Speechless

The select few amount of people in this world who can write well make it look so easy. As if writing is nothing more than talking -- Anyone can do it, right?

Well, constructing complete sentences is one thing; making them sound good is another.

I love writing; I think it is the single most beautiful way of expressing oneself. But it's an art--it demands hard work, dedication and thought. I can sometimes do hard work if I really put my mind to it, but thinking is another thing in itself. What a frustration it is to stare at a blank page with nothing running through your head.

I have very loud thoughts and a strong admiration for writing; I know I have something to say. The trouble is knowing how, exactly, to say it.

When Life Sucks...

Bad Days Happen.

What are humans without heartbreak?
Oh, that's right...happy.

What can I say...I've had a terrible day.
I seriously don't want to post anything whiny or depressing. I'd like to be witty and smart and not completely embarass myself when I write. But if I hold myself to some standard of writing scintillating and satirical stuff all the time...I just won't write at all.

To put things simply, I stumbled into a big wall of emotion a few nights ago. It multiplied itself quickly, leading to an awful screaming mental breakdown last night. Today was thus a painful lonely day where absolutely everything made me want to burst into tears. And there was really not a damn thing I could do about it.

These days happen. Life tastes sweet when they're over. You've got to get through rain to see the rainbow, love the rose despite its thorns, live for the calm after the storm, the dawn after the dark, etcetera, etcetera.

There's really nothing I can do but survive that inevitable heartbreaking emotion. And then write crappy blogs about it.

Making Do Without the Muse

If only I would simply try...

Oh, I make myself angry sometimes. How long has it been since I've written?
That's disgusting.

I realize, this is the blog of an 18-year-old girl; it's hardly important to anyone but me. But really, it's the only thing I publish. And it's something.

Honestly, I find this so difficult to do. It shouldn't be that hard--making up something interesting about my day and writing a few paragraphs about it. Unfortunately, writing is insanely difficult, especially when it's the last thing in the world I want to do.

But I've been doing it for a while, and, well...why quit? What else can I do, really?

I'm done for tonight. Wish me luck in hunting down that damn inspiration.

Confessions of a Night Owl

Mornings sure aren't easy.

I have always had a hard time understanding how anyone could classify themself as a "morning person." Night owl that I am, I have a terrible time waking up at any hour before 10 AM. Number one on my list of "Things I Hate About School" has always been getting up early. I've often commented that I wouldn't mind school at all if we could simply start at 2PM and go on until about 8. (Though I'm sure, if that were the case, I would hate school even more.)

Since school let out, I've been sleeping ridiculously. In fact, I'm a little embarrassed to tell you exactly how much. They say the average adult needs eight hours of sleep. And I've read that teenage girls sometimes need ten. I can very easily clock twelve. There was one night, recently, where I slept ten to eleven hours, after which I ate breakfast/lunch (I tend to wake up at about lunchtime but the first meal of the day is called breakfast anyways.), and then went back to my room to sleep for another 3 hours. My Mom came down to my room at about 4:30PM, when I was rolling around happily in that space between sleep and consciousness, and demanded to know if I had been sleeping. (As if it is some sort of unspeakable crime.) I told her, no, I had just been reading, and she went away. (When my Mom asks me what I'm doing, I usually say "nothing" or "reading." I doubt she ever believes me, but for some reason it's better to say that than to admit that I'm sleeping, talking to friends or watching movies.)

I had work at 10AM today, which for most would be a pleasant hour, but which for me has become unspeakably early. I slammed repeatedly on my alarm clock's SNOOZE button this morning (as is my usual custom), and drifted in and out of vivid dreams, thinking, I don't doze...I hibernate.

When it became absolutely too late for me to press SNOOZE again, I threw my covers at the wall and managed, shakily, to stand up.

I bitched and moaned and cursed my way through the morning until I was standing in line at McDonald's, cashing in my coupon for a free breakfast sandwich. (That's what you get when they make you wait 20 minutes for ten little McNuggets and a box of soggy fries.) As I waited for my McGriddle, I looked around the restaurant and noticed that every restaurant customer (besides me, of course), appeared to be over 70 years old. They were all sitting peacefully at their own tables, sipping hot McDonald's coffee over their newspapers and crossword puzzles.

I wanted to sit in the corner and watch them. Oh, I thought, What people watching can be done in the morning! Look what I have been deprived of, all these years!

I've come to the conclusion that mornings hold for me a tranquility and clear sense of mind that I don't find at any other time of day. The hard part is, I've got to tear myself out of bed in order to experience it. I've also discovered that once I get that nasty separation with my bed out of the way, the rest of the day can be quite nice.

P.S. Oh, anonymous blog commenters, how I love you.

Food, Family, and a little bit of Fun

Thanksgiving Day

I've never particularly enjoyed Thanksgiving. I've always seen it as a uneventful, useless holiday. Everybody gets together and hugs each other and eats, for no reason other than to eat (with, of course, the cover of being thankful).

Sometimes, though, eating and drinking yourself silly with a bunch of strange, even neurotic people, can be such a joy.

