I had strange dreams. And...
I woke up this morning pregnant with emotion. I don't know if it's only that I'm finally changing direction and it's only the inertia in my heart reacting to it, or what. Mayumi thinks I'm sick, but I'm not... it's just that, talking to you... it makes something inside of me tremble. I don't quite feel nauseous but it's a strange feeling. I don't know why - it's been a long, long time since I was torn up with longing for you, but I guess the closest I can get to saying it is this...
I seem to have a certain sensitivity to you.
Showing posts with label emo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emo. Show all posts
September 25, 2008
August 20, 2007
Hope and Memory
Dear Liisa,
I've actually gotten rather comfortable with memories, which may be surprising given my history. As a child I could get myself worked up over the end of anything - saying to myself, "Well, this is the last morning bus ride of my third grade life..." and sniffling a bit. But I'm a little better now. It's always a bit sad when things end, and especially when you have to leave people behind that you will never see again, but I'm a little better at packing the memories away. For something new to come after, something must end, after all, and the memories - they're safe in my heart, and I collect them like treasures. Pictures and mementos don't hurt either.
Of course, this approach only works if you have your memory, and I am also scared of these things... Alzheimers and Amnesia and such. They almost seem worse than death... especially if they come, as they often do, late in life. I think I'd rather just die, though to tell the truth, I'm not always optimistic about what happens after death. I think I would be content to live in my memories, perhaps to relive my life again and again. Some say that memories are what make a soul rich, perhaps that is what such a thing means.
But death is frightening too, isn't it? The other day I ran into a rather terrifying line of reasoning that took me a while to answer with any sort of hopefulness. I was thinking about ghosts and their transparent fingers, the way they slide through life without feeling. If they cannot feel without fingers, how can a ghost see without eyes? How can one hear without ears? How can one even think, without a mind? How can one remember? And if one does not remember, did one ever really live?
The more we learn about the mind, the less room there seems to be for anything else inside of it, anything resembling a soul, anything that endures. Hope was easier when these things were a mystery. Still, I can't help but think that it's possible that our senses are only a very physical and earthly extension of senses we might have more easily on some other, higher plane of existence - that when we live inside our bodies it is like slipping a hand into a glove or watching a sonar graph, that when we die we recede from these things just as easily...
Nothing terrifies me more than the alternative, that what follows death is nothingness, like before our births. I have heard older people, in their sixties and so on, say that they are beginning to understand that life has an ending, and are content with it... they feel finished and used up. I hope that if nothing follows life that I come to such a state before the end, but I despair of ever doing so. Right now I am so greedy for life... I want to see and taste and feel and experience so many thousands of things - anything and everything.
And I love all my memories, and fiercely hoard them. The experiences may be good or bad or even embarrassing, but the memories are lovely all the same. Sometimes you can feel a memory in the making, and other times the most precious memories spring from the most mundane things, the things you take for granted until years later, remembering long summer nights playing flashlight tag or sunlight on snow on a winter morning. And such memories can flare up and make themselves felt again, as if they never really left, when a smell or a turn of the light takes your heart back again.
And I can't help but think of dreams, in which there is often a long and extensive back-story woven into the detail. We remember it all naturally and perfectly while asleep, and upon waking only remember what was remembered, if that makes any sense. Do you ever wonder if your existence is only actually this very moment, and everything before that you think you remember is nothing more than a memory?
But which is more important, the memory or the truth? Would you rather remember a thousand rich falsehoods or forget a lifetime of experience?
Ha! You've written me such nice emails lately, filled with wonderful and intriguing detail. I've gone and repaid you with nothing but ignorant philosophy... (And I didn't even get to the religious aspects of any of this...) Sorry, my dear... I will write you all about school and teachers and such in my next email. I hope this made you feel a little big better and then a lot worse and then a tad bit hopeful about that strange thing we call memory...
