A Cinderella Story

Earlier today I watched A Cinderella Story on TV. While watching it, I realized how predictable it was; she got the guy, went to the school of her dreams, and finally overcame her evil stepmother. The thing that stayed with me though, is how easy she just decided to leave. She knew that her stepmother was no good, yet she stayed until she'd had enough and just left. I have dreamed about doing this for quite some time now, yet I always convince myself that it will be better. That people will change, things will fall into place, and I will end up happy. That's where my flaw is though, I think. I have convinced myself that people will change, but the fact is they won't, not for me at least. What makes me so special? I only recently realized, or hope I have, that once and for all they won't change and will always be the same. They don't care about me anymore than they care about the annoying pothole in the road; same thing every day, always there, yet they always drive over it and curse it, wishing it wasn't there. But I guess life really isn't like the movies, and I have to wait for the right time. Keep waiting and it will come. At least, that's what I tell myself.

Scholarship Essay

My second draft of the scholarship essay:

All my life I’ve known that I love plants and animals. Ever since I was a kid, I always played with all types of insects, bugs, and every pet any of my friends had. Whenever I would play with them though, I was always extraordinarily curious about why they looked the way they did, how they got that way, and what differences it made. That’s why when high school was about to start, I leaned toward the Academy of Arts, Careers, and Technology; they had seven different academies that had their own special classes that would pertain specifically to the academy you chose. For example, I chose the Natural Resources and Animal Science academy, and got to take classes such as Agricultural Science, Biotechnology, Natural Resources, and Veterinary Medicine, just to name a few. This got me even more excited and specific on what career path I wished to pursue, currently being in Bio-engineering, or Pathology. Not only does my interesting in plants and animals help with this, but I always was interested in how diseases and viruses work, spread, and are built. I am also a very artistic person, and like to spend my free time painting, drawing, or doing crafts, which allows for me to have more creative and innovative ways to solve things, helps me work with a greater accuracy and precision, and helps build my patience when I work on long and tedious projects. Moreover, I’ve always had a great curiosity for science and love all the room there still is for discoveries and new advances. Whether I become a Bio-engineer, or a Pathologist, my education and past has been an influential part of whom I am and who I hope to become.

Long live Smarties

For some reason, I've always been in love with Smarties. No, not the smart kids, (although, I like them too) but the candies. Whenever I was a kid and my mom told me to pick out a candy, I would always reach for the Smarties. Maybe it's because I was told "you are what you eat," (you better believe I stayed away from Dum Dums) or maybe it's because I could fit five rolls in my hand, but I always have loved them. I would always unwrap the packag carefully, so the candies are laying perfectly spaced in their plastic sleeve. Next, I would rearrange them by color and rainbow order, so they looked nice. Then I would pick up one and press my index finger and thumb into each side of the magnificent indentations, and lick all around the edges. Once I grew tired of that, I would only put half of the candy into my mouth so it would dissolve. Once it dissolved, I took it out and examined the hard side to the squishy wet side I just ate. Sometimes I even liked to balance them on the tip of my tongue and "accidentally" drop them all into my mouth. When I was feelin particularly dangerous, I would put two or three different flavored into my mouth and waited until they dissolved and made new flavors. I even liked to roll them along the grooves in my molars and pretended they were little baby cars driving around in my mouth. When I finally finished, I would make designs and paper airplanes, and anything I could think of out of the wrapper. I especially loved the silly crackling noise it made when I balled it up and threw it away. People soon learned not to mess with me and my Smarties, and I made sure I enjoyed them until the very end.

The monster, not Frankenstein

Every time I go to write a blog post, I always forge where the heck the "create new" button is and sit and feel stupid for a few minutes because I know I've done this a million times already. Besides the point, I was talking to one of my friends the other day about Frankenstein, and we both ended up coming to the same conclusion; we both like the monster better than we like Frankenstein. Strange prospect, don't you think? We decided that th monster has extremely relatable problems of just wanting to be loved by a creator (cough cough parents cough) and to be accepted into the world. However, Frankenstein is battin things like "woe is me, I'm a badass and created life but I'm too insecure to do anything about it so I'm gonna run away and maybe nap a bit." The monster has valid reasons and a compelling backstory, while Frankenstein just has a weird incest-like who knows what kind of relationship with his cousins and mopey moods. Plus, Frankenstein made the monster a promise, but wusses out and gives up, when that's all the monster could have ever hoped and dreamed for. Sure, there is the prospect of mass murders and no one being safe, but overpopulation could use some help to. Man up Frankenstein.