We had my Mom's side of the family come over tonight, all of whom are Catholic, conservative, and have several children. Needless to say, we hosted a lot of loud children and talkative grown-ups. It's funny -- I'm eighteen years old and in college and I think my Aunts and Uncles still view me as a little kid. I was sitting with some of them in the family room, and they attempted to cover my ears when they mentioned the "f-word." (They didn't even say it out loud. They just hinted at it.) I think some adults forget that a good percentage of the world's bad language is spoken quite liberally in its high schools. When my aunts and uncles started talking about how they used to lie to their Mom, my aunt tried to shield me from such concepts. "Don't give her any ideas!" she exclaimed in horror. My Uncle, the oldest in my mother's family (I hold a certain respect for firstborns), then came to my rescue, saying, "She's been thinking about this stuff since she was thirteen. She's been doing it for the past 5 years."

It's nice to be treated more like a real human being. I'm not a sheltered youngster who thinks, Sneaking out? Why, who would even DREAM of such things? I'm also not a goth or a gangster, immersed in drugs, sex or crime.

Still, it's difficult sometimes to connect with older people in my family. For most of the Thanksgiving dinner, nobody talked about anything but politics. I'm fairly interested in politics, but not enough to spend all my time talking about what so-and-so said on whatever radio show.

It was nice, then, to spend some time downstairs with the few teenagers in the family. We picked at my brother's guitars, had a fascinating discussion about aliens and other such otherworldly activity, and I dominated at the question game.

Then we watched Wall-E, which was incredibly cute.

All in all, it was a great night. I'm happy to know that, while oftentimes strange and annoying, my family isn't quite as awful as I sometimes imagine them to be.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.

Heavier Thoughts

My mind's stomping around dark alleys tonight.

I don't know why the whole concept of my friends and their romantic relationships gives me headaches. I suppose all it really comes down to is a jealousy thing. How dare any of my friends enjoy other people's company when I'm not doing the same thing? This suggests that I'm a total asshole, and I guess that's true.

I don't know what I expect of people. I'm afraid that many times I hold a mindset of, I can enjoy life, and you can watch me do so. It's disturbing to think that I lead such a self-centered existence, but I'd be lying to say that I didn't.

I don't like to post despairing posts about my character, but I've recently resolved to post every day, and it was either writing this or telling you that I don't like Thanksgiving.

I'll find something funny to say some other time.

Life Was (Is...) Good

I still miss high school sometimes.

Watching Charlie Bartlett today made me remember high school days. Maybe I'm a broken record when I talk about how wonderful high school was, but I do still miss it.

I experienced a sense of comfortable belonging in high school that I haven't yet encountered in college. Of course, I've only been at DU for 2 1/2 months, and I'm certainly not expecting it to be anything like my high school was. College is full of freedoms and opportunities that high school never offered, and I'm very happy about that. But--I'm sure I've written about this before--I miss my high school community. I was in a graduating class of 55 kids. We were a family, whether we wanted to be or not.

I was reliving some high school memories this morning, and it feels like ages ago that I was sitting in the back row of first period English, laughing with Cindy, Victor and Johnny. It seems that years have passed since I used to write cute notes to my locker-mate on our magnetic dry erase board. It's strange to realize that I once had a life in which I rode the short white Arrupe bus to work every Thursday morning. I used to spend after-school hours in the computer lab, never getting any work done but talking loudly to whoever happened to be in there with me, which usually got me yelled at by supervising teachers. I used to scramble to get all my neglected calculus homework done at 7:30 AM every day in the cafeteria. I used to stomp through school hallways with loud high heel shoes, (Arrupe dress code was such a pain in the ass.) I used to joke and laugh through yearbook meetings, then spend hours alone after school trying to create perfect photo pages. What a life that was. I don't miss it too terribly, though it would be nice to relive it for a day or two.

By the time I was a senior, I was really comfortable in school. I was usually happy hanging out anywhere -- in the computer lab, cafeteria, front lobby, gym, or front steps. I could always find someone to talk to. Arrupe was small enough that everybody knew everybody.

But there are no "front steps" at DU. It's a very different environment. I'm happy to be there, but I still miss my comfort zone. Arrupe was my second home; it held a certain warmth, even a certain smell that I miss.

But life changes, not necessarily for the better or worse; it just changes. There's no need to lug around 3 tons of nostalgia when life is just as interesting today as it was six months ago.

But sometimes it's just so nice to remember things...

Do You Mean to Tell Me I'm a Muggle?

The Time Traveler's Wife



This book has been astounding. This is the kind of book that I can't wait to get home to. It is, so far, one of the most fascinating and convincing love stories I have ever read. I wouldn't classify it as chick lit, though I'm sure most of its readers are women. We females just eat this stuff up.

Reading love stories, though, makes me wonder how fictional love really is. I risk sounding like a sentimental little girl here, but reading books like this makes me wish I could know someone so perfect as the man described on the page. I realize this is an impossibility, seeing that my future husband has never traveled back in time to meet me. (Read the book, and you will understand.) Even so, I can't help but think, Damn. That would sure be awesome.

I'm really no better than the broken-hearted Harry Potter fans who never receive Hogwarts letters--those children who, upon turning eleven, have to confront the sad reality that they are muggles.

It's frustrating sometimes, to be only human, when the people you are reading about are so much more.

I don't have much of a solution for this, other than to say, "Real life is interesting, anyways." While good fiction is fascinating, one must never forget that it is always based on reality -- which is, in fact, exactly what makes that fiction so good. No matter how structured the plotline, no matter how developed the characters, the story is pointless if it does not reflect reality. If the reader cannot somehow link the story to the world he lives in, the story will be neither interesting nor meaningful. If good fiction is based on reality, and if that good fiction inspires and astounds us, should we not assume that reality can do the same?

