post #21 (22?) [this one doesn't count, i don't think]

I just realized that I labeled two of my posts "post #6". So technically, I reached my goal one post ago. I'm not gonna delete any of my posts though. They are my babies, and I intend to keep them.

Okay, done now. See you next quarter.

post #20

"the only hope for me is you alone."

I realize I've started at least half of my twenty posts this quarter with a quote, but I just had to use this one as a central point of another post. It describes me perfectly at this moment.

I? Am hopeless. I just wander without a care, going through motions and living each day without thought. I can't stand this. I know I probably posted the exact same thing last quarter, but I feel like nothing changes. I'm not doing anything. I'm always too lazy.

When all my strength is gone, when I feel like it's too much, You're there. I know You are. I see You in the sunrise and the sunset and in laughter and hugs. You're with me. But I'm not with You. Why? I don't know. Maybe my subconscious decided it was too much work.

I feel like You're always trying to tell me something, but I'm too busy to listen.

Maybe my headphones are up too loud.

You're the only One I'll turn them down for.

post #19

Dear person whose name I will not mention,

Hey. I love you.

Now that that's said, I just wanted you to know that you bring me down.

Oh, I'm such a mood kill. Let me explain.

We confide in each other for everything. You vent to me, I vent to you... it works. It always works. Except when it doesn't, and we fight. We seem to fight about everything, these days. Being the problem solver that I am, I just want to know what started it all. Was there a turning point with us? Maybe it was the day you said I should work on my insecurity issues. Yeah, it still stings. But I wouldn't tell you, because you'd accuse me of trying to make you feel guilty. It isn't all about you, all the time, you know? I'm more selfish than you'll ever be, but really, all I want is for you to care about me the way I care about you. And for you to stop dwelling over every word, every letter I say and twist it into something insulting. I have to filter myself just so there's absolutely no chance that you'd ever feel bad about something I say. My goal is never to hurt you. But sometimes I feel like you enjoy hurting me. Making me feel bad. And that really, really hurts.

Okay, now that everything I feel is out on the table, it's your turn. I just want you to realize that I want the best for you, and I care about you more than you'll ever know, and I really want to know if the feeling is mutual. I don't want to fight with you, but you know my arguing mechanism. When I feel attacked, I fight back; sometimes a little too hard.

I'm sorry.

We straight.

See you in Cape Town,
Me

post #18

"i don't love you, i'm just passing the time.
you could love me if i knew how to lie.
but who could love me? i am out of my mind."

oh, hey, angst.

i've never been in love. never had a boyfriend. i don't really care about the latter, the term boyfriend irks me for whatever reason. but never being in love... yeah.

(yes, i realize you get the love from the boyfriend. but seriously, it sounds more like a possession than a person. ew.)

well anyway, i've never been in love. a lot of the time it doesn't bother me, but other times i wonder what i'm doing wrong. why haven't i found what all couples rave about, and what everyone else is desperately seeking. i wonder what it feels like, the whole love thing.

the last crush i've had was probably in the sixth grade. not a single butterfly since. i don't know if there's something wrong with me, a defect in my brain or something, but... i don't feel like i need love. maybe i'm mistaken, maybe i'm missing out. ... but i just can't seem to want it so badly that i'd do anything to get it. and by anything, i mean change myself.

i've always thought, in the back of my mind, that i need to change to get a boy to like me. but just this year, i expressly concluded to myself that i wouldn't change for anyone; not a boy, not a friend, not even my mom, who i love more than anyone else (hi, mom).

so now, i wait. wait for a gentleman caller to admire my quirks and my vast, dangerous brain. wait for someone to love me for me.

but until then... i have all that i need.

post #17

Boots are cool,
Boots are awesome,
Boots are pretty,
Like a flower blossom.

I love boots,
They love my feet,
I tap my boot-clad foot,
To a random beat.

In conclusion, boots rock.
They make my feet happy.
I would write a love song for my boots
But it would be very sappy.

~FIN.

post #16

Remember haikus? Those pretty little three line poems we used to do in elementary school? Five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables? I miss those. I think they need to make a comeback. And I intend to be the leader of this movement.

Here, for your reading pleasure, is a Christmas haiku.


Sparkling Christmas tree
Blinking in the pitch black night
Perfect in its stance.

post #15

Dear person whose name I will not mention,

Hi.

You know me. You see me every day.

I really don't like you.

I mean, you can be a nice guy and all sometimes, but all the other times, you're kind of a giant jerk face. Yeah, I said it. Giant. Jerk. Face.

You think you know everything. You think you're the most moral, upstanding man in the country. Well, you're not. Your opinions are offensive and heartless, and your heartlessness is overly evident with every word you say. You don't care about people. You just don't.