First Draft

This is the first draft of the scholarship essay, before the prompt changed:

"Dream: 1. a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep, or 2. an involuntary vision occurring to a person when awake. Those are two definitions of the word “Dream” according to Mr. Webster. Both seem very similar, except for two key words making them completely different; awake and during sleep. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve gotten your eight hours, or you are just zoning out in class, a dream can come at any time, and can be of anyone, or anything. I for one am the kind to get four hours of sleep, or seventeen, with no in between. It always seems that my strangest dreams come while sleeping though, no matter how much I get. Purple flamingos teaching me how to dance the Macarena you say? That’s the usual, no big deal. Only when we wake up to we realize how absurd they really are. The dreams you have when zoning out in class are a completely differently story; an insta-freeze microwave-like device? Yeah, that’s the next million dollar idea, and it’s all mine. Somewhere in between is where the dreams for your future come. Bioengineering always seemed as if it is the perfect fit for me; I love science, animals, and I love coming up with new ideas. Not only have I taken more science classes than I can count on two hands, but I also spend my free time watching the Science Channel. Plus, when I was a child, my infatuation with animals began. I played with spiders and puppies alike; I was mesmerized by how different all the animals were, yet how seemingly close. I would always dream of how I could alter them so they could have different attributes, or different colors. So perhaps that purple flamingo isn’t too far-fetched."

Just in case.

I hate looking at magazines because they always make me feel incompetent; beauty magazines make me feel ugly. Art magazines make me feel like an amateur. I always have the best intentions when looking through them though, and that's what's makes it worse. I want to find out the new trends so I look in a magazine. I want new ideas for painting, so I look in a magazine. They always end extremely horrific though. But that's the ironic part; you have the best intentions, but feel like the rear-end of a donkey once you're done. I think the worst part is, is that people actually give you compliments, as bad as that sounds. "You're very pretty," yet you feel completely average and you blend in with the woodwork. "I could never draw anything that well," yet it is completely one dimensional and unproportional. The hardest onbstacle in any situation is yourself, yet you are a 90-foot brick wall, covered in spikes and lasers. The biggest question though, is why are we so hard on ourselves? Why can't we just love ourselves, accept our flaws, accept our differences, and move on? What makes the pool of self-pity so inviting? What makes the blanket of self-doubt so cozy? Or is it all in our heads? The pool is below freezing and the blanket is really just a towel, and we amplify everything in our minds, "just in case"?

Upon a memory

"We'll do it tomorrow, I'm tired."

"Not a very good outlook on life."

"Your spur of the moment whims."

"Don't do it out of rage." 

None of this makes sense alone. Nothing ever makes sense alone. But once you weave it together, add in the extra splash, and viola, you have the extraordinarily bland, excruciatingly vivid picture of reality. Whose reality?

Yours?

Mine?

His?

Theirs? 

Snapshots is all I see. Ideas are all that course. The great idea of a project, the messy idea of a picture. Never make a move out of rage, but only if it involves other people. Always create things out of passion, you may surprise yourself. Line after line, mile after mile, anger after hurt. Why are we always hurt?

Why do we always doubt ourselves?

Why do we never trust others? 

Why is it so hard to convey real emotions?

Why must one follow the rules?

Who makes the rules? Who decides who I can and can't be, when and where of every moment of every day? Who decides what looks good and what doesn't? All alone I sit, fester on every fragment and scrap of cloth that entwines the sweatshirt of my being. Why are you everything I could have hoped for, while she is everything to me? People tell me they wish they had my hair, my legs, my personality, yet here I am, wishing for her smile, her body, and her arms? 

All alone, are the shards of my brain. 

All alone and by myself. 

All alone with no cares. 

All alone with all the cares that could have ever come to be. 

Too many questions, not enough answers. Too many words, not enough thoughts. Too much vision, not enough insight. Too many woes, not enough cares. Too many people, too much selfishness. 

I am a rock. Nothing more, nothing less.

To be or not to be, that is the question.

To be friendly or not have anyone to talk to. To be fake or to be myself. To be likable or to be honest.
No ultimatums, people will get angry. No humor, people won't like it. No pants, it doesn't look professional.

I don't understand. Nothing I do is enough. I am willing to sacrifice everything I am, everything I have attempted to build for myself, just because you asked me to. Always being taken advantage of. Always demolishing the inside. Always an empty shell.

People say I'm extraordinarily blunt and they love how harsh I am. If they only knew the inside was softer than a feather. If they only knew the network that travels through my body that conveys everything I sense; every smell, every look, every word. The details too fine to describe. The connections that relay everything. Everything is remembered. And I can't forget.

Too deep inside myself, and too small to make it alone. That's where my personality festers. The real one. The one that people don't like and scare it into a corner. The one people have tried to change too many times that it is nothing more than a blank stone face; paint on it all you want, but it's still a rock. Kick it and throw it at someone and skip it across the water, yet it's still a rock. Years and days and minutes it dissolves for other people. It breaks when thrown. It chips when dropped. After every encounter, a new pockmark is created. The next person to see it doesn't waste a moment of their time to contemplate its shape; they are more important after all.

Everyone else is more important. The rock says nothing, asks for nothing in return, yet it's constantly exhausted from everyone else. The rock has no feelings, so who cares? The rock says nothing, so what does it matter? The rock doesn't defend itself, so it's automatically stupid and doesn't matter. You can exploit it as much, and in as many ways as you please. It's just a rock. Nothing more. Useless.

