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.
Monday, February 20, 2012
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Why does the road I walk not comfort me?
Yesterday was the first day in awhile that I started feeling pretty down in the dumps. I was thinking about my future and how writers generally struggle through their field in order to make a decent living for themselves. And even now, I ask myself, how am I going to pay off my student loan? I have no job. There's no place around here that wants to hire a writer, or to hire anyone in general. What good are writers in this economy? I mean, unless I get a book published that everyone suddenly falls in love with, there's not much that I can do as far as money goes. Our economy is so shitty that everything, even the simplistic stuff, costs a nice little amount of moneys, which even my family is struggling with. It's a pretty big weight to have resting on my shoulders, knowing that I'm growing up and can't live with my parents for the rest of my life.
My friend Shane said today, "You're going to be twenty this year, right?" The question caught me off guard, and I thought, twenty. My god. I started thinking about it even more after we dropped him off at school, how I wasn't going to be in my teen years anymore. Readers, when we were in middle school, it was normal not being able to drive anywhere. It was normal that our parents bought us the things we needed. It was normal asking for money to go to the mall or to the movies. But at the ripe age of twenty, those kinds of things just aren't normal anymore. At this stage in our lives, most of our parents are trying to push us out the door and into the real world. We're expected to drive. We're expected to start saving money for an apartment or even a starter house. We're expected to have a job and to be able to pay for clothes, dinners out with friends, movies, etc. Everything changes once you enter high school, and even more when you start college. You have more responsibility. You aren't allowed to be young and naive. You're seen as an adult, and as an adult, you must take the reins on life and start taking matters into your own hands. And that, for me, is stressful. It's stressful because of the economy. Because I don't want to be a disappointment. Because I know that eventually I won't be able to depend on my parents to be my cushion anymore. When I think about branching off and going out into the world, I get scared. I panic.
I was listening to the song "Empty House" by The Color Fred tonight, and there's a line in there where he sings, "Why does the road I walk not comfort me?" I feel like that's where I'm at right now in life... at that point in time where I'm starting to come to the realization that growing up isn't very comforting. It isn't a path that's easy and worry-free to walk down. I just don't feel that same safety and security anymore, and I always think to myself, "I may be full and rested today, but will I be able to feel full and rested tomorrow?" It's a realistic question, because you just never know when life is going to throw a curve ball at you. I watch the people around me, friends around me, and think, They're going to be okay. They're going to be something someday. They all have plans. They all have places to go and they'll never starve a day in their lives. Then I think about me and wonder, What's my plan? Where do I fit in the scheme of things? No one is ever going to need a creative writer. I'm going to be left here. Everyone else has a future. What do I have? I can't help but think that I've got nowhere to go. But, I also think that fears such as these are normal for a person my age to be wondering. I'm sure each one of us stops to think about it and panics every now and then. I do it too often.
You know, I wish times were simpler. I wouldn't mind living out somewhere far away from the big cities, where there's more nature than traffic. I'd like to be a nice distance away from a small town somewhere, not having to worry about the horrible economy and money issues and whatnot. It would be great to live out in the country somewhere. Not hick country. Just a nice little piece of land. Some pretty trees, a few acres with a little stream and a bridge, a quaint little cottage. Somewhere where the snow drapes over the trees during the winter and makes the scenery look like some scene out of a fairy tale picture or a movie. I would have wifi to keep in touch with people and to write, my own painting room, some animals to keep me company, a dark room for photography... it would be a beautiful home. And I could have a job in the small town somewhere as a store clerk for a photography place or a craft place. I would never have to worry. I would be set. I would be happy and not have to panic anymore. But sadly, there is no place such as this. It's all in my head, and when I wake up tomorrow, it will be the same old town with the same old things to do and the same old places to go. Everything will cost money. Everything will drain the happiness out of me. I may be temporarily happy watching my friends perform in their play and being able to watch it with one of my college friends, but when I get home, I'll start thinking about the economy again, how I have to get a job and a license, how I'll need to pay off my student loan. I'll be wondering where my future is going. I'll worry about going hungry, about never being able to have my own place to live... it really sucks. It sucks that I can't be in my imaginary place for real, to not have to worry. To simply be happy.
I feel like this town is sucking the life out of me. I don't want to stay here forever. I mean, yeah, it's home. It will always be home. But I want to live. I can't do that here. This isn't living. This is dying.
Now you guys have seen into my worry room a little more. I've allowed you to peer your heads inside and take a glimpse, and I guarantee you that this will not be the last time you guys see it.
I love all of my friends and all of my readers (I know I have some closet readers who don't want to admit that they read this blog). And don't get me wrong, you're all awesome and you aren't causing this worry. It's just this town... this country. Someday I will get out. Someday. And if anyone is ready to hop on the train and leave with me, by all means, come along. After all, home is about the people, not the location.
My friend Shane said today, "You're going to be twenty this year, right?" The question caught me off guard, and I thought, twenty. My god. I started thinking about it even more after we dropped him off at school, how I wasn't going to be in my teen years anymore. Readers, when we were in middle school, it was normal not being able to drive anywhere. It was normal that our parents bought us the things we needed. It was normal asking for money to go to the mall or to the movies. But at the ripe age of twenty, those kinds of things just aren't normal anymore. At this stage in our lives, most of our parents are trying to push us out the door and into the real world. We're expected to drive. We're expected to start saving money for an apartment or even a starter house. We're expected to have a job and to be able to pay for clothes, dinners out with friends, movies, etc. Everything changes once you enter high school, and even more when you start college. You have more responsibility. You aren't allowed to be young and naive. You're seen as an adult, and as an adult, you must take the reins on life and start taking matters into your own hands. And that, for me, is stressful. It's stressful because of the economy. Because I don't want to be a disappointment. Because I know that eventually I won't be able to depend on my parents to be my cushion anymore. When I think about branching off and going out into the world, I get scared. I panic.
I was listening to the song "Empty House" by The Color Fred tonight, and there's a line in there where he sings, "Why does the road I walk not comfort me?" I feel like that's where I'm at right now in life... at that point in time where I'm starting to come to the realization that growing up isn't very comforting. It isn't a path that's easy and worry-free to walk down. I just don't feel that same safety and security anymore, and I always think to myself, "I may be full and rested today, but will I be able to feel full and rested tomorrow?" It's a realistic question, because you just never know when life is going to throw a curve ball at you. I watch the people around me, friends around me, and think, They're going to be okay. They're going to be something someday. They all have plans. They all have places to go and they'll never starve a day in their lives. Then I think about me and wonder, What's my plan? Where do I fit in the scheme of things? No one is ever going to need a creative writer. I'm going to be left here. Everyone else has a future. What do I have? I can't help but think that I've got nowhere to go. But, I also think that fears such as these are normal for a person my age to be wondering. I'm sure each one of us stops to think about it and panics every now and then. I do it too often.
You know, I wish times were simpler. I wouldn't mind living out somewhere far away from the big cities, where there's more nature than traffic. I'd like to be a nice distance away from a small town somewhere, not having to worry about the horrible economy and money issues and whatnot. It would be great to live out in the country somewhere. Not hick country. Just a nice little piece of land. Some pretty trees, a few acres with a little stream and a bridge, a quaint little cottage. Somewhere where the snow drapes over the trees during the winter and makes the scenery look like some scene out of a fairy tale picture or a movie. I would have wifi to keep in touch with people and to write, my own painting room, some animals to keep me company, a dark room for photography... it would be a beautiful home. And I could have a job in the small town somewhere as a store clerk for a photography place or a craft place. I would never have to worry. I would be set. I would be happy and not have to panic anymore. But sadly, there is no place such as this. It's all in my head, and when I wake up tomorrow, it will be the same old town with the same old things to do and the same old places to go. Everything will cost money. Everything will drain the happiness out of me. I may be temporarily happy watching my friends perform in their play and being able to watch it with one of my college friends, but when I get home, I'll start thinking about the economy again, how I have to get a job and a license, how I'll need to pay off my student loan. I'll be wondering where my future is going. I'll worry about going hungry, about never being able to have my own place to live... it really sucks. It sucks that I can't be in my imaginary place for real, to not have to worry. To simply be happy.
I feel like this town is sucking the life out of me. I don't want to stay here forever. I mean, yeah, it's home. It will always be home. But I want to live. I can't do that here. This isn't living. This is dying.
Now you guys have seen into my worry room a little more. I've allowed you to peer your heads inside and take a glimpse, and I guarantee you that this will not be the last time you guys see it.
