Call oh small boy, with the long tremulous cry that echoes over the hills. Dance oh small boy, with the first slow steps of the dance that is for yourself. Call and dance, Innocence, call and dance while you may. For this is a prelude, it is only a beginning. Strange things will be woven into it, by men you have never heard of, in places you have never seen. It is life you are going into, you are not afraid because you do not know. Call and dance, call and dance. Now, while you may.
-Alan Paton, Cry, the Beloved Country
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
I would make a great sports-caster.
“You never know what happens in Southern California tennis.” The announcer said. I didn’t know how true that was until the game started. SOMEBODY must know what happens in a game of tennis, but it certainly isn’t me.
My French class got together today in the freezing wind of VC to cheer on our classmate in the men's singles. We sat on benches outside the court and cheered in French, and made the other tennis player feel very lonely. Well, he didn’t bring his class so it was his own fault. We watched the players serve practice shots for what felt like a very long time... and learned, fifteen minutes later, that the game had already started.
For an hour and a half, we sat and watched, trying to figure out who was winning and who was losing. A few of the girls were over-zealous and cheered during the points, until a fellow with a beard came over and told them to hold off until after a point. The French guy who wasn't playing, Thomas, seemed to be the only one who knew the rules, so we waited to cheer until he cheered. That worked out alright.
It got really, really cold on that bench. I had tried to learn about tennis before the game; I had asked my parents what they knew. All I learned was that “love” meant zero. I don’t know why. I suppose that love just isn't very important to tennis players. I watched and tried to keep up with them, but I occasionally had to ask Thomas who was winning. The players were all pretty good, and though I was confused, I was impressed. When I was young, my dad took me to the park to teach me tennis. I hit the ball out of court or into the net each time I served. I have since learned that tennis is not my game.
I began to think of Eskimos and wonder why they are never cold. They're lucky.
There was no one yelling, “love-fifteen!” or any of the things you expect to hear at the court. No one kept score on a board. I suppose they thought we all knew the game. Silly people. So, I watched the players run back and forth on the court, making crazy shots look easy. Romain hit the ball somewhere and everyone clapped.
“Who won the point?” I asked someone, clapping my hands.
“I think the other guy... but I'm not sure.”
So it went. The best I can figure is that if the other player hits the ball, and it goes out, you get a point. If you hit the ball out, he gets the point. If you hit the net, people groan and you go get some water. If you have a loud class yelling at you, you get embarrassed. And still, I wonder why zero is called “love”.
Someone said it was “match point”. We watched the ball go back and forth, back and forth, until Romain hit it out of the court. Thomas groaned. We groaned after him. The game was over, and we all ran out of the icy wind. My hands were so cold! My mom called me to say she was waiting, and she had a nice treat for me: ice cream.
My French class got together today in the freezing wind of VC to cheer on our classmate in the men's singles. We sat on benches outside the court and cheered in French, and made the other tennis player feel very lonely. Well, he didn’t bring his class so it was his own fault. We watched the players serve practice shots for what felt like a very long time... and learned, fifteen minutes later, that the game had already started.
For an hour and a half, we sat and watched, trying to figure out who was winning and who was losing. A few of the girls were over-zealous and cheered during the points, until a fellow with a beard came over and told them to hold off until after a point. The French guy who wasn't playing, Thomas, seemed to be the only one who knew the rules, so we waited to cheer until he cheered. That worked out alright.
It got really, really cold on that bench. I had tried to learn about tennis before the game; I had asked my parents what they knew. All I learned was that “love” meant zero. I don’t know why. I suppose that love just isn't very important to tennis players. I watched and tried to keep up with them, but I occasionally had to ask Thomas who was winning. The players were all pretty good, and though I was confused, I was impressed. When I was young, my dad took me to the park to teach me tennis. I hit the ball out of court or into the net each time I served. I have since learned that tennis is not my game.
I began to think of Eskimos and wonder why they are never cold. They're lucky.
There was no one yelling, “love-fifteen!” or any of the things you expect to hear at the court. No one kept score on a board. I suppose they thought we all knew the game. Silly people. So, I watched the players run back and forth on the court, making crazy shots look easy. Romain hit the ball somewhere and everyone clapped.
“Who won the point?” I asked someone, clapping my hands.
“I think the other guy... but I'm not sure.”
So it went. The best I can figure is that if the other player hits the ball, and it goes out, you get a point. If you hit the ball out, he gets the point. If you hit the net, people groan and you go get some water. If you have a loud class yelling at you, you get embarrassed. And still, I wonder why zero is called “love”.
Someone said it was “match point”. We watched the ball go back and forth, back and forth, until Romain hit it out of the court. Thomas groaned. We groaned after him. The game was over, and we all ran out of the icy wind. My hands were so cold! My mom called me to say she was waiting, and she had a nice treat for me: ice cream.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Tom is at the piano talkin’ to a ghost
Playin’ with his eyes shut tight.
Here’s a little song, I learned it from the wind,
I heard it on the wind last night.
People are so strange. Every once in a while it hits me all over again and I realize how very very strange they are. Some friends of mine are all into the personality typing business, such as the Meyers-Briggs thing, and whenever it comes up in conversation it just strikes me as very odd. Sure, I've taken the test and read the essay on INFJ's (which is me, supposedly), and yeah, a lot of it does sound like me. But typing people just seems to put them in boxes. I agree that, in general, certain people are prone to certain personality traits - but to limit a person to only those traits seems unfair. For instance, an INFJ - it means I'm an introvert, am intuitive, am a feeler, and a judger. But if I do something that's outside of any of these categories, (i.e., something pragmatic or 'cold' that would seem to disagree with my 'feeler' trait) then it confuses people who view me as an INFJ. You follow? It just seems odd, like you're not allowing people any growth. It also can be extremely annoying when people think that because they know your 'type', they know you. I met a guy last summer at camp who came up with my type and from then on, to any answer I gave him, he would say, "Ah, I figured that", or "Yup, I'd've pegged you for that." There are few people who are actually predictable. Every once in a while I'm stunned by the depth of thought and personality in humans. It seems like you're doing an injustice to the human mind by thinking that you can "peg" it for anything.