I don't like that, you must be one.

One thing I'll never understand is how people become so completely closed minded, that they can never possibly even acknowledge a good idea that my be different. In a plain sense, football. I don't understand why people become so caught up in one team that they get angry if the other team does the same thing, but slightly better. But then again, I barely understand football in the first place, but you get the idea. Or politics; I don't understand why people become so angry with the thought of someone else having different view than them, that they are willing to yell and fight to no end about it. I know people that make remarks such as "They own a Prius, they must be a democrat" and "they watch Fox News, they must be a republican." I mean honestly, who cares? So what if that person drives a Prius or watches Fox News? What difference does it make? Why is it such a huge deal that they may have different ideas? Just because it's not what you think, doesn't mean it's so wrong. It drives me up the wall when people make comments like that, and I typically shut them out and leave because I don't want to be around a person who doesn't accept change. It is absolutely unfathomable to me that people can even be that way. No wonder our world is a superficial society that loves to argue about anything they can.

"I don't like her haircut." So what? You aren't the one that has to deal with it every day. "She wears dresses all the time." And your point is? Maybe she feels confident in dresses. What's so wrong with some variety in the world?

"Money, that's what I want"

 I was on twitter recently, and I saw a new account called "Wealthy Walrus." It was tweeting things like "For $2 million dollars, would you shave off your eyebrows?" This got me thinking how I really need a job, so my parents will stop yelling at me about responsibilities and what not, but also so I can have money to buy things that I want. Then it got me thinking about how materialistic society has become, and how all anyone cares about is money, and the things they can buy with it. People are willing to work themselves to the bone, during ridiculous hours, just so they can have the newest and most stylish thing. In reality, most people don't even notice other people's new and nice things, because they are so busy trying to work themselves to the bone to get the new thing for themselves. This makes no sense to me though, although I am a victim of it as well; why are people willing to steal, harm, and go to insane extremes just to get little pieces of paper with numbers on them. There is too high of a value placed on this paper, thinking it is necessary for life. Unfortunately, due to today's morphed ideas, this piece of paper now is required to do anything. What people don't think of is the fact that the earliest humans lived without it. They didn't care if they smelled or had old clothes on, they were worried about getting the necessities. The rest of the entire animal kingdom is completely okay without the use of money. Even if the animals started to use currency, we would look at them like they were crazy if they walked into a store, grabbed a Coke, and went to the cash register to pay. It wouldn't make any sense if they did, so why do humans care so much about money? Why did humans so deeply engrain the idea of money into society that we can't function without it? Made it so god-like, people are willing to steal, lie, and even kill for it?

What parents don't understand.

Do you ever just sit there sometimes, and think you could rule the world? If you stood up right now, talked really fast, and moved at hyper speed, you could get everything done. You feel as if you hold the world in the palm of your hands, and you could move things how you please.

But then you start to formulate plans, decide when you are going to do certain things, decide how you want to execute them. Once you think it through, you remember how stunningly average you are. How plain, how simple, how common. You remember how difficult things really are, and then you shut down. You give up. You take a nap to forget the world.

Where does this start? Perhaps your parents are always yelling at you. You never see eye to eye; I mean how could they possibly understand what you are going through? They are ancient, and don't remember what it's like to be a teenager. They don't understand all the stress you go through just to try to make them happy. You take all the hard classes, you try your hardest, you join a million extracurricular activities, but nothing seems enough. You squeak by with a B after you studied for hours on that impossible AP Biology test, and they tell you that you aren't going to get into college because you got a B. They tell you that you don't try hard enough, just because you like to relax with a movie. They constantly remind you of how much more they like your sibling.

But why? Don't they understand how hard it is to try to impress them? Don't they understand that all their children ever do is try to make them proud? Why do they always brush off your big accomplishments like they are nothing?

You got into Honors Society? Neither parents can make the ceremony. You got elected into a student run office? They tell you that your position was probably the easiest one. You passed one of the AP exams? That's not enough, you didn't pass both.

What parents don't understand is that after a while, the ties of the family get worn down with all the negativity. It gnaws away at every last strand, until finally it severs. You don't care anymore if they are proud of you because you accept the fact that you are never good enough. You don't care, because no one does. All they ever do is yell at you and insult you. And they wonder why you are always hiding in your room, or always on the computer, or always doing something by yourself.

They wonder why you don't answer anymore. They wonder why you don't eat dinner with them anymore. They wonder why you don't care. They don't understand it's them. Parents don't understand how hard it is to try and be yourself when someone is always mean to you. They don't understand how hard their children try to make them happy, only to be told it wasn't good enough. It's never good enough. And they quit. That's the end, there's no more, nothing else to look forward to except leaving. Nothing else seems good enough. Nothing will ever be good enough, and I'm sorry.