I love all of my friends and all of my readers (I know I have some closet readers who don't want to admit that they read this blog). And don't get me wrong, you're all awesome and you aren't causing this worry. It's just this town... this country. Someday I will get out. Someday. And if anyone is ready to hop on the train and leave with me, by all means, come along. After all, home is about the people, not the location.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Stumbling Over Words
Writing, to sum it up, is my life. No matter what kind of day I'm having, or what kind of mood I'm in, there's always a comfort in knowing that my computer is nearby so that I can let my thoughts take flight. Tonight, I want to blog about writing. Writing about writing? Yes. Yes indeed.
Yesterday was an interesting day in my creative writing class. We were still critiquing free verse poems from the week before, and the first one we were given was a poem by my friend Ed. He wrote about rain, but he added rhyme to it... so I don't know exactly how to label it? Haha. I thought it was a beautiful piece, and I was actually relieved to be critiquing something that had to do with that subject. When I read it, I could hear the sound of the rain, feel the cool breeze that comes along with it, and I could even smell it! The imagery was amazing, and I think he did a fantastic job! For some reason, I've been wanting rain all week. I think that my empathy is craving it because it energizes me and makes me feel extremely joyous, and rain also helps release any negative energy that is stored in my body. In fact, I don't think I've ever written a piece that has portrayed rain as a bad thing before. So many people think that it's depressing, but if I could move to Forks, Washington or London, I would be in heaven. Sure, I'd like a little sunshine every now and then, but rain is my true love. (: So reading his poem made me feel like it really was raining!
After we finished critiquing Ed's poem, we moved onto tired eyes' poem. Why do I call her tired eyes? Because she looks like she has some serious bags under them. The first time I saw her, I thought she was suffering from sleep deprivation! I don't think I'm wrong about that particular assumption either, because she didn't seem to have it all together. My teacher asked her to read her poem out loud, and it had a lot of rhyming in it. So she asked tired eyes if it was intended to be a free verse, to which she replied, "Well, I didn't really understand the assignment. When I write, I just write whatever I want because that's just how I am and that's how I express myself. So... that's why I write." I was thinking, really? Are you being serious? That's like an English teacher asking you to write a research paper and handing in a creative piece instead, saying "I didn't understand how to write a research paper, so I just wrote what I wanted." Honestly, following a certain poem format is not that complicated! What was worse than that was the fact that almost every line of her poem needed serious fixing. Some lines were too wordy, some were confusing, and some of them even made me question what was going on. I kept thinking, gawd, poor girl. It's so hard to enjoy what has the potential of being a great poem when you have to constantly stop and fix a mind trip, and I wasn't just tripping. I was stumbling.
After her poem, we moved onto ballads and sonnets. Our teacher always assigns us certain types of poems to write every other week, and this week's poem formats happened to be those types. Ally's ballad was critiqued first (and was the only one we were able to get through), which I enjoyed reading very much! I don't think the tempo was as consistent as it could have been, but it was cute for sure! The rhyming was great as well. I just think the lines could have been longer. I made a few suggestions for her poem after I read through it, and then we began talking about it. During this critique, the teacher started digging into the poem a little too deeply and suggested that maybe it might be a metaphor. Ally looked at me with a confused, humorous look, and I couldn't help but smile. The teacher said, "I think that maybe she intended for this poem to mean more than just simply swimming. So, Ally, is this poem a metaphor?" Ally then followed her question with, "Um... well, I... um..." I began to chuckle, and then the teacher said, "You're laughing. Am I wrong? Was this poem intended to be a metaphor? Or did you just simply write about swimming?" This question was followed by her own chuckle, and Ally said, "No, I see what you mean by it being a metaphor." The teacher then began to ramble. "Sometimes in life, we all think that we're going to go for a little swim, and we think that we're still close to the shore. Then we realize that we swam too far. So we quickly try to swim back, and by the time we make it onto the beach, although we've made it back, we're still tired from the long swim. I think it represents how our choices still affect us even after we correct ourselves..." ramble ramble ramble. I was trying so hard not to laugh, and today while Ally and I were painting mortar onto our brick project for the set design in theatre, I began talking about how English teachers look way too deeply into some of the creative pieces they read. I then began making a joke about it. "Sometimes in life, we all feel really down and depressed, and we don't think that we can ever be happy again." *switch character* "Um, no, I'm pretty sure the curtains are just fucking blue." Lol. Seriously, think about it. The author of a piece of literature probably writes half of the material into the piece because it sounds good, not because it's supposed to represent the deep, dark depths of his or her soul. I know that when I want to portray that kind of a message or outlook, I make it as obvious as a bright light bulb in a pitch-black room. If I write a simple, cute poem, I intend for it to be a simple, cute poem, not some deep meaning of life. English teachers need to chill and stop looking so hard for some hidden meaning in other peoples' pieces!
I'm not too sure that I really even care for my teacher. She seems like the type of woman to choose favorites, and everyone already knows who the pet is. Lisp dude. Yep. He doesn't have much of one, but I can tell whenever he talks that it's there. And I really don't mean to hate on him. It's just that my teacher treats him like he's some big-shot English professional. Ever since he's announced that he's been published in the Mid Rivers Review, it seems that she has been favoring him over everyone else. He also told us of his rough past (and I'm sure that he was only skimming the surface of what he went through when he told us about it), so I think that also has a little something to do with it. Now, I'm a pretty big sucker for broken people. I love those who have been through hell and back because it makes me feel like they need some extra love (which I provide plenty of). But I never favor one person over another. That's just horrible. And I've noticed that during critiques, if he has anything to say, he really likes to rip the piece apart and dissect it. Okay, dude, we get it. We made mistakes. We don't see things the same way you do. Stop being so harsh about it. When I was a senior in high school and had my creative writing class, I was like the top dog when it came to critiques since I had more experience (and I wasn't too far on top either, trust me). But I never completely shredded my fellow writers' pieces. I always included good advice or pointed out great lines and words, and I always tried to include some personal insight if I felt really connected. I understand that the writing world is a difficult place, but you need to remember that writers do have pretty deep emotions, so it's hard not to take criticism personally when you act like your shit doesn't stink. Like I said, I'm really not trying to talk the poor guy down. I understand that he has come from a rough place, but a lot of us have, and there's no room to be cocky. You may be a great writer, but that doesn't mean you can go around saying mean things because everyone else is automatically inferior to you. I'd be the most hated person ever if I did that!
Anyway, back to ballads and sonnets.
Tonight, I was struggling to write a ballad that would be worthy of taking into my class for a critique. I had started on one last week, but I was failing the tempo miserably, and I finally thought, to hell with this! So I tossed it aside and I don't really care to ever see it again. I began wondering what I was going to do, and I had written a poem either yesterday or the day before about the cold and dying. It was a free verse with some great imagery incorporated into it, as well as three of the five senses (if I'm not mistaken). I was desperately wishing that I could take it in for a critique, but free verse week was over. However, something kept telling me to take another look at it. So, after much playing around with the tempo and rhyme scheme, I had created an alternative ballad poem to use for this week's assignment. I don't love it as much as the free verse form, but it's still an excellent piece to have for a critique. I kept having to read it out loud to myself to make sure that I didn't trip over anything, and I'm sure glad that I did, because I did trip a few times!
It's funny how many mistakes you catch when you read something out loud to yourself. Last semester in my English class (gawd how I miss that class!!), I recall my brilliant teacher telling us to read our essays out loud to ourselves after writing them because it was easier to catch mistakes that way. It took me awhile to form such a habit, but now I can't turn anything in without reading it to myself first! One of my friends was telling me yesterday that she wanted me to critique her essay for her English class, and I could see a lot of run-on's and fragments. I fixed the things that I found difficult to read, and then proceeded to tell her that I thought it was good, but that she needed to watch for fragments and run-on sentences. She told me that she didn't know how to, so I told her that she needed to read her paper out loud to herself. She then proceeded to say that she didn't like reading out loud. I continued to tell her that if she did this, she'd catch more mistakes because she would be able to tell if her voice was stumbling or not. And it really is true, writers. It's always great to read your pieces to yourself. It sounds completely different in your head vs. vocally, trust me on that. I read through my ballad a couple times in my mind thinking that it was fine, and then I read it out loud and found myself pausing from mind trips. Haha. I think that with writers, if you've never read your pieces vocally before, you feel kind of silly doing it the first time. It's like exercises that actors and singers have to do right before a performance. They have to use a bunch of weird movements and vocal exercises to prepare themselves, which most people would feel idiotic doing. But once you form that habit, it becomes natural. So please take that useful advice from me, because I'm finding out that it's a lot easier to make yourself do the stupid things and sound great the first time in front of an audience rather than not doing the stupid things and sounding awful your first time.
Well, I think that I've talked enough about my infatuation with words. So I'm gonna let you guys go just as soon as I show you these flash drive pictures that are now on my geek wishlist.
Good day to you!