- Miranda
I've actually gotten rather comfortable with memories, which may be surprising given my history. As a child I could get myself worked up over the end of anything - saying to myself, "Well, this is the last morning bus ride of my third grade life..." and sniffling a bit. But I'm a little better now. It's always a bit sad when things end, and especially when you have to leave people behind that you will never see again, but I'm a little better at packing the memories away. For something new to come after, something must end, after all, and the memories - they're safe in my heart, and I collect them like treasures. Pictures and mementos don't hurt either.
Of course, this approach only works if you have your memory, and I am also scared of these things... Alzheimers and Amnesia and such. They almost seem worse than death... especially if they come, as they often do, late in life. I think I'd rather just die, though to tell the truth, I'm not always optimistic about what happens after death. I think I would be content to live in my memories, perhaps to relive my life again and again. Some say that memories are what make a soul rich, perhaps that is what such a thing means.
But death is frightening too, isn't it? The other day I ran into a rather terrifying line of reasoning that took me a while to answer with any sort of hopefulness. I was thinking about ghosts and their transparent fingers, the way they slide through life without feeling. If they cannot feel without fingers, how can a ghost see without eyes? How can one hear without ears? How can one even think, without a mind? How can one remember? And if one does not remember, did one ever really live?
The more we learn about the mind, the less room there seems to be for anything else inside of it, anything resembling a soul, anything that endures. Hope was easier when these things were a mystery. Still, I can't help but think that it's possible that our senses are only a very physical and earthly extension of senses we might have more easily on some other, higher plane of existence - that when we live inside our bodies it is like slipping a hand into a glove or watching a sonar graph, that when we die we recede from these things just as easily...
Nothing terrifies me more than the alternative, that what follows death is nothingness, like before our births. I have heard older people, in their sixties and so on, say that they are beginning to understand that life has an ending, and are content with it... they feel finished and used up. I hope that if nothing follows life that I come to such a state before the end, but I despair of ever doing so. Right now I am so greedy for life... I want to see and taste and feel and experience so many thousands of things - anything and everything.
And I love all my memories, and fiercely hoard them. The experiences may be good or bad or even embarrassing, but the memories are lovely all the same. Sometimes you can feel a memory in the making, and other times the most precious memories spring from the most mundane things, the things you take for granted until years later, remembering long summer nights playing flashlight tag or sunlight on snow on a winter morning. And such memories can flare up and make themselves felt again, as if they never really left, when a smell or a turn of the light takes your heart back again.
And I can't help but think of dreams, in which there is often a long and extensive back-story woven into the detail. We remember it all naturally and perfectly while asleep, and upon waking only remember what was remembered, if that makes any sense. Do you ever wonder if your existence is only actually this very moment, and everything before that you think you remember is nothing more than a memory?
But which is more important, the memory or the truth? Would you rather remember a thousand rich falsehoods or forget a lifetime of experience?
Ha! You've written me such nice emails lately, filled with wonderful and intriguing detail. I've gone and repaid you with nothing but ignorant philosophy... (And I didn't even get to the religious aspects of any of this...) Sorry, my dear... I will write you all about school and teachers and such in my next email. I hope this made you feel a little big better and then a lot worse and then a tad bit hopeful about that strange thing we call memory...
- Miranda
June 04, 2007
May 04, 2007
An Anniversary of Sorts
I decided to end the year. It's been almost exactly a year since the bad thing - the mother of all bad things, when my perfect life changed for the worse.
So it's an anniversary, of sorts.
And I'm ending the year here. I've already made up my mind. I'm going to end it and close it and seal it up really tight with a bread twisty-tie or maybe a clothespin or maybe even just by twisting the dark, bitter end of it again and again until it holds itself shut like a sleeve of saltine crackers.
Betrayals. Some worse than others. Most unintentional. Death in the family and rejection in love and betrayal by a friend and loss of a beloved teacher.