You're just downright crazy sometimes. You talk so fiercely and heartily on so many topics that aren't even relevant to the human race. Just calm down. You stress me out.

Sincerely,
Me

post #14

This is an except from a novel I never finished. Keep in mind that this character is a male celebrity, and is as shallow and girly as they come. Enjoy.

*

I can't believe those jerks. Sure, she looked a little different without her makeup, but not in a bad way. She always had this glow about her. That didn't change. She looked just as beautiful as ever.

Woah.

Beautiful?

Where did that come from?

Sure, Audrey's cool and hot and everything, but... beautiful. I can't remember ever thinking of her as beautiful.

But she is.

Petite, delicate, artistic frame, with legs that went on for days... the way her dark black bangs fall lightly on long eyelashes, big, alien-esque blue eyes, button nose, full pink lips, dimples, perfect white smile... The girl was beautiful.

How did I miss it? How did I not see it before?

Audrey Billings was beautiful.

Everyone else seemed to know it. I guess I missed the memo, or something.

Or maybe no else truly knew it, realized it. Maybe I was the first person to figure it out.

Sure, words like beautiful were tossed around a lot in Hollywood. I might've been called beautiful once or twice, or handsome, maybe. What a laugh. I'm not beautiful. Audrey is.

Audrey Rose Billings is beautiful.

And it wasn't just her exterior. No, of course not. I knew as well as anyone that Audrey's real beauty was in her heart. I might as well smack myself in the face for sounding so stupid, so cliche, but come on.

Audrey is funny, intelligent, and has insane music knowledge. And most importantly, Audrey had more love in her heart than any girl in the world. She cares about everything, and everyone. She knew how to cheer up the hardest of hearts better than the rest. Well, maybe not as well as Nate, but he was gifted and all that crap.

I lost my train of thought. Oh yeah, Audrey Billing's beauty. How do you even start, with such a broad, vast topic?

I really need to stop hanging around Ryland. That idiot actually thinks sounding dramatic and poetic and... un-manly will make him sound smarter. He still sounds like an idiot.

Okay, train of thought lost again. But case in point, Audrey is perfect.

And I'm in love with her.

Yeah, I'm totally screwed.

post #13

Lyrics. As Webster says, it's the words of a song. But to me, it's so much more than that. The marriage of music and lyrics surpasses the test of time and simply inspires. Lyrics of a song can uplift you by their brilliance alone.

Trust me, I have encountered some brilliant lyrics in my time (I sound like a grandpa). Some of the most brilliant lyricists are people who are even more skilled with melodies. That's why lyrics have more impact on me than just writing does.

A writer can create images with words, am I right? Words can make you feel something, can make you relate to someone, can move you to tears or make you laugh or just make you feel.

Lyrics do the exact same thing, but they have a melody.

A melody. Music. It's so simple, yet so complex to think about. A set of notes that go with a set of words and together they make a song. A song to laugh to, to cry to, to feel to. It's so much more.

post #12

Good day, dear readers. Today I have a story for you all.

There once was a student (spoiler alert: this student is me) taking a Spanish test. She was nearly finished answering questions in Spanish when one question in particular stopped her dead in her tracks.

Quien eres?

Now, to those who don't know what this means, it means "Who are you?". What is your identity? And she stopped, pen hovering over her paper, utterly perplexed.

Who am I? she thought to herself. Musical, for certain, but she didn't know what that word meant. Pretty? No. Beautiful? Even more off. Intelligent? Humorously mistaken. She went through the list of vocabulary words in her head, and nearly cringed at the fact that none of them seemed like her.

Finally, she scrawled, Yo soy interesante. I am interesting.

But is this girl really that interesting?

Her teacher seemed to think so, after this student saw the smiley face on her paper next to the ever-brooded-upon answer.

Maybe she is interesting. I haven't decided yet.

post #11

you're a contradiction,
so freezing it burns.

you're a deadweight,
never a help, but a hurt.

you force me to put on layers and layers.
you stifle my true self.
most importantly, you're just unpleasant.

you
are
cold.

post #10

More snarky, realist commentary on the decline of our generation, you ask?
You got it.

Our nation is oxymoronic. Without the oxy.
We aspire to be like celebrities; they "fascinate" us.
These empty, mostly talentless individuals
who do nothing but try to out-weird each other.
And on the other hand, we adore making fun of them.
Justin Bieber puberty jokes, anyone?

We are so hypocritical. Maybe one day we'll learn that no one should be kept on that high a pedestal.


(... Yeah. I was watching Barbara Walters.)

post #9

My homework habits
These constant habits
These horrid habits
Of incompletion.