That said, there are certain people that, I've realized, I don't even bother to try to understand. It's not intentional, and I didn't even know that I did it until recently. I started to notice it in writing and literature classes through the years - the people who never seem to get the deeper meanings, etc... I tend to brush right over those people because they don't seem 'deep' enough. Which is really not a nice thing to do. I like to think of myself as a very intuitive person, so I understand intuitive people. I don't understand the really literal, sensory people, and so I tend not to be around them. Which is natural I guess - most of them don't understand the figurative, intuitive people anyway - but it's not right for me to disregard them. I've been trying to figure out the thought process of someone like that, but I can't. All the same, I'd rather learn to know them by case-by-case study and conversation, instead of reading about their "type".
I don't really know what all that was for. But I want spaghetti.
Here’s a little song, I learned it from the wind,
I heard it on the wind last night.
People are so strange. Every once in a while it hits me all over again and I realize how very very strange they are. Some friends of mine are all into the personality typing business, such as the Meyers-Briggs thing, and whenever it comes up in conversation it just strikes me as very odd. Sure, I've taken the test and read the essay on INFJ's (which is me, supposedly), and yeah, a lot of it does sound like me. But typing people just seems to put them in boxes. I agree that, in general, certain people are prone to certain personality traits - but to limit a person to only those traits seems unfair. For instance, an INFJ - it means I'm an introvert, am intuitive, am a feeler, and a judger. But if I do something that's outside of any of these categories, (i.e., something pragmatic or 'cold' that would seem to disagree with my 'feeler' trait) then it confuses people who view me as an INFJ. You follow? It just seems odd, like you're not allowing people any growth. It also can be extremely annoying when people think that because they know your 'type', they know you. I met a guy last summer at camp who came up with my type and from then on, to any answer I gave him, he would say, "Ah, I figured that", or "Yup, I'd've pegged you for that." There are few people who are actually predictable. Every once in a while I'm stunned by the depth of thought and personality in humans. It seems like you're doing an injustice to the human mind by thinking that you can "peg" it for anything.
That said, there are certain people that, I've realized, I don't even bother to try to understand. It's not intentional, and I didn't even know that I did it until recently. I started to notice it in writing and literature classes through the years - the people who never seem to get the deeper meanings, etc... I tend to brush right over those people because they don't seem 'deep' enough. Which is really not a nice thing to do. I like to think of myself as a very intuitive person, so I understand intuitive people. I don't understand the really literal, sensory people, and so I tend not to be around them. Which is natural I guess - most of them don't understand the figurative, intuitive people anyway - but it's not right for me to disregard them. I've been trying to figure out the thought process of someone like that, but I can't. All the same, I'd rather learn to know them by case-by-case study and conversation, instead of reading about their "type".
I don't really know what all that was for. But I want spaghetti.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
I say, Children! Beware the bunkbeds!
Showers are a wondrous thing. I took one every day in the mountains but somehow I was brilliant and didn't bring shampoo/conditioner so my hair felt all gritty the whole time. Now, however, I am clean. :) Got home about 6, Mom and Dad dropped me off and went off to dinner with church people, so I've been unpacking, cleaning myself up, and drinking coffee. As well as being generally lazy. These few hours are my weekend - meaning, they are the time that I get to relax. I am going to make them count.
It was a good weekend. Interesting... a few unpleasantries. But good, in general. On the first day one of the mom's prayed that God would "teach us something we didn't know before". I was kind of wondering, rather stupidly, what I could learn up there. Heh... well. Don't really want to go into it, especially since it's over and really wasn't all that bad. I think sleep deprivation makes drama out of things. Suffice it to say that, for the first time since I was very young, I had a minor 'falling out' with a friend. I felt amazingly small and insecure about having to go and "talk things out". Guess I kind of forgot that things like this happen in friendships. It's sort of tough not to let pride get in and let me allow myself to feel hurt or wronged. But you know, that mom was right - God taught me something out of it, which I didn't even really realize until I got home. Mostly, I have to remember that nobody (including me - definitely including me) is perfect. We all have bad days and bad moods and you know what? people are people. It's always been kind of a weakness of mine - I tend to put the people I like up on pedestals, and if they do something that I view as stupid or wrong, the pedestal topples and I immediately dislike them. However, when something happens (and it wasn't just on their part, by the way) with someone I love, I can't just disregard them. It's definitely a lesson in patience. More of my problem than theirs. As weird as it was, I'm kind of glad for it - guess it was just God's way of reminding me that none of us are perfect, and we ALL need his grace and love to make things work out.
Anyway. Enough of this. I am sore - my neck and arms are killing me, mostly because I was painting ceilings all day yesterday. Also, I've become amazingly clumsy in my old age... this morning I was on a bunkbed and straightened up right into a light fixture with a massive dangling cobweb with many dead things in it. And this afternoon, I brilliantly decided that it would be easier to jump off a (different) bunkbed, than to climb across to another one and use the ladder... so I jumped, fell further than I thought, toppled forward, and crashed into a door which promptly opened and sent me flying out onto the porch. It was hilarious. I think I have learned my lesson, however. Bunkbeds are of the devil.
It was awesome hanging out with people. There were 43 of us this year; about 22 girls, of which all were junior-highers except Amelia, Taylor and I. So the three of us hung out with the guys the whole time. Which was nice; somehow I've always been more at ease hanging out with guys than girls. Girls are hateful creatures. They're always plotting. Take note of this, boys, and beware. Anyway, I also lost my voice the day before I left (the day we went to see Jon in The Merchant of Venice, which was, by the way, AMAZING)... I got a bit sick, see, so my voice just up and left. It's sort of coming back, but for a few days there I sounded like a 13 year old boy. Insecurities.
There is much to recount of the weekend, but I am tired and need another cup of coffee (for the road). Also, I don't feel like spilling my innermost thoughts and tales of what I think are worth telling. Because then they wouldn't be mine anymore. And we can't have that.
Goodnight. <3
It was a good weekend. Interesting... a few unpleasantries. But good, in general. On the first day one of the mom's prayed that God would "teach us something we didn't know before". I was kind of wondering, rather stupidly, what I could learn up there. Heh... well. Don't really want to go into it, especially since it's over and really wasn't all that bad. I think sleep deprivation makes drama out of things. Suffice it to say that, for the first time since I was very young, I had a minor 'falling out' with a friend. I felt amazingly small and insecure about having to go and "talk things out". Guess I kind of forgot that things like this happen in friendships. It's sort of tough not to let pride get in and let me allow myself to feel hurt or wronged. But you know, that mom was right - God taught me something out of it, which I didn't even really realize until I got home. Mostly, I have to remember that nobody (including me - definitely including me) is perfect. We all have bad days and bad moods and you know what? people are people. It's always been kind of a weakness of mine - I tend to put the people I like up on pedestals, and if they do something that I view as stupid or wrong, the pedestal topples and I immediately dislike them. However, when something happens (and it wasn't just on their part, by the way) with someone I love, I can't just disregard them. It's definitely a lesson in patience. More of my problem than theirs. As weird as it was, I'm kind of glad for it - guess it was just God's way of reminding me that none of us are perfect, and we ALL need his grace and love to make things work out.
