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| Sunday, September 28th, 2008 | | 11:57 am |
| | Monday, January 15th, 2007 | | 7:52 pm |
Teenagers and Depression
We know that many of you out there are parents, with children of your own. And since some of those teenagers may be depressed, or engaging in other concerning activities such as dressing in black clothing or listening to music with nihilistic themes, we thought we'd put together a list of helpful ways in which you can help your teenager fight such a debilitating condition. We were going to address this article directly to the pour souls themselves, but then we realized-- teenagers never use the internet. Their parents are much more likely to come across our site. So we decided to target you instead. So, without further delay, the reputable How To Help Your Teenager Battle Depression. 1. Make sure that, when you talk to your teen, your smiles are suitably saccharin. It's important to be compassionate to your suffering child. 2. Help your teen to find useful readings on the subject of their condition, so that they won't go without informative statements like, "Depression often involves feelings of sadness," "Ask yourself, 'Do you really want to be depressed?' Of course not!" 3. Get rid of that goddamn Metallica. You've never liked it anyway. 4. Be sure to consult more of these helpful online sites on the subject of teenagers and depression. Most of them are written by professionals, after all. | | Thursday, December 7th, 2006 | | 11:28 pm |
Lemur-Keuvad Angst Party
You're tired? Yeah. Me too. So tired you could lie down and stay there? So tired you think you could sleep for a century, and not even mind missing the time? So tired your ears are ringing, and a headache's moved in somewhere between your temples, and it's brought its wife and kids... So tired, if it weren't for the people waiting for you, you'd just sit your ass right here, ten yards before the finish line, and it wouldn't bother you one bit. So tired, if there were a cliff instead of an exam week, you'd jump right the hell off and thumb your nose at the pointy rocks and the shark fins. Yup. Lemur's got nine and a half hours until her first exam tomorrow. And between now and then... Mount Everest, Part II: The Final Project Version. She's not going to give up on this, right? She wants to be here. She wants to do well. Right? Right? Yeah. Right. Except, you know, the people here aren't just waiting... They're saying, you'd better fucking shape up there, sweetheart. You'd better figure this out, or we're taking your life away. We'll take you home. And you know, I'd be fine with that... If it weren't for that girl. You know the one. It's only been two years, but hell, that's an eighth of my life right there. Yup. Go three hours of sleep, Lemur. It'll be better in the morning? Is it ever? Current Mood: Heh. Yeah. Guess. | | Tuesday, November 21st, 2006 | | 6:06 pm |
I Am Awesome, Keuvad, Part II
So. Tuesday night. Leaving for Connecticut tomorrow morning... laundrylaundrylaundry havetocleanroom mustmakebed haveto... Get Dressed? Yup, this was one of those Alive? Me? Sorta. days. Finally put in the contacts and wandered into the shower at about five o'clock this evening, after sleeping through a record three meals in a row. And Leia's gotten me sick, darn her. And I've got a paper due. But other than that, surprisingly good. You can tell because I'm a lot less coherant. "I'll have more / to say when I'm happy / 'course, then I'll have less / to sing..." (Keuvad needs to listen to Knuckle Down). Oh, and darn Leia for the t.A.T.u. And the Garbage. And the D'espairs, come to that... Played in a music department recital on Monday. Went well, but I'm now so sick of that fucking Schubert that I could easily throw the sheet music into the incinerator. The two problems: 1), I have the silly thing memorized anyway, and 2), I don't think I've ever even seen an incinerator. Okay. I have successfully upped my post-count. Keuvad owes me a pair of homemade pants. | | Friday, November 10th, 2006 | | 11:22 am |
Alright, keuvad, I want props for this.