All the badness will be stuck inside and the moisture will be drawn out into the air, all the foul memories and miscarriages of dreams helplessly lining the inside. I might look towards them once in a while, but I will never open the bag again.
Now. I'm going to be happy again. I mean it this time.
So it's an anniversary, of sorts.
And I'm ending the year here. I've already made up my mind. I'm going to end it and close it and seal it up really tight with a bread twisty-tie or maybe a clothespin or maybe even just by twisting the dark, bitter end of it again and again until it holds itself shut like a sleeve of saltine crackers.
Betrayals. Some worse than others. Most unintentional. Death in the family and rejection in love and betrayal by a friend and loss of a beloved teacher.
All the badness will be stuck inside and the moisture will be drawn out into the air, all the foul memories and miscarriages of dreams helplessly lining the inside. I might look towards them once in a while, but I will never open the bag again.
Now. I'm going to be happy again. I mean it this time.
April 11, 2007
Mi alma... despues de Trieschmann
(Porque he dado todo a ella... adios al mes y a la vida por eso tiempo...)
March 07, 2007
March the 7th
Trieschmann tried to warn us that one cannot do with words what Picasso did with Art. Bit too late, in my case...
Fragmented, Sleep Deprived Thoughts on March the 7th:
An overworked mind is quite the arrogant, presumptuous enzyme...
It's my bloody anniversary. It falls apart in my mind.
Bloody - Blood - Sangre - Sangre del Salvador - Las Lagrimas de la Virgin - Notre Dame - By our Lady - Bloody
Anniversary - Anni - Versa - A Year and a Turn - A turn of a year.
A Turn of the Year, by Our Lady. She spins the wheel and it lands, 3-7-07
God - Magic - Magic. Today the occult wins out.
It's my bloody anniversary. The year turns again. I only told one person, would you believe it?
I went outside today and saw the setting sun. It dug its way between two houses, in a thicket of pine. I'd never seen it there before, and I never will again. I can see it from my driveway, but only once a year. Next year I will have forgotten about it. The year after that I'll be in Mizzou. I'll never give that sun through those pines a second thought.
I give them their moment, because they may never have another; Time, like love, like water... is something that must flow.
February 12, 2007
"Boys Suck"
Ha! I can say it!
I guess this means I can finally admit to myself that they all suck, that they lie, that they don't really mean they'll be your friend forever.
It means they'll call you names they have no right to and not even bother to respond to your email.
It means I shouldn't waste any more time on them.
Alright, you mean nothing to me now. Or little enough, as little as you ever will... The flower of an undeveloped heart.
I guess this means I can finally admit to myself that they all suck, that they lie, that they don't really mean they'll be your friend forever.
It means they'll call you names they have no right to and not even bother to respond to your email.
It means I shouldn't waste any more time on them.
Alright, you mean nothing to me now. Or little enough, as little as you ever will... The flower of an undeveloped heart.
January 29, 2007
Himmel Donner Wetter
Sort of.
Alright, we're having an "Alberta Clipper". For my non-American readers, Alberta is in Canada, so basically it means we get their nice cold air for a while. Yay! That's good, it means February will be real winter this year (You never know, sometimes it snows in March, or even April... othertimes it's swimming weather by then). It also means we can expect a few more good snow storms.
Right now? Well, we had a really nice, sunny day... probably 60 degrees. Almost freaky, but we've had signifcantly worse this year. And then the cold moved in. It's nasty, disagreeable cold, with incredibly bright sun and dry air. It promises no snow.
Other news? Given the title of this post, it better be depressing.
The IP Project.
There's a good one.
What can I say? Can I hate my 'friends'? No, I can only say to myself "I wouldn't have done so." and mean it. And know it. Maybe it's because I am a Christian, or maybe I just have moral fiber, or maybe I have a spine. Who knows. I wouldn't have done it.