Oprah part 2

ALL THE BLOG POSTS! I EVEN SPLIT GOOD OL' OPRAH INTO TWO PARTS SO YOU CAN SEE MORE OF HER! MORE BLOG POSTS FOR YOU AND MORE FOR YOU TOO! YOU ALL WON A FREE BLOG POST!

Thursday we had the other half of our competition which was the team activity, also in the Galt hotel. Throughout the week, we also went shopping in the FFA Mega Store, and all the smaller shops that were set up there. I also won a pair of sunglasses, a water bottle, and a $25 gift card (which I used to buy the new Fall Out Boy album and the new Panic! at the Disco album which are both PHENOMENAL, by the way). I bough numerous things, which I can't remember all of them off the top of my head right now. We also had to run our Hall of States booth, which is basically a booth that describes all about Nevada agriculture and what we do here. Friday was our luncheon, where the FBM team found out our placing and got a delicious meal. That night, we went to a pumpkin carving show place, where there were THOUSANDS of pumpkins carved to look cool (many of which had EXTRAORDINARY details), and were placed along a forested area and lit up so you followed the path of Jack - O - Lanterns. Saturday we went to a local FFA chapter, and went through their haunted corn maze. It was about a mile or so, and a lot better than I expected. Although it was a lot of people screaming at you and people jumping out at you, Tyra fell flat on her butt and it was hilarious. It was better than expected, and i was thoroughly impressed. Sunday we went to a brewery, and then had to catch our flight home. This flight was a little bit more interesting. From Kentucky to Vegas, I got dizzy and felt like puking (woo, how fun), but I ate some food, and lied on the floor during our layover and felt better from the trip from Vegas to Reno. On the second flight, however, Jaycob completely lost his mind. He started crying hysterically because his hot chocolate was too hot, and he wanted pretzels instead of peanuts, but later remembered he didn't like pretzels and cried more. Pretty much made that flight bearable. I think we were all just exhausted though, and that's what made him snap. I think I'm still running on Kentucky time though, which is three hours ahead of Reno, because I keep waking up at 2 in the morning, and I'm tired by 9 at night. Hopefully I acclimate soon, or I'm screwed.

Oprah part 1

BLOG POST FOR YOU AND BLOG POST FOR YOU AND YOU TOO! BLOG POSTS FOR EVERYONE!

It's really a shame that I've been busy with all my extracurricular activities, because all these blog posts are going to be posted within a short amount of time. But hey, at least I'm doing my work. Technically I was absent though, so I'm using that as my excuse.

However! I am going to elaborate on my trip to Nationals! The plane left Reno around 6:30 on Monday morning, and we flew for a couple hours, until we landed in Denver, then transferred to the flight to Kentucky. I worked a little bit on my homework during the flight, but mostly re-arranged my Playlists and enjoyed my new music. Once we landed, I could definitely tell it wasn't Nevada anymore because there was fog and humidity in the air; two of my favorite weather types. First we got ourselves situated and drove around a bit, trying to get the feel for the town. Tuesday morning, we went to Churchill Downs where they feature horse races. We watched a touchy- feely inspirational video about the horses growing up and their training. Then we toured the facilities, and even got to see some of the horses practice. Afterwards, we went to Louisville Slugger and wandered around the museum for a while, until our tour started and got to see how the bats were made, branded, and stained. We even got to watch one of the workers make a bat by hand on a lathe. At the end of our tour, we got free cute mini bats, and got pictures with the world's largest bat. Wednesday was the first half of our competition, so the Farm Business Management (FBM) team went to the Galt hotel to test. Let me tell you, that hotel is AWESOME! Not only were their fixtures and walls and everything super fancy, but they had a bar (yes, the alcohol kind) made out of a fish tank with REAL fish swimming around in it! Not only that, but they also had a 12 foot wide, 20 foot tall (my approximations here ladies and gentlemen) bird cage with real birds and quail! Forget the competition, this hotel made it so much more exiting.

Holy Blog Posts

Boy has it been a long time since I've done a blog post. But you know what that means? DO ALL THE BLOG POSTS! Sorry about that Burge, but I have been very busy in the past couple weeks. Three weeks ago we had fall break, where I did my capstone for the week. That threw off the mental schedule I try to keep up with in the first place, along with a term I'm calling "farmer's brain" where all I can think about and dream about is the sheep I worked with. Plus, I feel as if everything is in slow motion and should be as mellow and calm as playing with sheep. The following week when we were actually back in school, we only had a four day week because Friday was technically Nevada day, and then that Saturday I took the ACT. Going on a tangent here, I don't know how I feel about my ACT scores because although I took the SAT first and was prepared for a long day of testing, the questions were different and the ACT featured a science section which totally threw me off. I'm hoping that my scores are solid and I can at least get SOME scholarships. But the week of the 28th, I went to Kentucky to compete in Farm Business Management for FFA Nationals. Let me be the first to say, it was a BLAST! Although there may have been more than just a few misunderstandings and near death car accidents, overall I made the best of my time and had a good time. I personally place bronze, which may not sound all to prestigious, but I got a fancy little medal that says Nationals so I look like a cool kid, and that's what's up.

