dog slobber all over my arms. I love how the sky is blue. I love thinking about the future of the earth, and ways I could improve it. I love the blanket-like feeling that covers me when I cry, somehow reminding me that I'll forget about whatever caused the tears. I love the ability to move along. I love the colors in the morning.

So Matt Costa's playing at the House of Blues in Anaheim this Saturday at 7. If anybody can persuade their parents to drive us+Makena down, I'll pay for your ticket.

Measuring a summer's day I only find it slips away to gray The hours, they bring me pain. Tangerine, Tangerine Living reflections from a dream I was her love, she was my queen And now a thousand years between Thinking how it used to be Does she still remember times like these To think of us again? And I do. ? 99% of our elders consider our current generation to be so lucky as not to be forced to live in constant fear of a nuclear bomb like they did thirty and forty years ago. But don't they realize that we are upon the brink of something nearly worse? It seems as if the only cure for fear is to attempt to get my mind off of it, but how long is that going to last?

please let the summer go slowly and the year move fast.

the waves went nuts at Mondos today. the contour of the beach is insane. and all of my things drowned while I was bodysurfing. Including my phone and my iPod. This sucks.

we all think that we're special. There's always that one thing about ourselves that we think is "different" from everybody else; qualities or characteristics that set us apart from people. We all think somebody gives a damn about our intellectual hollywood ending. We speak of romanticsism as if it were reality, and drama as if it were another dimension. bright lights and projectors give the illusion of a society that cares about each other, but the only thing it cares about is itself. human nature and survival instinct. We all think that our life can be changed with the crack of a book and the light of a cigarette, the smoke from incense or a collection of treasures; we are defined by what we think of ourselves-why not our surroundings? Even this rant doesn't say anything. Simply stating the fact that it is explaining the thought behind all the billions of words typed on this thing is false justification. C'est la vie, would it change anything? Nothing is unique; it's ruined by the cramped space that our egos allow the rest of the world. only in our most private places are we ourselves. everywhere else we are but perceptions and impressions. I wish we could get off our high horse, it doesn't matter.

Live.