I firmly believe that they didn't do any of this out of malice. Or to hurt me in particular. No, it's just all so petty. A disagreement, a lack of honesty. Why stop at one when you can burn three people in order to get your perfect group? And make sure to take care of yourself first. High school is a dog eat dog world, after all. You have to keep your head above water.
Can I hate them? No. I always tell my mom, that you cannot truly blame people for being weak. And if there is one thing I try not to be, it is a hypocrite. There, you are all weak. And I do not hate you. I do not even truly blame you. And I'll probably never mention this again.
But I wouldn't have done it. And I cling to that...
Alright, we're having an "Alberta Clipper". For my non-American readers, Alberta is in Canada, so basically it means we get their nice cold air for a while. Yay! That's good, it means February will be real winter this year (You never know, sometimes it snows in March, or even April... othertimes it's swimming weather by then). It also means we can expect a few more good snow storms.
Right now? Well, we had a really nice, sunny day... probably 60 degrees. Almost freaky, but we've had signifcantly worse this year. And then the cold moved in. It's nasty, disagreeable cold, with incredibly bright sun and dry air. It promises no snow.
Other news? Given the title of this post, it better be depressing.
The IP Project.
There's a good one.
What can I say? Can I hate my 'friends'? No, I can only say to myself "I wouldn't have done so." and mean it. And know it. Maybe it's because I am a Christian, or maybe I just have moral fiber, or maybe I have a spine. Who knows. I wouldn't have done it.
I firmly believe that they didn't do any of this out of malice. Or to hurt me in particular. No, it's just all so petty. A disagreement, a lack of honesty. Why stop at one when you can burn three people in order to get your perfect group? And make sure to take care of yourself first. High school is a dog eat dog world, after all. You have to keep your head above water.
Can I hate them? No. I always tell my mom, that you cannot truly blame people for being weak. And if there is one thing I try not to be, it is a hypocrite. There, you are all weak. And I do not hate you. I do not even truly blame you. And I'll probably never mention this again.
But I wouldn't have done it. And I cling to that...
January 02, 2007
No More Horizon
There's nothing in this world that time can't kill,
Heaven is empty and the stars are still.
There's only now, there's only us,
But whoever said that wasn't enough?
Heaven is empty and the stars are still.
There's only now, there's only us,
But whoever said that wasn't enough?
December 18, 2006
Layla and Harvard
I haven't posted since the crap with Layla really started. I guess that dates both things.
Anyway, I was really depressed and sad today, because I waited with Layla and listened to all of her angst rants and I was so worried and hopeful about her getting into Harvard. Well, she did. Yay for her. Party!
But I was the last one to know... Even the Principal knew first... and I couldn't hug her or anything... I could barely just smile and say, "Congratulations".
Life is Hell. Humanity is Hell. Pride is the lowest level of Hell.
Anyway, I was really depressed and sad today, because I waited with Layla and listened to all of her angst rants and I was so worried and hopeful about her getting into Harvard. Well, she did. Yay for her. Party!
But I was the last one to know... Even the Principal knew first... and I couldn't hug her or anything... I could barely just smile and say, "Congratulations".
Life is Hell. Humanity is Hell. Pride is the lowest level of Hell.
November 25, 2006
Thanksgiving Break
This break has been wonderful - and very needed. After two blessed days of sleeping in, I still have a headache and I'm still fatigued, which goes to show how badly I needed them. Or something. Family crap just gets reshuffled- more happy times, more angst. Blah blah blah.
Thanksgiving was nice. We ate outside. In t-shirts. It's so warm it's like summer - I wanted to go swimming just for the hell of it, but the water was actually cold - like, spring water cold, and I didn't think my parents would approve, and I didn't know what would happen to me in water that cold, having never experienced it. So, without supervision or experience, I merely stuck my feet in.
Beautiful, albeit early sunsets, very blue skies at noon, amazing stars at night. Orion was blazing, and Cassiopeia, and Leo... Ah... you could even see the milky way. Words came into my head - I struggled to brush them away. You know how bright the stars are... and the Northern Lights. Feelings burn over my mind like a brief, rushing flame, and fall apart.