There is hope for us yet.

Nice to Meet You...Maybe?

Being judgmental just never serves me well.

I was thinking the other day about my first impressions; they seem, oftentimes, to be wildly inaccurate. When I think of the people I love most in the world, I realize that I thought most of them were kind of weird when I first met them. The first time I talked to my now best friend, many years ago, I was really annoyed with how she wouldn't leave me alone; I was just trying to get my third grade homework done, and she wouldn't stop babbling to me about all the boys in her class. Years later, I began to love her, and we spent hours together talking, mostly about boys. I'm glad, at age 18, we're finally growing out of our boy craziness (though of course not yet entirely), but I'm gladder still that we grow continually closer.

In another instance, I first met one of my eighth grade younger brother's friends a year or two ago. He struck me as an annoying, obnoxious little kid. He was that weird little person I drove home from basketball practice that one time. And then, quite recently, I began, a little bit, to actually know him. He's one of the sweetest kids I've ever met--the kind of kid that makes my heart melt, the kind of kid that gives me hope that I may actually like kids.

My point is, there's no use in form an opinion of someone that you haven't discovered much about. Humans are complex; there is no way of knowing them at first glance. There's no telling when a person you've never cared about could suddenly become an important figure in your life. There's just no way of looking at someone and knowing just how much they might come to mean to you.

Life is a surprise this way, which makes it all the more enjoyable.

Library Slave

I admit, I'm a bit of a book nerd.

I've always held a special place in my heart for the library. In high school, I'd beg my Mom several times a week to stop at the library on the way home after school so I could run in and pick up my hold items. "You just went to the library on Monday!" she would exclaim.
"I know. And now it's Wednesday!" I would tell her.
"I don't understand why you're such a slave to the library," she'd reply, pulling over begrudgingly to the side of the street so I could sprint in to pick up another book or set of music CD's.

I still find the libraries to be some of the most comforting and inspiring places on earth. They are so much better than bookstores, in that all their services are free. I can read, watch and listen to whatever I want, for absolutely no cost, plus fines. (Unfortunately, fines have been kicking my ass for years. I'd rather not think of the amount of money I've lost due to my inability to find books and give them back on time.)

I recently discovered a beautiful library with a large music and movie collection, a café, and a used bookstore. I wouldn't typically care about the bookstore... but paperbacks are only one dollar!! You would think that these one dollar paperbacks would be the kind of crappy thrift store books that were printed 60 years ago and have since been dropped in toilets or eaten by pet dogs. These books, however, are in perfect condition. Not only that, they are good books. I bought The Time Traveller's Wife today, which I am so excited about. This book has been on many national bestselling lists, and I've been wanting to get to it for months.

Of course, these days, being a bestseller doesn't guarantee good value. I'm still having a hard time understanding why the Twilight series is so popular. I've read one Twilight book--the first one--and I don't think I want to read anything like it ever again. I believe in real romance; I don't want to feel dizzy over Edward Cullen just because he's a vampire and because he's hot. I really don't see much more to Twilight than that--sexy , sparkling vampires. If that's what you like, if you're willing to give up reading good writing or substantial plotline for that, then I guess I can't stop you.
Of course, Edward Cullen drives a Volvo, which does make him pretty cool. (Have I mentioned that I am now the proud driver of a '99 Volvo S7O?) ;)

In my ongoing library ventures, I hope to discover more literary gems, such as Douglas Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide or David Sedaris's witty anecdotes. (Like right now, I'm reading The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, and it is AMAZING!) I will, undoubtedly, encounter many more Twilights, but that's a risk I am more than willing to take. :)

A Little Bit of Love for Humanity

Thought of the day: 8th grade basketball games.

As I'm sitting in crowded, parent-filled bleachers at interminable grade school basketball games, every sentence that runs through my head seems absolutely genius, a scintillating gem of wit that I just have to release into the world.

Okay, well, maybe it's not that wonderful. But I do enjoy those moments where everything I think seems smart and funny. It good be a good sense of humor, it could be awesome creativity, but it could, of course, just be mild insanity.

What I find funny, though, is 8th grade basketball games. Tonight I played chauffeur for a handful of middle school athletes. (That kind of stuff just happens when your family owns a 12-passenger van.) I sat through their games, watching the parents and coaches jump and yell about the 5-foot boys stomping their way around the court. There was a grandma next to me videotaping the entire game. I wonder--is she really going to watch it again later?

But I must admit, some of those boys were amazing. 8th grade boys can be cooler than I thought.
That's a weird thing to say.

I don't understand this, but I have a place in my heart for younger children. Especially for middle schoolers, for those pubescent kids for whom life seems to suck ALL THE TIME. I'm surprised by this; I'm not a huge fan of kids, especially of preteens. 12-14 were some of the worst years of my life...and yet I find that I can really feel for kids that age.

...I don't know where I'm going with that.

That's enough for tonight.

You see what I mean about never having anything to say?

It's always nice to get a little love...

Anonymous blog comments sure make me happy.

I never mind being told that I look good, that I'm funny, or that I sing well. (I am not, of course, told that very often, but nevertheless, it's nice.) But when I hear that somebody enjoyed something that I wrote, I feel accomplished.

My new anonymous blog comment has just inspired another blog post. Thank you!

I don't generally like to write long posts about writing, but all too often, when I sit down to write, that's all that's in my head. Ideally, I'd have a brilliant idea or hilarious story for every night of the year. But most days, I have a really hard time finding something to say.