Who even knows.

There is no way that I am in any right-minded state to make a blog post, but I did the rest of my homework aimlessly, so here we go.

When we arrive back from break, we have to jump right back into Hamlet like it was no big deal. To be fair, Burge did tell the sub to tell us on Friday to "review" Hamlet over the break so we would be prepared and ready to continue on like there was no break at all. Allow me to be the first to say, even though I agree it barely felt like there was any break at all, my mind is still stuck in no homework mode. Luckily we have no school this Friday for Nevada day, but not so luckily I leave the following week for Nationals. So basically as soon as I get my mind back in the swing of things and my school schedule, I have to mess it up again for another week. Not only will I be getting five hours of sleep per night, but I will also have to compete. Ha, good luck with that dude, especially if you plan on attempting to complete some homework. Oh well, it has happened before, and somehow I mustered out of it.

What even is homework. What even is a blogpost. What the heck am I even doing or thinking or reading of typing. Heck if I know. Good luck deciphering this jumbled mess of gobbly gook and jibber jabber. Farewell my confused friends, I am boarding the same train of thought, whose tracks are blasted to pieces.

Oh, just give me a break

Everyone expects breaks from school to be for catching up on sleep and social interactions. Not for Seniors at AACT, however. I plan to make this break successful by getting a head start on my Capstone project. My main project is to job shadow at a few different farms and ranches; a sheep ranch, a cattle ranch, and a corn and wheat farm. Since fall is pretty slow for corn, wheat, and cows, I'm starting with the sheep ranch (plus it was the only one available this week). Doris Woloszyn, the sheep rancher, was pretty vague on what I was doing this week, because she wasn't sure I could handle the work (little does she know how much I enjoy working on farms. MUCH better than going to a boring old gym). This week she said she was planning on giving the sheep vaccinations, moving pens, and cleaning out the pens as well. So far we've just planned for me to come one day so I can get the feel for it, and then plan the rest of my schedule that day.

Another slightly minor thing I plan to accomplish this break, is to order my proofs for the yearbook, and take my other senior pictures (you know, the nice ones where you are prancing in the woods and hugging trees and such). Not necessarily as important as starting my Capstone and getting a chunk of it done, but still important if I want to get money from my family members for college. Speaking of which, I have already finished one and a half scholarships, all I need are my SAT and/or ACT scores. The SATs I have taken, just haven't gotten my scores back, and the ACTs are planned for the 26th. Fingers crossed!

Sharing is not caring

How can you expect me to share my whole world? Everything I've ever wanted, everything I've ever hoped for. How can you be so selfish to even consider trying to wedge yourself in my complete world?

How would you feel if someone took half of every breath you took? If they took every other step, every other blink, every other beat of your heart. Half of every achievement I've ever accomplished, and you want to steal that away from me?

Ah fie on it, fie! You don't know what you're messing with. The very fragile internal environment whom I share with one person only, and you decide all of a sudden to butt in? It's taken 15 years of my life to even let one person join, and I do not cooperate well with force.

You sit next to me and have invited me to your birthday party, and that is all of a sudden the basis for robbery? How dare you even attempt to cross this path, cross me. I am a malestorm that will tear every ligament from every bone, every connection from every neuron. I will tear all of your hair out, strand by strand until you cannot stand it anymore. Only then will you understand what pain you have caused me if you even attempt to continue this very dangerous path. I would not advise it.

Do not touch my world, do not speak about my world, don't even look at my world. I have been extraordinarily lenient to your contact with my world, but not anymore. I am not naive, I have seen it happen multiple times. I have seen other peoples' lives crushed and ruined by one person trying to join without an invitation. But I am different from those people. My world has been more than too full. It has been torn and ripped away from me, time after time. I was too young to understand then, but now, after a decade of hard, excruciating, horribly endless work, I have finally found a world that I love. It fits me in more ways than I thought possible, and there is no force on this earth that will take it away from me, and that includes you. You better stop, or you will fall.

Am I stretching it yet?

For our English homework assignment we had to write a rough draft of an essay about a sonnet in Hamlet. Hamlet is written by Shakespeare and is therefore confusing. Shakespeare also wrote poems along with his plays that are equally confusing. One of his poems, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" is about describing a woman to a summers day, with a little bit of Shakespeare's cockiness when he says "So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,/ So long lives this, and gives life to thee." Basically he is saying that people will only know of her beauty because he is an awesome writer and his poems will last forever, which ironically is what happened. This morning while I was driving to school, "Act Naturally" came on by a most wonderful band, The Beatles. This song talks about how they are going to make him famous because they are going to put him in the movies and he just had to "act naturally" for them to do so. I connected these two in my mind, because of the cockiness of Shakespeare and of The Beatles. Shakespeare said his poems were going to last forever, and The Beatles said that they were going to be famous because they were going to be in movies. Obviously The Beatles were unfathomably famous worldwide, and their music has survived even until the 21st century. Shakespeare's work has also lasted that long, putting both of them at the same level of cockiness. As for the irony, The Beatles were famous for their music, and in a song written famously by them, they talk about getting famous because of the movies they will be in. Shakespeare's irony resides in the fact that he said his poem was going to last forever, and thus far, it has. Darn those famously ironic, equally cocky, and all the more inspiring figures of the time.