"Don't waste your emotion..." My dad says to my mom, fuming over the new next door neighbors at the lake. She's taken the opportunity to inform us that once THEY'VED moved in we won't see the stars so well. Don't waste your emotion is right... I'm so sick of living in a dream that will never come true.
I run inside, Tidbit runs up to me, the smells are all of Turkey and Pumpkin Pie, we break the bread as picturesquely as the famous tamale pictures... we don't fight for a little while... it's only an awkward time.
And the next day is thanksgiving... all the rich food in the courtyard, surrounded by cedar and pine. The lights play on the lake, white aspens surround the waterside, ducks drift across and hawks above... Tidbit growls at them from her bed, looking to us for protection. The air is strangely, unseasonably warm. I like it day to day, although it unsettles me...
Carl the exterminator comes by to brag about the deer he finally shot... 30 meters, he whispers, like it's a big secret. A feral cat looking suspiciously like a bobcat slinks around beneath a trailer. Cottonwood sheds flowers like snow over the hillside, as even the wind is warm on your back. Jackie wants to tell us all about peanut butter fudge when mom calls us in...
Thanksgiving was nice. We ate outside. In t-shirts. It's so warm it's like summer - I wanted to go swimming just for the hell of it, but the water was actually cold - like, spring water cold, and I didn't think my parents would approve, and I didn't know what would happen to me in water that cold, having never experienced it. So, without supervision or experience, I merely stuck my feet in.
Beautiful, albeit early sunsets, very blue skies at noon, amazing stars at night. Orion was blazing, and Cassiopeia, and Leo... Ah... you could even see the milky way. Words came into my head - I struggled to brush them away. You know how bright the stars are... and the Northern Lights. Feelings burn over my mind like a brief, rushing flame, and fall apart.
"Don't waste your emotion..." My dad says to my mom, fuming over the new next door neighbors at the lake. She's taken the opportunity to inform us that once THEY'VED moved in we won't see the stars so well. Don't waste your emotion is right... I'm so sick of living in a dream that will never come true.
I run inside, Tidbit runs up to me, the smells are all of Turkey and Pumpkin Pie, we break the bread as picturesquely as the famous tamale pictures... we don't fight for a little while... it's only an awkward time.
And the next day is thanksgiving... all the rich food in the courtyard, surrounded by cedar and pine. The lights play on the lake, white aspens surround the waterside, ducks drift across and hawks above... Tidbit growls at them from her bed, looking to us for protection. The air is strangely, unseasonably warm. I like it day to day, although it unsettles me...
Carl the exterminator comes by to brag about the deer he finally shot... 30 meters, he whispers, like it's a big secret. A feral cat looking suspiciously like a bobcat slinks around beneath a trailer. Cottonwood sheds flowers like snow over the hillside, as even the wind is warm on your back. Jackie wants to tell us all about peanut butter fudge when mom calls us in...
November 22, 2006
Stress And Turkey
Right. Forty Nine Emails later, we're done with our Government Report.
The only mistake, that we know of, may not even be a problem, is mostly my fault, and is a result of miscommunication. So yeah, not that bad. Layla thought we needed in text citations, I had no idea; I've only used them once in my life. So I threw them all in at the last minute... and...
The only mistake, that we know of, may not even be a problem, is mostly my fault, and is a result of miscommunication. So yeah, not that bad. Layla thought we needed in text citations, I had no idea; I've only used them once in my life. So I threw them all in at the last minute... and...
00:27 me: dies
00:28 gwen: beat you to it. i'm already dead.
me: Oh my god
We just had the Gov thing
Right?
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
:P
gwen: yeah?
me: Layla and I bandied over 49 emails about it
gwen: o lord
me: and then I find out twenty minutes before turn it in time that I need in text citations
RIGHT:.....