I suppose I could write blogs like, "Wow, guys. I sat at a lot of red lights today." Or, "This homework is so hard!! Damn this homework!"

Unfortunately, that's all I can really think to say.

It's not that nothing has been happening for me. In fact, I've experienced more precariousness and excitement in these past few months than ever before. I'm hesitant, though, to throw such personal things into cyberspace. And the last thing I want this blog to be is a "Dear Diary." I have other notebooks for that.

I guess I could tell you about how my first quarter at DU has been--good, I guess. But in all honesty, my classes weren't especially enlightening. I took one freshman seminar class, theatre-based, in which I wrote and performed a ten minute solo piece. That was my one good class--it was challenging, a lot of work and at times a pain in the ass, but I accomplished something. I was amazed to discover that I could write, memorize and perform, while making people laugh in the process.

My other classes--Honors Literature, Intro to Creative Writing, and Foundations in Music--weren't as great. Creative Writing was okay, in that I got to write and actually came up with some interesting stuff. But I was disappointed to discover that in the creative writing world, anything is acceptable. I learned nothing in that class about what distinguishes good writing from bad writing. Instead, I was encouraged to write silly writing prompts like, "What does this picture look like?" or "Write from the perspective of a shark." I participated in these prompts, managing on some occasions to produce a semi-interesting piece of writing, but then all I did with that was announce to my classmates, "This assignment was weird for me, because I generally don't consider copying sentences out of a textbook to be real writing (And yes, that was an actual assignment), but this is what I wrote."

That was just about all that happened in that class. And this blog is boring enough already--I won't go into detail about the other two.

All ranting set aside, though, DU has been okay. I'm still figuring out whether I like it or not. There are good days and bad days, new friends and creepy psychopaths. It's all falling into place quite nicely, though.

I'd promise to keep you posted, but I know I would be lying. Nobody really cares about DU that much.

Some days, though, that's just all there is to say.

A Small Truth

One thing I've discovered about honesty is that it really pisses people off.

I suppose an important life skill to have would be to know exactly what to say, when to say it, and how exactly to say it in order to not offend anyone. Then again, living like that would be a bit ridiculous. In fact, there's probably something really wrong if everybody likes you.

Take Jesus, for instance. He was the only perfect person ever to have set foot on earth, and most everybody ended up hating him.

The long and short of what I am trying to say is: Life is confusing; Humanity doubly so.

But what would life be without all the weird stuff? It wouldn't be much, that's for certain.

Goodnight, readers.

I just can't write today.

My mind has leaped off a cliff.

Therefore: A couple of quotations instead of writing.
Because I don't want to go to bed without writing something.
And I certainly don't want to do my homework.

"We are healed of a suffering only by expressing it to the full."
--Michael Proust

"The heart was made to be broken."
--Oscar Wilde

"Where there is love, there is pain."
--Spanish proverb

"People have to really suffer before they can risk doing what they really love."
--Chuck Palahniuk

"Suffering is the true cement of love."
--Paul Sabatier

"The lower you fall, the higher you'll fly."
--Chuck Palahniuk

"We should be taught not to wait for inspiration to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration. Inspiration seldom generates action."
--Frank Tibbolt

"There is no remedy for love but to love more."
--Henry David Thoreau

"Love is the difficult realization that something other than oneself is real."
--Iris Murdoch

"I often quote myself. It adds spice to my conversation."
--George Bernard Shaw

"The future ain't what it used to be."
--Yogi Berra

Why I Suck at College

Oh, Academia...

College so far isn't particularly difficult. But I am certainly annoyed by some of it.

My creative writing class, for instance, is kind of ridiculous. I've been hinting at majoring in creative writing, though I'm not sure how good of a fit it is for me. For one thing, I usually hate poetry. I see poetry as some awful form of writing that purposefully butchers the English language and stretches metaphor to a truly agonizing level. Call me stuck up, but if one wants to write well, I think they should get a good handle on their prose. But of course that's just me. Every other English major I've met seems to be crazy about poetry. That is to say, they can write whatever the hell they want, chop it up with stanzas and line breaks, eliminate the punctuation, and call it art. I don't particularly agree with that.

I'm not sure if creative writing is my ideal major, because in all honesty, I'm not very gifted when it comes to the creativity department. I realize that could be a significant problem for a writer. How can I get anywhere with my writing if I can't make up cool stuff? The fact of the matter is, though, I don't want to make anything up. Ever since I started writing, I've been writing only of reality. I guess it goes to show how arrogant I am, because everything I've ever written has been factual events and emotion of my own life. I'm not really sure how to write anything else. Even when I'm forced to write fiction, I end up writing about my own life, just with different names.

But I want to think that's a good thing. If I don't write what I know and feel, what the hell am I supposed to write?

I'm really not sure that I belong in academia. I like college, but I hate class. I loved my past two years of high school, but I always hated the 65 minute class periods. It's funny that I have always wanted to be a teacher. I wonder -- will I end up loving my job but hating class? Is that possible?

I suppose one reason I want to teach is to create a classroom that doesn't suck so much. Class doesn't have to be the academic equivalent of hell. I know this because I have had a few teachers and classes that I like. I've encountered four or five teachers that I have adored very much. Those teachers are certainly few and far between, but there is no reason that I should not strive to emulate them and inspire others in the way that they have inspired me. For years, I have felt compelled to be a good teacher. I'd like to be able to beat around academia's bullshit and be able to affect and inspire others in a unique way. More importantly, I'd like to someday treat students as humans and not as maggots. This is why I'm deciding to drag myself through college.