Anyway. Enough of this. I am sore - my neck and arms are killing me, mostly because I was painting ceilings all day yesterday. Also, I've become amazingly clumsy in my old age... this morning I was on a bunkbed and straightened up right into a light fixture with a massive dangling cobweb with many dead things in it. And this afternoon, I brilliantly decided that it would be easier to jump off a (different) bunkbed, than to climb across to another one and use the ladder... so I jumped, fell further than I thought, toppled forward, and crashed into a door which promptly opened and sent me flying out onto the porch. It was hilarious. I think I have learned my lesson, however. Bunkbeds are of the devil.
It was awesome hanging out with people. There were 43 of us this year; about 22 girls, of which all were junior-highers except Amelia, Taylor and I. So the three of us hung out with the guys the whole time. Which was nice; somehow I've always been more at ease hanging out with guys than girls. Girls are hateful creatures. They're always plotting. Take note of this, boys, and beware. Anyway, I also lost my voice the day before I left (the day we went to see Jon in The Merchant of Venice, which was, by the way, AMAZING)... I got a bit sick, see, so my voice just up and left. It's sort of coming back, but for a few days there I sounded like a 13 year old boy. Insecurities.
There is much to recount of the weekend, but I am tired and need another cup of coffee (for the road). Also, I don't feel like spilling my innermost thoughts and tales of what I think are worth telling. Because then they wouldn't be mine anymore. And we can't have that.
Goodnight. <3
Thursday, April 22, 2010
1948
-"My Case Study", written by James Dean for an assignment.
(The last half, anyway.)
...I think my life will be devoted to art and dramatics. And there are so many different fields of art it would be hard to foul-up, and if I did, there are so many different things to do -- farm, sports, science, geology, coaching, teaching music. I got it and I know if I better myself that there will be no match. A fellow must have confidence. When living in California my young eyes experienced many things. It was also my luck to make three visiting trips to Indiana, going and coming a different route each time. I have been in almost every state west of Indiana. I remember all. My hobby, or what I do in my spare time, is motorcycle. I know a lot about them mechanically and I love to ride. I have been in a few races and have done well. I own a small cycle myself. When I'm not doing that, I'm usually engaged in athletics, the heartbeat of every American boy. As one strives to make a goal in a game, there should be a goal in this crazy world for all of us. I hope I know where mine is, anyway, I'm after it. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Dubois, this is the hardest subject to write about considering the information one knows of himself, I ever attempted.
(The last half, anyway.)
...I think my life will be devoted to art and dramatics. And there are so many different fields of art it would be hard to foul-up, and if I did, there are so many different things to do -- farm, sports, science, geology, coaching, teaching music. I got it and I know if I better myself that there will be no match. A fellow must have confidence. When living in California my young eyes experienced many things. It was also my luck to make three visiting trips to Indiana, going and coming a different route each time. I have been in almost every state west of Indiana. I remember all. My hobby, or what I do in my spare time, is motorcycle. I know a lot about them mechanically and I love to ride. I have been in a few races and have done well. I own a small cycle myself. When I'm not doing that, I'm usually engaged in athletics, the heartbeat of every American boy. As one strives to make a goal in a game, there should be a goal in this crazy world for all of us. I hope I know where mine is, anyway, I'm after it. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Dubois, this is the hardest subject to write about considering the information one knows of himself, I ever attempted.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I guess you call that paintin' in a cave.
Today was an odd day. I'm getting sick again (!@#$#$^#$&*@#$!!!.) *ahem*, and I guess when you're sick the days just feel really long and disjointed. My voice is hilarious - half the time it's alright, and then suddenly it just leaves completely and I sound ridiculously squeaky. And no amount of coughing can bring it back. Also, it has been insanely windy. But that has nothing to do with being sick.
I'm sitting here in my dad's sweater, and have just eaten an enormous meal of chicken-marsala which (wait for it...) I just made. By myself. I feel accomplished :)) I also feel accomplished because today was the blasted French test, and I think I did pretty well. I may have gotten a bit cocky off the high of the last test scores, but I AM expecting an A. Possibly a low A. But an A nonetheless. After class Mom and I went to Walmart (I don't care what people say, and I don't care if it makes me a cheap person. I like Walmart.) where I bought a few things for beautificational purposes (i.e., mascara, and mousse [which I leaned is NOT spelled 'moose'.]). I also bought a few one-color, non-exciting shirts that I can work in this weekend. Excited to go back to MHP. I can deal if I feel this sick... I just hope I don't get worse. Blah.
Today I stood in an elevator in the library with this old-man teacher, going from the 3rd floor to the 1st. I hate elevators, they already make me feel claustrophobic... I hate being in there with people even more. There's just this sort of understood idea to pretend the other person doesn't exist. Because I mean, what else are you going to do?
"So. You're riding the elevator."
"Yup. You too?"
"Yup."
*awkward silence*
"We're going to the same floor, I see."
"So we are!"
*awkward, longer silence.*
This entire conversation could be said in the glance you give each other when the other person enters the elevator, and in the simple words, "Down?" and "Yup.". There is a polite chuckle at the similarities of your directional preferences, and bingo. No more conversation is needed. It just makes it awkward when someone tries to spark one up. So please, world, go ahead and ignore your elevator-partner, and don't feel guilty about it. They prefer to be ignored just as much as you prefer to ignore.
Anyway... mom's coming home soon and hopefully she can give me a hair trim. I've liked the way it's looked recently, actually, but I don't want to be so high-maintenance at MHP. Or in Prague (though, that is still a ways off yet.). Then I'm going to sleep for a long long time. I will spend tomorrow with Ami, and at 5-something the parents will pick me up and we shall go see Jon's play. This is a happy thought.
My dog is sitting in the middle of the yard, facing the wind with squinty eyes and refusing to move. I don't know what's wrong with him...