...and next time you say, "You never post in your livejournal!" I will say "Aha! You, are... wrong!" and you will say "Excellent comeback, Lemur," and I'll say "I know! I thought of it all by myself, when I was typing that post!" and you will say "You are so pathetic," and I will say, "I know, I am pathetic, I am terrible and unworthy," and you will look unimpressed, and tell me to go splash some cold water on my face. And the conversation will progress, and eventually it will come out that I felt I was pushed too hard as a kindergartner, and you have a secret pudding-eating addiction, and we will laugh and cry and hug and make up like good little sisters. And then I will look back on what I'd written so far, and say "Wow... Stay away from the hershey's bars, Lemur-babe." Yeah... You know it's bad when you start trying to write about it, and as it turns out, you can't remember exactly what "it" is. And you're floating in class-cutting limbo, and trying to remember why it's worth it to wake up in the mornings, and you want to know why you have to get up in the mornings anyway when all your friends have afternoon classes, and you remember "Oh, yeah, it's because I'm motivated and excited about learning." Yeah, right. You know, I've never had middle-of-the-night deprsesive fits. It's the mornings, between when I wake up and when I get dressed, that make the problems for me. Usually, I don't give them much of a chance-- alarm goes off at 6:00, and by 6:15 I'm out of the shower and ready for my day. Only, recently, that disorienting stretch of blurry shapes (you haven't put your contacts in yet) and the foul taste in your mouth (you haven't brushed your teeth, either)... It's been lasting for longer and longer. Your alarm goes off at six, you turn it off. Then again at six-thirty. Then seven-fifteen. That's when you realize you aren't going to your eight o'clock, and you reset it again for ten. Ten rolls around, and you aren't really any more rested than you were at six, mostly because you never really went back to sleep. And from there it's a draw-- on a good day, you sigh, admit defeat, and crawl into the shower like you want to drown yourself in it. On a bad day, you open up your computer. And that's just that, until you finally wake up at five o'clock or so that evening, and say, wow, I really better get dressed. Thus, the process that began at six o'clock that morning culminates in a sigh and a vaguely wasteful feel (if not an outright bout of self-disgust and recrimination), because eleven hours is a long time... and you hardly remember what you did with them. But the moment of clarity only lasts about forty-five minutes, and then the process starts again. Over and over. For three weeks. Four. Five. You're hanging on to your grades, but only by the skin of your teeth. You think you even still have A's, and that depresses the fuck out of you. Doesn't the system know enough to punish rejects like you? Don't your professors know that they have a problem student here? Right here, in the front of the classroom! A genuine delinquent, an honest-to-God mess of resentful apathy. There is a problem! Houston, we have a problem! You feel like that genuine teen-age cliche, the girl who thinks she ought to have "Help Me" flashing on her forehead in neon letters. Can't you see I'm giving up? Can't you tell how close I am to... to what? Flunking out of school? Killing myself? Intentionally getting a C in chemistry? They all seem about the same. "Yeah, mom, I got a ninety-five on my immunology test." "Yeah, dad, piano's going really well." "Nah, it's okay, Miranda. There's nothing wrong, but I really don't want to talk about it." "Lauren... it's not that I hate you." It's that I can't remember why I like you. I can't remember why I like anyone-- and I sure as fuck can't remember why I want to go to classs today. So, you wanted an update, keuvad? That's the update. You want to know why I'm not calling you? I'm not calling anyone. Heard this one yet? "Next time they want to know what your problem is... Next time they want to know where the anger comes from... You just tell them the problem's theirs. You tell them it just comes... It just comes." | | Friday, April 14th, 2006 | | 8:04 pm |
You know how you read those one-liners, they're part snide, part affectionate, part nostalgic, about how your highschool it-friend (PEG gender-neutral jargon) is going away, and you feel like your world is ending? Well, I've got this girlfriend. She's going to Japan. For four months. Next week. And I can just see the meteorites. ( Read more... )In other news, Lemur has grown it's hair out long enough to put up in a pony tail (with some bobby-pins. And some hair spray. And twenty minutes), and dyed it auburn. It was supposed to be brown, but there you are. I guess the pink hadn't all faded out yet. What can you do? | | Sunday, December 4th, 2005 | | 7:44 pm |
The Life of Lemur A Short Play in Half A Scene From the speakers, a deep voice rings out...
"I wonder what else ow-er leeeders have in store for us. They're working us like zee devil ."
A growly tenor replies...
"How can zay... If you're zee devil?"
Lemur, to Roommate: Err, Lemur's Roommate? Lemur's Roommate, to Lemur: Yes, Lemur? Lemur, to Roommate: Umm, Ow-er Leeeders? [beat] Lemur's Roommate, to Lemur: Bad dubbing! It's not his fault... And the curtain closes.> | | Monday, March 21st, 2005 | | 1:14 pm |
I Have A Stick Up My Ass: Academic Writing in the Early Twenty-First Century
This essay shall discuss the issue of formal writing in the Revolutionary Europe classes of today. It shall begin by exploring the chemical intake of the person who first came up with the idea that contractions are inappropriate for use in academic writing, and shall continue by speculating as to whether or not he was sharing with the linguistically challenged colleague of his who decreed that perfectly ordinary words like "guy" may not be admitted to the pantheon of acceptably stuffy vocabulary. Additionally, it shall speculate upon all the different synonyms for "explore" that can be used in introductions. As demonstated in Figure Z, Appendix Q, contractions are a perfectly normal part of both spoken and written English. They are, in fact, used by most textbooks, excluding those that are so mind-numbingly dull and pompous that nobody actually reads them. If this were written by Dr. Joan Wallach Scott, it would continue on for seventy five pages and forty three foot notes, giving backround information on the developement of contractions, discussing their proper grammatical use, and lsiting them all in alphabetical order in Table W. Fortunately, however, she has only written one book, and-- if there is a God-- is dead by now. In fact, in memory to that paragon of stuffiness, that emblem of utter pompousness, I think I shall have the mercy to terminate this essay before my audience dies of asphixiation due to falling alseep at their desk. In conclusion, I would like to state that anyone with the nerve to use the word coagulate ought to be hanged. | | Tuesday, December 14th, 2004 | | 10:35 pm |
You are...You are 53 To take this quiz, click here.