All I want for Christmas, is myself.

"Somewhere there's a stolen halo
I use to watch her wear it well
Everything would shine wherever she would go
But looking at her now you'd never tell

Someone ran away with her innocence
A memory she can't get out of her head"
The first verse and a half of a song called Holy Water by Big and Rich. A song that plays too close of a tune to my heart. 

I feel like a stranger in my own home. I feel like a stranger among my friends. I feel as if I let everyone down in a different way.

I don't laugh at the jokes. It causes me to break my promises. It leaves me in shattered pieces on the floor, with no one to talk through it with.

I'll never quite be whole again. I'm a hollow shell, walking around with the best fake smile I can muster. Walking around full of sour tears and shattered hopes. Walking around with half a heart, trying to learn how to love. 

A mere shadow, consumed by demons throw into my life by force. A mere hunter, trying to live off the land with no arrows in my quiver. A creature of the sun, drown in the darkest parts of the ocean, required to live like everyone else. 

No one likes to think the world can be this cruel, so they ignore it. Their ignorance leads to the loss of innocent souls, ripped apart into quivering shreds, swept into the dustpan to fend for themselves. 

Tell me, how is a pile of dust supposed to become a mountain after the volcano already erupted? How can you expect a worm to transform into a butterfly? How can you expect a single-celled organism to evolve into a cheetah within a lifetime?

How can I expect people to understand when 99% of them don't even know? How can I expect people to know why I do certain things? How can I be so selfish to put that kind of pressure on everyone I meet? How can I want people to understand if I am not even capable enough to tell them? 

All these questions suffocate my existence. All the lies protect my persona. Yet when I'm left alone with all the answers, nothing can save me; not the sour elixir binge, or the sharp pain inside. Not the alterations of the impurities of the air, or the salty tears that come too often.

I sit on my bed and gently talk myself out of every dark corner, for I am the only one that knows every thought in my mind. Everyone must know to make my actions easier to understand. No one must know so I can protect the soft center of my being.

Internet, oh vast Internet, please dull my mind and show me the colors.

Never ending block.

Writer's block. Artist's block. Crafter's block. Life block. My world is an never-ending world of blocks. Perhaps that's why I enjoy Minecraft so much. Lifting, creating, flying, building. Endless possibilities from blocks. All blocks. Everything in my mind is clicking, sickening, maddening. Stop. Breathe. Start again.

Every thought I experience is fluid and magical, a drowning wonderful image of euphemistic dreams. Continually floating in the breezes of my mind, swirling in the dust of long forgotten chalkboards. All the beautiful colors rising up into the night sky, sprinkling the ink blots of the universe we so unenthusiastically embrace.

Look at that dark sky, nothing but stars. How horrible it would be to discover every last inch, nook, and cranny of it. What purpose do they serve? Nothing, according to them. Wrong. They're all wrong. Take another look. Don't think about it, just look. That dark sky, with nothing but stars, allows your mind to be free. What's wrong about that? It can escape everything it is confined in. All the work. School work, house work, just work.

How can you all do it? The monotony kills me inside. It shrivels up every last whimsical tendril, swirling it's own design. Crushes all the sparkling sugar cubes of their own geometric patterns, their sweet existence. Dries the vast oceans I drown myself in, just to experience all they can show me. The crushing darkness of hopelessness. The rhythmic waves of all life forms surrounding me. The shivering loneliness of never ending possibilities just out of reach.

As the soft whispers begin to fray, and the gentle wind begins to whip, every block is destroyed. Shattered into as many pieces as you don't care to count, you just stare. Close your eyes, the end is near.

The Hamlet complex. Or maybe it's just Shakespeare who is complex.

