So most people who graduated this June are in college right now. That is, after all, the natural progression of our society. Especially those intelligent valedictorians and their top twenty gang. (You have to wonder about those kids. Who knows what they're doing locked in their rooms all the time. Probably developing weird steroids that build brain rather than bulk.)
Actually, I was in the top twenty, so let's just leave that stereo type to the top ten gang.
Alas, while I did go off to college, it went down hill quite fast. But, because I'm so considerate to bore you with why (and really don't feel like explaining it again), we'll skip the experience. Now, as a statute to how smart I am, I'm not attending college this year. (Take that, top twenty stereotype!)
Actually, it's being sorted out fairly quickly. I still have to figure out how to cancel a bunch of loans and other fantastically fun things, which I'm so not looking forward to. I'm also getting very tired very quickly of people asking me "why" and if I'm all right or if they can help. I can handle myself well enough, thank you. Even more so, I'm getting very irritated with the heckling. If I was smart enough to get the grades and rank that I did, I'm also smart enough to know what I should escape.
The better news is that I've only spent two nights in my own bed and all ready I have an interview with Wegmans. I also sent an email to RIT about two days ago, that didn't include any real information other than my name, and they've all ready tracked down my address and sent me a personalized letter.
I wish things had worked this smoothly and quickly a few months ago when I was looking for a job. x.x
Wishing you well,
M. D. Koch
Aug 27, 2011
Jul 31, 2011
This is it.
Is this it? Can it be?
Is there something more?
But, no, this is it:
That last moment to breathe.
This is it, there is no time to spare.
Can this be it?
But it must be.
Can you see?
Can you dare to breathe?
The light is fading to dark.
There is no white or black.
Everything is fading to grey.
Dark, light—but there is no difference anymore.
It’s all grey.
There is no distinction.
There is no you or I.
There is not even an “us.”
This is it, the glob that remains.
Can’t you feel it?
Because you don’t matter anymore;
I don’t matter anymore.
We never did; we never were.
Can’t you see?
There never was a you or an I.
There never could be.
Jul 26, 2011
Fun, Fun, Fun
A great deal of excitement has occurred since my last post, so I'll give the overview:
My best friend got me Still Got Legs and The World Is Mine (I Don't Know Anything) as well as a sonic screwdriver for my graduation party. She also wrapped them in post-its with lyrics from Hank Green songs on them. How awesome is that?
I'm also teaching this friend to swim--and there has been mild success! She can now do the elementary backstroke. And we got a kick board to make the future easier.
My sister and I saw Deathly Hallows Part Two. I was in love before, but I am even more so now. (Although, I would have preferred to kill Ron off rather than Fred. And I hope they realize that Harry has no wand now, because he didn't fix it like he did in the book. He is vulnerable.)
I went shopping. I got capris. I have been less disgustingly warm since. And I haven't burned yet this summer! (Granted, I use three different sun screens, and one of them is 70+ and leaves me white as a geisha.)
I've also been to a mess of grad. parties for people I love very much. And I got one of them a sexist gift, because she's female and belongs in the kitchen. (Way too excited about that.)
But today was inarguably the best day I've had this summer. A group of friends and I went up to a park where shenanigans took place. Once there, I had to bike off to pick up a friend. (Well, when I say pick up, I mean bike to her house and then walk her to the park because she wasn't permitted to do it on her own.) But I shan't complain, because my best friend asked me to do so. That, and the friend I was getting is also wonderful in her own way.
Then we took off to the Wegmans plaza where we split up for food. (Some creepers decided that Taco Bell was worthier of their money than Wegmans.) So Steve, Sarah, another friend whose name I can never remember because I'm a dunce, and I went to Wegmans. There, Tiff's mom was seen (and thus my day made). I ate a sandwich ridiculously quickly and finished my entire supply of water for the day.
Then currently-nameless-friend had to go home and Sarah showed up with our Lunch of Champions (because she is awesome and she for some reason felt it fit to share her food with creepy, hungry people).
I bought super chocolatey, brownie-like cookies as well. Contributions were well received.
Then we traveled to a bakery across the street where most of the others got sugar. (Sugar is the secret to life.)
Then we stopped in the Dollar Tree and Sarah got glow sticks. Which reminded me of the Hectic Glow Band. Alas, I doubt you've heard of them.
Then we headed off to one of the many forests in the park. (They all have paths and are fun to explore.) The one in which bags were stored was dubbed Narnia. Here I split off from the rest of the pack because I felt like hiding and watching them like the creep that I am. Eventually, they entered a forest that I had never explored before and I felt that I should follow them or risk being hopelessly severed.
Unfortunately (but not really, because it was spectacular), I followed the wrong path and ended up on the other side of the forest they entered. There I found a wondrous stone path with fantastic foliage that I had never known existed. I also found, peeking through the foliage, that it runs along the street on which my father works:
I loved it there very much. It was spectacular.
Alas, my friends soon wondered where I was. I sent Steve a picture, but it didn't seem to help much. Apparently, I was the first to discover this place.
So, Steve called me, which I appreciated because it gave me a chance to use my speaker-phone. (Which was fun!) Eventually we emerged on two different sides of a field of what I think is hay. We shouted to each other and then realized that we were still on our phones with each other.
I then proceeded to show my friends the magical path I had found. After which we retired to Narnia and I stole Horatio (Sarah's beautiful camera) for a while. At least, until she wanted to take pictures of people surrounded by colorful smoke from fancy things she bought at the flea market. At this point Steve and I became slave labor (releasing the smoke, blocking the wind with a sheet, fanning the smoke, et cetera). Although, I was relieved of labor when she requested I submit to the wills of her and Horatio as well and be captured on film.
After this I had to walk Katherine home. Which I did, and we talked about similarly awesome stuff. When i returned only Steve and Sarah remained. . . And I really want to start referring to them as the "S" crew.
We didn't stay in Narnia long. We explored more. (Although we first when to the park's building where there were bathrooms and a water fountain. And then to Rite Aid where I got a Gatorade I managed to drink in under three minutes and they got caffeinated drinks.)
Next to the hay field is another field that leads to a little lake, where Steve taught us (well, taught Sarah and tried to teach me) how to skip rocks. We followed the edge of this to the connecting park before deciding to go inside another bit of woods we had yet to explore. There we found what looked like a graffitied and abandoned train car. Sarah drew the Deathly Hallows symbol. Steve wrote DFTBA above it. Sarah took a picture of Steve and me making the Nerdfighter gang side on either side of it. Then we went back to exploring the water.
We followed a trail of cattails until we forced our way through some shrubbery and found ourselves at the entrance to the stone path again. So, of course, we walked along it again, until my dad called me. (Somehow, nearly eight hours had passed and my mom was worried.) So, we abandoned the beautiful path and had some fun in the field on the way to our abandoned bags.
Then, sadly, I had to leave my friends, who are spectacular.
On the way home a creeper hit on me. It was gross.
Hope your day was equally wonderful,
M. D. Koch
My best friend got me Still Got Legs and The World Is Mine (I Don't Know Anything) as well as a sonic screwdriver for my graduation party. She also wrapped them in post-its with lyrics from Hank Green songs on them. How awesome is that?
I'm also teaching this friend to swim--and there has been mild success! She can now do the elementary backstroke. And we got a kick board to make the future easier.
My sister and I saw Deathly Hallows Part Two. I was in love before, but I am even more so now. (Although, I would have preferred to kill Ron off rather than Fred. And I hope they realize that Harry has no wand now, because he didn't fix it like he did in the book. He is vulnerable.)
I went shopping. I got capris. I have been less disgustingly warm since. And I haven't burned yet this summer! (Granted, I use three different sun screens, and one of them is 70+ and leaves me white as a geisha.)
I've also been to a mess of grad. parties for people I love very much. And I got one of them a sexist gift, because she's female and belongs in the kitchen. (Way too excited about that.)
But today was inarguably the best day I've had this summer. A group of friends and I went up to a park where shenanigans took place. Once there, I had to bike off to pick up a friend. (Well, when I say pick up, I mean bike to her house and then walk her to the park because she wasn't permitted to do it on her own.) But I shan't complain, because my best friend asked me to do so. That, and the friend I was getting is also wonderful in her own way.
Then we took off to the Wegmans plaza where we split up for food. (Some creepers decided that Taco Bell was worthier of their money than Wegmans.) So Steve, Sarah, another friend whose name I can never remember because I'm a dunce, and I went to Wegmans. There, Tiff's mom was seen (and thus my day made). I ate a sandwich ridiculously quickly and finished my entire supply of water for the day.