I'm sitting here in my dad's sweater, and have just eaten an enormous meal of chicken-marsala which (wait for it...) I just made. By myself. I feel accomplished :)) I also feel accomplished because today was the blasted French test, and I think I did pretty well. I may have gotten a bit cocky off the high of the last test scores, but I AM expecting an A. Possibly a low A. But an A nonetheless. After class Mom and I went to Walmart (I don't care what people say, and I don't care if it makes me a cheap person. I like Walmart.) where I bought a few things for beautificational purposes (i.e., mascara, and mousse [which I leaned is NOT spelled 'moose'.]). I also bought a few one-color, non-exciting shirts that I can work in this weekend. Excited to go back to MHP. I can deal if I feel this sick... I just hope I don't get worse. Blah.
Today I stood in an elevator in the library with this old-man teacher, going from the 3rd floor to the 1st. I hate elevators, they already make me feel claustrophobic... I hate being in there with people even more. There's just this sort of understood idea to pretend the other person doesn't exist. Because I mean, what else are you going to do?
"So. You're riding the elevator."
"Yup. You too?"
"Yup."
*awkward silence*
"We're going to the same floor, I see."
"So we are!"
*awkward, longer silence.*
This entire conversation could be said in the glance you give each other when the other person enters the elevator, and in the simple words, "Down?" and "Yup.". There is a polite chuckle at the similarities of your directional preferences, and bingo. No more conversation is needed. It just makes it awkward when someone tries to spark one up. So please, world, go ahead and ignore your elevator-partner, and don't feel guilty about it. They prefer to be ignored just as much as you prefer to ignore.
Anyway... mom's coming home soon and hopefully she can give me a hair trim. I've liked the way it's looked recently, actually, but I don't want to be so high-maintenance at MHP. Or in Prague (though, that is still a ways off yet.). Then I'm going to sleep for a long long time. I will spend tomorrow with Ami, and at 5-something the parents will pick me up and we shall go see Jon's play. This is a happy thought.
My dog is sitting in the middle of the yard, facing the wind with squinty eyes and refusing to move. I don't know what's wrong with him...
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Merci, Severus.
You know how in one of the Harry Potter books, Harry gets an old text book with notes from a brilliant and slightly sadistic student? All semester I've been thinking of it, because I got my French book from my friend Laura, who got it used from someone else... and this someone else must have been very smart, because they'd marked the book all up (which has been VERY handy through the semester.). They write all these little helpful notes that I don't even know how they knew... but this one made me laugh.
There was a section about how to give and receive compliments... (C'est vraiment chic, votre robe... Quelle belle cravate... Tu trouves?... Je l'ai depuis longtemps... etc.) Handwritten, underneath all of these, was something that all sisters should know how to say:
Merci, mais tu ne l'auras pas.
(Thank you, but you can't have it.)
There was a section about how to give and receive compliments... (C'est vraiment chic, votre robe... Quelle belle cravate... Tu trouves?... Je l'ai depuis longtemps... etc.) Handwritten, underneath all of these, was something that all sisters should know how to say:
Merci, mais tu ne l'auras pas.
(Thank you, but you can't have it.)
Head moment
Getting sick again, curses! Won't allow it... not until this week's over. Throat hurts. Head kills... possibly homework's fault. French test tomorrow... yikes. Have spent today going between a few pages of french and youtube videos about Erin and Maks from DWTS... they're hilarious. ('hilarious' in his case meaning ridiculously attractive.) Just want to drink coffee... throat hurts too much. Why am I so sickly, darnit? Want to sleep... going to watch tv instead. Then back to studying. Can't study more right now. My mind is plotting a mutiny.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Le triomphe!
Guess who got 101.5% on the last French test? AND whose teacher let class out an hour early? I am smiling like a triumphant pig. Who knew Mondays could be so nice.
Also, got the casting for 1776 the other day. Aside from a role as a congressmen (they need all the ones they can get...) I was cast as Martha Jefferson, one of the only two women in the play. It's quite nice, because I actually get lines of my own and a song. :) Though, she's only on stage for literally like five minutes... that's why it's nice to be the representative of Maryland as well. Though I have few lines as the man, I get to be in the background for most of the play. These roles have the promise of making rehearsals the most fun. *sly grin* Ha, and you know what else? This will be my third play this year, making it the third play this year in which Joseph and I are a couple. It's really quite hilarious. Though I think they only do that because he's the only boy in the cast who's taller than me. (Good for you, Joseph, by the by.)
I need to write more envelopes up for the Prague-letters. I also need to study for Wednesday's french test (hopefully I can duplicate the good grades..) AND I need to practice piano for tomorrow's lesson. Somehow I always end up forgetting to do that until the few days before. Ugh. I should tattoo my duties to my forehead or something...
OH. Another good thing. Yesterday was the last day to sign up for the ACHEV Spring Arts Festival. Last year Amelia and I played "Yosemite" by Rain Perry, which was awesome. That was when I got addicted to performing in front of an audience. This year, we're gonna do a song that she wrote (well, I wrote a verse... but she did the rest.) and then JON and I are going to play and sing "Yankee Bayonet". This makes me ridiculously happy. I've got the coolest brother ever.
So you who know us... be there or be square. <3
I'm going to go eat spaghetti and celebrate the day's triumphs. Then I will pretend to be busy until tonight, when I will sit down and think about how to politely stalk Evan Lysacek while I watch DWTS.
Also, got the casting for 1776 the other day. Aside from a role as a congressmen (they need all the ones they can get...) I was cast as Martha Jefferson, one of the only two women in the play. It's quite nice, because I actually get lines of my own and a song. :) Though, she's only on stage for literally like five minutes... that's why it's nice to be the representative of Maryland as well. Though I have few lines as the man, I get to be in the background for most of the play. These roles have the promise of making rehearsals the most fun. *sly grin* Ha, and you know what else? This will be my third play this year, making it the third play this year in which Joseph and I are a couple. It's really quite hilarious. Though I think they only do that because he's the only boy in the cast who's taller than me. (Good for you, Joseph, by the by.)
I need to write more envelopes up for the Prague-letters. I also need to study for Wednesday's french test (hopefully I can duplicate the good grades..) AND I need to practice piano for tomorrow's lesson. Somehow I always end up forgetting to do that until the few days before. Ugh. I should tattoo my duties to my forehead or something...
OH. Another good thing. Yesterday was the last day to sign up for the ACHEV Spring Arts Festival. Last year Amelia and I played "Yosemite" by Rain Perry, which was awesome. That was when I got addicted to performing in front of an audience. This year, we're gonna do a song that she wrote (well, I wrote a verse... but she did the rest.) and then JON and I are going to play and sing "Yankee Bayonet". This makes me ridiculously happy. I've got the coolest brother ever.
