Today was an interesting day for me, to say the least. Of course, waking up was nothing new, considering it's the same struggle every morning. Ugh. What time is it? ...well, maybe thirty more minutes. I'll have plenty of time. Zzzzzz. What time is it? Ten more minutes. Zzzzzz. Of course, this thought process repeated itself a few times before I had to face the reality of it all. You have to get up. This thought usually comes hand in hand with the "boo-hoo, poor me" speech. We all know that self-pity type of feeling, making up excuses when we only have ourselves to blame for staying up until one or two in the morning. So that aspect of today was not very exciting. However, unlike most mornings, my mother got up early to make biscuits and gravy, which was really nice! I even studied last minute for my speech test (not very difficult to study for), and the test only took me fifteen minutes to complete. I think that I may have gotten a B on it at the lowest, because some of those questions were tricky! There was one question, multiple choice, where one of the options was "body language", but next to it, our teacher had written: (don't pick this one!) (really!!!!). I sat there for a minute or two wondering if it was a trick question or not, but I decided not to strain myself, so I avoided circling that one. I was out of there in no time flat, and then went to the student center. I was planning on reading a reading assignment for American Lit, but I ended up talking to Connor instead, which was nice considering I haven't had a chance to sit down to talk with him in a long time!
By the time Connor left, I had a solid twenty minutes to read, and I actually read through quite a lot of the assignment. I was nearly done when it was time to head to class, so I left the student center and went to the classroom, not knowing what to expect. From the skimming I had done, I thought that there was no way in hell that I would pass the usual beginning class quiz (a quiz that our teacher gives us to see whether we really read the reading or not). However, this was my lucky day, because since my American Lit class had been cancelled last week, we missed out on a day of World War I, meaning we had to jump right into the subject today, which meant, yes, you guessed it, no quiz. I was incredibly thankful and wondered how many more lucky days like this I could pull off. We went through a good 1/3 of the class period listening to my teacher talk and ask questions, and then he assigned each row of students a certain excerpt to read from the World War I section. I was assigned a weird one about African American soldiers (or something to that extent) going to France and getting with all the lovely white French ladies because they didn't mind the sexy dark-skinned men. And then the white American dudes came in and saw these dark-skinned beauties with these sexy-ass Frenchies and were like, "KILL THE DARK PEOPLE BECAUSE THEY'RE TAKING THE SEXY WOMEN PEOPLE!" My teacher told us after the reading to tell him what we needed to know from each excerpt about the war and what research questions we might ask. So when he got to me, I summed up the story (not how I described it above, sorry to disappoint), and I basically told him how the French ladies didn't mind the African Americans, but the White Americans did, so they started to attack them. And I said that my question would be 'why are they fighting each other if they come from the same place?' My teacher then said, "Who's fighting each other?" I repeated what I had said, and then he goes, "Why are they fighting?" ...honestly, what kind of question is that? Because they just didn't like each other at that time! Lol. So I said, "Well, it was before the Civil Rights Movement, and segregation existed at the time. I guess the whites just didn't like the fact that the blacks were getting with the white French women because blacks were seen as lower beings than white people." Then my teacher asks, "And where in the text does it specifically say that?" So, of course, I had to find the few lines that clearly pointed out exactly what I had told him, and then he moved on to the person behind me. I just kept thinking, What was he trying to get out of me? I swear, every time my teacher asks a question, I'm scared to death to answer because if one of his students says anything remotely different than what he thinks is the right answer, he makes them feel like dumb asses. I hate it. But yeah, so American Lit? Not my most favorite class considering I repeated myself three times. Great ears, professor.