I bought super chocolatey, brownie-like cookies as well. Contributions were well received.
Then we traveled to a bakery across the street where most of the others got sugar. (Sugar is the secret to life.)
Then we stopped in the Dollar Tree and Sarah got glow sticks. Which reminded me of the Hectic Glow Band. Alas, I doubt you've heard of them.
Then we headed off to one of the many forests in the park. (They all have paths and are fun to explore.) The one in which bags were stored was dubbed Narnia. Here I split off from the rest of the pack because I felt like hiding and watching them like the creep that I am. Eventually, they entered a forest that I had never explored before and I felt that I should follow them or risk being hopelessly severed.
Unfortunately (but not really, because it was spectacular), I followed the wrong path and ended up on the other side of the forest they entered. There I found a wondrous stone path with fantastic foliage that I had never known existed. I also found, peeking through the foliage, that it runs along the street on which my father works:I loved it there very much. It was spectacular.
Alas, my friends soon wondered where I was. I sent Steve a picture, but it didn't seem to help much. Apparently, I was the first to discover this place.
So, Steve called me, which I appreciated because it gave me a chance to use my speaker-phone. (Which was fun!) Eventually we emerged on two different sides of a field of what I think is hay. We shouted to each other and then realized that we were still on our phones with each other.
I then proceeded to show my friends the magical path I had found. After which we retired to Narnia and I stole Horatio (Sarah's beautiful camera) for a while. At least, until she wanted to take pictures of people surrounded by colorful smoke from fancy things she bought at the flea market. At this point Steve and I became slave labor (releasing the smoke, blocking the wind with a sheet, fanning the smoke, et cetera). Although, I was relieved of labor when she requested I submit to the wills of her and Horatio as well and be captured on film.
After this I had to walk Katherine home. Which I did, and we talked about similarly awesome stuff. When i returned only Steve and Sarah remained. . . And I really want to start referring to them as the "S" crew.
We didn't stay in Narnia long. We explored more. (Although we first when to the park's building where there were bathrooms and a water fountain. And then to Rite Aid where I got a Gatorade I managed to drink in under three minutes and they got caffeinated drinks.)
Next to the hay field is another field that leads to a little lake, where Steve taught us (well, taught Sarah and tried to teach me) how to skip rocks. We followed the edge of this to the connecting park before deciding to go inside another bit of woods we had yet to explore. There we found what looked like a graffitied and abandoned train car. Sarah drew the Deathly Hallows symbol. Steve wrote DFTBA above it. Sarah took a picture of Steve and me making the Nerdfighter gang side on either side of it. Then we went back to exploring the water.
We followed a trail of cattails until we forced our way through some shrubbery and found ourselves at the entrance to the stone path again. So, of course, we walked along it again, until my dad called me. (Somehow, nearly eight hours had passed and my mom was worried.) So, we abandoned the beautiful path and had some fun in the field on the way to our abandoned bags.
Then, sadly, I had to leave my friends, who are spectacular.
On the way home a creeper hit on me. It was gross.
Hope your day was equally wonderful,
M. D. Koch
Jul 19, 2011
If you feel the need to alarm an eighteen year old girl by making her think she hit you with a moving vehicle, you are quite possibly an ass hole.
If you feel the need to play with your daughter's friend's hair after being repeatedly told not to do so, you may be an idiot.
If you ask to eat my food and use my bathroom, but do not wait for me to go there myself before taking off, you may cause annoyance.
If you think that seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part two isn't worth it, you are a poor, lost soul.
I am not a poor, lost soul. I'm going to the movie theater tomorrow morning. Although, my attendance is not necessary. I know how it ends:
I show up and Voldemort hides in a corner. Harry Potter picks up the Elder wand, but I'm the new big cheese. When faced with the Elder want in battle it emits a high-pitched screech and burrows into the earth. As a lovely lady said, "Harry Potter didn't snap it, it snapped when it heard you coming."
If you feel the need to play with your daughter's friend's hair after being repeatedly told not to do so, you may be an idiot.
If you ask to eat my food and use my bathroom, but do not wait for me to go there myself before taking off, you may cause annoyance.
If you think that seeing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part two isn't worth it, you are a poor, lost soul.
I am not a poor, lost soul. I'm going to the movie theater tomorrow morning. Although, my attendance is not necessary. I know how it ends:
I show up and Voldemort hides in a corner. Harry Potter picks up the Elder wand, but I'm the new big cheese. When faced with the Elder want in battle it emits a high-pitched screech and burrows into the earth. As a lovely lady said, "Harry Potter didn't snap it, it snapped when it heard you coming."
Jul 4, 2011
Happy Independence Day!
I hear the fourth of July is a day to celebrate the United States' sovereignty. Well, that's all well and good. I'll hardly not support because, as fantastic as England is, there is no guarantee that had they not lost that battle I wouldn't be living in some kind of horror.
Alas, today I'm celebrating many other things. And all of them seem to be related to books.
First, there is the joy of a newly organized bookshelf. And, if I may say so, the most entertaining and spectacular of all the ways it has been organized. (I kid you not, it is beautiful. To prove my point--and to just take pictures of its awesomeness--I shall provide close-ups.)
First, there is a pedestal of alluring, leather-bound reference books for my silver coated Snapple bottle.
Oh, AP Chem. Oh, Tollens' test. How I love these things.
Second is my mad scientist blocks from ThinkGeek.
A robot, peasants with pitchforks, maniacal, a virus, and Potassium. Is that not beautiful?
Third is a snow globe. Although I'm hesitant to call it a snow globe when it has no fake snow and houses a bunny. . . Alas, who am I to judge?
I have a thing for snow globes.
Fourth is a Beijing Olympic Mascot that my best friend got me during her visit to China. It stands vigilant, as it rightfully deserves, on a pedestal of Yotsuba&!
Never question its power.
And, lastly, since I lack a fancy enough slinky, my squishy little green ball sits at the top of a flight of stairs. Book stairs.
Alas, while my sister and I were organizing this masterpiece, we realized that my bookmarks were not sitting on the second shelf, where they belong. This was bad, and it sent us into a frenzied search of the house, including going through every book we'd just carefully placed on the bookshelf if I had read it in the past month.
This may seem a bit out of proportion, but my bookmarks are actually more important to me than the combined worth of every book I own.
My best friend made them for me for two separate birthdays, and they are the only bookmarks that I've ever used since receiving the first one (which is on the right of the picture). I probably give them far too much importance, but they weren't something I requested. They were something my best friend wanted to make, and they illustrate two very important bits of my life.
Five days ago we managed to find the banana one fairly quickly, but the other remained illusive. I began to worry that I had stupidly left it in a library book that I had already returned, and I would be lying if I said that my sister and I didn't sulk for the rest of the day.
But, so sweet is Independence Day that is brings luck and, not even looking, I found the other bookmark.
The last book related thing that I am enjoying at the moment is a competition with my friend Taylor, who has read more classics than I have and mocks me for it. It has been decided that I should beat her, and she full-heartedly agrees. So I now spam her with every book I'm reading, though she seems to read just as quickly and retaliates.
Thus far I have finished:
God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
A Man Without a Country
The Martian Chronicles
Gulliver's Travels
Zero
The Croquet Player
Treasure Island
Yotsuba&! (Finally got the last four volumes)
. . . Yeah, I might be having a hard time focusing on classics.
Some weren't fantastic. Gulliver's Travels was a disappointment. But, all in all, I've given her positive reviews.
Care to join the competition?
Alas, today I'm celebrating many other things. And all of them seem to be related to books.
First, there is the joy of a newly organized bookshelf. And, if I may say so, the most entertaining and spectacular of all the ways it has been organized. (I kid you not, it is beautiful. To prove my point--and to just take pictures of its awesomeness--I shall provide close-ups.)
First, there is a pedestal of alluring, leather-bound reference books for my silver coated Snapple bottle.
Oh, AP Chem. Oh, Tollens' test. How I love these things.
Second is my mad scientist blocks from ThinkGeek.
A robot, peasants with pitchforks, maniacal, a virus, and Potassium. Is that not beautiful?
Third is a snow globe. Although I'm hesitant to call it a snow globe when it has no fake snow and houses a bunny. . . Alas, who am I to judge?
I have a thing for snow globes.