Yesterday was an interesting day in my creative writing class. We were still critiquing free verse poems from the week before, and the first one we were given was a poem by my friend Ed. He wrote about rain, but he added rhyme to it... so I don't know exactly how to label it? Haha. I thought it was a beautiful piece, and I was actually relieved to be critiquing something that had to do with that subject. When I read it, I could hear the sound of the rain, feel the cool breeze that comes along with it, and I could even smell it! The imagery was amazing, and I think he did a fantastic job! For some reason, I've been wanting rain all week. I think that my empathy is craving it because it energizes me and makes me feel extremely joyous, and rain also helps release any negative energy that is stored in my body. In fact, I don't think I've ever written a piece that has portrayed rain as a bad thing before. So many people think that it's depressing, but if I could move to Forks, Washington or London, I would be in heaven. Sure, I'd like a little sunshine every now and then, but rain is my true love. (: So reading his poem made me feel like it really was raining!
After we finished critiquing Ed's poem, we moved onto tired eyes' poem. Why do I call her tired eyes? Because she looks like she has some serious bags under them. The first time I saw her, I thought she was suffering from sleep deprivation! I don't think I'm wrong about that particular assumption either, because she didn't seem to have it all together. My teacher asked her to read her poem out loud, and it had a lot of rhyming in it. So she asked tired eyes if it was intended to be a free verse, to which she replied, "Well, I didn't really understand the assignment. When I write, I just write whatever I want because that's just how I am and that's how I express myself. So... that's why I write." I was thinking, really? Are you being serious? That's like an English teacher asking you to write a research paper and handing in a creative piece instead, saying "I didn't understand how to write a research paper, so I just wrote what I wanted." Honestly, following a certain poem format is not that complicated! What was worse than that was the fact that almost every line of her poem needed serious fixing. Some lines were too wordy, some were confusing, and some of them even made me question what was going on. I kept thinking, gawd, poor girl. It's so hard to enjoy what has the potential of being a great poem when you have to constantly stop and fix a mind trip, and I wasn't just tripping. I was stumbling.
After her poem, we moved onto ballads and sonnets. Our teacher always assigns us certain types of poems to write every other week, and this week's poem formats happened to be those types. Ally's ballad was critiqued first (and was the only one we were able to get through), which I enjoyed reading very much! I don't think the tempo was as consistent as it could have been, but it was cute for sure! The rhyming was great as well. I just think the lines could have been longer. I made a few suggestions for her poem after I read through it, and then we began talking about it. During this critique, the teacher started digging into the poem a little too deeply and suggested that maybe it might be a metaphor. Ally looked at me with a confused, humorous look, and I couldn't help but smile. The teacher said, "I think that maybe she intended for this poem to mean more than just simply swimming. So, Ally, is this poem a metaphor?" Ally then followed her question with, "Um... well, I... um..." I began to chuckle, and then the teacher said, "You're laughing. Am I wrong? Was this poem intended to be a metaphor? Or did you just simply write about swimming?" This question was followed by her own chuckle, and Ally said, "No, I see what you mean by it being a metaphor." The teacher then began to ramble. "Sometimes in life, we all think that we're going to go for a little swim, and we think that we're still close to the shore. Then we realize that we swam too far. So we quickly try to swim back, and by the time we make it onto the beach, although we've made it back, we're still tired from the long swim. I think it represents how our choices still affect us even after we correct ourselves..." ramble ramble ramble. I was trying so hard not to laugh, and today while Ally and I were painting mortar onto our brick project for the set design in theatre, I began talking about how English teachers look way too deeply into some of the creative pieces they read. I then began making a joke about it. "Sometimes in life, we all feel really down and depressed, and we don't think that we can ever be happy again." *switch character* "Um, no, I'm pretty sure the curtains are just fucking blue." Lol. Seriously, think about it. The author of a piece of literature probably writes half of the material into the piece because it sounds good, not because it's supposed to represent the deep, dark depths of his or her soul. I know that when I want to portray that kind of a message or outlook, I make it as obvious as a bright light bulb in a pitch-black room. If I write a simple, cute poem, I intend for it to be a simple, cute poem, not some deep meaning of life. English teachers need to chill and stop looking so hard for some hidden meaning in other peoples' pieces!
I'm not too sure that I really even care for my teacher. She seems like the type of woman to choose favorites, and everyone already knows who the pet is. Lisp dude. Yep. He doesn't have much of one, but I can tell whenever he talks that it's there. And I really don't mean to hate on him. It's just that my teacher treats him like he's some big-shot English professional. Ever since he's announced that he's been published in the Mid Rivers Review, it seems that she has been favoring him over everyone else. He also told us of his rough past (and I'm sure that he was only skimming the surface of what he went through when he told us about it), so I think that also has a little something to do with it. Now, I'm a pretty big sucker for broken people. I love those who have been through hell and back because it makes me feel like they need some extra love (which I provide plenty of). But I never favor one person over another. That's just horrible. And I've noticed that during critiques, if he has anything to say, he really likes to rip the piece apart and dissect it. Okay, dude, we get it. We made mistakes. We don't see things the same way you do. Stop being so harsh about it. When I was a senior in high school and had my creative writing class, I was like the top dog when it came to critiques since I had more experience (and I wasn't too far on top either, trust me). But I never completely shredded my fellow writers' pieces. I always included good advice or pointed out great lines and words, and I always tried to include some personal insight if I felt really connected. I understand that the writing world is a difficult place, but you need to remember that writers do have pretty deep emotions, so it's hard not to take criticism personally when you act like your shit doesn't stink. Like I said, I'm really not trying to talk the poor guy down. I understand that he has come from a rough place, but a lot of us have, and there's no room to be cocky. You may be a great writer, but that doesn't mean you can go around saying mean things because everyone else is automatically inferior to you. I'd be the most hated person ever if I did that!
Anyway, back to ballads and sonnets.
Tonight, I was struggling to write a ballad that would be worthy of taking into my class for a critique. I had started on one last week, but I was failing the tempo miserably, and I finally thought, to hell with this! So I tossed it aside and I don't really care to ever see it again. I began wondering what I was going to do, and I had written a poem either yesterday or the day before about the cold and dying. It was a free verse with some great imagery incorporated into it, as well as three of the five senses (if I'm not mistaken). I was desperately wishing that I could take it in for a critique, but free verse week was over. However, something kept telling me to take another look at it. So, after much playing around with the tempo and rhyme scheme, I had created an alternative ballad poem to use for this week's assignment. I don't love it as much as the free verse form, but it's still an excellent piece to have for a critique. I kept having to read it out loud to myself to make sure that I didn't trip over anything, and I'm sure glad that I did, because I did trip a few times!
It's funny how many mistakes you catch when you read something out loud to yourself. Last semester in my English class (gawd how I miss that class!!), I recall my brilliant teacher telling us to read our essays out loud to ourselves after writing them because it was easier to catch mistakes that way. It took me awhile to form such a habit, but now I can't turn anything in without reading it to myself first! One of my friends was telling me yesterday that she wanted me to critique her essay for her English class, and I could see a lot of run-on's and fragments. I fixed the things that I found difficult to read, and then proceeded to tell her that I thought it was good, but that she needed to watch for fragments and run-on sentences. She told me that she didn't know how to, so I told her that she needed to read her paper out loud to herself. She then proceeded to say that she didn't like reading out loud. I continued to tell her that if she did this, she'd catch more mistakes because she would be able to tell if her voice was stumbling or not. And it really is true, writers. It's always great to read your pieces to yourself. It sounds completely different in your head vs. vocally, trust me on that. I read through my ballad a couple times in my mind thinking that it was fine, and then I read it out loud and found myself pausing from mind trips. Haha. I think that with writers, if you've never read your pieces vocally before, you feel kind of silly doing it the first time. It's like exercises that actors and singers have to do right before a performance. They have to use a bunch of weird movements and vocal exercises to prepare themselves, which most people would feel idiotic doing. But once you form that habit, it becomes natural. So please take that useful advice from me, because I'm finding out that it's a lot easier to make yourself do the stupid things and sound great the first time in front of an audience rather than not doing the stupid things and sounding awful your first time.
Well, I think that I've talked enough about my infatuation with words. So I'm gonna let you guys go just as soon as I show you these flash drive pictures that are now on my geek wishlist.
Good day to you!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Fighting Death
Hello, all! I'd like to say that we haven't talked in quite awhile, but then I'd be lying. So I won't do that. Haha. Not too much is new. Just some thoughts in my head that are spinning round and round like a tornado, but hey, that's all of us, right? For some reason I can never seem to calm my mind down, no matter how hard I try. It goes crazy during the day, crazy when I'm by myself, and crazy when I lie down to go to bed. I can't seem to get a break! I think that is why I've taken such a liking to blogging. I finally have somewhere to put my thoughts, and from the looks of it, I have a lot of them! Now, I'm not planning for this blog to be insanely long, but of course, once I get into that writing mood, there's no stopping me. So I apologize in advance for all the words that you'll most likely make yourself read!