I lounge in oblivion
Blissful oblivion
Until the night comes
And I am swamped.

My eyes are drooping
My eyelids closing
Until I finally
Call it quits.

Work not finished,
Not ever finished
Until the sunrise
Of the next day.

post #8

 I love rock and roll. Put another dime in the jukebox, baby.

... I had to, okay?

Rock and roll is rebellion, more than anything else. The music with the most grit is never about love, or loss, it's about sticking it to the man, and standing up for your rights. Doing what you want and yelling (or singing) at anyone who gets in your way. I guess you could say it's the most political music there is, and maybe not even purposely. It's always music and lyrics, working together to create the most impact a song can have. That's why I think rock and roll is the only hope for the music industry.

Not just rock music. There is so much more to it than just the music. The way one carries himself, performs live... there are so many different factors. It's a way of life, not just a genre. Or, dying genre.

Today's music is just like our generation: cheap thrills. It's meaningless words and soulless bass and a beat you can dance to for three minutes. It's nothing.

When will we get the substance back?

Edit: I realized something.

Rock and roll is the dance-pop of my generation.

Maybe it doesn't have substance; maybe it just stood the test of time.

You never know.

post #7

I don't think I'm a good writer.

I've always had a certain stereotype pegged to the "writer" title. A bookworm, with rich vocabulary and an imaginative mind, always creating images in words. Their brains are their weapons, and the pen is merely a partner in crime. Metaphors, irony, allusions, alliteration... it all comes naturally. They can write effectively and efficiently in any topic, can come up with brilliance in mere minutes.

I am so, so far from this stereotype.

I don't read as much as I should. I use big words out of context. I write words, not images. My brain is more of a thing of chaos than brilliance. When I use literary devices, they sound forced and fake. I'm very limited in my writing topics. I write for hours and come up empty.

I know I'm wrong about writers. They aren't these perfectly brilliant beings with wonderful words. They're just writers. They write.

I write.

I don't know if I'm any good yet, but I'll sure as heck try to be.

post #6

I have so many music-related posts. So I hope you don't mind another.

I have a lot of music-related dreams. Some plausible, some unrealistic, some downright bizarre. But don't all dreams fall under those categories? 

I recently had an idea. Or, if you will, a dream. One day, dear reader, I will dress up in Rastafarian garb (you know, dreadlocks, tie-dye shirt, the works), stand out on the street and sing every Bob Marley song I know. I think that makes about four (I love that I proclaim myself as a Bob Marley fan. I'm kind of a hypocrite. Oh well.) You may be thinking, What gave you this idea in the first place?, Why Bob Marley?, or the ever obvious, Are you out of your mind?

I can answer all of these questions. To the first, my brain gave me the idea. And my brain is a very dangerous, eccentric place. Especially when it is this overworked, this tired. And to the second question, why not Bob Marley? He preaches a message of happiness and positivity and I think we need more of that in the world, to be quite honest. And to the final question, I can only answer yes. 

So obviously, this "dream" falls under the bizarre category. But fear not, I may be a tad bit crazy, but I can be normal every once in a while.

Heh, funny. 

Anyways, I have many other music dreams as well. I dream to play guitar and piano well. And the ukelele. And lately I'm becoming fascinated with the cello. But I digress. Mainly, I just want to sing in public, because I can't. No, really, I literally can't. It is physically impossible for me to sing on pitch when another human being is near me. I dream to overcome this fear; this is my biggest dream.

Another piece of the puzzle that is me.

post #6

I feel my skin shiver.
I feel my bones quiver.
My eyes grow huge and my smile grows wide.
Ice crystals fall from heaven,
No one identical, each with varying intricacies.
Covering the ground in cold blankets,
As much a comfort as the one drapes around my shoulders.
It's all so foreign, and yet I feel so at rest.
"First snow of the season," I whisper. Beauty at it's best.

post #5

E is for Everything I do is homework.

X is for ... Xylophone.

H is for Having no life. Unless you count studying as having a life.

A is for Always tired.

U is for Utopia nowhere to be found.

S is for Stupid words flowing out of my brain like Niagra Falls.

T is for Too much homework.

I is for I hope this week ends soon.

O is for Oh, goodness, did I really write this?