Fourth is a Beijing Olympic Mascot that my best friend got me during her visit to China. It stands vigilant, as it rightfully deserves, on a pedestal of Yotsuba&!
Never question its power.
And, lastly, since I lack a fancy enough slinky, my squishy little green ball sits at the top of a flight of stairs. Book stairs.
Alas, while my sister and I were organizing this masterpiece, we realized that my bookmarks were not sitting on the second shelf, where they belong. This was bad, and it sent us into a frenzied search of the house, including going through every book we'd just carefully placed on the bookshelf if I had read it in the past month.
This may seem a bit out of proportion, but my bookmarks are actually more important to me than the combined worth of every book I own.
My best friend made them for me for two separate birthdays, and they are the only bookmarks that I've ever used since receiving the first one (which is on the right of the picture). I probably give them far too much importance, but they weren't something I requested. They were something my best friend wanted to make, and they illustrate two very important bits of my life.
Five days ago we managed to find the banana one fairly quickly, but the other remained illusive. I began to worry that I had stupidly left it in a library book that I had already returned, and I would be lying if I said that my sister and I didn't sulk for the rest of the day.
But, so sweet is Independence Day that is brings luck and, not even looking, I found the other bookmark.
The last book related thing that I am enjoying at the moment is a competition with my friend Taylor, who has read more classics than I have and mocks me for it. It has been decided that I should beat her, and she full-heartedly agrees. So I now spam her with every book I'm reading, though she seems to read just as quickly and retaliates.
Thus far I have finished:
God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian
God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater
A Man Without a Country
The Martian Chronicles
Gulliver's Travels
Zero
The Croquet Player
Treasure Island
Yotsuba&! (Finally got the last four volumes)
. . . Yeah, I might be having a hard time focusing on classics.
Some weren't fantastic. Gulliver's Travels was a disappointment. But, all in all, I've given her positive reviews.
Care to join the competition?
Jul 1, 2011
Yttrium Einsteinium!
I know, it's a terrible picture.
In my defense, I only have a camera on my phone.
And I was being rushed.
And, come on, that's pretty far above my head with small symbols.
All the same, is that not the greatest clock you've ever seen?
(Fluorine Uranium Carbon Potassium, Yttrium Einsteinium!)
. . . All these pictures remind me of my promise to do writing exercises.
I know, I really ought to write more again.
I'll work on that. . .
Jun 29, 2011
A Problem, You Say?
My sister and I may have a bit of a problem.
I call it Mobius Strip addiction.
And that's not my only problem.
Lately I've gotten various Disney related music in my head. (Not that this is a bad thing. Much as I'll rant about how depthless certain classic Disney films are and how very treacherous when molding a young girl's expectations in life, I'm a sucker for Beauty & the Beast.)
Alas, and I fear my friends will have to judge me for this, I've been listening to Selena Gomez and the Jonas Brothers on a loop for the past week. I'm not calling them bad. Actually, the more I listen to them the more enamored I am with their music. It's just that, given the nature of my friends, I'm likely to be harassed for some time. . .
However, I am also the recipient of good news!
I got my housing assignment today for college next year.
I HAVE A SINGLE ROOM!
Take that, teacher's that scold my introversion!
YES! HUZZAH!
DFTBA,
M. D. Koch
Jun 27, 2011
Unconditional Love
Have you ever Google image searched the word family?
I feel as though the results are trying to send a certain message. The heart made in the penguin one is a bit obvious.
But I have to wonder, when is the last time your family looked like that? Do you have weekly family fun nights? Do you go out to the park and go home with snapshots of a happy family? Do you jump with excitement when walking down the street together? Or do your personalities clash? Do you disagree with each other's actions and grow irritable from too much togetherness?
When you add in extended family, do your pictures and keepsakes show smiling faces? Is everyone hugging each other?
When the holidays come around, do you want to go to the family gatherings? Do you miss everyone? Or would you rather only see some of them? Do you walk in the room and run up to hug everyone? Does everyone participate in the conversation? Is everyone immediately shrouded in a euphoric state?
I do not know what the typical family is or how these occasions play out, but I know that my family gatherings do not happen like that. We divide into factions. On my father's side there is the section for those who will end up drinking too much. There are common groups of four to five people who always talk to these same people at gatherings and rarely get up to see another person. There are the occasional outsiders that have either had a few too many children at a young age or done a few too many drugs; that no one really wants to acknowledge.
On my mother's side it is small enough that everyone sits at one table, but the factions are even more apparent. All the fathers get along well enough and often will go to watch some sport that's being aired on television. However, the rest of us are not so open. My immediate family remains closed off and separated: we are bitter because every year my mother's sisters and their families go on a vacation that they boast about to us but have never included us. As years passed, we grew more silent as I became an atheist and the majority of my family became either an atheist or agnostic. Our extended family likes to believe themselves Christians, even if they rarely go to church and have not been known to pray other than at a funeral.
But while I wonder about the way the word family is projected on society, I wonder about the way family works its way into our lives.
I've learned from experience that mentioning something about yourself that is more important than "Oh, I saw that, it was cool," or "I love you" family (or mine) doesn't want to hear it.
You're an atheist now? How ridiculous, now I demand you listen as I attack this foolish misjudgment of yours.
You mean you understand all of this? Ew, now you're going to use facts in the conversation? Go away, of course we don't want to understand any of this. This is gossip, rumors. Don't suck the fun away.
It goes on.
So I wonder: does your family know who you really are? I know, most of us live with our immediate family. If we all see each other everyday we're bound to know a good deal about that person. But what about extended family? Do you play a charade in their presence? Or do you really have that perfect family that is depicted in the media? (And if you do, how do you keep it up?)
My family is not designed for unconditional love. It's full of people who say they love me, but refuse to know anything about me. It's full of people who still fondle my hair, though anyone who pays attention to me knows how much I detest the action.
I also wonder something else, though: even in the worst of families, I think there must be someone that you whole-heartedly love: a cousin, an aunt, whomever. Someone whose presence makes you undeniably happy. For me, it's a cousin. But for big events and celebrations, such as my recent graduation, he's not invited. I'm not even the one who does the inviting. Not really.
For some reason, it is demanded that my mother's sisters and mother are invited to these events. My mother asserts it and my father goes along with it. And, though I'll fight it for months, I'm always forced to invite them personally and hide my venom.
Why? Does someone somewhere find it funny? Think it won't make my animosity grow?
Am I the only one who feels this way? Is Google right? Are most families really eternally happy together? At the end of the day, how do you feel about the family?
But I have to wonder, when is the last time your family looked like that? Do you have weekly family fun nights? Do you go out to the park and go home with snapshots of a happy family? Do you jump with excitement when walking down the street together? Or do your personalities clash? Do you disagree with each other's actions and grow irritable from too much togetherness?
When you add in extended family, do your pictures and keepsakes show smiling faces? Is everyone hugging each other?
When the holidays come around, do you want to go to the family gatherings? Do you miss everyone? Or would you rather only see some of them? Do you walk in the room and run up to hug everyone? Does everyone participate in the conversation? Is everyone immediately shrouded in a euphoric state?
I do not know what the typical family is or how these occasions play out, but I know that my family gatherings do not happen like that. We divide into factions. On my father's side there is the section for those who will end up drinking too much. There are common groups of four to five people who always talk to these same people at gatherings and rarely get up to see another person. There are the occasional outsiders that have either had a few too many children at a young age or done a few too many drugs; that no one really wants to acknowledge.
On my mother's side it is small enough that everyone sits at one table, but the factions are even more apparent. All the fathers get along well enough and often will go to watch some sport that's being aired on television. However, the rest of us are not so open. My immediate family remains closed off and separated: we are bitter because every year my mother's sisters and their families go on a vacation that they boast about to us but have never included us. As years passed, we grew more silent as I became an atheist and the majority of my family became either an atheist or agnostic. Our extended family likes to believe themselves Christians, even if they rarely go to church and have not been known to pray other than at a funeral.
But while I wonder about the way the word family is projected on society, I wonder about the way family works its way into our lives.
I've learned from experience that mentioning something about yourself that is more important than "Oh, I saw that, it was cool," or "I love you" family (or mine) doesn't want to hear it.
You're an atheist now? How ridiculous, now I demand you listen as I attack this foolish misjudgment of yours.
You mean you understand all of this? Ew, now you're going to use facts in the conversation? Go away, of course we don't want to understand any of this. This is gossip, rumors. Don't suck the fun away.
It goes on.