Today started off more scary than most, and no, it's not because I woke up and realized that I'm single, have no man to romance me, and better get on the ball if I don't want to have a suckish Valentines Day. No, no, no, my body was capable of making today start off worse than it should have started, because I woke up in the basement around five in the morning bathing in my own sweat. Now, when I say bathing, I'm really not exaggerating that much. My clothes were soaked. I was lying there thinking oh my gawd, I'm having a low blood sugar. I was completely drained, and the first thing I thought was to take some glucose tablets. But then I remembered that they were upstairs. So I was going to call my mom, but then I remembered that my phone was out of minutes. I cussed in my mind and thought that I had better get my butt upstairs, so I pushed the blanket off of me.
Let me tell you, it felt like someone had dunked me in a pool of ice water and thrown me out into the snow. I made an effort to sit up, which was extremely difficult to do, and my mind automatically said to me, you're too weak. I had the most horrible urge to lie back down and cover up, but I knew that if I did not get upstairs, I'd be a goner. By goner, in this context, I mean that I'd be dead. I could imagine slipping into a coma and passing away, and my parents finding my lifeless body in the morning. You have to get up those stairs, I told myself. So, using every ounce of strength that I had left, I stood up and, in my mind, quickly walked up the stairs. I was stumbling horribly as I struggled to do this simple task, and I felt like I was going to collapse the entire time that it was happening.
I finally made it up and completely collapsed onto the couch. In desperation, I began yelling, "MOM! DAD!" Even yelling out for help was draining my energy, and I had to concentrate on the volume of my voice in order to yell loud enough. A few seconds passed and I tried again. "MOM! DAD!... MOM! DAD!... SOMEONE, HELP ME!" It was then that I heard, "COMING!", and I was relieved that someone had heard me. But even then, as I was waiting for my parents to come out of their bedroom, I was thinking, Please. Faster. I need you now. Faster. I was completely aware of my body's desperate need for sugar, and my mind kept telling me, If you don't get sugar in you soon, you're going to pass out. Thankfully my parents came out and poured me apple juice, and I drank it quicker than I ever have. I asked my mom for a blanket, so she threw two on me to keep me warm. My sugar has to be in the 30's, I thought. I felt awful enough as it was, and then I decided to chew up three glucose tablets to make sure there was enough fast sugar to bring me back up.
I checked my blood sugar and saw that it was only in the 60's, but it sure didn't feel like it. After that, I asked my mom for peanut butter and chips. Now, you guys may not be aware of this, but low blood sugars cause horrible munchies. So of course, I was thinking about food. I wanted an egg sandwich more than anything, but I knew that it would not be safe to eat one while trying to get out of the low blood sugar. So I fought off the craving and ate my peanut butter and chips. After that, I asked my mom for a third blanket, and then I fell asleep. I remember my mom waking me up fifteen minutes later to check again, and my sugar had risen to 154 if I'm not mistaken. I was still worn out from what had happened and fell asleep again, and it's pretty blurry after that. I slept past my English class (which ended up getting cancelled anyway) and got up to get ready for creative writing.
So, that was my morning. Not the best way to wake up, if you ask me. Guys, I seriously thought I was going to die. I kept thinking that there was no way I was going to make it up the stairs. My body was telling me that it wanted to quit and that it didn't have enough strength to get me up there. But I was given enough energy to brave it. That was the scariest low blood sugar that I have ever had. I showered right when I woke up and I stood in there for a good fifteen minutes just to enjoy the heat of the water against my skin. Heat, I kept thinking, was such a precious thing. And it truly is.
So, never mind that I'm single. Never mind that I haven't found "the one" yet. I'm glad that I have people who love me just as I am, and who care for me enough to help me when I'm at my worst. So many of my friends and family put their precious time aside to be with me, and I think that I'm very fortunate to have that in my life. Without them, I would have nothing to live for. And who knows? If I had nothing to live for, maybe I would have just let myself die this morning. But there's too much going for me now, and too much for me to lose.
I realized today while in the student center that it doesn't take chocolates and flowers to make a person happy. It just takes some pretty amazing people and a webcam to create memories to smile back on, and I'll always be able to remember this day just by looking at these pictures.
Today started off more scary than most, and no, it's not because I woke up and realized that I'm single, have no man to romance me, and better get on the ball if I don't want to have a suckish Valentines Day. No, no, no, my body was capable of making today start off worse than it should have started, because I woke up in the basement around five in the morning bathing in my own sweat. Now, when I say bathing, I'm really not exaggerating that much. My clothes were soaked. I was lying there thinking oh my gawd, I'm having a low blood sugar. I was completely drained, and the first thing I thought was to take some glucose tablets. But then I remembered that they were upstairs. So I was going to call my mom, but then I remembered that my phone was out of minutes. I cussed in my mind and thought that I had better get my butt upstairs, so I pushed the blanket off of me.
Let me tell you, it felt like someone had dunked me in a pool of ice water and thrown me out into the snow. I made an effort to sit up, which was extremely difficult to do, and my mind automatically said to me, you're too weak. I had the most horrible urge to lie back down and cover up, but I knew that if I did not get upstairs, I'd be a goner. By goner, in this context, I mean that I'd be dead. I could imagine slipping into a coma and passing away, and my parents finding my lifeless body in the morning. You have to get up those stairs, I told myself. So, using every ounce of strength that I had left, I stood up and, in my mind, quickly walked up the stairs. I was stumbling horribly as I struggled to do this simple task, and I felt like I was going to collapse the entire time that it was happening.
I finally made it up and completely collapsed onto the couch. In desperation, I began yelling, "MOM! DAD!" Even yelling out for help was draining my energy, and I had to concentrate on the volume of my voice in order to yell loud enough. A few seconds passed and I tried again. "MOM! DAD!... MOM! DAD!... SOMEONE, HELP ME!" It was then that I heard, "COMING!", and I was relieved that someone had heard me. But even then, as I was waiting for my parents to come out of their bedroom, I was thinking, Please. Faster. I need you now. Faster. I was completely aware of my body's desperate need for sugar, and my mind kept telling me, If you don't get sugar in you soon, you're going to pass out. Thankfully my parents came out and poured me apple juice, and I drank it quicker than I ever have. I asked my mom for a blanket, so she threw two on me to keep me warm. My sugar has to be in the 30's, I thought. I felt awful enough as it was, and then I decided to chew up three glucose tablets to make sure there was enough fast sugar to bring me back up.
I checked my blood sugar and saw that it was only in the 60's, but it sure didn't feel like it. After that, I asked my mom for peanut butter and chips. Now, you guys may not be aware of this, but low blood sugars cause horrible munchies. So of course, I was thinking about food. I wanted an egg sandwich more than anything, but I knew that it would not be safe to eat one while trying to get out of the low blood sugar. So I fought off the craving and ate my peanut butter and chips. After that, I asked my mom for a third blanket, and then I fell asleep. I remember my mom waking me up fifteen minutes later to check again, and my sugar had risen to 154 if I'm not mistaken. I was still worn out from what had happened and fell asleep again, and it's pretty blurry after that. I slept past my English class (which ended up getting cancelled anyway) and got up to get ready for creative writing.
So, that was my morning. Not the best way to wake up, if you ask me. Guys, I seriously thought I was going to die. I kept thinking that there was no way I was going to make it up the stairs. My body was telling me that it wanted to quit and that it didn't have enough strength to get me up there. But I was given enough energy to brave it. That was the scariest low blood sugar that I have ever had. I showered right when I woke up and I stood in there for a good fifteen minutes just to enjoy the heat of the water against my skin. Heat, I kept thinking, was such a precious thing. And it truly is.
So, never mind that I'm single. Never mind that I haven't found "the one" yet. I'm glad that I have people who love me just as I am, and who care for me enough to help me when I'm at my worst. So many of my friends and family put their precious time aside to be with me, and I think that I'm very fortunate to have that in my life. Without them, I would have nothing to live for. And who knows? If I had nothing to live for, maybe I would have just let myself die this morning. But there's too much going for me now, and too much for me to lose.
I realized today while in the student center that it doesn't take chocolates and flowers to make a person happy. It just takes some pretty amazing people and a webcam to create memories to smile back on, and I'll always be able to remember this day just by looking at these pictures.