Okay, well, for someone who's never taken a Quizilla in his life... | | Tuesday, November 16th, 2004 | | 5:06 pm |
Okay, so anyone remember a certain discussion about turquoise elephants? My best friend, completely unprompted mind you, has just uttered the defining quote on the subjet: "Yeah, I don't know, Lemur, everyone's always talking about teen angst, but I never really liked my parents much to begin with." I rest my case. | | Friday, November 12th, 2004 | | 8:01 pm |
Heya y'all, this here primate's Lemur. I wuz a-gonna in form all y'all that I haidn't rilly disappee-yered off uhthe face uhthe earth, jist off uhthe face uhthe map-- I've taken up residence in the Unplottable Wilderness of Virginia. Yes, Virginia-- infamous home of the republicans. Even better, Staunton, Virginia, infamous home of the lesbian republicans. Gotta love them blue-haired, be-piercinged, bisexual Bush supporters. Talk about busting stereotypes. You see, I am now entering that happy time of year known as Finals Month. So, I thought to myself, what better time to ressurect my happily neglected journal? "When you you usually study?" "Eh, mostly Tomorrow." | | Friday, July 16th, 2004 | | 9:37 pm |
A certain primate wishes it to be known that this post exists for the sole purpose of exorcising its terrible mood, and thus will not be subject to editing of any sort. ( You've Been Warned ) | | Friday, June 11th, 2004 | | 6:12 pm |
I am posting to inform you that I have finally reached the end of the tunnel known as 'Middle School', and there is a light after all-- so there, Ani DiFranco-- CTY. I will arrive in Carlisle in fifteen days, twenty-five hours, fourty-one minutes, and twenty-five seconds. Twenty two... Nineteen... | | Tuesday, May 11th, 2004 | | 5:09 pm |
| | Wednesday, December 31st, 2003 | | 12:28 am |
| | Saturday, December 6th, 2003 | | 11:08 am |
on Hot Cocoa
I wanted to translate that into Latin to make the referance more obvious, but encountered a slight obstruction stemming from the fact that I don't know any. I wonder if Seneca spoke Pig Latin? Oonay Othay Ocoacay I've come to a conclusion. No one actually likes to drink hot cocoa, people just like the idea. I mean, think about it. By the time you've made your hot cocoa, you're not cold any more anyway. First you burn your tongue, then you run into all the little bubbles of unmixed cocoa powder, then someone inevitably spills it on you, and then you finish and get that awful sour milk after-taste. No, people just think, 'Oh my, it's snowing, so I have to go make a lopsided snowman, and then I have to drink watery hot cocoa, and then I have to sigh and pretend to be contented because otherwise I'm wasting the snow'. And that's considered wholesome. What's wrong with sitting in front of your nice, warm computer and watching the snow, I ask you? Go out and play. I'll give them go out and play... Current Mood:  gloomy | | Monday, October 6th, 2003 | | 9:27 pm |
We regret to inform you that superlemur has not indeed fallen off a cliff. It was discovered yesterday morning underneath a pile of essay topics and text books. We are unsure of the gravity of its injuries, but it appears to be breathing. (signed) Toadpipe For his Abysmal Sublimity Under Secretary Screwtape, TE, BS, etc. | | Monday, September 15th, 2003 | | 9:38 pm |
What I meant to do today: Practice piano. Clean the bathroom. Make my bed. Do my laundry. Finish my essay. Do my English Assignment Finish my CHemistry homework Finish my geometry chapter. Do my math. What I did today: Read my book. | | Sunday, September 14th, 2003 | | 10:36 pm |
WOW you're the bigest loser I'v ever seen! Don't worry we'll get along just fine!!! Are you a loser? brought to you by Quizilla | | 1:15 pm |
For those of you who are still blissfully ignorant of the dreadful place, you may wish to stop reading now. What I am about to describe is the most horrendous, unspeakable, staggeringly dreadful concept since large family reunions. It's called... Oh, I can't say it... It's called.... ATWAFTCFYEWS. (Annoying-Teachers-Who-Are-Far-Too-Conce rned-For-Your-Emotional-Welfare School, reffered to as You-Know-Where by everyone except the incomparably brave.) ATWAFTCFYEWS is mainly turquoise, but has splashes of orange, pink, yellow, and purple in unstratigic places. It is also where I have been sentanced to for the next ten months. But there is a bright side. It definately made me forget how bad goal conferances where. Current Mood: anguished |
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