N is for No more ideas. I'm too tired to think of any.

post #4

"when we were young we used to say
that you only hear the music when your heart begins to break
now we are the kids from yesterday."

back to early june, so many years ago,
every day was a new adventure, but more of the same.
the sidewalk was the only thing between us; now thousands of miles fall between.
our own world was only a scooter or bike ride away.
when i think you, i think freedom.
i also think of the past.
every summer was you and i; we took the days and never gave them back.
we would spend every minute together, doing everything.
when we were younger we played pretend,
when we got older we talked about the past, the present, the future.
... and maybe we played pretend a little more.
lazy days by your pool, filled with bug spray and firelight.
then i went away, and now i wonder where you are.
i always used to know.
there's something so beautifully tragic about falling out.
knowing a person so well, being with them every moment, and then forgetting they exist.
i remember you.
i hope you remember me.

post #3

0:00-0:10 - Drum kicks.
0:11-0:20 - Bass pounds.
0:21-0:30 - Guitars screech.
0:31-0:40 - Resounding voice.
0:41-0:50 - Haunting verse.
0:51-1:00 - Chorus begins.
1:01-1:10 - I melt.
1:11-1:20 - Headbanging ensues.
1:21-1:30 - Hair flying.
1:31-1:40 - Fully soaring.
1:41-1:50 - Chorus returns.
1:51-2:00 - Belting along.
2:01-2:10 - In awe.
2:11-2:20 - Bridge attacks.
2:21-2:30 - Favorite part.
2:31-2:40 - Vocalist's skill.
2:41-2:50 - Beauty unmatched.
2:51-3:00 - Song over.
3:01-3:10 - Perfect bliss.
3:11-3:20 - Replay button.

This is what happens when I listen to a new song.

post #2

"your eyes look like kitties."

Okay, I'm sure my friend Camille would like to explain this quote further, but I am not letting her; not only because it has nothing to do with what I'm talking about today, but also because it is just brilliant and needs no explanation. My eyes look like kitties, everyone. This is my greatest achievement.

Onto my topic of the day: awkwardness. Mine, more specifically.

I am an extremely awkward person. I have discovered this when I was in 4th or 5th grade. I never say or do the things I should (well, the things society says I should). I have finally grown into my awkwardness this year, five or six years after its discovery.

To put it simply, I am not normal.

One minute I'm the loudest person in the room, the next I mumble nervously, not wanting to be heard. Sometimes I can't look into people's eyes, because I don't want them to see me. A friend of mine told me that my eyes were my soul, completely. Since then, I'm the shifty-eyed girl who doesn't know how to socialize like a normal human being. I stutter, I stumble, I embarrass myself. It's not that I wasn't taught; I most certainly was taught how to meet people, and socialize with them. I've never really been one to listen when I should, though.

I love my friends dearly, and I love being around them, but a lot of the time, I'd rather be alone. I used to think this was just introvert syndrome, but lately, I'm not sure. I feel like introverts never like to share their opinions, or be vocal. I love sharing my opinions. Even more, I love offending people. Unfortunate and dangerous, I know.

I'm kind of immature. I blurt out completely unnecessary statements at the worst times. I enjoy being loud and obnoxious in movie theaters and other dark, people-filled rooms. I laugh too long, too hard at things that aren't even remotely funny. I am overly affectionate, but I can't give a non-awkward hug for anything.

You'd think that after realizing all this, all my quirks and imperfections, that I could improve myself, perfect myself. But I can't. More important than that, I don't want to. I don't want to live life the way others want me to. I want to be loud, I want to be quiet, I want to be outgoing, I want to be alone. I want to be me, and that's all that matters.

And I'd rather be a first-rate version of myself than a second-rate version of someone else.

So you. Yeah, you. The one sitting in front of a computer screen, reading this blog.

I'm not going to change for you; I hope you don't mind.

post #1

first off, chandler says hi (she asked me to say this. ha.)

second, i refuse to use proper capitalization rules in this post. deal.

third, i have finally reached my boiling point. i never thought it would happen so early in the year, but now, at the very end of october beginning of november, i have decided that if one more person decides to add to my load of stress, whether it be another assignment, more discouragement, anything that has to do with work ever, get them away from me.

how did i get to this point?


edit: i began writing this last week, and never finished it. but i feel the same way now as i did then, so let me further explain.

sleep has become a myth. well, not really, because i fall asleep over my textbooks every night. homework is the only thing i have time to do. writing is a luxury (even if i have a novel to finish by the end of the month. bah). and teachers are absolutely, positively, incandescently my least favorite people on the face of this earth. is it really realistic to make all your tests on the same day? no, it's not, because i forget to study for one of said tests and fail. i don't like to fail. i keep failing. i really want to not fail. and now i have to go study some more.

happy first blog of the quarter?

post #20

Dreams. Desires. They consume us, drive us our whole lives. They change so drastically as years pass.

As a little girl, I wanted to be a princess. A Disney princess, specifically. Every morning I'd wake up, stand in my crib, and sing Cinderella songs. I waited for birds to fly in through my window and get me dressed for the day; they never did, but that never kept me from singing.