So I'm adding those and sending, adding and sending
Finally I compile it all into a master file and send it
00:29 gwen: yeah
me: But she freaks out and just wants to submit
So she ignores it
We don't know how much she got
And so we emailed Chazen and we're like
We're missing anywhere from 2-10 in text citations, but we think we have 95-100% of the bibliography. :D
gwen: lol
hopefully it'll turn out ok
me: And it's totally my fault and I'm an idiot
And it's Layla, for God's sake
So I can't even be like
00:30 Haha, remember the time you...
gwen: oh no worries - it's not like she NEEDS the grades.
me: Oh, but she DOES
She's cutting that grade closer than she's ever cut a grade before
She told me
gwen: lol
me: She's been sweating blood
gwen: difference between A and H?
me: What are you up to?
:P Yeah
gwen: an A won't kill her
00:31 i just finished that english essay
me: But hey, I sweat blood over it in Spanish, and I still have an A, and I'm still alive.
I should have donated it..
Oh!
gwen: i did it all in one sitting
me: Let's see!
gwen: ugh it's awful
but it's done
me: (Chazen should have given us until 2 am)
I did mine in one sitting, too
:P
Trade?
Nah
Not tonight
Later
;)
gwen: later, definitely
but i'm off to bed
me: Yeah
00:32 gwen: i'm exhausted
me: Me too
Love you, Gwen
Have a happy Thanksgiving
:D
gwen: love you more!!!
me: NO STRESS!
gwen: eat turkey
November 21, 2006
My Friends
I'm just flying. My fingers won't stop typing. Emails. Essays. Deadlines. Blog Posts. And my feet won't stop moving - Babysitting, Work, Racquetball, Service Hours..
I'm so busy I don't have time to stray from my default into dark and nasty thoughts. So I'm happy, exhausted, burnt out, rambling, wandering into walls and falling into wells, but happy...
And I love having Layla around.
I need Layla, see. I'm ashamed and I don't want it to be too obvious, but she's guiding me. Sometimes it may seem the other way around, and sometimes it may appear that we're walking hand in hand, but she's guiding me. I'm following her footsteps through the crowd, hoping to come out on the other side.
And Billie - As Layla said, you are our happy environment. Always be Billie. I know you're human... But please, be Billie. For all of us. :D
And I can't give anything but Cookies, so... I'll just keep bring those... I love you...
I'm so busy I don't have time to stray from my default into dark and nasty thoughts. So I'm happy, exhausted, burnt out, rambling, wandering into walls and falling into wells, but happy...
And I love having Layla around.
I need Layla, see. I'm ashamed and I don't want it to be too obvious, but she's guiding me. Sometimes it may seem the other way around, and sometimes it may appear that we're walking hand in hand, but she's guiding me. I'm following her footsteps through the crowd, hoping to come out on the other side.
And Billie - As Layla said, you are our happy environment. Always be Billie. I know you're human... But please, be Billie. For all of us. :D
And I can't give anything but Cookies, so... I'll just keep bring those... I love you...
November 15, 2006
Snapshots from Bitter November
Me stuffing my face, fresh out of the shower, and a little hyper after the poetry slam, in that order.
November 13, 2006
No reprieve
I admit, there is no crushing pressure anywhere. Not from grades... to be honest, I care more about them now, but they are the same as they've always been - satisfactory. Not my best, but satisfactory. Work is going swimmingly, and I like it. Tidbit's alive, and on the mend. My family sucks, but they're not like abusing me or anything, and they love me, they're just loud and angry and 'used up' or whatever. I REALLY need to get my license, but that's hard to manage - Racquetball can quietly take the backburner and that's life...
So no, no crushing pressure. But no reprieve, either. Nowhere to hide. Not in free time or immaculate grades or in friends or even in family. That's what's cutting into me.
Emails are really the only thing I have. And that's little enough - and a guilty pleasure in reading.