So you who know us... be there or be square. <3
I'm going to go eat spaghetti and celebrate the day's triumphs. Then I will pretend to be busy until tonight, when I will sit down and think about how to politely stalk Evan Lysacek while I watch DWTS.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
And I will sing a lullaby.
9 days of French, 12 days of math. 30 days, twelve hours, left in all. Having been counting down since February, these numbers are a major improvement.
This weekend went way too fast. Friday was Groups, after which I went to Amelia's and spent the night... stayed up too late and drank (somehow) not enough coffee. We also seem to have no grasp of time, because we were playing the guitar and making up a ridiculously weird and amazing song when (apparently) everyone else was trying to sleep. Oops. Around two or three I tried to get up from where I was sitting on her bed and literally FELL off. Not slipped, or tripped, or simply mis-landed... actually FELL. I swung myself off the bed, my socks slipped on her wooden floor, I reached out to balance myself with her chair but, as it was on wheels, the chair went one way and I went another, and landed with a thud on the floor. It was hilarious, and my knees are bruised to prove it. ha, not quite as bruised as Kate's knees though, but that was her own fault.
Last night was the sock-hop dance, which is always fun because those 50's skirts twirl extraordinarily well on spins. (Why ARE those called 'poodle skirts' anyway, when they don't even have poodles ON them?) Somehow Amelia and I ended up talking to people outside more than dancing, but that was good too. It was too crowded inside anyway.
I've been reading over my travel journal from last summer (Hawaii and Mile High Pines). It's fun to read the stuff that you'd sort of forgotten. I'm going back to MHP this weekend with the Groups gang, and I'm excited. I didn't realize how much I missed it up there.
I need to get sleep tonight. This is a must. I also need to go eat something. This is another must.
This weekend went way too fast. Friday was Groups, after which I went to Amelia's and spent the night... stayed up too late and drank (somehow) not enough coffee. We also seem to have no grasp of time, because we were playing the guitar and making up a ridiculously weird and amazing song when (apparently) everyone else was trying to sleep. Oops. Around two or three I tried to get up from where I was sitting on her bed and literally FELL off. Not slipped, or tripped, or simply mis-landed... actually FELL. I swung myself off the bed, my socks slipped on her wooden floor, I reached out to balance myself with her chair but, as it was on wheels, the chair went one way and I went another, and landed with a thud on the floor. It was hilarious, and my knees are bruised to prove it. ha, not quite as bruised as Kate's knees though, but that was her own fault.
Last night was the sock-hop dance, which is always fun because those 50's skirts twirl extraordinarily well on spins. (Why ARE those called 'poodle skirts' anyway, when they don't even have poodles ON them?) Somehow Amelia and I ended up talking to people outside more than dancing, but that was good too. It was too crowded inside anyway.
I've been reading over my travel journal from last summer (Hawaii and Mile High Pines). It's fun to read the stuff that you'd sort of forgotten. I'm going back to MHP this weekend with the Groups gang, and I'm excited. I didn't realize how much I missed it up there.
I need to get sleep tonight. This is a must. I also need to go eat something. This is another must.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Putting up and pulling down...
... one of my favorite amusements.
(If you tell me who said that without googling it I shall be halfway impressed.)
I am so mean. My cat's sitting outside the door to the room where I'm sitting, meowing pitifully (the cat, not me) and all I'm doing about it is sitting here snickering at her. I must really hate her to be so vengeful.
I need a new project. A few summers ago I was having a bad time with something, so at night I'd go up to my room and, nail by nail, tear down this huge shelf I'd had since I was like six, until it was nothing more than a pile of screws and planks. By the end of the summer, I was completely healed. I've thought about putting it back together so I can tear it apart again, just so I'd have something to actually do. But then I realized that I had no idea how to build a shelf. So I started writing instead.
I've spent too long working towards things, and not enough time actually accomplishing anything. I wish I had something that could give me immediate gratification, like a massive puzzle that you could watch come together step by step. The only trouble is that I hate puzzles. And Monopoly, but that's got nothing to do with anything. I really admire the people who work so tirelessly and hardly ever see results. My dad, for example, is always in a flood of things to do, and I know it frustrates him, but he never stops. Like, never. And I feel kind of like, well, I'm glad it's not MY job... but at the same time, when I'm intelligent enough to think about it, I'm really amazed by all that he does. And yet, at the end of so many days, he'll sit back, shake his head and say, "I did not do ANYTHING that I needed to do today." Well, maybe he didn't... but one thing for sure is that he never wastes his time. And that, I think, is to be admired more than anything. I hope someday I can have the guts to be like that... however tiresome it may be.
It's rather non-related to this topic, but I came across Proverbs 16:9 today (in one of those silly study-guide books that asks you the same question ten times in different words), and it very much seems to apply to my life right now...
In his heart a man plans his course,
but the Lord determines his steps.
It's reassuring, don't you think?
(If you tell me who said that without googling it I shall be halfway impressed.)
I am so mean. My cat's sitting outside the door to the room where I'm sitting, meowing pitifully (the cat, not me) and all I'm doing about it is sitting here snickering at her. I must really hate her to be so vengeful.
I need a new project. A few summers ago I was having a bad time with something, so at night I'd go up to my room and, nail by nail, tear down this huge shelf I'd had since I was like six, until it was nothing more than a pile of screws and planks. By the end of the summer, I was completely healed. I've thought about putting it back together so I can tear it apart again, just so I'd have something to actually do. But then I realized that I had no idea how to build a shelf. So I started writing instead.
I've spent too long working towards things, and not enough time actually accomplishing anything. I wish I had something that could give me immediate gratification, like a massive puzzle that you could watch come together step by step. The only trouble is that I hate puzzles. And Monopoly, but that's got nothing to do with anything. I really admire the people who work so tirelessly and hardly ever see results. My dad, for example, is always in a flood of things to do, and I know it frustrates him, but he never stops. Like, never. And I feel kind of like, well, I'm glad it's not MY job... but at the same time, when I'm intelligent enough to think about it, I'm really amazed by all that he does. And yet, at the end of so many days, he'll sit back, shake his head and say, "I did not do ANYTHING that I needed to do today." Well, maybe he didn't... but one thing for sure is that he never wastes his time. And that, I think, is to be admired more than anything. I hope someday I can have the guts to be like that... however tiresome it may be.
It's rather non-related to this topic, but I came across Proverbs 16:9 today (in one of those silly study-guide books that asks you the same question ten times in different words), and it very much seems to apply to my life right now...