I also pretended to be Ariel from The Little Mermaid whenever I went to the beach. I'd sit in the water, belt Part of Your World at the top of my lungs, and keep my heels together. It made me look like I had a mermaid fin... or so I thought.

As I grew up, my dreams changed. Although I'd never pass up a chance to be Cinderella or Ariel for a day, it's not a top priority anymore.

In 7th grade, my alternative music obsession began. Ever since, I've wanted to be a rock star. You know, leather jackets, heavy black eyeliner, the whole nine yards... more or less. Most importantly, I'd be a fearless performer, singing my own music, amazing music.

Though I'd love to be in an all-girl punk band, I'm pretty sure it could never happen (I'm also pretty sure my mom wouldn't approve). So I'll move on to other dreams.

I don't have a specific dream, goal, plan set in life yet. Maybe something that involves writing. Or music. Or both. I'll look to God to see what He has in store. Whatever it is, I know it'll be realistic.

post #19

what about taking this empty cup and filling it up with a little bit more of innocence? - jason mraz 

I live in a sad generation. A cheap-thrill seeking, vice-ridden world. Where has innocence gone? Does it always go with age? I'm sure it does; I've heard it does. But I never thought it would be this bad. What I see in school everyday, what I hear. It's... disheartening, to say the least.

Now I sound like an adult.

But honestly, what's going on? 

When did it become the norm for over 20 songs out of iTunes Top 100 to have explicit lyrics?

When did kids come to the conclusion that the only way to have fun is to completely screw up their lives? 

When were these kids told that drinking and drugs would take away their pain?

When did sharing a kiss become... not enough? When did relationships become validated by that "next level", that level that doesn't truly belong at this age?

When did it become okay to judge someone's worth by their appearances? When did we lose the courage to be honest with someone, and instead, bully anonymously?

When did it all go wrong?

Well, I think it all started in the beginning...

post #18

Prompt: Write through the perspective of someone else meeting you for the first time.


She is confusing, all darting eyes and wild hair. Glasses frame her round face, hiding the darting brown orbs. They are focused on the ground now; at her feet. More specifically, the blue-green nail polish that her toes were painted. She looks up.

"H-hi," she stammers, waving awkwardly in my general direction. Eyes to the ground again.

"Hi." I offer my hand to her. She takes it in a surprisingly strong grip. She shakes it, looking like she was fighting to look into my eyes. Flattering. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Uh, Amy."

I nod.

If I had called the previous minutes awkward, I was so criminally mistaken. We continue to stand there in the most painfully awkward silence in the history of the world. Until, that is, she throws me another awkward wave and speed-walks away from me; head down, feet shuffling, eyes darting, hair flying.

I suppose that's just Amy.

post #17

It's sea green.
Sea green with circles.
Sea green with yellow circles.
Sea green with yellow and pink circles.
Sea green with yellow, pink, and purple circles.

It smells like home.

It's soft.
Soft and comforting.
Soft, comforting, warm.
Soft, comforting, warm, security.
Soft, comforting, warm, security blanket.

post #16

I hate deadlines; I always miss them.

I hate time; I always waste it.

I hate discontinuity; I feel lost.

I hate questions; I feel pressured.

I hate homework; it's boring.

I hate sleep deprivation; it's mind-numbing.

I can't think anymore.

post #15

You walk in the doorway; sanctuary. The sights, sounds, smells; you're immediately calmed by your surroundings. The people are nicer, the world is brighter.

You're at Starbucks.

You step in line. Maybe you're looking at the menu, or maybe at the people sitting down, cups set aside, laptop screens casting light on their faces. You could be tapping your foot to the slow, soothing beat of the music playing.

You could could be break-dancing in utter glee. Seriously, it's Starbucks.


You finally make your way to the register, smiling at the cashier.

One tall toffee mocha frappuccino and a blueberry scone, please.


Waiting, waiting, waiting. You are handed your blueberry scone. You wait until no one's looking and take a massive, revolting bite.

Glorious.


After what feels like an eternity:

Tall toffee mocha!


Hold the cup, grab a straw, take a sip.

Your day just became a million times better.

post #14

It's the white light filtering through my window.
It's the clear sky and the clouds, blue and white unity.
It's the birds chirping happily. Or maybe angrily, I've never known.
It's the hope for a better day.
It's the drive, the determination to make it a better day.
It's God's power, in me, and in my surroundings.
Honestly? It's mainly my alarm, blaring my favorite song.
This is why I get up in the morning.

post #13

Rope handles were digging into my palms, branding them with red marks.
The weight was excruciating.
My arms were sore.
The worst part? My feet.
I suppose it's what you get for choosing the cute shoes; they're always the uncomfortable ones.
I shuffled along in those evil shoes; little did I know two matching blisters were forming on each foot.
My face? Ironically, genuinely happy. Smiling wide.
The joys of shopping with friends thoroughly outweighed any sore or ache in my body.

post #12

It hits your ears first.
Waves of sound, bursting with life.
Pulsing, coursing through your veins.
It fills you up inside,
to the very brim.
Your heart is beating in sync.
You get up,
you start to dance.
Maybe you smile,
or you cry.
Maybe you scream.
Or maybe... you just sing along.
This is your favorite song, after all.

post #11

Technology. I'm using it right now. I feel like our generation praises it too much. Myself included.