So no, no crushing pressure. But no reprieve, either. Nowhere to hide. Not in free time or immaculate grades or in friends or even in family. That's what's cutting into me.
Emails are really the only thing I have. And that's little enough - and a guilty pleasure in reading.
November 12, 2006
Memories
When all that is left to us are memories. They are not faded, but vivid and fresh as the day they were conceived, and painful and bitter.
Reflections from the Backwaters
How quiet the lake is this time of year... how still the water, bright the sky, and the stars, and the campfire, and the sun on the waves moving beyond the pines. And how sharp the pain, I wake to rediscover every clear morning, when there is nothing but calmness and stillness and a different sort of pacing to keep you from it. I may live in the hopeful future, or in the nostalgic past, in it's combined pulchritude and putrefaction.
I'd rather not live this way, but I've only found so many ways of changing it - stress or business or the dearest, brightest joys.
And something else has changed... I was watching the stars, and I wanted to drift off again. I could feel the heavens calling me, like times before when I've sat within myself and felt as though I was going off into the edges of the world, seeing the sand falling in Africa, and the rivers of Russia, and the Yellow Sea, and the waterfalls and parrots of South America, and felt rooted to the earth, and so inexplicably happy... this was blocked from me.
So I stop watching the stars, and I stop tending the dying fire, and I go inside and turn on Springsteen, and my mind whizzes off, buzzing with the imagination so strong this time of year. And I want to write... how I want to write... about the things that are important; like honour and bravery and love... not about the dust my own emotions have become. I can write and become something bigger than myself...
I'm not proud of my depression, you know...
I'd rather not live this way, but I've only found so many ways of changing it - stress or business or the dearest, brightest joys.
And something else has changed... I was watching the stars, and I wanted to drift off again. I could feel the heavens calling me, like times before when I've sat within myself and felt as though I was going off into the edges of the world, seeing the sand falling in Africa, and the rivers of Russia, and the Yellow Sea, and the waterfalls and parrots of South America, and felt rooted to the earth, and so inexplicably happy... this was blocked from me.
So I stop watching the stars, and I stop tending the dying fire, and I go inside and turn on Springsteen, and my mind whizzes off, buzzing with the imagination so strong this time of year. And I want to write... how I want to write... about the things that are important; like honour and bravery and love... not about the dust my own emotions have become. I can write and become something bigger than myself...
I'm not proud of my depression, you know...
November 08, 2006
Conversation with Self
Better Half: Don't be emo. You have the puppy; she came home; she's on your lap. You're going to the lake this weekend. Besides; you're strong, you can juggle work and r-ball and school, no problem. You're grades will be fine.
Worse Half: But they'll YELL at me... ;_;
Better Half: Well, keep blogging about it. That helps every time.
Worse Half: ...
Worse Half: But they'll YELL at me... ;_;
Better Half: Well, keep blogging about it. That helps every time.
Worse Half: ...
12 Weeks
Time limps by like the winner of the special olympics. I've been in school for 12 weeks. That means it's emo grade time. My grades have taken a hit from Greece. Not an irreparable one, but a noticible one for this grading period. I think I can bring my parents over to that idea at the lake. Unless they see it here first... but I don't think they read my blog.
And I always get the funny idea that if they did, they'd understand what I was getting at and my point of view and everything, probably because I just write it exactly how I feel it with almost no censorship. And thats mostly names, and when something would be equivalent to starting a rumour.
But yeah. I don't need there pressure. I'm pressured enough myself. And super stressed out. And a little depressed. I thought it would go away when family problems calmed down. Maybe that was just a mask. Gah, I feel a bit trapped. But yeah, I know how important grades are. Exactly so. I don't think they're all important or worthless. I actually think I have a pretty good idea, and I worry, and work hard, and stress, and study, and cram, and cry, and all that.