So I wonder: does your family know who you really are? I know, most of us live with our immediate family. If we all see each other everyday we're bound to know a good deal about that person. But what about extended family? Do you play a charade in their presence? Or do you really have that perfect family that is depicted in the media? (And if you do, how do you keep it up?)
My family is not designed for unconditional love. It's full of people who say they love me, but refuse to know anything about me. It's full of people who still fondle my hair, though anyone who pays attention to me knows how much I detest the action.
I also wonder something else, though: even in the worst of families, I think there must be someone that you whole-heartedly love: a cousin, an aunt, whomever. Someone whose presence makes you undeniably happy. For me, it's a cousin. But for big events and celebrations, such as my recent graduation, he's not invited. I'm not even the one who does the inviting. Not really.
For some reason, it is demanded that my mother's sisters and mother are invited to these events. My mother asserts it and my father goes along with it. And, though I'll fight it for months, I'm always forced to invite them personally and hide my venom.
Why? Does someone somewhere find it funny? Think it won't make my animosity grow?
Am I the only one who feels this way? Is Google right? Are most families really eternally happy together? At the end of the day, how do you feel about the family?
Jun 21, 2011
" - a ginger day"
Perhaps you can't read the bottom:
"Every day more and more ginger babies are born, causing distress to literally thousands of Mother's and Father's up and down the country. With your help we can put an end to the suffering that these children inflict upon Parents, friends, and even passers by. Dr. Karl Pullmeov is heading pionerring [sic] research into the elimination of the ginger gene. Give generously and help the world become a less ginger place."
These are the founders of kick a ginger day. Alas, I see their point: I cause my parents so much distress that my mother frequently asks me to reproduce. She wants a ginger grandkid. My habits of being mute in public surely terrifies passers by. (A person silently walking? With ginger hair? Dear God, what is she planning? Keep her from the children!) And I really shouldn't start with my friends. Although, can I really call them friends if my presence is secretly causing them agony?
Seriously? People make me sick.
Kick a ginger day was treacherous--the news began documenting it and students got in horrific trouble with administrators. It needed to be erased. Others sought to make amends. But hug a ginger day? Is this some sick attempt to prove gingers have souls? (Because if it is, I won't stand for it.)
It's not that I have anything against kind gingers--I've actually met some. On some occasions I might be considered one. But I do not like being hugged. It is an unwelcome invasion. And I do not like people telling me I have a soul when they do not even know me.
Perhaps it is rarer to be a ginger than to be a brunette. Perhaps a ginger is more easily spotted in a crowd. But a ginger is no more or less a person than a brunette. And as a ginger I do not like be singled out. I do not like strangers stopping me for any reason--particularly those linked to my hair.
I am fond of the color green, but I am not a leprechaun. I am more than five feet tall and I am not, in any way, Irish.
I may or I may not have a soul. That is for me to decide.
I am also left handed, but only I can call myself Beelzebub.
I am not a character from some guy's redhead fetish.
I am not, to my knowledge, a witch.
I am probably paler than you, and I avoid the sun like it is my death warden, but I am not a vampire.
Whatever it is that comes to mind when you think "ginger," do not speak it to me. And do not, come June 22, think you have any right to hug me.
Jun 15, 2011
To Infinity and Viscosity
There it is, take it, grasp it. There, right before you, that wish to which you've clung. Just a step away, all the things you've muttered under your breath, all the things of which you've been so bitterly jealous are just a hairsbreath away. Reach out, clutch it.
Oh, I can't wait until I graduate. All right, so what now? You're done. Yes, yes, I feel your ecstacy, I am you after all. But stop for a moment. Can't you take a glimpse back? Oh, hush. Yes, I'll miss some things, but what joy this is! Stop, would you? Calm yourself: it's really not that fantastic. Oh, shush. Yes, I like some of these people, but that's what the Internet is for.
I am far too happy about this. I'm still not sure at what point I will actually become sad and lament the loss of daily contact with certain people. But my week has been good, and I don't really have a reason to mourn it yet. I've been useful, I've helped some teachers hand out caps and gowns. I've borrowed a math book from my (former) teacher--the first time I've ever actually read a math or science based book for fun, and I must say that I enjoyed it very much. I'm still a bit obsessed with toying with Mobius strips. . .
And now I've finally gotten a notification from Wegmans.
Now, a sane person probably wouldn't be ecstatic about the increased possibility of getting a job. A sane introvert would probably flee from the expected jump in social contact--even getting paid wouldn't be enough to calm that storm. But I am. After upwards of two years trying to get a job, finally hearing from someone is like someone mentioning that you're not entirely a worthless failure. (Plus, I really do need a source of income for the things that I've been hoping to get in the future.)
This week has been fairly close to infinite. Sure, there are rough patches and moments when everything seems to be going wrong, but it's been an over all good week. And tonight I'm going out to visit my sister, with whom I'll be going to the Corning Museum of Glass tomorrow. (Which reminds me, isn't glass funny? In eighth grade Earth Science we would test the hardness of a rock by attempting to scratch a plate of glass with it. Glass, we were told, was one of the hardest/strongest substances and thus became part of our scale. But if you drop a glass mug it shatters. And is it a solid or a liquid, really? Most would say solid. Most would ask me what the Percy Bysshe Shelley I'm going on about: why wouldn't glass be a solid? But it has no molecular structure, it's just a bunch of molecules in chaos, like ionized HCl in water. After a bunch of years, it will become evident that it has started to slide with gravity: a once uniform window will be thicker at the bottom than the top. So, what is it? A solid or an incredibly viscuous liquid? Hard, or fissiparous?)
Glass aside, infinite is a good word. So try it out for yourself: Cut out a strip of paper, give it a half-twist, and connect the ends. Try trailing along it with your finger. If you've done it correct, you now have a mobius strip, and it has no end. It has only one side and it is infinite.
Try it.
Oh, I can't wait until I graduate. All right, so what now? You're done. Yes, yes, I feel your ecstacy, I am you after all. But stop for a moment. Can't you take a glimpse back? Oh, hush. Yes, I'll miss some things, but what joy this is! Stop, would you? Calm yourself: it's really not that fantastic. Oh, shush. Yes, I like some of these people, but that's what the Internet is for.
I am far too happy about this. I'm still not sure at what point I will actually become sad and lament the loss of daily contact with certain people. But my week has been good, and I don't really have a reason to mourn it yet. I've been useful, I've helped some teachers hand out caps and gowns. I've borrowed a math book from my (former) teacher--the first time I've ever actually read a math or science based book for fun, and I must say that I enjoyed it very much. I'm still a bit obsessed with toying with Mobius strips. . .
And now I've finally gotten a notification from Wegmans.
Now, a sane person probably wouldn't be ecstatic about the increased possibility of getting a job. A sane introvert would probably flee from the expected jump in social contact--even getting paid wouldn't be enough to calm that storm. But I am. After upwards of two years trying to get a job, finally hearing from someone is like someone mentioning that you're not entirely a worthless failure. (Plus, I really do need a source of income for the things that I've been hoping to get in the future.)
This week has been fairly close to infinite. Sure, there are rough patches and moments when everything seems to be going wrong, but it's been an over all good week. And tonight I'm going out to visit my sister, with whom I'll be going to the Corning Museum of Glass tomorrow. (Which reminds me, isn't glass funny? In eighth grade Earth Science we would test the hardness of a rock by attempting to scratch a plate of glass with it. Glass, we were told, was one of the hardest/strongest substances and thus became part of our scale. But if you drop a glass mug it shatters. And is it a solid or a liquid, really? Most would say solid. Most would ask me what the Percy Bysshe Shelley I'm going on about: why wouldn't glass be a solid? But it has no molecular structure, it's just a bunch of molecules in chaos, like ionized HCl in water. After a bunch of years, it will become evident that it has started to slide with gravity: a once uniform window will be thicker at the bottom than the top. So, what is it? A solid or an incredibly viscuous liquid? Hard, or fissiparous?)
Glass aside, infinite is a good word. So try it out for yourself: Cut out a strip of paper, give it a half-twist, and connect the ends. Try trailing along it with your finger. If you've done it correct, you now have a mobius strip, and it has no end. It has only one side and it is infinite.
Try it.
Jun 5, 2011
So I have a research paper due tomorrow. (Well, technically anytime from tomorrow to Friday. But, we'll go with tomorrow, because, really, who would write a research paper during the school week? First you have to actually go to school and then follow it with a comparatively lengthy paper? That's far too much schoolwork for one day.)