Today I looked out the window. I didn't even go outside. I saw the green of the trees, the red roses, birds pecking at the ground pointlessly, all from the comfort of my electrical haven. I had the sudden urge to cry. I didn't, but I felt my heart sinking to the ground as I realized how much I took God's gifts for granted. The only good things in this world: the nature, the animals; the things that don't betray, I lose sight of. Instead I hold to people, and things. I love people, but they break me. I'm fascinated by technology, but I will never find beauty in it, comfort in it.

I think I'm going to take a walk today.

post #10

The most concealed, seemingly shallow form of expression is also the most misunderstood.

Makeup is art, for me. If I were to tell anyone this, they'd probably laugh in my face. Or just internally validate my shallowness. I know I'm not, though. I also know I'm not alone in my opinion.

I wouldn't necessarily call my obsession a hobby, but I definitely find it fun. The contouring, the highlighting, the color play; most people don't make it this complicated. And it really isn't for me, most of the time. I only wear eye makeup, after all. For most women, makeup is just a tool for beauty. It is for me as well, but I always express myself with it. I take inspiration from all around me, and transform it into something I could wear on my face. Mixing colors, adding shadows and brightness where need be; it's an art. Learning your face, your features, and finding out what looks best on them.

I probably take it more seriously than I should. I'm not planning on making it a career, so what's the use?

I don't know.

It's not for self-confidence. It's not for the compliments, either. It's just... art.

I hope my makeup isn't the first thing someone notices about me. I'm sure it isn't; I think my eyes speak for themselves.

post #9

Rigged, popcorn texture.

Nearly pure white, wear and tear only taking a slight toll.

Trimmed with dark, rich wood.

Illuminated with yellow light.

A shadow of a fan, dancing across the surface.

I can feel my imagination burning a hole right through it.

It's plain.

And distracting.

Mostly deceptive.

I feel like I'm thinking, like I'm doing,

when really, I'm just staring at the ceiling.

post #8

I feel like every post in this blog is just dripping with teen angst. I figure I'd change that.

I'm a naturally happy person; always have been. I find that it's easier to forget petty problems than to dwell on them. It's easier to take notice of the good things in life. It's easier to give a compliment than an insult. It's easier to smile, rather than frown.

"Happy" is a very basic word, and a very basic feeling. It's a shame that some people don't understand it, or don't feel it. Happiness is feeling light. Happiness is being a light.

Laughter and happiness, for me, are synonymous. The sound of laughter is the most joyful thing in the world. Laughter filling up your chest, lungs, exploding from you, is the most beautiful feeling.

The first time you laugh, or smile, as a child; it's a monumental moment. The first time you feel happiness in your life; it's special, memorable.

No one remembers the first time you cry. They only remember the first time you smiled.

So turn that frown upside down. Don't worry, be happy. It's so freeing, and beautiful to see. If you're sad, fake it 'til you make it. Make happiness a habit, and the rest of the world will follow suit.

post #7

Warning: Dramatic teenager writing. Enter with caution.

Today I'm feeling incompetent. I feel like everyone around me is excelling, and I'm not just coasting, but falling behind. Oh, the melodrama.

My grades have always been good; above average, even. I come from a family of extremely intelligent people, and I am proud to consider myself one of them. Lately, I just feel like I don't belong in that category.

I know what you're thinking; grades don't measure intelligence; it'd be shallow to think so. And I agree. I do think I'm a smart person (... most of the time). I just lack the work ethic, and the drive. It's sad, really. I almost feel like my brain is going to waste. I don't want it to, anymore.

I am a naturally independent person. I always have been. Not even necessarily in the sense that I like to be alone (which usually is true), but in the sense that I don't take help from anyone. Even when I desperately need it.

I desperately need help.

I need the most divine, unyielding, perfect help possible.

What I need, is God's help.

What a cliched, bible school answer. But really, truly, deeply; I need someone to take my stupid, controlling, shaky hands off the steering wheel. I'm driving myself into a black tunnel with no exit.

I need help in more areas than just my work ethic. That's just the half of it. Sadly, when one personality trait is so apparent, this trait being my unnatural need to control everything, it affects every aspect of life. My speech, my actions... my grades.