So, to all you people out there who hate Valentines Day because you don't have a significant other, just look at all the significant people in your life. What about them? They're the ones who are most important, because without them, you would have no idea what love truly is. Without the ones who support you, care for you, share with you, sacrifice time to spend with you, listen to you, and give you their shoulders for your tears, you are nothing. Stop crying over never finding Mr./Mrs. Right. Focus on what you have now, because tomorrow, it could all be gone.
These are the moments I'll remember for a lifetime; the moments that cost nothing but a smile.
Thank you to everyone who takes time to be a part of my precious life.
My heart goes out to...?
Happy Valentines Day to everyone!! No, this is not going to be one of those sappy, "omg I love my boyfriend so muchhhh!!!!" posts, because I don't have one of those. And no, this isn't going to be one of those, "I can't believe I'm single! Forever alone! I don't have a Valentine omgggg" posts either. What is it about, then? Well, I guess you'd have to keep reading to find out, correct? Yes.
Now, as much as I'd love to complain about not having a fella, I'm pretty happy having the people who I do have in my life! I used to grow up wondering when my first date would be, who I'd go out with, who my first official boyfriend would be, who I'd have as my first kiss... and I look back at all those childish dreams and laugh. I'm beginning to realize how insane I was. Well, I guess I can't say that I was completely insane, but I just shake my head at myself about how hung up I was wanting to have a guy by my side. It was just today that I began to wonder what happened to the good ol' days of decorated shoe boxes and paper valentines and the occasional candy attached to the cards. I started to remember how excited I used to get over Valentines Day because I was always looking forward to giving out those little cheap pieces of decorated paper, and I don't know what it was about them, but it was absolutely exhilarating to see them being slipped into the decorated boxes. I think that part of it was hoping one of my classmates would write "I like you. Do you like me?" on the inside of one of them, or maybe do the secret admirer thing. But I think back to second grade when I was sick and couldn't go to school on Valentines Day. I was so depressed about it, how I was going to miss it and not be able to participate in giving out cards. My teacher sent my valentines home that day, and I went from being sad to having the biggest smile on my face going through all of them! I was so overjoyed by the damn things, and for the longest time, I could never understand why.
It finally hit me tonight. The reason why I loved Valentines Day so much was because I felt loved. Plain and simple. Someone thought enough of me to sign their name on a card and give it to me; to acknowledge my existence and to show me that they cared. And now I wonder what ever happened to that happiness. What ever happened to showing someone that you were on their mind? What happened to the cute, simple gestures that made them absolutely thrilled? And why in the heck do we need a holiday to show people that we love them like that?
I'm a simple girl. I don't need a whole bouquet of flowers and a huge box of chocolates to make me smile. I'd rather you hand me a handful of honeysuckle to put in a tiny glass. Do that, and I guarantee you I would never leave your side. I think that people forget to put thought into the true message of Valentines Day. It isn't about the stuffed animals, or flowers, or chocolates (not that I'm against any of it, I think it's cute), but I think that when you put thought into the person, it shows a lot more love than the generalized idea of a traditional Valentines Day gift does. Plus, it's nice to have your women/men on their toes about what to expect on that day. I'd hate expecting flowers and chocolates and cute teddy bears. You gotta keep a person guessing! Haha.
Anyway, I feel like I'm kind of scattered, so I'll wrap it up. Don't just show the people you love how much you love them on February 14th. It should be every day, and you don't need a boyfriend/girlfriend/fiance/wife/husband to show some affection. Put some thought into your family and friends. Let them know when they're on your mind. Do the little things that you know will make them smile. Trust me, a gift with heart is going to be far more obvious to them than something you bought just because. And hey, don't be bummed about being single. Things are going to turn up for you eventually. You just have to be patient :)
Love you guys <3
Now, as much as I'd love to complain about not having a fella, I'm pretty happy having the people who I do have in my life! I used to grow up wondering when my first date would be, who I'd go out with, who my first official boyfriend would be, who I'd have as my first kiss... and I look back at all those childish dreams and laugh. I'm beginning to realize how insane I was. Well, I guess I can't say that I was completely insane, but I just shake my head at myself about how hung up I was wanting to have a guy by my side. It was just today that I began to wonder what happened to the good ol' days of decorated shoe boxes and paper valentines and the occasional candy attached to the cards. I started to remember how excited I used to get over Valentines Day because I was always looking forward to giving out those little cheap pieces of decorated paper, and I don't know what it was about them, but it was absolutely exhilarating to see them being slipped into the decorated boxes. I think that part of it was hoping one of my classmates would write "I like you. Do you like me?" on the inside of one of them, or maybe do the secret admirer thing. But I think back to second grade when I was sick and couldn't go to school on Valentines Day. I was so depressed about it, how I was going to miss it and not be able to participate in giving out cards. My teacher sent my valentines home that day, and I went from being sad to having the biggest smile on my face going through all of them! I was so overjoyed by the damn things, and for the longest time, I could never understand why.
It finally hit me tonight. The reason why I loved Valentines Day so much was because I felt loved. Plain and simple. Someone thought enough of me to sign their name on a card and give it to me; to acknowledge my existence and to show me that they cared. And now I wonder what ever happened to that happiness. What ever happened to showing someone that you were on their mind? What happened to the cute, simple gestures that made them absolutely thrilled? And why in the heck do we need a holiday to show people that we love them like that?
I'm a simple girl. I don't need a whole bouquet of flowers and a huge box of chocolates to make me smile. I'd rather you hand me a handful of honeysuckle to put in a tiny glass. Do that, and I guarantee you I would never leave your side. I think that people forget to put thought into the true message of Valentines Day. It isn't about the stuffed animals, or flowers, or chocolates (not that I'm against any of it, I think it's cute), but I think that when you put thought into the person, it shows a lot more love than the generalized idea of a traditional Valentines Day gift does. Plus, it's nice to have your women/men on their toes about what to expect on that day. I'd hate expecting flowers and chocolates and cute teddy bears. You gotta keep a person guessing! Haha.
Anyway, I feel like I'm kind of scattered, so I'll wrap it up. Don't just show the people you love how much you love them on February 14th. It should be every day, and you don't need a boyfriend/girlfriend/fiance/wife/husband to show some affection. Put some thought into your family and friends. Let them know when they're on your mind. Do the little things that you know will make them smile. Trust me, a gift with heart is going to be far more obvious to them than something you bought just because. And hey, don't be bummed about being single. Things are going to turn up for you eventually. You just have to be patient :)
Love you guys <3
Saturday, February 11, 2012
Just shut up and listen to me!
I don't really know how I'm going to say what's on my mind in this post without failing to put it in some kind of well thought-out order, but I'm going to try. I know that most of my blogs have been easy to follow, but my thought process is going nuts right now. So here goes.
Tonight, like a lot of nights lately, I've been feeling pretty down in the dumps. It's hard for me to be happy at home because I feel like there are too many problems going on that I can't solve. What's worse is that there's been too much negative energy around me, and I've been taking all of that negativity in and can't seem to find a way to drain it. It's causing a lot of stress and unwanted thoughts, and tonight when I was posting one of those thoughts onto Twitter (which doesn't even begin to skim the surface of what's going on in my mind), I realized that I would never be able to post that thought onto Facebook without someone showing some concern about it.
You know, I went from being invisible to being the one that everyone likes to socialize with and be concerned about. It's great, don't get me wrong. I love every single person I interact with (and even some people I may not talk to all the time), but it's really hard when you have that many people who enjoy you and overreact every time you have a bothersome thought. I know that I'm happy most of the time, especially when I'm at school. College is the one place where I don't have a worry or care in the world. The bad thoughts are usually so far away from me that I can go about my day smiling and laughing and being the happiest I can be. But it's when I get home and start absorbing the stress and anger and sadness that my smile starts to fade. I begin to worry about my career, and how I'm going to pay off my student loan and get a job. I worry about being able to afford getting out of my house and into somewhere I can call my own, and to be able to have some sort of stability for myself in my future. I worry about being alone and I'm deathly afraid that I'll end up on the street. I worry about my diabetes and think about whether I'll be able to afford my medicine or not by the time my parents' coverage stops. And these fears (only the few that I've decided to share) strike me so harshly that I already feel defeated and don't even wanna go put applications in. Imagine all these fears weighing me down, and then add on the depression that I already seem to have to deal with caused by the unhappy people around me. Each person who comes to me crying or upset about something increases my stress level because I'm soaking that emotion up like a sponge, and sometimes I can't stop it. Now, I'm not saying that you can't come to me and that you can't ask for help, and I'm definitely not saying that my shoulder isn't here to cry on (yes, I know, I'm contradicting myself a bit), but I just want people to understand that I have feelings of my own to deal with, and it'd be nice to have someone whom I could go to also.