I'm not on a quest to learn everything there is about this world. That's impossible, and frankly, who cares about it? I guess what I'm fascinated by is humanity. Teaching is one of the best ways I can think of to dive right into it.

It shouldn't be right, but it is.

Most of Denver is sleeping right now.

Why is it that the only time I really want to write is at 2 in the morning on a night before an 8 A.M. class? I suppose I'm so attracted to this unearthly hour because while the rest of my world is unconscious, I am wide awake and caffeinated, accomplishing productive tasks like laundry and CD burning. And blogging. There is something so brilliantly rebellious, exciting and independent about staying up this late doing little things that I want to do. My siblings are not screaming or stampeding through the house. My mother is not nagging me to get off the computer and do something useful. Nobody is calling, texting or IMing me to carry on long conversations about nothing. I am filled with caramel-flavored coffee joy. This is a perfect moment of the night. It almost doesn't matter how miserable I might feel tomorrow morning.

An Endless Habit

Oh, Yeeeah!

This is why I don't blog very often. Because it sucks! After a day of class and homework and driving all around town, it just doesn't seem like a lot of fun to sit in front of my computer at one in the morning to start writing. And then, for some reason, I end up enjoying myself.

The reason I keep a blog is this: I can never stop writing. At this point, I simply can't let myself. Not only is there not much else I can do, I love writing so much that all other crafts seem pretty lame in comparison.

I'm very happy today about my writing. Last week, I was up until two or three in the morning writing a ten minute solo performance for my theatre class. It was one of those writing pieces that I had been dreading for weeks in advance. I wished I could have signed up for one of those boring classes where you didn't have to do intense stuff like that.

Of course, that class and that writing are very important for me. So of course I despise them.

But I wrote the piece. I've performed drafts of it twice in front of my teacher, and today he complimented my writing more than I could have ever begun to hope for Then he told me seriously never to stop writing.

This makes me so happy. And I certainly plan on never, ever quitting.

Do You Mean to Tell Me She's NOT Dead???

Quite sadly, I've been absent lately.

I don't have any excuses. I give up on excuses. Nobody gets anywhere on excuses.
Okay, so maybe they do...

Bad introduction. The point is, I haven't been writing. I haven't been blogging, I haven't been journaling, I haven't been doing much of anything that involves writing at all.

I can't explain this phenomenon. Change, maybe? Because quite a few things have changed. Well, one thing is changed. And that is the fact that I am now a college student.

You may be asking, "Wow, how has your first month at DU been?"
You know what, I don't really know.
It's been good.
It's been a lot of things.
It is a lot of CRAZY and DIFFERENT things every day.
I can say that overall it is a positive experience.

I am making some friends. I am not making an entire army of pals, but I have met a few people that I genuinely like. I'm happy about that.

My classes are interesting. There are some WEIRD ASS people here.
Enough said.

I will get into specifics later, when I write more blog posts. And I promise I will do that.
And it's not even for you, it's for me. But you're welcome to come along for the ride.

Shout-Out!

To my blog commenter...

I had a blog comment!

Whimsy said...

What a fun and well written blog! I just stumbled across it and found it supremely entertaining. You are a gifted writer, Emily. Let us know how you're going in your freshman year at DU. Might need to re-think the living at home though. College dormitory living is a unique experience like none other in your life. Buena suerte and best wishes,
Whimsy

To Whimsy...whoever you are...Thank you for the love! It's obvious I haven't been writing. I could say I've been really busy but I'm not that cool. This has been a strange summer, to say the least. I graduated high school (a harder event for me than for most), worked many stressful hours at an understaffed travel agency, spent two and a half glorious weeks in Hawaii and Australia (which I would write about if I didn't have severe laziness), and am now spending a lot of time at home, clueless as to what my future looks like. This summer has had some severe highs and severe lows, and it's a shame that I haven't been writing about them. Your kind words, however, are a strong encouragement and inspiration to me to continue to put words on paper, no matter how futile the task may seem. In all honesty, I don't really know what else I'd want to do.

I start college orientation tomorrow...Here begins the end of life as I know it. Is that melodramatic? Maybe. But this feels huge for me. I have absolutely no idea at this point what my future holds. I must say, though, that I'm excited for it. I just hope I don't get too disappointed.

I'll keep you posted.

Thoughtful Q&A

Posting for the Sake of Posting

23 Deep Questions...

1) What is more difficult for you; looking into some one's eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into some one's eyes when they are telling you how they feel?
The latter


2) Think of the last time you were REALLY angry.

Sunday morning I was shaking in anger and could barely breathe. Parent issues.


3) You are on a flight from Honolulu to Chicago non-stop. There is a fire in the back of the plane.

Panic.

4) You are at the doctor's office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one week to live.

(A) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die?
First, I panic. And then, yes. Then I panic some more
(B) What do you do with your remaining days?
Panic!!
(C) Would you be afraid?
absolutely!

5) You can have one of the following two things: trust/love.

Fun is more attractive than stability. Love! According to my definition of love, it doesn't exist without trust anyways.

6) You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street.
If the canal's shallow enough, I'd save it. But I would never risk my life for a dog.