In his heart a man plans his course,
but the Lord determines his steps.
It's reassuring, don't you think?
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The highway sets the travelers stage
all exits look the same.
All I really seem able to do right now is write random things to myself. I realize that this detracts from whatever importance might have been in whatever I wrote previously - it's like how nobody will comment on a photo album with 100 photos, but EVERYONE will comment on 1 or 2 pictures... facebook I hate you - but I don't care all that much right now. I'm drinking coffee and listening to Julie Andrews' favorite things. And then I don't feel so bad.
OH it's Sister Suffragette! I must march.
... That's better.
Where were we? Ah yes, I came on here to see if I could figure out how to do a count-down on my profile, you know, to the end of school. Within reach now. I am a happy girl.
A strange thing happened to me today, I've started assuming everyone is French. When Mom and I took a lengthy walk to pick up our pizza, we were passed on the sidewalk by a tall fellow on a skateboard and his scraggly dog. I think he was good-looking, but I also think that I didn't really see him at all - I was too busy trying to look nonchalant in my cool long coat. Anyway, in passing he muttered something which (for some reason) I assumed was "ça va?" but what was really probably just something like "hello". Then I spent the rest of the time trying to figure out if he was one of the French fellows from my class, but as I hadn't seen him, I couldn't be sure. It was frustrating. On the same walk, a car drove by (one of those pimped up ugly things) and a guy with ridiculous sunglasses leaned out the window and hollered, "Hey hey, pretty girl!" at me. It could have been at my mother, actually. Which would just be weird. But that had nothing to do with the French thing at all. I wonder if men actually get any success by doing things like that. I mean, really. Do they expect us to look up and say, "Ah! An admirer! I think I love you." Kate and I were once barked at. That was terribly unattractive.
I feel like I need to write more. Not blogs, I mean stories, or poems, or anything that is anything more than mindless rambles. I do like mindless rambles, but there's not much of a future in that. (Unless you're the woman who writes the Twilight books, of course.) You know those books you read, and you feel like the author somehow KNEW what you needed to read/think about? They just hit you the right way at the right time, and you forever feel this undying loyalty to them. That's the kind of thing I want to write. Something beautiful, something that makes people think. That's what attracts me about acting, too. You have this sudden amazing opportunity to tell people a story; you put your all into it and if you do it right, you know that they won't quickly forget it. There's nothing like it.
I'm so tired these days... makes me feel old. HEY, speaking of being old. I have, for a whole week now, been 17. Congratulations to me. :) I think this year will be better than last year. It had better be, in fact. New Year's this year wasn't much to speak of, so I'm counting this (having started April 7th) as the start of my New Year.
Many happy returns.
All I really seem able to do right now is write random things to myself. I realize that this detracts from whatever importance might have been in whatever I wrote previously - it's like how nobody will comment on a photo album with 100 photos, but EVERYONE will comment on 1 or 2 pictures... facebook I hate you - but I don't care all that much right now. I'm drinking coffee and listening to Julie Andrews' favorite things. And then I don't feel so bad.
OH it's Sister Suffragette! I must march.
... That's better.
Where were we? Ah yes, I came on here to see if I could figure out how to do a count-down on my profile, you know, to the end of school. Within reach now. I am a happy girl.
A strange thing happened to me today, I've started assuming everyone is French. When Mom and I took a lengthy walk to pick up our pizza, we were passed on the sidewalk by a tall fellow on a skateboard and his scraggly dog. I think he was good-looking, but I also think that I didn't really see him at all - I was too busy trying to look nonchalant in my cool long coat. Anyway, in passing he muttered something which (for some reason) I assumed was "ça va?" but what was really probably just something like "hello". Then I spent the rest of the time trying to figure out if he was one of the French fellows from my class, but as I hadn't seen him, I couldn't be sure. It was frustrating. On the same walk, a car drove by (one of those pimped up ugly things) and a guy with ridiculous sunglasses leaned out the window and hollered, "Hey hey, pretty girl!" at me. It could have been at my mother, actually. Which would just be weird. But that had nothing to do with the French thing at all. I wonder if men actually get any success by doing things like that. I mean, really. Do they expect us to look up and say, "Ah! An admirer! I think I love you." Kate and I were once barked at. That was terribly unattractive.
I feel like I need to write more. Not blogs, I mean stories, or poems, or anything that is anything more than mindless rambles. I do like mindless rambles, but there's not much of a future in that. (Unless you're the woman who writes the Twilight books, of course.) You know those books you read, and you feel like the author somehow KNEW what you needed to read/think about? They just hit you the right way at the right time, and you forever feel this undying loyalty to them. That's the kind of thing I want to write. Something beautiful, something that makes people think. That's what attracts me about acting, too. You have this sudden amazing opportunity to tell people a story; you put your all into it and if you do it right, you know that they won't quickly forget it. There's nothing like it.
I'm so tired these days... makes me feel old. HEY, speaking of being old. I have, for a whole week now, been 17. Congratulations to me. :) I think this year will be better than last year. It had better be, in fact. New Year's this year wasn't much to speak of, so I'm counting this (having started April 7th) as the start of my New Year.
Many happy returns.
You can't always get what you want...
Like pizza. I could really go for some right now.
Well then there now. Horrible morning, good afternoon, sore fingers. The fingers being sore because I've been playing guitar for two hours. I play and sing songs I wrote at the top of my lungs when nobody's home. I sit on my desk, next to the window, and close the shades except for an inch or so, and enjoy watching the women who walk their dogs look around to figure out where the angelic sounds are coming from. (ha...) Anyway, morning was horrible because I had to take an assessment in math and apparently did so badly that I was set back like 9 lessons. But it shouldn't take too long to get back on track.... I hope. This afternoon was good because, although French was terrifying, I was miraculously able to give the right answer (TWICE) both times she called on me. This almost never happens. As that woman Niecy said on DWTS the other night, "I got angels! Angels and caffeine!"
Also - Hans Zimmer is a brilliant man. The theme from Sherlock Holmes is basically all you need to make you a superhero. AND. Jon, Kate and I are basically the best dancers ever. That's all about that.
Beth, of course I don't go around giving my phone number to random people. You silly woman. Besides, I hate phones. I'd much rather get a coffee with said people. ;) I kid, I kid....
I know the hike was ages ago (at least a few weeks...) but Taylor just posted pictures and I thought this one was so incredibly beautiful. In the middle of the picture, there's a long street with a row of streetlamps - that's the street we took across town, from the pier (which is just barely visible, way down at the water's edge.).