 I need God's help.

post #6

Disclaimer: Before I go off on a rant about teachers, I just wanted to say that some of the teachers I've had are the most inspiring, caring people I've been blessed to meet. I will not be revealing the name, or even the gender of this teacher. I just needed to get this off my chest.

---

The day a teacher talks about a student behind his or her back is the day they completely lose their integrity. Sadly, I have witnessed this multiple times, and recently I have seen it firsthand, with my own eyes and ears.

I really can't describe my anger, and feeling of betrayal. I wasn't even the student who was insulted. I'm not sure why I'm taking it to heart as much as I am. Maybe it's the fact that I've been judged before, and I know how it feels. The fact that a teacher would make a blatantly rude comment about a student to another teacher just completely blows my mind. Teachers are there for the well-being of their students, not the downfall.

Now, they may just be teachers. They may just be doing their job for the money, not for the love of children and whatnot. But honestly, talking about your students negatively is a whole new level of low.

So this student isn't necessarily a friend of mine. Maybe I don't go out of my way to be her best friend. But I certainly do not whisper about her supposed oddities to my best friend. That's just rude. I wouldn't like people talking about me in that way, so I don't do it to others. After this student was done talking to her teacher, this teacher had the audacity to turn to a fellow teacher and whisper, "She's so weird."

I don't know if I'm blowing all of this out of proportion. I don't know if writing an entire blog post about my feelings is necessary. But when I heard those words leave that teacher's lips, and the blank, twisted face they were wearing, anger consumed me so fully that I didn't know how to speak. This is a teacher, a grown-up! I'd expect it from a student. I've experienced it from a student. This teacher told us on the first day of school that they loved teaching, loved children, loved their students. Maybe calling a student "weird" is their way of showing their appreciation.

I highly doubt that.

I really hope this isn't how the entire faculty acts. I hope my views on teachers are skewed. I'd hate to think that the people who are teaching me, giving me knowledge, were also lying, judgmental gossipers.

This whole experience, seeing the situation unfold, taught me that even the people you look up to, the older, wiser ones, aren't who they say. One more name crossed off the list of people I can trust.

post #5

boisterous laughter.
piles of junk food.
sharing headphones.
singing off-key.
this was heaven,
and it was only the journey.

pitch-dark skies,
with gray clouds peppering it.
feet planted in the sand.
jumping waves as they crashed.
this was bliss,
and i'd never forget it.

seeing God's creation at its finest.
the most beautiful fellowship.
completely careless,
but altogether aware.
these are memories at their fondest,
and i wouldn't trade them for the world.

virginia beach, thanks for being kind to me.

post #4

I think whining is the biggest problem the world has, this day in age.

There once was a teacher who gave a test, like any other teacher. His students complained endlessly, stressed looks painted vividly on their faces. They didn't study. Those students were completely aware that they didn't study. And yet, they continued to make unintentionally hurtful jabs toward this teacher. They probably had no idea. They were too busy stressing, moaning and groaning. Complaining makes you oblivious sometimes.

Honestly? I'm sure the people who weren't complaining are glad they were honest enough with themselves to admit that they didn't study enough, and deserved to do as poorly as they did.

The teacher, unbelievably sensitive and caring as he was, granted the kids an extension, even though they didn't deserve it. I'm sure they feel guilty. But I'd be much worse a person if I sat here, hoping they were feeling at least a little bit guilty. So I'm not. Well, maybe I am a little bit. I'm only human, after all.

This teacher? Easily the kindest man I've ever met in my life, thus far. He didn't deserve to go through what he went through today. Any feelings of incompetence, or regret. He didn't deserve that in the least. He taught me more in that class in the five weeks we've been in school, than in my entire high school career. He didn't deserve the complaining, the whining. I hope he knows that God made him special, and that his students are completely blessed to have him in their lives. I'm completely blessed to have him in my life. I hope my behavior and actions in that class reflect my gratitude for him, because I am just beyond grateful.

post #3

Friends are the people you share your heart with. The sad, the happy, and especially the awkward. They're the people you make future plans with; wishes at 11:11. You stick with them through the good and the bad, and aren't afraid to tell them anything; especially when they're doing something stupid. You hope they let you know if you're doing something stupid, too. They're your complete opposite, but at the same time, they're your other half. You don't know what you'd do without them.

Friends are the people you go to for guarenteed laughter. Innumerable inside jokes are made, but rarely forgotten, even though there are so many. You know a friend is amazing when you can sing Beatles songs with them all through lunch, and neither of you are the least bit ashamed (even though you should be). They're beautiful from the inside out; you know from all the conversations you've had, ranging in depth. They light up your life in the most beautiful ways.