I've known about this paper for a month. Maybe more. I'm not sure.
"So you're just starting it now?"
"Don't be so crass, of course not. I started researching at noon."
. . . yeah.
I've known about this paper for a month. Maybe more. I'm not sure.
"So you're just starting it now?"
"Don't be so crass, of course not. I started researching at noon."
. . . yeah.
May 30, 2011
Are you sitting comfortably? Are you breathing easily?
Do the corners of your mouth tilt upwards in the day?
Do you have something to hold on to? Something to which you are attached?
Are you close to anyone else? Are you happy? Are you loved?
Think of how quickly, how easily that can change. Dream it, fear it. Act cautiously and think clearly. Defy the possibility, do not allow it to happen. Tread carefully. It could be days away, it could be years. But fight against it. Beat the unseen and you will be commended.
Have you been told that you're good to talk to? That you listen well? That you're input is rational, good? That you're helpful? Nice to be around? Remember that what one person says is not true for everyone.
Do the corners of your mouth tilt upwards in the day?
Do you have something to hold on to? Something to which you are attached?
Are you close to anyone else? Are you happy? Are you loved?
Think of how quickly, how easily that can change. Dream it, fear it. Act cautiously and think clearly. Defy the possibility, do not allow it to happen. Tread carefully. It could be days away, it could be years. But fight against it. Beat the unseen and you will be commended.
Have you been told that you're good to talk to? That you listen well? That you're input is rational, good? That you're helpful? Nice to be around? Remember that what one person says is not true for everyone.
May 18, 2011
Sometimes We Must Fight As Fangirls
mcfangirl:
As many of you know there’s an appeal going around to get Catherine Tate and David Tennant’s production of Much Ado About Nothing onto DVD for posterity but also because, quite frankly, many, many fans of both actors will never get a chance to see this amazing production.
The lovely folks at Illuminations, who were involved with Tennant’s Hamlet DVD, have informed me that the appeal for the Hamlet DVD grossed approximately 7, 500 signatures which clearly made all the difference in the world and helped give us Hamlet on DVD.
I urge you to please sign the Much Ado appeal HERE and reblog or pass on the url to other Catherine Tate and/or David Tennant fans. We are currently at 5, 700ish signatures and it would be awesome if we could get at least the 7, 500 or so that Hamlet got. Thanks!
UPDATE: According to @_ophelia, Hamlet received a total of 7, 892. COME ON!
May 14, 2011
Do you ever wonder why people, as some sort of rule, don't just go up to others and tell them when they're being absolutely horrible or annoying?
I can't think of anyone who doesn't do it. I certainly do it. But even being among the many people who do, I can't justify it. I can't understand it.
When someone says something offensive or hurtful the first time, we let it slide. We make excuses for them and push it out of our minds. The second time we don't even think to remember the first time, so we push it aside again. The third time we may start to keep a tally, but by that point it doesn't even matter anymore. We've gone mute on the matter and won't be tempted to bring it up. Eventually our excuses for them will stop all together, but we still won't talk to them about it until one day we get very angry.
It doesn't even really matter what we're angry about. It could be another thing done by them, one last straw, or it could have been prompted by someone entirely different. But when we see them, and we're so angry, we just let loose the list we've been silently tallying. We never meant to bring it up like this. We were hoping that, somehow, the perfect time would come up and everything would go over so very smoothly. But scenes like that don't just happen, and once we become mute we never try to create a decent time to explain our concerns.
It comes out rash, harsh, offensive. We can't help it, we're just so angry. We don't think how hard this must be for the person on the receiving end because it feels so good to just let it out.
More often than not, I'm not on the receiving end. I refuse to acknowledge something as hurtful until months later when the accumulation of things from one person is ridiculous. Then, at the tipping point, I feel rage, because rage is so easy to feel.
It doesn't make sense. This is no way for things to really resolve. Not until quite some time after it, at least. But then why are so many of us guilty of it? We're supposed to be such an advanced species, but when you think about it, the only thing that makes us different from other mammals is an opposable thumb and the ability to build walls and pretend that we don't rely on nature. We're still just as vicious as lions.
I can't think of anyone who doesn't do it. I certainly do it. But even being among the many people who do, I can't justify it. I can't understand it.
When someone says something offensive or hurtful the first time, we let it slide. We make excuses for them and push it out of our minds. The second time we don't even think to remember the first time, so we push it aside again. The third time we may start to keep a tally, but by that point it doesn't even matter anymore. We've gone mute on the matter and won't be tempted to bring it up. Eventually our excuses for them will stop all together, but we still won't talk to them about it until one day we get very angry.
It doesn't even really matter what we're angry about. It could be another thing done by them, one last straw, or it could have been prompted by someone entirely different. But when we see them, and we're so angry, we just let loose the list we've been silently tallying. We never meant to bring it up like this. We were hoping that, somehow, the perfect time would come up and everything would go over so very smoothly. But scenes like that don't just happen, and once we become mute we never try to create a decent time to explain our concerns.
It comes out rash, harsh, offensive. We can't help it, we're just so angry. We don't think how hard this must be for the person on the receiving end because it feels so good to just let it out.
More often than not, I'm not on the receiving end. I refuse to acknowledge something as hurtful until months later when the accumulation of things from one person is ridiculous. Then, at the tipping point, I feel rage, because rage is so easy to feel.
It doesn't make sense. This is no way for things to really resolve. Not until quite some time after it, at least. But then why are so many of us guilty of it? We're supposed to be such an advanced species, but when you think about it, the only thing that makes us different from other mammals is an opposable thumb and the ability to build walls and pretend that we don't rely on nature. We're still just as vicious as lions.
May 6, 2011
I'm a failure at comforting people. I wonder how people who are good at comforting others can even exist. Sure, I know they must, but I don't know any. I like that I don't know any, though, because I don't think I would be able to fully appreciate them. Instead I have friends like Sarah who looked pained when they see me even slightly less than happy--friends that submit themselves to the censure of others to attempt to help. They fail, but they make the sort of gestures that you read about in books. They're, in some way, to me, legendary.
But, for me, the greatest comfort I have is still my best friend's presence. I, however, am often too harsh to have the same effect on others. At the same time, though, I want my friends to know that they are so very significant. Thus, in the hopes that expounding on their importance makes them smile, this is my brand of comfort. Should they ever need it. (Alas, I'm lazy, so I will write only of those I know will see this.)
To Tiffany,
I hope you know how much I detest recording phrases that sound like something that ought to be said in a romantic relationship. That being said, you are quite possibly the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
I'm not sure who I would be had I not met you, but I have an idea. And I would hate that person. Because without you I would have difficulty forming my own opinion on something. I would be lost, as I was before I met you, as the one kid in Sunday school that questioned everything being taught to the point of angering the teacher and inspiring hatred. I would still be that kid that had difficulty believing much of anything, but that was incapable of breaking out and creating my own beliefs. In more than just religion, I would have no proper stance.
Had I not met you I would not be intelligent. Granted, even now I am too lazy. I dropped Italian just before I could have gotten college credit for it and I practically threw away this year. But I'm not daft. I still keep changing any plans for the future. How many different jobs have I decided on? And now I'm most likely changing my major to Chemistry as well. But I can actually debate these paths, because I've not done so poorly that I'm confined to some trade.
I know, it's rather ridiculous to claim that one person could alter the intelligence of another so greatly. But I fully believe that this is true. Before I met you I needed to see an ESOL teacher, not that it was particularly effective. Younger I was even more an Introvert than I am now--I would scarcely talk to even Darryl and when I was learning basic English from family I always had to be told to respond out loud, or louder. Two other kids went with me to see the ESOL teacher, and, due to a mix of introversion and the fact that I could never grasp what see was teaching us, I always let them answer.
Somewhere inbetween that and third grade I met you and Michelle taught me to read. And in third grade I was trying harder. I still remember the day Mrs. Cacicia decided to move me to the higher level reading group. She scolded the others in my original group for always relying on me to answer questions and then took me aside and offered to move me up. I was elated. Now, rather than watching your reading group when I should have been working, I would actually be with you. Even then, being with you meant I was more comfortable. Even then I knew you were important to me.
The next time reading groups met she scolded me for relying on others to answer questions. Also, as the first reading group, we were expected to answer the questions more quickly and return the books for the next group. She took my book before I was done because it was needed. Already she was debating sending me back. And from that day I've always worked so much harder.