7)Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired, What do you do?
Become very dedicated to being ten minutes early to work every day. Shortly after that, I would sleep through my alarm clock again and if I didn't have a soft-hearted boss, I'd be out of a job.

8) If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?
Cieza, Spain, of course!

8) Who's the last person who you really knew that died?
My grandma

(A) You have the chance to give them 1 hour of life back, but you have to give one year of your life.

Would you?
um...no. That sounds mean, but they'd spend that hour of their life in pain in a hospital bed. Come on.

9) Are you the kind of friend that you would want to have as a friend?
I've been wondring that for a while. I don't know. I think I would actually really clash with myself. We both have a desperate urge for dominance and for being somehow different or better than everyone else around, so we'd have quite a time getting along. Plus we'd end up liking the same guys at the same time, which would doubtlessly hurt very badly for the both of us. And because we'd both pride ourselves on our unique red hair, we'd be furious to see the exact same shade on someone else's head. So no, I'm sorry to say, I think I would hate myself.

10) Your best friend(s) dies, what would you do?
I would most certainly panic.

11) When was the last time you told someone HONESTLY how you felt?
hmmm...last Sunday, maybe. Lately, telling some people what I truly think would cause quite a bit of trouble. It's better, sometimes, I think to keep my mouth shut.

12) What would be harder, for you to tell someone you love them or that you do not love them back?
Telling them I love them. I've done the latter a few times already. The former...impossibly hard for me.

13) Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them?
Yesterday. My previous answer is not applicable to saying "I love you" to my girlfriends.

14) If you had to go back in time and change one thing, if you HAD to, even if you had "no regrets" what would it be?
Well, gosh. I wouldn't change anything huge, because I have no desire to alter things from the way they are know. But I might have tried to hold back less from my friends in Spain. I only spent 6 days with them, and even that was two years ago, but I haven't forgotten them since.

15) Imagine: It is a dark night, you are alone, it is raining outside, you hear some one walking around out side; Who do you call?
I'd be too damn panicked to call anyone.

16) Would you give a homeless person CPR if they were dying?
I would if I knew CPR...

17) Are you old fashioned?
I guess not because I got in this heated discussion with my mother today about how I don't know how to sew, and how I have absolutely no desire to ever even learn how to sew. So of course I'm not old fashioned. I'm blogging, for goodness' sakes.

18) Which would you choose, true love with a guarantee of a heart break or have never loved before?
Unfortunately, the path of the heartbreak would probably lead to some really soul-scarring writing. And I mean that in the best way possible. Never loving is like living life not ever fully awake...I most certainly wouldn't choose that. Love is a bitch, but hey, it sure makes you feel alive.

19) If you could do anything OR wish for anything that would come true, what would you do?
I don't really get the difference. And I don't want to sit around wishing for my fairy godmother to bring me my beautiful princess dress and glass slippers, so...whatever. I'm ignoring this question.

20) Think of everyone you know, would you prefer to only have never met one of them or to lose them all but one?
That is one of the most awkwardly phrased questions I have ever read. I don't even want to think about it.

21) Have you ever truly experienced love?
After a lot of that, yes, I'm pretty sure I have. It was a lot more angst than fun.

22) What hurts you the most emotionally, when you let yourself down or when you let the ones you care about down?
The latter.

23) Is there someone that you believe you will always be attached to, whether you love them or not, they will just always be in the back of your mind?
Possibly. But time heals just about all stuff like that.

First Monday of My No-More-High-School Summer

Lame? Maybe.

Well, damn. This is how my first official day of summer is going: sleeping in and wondering what the fuck I am going to do today, but hoping that whatever it is, it will be productive. Then I think about the high school yearbook that I have to finish creating, even though I graduated three days ago. I scoff at myself for being so pathetic, but I actually kind of look forward to going to school to work on it. My Mom comes downstairs and is completely incredulous that I am still in bed at ten thirty in the morning, even though I’ve slept at least that late on just about every single day off I’ve had in the past four years. Much later, I finally pull myself out of my bed, telling myself that even though it is summer and I don’t yet have a job, I’ve got to do something productive, god damn it, else I get wildly depressed. I start getting ready, then my Mom’s downstairs again (she’s got this awful habit of popping in and out of my bedroom every morning) telling me I need to get upstairs and start cleaning something.

Sigh…

So I end up procrastinating and cleaning the kitchen about 2 hours later, at which point my mother has become very angry at me for being so damn lazy and slow. Then I get annoyed and spend the rest of the afternoon hating my house and everyone in it. (Okay, a little extreme, I know. I’d say as a teenager, I’m still entitled to a little angst, but in all honesty, I’m really not. No matter how old I am, life is way too short for me to be hating it.)

After I finally clean the kitchen, I finish getting ready, taking the time to curl my hair because I actually have the time. Then I get a ride from my Mom to the high school I’ve just graduated from. (If any written sentence shows how much of a loser I am, that one wins hands down.) And what do I discover but that my magnificent yearbook staff (which includes three people besides myself, most of whom rarely actually work on the yearbook) isn’t even staying after school. Oh, wonderful. So I showed up to school for nothing.

I leave, feeling mildly depressed, because damn, what am I going to do now? And what the hell am I going to do with the rest of this aimless summer? I am going to go to college next year, and Oh My Dear God, my life is going to suck from this point onwards.

At that point, I decide that I need to get out. Do something besides staying at home feeling like a loser.

