So, OoIce QueenoO, I think I figured this out. Don't think, just type as fast as you possibly can.

When I was in third grade my art teacher – Mr. Goldman, God I loved him – told us about this ancient Chinese (or maybe something else entirely) method of art where you put on music and you're supposed to get lost in yourself and just paint. And I would actually do it! Like, normally, my artwork was so bad even my own mother couldn't pretend to like it. Trust me, it never made the fridge. But when we did this, all of a sudden I was like 'Super Painter: here to rid the world of ugly walls with a masterpiece'. Mr. Goldman would put the music on and I don't even remember those classes, I'd just sort of wake up at the end of it and look down and there was a shining piece of artwork.

I'm not saying what you are about to read is artwork. Far from it, I'm sure. What I am saying is that I don't remember thinking during any of the writing of this. It simply is what it is.

Also, there's quite a bit of unnecessary swearing. If you're against colorful language –

Consider yourself duly warned.

Journal Entries

January 27

Sometimes I hate myself. No, I hate more than just myself. I hate how I look, how I act, my social position.

My friends.

I look to my left in homeroom every day, and there she is.

The reason I got myself into this place. This life. This habit.

There are so many things about my self that I despise.

Gabriella Montez. That fucking whore.

Fine. Whatever. That was uncalled for. But it certainly made me feel better. I wish I could be more like her. Look like her, act like her.

Have her friends.

How did she come in and, with one snap of her fingers, twist our entire social structure to fit into her perfectly wavy-haired life?

There are so many things about that girl that I despise.

March 15

I ran into Troy today. It was the weirdest thing. I was running, right? Of course. Because you only run into people you are totally obsessed when you look like shit.

His car had broken down. He had this completely adorable grease smudge under his left eye - he was trying to fix the engine. That's not what was wrong.

He's an idiot. Totally didn't know what he was doing.

And shit did I surprise him when I leaned over and fixed the whole goddamned thing myself! He just looked at me with this ridiculously shocked expression, his mouth kinda hanging open and his eyes almost going cross. Yeah, it made me nervous.

And then he completely just blurted out, "I like you."

So what do I do when the object of my multiple shrines finally takes notice of me? I say, "Where's Gabriella?"

Yep. It's official. I'm a complete dumb ass.

March 21

Do you ever wonder if it's all just a big practical joke from God? I have my whole future planned out. Most of it was my choice. I think. But is it really what I want? Or is it just something that was conditioned into me by the time I could hold my mothers' lipstick in a steady hand?

I don't know. Life is scary, you know?

Sometimes I want to jump out into the world - just screw all my family's money - and actually live like the rest of society. But I'm scared. I'm scared of failing. Of messing up. Of making a mistake.

But couldn't the whole "plan" be a mistake?

I mean, what if I was supposed to be an archeologist? But I'll never know, because I was never given the opportunity?

Ironic coming from one of the few people in Albuquerque who actually has the means to experience any and every opportunity.

Is that pitiful? The ice queen, a coward! Who'd've thought?

April 12

Play rehearsal today. It's strange being so near Troy. I haven't really talked to him since the "incident" as it has become known in the inner circle. The inner circle being Ryan.

He kind of just ignored me after I made that stupid comment. Stupid, stupid Sharpay! Honestly? Who talks about the girlfriend, or ex, or whatever the hell she was at the time? Just idiots like me! And it totally turned him off.

But I'm not going to obsess about it. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I have to be a girl about it.

But every time we have a scene together, oh holy mother of mercy I have trouble remembering my lines.

I actually made Ms. Darbus furious today. I mean, she yelled at me! ME! Because I couldn't remember my line!

And you know what my line was?

"You are the love of my life!"

Oh, the irony of it all.

Not that I love him. I just lose my breath when he's on stage with me.

I actually think it was a horrible coincidence involving an increase in wattage in the stage light bulbs causing the air to become hotter than is usual, which subsequently caused the air molecules to move faster and the density to be lower than I am used to. And I am highly dependant on oxygen. So, I was actually light headed because of the lights.

Not because of Troy.

April 17

Ugh! Sometimes he just makes me SO angry! Today at play rehearsal all he could do was criticize. And he'd do it with this stupid ass-faced grin that made his stupid gorgeous eyes sparkle in a happy dancing way.

He'd just criticize and complain.

With that smile!

And all I could do was smile and agree with him. What is wrong with me?!

It's those stage lights, I'm telling you. Because once I got out of the auditorium it was like the spell had finally broken. He'd followed me out – giving me tips on acting, no less – and I just sort of snapped. It was like the school knew that I was struggling to find my assumed 'Ice Queen' self, so it helped me out a little.

I whipped around and pointed my finger. That's right, just like my mom does to me when she doesn't quite know what I did, she just knows it was something wrong. I pointed my finger in his face and started criticizing back. Why? Search me.

His clothes were too jock. His hair was too floppy. And his eyes are too perfect.

And he just smiled, grabbed my shoulders and kissed me! He grabbed my shoulders, my finger still pointing in his face, and he pulled me in tight for a glorious kiss!

Troy Bolton kissed me!

And when we pulled apart all he said was "I like you."

And all I could do was giggle.

God, I'm such a girl.

May 26

Remember God? You know, that jokester that was playing practical jokes on my future? Well, it appears the jokes on him! I don't get a future!