You see, even so long ago you were my motivation and my inspiration. Did you ever wonder why so much of what I write so obviously links to you? Your presence has always been a comfort to me. With you, it's safe to try foreign foods. Only provided the safety of your presence have I done some incredibly extroverted things and have I talked to certain strangers.
You have a superiority complex and are hopelessly insufferable. You're a snob and have a way to make others feel excluded, negligible, and forgotten. You enrage me when you, often without realizing it, insult my intelligence or belittle my opinions and experiences. But you are, without argument, one of the most important people in my life. And, I don't care who may lead you to doubt your worth or significance, those who do are fools.
To Sarah,
You are not the only person who fears that the accumulation of her actions leaves her repulsive to others. You are not the only person who fears that she has lost the chance to have someone that cares about her in her life. But that doesn't mean that your worries are insignificant.
If I've learned anything from you, it's that my smile is brighter than the sun. But, to me, that sentence means more than that my face can appear attractive when I smile. That sentence tells me that I'm not insignificant and that I have the ability to brighten your day. Most importantly, that sentence tells me that you are not a schmuck.
You find people that you care about and then you give them an exorbitant about of power. You may not be the friend sought by all, but you're the friend that is remembered in almost every decent piece of literature ever written: you expose yourself to censure and humiliation for your friends; you keep people in contact over long vacations; you're unorthodox and you make others smile.
Given that, how can you not be proud of yourself? Who could you claim is a better person that you?
To Meg,
Currently, I am debating whether or not I should dislike you for the terrifying prospects of the redhead fetish you've explained to me. But, even when I decide that I shall hate you, I never really will.
Who could hate a friend that is almost always determined to make others feel better? You bake something for everyone countless times a year and you never refuse to let one of us burrow into your shoulder. Perhaps these traits are common amongst friends, but our group of friends is so often awkward about any sort of physical contact. Under those conditions, that you have practically given up ownership of your shoulder seems like something worthy of recognition, if not some high prize.
You say some terrifying things, it's true. (Such as the aforementioned redhead fetish.) But I've finally said something that terrifies you just as you have terrified me. And even if I hadn't, you never really aim to scar me mentally. So often what you say is laced with the brand of sarcasm and humor without which I would be hopelessly forlorn. Even when you say terrifying things, I end up responding with laughter.
You're the sort of friend that could easily be taken for granted because you are, incontrovertibly wonderful.
But, for me, the greatest comfort I have is still my best friend's presence. I, however, am often too harsh to have the same effect on others. At the same time, though, I want my friends to know that they are so very significant. Thus, in the hopes that expounding on their importance makes them smile, this is my brand of comfort. Should they ever need it. (Alas, I'm lazy, so I will write only of those I know will see this.)
To Tiffany,
I hope you know how much I detest recording phrases that sound like something that ought to be said in a romantic relationship. That being said, you are quite possibly the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
I'm not sure who I would be had I not met you, but I have an idea. And I would hate that person. Because without you I would have difficulty forming my own opinion on something. I would be lost, as I was before I met you, as the one kid in Sunday school that questioned everything being taught to the point of angering the teacher and inspiring hatred. I would still be that kid that had difficulty believing much of anything, but that was incapable of breaking out and creating my own beliefs. In more than just religion, I would have no proper stance.
Had I not met you I would not be intelligent. Granted, even now I am too lazy. I dropped Italian just before I could have gotten college credit for it and I practically threw away this year. But I'm not daft. I still keep changing any plans for the future. How many different jobs have I decided on? And now I'm most likely changing my major to Chemistry as well. But I can actually debate these paths, because I've not done so poorly that I'm confined to some trade.
I know, it's rather ridiculous to claim that one person could alter the intelligence of another so greatly. But I fully believe that this is true. Before I met you I needed to see an ESOL teacher, not that it was particularly effective. Younger I was even more an Introvert than I am now--I would scarcely talk to even Darryl and when I was learning basic English from family I always had to be told to respond out loud, or louder. Two other kids went with me to see the ESOL teacher, and, due to a mix of introversion and the fact that I could never grasp what see was teaching us, I always let them answer.
Somewhere inbetween that and third grade I met you and Michelle taught me to read. And in third grade I was trying harder. I still remember the day Mrs. Cacicia decided to move me to the higher level reading group. She scolded the others in my original group for always relying on me to answer questions and then took me aside and offered to move me up. I was elated. Now, rather than watching your reading group when I should have been working, I would actually be with you. Even then, being with you meant I was more comfortable. Even then I knew you were important to me.
The next time reading groups met she scolded me for relying on others to answer questions. Also, as the first reading group, we were expected to answer the questions more quickly and return the books for the next group. She took my book before I was done because it was needed. Already she was debating sending me back. And from that day I've always worked so much harder.
You see, even so long ago you were my motivation and my inspiration. Did you ever wonder why so much of what I write so obviously links to you? Your presence has always been a comfort to me. With you, it's safe to try foreign foods. Only provided the safety of your presence have I done some incredibly extroverted things and have I talked to certain strangers.
You have a superiority complex and are hopelessly insufferable. You're a snob and have a way to make others feel excluded, negligible, and forgotten. You enrage me when you, often without realizing it, insult my intelligence or belittle my opinions and experiences. But you are, without argument, one of the most important people in my life. And, I don't care who may lead you to doubt your worth or significance, those who do are fools.
To Sarah,
You are not the only person who fears that the accumulation of her actions leaves her repulsive to others. You are not the only person who fears that she has lost the chance to have someone that cares about her in her life. But that doesn't mean that your worries are insignificant.
If I've learned anything from you, it's that my smile is brighter than the sun. But, to me, that sentence means more than that my face can appear attractive when I smile. That sentence tells me that I'm not insignificant and that I have the ability to brighten your day. Most importantly, that sentence tells me that you are not a schmuck.
You find people that you care about and then you give them an exorbitant about of power. You may not be the friend sought by all, but you're the friend that is remembered in almost every decent piece of literature ever written: you expose yourself to censure and humiliation for your friends; you keep people in contact over long vacations; you're unorthodox and you make others smile.
Given that, how can you not be proud of yourself? Who could you claim is a better person that you?
To Meg,
Currently, I am debating whether or not I should dislike you for the terrifying prospects of the redhead fetish you've explained to me. But, even when I decide that I shall hate you, I never really will.
Who could hate a friend that is almost always determined to make others feel better? You bake something for everyone countless times a year and you never refuse to let one of us burrow into your shoulder. Perhaps these traits are common amongst friends, but our group of friends is so often awkward about any sort of physical contact. Under those conditions, that you have practically given up ownership of your shoulder seems like something worthy of recognition, if not some high prize.
You say some terrifying things, it's true. (Such as the aforementioned redhead fetish.) But I've finally said something that terrifies you just as you have terrified me. And even if I hadn't, you never really aim to scar me mentally. So often what you say is laced with the brand of sarcasm and humor without which I would be hopelessly forlorn. Even when you say terrifying things, I end up responding with laughter.
You're the sort of friend that could easily be taken for granted because you are, incontrovertibly wonderful.
May 5, 2011
Who are you?
I like who I am.
I'm a bit of a mess. I procrastinate too much and have taken the lazy route a few too many times. I have yet to discover what I ought to do in life or what I want from this existence. I'm confused about having spent a large portion of my life enamored with English only to discover that it's a disgusting joke beyond eleventh grade education. I'm often crass and judgmental, not to mention quick to rage.
But I am proud of who I am. I refuse to lie. I have good morals and I know what is important to me. And I'm intelligent. I may not be comparable to my valedictorian and salutatorian, but I am not daft. I will not be limited to a certain trade or low wage job in the future. While I may not know what I want to do, I know that I truly am not limited.
I am not the sort to wear a pink thong with a white dress. I am not the person from whom you would expect thievery or deceit.
I say this because we all have so many chances to be someone else. If we had not met this person or if we had not visited that place. . . I don't know how many different people I could be. I only know who I am now, but I can imagine the sort of person I would be without having met my best friend. Maybe you can too?
I could so easily have been the sort of person I hate. I could so easily have stopped caring when I wasn't at the top of my class, when I needed a speech teacher and still couldn't read. I could still be mindlessly following a belief system without bothering to sort out my own opinions and beliefs. I could even be whorish.
I am who I am primarily because of my best friend.
Who molded you? Do you even know anymore? And if it had been someone else, do you think you'd like who you became?