Now, for some of you, I'm sure that you're ready to raise your hands and volunteer. But honestly, the thought of anyone saying that they'll gladly listen to me and my problems makes me cringe, and I'll tell you why. Oftentimes when I go to anyone to let everything go, they will be the first ones to jump onto the advice train and start throwing ideas at me without putting much thought into them. They're usually the ideas that I've already tried or ideas that I know aren't going to work. I have a thousand different voices going on in my head already. I'd rather not hear someone else's going, "Well why don't you try this, have you ever tried this? How bout this?" Just shut up and listen to me. That's all I want. I don't want to hear you giving me shitty advice that I could do without. And then there are those of you who I will go to for an ear, and all you can say in response to me is, "That sucks", "Yeah", "I know." I know it sucks, thanks for pointing that out. Yeah what? Yeah, you could be doing something more productive with your time and you're not really listening to me? You know what just happened? I didn't know you were a psychic. Seriously, if you're going to say something, don't use filler words. Nothing pisses me off more than people responding like they aren't even listening to you. That's why I hate posting my thoughts on Facebook. Everyone wants to be the first to jump into that comment box and say, "Omg what's wrong?!?!?!! Are you okay?!?!?!!" or "Aww cheer up! Things will get better :)) Someday you will be happy again and find the right guy and get a job! Don't give up!"
Guys, I'm going to be honest. Brutally honest. I know that I write a lot of poems and songs that you guys happen to take a liking to, and I am thankful that my writing not only helps me, but helps you as well. I know I'm pretty positive and upbeat. I know I can make a lot of people feel better. But you have to understand that I'm a human being and that I have the same feelings everyone else has. It seems to me that when the world starts to notice you, it's harder to be able to show true human emotions because everyone thinks that you're suddenly not a human being anymore. Whenever we find people whom we admire and who can make us feel better, we put them on a pedestal and suddenly they're God. They have to be happy. They have to love their fans. They have to hide negative emotion. Humans don't like it when their idols show negative emotion. I swear to you all that if I ever become one of those public icons, I will not suppress my feelings because my readers don't like it. My gawd, I have to be able to feel those types of emotions in order to fuel my writing. I know that some of you may feel obligated to listen to me and to give me advice if I have helped you out in that way before, but consoling is not an obligation. It isn't currency. We can't owe anyone the same of anything that they have given to us. When we obligate ourselves to give someone something of the same value that they have given us, we lose the heart of the situation. It isn't about how much advice we give, or how much happiness we try to show people. It's what situations we're put into and how much thought, time, and love is spent in order to help the other person out that matters. I never comment on someone's post with a hollow heart when they're sad or upset or depressed. I don't think, "Oh gawd, I better help this poor bastard out before he/she kills him/herself". When I ask someone if they need someone to talk to, it's because I actually care, and I don't try to feed them useless advice, nor do I use empty fillers as a way to say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, lets get on with the program. I have a class in ten minutes." I put aside time to listen, and to simply listen. This may shock some of you, and I mean really shock some of you, but people actually feel a lot better when they don't have advice being shoved down their throats. In fact, it's healthy for human beings to be depressed sometimes. It's all a part of the colorful mood spectrum, and you have to be able to feel a variety of certain feelings in order to be considered a healthy human being. This does include sadness and anger, and sometimes it only takes an ear to lessen the severity of the problem at hand.
Do you guys ever wonder why people post things on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, etc., that aren't happy or cheerful? Because knowing that someone is reading it, and thinking about it, and listening to those words said in his or her own head is a way of listening. Everyone is programmed to communicate with other people so that their own thoughts don't drive them crazy. They don't post updates to whine, or complain, or to seek sympathy or advice. They just want others to be aware that they aren't happy. That's it.
So, I guess my whole point of this blog is to simply say stop and think before you open your mouth. Don't waste time trying to help someone if you don't put any heart into the matter or into the person. Don't tell them to be happy. Don't shove advice down his or her throat if they don't ask for it or aren't in desperate need of a solution. Don't assume that because someone is a little down, that they are going to kill themselves if you don't talk them through the problem. And don't think that because people are well liked means that they are incapable of feeling anger or sadness, because they are. Just offer an ear. Listen. LISTEN. We are so busy running our mouths most of the time that we forget what listening is, and it's a shame that we don't remember half of the time, because running our mouths can make things a lot worse. I can't tell you how many times I've started crying or shaking from sadness or anger, and would wish that I just had someone there to hug me and hold me and let me cry without saying anything. Actions can be louder than words.
I hope that maybe I've helped some of you today with a little bit of this information. I'm sorry if you don't like hearing that I have problems, but I do, and you'll just have to accept that. Chances are that if I had enough time and heart to express all of this to you, and that you read all the way down to this sentence, then you'll have a little heart to take it into consideration. If you don't, I guess you're skimming the page or being too loud-mouthed to pay attention to anything I've just said.
Stephanie Michelle Pabst
Tonight, like a lot of nights lately, I've been feeling pretty down in the dumps. It's hard for me to be happy at home because I feel like there are too many problems going on that I can't solve. What's worse is that there's been too much negative energy around me, and I've been taking all of that negativity in and can't seem to find a way to drain it. It's causing a lot of stress and unwanted thoughts, and tonight when I was posting one of those thoughts onto Twitter (which doesn't even begin to skim the surface of what's going on in my mind), I realized that I would never be able to post that thought onto Facebook without someone showing some concern about it.
You know, I went from being invisible to being the one that everyone likes to socialize with and be concerned about. It's great, don't get me wrong. I love every single person I interact with (and even some people I may not talk to all the time), but it's really hard when you have that many people who enjoy you and overreact every time you have a bothersome thought. I know that I'm happy most of the time, especially when I'm at school. College is the one place where I don't have a worry or care in the world. The bad thoughts are usually so far away from me that I can go about my day smiling and laughing and being the happiest I can be. But it's when I get home and start absorbing the stress and anger and sadness that my smile starts to fade. I begin to worry about my career, and how I'm going to pay off my student loan and get a job. I worry about being able to afford getting out of my house and into somewhere I can call my own, and to be able to have some sort of stability for myself in my future. I worry about being alone and I'm deathly afraid that I'll end up on the street. I worry about my diabetes and think about whether I'll be able to afford my medicine or not by the time my parents' coverage stops. And these fears (only the few that I've decided to share) strike me so harshly that I already feel defeated and don't even wanna go put applications in. Imagine all these fears weighing me down, and then add on the depression that I already seem to have to deal with caused by the unhappy people around me. Each person who comes to me crying or upset about something increases my stress level because I'm soaking that emotion up like a sponge, and sometimes I can't stop it. Now, I'm not saying that you can't come to me and that you can't ask for help, and I'm definitely not saying that my shoulder isn't here to cry on (yes, I know, I'm contradicting myself a bit), but I just want people to understand that I have feelings of my own to deal with, and it'd be nice to have someone whom I could go to also.
Now, for some of you, I'm sure that you're ready to raise your hands and volunteer. But honestly, the thought of anyone saying that they'll gladly listen to me and my problems makes me cringe, and I'll tell you why. Oftentimes when I go to anyone to let everything go, they will be the first ones to jump onto the advice train and start throwing ideas at me without putting much thought into them. They're usually the ideas that I've already tried or ideas that I know aren't going to work. I have a thousand different voices going on in my head already. I'd rather not hear someone else's going, "Well why don't you try this, have you ever tried this? How bout this?" Just shut up and listen to me. That's all I want. I don't want to hear you giving me shitty advice that I could do without. And then there are those of you who I will go to for an ear, and all you can say in response to me is, "That sucks", "Yeah", "I know." I know it sucks, thanks for pointing that out. Yeah what? Yeah, you could be doing something more productive with your time and you're not really listening to me? You know what just happened? I didn't know you were a psychic. Seriously, if you're going to say something, don't use filler words. Nothing pisses me off more than people responding like they aren't even listening to you. That's why I hate posting my thoughts on Facebook. Everyone wants to be the first to jump into that comment box and say, "Omg what's wrong?!?!?!! Are you okay?!?!?!!" or "Aww cheer up! Things will get better :)) Someday you will be happy again and find the right guy and get a job! Don't give up!"