Today I read three scenes of the play Hamlet which was written by Shakespeare, so obviously there are going to be a lot of angry and confused people. I only am partially in this category because I like the story lines and ideas that Shakespeare writes about, I just have a hard time understanding what he really was trying to get at. One of the main things that frustrates me, is I always end up paying more attention to the rhyme scheme instead of what the characters are actually saying. I get caught up in it, and end up reading it to a tune, which causes the words to never register because I pay so much attention to the tune I just created and I have no idea what I just read. Another frustrating thing is that Shakespeare never writes just one thing, and so when I interpret it one way and move on to the next part, I interpret that one differently, so my interpretations don't usually line up and I can't piece them together. Sometimes I may get two similar things, but when I do try to follow the story and put them together, I have to jump between them to make my interpretations match up and them get too many assumptions. However, I have noticed that I can understand Shakespeare's writing better when I have other people to discuss it with, or if we read it out loud. Plays are meant to be acted out and not just read on a blank page, so the extra dimension and excitement catch my attention, cause me to listen, and then I tend to pick up more on the things I usually miss when I just read the play by myself. The discussions help with extra interpretations as well, and help me get a better and fuller picture of what is going on and what Shakespeare may have meant. I really try my hardest with plays and poems by Shakespeare, but the dimension and dialect of it, along with the distractions and singularity of homework for it create a complex whirlwind of confusion that frustrates me even further. However, when the story is laid out in front of me in more simpler means, I get inspired and enthusiastic about the idea of them.

Extra sleep always makes me happy

This morning the Sophomores had to take some standardized testing that I'm not quite sure what for. However, I did remember that there was a three hour delay for everyone else this morning who was not taking the testing, which includes me. The amount of joy I felt when I woke up at 6 am, rolled over, and went back to sleep was indescribable. My little sister and mother had to wake up early, so they were envious of my extra hours of sleep, which made it even sweeter. Although I would have liked to sleep in even more, getting up at 8:30 am is better than 6. When I finally did get up, I  put my hair in a ponytail and went to go feed my ducks and clean their cage, mostly because I didn't want to do it last night and I knew I would have extra time in the morning to clean it. So I grabbed their food, turned on the hose, and walked up to their cage. I put the hose in their smelly, green pool, set their food down, and let them out of the cage. Of course, Jude was the first one to hop out because she doesn't like to be cooped up in the cage longer than she has to be. Next comes Prudence, a little lopsidedly because she's a spazz and isn't that coordinated. Lucy comes next, hopping out like it's no big deal, and then finally Eleanor Rigby, because she just doesn't care and is extremely laid back. I crouch down and get their eggs, set them aside, and start cleaning their pool. Although their pool is only a larger sized kiddy pool, it takes a while to clean, mostly because I can't just tip it over and pour all the water out. I have to scoop bucketfuls of water out until it's low enough that the rest of the water will be clean. I began scooping out the atrocious water by the bucketful, getting splashed and muddy all the while. After I clean it and fill it back up again, I notice my dad is leaving for the morning so I wave at him as he leaves, with no recognition I even was there. I brush it off and walk back to the house to go clean off the eggs. I try the garage door, from which I came through this morning to no avail. I try the side door and front door after that, and realize my dad had no idea I was even home, so he locked all of them. Great. Luckily, I knew where the hide-a-key was, so I could actually get back in the house, get all my school stuff, get dressed, and get everything for the day to come. I could only imagine how angry my parents would be when I told them I was locked out and needed one of them to come back so I could get in to the house and get ready for school. Wouldn't that be a great way to start off my three hour delay?

Senior year scramble

Senior year is something that everyone looks forward to; spending time with your friends, having a great job, buying all the cutest new clothes, and getting the best grade for the college of your dreams. Little did anyone think about all the work necessary to get there. Your parents are breathing down your neck to get all your work done so you can get good grades and good scholarships. Both take loads of time that are supposed to appear out of thin air; not only do you have to sit down and finish your homework, but you have to spend the time looking for the right kinds of scholarships. I mean, what the heck are you supposed to google anyways? Next to that, getting a job and making your own money sounds great, that also takes not only more of your time, but also physical activity which makes you even more tired than just school alone. Because you are tired, you don't want to do your homework, but you muster through it anyways. That makes you more tired and frustrated, so you aren't "in the mood" to search for scholarships. It's only the second month of school, and most of us are already tired from the workload of the AP classes we are taking so we can attempt to shave off a couple credits from college to save more money. So your parents won't be as angry and you won't be in debt forever. Senior year has been stressful so far, but hopefully I get used to the workload so I can manage my time more effectively and try to fit everything in.

I felt a Funeral in my Brain

This morning was senior sunrise; a time when the senior class gets up extraordinarily early for teenagers, and watches the sunrise together, symbolizing the beginning of their senior year. Due to the fact that I not only live past town, but I also live past the "past town" on the edge of nowhere, I had to get up at 4:30 in the morning to get to school on time. No way was I wearing real clothes, so I picked out my sweats and a sweater, attempted to let my ducks out who were still sleeping, and left my house. The plus side about driving at 5 am is that no one is up so there is no traffic to deal with. All the seniors looked like zombies when I pulled up, and I understood why. We all watched the sunrise together, and barely made it though our classes alive, seeing how tired we all were. Luckily, one of the perks of being a senior is off campus, which means I got home at 1:30 in the afternoon. I discovered I was home alone, ate ice cream, and updated my iTunes library until 7:30, with a few "play with my cat" breaks and "refill my water cup" breaks and "eat all the goldfish" breaks. I eventually showered and started homework. It is now past ten at night and I am just finishing up my English homework. I feel like I really related to the poem "I felt a Funeral in my Brain" because my day has been 18 hours long so far and I'm attempting to do both AP English homework and AP biology homework with insight and intelligence. It's not my best plan, but you have to do what you have to do. My brain feels like mush, as if it has died and there is now a funeral for it. I especially like the quote "My Mind was going numb" because that accurately describes how I feel. I hope not all days end like this, because I'm not sure how much longer I can handle 18 hour days.