I'm a bit of a mess. I procrastinate too much and have taken the lazy route a few too many times. I have yet to discover what I ought to do in life or what I want from this existence. I'm confused about having spent a large portion of my life enamored with English only to discover that it's a disgusting joke beyond eleventh grade education. I'm often crass and judgmental, not to mention quick to rage.
But I am proud of who I am. I refuse to lie. I have good morals and I know what is important to me. And I'm intelligent. I may not be comparable to my valedictorian and salutatorian, but I am not daft. I will not be limited to a certain trade or low wage job in the future. While I may not know what I want to do, I know that I truly am not limited.
I am not the sort to wear a pink thong with a white dress. I am not the person from whom you would expect thievery or deceit.
I say this because we all have so many chances to be someone else. If we had not met this person or if we had not visited that place. . . I don't know how many different people I could be. I only know who I am now, but I can imagine the sort of person I would be without having met my best friend. Maybe you can too?
I could so easily have been the sort of person I hate. I could so easily have stopped caring when I wasn't at the top of my class, when I needed a speech teacher and still couldn't read. I could still be mindlessly following a belief system without bothering to sort out my own opinions and beliefs. I could even be whorish.
I am who I am primarily because of my best friend.
Who molded you? Do you even know anymore? And if it had been someone else, do you think you'd like who you became?
May 4, 2011
Translucent Skin
You can not decipher what you hear,
But if you only try to see through me
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
When the world is a gallery of all you fear,
Though you listen close to everyone you see,
You can not decipher what you hear.
But when you are trying desperaately to stear
And I am the only hope you see,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
When you scorn all that I find dear
And it is explained that nothing is consequence free,
You can not decipher what you hear.
But when everyone around you will sneer
And you wish to crawl into the shadow of a tree,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
You may separate yourself from another's cheer,
But when you are lost at sea;
You can not decipher what you hear,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
I need to find more inspiration. Lately when I'm bored I waste prescious paper in my moleskine. Not to mention the vast amount of graphite required to shade in various shapes and squiggles. It's fun though. Curse the influence of Sarah. (But she flirts with me, so she isn't to blame. She brings joy.)
But if you only try to see through me
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
When the world is a gallery of all you fear,
Though you listen close to everyone you see,
You can not decipher what you hear.
But when you are trying desperaately to stear
And I am the only hope you see,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
When you scorn all that I find dear
And it is explained that nothing is consequence free,
You can not decipher what you hear.
But when everyone around you will sneer
And you wish to crawl into the shadow of a tree,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
You may separate yourself from another's cheer,
But when you are lost at sea;
You can not decipher what you hear,
I will wear translucent skin for you there.
I need to find more inspiration. Lately when I'm bored I waste prescious paper in my moleskine. Not to mention the vast amount of graphite required to shade in various shapes and squiggles. It's fun though. Curse the influence of Sarah. (But she flirts with me, so she isn't to blame. She brings joy.)
Apr 28, 2011
Buttercup
It felt foolish to be sitting on an abandoned car. Sure, it appeared to be without an owner—not many people came back to claim a vehicle once it spiraled into this farmland. My farmland, I think. I wasn’t quite sure, but the horses seemed to recognize me. Did that mean I was here often? Or were these simply blithe creatures that took easily to strangers? I debated this while tossing part of my apple towards a foal.
The doors weren’t even locked. Peering into the sunroof I could see the outline of empty cans and crinkled potato chip bags, but nothing valuable enough to come back for. The driver, if he had managed to find the nearest service station at all, likely would be unable to retrace his path back to his car. I knew this: it had taken me almost a week to stop walking in circles. Even now, though, I hardly knew if this had been the destination I once sought. Had I planned to travel at all?
My past seemed to be a blank slate. What little I could recall—what plants were safe to eat and what animals to avoid—was just a hazy cloud floating through my mind. But it seemed right to stop here. This was the first car I’d seen in miles, and the friendliest horses I had yet to come across. Surely this was a good sign. But how could I be sure?
Determined, I slid off the roof and yanked open the driver door. The keys had been tossed haphazardly on to the passenger seat, yet another sign of abandonment. Even from my new vantage point I could discern no signs, no hint that I should be expecting company. I could only sigh in despair. When I turned to exit the car, though, I found myself bumping into a pair of jean-clad legs. Now I felt awkward as well as foolish.
“Hi,” I smiled weakly at the person standing above me. He had a container that was obviously carrying gasoline in his hand. And he was glaring at me.
“What are you doing?” The question came out as a growl.
I looked around. My position seemed obvious to me, but perhaps he had a vision impairment. Perplexed, I replied, “Sitting in an abandoned vehicle.”
“I can see that,” he growled once more. He didn’t appear to like me very much.
“Well, then why did you ask?” I questioned him. This man was making no sense to me.
“The question was rhetorical. If anything, you were suppose to explain why you’re currently in my car.” His brown eyes had hardened into cold stones and his face was turning red.
“Oh! This is your car?”
“Obviously,” he seethed.
Was this the typical reaction around here? Why was this man so angry? I hadn’t done anything wrong, had I? Entering the car had seemed like the prudent thing to do. I pried desperately through my memories for some indication of what to do now. How could I possibly calm this situation?
“Oh . . . Um, maybe I should get out?”
His glare hardened further, but he shifted to the side and created enough space for me to vacate the vehicle.
“Okay . . . Sorry,” I mumbled as I skirted past him.
He seemed tense and he refused to acknowledge me, instead glaring inside the car and snatching the keys from the passenger seat. I wasn’t sure what to do now. Should I leave? But this spot had seemed like such a promising one. And where would I go, anyway? Would I just wander aimlessly for another week?
When the man turned back around he seemed shocked to see me still standing next to him. Now that I could see him properly, I realized that he probably wasn’t much older than me. Not that I really knew my age, but I didn’t feel old. Perhaps I was in my twenties? Thirties, maybe?
He wore cowboy boots and a dark jacket, and he appeared to be looking at me expectantly. “Can I help you?” he finally asked me, his tone overtly suspicious.
“Pardon?” I asked in return, unsure how I should respond to this change in dialogue. Just moments ago he had been furious with me—surely the possibility that he would actually be willing to help me was obsolete. And, if by some miracle it was not, what could I ask of him? ‘Would you happen to know the events of my life prior to this moment?’ If such a question failed to make him think me crazy then I would be shocked.
“You look like you need some help,” he shrugged.
“You think I have a problem?” I questioned cautiously.
“Yes,” he crossed his arms and leant against his car door, “I most definitely think you have a problem.”
“Well,” I scoffed my shoe against the gravelly road, “you’re right.”
He quirked an eyebrow but waited silently.
“I’m a bit lost,” I flung my arms out in a helpless gesture as I said this, as though it helped to illustrate my point.
“Well, where are you headed?” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from a concealed coat pocket and I resisted the urge to scowl in disgust. “I’m new around here, but maybe I could point you in the right direction.”
“I . . . don’t know,” I mumbled, now hugging myself protectively, hoping to somehow shield myself from his scrutiny.
“You don’t know,” he repeated skeptically before taking a long drag from his cigarette. He looked to be contemplating this and I remained silent under his gaze. “So you’re something of an adventurer? Do you wander aimlessly often?”
“I don’t know,” I stammered under his stern glare. It felt suddenly as though he was judging me. I could hardly defend myself from his opinions—maybe I did venture aimlessly as a routine. I didn’t know. But I hated the feeling of his opinions clustering the air around. I felt as though I might drown in them and be lost forever.
“You don’t know.” He laughed and the sound scratched against my ears like the teeth of a tiger.
I stared down at my feet. I felt ashamed as I whispered, “no.”
“Do you know anything?” he asked harshly. His face was tinted red again.
“Not really,” I sighed, “I can’t remember much.”
This caught his attention. He frowned and stepped forward hesitantly, “do you know your name?”
I shook my head in response, determinedly mute.
“You’re an amnesiac?”
I nodded slowly.
“And, in my car, you weren’t going to steal it. You were just looking for something to jog your memory.”
This was not entirely true, but I nodded again, too exhausted to explain.
“And I just yelled at you.” His voice was softer now, as though he was becoming lost within his thoughts. I did not understand where he was leading the conversation with this sentence, but I did not intend to disturb him. “. . . I’m sorry,” he finally murmured.
“Why?” I asked, perhaps too quickly.
“I didn’t let you explain,” he replied.
“So?” I questioned, still confused.
He, however, brought an end to this portion of our conversation by thrusting out his hand, “I’m Adam.”
Cautiously, I took his hand, “hi.”