Or so the doctor says. But what does he know, really? I mean, what kind of a future was he really expecting with eight plus years of schooling? Obviously he was hiding from his future because by the time it came he was old and creaky. And who really wants to be twenty five anyways?

I heard somewhere that when you die, your spirit/heavenly-body/soul self looks like you did when you were twenty-one. Because you look your best at twenty-one? No matter what?

I mean, what about all those biggest loser's? They were all fugly fat-ass wretches at twenty-one. I'd want to look like I did at, hell, thirty-one or however old they are when they're on that show. I'd hate to work my ass off to get skinny just to die and be fat in my eternal heavenly (or, let's face it, more than likely - hellish) representation.

What will I look like if I don't make it to twenty-one?

Maybe I'll just be invisible.

Fuck.

June 8

I'm sorry.

Why is it so much easier to write?...In a notebook that nobody will read.

Well, secretly I like to think that somebody will find this and read it after I've died. And they'll wonder "who was this fascinating girl and what happened to her? I should publish this and make her famous." You know, like Ask Alice. Is that what that book was called? That was actually real, right?

But, I figure, paintings become more valuable after the artist dies. Why not my thoughts?

Death.

Of course, that is sort of why I need to say sorry to Troy. I just couldn't get the words out. I feel like we're on different islands. We're both in the same ocean, just not on the same piece of sand.

He say's I'm afraid of my emotions. That I live my life in a character. That I never truly express myself.

Puleeeze.

If I was afraid of my emotions, would I be able to access them so fabulously for all my roles?

That's what I thought.

Wait, what?

June 19

I love how he just calms my mind. I'm surprised I could ever string together three words. I'm getting better at it, I swear.

But I think the wattage for the lights in my house have been increased, as well. I'm just saying.

It was such a peaceful night. The parents didn't know he was here, obviously. Dad would've kicked his skinny ass off the roof and down the street faster then I'd be able to remember the words "Dad, stop!"

Of course that slow recall would be Troy's fault. I mean the light bulbs fault.

I'm surprised he doesn't think I'm a little bit special.

It's not like we were doing anything 'wrong'. We just laid out on the roof that can be accessed from my window. Watched the stars. Talked about life. Apparently that's one of my favorite topics now. Which is funny, isn't it? Now that it's fleeting, it's suddenly fascinating. Isn't that true for everything, though? The grass is always greener…

But I'm not going to get all philosophical, here. That's just way too scripted, too predictable, too stereotypical.

So what does it truly mean to be at terms with ones own mortality?

j/k.

I'd rather just lay back with his arms around my shoulders, shielding me from the slight build up of dew and enjoy his scent.

July 5

An airplane's flying by overhead. I can't see it, I'm in my room. But I can hear it. It sounds so free.

HA! That's ridiculous. Free? What the hell am I gabbing on about? Of course it isn't free. It doesn't get to choose where it goes. How long it stay's. Who it brings.

If airplanes were free, maybe they wouldn't have let 9/11 happen.

Jesus, what am I talking about?

I hate medication. It makes me weak. I'm lying here in my bed. I can't even make it outside. Sometimes, when I've gathered enough strength (or when I coerce Troy into carrying me – which happens to be the case more often than not) I sneak out onto the roof just outside my window.

It's my last ounce of freedom, it seems.

The doctor says that I'll feel better soon.

That when this medication regimen or whatever the hell he called it is through, I'll be feeling 'good as knew'

And all I could think was "Fuck you, ass wipe!" I bet he's never felt knew in his life! And here he is making outrageous promises.

That flutterby is georgous.

I mean Butterfly.

Christ, I want some God damned toast.

Hey, at least I'm still me. I think.

August 10

A part of me desperately wants to take this diary with me. But I feel like it holds to much of my past.

Troy will be here soon.

I tried to leave a note for Ryan. I figured it was the least I could do. But I just kept hearing the ticking of my clock pounding into my head, and I just couldn't do it. In the grand scheme of things, it's never actually good bye, right?

Shit, I wasn't going to get philosophical.

Troy and I have discussed this at length. I want to feel.

You know.

I had a plan.

I might as well get a chance to test it out. See if it would've been the right choice for me.

Damn it, I think he's here.

Well, maybe Ryan will be the one to find this notebook and read it and wonder who I really was and what happened to me. So, I sort of did leave a note. Right? Will that lessen my guilt? Probably not, but I have to do it.

I've been off the meds for almost two weeks now. My parents don't know it, I'm pretty good at fake swallowing, if you know what I mean.

OH! THAT was uncalled for!

Fuck, that was definitely him. I gotta go before the parents wake up.

Time to live my life.

Good-bye.

…Good-bye.

Well, this was just a 'for fun' thing that I did to occupy myself during my increasingly intense insomnia. I'm supposed to wake up in three hours. Looks like I'll be getting a Venti in the morning, if you know what I mean...

The ten songs that I took inspiration from were:

Cheryl Tweedy – Lily Allen
Bohemian Like You – Dandy Warhols
Just a Thought – Gnarls Barkley
Breath In – Frou Frou
I like you - Morrissey
Extra Ordinary Thing - Aqualung
So Sorry - Feist
Satellite - Guster
Airplane – Imogen Heap
Porpoise Song – The Monkees

...Anyway, please review. It'll be your 'for fun' thing!