I went to the student center for lunch after class and then headed to Stagecraft, and we messed with lighting today. I couldn't understand a single instruction Lonna was giving us until we actually went up into the catwalk and had hands-on practice with the lights. Of course, I had the privilege of handling one of the tough, stubborn lights, and when Lonna asked who was handling the light, one of my classmates said "Stephanie!" and she said, "Oh goody!" Haha. I love my teacher to death, I really do. (: Ally was handling one of the lights before I was, and Lonna yelled up at the catwalk, "Is that Ally?" Ally laughed and said yes, and then Lonna laughed and said, "There's my giggle box!" Forever the giggle boxes, the two of us are! After messing with the light, I sat up in the catwalk and messed around with my phone and iPod. On more than one occasion, I peered down at the stage and admired the set that was built up for the production, and watched as my classmates took turns trying to adjust lights on different areas of the stage. It was then that I realized just how little my stagecraft class had done for the production compared to what the crew had worked on in order for the whole set to come together. Our class only puts in three hours of work a week, and we've only been doing it for 6 weeks. So... eighteen hours total. Not many hours compared to how many the drama department has sacrificed for the sake of this play, and it just made me feel a lot of respect for the people who do this for a living. It's definitely not easy work. I really savored being up in that place, looking down, seeing the stage from that high up. Not everyone has the opportunity to walk up into a catwalk and take a good look below. I don't know what it is, but there's just something beautiful about it. Surreal. The theatre is this beautiful place that I love to be in, and although the work can be fun, I think the part I love the most is just being able to sit in there and really feel the energy in the atmosphere. Writing, for me, is my passion. But for some reason, the theatre feels like it's naturally my home away from home, and I don't know why. Maybe it's just knowing that there are so many possibilities about who I can be. Knowing that in the theatre, you are who you are and no one is there to judge you for it. And if you don't like who you are, you don't have to be that person.
My friend Jes knows that the Fine Arts Building is the only place on campus where I can go in order to release any negativity that's stored in my body. Just today I was feeling really tense and stressed out, so she took me into the piano room and played music because she knew I needed it. Hearing the piano keys was just this huge relief, as though they were lifting my negativity off of me. Each depressed key carried with it a guarantee that things would be okay. Be happy, the music said to me. Smile and be happy.
I remember just two weekends ago how down in the dumps I was feeling, and the only thing I wanted to do was drive up to my school and sit in the theatre, or in the piano room, or even out in the hallway. I just wanted to be in the building so that I could feel a sense of security and comfort, and to be honest, I don't even know why. It's not like I deserve to be in there. I'm not an official theatre kid. I'm not a musician. So why do I feel like that's the only place I can go? Why is it that I always want to be in the places that don't seem right for me? Maybe it's just because I've grown up being an outcast all my life, and my body is just used to being in places where it doesn't fit in or belong. Old habits are hard to break. But I can't help but feel like I need the creative energy. I have a very creative spirit, and I'm someone who needs the music, and who needs the escape from reality so that for once in my life, even if it's only in my head, I am in a place where I belong. It's ironic, really. Being somewhere you don't fit in externally, but being somewhere you do fit in internally. What a silly life.
When I came home tonight, I wasn't expecting much else to happen. I thought my day had been productive enough, but then I got an email from a guy who is going to be my publicist for Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times for Teens since I was published in it. His job is to help me spread the word of the book's existence as much as possible, and he even contacted my local newspaper to make them aware of my accomplishment. He's going to email me about any interviewing opportunities and has also sent my local newspaper a copy of the book. He suggested some other ways in which I can spread the news about the new edition of Chicken Soup for the Soul, and I just can't help but feel so blessed for this to be happening to me. It was kind of that magical moment where I felt like everything was rainbows and unicorns, and that nothing could go wrong, and I still do feel that way. I've started to regain that positive, I know I can do this attitude about my writing. This ability to make people feel what I feel through my words is a special ability that not everyone has, and I hope be up there one day with all of the other greatest and most influential writers, authors, and/or poets. I want to make a name for myself, and my soul is telling me that I can. In fact, deep down, it knows that it can. I just have to keep believing in myself.
All in all, my life is becoming a beautiful mess. I'm feeling so many different emotions that my head is spinning, and I plan to keep moving forward and dealing with everything as it comes. I know that I have worries, fears, and I know that I panic a lot, but honestly, I know it's going to be okay. How do I know? I can feel it deep in my heart, and it's the best feeling in the world.
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