Guys, I'm going to be honest. Brutally honest. I know that I write a lot of poems and songs that you guys happen to take a liking to, and I am thankful that my writing not only helps me, but helps you as well. I know I'm pretty positive and upbeat. I know I can make a lot of people feel better. But you have to understand that I'm a human being and that I have the same feelings everyone else has. It seems to me that when the world starts to notice you, it's harder to be able to show true human emotions because everyone thinks that you're suddenly not a human being anymore. Whenever we find people whom we admire and who can make us feel better, we put them on a pedestal and suddenly they're God. They have to be happy. They have to love their fans. They have to hide negative emotion. Humans don't like it when their idols show negative emotion. I swear to you all that if I ever become one of those public icons, I will not suppress my feelings because my readers don't like it. My gawd, I have to be able to feel those types of emotions in order to fuel my writing. I know that some of you may feel obligated to listen to me and to give me advice if I have helped you out in that way before, but consoling is not an obligation. It isn't currency. We can't owe anyone the same of anything that they have given to us. When we obligate ourselves to give someone something of the same value that they have given us, we lose the heart of the situation. It isn't about how much advice we give, or how much happiness we try to show people. It's what situations we're put into and how much thought, time, and love is spent in order to help the other person out that matters. I never comment on someone's post with a hollow heart when they're sad or upset or depressed. I don't think, "Oh gawd, I better help this poor bastard out before he/she kills him/herself". When I ask someone if they need someone to talk to, it's because I actually care, and I don't try to feed them useless advice, nor do I use empty fillers as a way to say, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, lets get on with the program. I have a class in ten minutes." I put aside time to listen, and to simply listen. This may shock some of you, and I mean really shock some of you, but people actually feel a lot better when they don't have advice being shoved down their throats. In fact, it's healthy for human beings to be depressed sometimes. It's all a part of the colorful mood spectrum, and you have to be able to feel a variety of certain feelings in order to be considered a healthy human being. This does include sadness and anger, and sometimes it only takes an ear to lessen the severity of the problem at hand.
Do you guys ever wonder why people post things on Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr, etc., that aren't happy or cheerful? Because knowing that someone is reading it, and thinking about it, and listening to those words said in his or her own head is a way of listening. Everyone is programmed to communicate with other people so that their own thoughts don't drive them crazy. They don't post updates to whine, or complain, or to seek sympathy or advice. They just want others to be aware that they aren't happy. That's it.
So, I guess my whole point of this blog is to simply say stop and think before you open your mouth. Don't waste time trying to help someone if you don't put any heart into the matter or into the person. Don't tell them to be happy. Don't shove advice down his or her throat if they don't ask for it or aren't in desperate need of a solution. Don't assume that because someone is a little down, that they are going to kill themselves if you don't talk them through the problem. And don't think that because people are well liked means that they are incapable of feeling anger or sadness, because they are. Just offer an ear. Listen. LISTEN. We are so busy running our mouths most of the time that we forget what listening is, and it's a shame that we don't remember half of the time, because running our mouths can make things a lot worse. I can't tell you how many times I've started crying or shaking from sadness or anger, and would wish that I just had someone there to hug me and hold me and let me cry without saying anything. Actions can be louder than words.
I hope that maybe I've helped some of you today with a little bit of this information. I'm sorry if you don't like hearing that I have problems, but I do, and you'll just have to accept that. Chances are that if I had enough time and heart to express all of this to you, and that you read all the way down to this sentence, then you'll have a little heart to take it into consideration. If you don't, I guess you're skimming the page or being too loud-mouthed to pay attention to anything I've just said.
Stephanie Michelle Pabst
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Pride, paint, and a dignified monkey.
It was this past Sunday night that I decided to write a poem. I was feeling deeply connected with the hardships of my childhood and thought that it would be cool to do a free verse poem about each year that I had to face a difficulty in my life. However, I hardly got a good start on it when my friend Shane called me and told me that the Westboro Baptist Church was coming to two of our local high schools to protest against gays. What made it worse was that a student had requested for them to come, and the news spread like wildfire. My happy little LGBT friendly town was being targeted by a much hated "cult" that often celebrates the deaths of America's fallen soldiers, and they were coming to target my friends. Kids! High school kids! When I heard the news, I felt a fire ignite inside of me, and anger began coursing through my veins. Why would they target two of our high schools? Target innocent kids who are extremely vulnerable at this age? I just couldn't believe it.
I checked Twitter soon after and saw that one of the guys from my high school was going to go to the nearest high school with his group of friends to counter protest these ignorant people. He was asking other people to join him and said that the protest was at 6:55 in the morning and to be there at 6:30. The time of the morning killed me. I don't want to get up that early, I thought to myself. It was already getting late and I was tired. I messaged my mom on Facebook about what was happening (even though she was right upstairs), and after finding out that the protest was only supposed to be for half an hour, we both decided that it wouldn't kill us to stand outside for thirty minutes and take a stand against bullying. After all, I must do what I preach, right? This was my family town that was being targeted. I had to support them.
It was already midnight by the time we had made up our minds, so I stayed up and made posters to hold for our counter protest. Since Westboro is all "Christ friendly", I decided to use bible quotes against bible quotes. The two I used were:
I checked Twitter soon after and saw that one of the guys from my high school was going to go to the nearest high school with his group of friends to counter protest these ignorant people. He was asking other people to join him and said that the protest was at 6:55 in the morning and to be there at 6:30. The time of the morning killed me. I don't want to get up that early, I thought to myself. It was already getting late and I was tired. I messaged my mom on Facebook about what was happening (even though she was right upstairs), and after finding out that the protest was only supposed to be for half an hour, we both decided that it wouldn't kill us to stand outside for thirty minutes and take a stand against bullying. After all, I must do what I preach, right? This was my family town that was being targeted. I had to support them.
It was already midnight by the time we had made up our minds, so I stayed up and made posters to hold for our counter protest. Since Westboro is all "Christ friendly", I decided to use bible quotes against bible quotes. The two I used were:
Luke 23:34 Then Jesus said, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." They divided his garments by casting lots.
Matthew 7:3 Why do you notice the splinter in your brother's eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own eye?
I felt as though these would be the two most significant verses in the bible for this occasion, and at six in the morning, my mom woke me up so that we could get our things together and drive down to the high school. It happened to be an extremely foggy morning, which I found quite funny, because I could just imagine the Westboro snobs getting lost in the mist. As we gathered our things and hopped into the car, I realized that we should have left sooner. It was already 6:30, and the school was quite a ways to drive to from where I lived. So as we started out, my mom asked God to give us green lights so that we would make it on time. Of course, with God, all you have to do is ask and He will provide. So we were given green lights all the way to the school, and by the time we got there, the sidewalk was already lined up with rainbow flags and unicorns and picket signs of every shape and size. It was a never-ending trail of cheering pride, and as we parked the car and headed over to this gigantic crowd of people, I couldn't help but feel like I was at home. They were all here for one reason, and one reason only: to fight for the right to love and be loved.
We stood out in the cold with the counter protestors for the full thirty minutes, and although I was freezing my fingers and toes off, it was worth it. The street was nearly car-free at first, but as the morning progressed, it became more congested with cars of every shape, color, and size. Some drivers slowed down to read our signs, some of them took pictures of us while they were temporarily stopped, and some of them even had their iPhones out recording the long line of counter protestors. We patiently waited for Westboro to show, but by 7:25, we realized that they were not going to come. With a sense of pride, we all began to head back to our cars. We had accomplished our mission: to show everyone that we had tons more supporters of our gay community than we did non-supporters, and I feel like we really showed everyone that times are changing, whether they like it or not.
When I got home, I realized that I was a stranger on at least seven different iPhones, and in at least ten (if not more) different pictures. But I didn't mind it much, because I could only imagine how many witnesses uploaded those photos and videos to show people exactly how many supporters of LGBT there are in my town. As long as I'm making a difference or impact on someone, then I'm doing my job as a human being. And that's enough for me. I also thought about the fact that there were no rivalries that morning when it came to the different high schools fighting for these students. Whether we were located North, West, South, or East, we all came together as one student body and as one family, and I feel like I can really count on my community to make a stand during the times when we need each other the most. We could have all stood in different groups and called ourselves east, west, south, and north. But we didn't. We melded as one school district and as one community, and we held together like glue. Even if the four protestors from Westboro would have shown, they would have been outnumbered and outspoken, because we were louder, prouder, and stronger as a team than they would have ever been.
I did hear that Westboro completely skipped over our particular school because they didn't "have everything sorted out with the police in time" to protest, which, I must say is utter bullshit. My guess is that they saw the large quantity of people lining the sidewalk and kept on driving to their next destination. Of course, the high school that they were supposed to stop at after that was supposed to have a lot more counter protestors than we did, so it would have been smarter to protest at the school we were at since we would have had the least amount of people (which I think exceeded a little more than 300 total). But hey, they had to stop somewhere, right? Otherwise they would have never been able to live it down for not showing up at all. I am extremely proud of the counter protestors at the other school Westboro did show up to, because I know you all really held your ground. I'm glad that I have a community I can be proud to live in and a community that I know will back anyone up who is being bullied. It's nice to see change finally taking place.
This video shows the remaining line of people when my mom and I were leaving the counter protest.