So here I am at a coffee shop recounting my nothing of a day! Here’s my new solution to life’s problems--coffee shops and laptops. Together. Writing, caffeine, and getting the hell out of my house can almost always improve my mood, no matter how shitty it is. Few things make me feel more confident and hopeful about life than a good strong coffee and my own [attempt at] dexterous use of the English language.

*****

Now I’m thinking about going out to buy a new ipod tonight. Is making this sudden decision to go and spend 300 dollars a bad idea? You bet it is. But guess what? I’ve got a lot of graduation money and a new checking account. So, new ipod it is! I’ve got a pink 4GB ipod nano right now. But there are two things wrong with it: One, it’s pink, and two, it’s only 4GB. This holds not-even-one-quarter of my music collection. I’m making a really solid effort to further develop my musical taste, and this cute little ipod nano has been wonderful, but it just isn’t doing enough to help me. So I’ve been dreaming lately about a solid black 80GB.

Let’s see how soon I regret buying it.

*****

Damn it all. I was supposed to be spending this time at Starbuck’s writing an article for the senior yearbook pages. It’s proving to be a lot more difficult than I thought. So this is why writers talk so much about staring blankly at their computer screens. I’m finding out that that it is quite an awful feeling. It’s easy to write, but writing well is something entirely different. And this Class of 2008 article has got to kick ass.

I think I’m going to need a lot more caffeine.

Wish me luck. I’ll post it when I’m done.

Benefits of Total Bedlam

It's a crazy time of year.

I'm almost done with high school. I still find this to be pretty unbelievable. I don't have too much time, though, to dwell on this mind-boggling fact, because I'm caught up in the chaos of finals week. The past four exams have led me into mental exhaustion; staying up till 4 AM last night also led me to feel slightly...insane. I've been walking around like a dazed lunatic for the past 48 hours or so.

I was amazed, however, as I was cranking out skillfully written (or cleverly BS'd...same thing, right?) in-class essays for my theology exam. Somehow, miraculously, even under the influence of only two and a half hours of anxious sleep, I was coming up with perfect words. It was like suddenly I knew how to write without even trying.

I therefore came to the conclusion that my writing ability is inversely proportionate to my sanity. When I experience mental calm, composure, and levelheadedness, I cannot write very easily, nor do I want to. But, on the other hand, when my head feels like it is going to crack in two, and when I can't seem to do anything but stumble through my day like a drunken idiot, I don't want to do anything but write. For some reason, when I feel like I've lost hold of all tangible logic, I am much more able to find the right words. They drop perfectly into my mind like missing puzzle pieces that while feeling okay, I can never seem to find.

So, I developed the following formula:

Brilliant, right?

What can I conclude from all of this? Well, I think that pure chaos is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. In fact, sometimes it is even kind of fun.

Fortunately (well kind of), my life (mainly because I lead it) is insane for a good majority of the time. Who needs sanity, anyways?

Where the hell is the sun??

Everything is so awful today.

I hate rainy days. There are few things in this life that I find more woeful a cold, achey, wet dark day. Days like this, I wake up and can tell it's gross outside before I even get out of bed to look out the window. The rain, dark and misery somehow seep into my bones and destroy my mental state from dawn till dusk.


Today was one of those days.

So what did I do? I moped around. A lot. I think my Mom thought I was dying. I wasn't. I wasn't even sick...just abnormally dejected. And I'm blaming the weather. This wretched weather combined with the stress of upcoming finals and all the worry about finishing the school yearbook has made for a very wearisome day.

I tried to get some stuff done. I have enough work to keep me mind-numbingly busy until I graduate. Unfortunately, it was unspeakably difficult to start doing anything. I just couldn't bring myself to focus. I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything at all besides drag myself worthlessly around the house.

I thought today was going to be a strong and productive study day. But instead of trying to memorize key terms for my civil law exams, I did this:

I tore apart my English books. What you see there is 2 1/2 books worth of notes. You'll notice that I'm a very organized person.
Ha ha.

I wish I could have done something more worthwhile today than create a colorful post-it explosion on my desk. It is cool...kind of pretty, actually. I'm just not sure that it's all that worthwhile in helping me avoid painful late-night finals cramming. I'm not sure that it's all that worthwhile...at all.

Well, maybe one of these days I will learn how to prioritize. Maybe someday I will create beautiful and beneficial things and actually do something good with my life. That day, however, will probably not involve any rain.

Randomness seems to be "in."

Writing for the sheer sake of doing so

I'm way too tired to write any kind of story...so here's a short and sporadic thought.

I think randomness has become some kind of unspoken fad among a lot of teenage girls. Check out their myspace "About Me"s. There are a startling amount of these self-descriptions that look a lot like this: "My name is Sarah, I'm 15 years old and I'm a freshman in high school. I loooooove mint chocolate chip ice cream. I have a lot of purple shirts. I got a puppy for my 12th birthday. My mousepad is pink. I love lip gloss. I hate girls who talk shit. If you don't like me, guess what, I don't care, that's your problem, not mine. I love the All-American Rejects. I have three freckles on my right knee. I am random! I have long blond hair, that I sometimes wear with a headband. I have the best friends in the whole entire world!!!! They are always there for me!!! I like gymnastics. I like pinepples on my pizza. I like tall boys with curly hair and bright blue eyes. I HATE cleaning. My little brother is a brat. I want to live in a mansion when I grow up."