She took this picture while we were still working our way up. So lovely... but so cold... gah. Thinking about it makes me want a jacket.
I'm so glad I don't have to go anywhere tomorrow. This is a lovely thought. Then Friday is Groups, which means I have much homework to do before then.... but that's a day and a half away. If there's anything I've learned in highschool, it's the value of a minute. This is where the habit of "cramming" comes from.
Mom and I are going to go get calzone. Which I will enjoy, despite the nagging voice in my head that keeps telling me that one of these days I will be fat. It's a little more friendly than the other voice, which tells me faithfully that I'm ALREADY fat...
Well then there now. Horrible morning, good afternoon, sore fingers. The fingers being sore because I've been playing guitar for two hours. I play and sing songs I wrote at the top of my lungs when nobody's home. I sit on my desk, next to the window, and close the shades except for an inch or so, and enjoy watching the women who walk their dogs look around to figure out where the angelic sounds are coming from. (ha...) Anyway, morning was horrible because I had to take an assessment in math and apparently did so badly that I was set back like 9 lessons. But it shouldn't take too long to get back on track.... I hope. This afternoon was good because, although French was terrifying, I was miraculously able to give the right answer (TWICE) both times she called on me. This almost never happens. As that woman Niecy said on DWTS the other night, "I got angels! Angels and caffeine!"
Also - Hans Zimmer is a brilliant man. The theme from Sherlock Holmes is basically all you need to make you a superhero. AND. Jon, Kate and I are basically the best dancers ever. That's all about that.
Beth, of course I don't go around giving my phone number to random people. You silly woman. Besides, I hate phones. I'd much rather get a coffee with said people. ;) I kid, I kid....
I know the hike was ages ago (at least a few weeks...) but Taylor just posted pictures and I thought this one was so incredibly beautiful. In the middle of the picture, there's a long street with a row of streetlamps - that's the street we took across town, from the pier (which is just barely visible, way down at the water's edge.).
She took this picture while we were still working our way up. So lovely... but so cold... gah. Thinking about it makes me want a jacket.
I'm so glad I don't have to go anywhere tomorrow. This is a lovely thought. Then Friday is Groups, which means I have much homework to do before then.... but that's a day and a half away. If there's anything I've learned in highschool, it's the value of a minute. This is where the habit of "cramming" comes from.
Mom and I are going to go get calzone. Which I will enjoy, despite the nagging voice in my head that keeps telling me that one of these days I will be fat. It's a little more friendly than the other voice, which tells me faithfully that I'm ALREADY fat...
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Thoughts, et cetera.
Present thought:
So tired. So, so tired. I really should go to sleep sometime, because I need brains tomorrow... but ech. The thought of school is so utterly detestable right now that all I want is for today to stay today and tomorrow to stay TOMORROW as long as possible. Unfortunately, that is only possible for another hour. C'est la vie.
Surviving thought:
I have exactly 10 days of French left, and something like 14 days of Math. Then I will walk off the campus, come that blessed day in May, and suppress a shout of glee as I glance back over my shoulder at the wretched place. And, to quote the words of one Mr. George Sanders, say to those poor suckers enrolled in summer school: "I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool - good luck."
(How ironic that that should be my surviving thought... it certainly wasn't George's.)
Nice thought:
A backrub. Hiss, you're never around when I need you.
Hilarious thought:
The "Mootopia" commercial with the two guys arm-wrestling/wit-battling. Unfortunately I can't find this anywhere on the internet. But it cracks me up every time I see it on tv.
Satisfied thought:
Wrote a song today. Not a masterpiece but the first thing I've written in a few months. And it's not sad!
Happy thought:
The word "fonduta."
So tired. So, so tired. I really should go to sleep sometime, because I need brains tomorrow... but ech. The thought of school is so utterly detestable right now that all I want is for today to stay today and tomorrow to stay TOMORROW as long as possible. Unfortunately, that is only possible for another hour. C'est la vie.
Surviving thought:
I have exactly 10 days of French left, and something like 14 days of Math. Then I will walk off the campus, come that blessed day in May, and suppress a shout of glee as I glance back over my shoulder at the wretched place. And, to quote the words of one Mr. George Sanders, say to those poor suckers enrolled in summer school: "I am leaving you with your worries in this sweet cesspool - good luck."
(How ironic that that should be my surviving thought... it certainly wasn't George's.)
Nice thought:
A backrub. Hiss, you're never around when I need you.
Hilarious thought:
The "Mootopia" commercial with the two guys arm-wrestling/wit-battling. Unfortunately I can't find this anywhere on the internet. But it cracks me up every time I see it on tv.
Satisfied thought:
Wrote a song today. Not a masterpiece but the first thing I've written in a few months. And it's not sad!
Happy thought:
The word "fonduta."
Lessons from community college #134
Don't assume that the cute french guy in class is gay. He might wink at you.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
If you live you will learn.
It occurred to me today that I haven't written in a while. I keep thinking about writing but then I realize I've got nothing particularly interesting to say that day, so I don't. Then, sometimes, something interesting will hit me and I'll think about it so much that I just begin to assume I've already written it. That happens to me with conversations with people, too. I hardly see my best friend anymore (just because of busy schedules), and I'll think of all these things that I need to tell her when I see her next... and then when I DO see her, I assume I've already told her, so I don't. I've got all these dozens of conversations going on in my head - all these balls up in the air - and if I were to discard one of them, I'd probably drop them all.
Every once in a while I get panicky about what I'm going to do with myself one day. This year has been a race - head down, arms pumping, just concentrating on getting over the next hurdle. If I look up, it'd be like the balls and conversations I just referred to - I'd be sure to trip over the hurdle and go headlong into the dirt. I know it can't keep going like that, though. I suppose I should learn to multitask. I need to think about college, and careers, and all that stuff that comes with growing up... but when I start to think about it all, I get worried and frustrated that it won't work out, so I stop. Which is not the best way to deal with problems.
I'd only admit this if I was in an honest enough mood (which, I suppose, I am right now) : Something happened to me over the autumn and winter of this past year. I think I kept all the things that were frustrating me and making me sad locked up inside of me, until it all just kind of seeped through the lock and went into my bloodstream and spread. Sometimes parts of me feel deadened. I was trying to fight it off for so long that I just got tired; situations at home, situations with friends, and the situation with my grandpa, all just settled in on top of me and I haven't felt the same since.