Stubborn by teenage nature

"Just let it come to you naturally," he tells me, as if it were so easy. He's always had a liking for English; his detailed writing, his small, precise hand writing, his seemingly endless ability to analyze text I lose after the first paragraph. He tried to be as supportive as he can be with someone as stubborn as I am. Frankly, I don't know how he does it. I mean I like to take the shortest route possible, and get beyond frustrated when the shortest route is a few miles long. He's like a machine: busting out all his homework in nothing flat, and insightful as can be, as if it came to him naturally. He pushes me along as hard as he can, while I dig my heels in and cross my arms along my chest.

"I believe in you, I know you can do it," I tell him, as his face falls and he doesn't understand. I encourage him in as many ways as I can come up with. He gets angry and takes a break, trying not to think of the time he has to come back and finish. Gently, in sweet caress, I type words onto a digital screen, as full of support and darling honey as I can muster in flat text. He says thank you and feels slightly better. I lift him up, as high as I can reach, even standing on my tip-toes. His reply slouches upon me, making the load harder, yet I still try to hold strong. He tells me he doesn't understand how I deal with him in moments like this. I whisper to him, through the new age method of conversation with past novels staining my skin,  "You are more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same." His reply is a meager smile; a smile that came to him ever so naturally. 

Mirrored stories

While I began my English homework tonight, which partly was to read a poem called Mirrors by Sylvia Plath, I read through the poem like anyone would. It starts out stating that the speaker is a mirror and reflects who you are. It states that it is "not cruel, only truthful," and that it is "unmisted by love or dislike." The next stanza then states that it is a lake, and begins talking about that person's reflection. It describes how she looks from the water's point of view, such as "I see her back, and reflect it faithfully." While reading this poem, I begin to think about the movie The Lake House. The Lake House is about a couple that have lived in th same house, one in 2004, and the other in 2006. Although I don't quite understand how, they end up sending letters to each other and falling in love. Now I won't ruin the end of the movie for you, but it is a very good story. The only downfall is that it can get confusing unless you watch it multiple times. I still don't quite understand it fully. Besides the point, when I read the second stanza in Mirrors about being a lake and reflecting that person, it reminded me of how the couple fell in love in The Lake House, centered around that lake.

A day full of good, clean labor.

A day full of good, clean labor.

Labor Day; ironically enough, a holiday people take off to relax. So today is not really for anything pertaining to labor, just another Americanized tradition that people only follow so they can have a three day weekend. On the contrary, I did more labor than I would have otherwise expected to do. Not only did I feed my ducks, but I also cleaned their pool, cleaned their cage, cleaned their house, and cleaned their eggs. Always cleaning. Luckily, ducks like to clean themselves, so I was saved that amount of cleaning. To make up for it however, I cleaned my car. Cleaned the windows, cleaned the roof, cleaned the body. More cleaning. My dad eventually came out and told me that I needed to help him clean his car today as well, so I moved my car out of the way so it wouldn't get dirty, and began cleaning my dad's car. Cleaned the wheels, cleaned the doors, cleaned the bumper. Am I done cleaning?

After drying my dad's car, I realized I hadn't had breakfast yet from the symphony of rumbling coming from my stomach. I go to make myself a bagel and grab the cream cheese. Moldy. Clean up that mess and look for something else. Some apricot jam catches my eye, and since I have never tried it before, I figured today was the day. Spread half of the warmed bagel with apricot jam, the other with grape. I take a bite and wrinkle my nose at the taste of apricot jam; not as good as I was hoping it would be. Finish it anyways and continue onto the other half, licking my sticky fingers when I finish.

Realizing it was already noon, I go downstairs to do the laundry. Clean up my old clothes, sort them into piles, and begin the washing machine, remembering the time so I can come back downstairs in time to reset it so the other clothes will be clean as well. In between cleanings, I sort through my homework, divide up my time, and begin on what I can. Change the laundry again, type up some homework, change the dryer, fold the clean clothes.

As the day wanes along and the morning turns to afternoon, turns to evening, I realize I need to shower. Clean my hair, clean my face, clean up the wet floor afterwards. Still cleaning. I brush my hair, and begin on the last of my homework, finishing before I eat a dinner of crab, beef, and squash. Finish eating, go back downstairs, and listen to music for an hour or so before I pack my backpack for the next morning. Thankfully, it is a Tuesday, meaning the next weekend will come sooner, with the hopes of less cleaning.