The list can go on and on and on. I find it ridiculous that in spite of all the details they hold, long-winded paragraphs like this are so mind-numbingly boring and so blatantly lacking in even a resemblance of a coherent description. (Sorry. Got a little carried away with words there.) There seem to be a startling amount of people that know nothing more about themselves than the fact that they like pineapple pizza and pink mousepads.

My goodness, some teenagers are fascinating.

Cue the Wild Applause

Let's Give it Up for the Class of '08!

I had my last day of high school class today. I should be thrilled. I hate high school class. But in all honesty, I’m kind of sad. How in the hell can I be done with high school? I’ve spent four years at Arrupe Jesuit, and granted, a good amount of my time there has been pretty torturous, but even so, I’ve come to really love that place. In spite of all the bitchy friends, crappy math teachers, and crippling amounts of homework, it really breaks my heart to be leaving. I spent my whole freshman year there as an awkward and friendless misfit. Now I actually feel like I belong. I still hate it sometimes, but I’m at home there. I’m comfortable with the people. I no longer worry so much about the way I act around them, and I’m not obsessed with making people like me. My entire class of 55 kids has grown close enough over these past four years that most of us are pretty damn comfortable with each other. We know each other, and as my classmate Adrian said at our senior retreat, we’ve all got each others’ backs, and we all know that. At school, I’m happy just chillin’ anywhere at all—in the gym watching boys shoot hoops, in the lobby joking with whoever else might be there waiting for their Mom to pick them up, or on the bus laughing my ass off on the way to work. I love most of my classmates at and even some of the teachers. It’s so frightening and shocking to be leaving them all behind.

This isn’t to say that I’m not excited for my future…I am. It’s just that I know virtually nothing about it. I know I’m going to DU. And I plan on studying writing. But aside from that, I know absolutely nothing about what my life will become. I’m saying goodbye to almost everyone I know. I certainly hope to keep in touch with my closest friends, but there’s no way our relationships are going to be the same as they are now. We won’t be able to talk through math class or waste time in the computer lab anymore. We will no longer spend hours on the school bus together or laugh our asses off at lunch while picking at DJ the lunch lady’s infamous “tater tot casserole” or glorious “chocolate surprise.”

I don’t know how much I’ll miss high school…but I will definitely remember its high points. Today, for instance, we seniors were pretty excited that it was our last day of class. While the community aspect of school is fabulous, the academic part sucks. So we were pretty damn glad to know that we would never again have to sit through another treacherous 65 minutes of high school calculus.

In third period civics, the two social studies teachers I’ve had presented us with mix CDs…full of songs and sound clips from the past four years. Something about hearing the Neighborhood Map Machine theme song and a stuttering lawyer from the film My Cousin Vinny made me want to cry. High school seems so much more wonderful in retrospect than it does when you’re actually living through it. The past four years were at times a haze of exhaustion and angst, but I think that, overall, I really and truly loved my experience. I’ve turned into one of those people I never thought I would be – the kind of happy girl who loves high school.

Today, as I mentioned, seniors were very happy. In fact, we were ecstatic. We spent most of the day cheering. Literally. My classmates have become very fond of applause in the past few months. I like to think that this clapping obsession started when I won “The General’s Award” for volleyball. When our athletic director approached me at the beginning of a theology class to give me my award, my hyperactive class erupted into wild cheers, which continued for about 10 minutes. They even started excitedly chanting my name –- all for me having a good attitude on the volleyball team. When the cheering finally began to subside, Mr. Lovinguth the athletic director came back into our classroom with the letter that I’d also earned. The classroom exploded once again with whooping and screaming.

Most of us got detention that day.

Since then, Arrupe’s class of 2008 has been full of enthusiastic cheerers. A few days ago, as my civics teacher walked through the crowded cafeteria, senior Victor Soto loudly announced, “Mr. Dexter, everybody!!” The senior class cheered like we’d just won the lottery as Mr. Dexter humbly grinned and waved his way through the cafeteria.

So we like cheering. And we’ve gotten really good at it. We spent most of our lunch period today cheering for most of the teachers who walked by, except for the assistant principal who strutted through the cafeteria like he was expecting applause. We cheered through fifth and sixth periods. We cheered after school, whooping and screaming, “OH-EIGHT! OH-EIGHT! OH-EIGHT!” Some girls even paraded with our Dean of Students, running wildly through the hallways after the last bell.

Then seniors started going home, the insanity subsided, and I realized, Wow. I’m kind of sad. I’m just about done with high school. And I’m totally stunned.

Happy Birthday to Me

I turned 18 on Friday!

My parents gave me a Nikon D40 for a birthday present.
I love it. I got it the day before my family went up to the mountains for the weekend, so I really had some fun up there...


I don't know much about photography, but now that I've got the great camera, I've got to start learning!

Sucker for Romance Movies?

I watched The Notebook again tonight.

The first time I watched this, my heart was torn apart by what a beautiful romance it was. That was one or two years ago. I watched most of it again tonight, and while some parts still made me sigh, "aww...", most of what I thought was, God, that girl is ditzy.

But Ryan Gosling was still gorgeous.
Are beautiful guys like this the only reason I like TV?
Maybe.

I'm a little bothered by the fact that I didn't like The Notebook so much the second time around. Everyone likes The Notebook. It's the girly romance movie of the century. And I'm starting to think it's pretty stupid.

I've become disturbingly cynical. Or maybe just realistic. I don't know, but I kind of like it.