I've become a dependent person, and I've always given such praise to independence. I feel like a stranger when I'm alone or at school - like I've become a person that I've never met and don't particularly like, with taste very different from my own and mood swings that I don't know how to handle. It's not that I'm bipolar or anything - I don't lash out at people. In fact I think it's the absence of lashing-out that has done this to me. But when I'm around my siblings or my best friend, THEN I become happy and funny and THEN I actually like myself. I hate that my happiness depends on other people. It makes it so miserable when they're not around. For example, last week Kate was home for her Easter break, and this week Jon was home. For two weeks, I actually felt like I knew who I was. And then yesterday when my brother drove off in his loud little yellow car, I lost myself all over again. I don't mind leaving, but I hate being left. Selfish as that sounds.
My mom goes on these yearly women's retreats and when I was little I used to get sick and cry every time she left. Then one year, she gave me this beautiful little candle and told me to light it whenever I missed her. I still remember sitting on my bedroom floor at night, watching the flame. It's been a longtime since I was that physically bothered by somebody going on a trip, but I still light the candle sometimes, in this bizarre sort of hope that it will make everything better like it used to. I don't know when problems get bigger than the power of something like a candle, but they do. I wish there was some simple solution to these problems - I wish there was some small object that my mom could give me and tell me that if I did such-and-such, then everything would be alright. But somewhere along the way, I guess life's problems found a way to out-fox life's candles.
Every once in a while I get panicky about what I'm going to do with myself one day. This year has been a race - head down, arms pumping, just concentrating on getting over the next hurdle. If I look up, it'd be like the balls and conversations I just referred to - I'd be sure to trip over the hurdle and go headlong into the dirt. I know it can't keep going like that, though. I suppose I should learn to multitask. I need to think about college, and careers, and all that stuff that comes with growing up... but when I start to think about it all, I get worried and frustrated that it won't work out, so I stop. Which is not the best way to deal with problems.
I'd only admit this if I was in an honest enough mood (which, I suppose, I am right now) : Something happened to me over the autumn and winter of this past year. I think I kept all the things that were frustrating me and making me sad locked up inside of me, until it all just kind of seeped through the lock and went into my bloodstream and spread. Sometimes parts of me feel deadened. I was trying to fight it off for so long that I just got tired; situations at home, situations with friends, and the situation with my grandpa, all just settled in on top of me and I haven't felt the same since.
I've become a dependent person, and I've always given such praise to independence. I feel like a stranger when I'm alone or at school - like I've become a person that I've never met and don't particularly like, with taste very different from my own and mood swings that I don't know how to handle. It's not that I'm bipolar or anything - I don't lash out at people. In fact I think it's the absence of lashing-out that has done this to me. But when I'm around my siblings or my best friend, THEN I become happy and funny and THEN I actually like myself. I hate that my happiness depends on other people. It makes it so miserable when they're not around. For example, last week Kate was home for her Easter break, and this week Jon was home. For two weeks, I actually felt like I knew who I was. And then yesterday when my brother drove off in his loud little yellow car, I lost myself all over again. I don't mind leaving, but I hate being left. Selfish as that sounds.
My mom goes on these yearly women's retreats and when I was little I used to get sick and cry every time she left. Then one year, she gave me this beautiful little candle and told me to light it whenever I missed her. I still remember sitting on my bedroom floor at night, watching the flame. It's been a longtime since I was that physically bothered by somebody going on a trip, but I still light the candle sometimes, in this bizarre sort of hope that it will make everything better like it used to. I don't know when problems get bigger than the power of something like a candle, but they do. I wish there was some simple solution to these problems - I wish there was some small object that my mom could give me and tell me that if I did such-and-such, then everything would be alright. But somewhere along the way, I guess life's problems found a way to out-fox life's candles.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Wise words.
Kate and I spent the evening at Ami’s, just sitting and talking to her and watching some old TV shows. As we were leaving and getting her ready for bed, Ami showed us a little suitcase full of cards and letters that Papa had given her over the years. We looked through a few – I don’t think any of us were really up to the task of doing so exhaustively, at least not yet, anyway. Kate took Ami’s breakfast tray away to the kitchen, and after Ami closed the suitcase, she wrapped her arms around me and said, “It’s not an easy world out there, kiddo. But you can get by it all, just so long as you remember to say, ‘I’m going straight on’. That’s what we do best. And if something stops you, don’t let it get you down. Just…. poke them in the nose.”
Hamlet's omelet
Don't you just love those days when your hair looks great and you hardly had to work on it? It was especially handy today, because Mom took me and Kate to apply for our passports this morning :D Kate's just getting hers so she can have one in-case... obviously, I had to get mine as I'm flying away in a few months. :) Excitement is starting to kick in.
Last night was marvelous. Kate (who, by the by, just made me a magnificent omelet - wonderful child) , Katrina and I went to see "The Wolfman", which I actually enjoyed a lot more than I thought I would. Very cool style. Also, my first R-rated movie that I've seen in the theaters. I think... can't remember any otherwise. Anyway, then we went to Barnes n' Noble and looked at books about serial killers for a while... and, of course, then became inspired to go home and watch "Zodiac". (It just hit me that I saw more people murdered last night than I think I ever have...) I went to bed around three.
I have ridiculous amounts of French to do. I'm starting to freak out about the test... yesterday I was working on the workbook pages, to get ready for it, and one of the sections was called "des excuses" about all the various reasons that a bunch of students failed their French exam. Yes, Madame, I see the literary device of foreshadowing... can't say that I really appreciate it.
I'm going to go finish my omelet. Why does that word remind me of the name Hamlet?
Last night was marvelous. Kate (who, by the by, just made me a magnificent omelet - wonderful child) , Katrina and I went to see "The Wolfman", which I actually enjoyed a lot more than I thought I would. Very cool style. Also, my first R-rated movie that I've seen in the theaters. I think... can't remember any otherwise. Anyway, then we went to Barnes n' Noble and looked at books about serial killers for a while... and, of course, then became inspired to go home and watch "Zodiac". (It just hit me that I saw more people murdered last night than I think I ever have...) I went to bed around three.
I have ridiculous amounts of French to do. I'm starting to freak out about the test... yesterday I was working on the workbook pages, to get ready for it, and one of the sections was called "des excuses" about all the various reasons that a bunch of students failed their French exam. Yes, Madame, I see the literary device of foreshadowing... can't say that I really appreciate it.
I'm going to go finish my omelet. Why does that word remind me of the name Hamlet?
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