“May I interest you in a ride to civilization?”
“Sure,” I smiled.
He gestured me toward his car and, grateful, I ducked through the open door and slid across the width of the car to the passenger seat. Even he seemed to be hiding a smile now. It was almost entertaining how easily he ran through emotions.
Now that I felt less out of place in the car I found myself identifying more of the clutter that I had disregarded earlier. Much of it was loose-leaf paper that had been crinkled into balls and tossed into the back of the car, but in-between two of the seats were a few notebooks and binders that had evaded whatever frenzy had scorned so much paper. Hesitantly, I reached for one, managing to pull a forest green spiral on to my lap as Adam entered the car. His eyes flickered toward me, resting on the notebook for a moment before he started the car. I had not seen him transfer the gas he had been carrying from container to car, but the roar of the engine confirmed that fuel was filtering through the vehicle.
“They’re horrible,” he mentioned as he shifted from park to drive.
“What are?” I questioned, startled by his remark.
“The writings in there,” he gestured toward the notebook on my lap.
“You’re a writer?” I enquired, curious.
“Yeah,” he replied. “At least, I try to be.”
“You don’t seem very confident,” I observed.
“I have no reason to be. I haven’t been published in three years.” He sounded more bitter than despairing.
“Maybe you just need the right inspiration,” I offered.
“And you think you could find that for me?” He sounded skeptical again.
“Well, I have an idea.”
“Oh?”
“You can write me a past.”
He looked like he wanted to laugh, but one look at my determined expression and he nodded in consent. “All right,” he smirked, “then I get to pick your name?”
“You’re the writer,” I shrugged.
“Then I’ll call you Buttercup.”
I rolled my eyes, but let out a chuckle, “as you wish.”
Apr 18, 2011
404-2 Error
I've recently learned three more easy paths to 404-2 Error (Introvert not found, inflict extroversion later).
The first path was found among the adventures of Saturday: Introvert becomes best friend's "plus one".
Tiff, being the skilled creature that she is, had two pieces in ArtAwake. As an artist, she was granted two free tickets, the second of which she granted to me. (And, as her "plus one", I decided early that we were clearly on a date.) There we spotted her artwork, fell in like with some creative images of keyboards, found work by someone with the same name as a friend, listened to music, painted on people, and bought screen printed T-shirts. Tiff also got the chance to show off her arty knowledge to a sad, uncultured English major (that wasn't me).
As our ride home got lost on the way to picking us up, we also enjoyed the pleasure of lurking by the alluring Chase building. At least, until we got too cold and retreated back into the entrance of the abandoned building harboring ArtAwake.
That this event saved me from a family party was celebrated mentally.
The second path followed on Sunday: Introvert spends a long day in large crowds.
Tiff and I went to Tora-con. And it was, I admit, quite fun. Particularly given that I did the driving and did not get lost. She cosplayed as Knives Chau and I failed to cosplay. However, I have gained the determination to get an outfit that will enable me to be Kim next time. (Not that not having such an outfit stopped me from channeling her and insulting Knives.)
Once we received our passes we located Sarah and Alex, with whom we banded together as nerdfighters unwilling to be lost amongst strangers. We spent between three and four hours with Sarah and her guitar doing our small musical part to help her gain money from strangers. (Sarah and I determined that next time I will wear a hat so that I can do fancy hat-tip-give-me-money actions as she plays.) Tiff was forced to take many pictures with the vegan who kindly agreed not to knock the highlights out of her hair. And who we later learned is a friend's boyfriend. We spotted a less fantastic version of Knives (who was neither Chinese or 17 and so not as fantastic as Tiff) and attracted many weirdos and idiots whose departure we eagerly awaited.
We then watched a stand-up comic who for some reason believed that Hannah Montana once had a soul, but whose brilliance in other areas made up for that blunder. We walked among artists and Tiff bought a nifty pocket watch. Alex got us food because he had excess food credits and is well-roundedly awesome. We then watched an anime called "Summer War"--most of which I watched while half-asleep, but I still consider fantastic.
And, yes, we managed to catch the Doctor (the eleventh version, at least) on camera.
The third way to torture an introvert took place today: Sentence introvert to prospective student visit.
I intend to go to Wells next year, which is an incredibly small school. If it were any larger I would likely die of extroversion shortly after enrolling. However, that does not make it comfortable.
Spending a day immersed in a crowd walking around an unfamiliar campus is creepy. Luckily, the glorious Claire was also visiting today. As a result, even when the crowd forced me to separate from my father's side I was often very near to her or her mother and could still consider myself safe.
The visit has led me to two very important conclusions:
Conclusion: never spend more than two hours a day extroverting if you value your health.
The first path was found among the adventures of Saturday: Introvert becomes best friend's "plus one".
Tiff, being the skilled creature that she is, had two pieces in ArtAwake. As an artist, she was granted two free tickets, the second of which she granted to me. (And, as her "plus one", I decided early that we were clearly on a date.) There we spotted her artwork, fell in like with some creative images of keyboards, found work by someone with the same name as a friend, listened to music, painted on people, and bought screen printed T-shirts. Tiff also got the chance to show off her arty knowledge to a sad, uncultured English major (that wasn't me).
As our ride home got lost on the way to picking us up, we also enjoyed the pleasure of lurking by the alluring Chase building. At least, until we got too cold and retreated back into the entrance of the abandoned building harboring ArtAwake.
That this event saved me from a family party was celebrated mentally.
The second path followed on Sunday: Introvert spends a long day in large crowds.
Tiff and I went to Tora-con. And it was, I admit, quite fun. Particularly given that I did the driving and did not get lost. She cosplayed as Knives Chau and I failed to cosplay. However, I have gained the determination to get an outfit that will enable me to be Kim next time. (Not that not having such an outfit stopped me from channeling her and insulting Knives.)
Once we received our passes we located Sarah and Alex, with whom we banded together as nerdfighters unwilling to be lost amongst strangers. We spent between three and four hours with Sarah and her guitar doing our small musical part to help her gain money from strangers. (Sarah and I determined that next time I will wear a hat so that I can do fancy hat-tip-give-me-money actions as she plays.) Tiff was forced to take many pictures with the vegan who kindly agreed not to knock the highlights out of her hair. And who we later learned is a friend's boyfriend. We spotted a less fantastic version of Knives (who was neither Chinese or 17 and so not as fantastic as Tiff) and attracted many weirdos and idiots whose departure we eagerly awaited.
We then watched a stand-up comic who for some reason believed that Hannah Montana once had a soul, but whose brilliance in other areas made up for that blunder. We walked among artists and Tiff bought a nifty pocket watch. Alex got us food because he had excess food credits and is well-roundedly awesome. We then watched an anime called "Summer War"--most of which I watched while half-asleep, but I still consider fantastic.
And, yes, we managed to catch the Doctor (the eleventh version, at least) on camera.
The third way to torture an introvert took place today: Sentence introvert to prospective student visit.
I intend to go to Wells next year, which is an incredibly small school. If it were any larger I would likely die of extroversion shortly after enrolling. However, that does not make it comfortable.
Spending a day immersed in a crowd walking around an unfamiliar campus is creepy. Luckily, the glorious Claire was also visiting today. As a result, even when the crowd forced me to separate from my father's side I was often very near to her or her mother and could still consider myself safe.
The visit has led me to two very important conclusions:
- Dining halls are a treacherous and terrifying punishment that should be avoided at all costs. Stock food in your room. Eat in peace.
- Houses in the 1800s are truly beautiful--nice arches, expensive windows, fancy pillars, et cetera. But the people building them back then had shitty taste in wallpaper.
Conclusion: never spend more than two hours a day extroverting if you value your health.
Apr 12, 2011
Humbug
No, delusional teacher, mocking a student does not make you cool.
Nor does attributing "Bah, humbug" to the Grinch. (You call yourself an English teacher? Have you even heard of Charles Dickens?)
I have come to the conclusion that English teachers are a common form of bullshit. Some extend the allusion by believing that they are actually teaching something. (This is not in reference to composition courses or the basic 9/10th grade teachers that tend to teach life.)
Why am I an English major?
Nor does attributing "Bah, humbug" to the Grinch. (You call yourself an English teacher? Have you even heard of Charles Dickens?)
I have come to the conclusion that English teachers are a common form of bullshit. Some extend the allusion by believing that they are actually teaching something. (This is not in reference to composition courses or the basic 9/10th grade teachers that tend to teach life.)
Why am I an English major?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)