So yeah, I don't need the parents angst on top of it, not when it's half founded in doubt, and not when I have a good idea of the situation and am reasonable confident I can bring the grades around by the end. Besides, I always do. ;)
Notwithstanding, Grade Guesses:
English - B, because of Essay weirdness. Should get back to an A.
Chemistry - B, nice and solid. Hit mercifully not applicable.
Math - C, nice and solid. I had hoped to bring it to a B. I can do it on the final, I know I can...
Government - B, should be solid and stress free; and that's the goal.
German - A, nothing to say here.
Spanish - A, but is it high enough for an H? I've done well on projects and tests, and participation, but I've missed a homework assignment. O.O, today, actually, and it was a horrible accident.
Total: AABBBC
Goal: HAABBB
I'm two and a half away from goal. That's not impossible at all. I can do this. :D
And I always get the funny idea that if they did, they'd understand what I was getting at and my point of view and everything, probably because I just write it exactly how I feel it with almost no censorship. And thats mostly names, and when something would be equivalent to starting a rumour.
But yeah. I don't need there pressure. I'm pressured enough myself. And super stressed out. And a little depressed. I thought it would go away when family problems calmed down. Maybe that was just a mask. Gah, I feel a bit trapped. But yeah, I know how important grades are. Exactly so. I don't think they're all important or worthless. I actually think I have a pretty good idea, and I worry, and work hard, and stress, and study, and cram, and cry, and all that.
So yeah, I don't need the parents angst on top of it, not when it's half founded in doubt, and not when I have a good idea of the situation and am reasonable confident I can bring the grades around by the end. Besides, I always do. ;)
Notwithstanding, Grade Guesses:
English - B, because of Essay weirdness. Should get back to an A.
Chemistry - B, nice and solid. Hit mercifully not applicable.
Math - C, nice and solid. I had hoped to bring it to a B. I can do it on the final, I know I can...
Government - B, should be solid and stress free; and that's the goal.
German - A, nothing to say here.
Spanish - A, but is it high enough for an H? I've done well on projects and tests, and participation, but I've missed a homework assignment. O.O, today, actually, and it was a horrible accident.
Total: AABBBC
Goal: HAABBB
I'm two and a half away from goal. That's not impossible at all. I can do this. :D
October 31, 2006
Letting Things Lie
Once, when I was little, I fancied I saw something buried in my wrist. I dug, with a fingernail and a paper clip, layer by layer, until I couldn't see it for the blood.
Once, when I was little, I fancied that when I twisted my arm about, an unsightly pocket of air came to surface in the crook of my arm. Out came the safety pins, and I don't think it ever really popped.
Once, when I was older, I misspoke - I said "På" for "For", and I wouldn't forget it. It haunted me for two days, until I remembered where I had learned it, burned it out from that very source. "Vent på meg..." never meant "Wait for me..." but, "Wait on me...". Sweet epiphany.
Once, when I was older still, I couldn't get stewardship and presidential together in my head, opposite taftian and congressional. I followed it to it's source, deep in a mountain of trivia long forgotten, moldered, all for the better, now feeding the mind. The Stewards of Gondor were less than the Kings.
So I'm sorry if I can't let things lie. It's never been my nature.
Once, when I was little, I fancied that when I twisted my arm about, an unsightly pocket of air came to surface in the crook of my arm. Out came the safety pins, and I don't think it ever really popped.
Once, when I was older, I misspoke - I said "På" for "For", and I wouldn't forget it. It haunted me for two days, until I remembered where I had learned it, burned it out from that very source. "Vent på meg..." never meant "Wait for me..." but, "Wait on me...". Sweet epiphany.
Once, when I was older still, I couldn't get stewardship and presidential together in my head, opposite taftian and congressional. I followed it to it's source, deep in a mountain of trivia long forgotten, moldered, all for the better, now feeding the mind. The Stewards of Gondor were less than the Kings.
So I'm sorry if I can't let things lie. It's never been my nature.
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