Friends are the people you admire. You may be older, but you look up to them in ways they probably wouldn't understand. They never judge, and they're always kind. Even when you're speaking worthless drivel, and not completing your thoughts, they know exactly what you're saying, and what you're feeling. You can tell them everything. Everything. You can talk to them for hours and not be bored. You can trust them with your life and know that they'll protect you, whether they know they're trying or not.

Friends are the people that talk your ear off, and they know how you'll react to every single word they say. They make fun of you (jokingly, of course), because they know you'll come back with some sort of hilarious, stuttered comeback. They know you like the back of their own hand. They don't like it when you change, because the love you the way you are. But, they deal. They love you no matter what.

Friends are the most interesting people you know. They're overdramatic sometimes, and it just makes your petty problems disappear. You admire their style, and even more, their natural beauty. You kind of envy them, but not enough to admit, even to yourself. They're talented, and confident in themselves. You envy that, too. You love talking to them, giving advice. You just want the best from them, whether they're up or down. You know they want the same for you, too.

Friends are the people you write notes to in class. You talk about nothing, and everything, all in one. Laughing together makes time fly, and brightens your day. Being around them just makes everything less stressful. You sometimes question how one person can be so funny. Because, really, how is it even possible to be that funny?

Friends are the people with larger than life personalities. They surprise you, and amaze you, with how influential they are. They're hilarious. Always heard. You're so different, but with your friendship, you take a piece of their personality with you, and you love yourself so much more for it.

Friends are the people you talk to with your eyes only. Sometimes a "hello", sometimes "what's up". You look at them, and you just laugh. You've shared many memories, and you don't even need words. Your shared laughter speaks more than words can. Then again, it doesn't speak all that much at all. You're usually laughing about absolutely nothing in the first place.

Friends are the sweet people that you sometimes don't understand. They tell you their thoughts, and laugh at all your jokes, and you just laugh with them. Their laughter is musical, and contagious. Their mannerisms alone are enough to make you smile. They're a mystery sometimes.

In conclusion, I love my friends.

post #2

Mornings.

My alarm goes off, which I programmed as my favorite song. That's always nice. But still, I groan. The bleary light of the morning filters through my windows; it's still dark, for the most part. Mornings are supposed to be bright. This is a sign that I wake up much too early. This isn't news to me; I've been waking up too early five days a week for years. 

It's morning.

I get dressed (in the outfit I laid out the day before. I realize that if I didn't do this, I would be at school an hour later than was expected), and I put my makeup on. This is my favorite part of the morning, yet I still have a frown on my face. It was too early for anyone in the world to be awake, let alone me.

It takes so much strength to get up in the morning.

God is always awake.

If that's not strength at its highest form, then I don't know what is.

post #1

Tolerance.
I've been thinking about this word for a few days now. More building it up within yourself than for other people, though. Tolerance. 
Teenage years are tolerance. Building up enough strength and immunity to face the evil of the ever-elusive "real world". There's evil in high school, too. It takes different forms; insecurity, taunters of the insecure, tyranny (ahem, teachers), pride, envy, and the list goes on. 
How does tolerance come into play? Coming out of high school having learned something is easier said that done. Older people tend to block out their teenage years; too painful, or too insignificant. Only, it isn't. Adults fight the same battles everyday that they did in high school. Their bosses mistreat them. Their coworkers gossip. They don't get that raise that they deserve. The lazy coworker gets the office with the better view. 
Adults are babies. They tell us to grin and bear it, the whole high school experience. If they were to attend the high school of my generation, I'm sure they wouldn't be able to handle it.
They never built up the tolerance.
I haven't even spent two years in high school. Even so, I have learned to appreciate what I have, to ignore those who attack my insecurities, and to respect the dictators teachers that sit in the front of the classroom (really, I'm exaggerating. Most of the teachers aren't that brutal. And yet, some are). I'm numb towards the judgement of others. I feel like I'm strong enough to face so much more than an adult can.
I hope I take something from high school, in the end. If nothing academic, than this lesson of tolerance. Sometimes the things you learn on your own are more significant than what you learn at school.
Maybe I'm naive, short-sighted, quick to judge. Adults have it as hard as I do, if not much, much harder. But from my naive, short-sighted, biased view of the world, I think it'd do everyone a world of good to remember how to overcome battles, however difficult they may be.

this is a filler/intro post.

i don't know for sure how long i plan on keeping this here, but i hate the look of an empty blog. so here i am, filling the void. this blog is for my honors creative writing class. it will probably be a lot of me, spilling my guts. yup, i think that's about it.
i'm not sure if this as much an introduction as it is a filler.
eh, i'd say filler.