After the protest ended, I ate breakfast and headed up to school. I was already in high spirits when I got there, and my day continued to blossom. When I arrived to my speech class, instead of using power point to go over notes, my teacher popped in the pilot of the television show, "Lie to Me" to teach us about communication. Readers, that show was like my form of crack. I sat there absolutely mesmerized and sucked into the whole idea of reading body language, and it was like watching my life on a screen. Well, okay, the situations that the characters are put into, not so much. But the whole concept of the show reflected how I have come to recognize whether people are lying to me or not. Like the main character, I have learned to observe the habits, expressions, and different pitches of voice that other people display in order to familiarize myself with their "truths" and "lies". Although it isn't to the extremity that he has studied it, it is the same concept, nonetheless. I definitely want to watch all of the episodes now, from start to finish.
I headed to American Lit class after that, and all we did was talk more about Emily Dickinson's poetry. Our teacher likes to pace back and forth when he lectures, so my eyes were following him like a Kit Cat clock, and then my mind started to yet again remind me of how much he looked like a lion. I'm serious about this. His hair is like a flaming blond type hair, which looks like the color of a lion's mane, and it's combed back and has this wavy look to it. To top it off, he has one of those mustache-beard pieces going on. ...Maybe it's best just to show you.
Yes. I drew this. Haha. Unbeknownst to him, of course (: See, I have this weird thing going on where if I find someone who looks interesting to me, I just get this sudden urge to draw him or her. And how do I explain to people that my teacher looks like a lion without providing some sort of picture? Anyway, that's him. And whenever he walks into the classroom, that is the first word that pops into my head. Lion. It's sort of hard to ignore, that comparison. He handed back some papers during that class period, and I was surprised to see that he had given me good grades on my writing. Why was I surprised? Lets just say he can be very vague sometimes when it comes to asking you to write an essay for him. He doesn't always fill you in on what he's looking for, so when I go to write for him, I pretty much jump into it blindly and hope to God that I'm heading toward the light. I was pleased to see that I was doing something right, and I once again left class with this happy, fluffy cloud above my head.
By the time stagecraft rolled around, I was ready to do whatever it was that Lonna needed me to do. So I walked in not knowing that I would be painting, which just added to the sunshine of my day. One of my classmates wanted to paint up until Lonna told her that she would be on paint duty until the job was done. For some reason, the idea of painting every day until the wet blend, spattering, and the painting on of bricks was done scared her, and she quickly looked at me and asked me if I liked painting. It took all I had to avoid saying, "I love painting! I'm an artist!" Instead, I casually replied with, "Yeah. I like painting." She then asked me if I wanted to do it. I said that I didn't really care, and thus, the brush was placed into my creative hands. Finally! my mind thought. Something in my area of expertise! Don't get me wrong. I loved walking walls down and putting pieces together. I loved messing with the screw gun and staple gun when Lonna told me to give them both a shot. But the brush was the first familiar thing that had been placed in my hands since the beginning of that semester, and I was finally back in my comfort zone.
Lonna then told us that we would be doing wet blends, where we would each take a different shade of brown, darkest to lightest, and just kind of swirl it around on the wood in swift motions. It was important that we made sure not to blend each others' shades into each other, because the point was to see all the different shades of brown swirls on the pieces. We also had to avoid painting over each others' shades. I was the leader because I had the darkest brown, and pretty soon we were all forming a line and painting as a group. There were a couple brush smack-downs (I thought of sumo-wrestlers after hearing the sounds the collisions made), and we would laugh and continue working. By the time we were done, we stood back to admire our work and then left class. Our job was done for the day.
I had a bad day the next day. We all know what that's like, where the day before was so fantastic that the following day just has to dump a load of crap onto your plans. I woke up around nine because I can usually sleep in longer on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my phone had made a distinct buzzing sound against the coffee table that had triggered the "wake up" mode of my brain. Still groggy, I opened up the text message I had received and saw that my mom had asked me how to grade a 40 point worksheet. It took me a minute before it all clicked, and suddenly the panic set in. I frantically asked her if she was subbing up at high school, and she said yes. Poor communication from the day before had made me believe that she was supposed to sub on Wednesday, not Tuesday. I found myself without a ride, and I began to panic. What am I going to do? I thought. To say the least, I was pissed and upset. I logged onto Facebook to see if anyone would offer taking me up to school, but no one could, which I had expected. I was beginning to work myself up over the fact that I would miss my two classes, and then finally my brain reminded me, It could be worse. You could be dead. Let me tell you, it's amazing how comparing death to missing one day of school can brighten up someone's day. And I mean that with the deepest sincerity. I suddenly realized that being angry over missing school wasn't going to solve the problem of not having a ride, so instead, I accepted the fact that class just might have to be missed. Not much else to do, right? Luckily, my friend Taelor got out of class in time to come pick me up and take me up there (for which I am forever grateful for). There wasn't much I would have missed if I had not shown, but that's okay. I'm just glad I could be up there. We went over notes in English and critiqued poems in creative writing, and then I was done for the day. I must say that we have some great poets in my class. I enjoy reading their material!
My mom and I got into a fight about me getting a job and my license after school, to which I'd rather not go into details on since it's over and done with, but let's just say I wasn't too keen on spending much time with her when I got home. So I walked inside, came straight downstairs, and did not emerge from the realm that is my basement until around eight p.m. I ended up typing out a story to submit to one of the Chicken Soup books (which I did end up submitting, in case you're wondering), and after I did that, I felt better. It was almost as though I gave myself my own therapy, and by that night, I was feeling tons better.
Today was one of those days that was just genuinely great for me. I woke up in a good mood and had even gotten a chance to sleep in longer than usual. I just felt like I had less to do this morning as far as preparation for school goes, and by the time Taelor came to pick me up, I was packed and ready to go. Once we got to school, I headed to my speech class only to find out that it was cancelled. Yes! I thought. Now I can read the two stories that I didn't feel like reading last night! You see, lion teacher assigned us two stories out of our book, and since I haven't favored many of the selections so far, I just didn't have the desire to read anything. But I had an hour and a half of free time, so I headed to the student center and cracked open the book. The two stories were actually enjoyable to read this time. There was great detail and alliteration, and I could picture everything in my head. I was sucked in, and once I finished both stories, I realized just how much I had enjoyed reading them. It definitely made the class more fun to go to, and I was focused and paying more attention to my teacher's lecture than I have been previous classes. After class let out, I hung out in the student center and changed into paint clothes, and before I knew it, I was off to theatre.
Today's class was pretty fun... and abusive. Haha. Lonna showed us how to build a flat, and many of us took turns with the staple gun (me excluded since I hung back behind everyone else, hehe). I was looking forward to painting again, and once the flat was built, Lonna gathered all of us painters up and brought us over to what we had been working on last class. We walked the pieces down and set them side by side so we could spatter paint, and she explained that the paint for the spattering would be thinner than what we had been working with before. The paint was all watery and thin, and she showed us how to dip our brushes in and how to get all of the excess paint out of the bristles before spattering. Otherwise the paint would go flying in huge blotches, which was the opposite of what we wanted! Once she got the extra paint out, she curled her left hand into a fist and began tapping the metal part of the brush against the curled sides of her index finger and thumb. The paint spattered in tiny dots onto the pieces we had painted, and she told us that wherever the hollow part of our fist was pointed, that's where the paint would go. We imitated her after her demo and found that hitting the brush against that part of our fists didn't feel so pleasant. We began making references to the mean Catholic school nuns who used to beat students' hands with their rulers, and after the darkest color was done being spattered, we went and rinsed our brushes. Our hands were red where we had hit the brush, but we laughed about it and moved on to the next lightest color (again, dark to light). It was kind of funny listening to all of us spatter the paint because it sounded like a bunch of ticking clocks. We weren't moving as fast as Lonna would have liked us to in fear that we would mess the paint job up, but in the end, it looked really good! The tiny dots were finally becoming noticeable, and when we stood back, it looked even better. One of the painters and I stayed past the class time to help finish up with the last color, and by the time we finished, we looked like beautifully spattered canvases!
I met Jes and Allison in the student center after class to show off my beautifully painted self, and while in the student center, also pulled my tiny sock monkey out of my back pack. He just chills in there every day, and I was talking to Jes and Allison about making him look like a very distinguished and sophisticated monkey. I made him a monocle tonight and also plan on giving him a mustache, making him a top hat, a pipe, and a cute little outfit to pull it all together.
Alright, well that is the extent of my past three days. I apologize for such a long blog, unless you like reading. Then I don't apologize. Haha. So much has happened and I wanted to get it all down, if not for you, then for me to look back on and read. I like to remember fun and memorable times!
I'll keep you guys posted! Thanks for being amazing readers <3
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