Someone please save us, us college kids.

You always hear about people exhausting themselves in the college lifestyle - you know, not sleeping, not eating, etc.... I'm kind of getting a jump-start on that NOW, and I don't think it's doing me any favors. It's weird; I'm so so sooo tired this week (haven't really had a day to sit back and catch up), so I force myself to have enough energy to make it through the day, and then at night I'm still riding high off caffeine so I'm not tired. So I don't really go to bed until early morning, anyway... I wake up, physically exhausted, and the whole process starts again. I thought summer was for relaxing and sleeping in? I don't mean to complain, really... it's been a great summer so far, and I've seen my friends a lot more often than I did during the semester. So that's a good thing... it's just.... I'm SO TIRED.

Last night I went to a beach near Malibu with Amelia's youth group, and I didn't get home till about 11... Also, I still smell like smoke. But I actually love the smell of campfires... I thought everyone did, but apparently that's just me? Anyway, then I stayed up and ate spaghetti and watched Friends and a few various other things... this morning I woke up at 6, extremely angry at my alarm clock, and I couldn't remember what I had to wake up for until I was already in the shower. Wednesday = rehearsals. We only have 6 more until the play, which is terrifying. AND, I'm only going to be there for 3 of them. Even MORE terrifying. Today was fun, though, we got a lot done AND I got to come home at noon. So that was lovely.

Now, however, I've got to muster up the energy to go to the junior youth-group thing we started at our church. As I'm the only "older" teen, I apparently have the responsibility of being the "cool" one who gets the younger kids interested in games like volleyball and whatnot. Which means, I have to have energy. Blah.

On a different note, I have a lovely Martha costume that Mom made. I put it on today and figured out a pretty way to wear the wig, and it all looked so nice! Unfortunately nobody was home to show it to... which is sad. I'm kind of curious as to how we're working out the bows - I just thought of that. Because in the last scene, I'm in my Samuel Chase costume, which involves man-clothes and a few pillows (the man was, to quote John Adams, "a tub of lard".)... maybe after the congressmen all take their bows, somebody can toss me the Martha wig to bow with. haha. Anyway, something to think about....

Oh. And I think that I've graduated high-school. For many various reasons, it's easier for my future VC-life if I call myself a full-time student from now on. I'm still going to graduate with ACHEV next year, but technically I'm done with high-school. So that's new.

On a compleeeeetely different note, I've been a frustrated writer lately. I generally write fictitious things, but recently I've written some really GOOD short stories that are based off of real things that have happened to me. The problem is, they involve real people... so if I don't want people to be mad at me for portraying them a certain way, I can't do anything with the story. Which sucks. I mean on the one hand, people's feelings are important. On the other hand, writers WRITE. How much should you let your creativity be stifled by what other people think?

All this thinking makes me hungry. And I'm tired of spaghetti. Bah.

Last I looked, we weren't all that into communism...

I got one of those email petition things that wanted me to sign my name to stop a bust of Stalin from being put up in the National D-Day Museum in Virginia. I hate those email petition things (half of them are fakes anyway) so I looked it up for myself. This is what I found.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alex-storozynski/us-honors-stalin-on-hallo_b_363141.html

How is that even possible? Sure, it's a privately owned museum and as such the owner can do what he pleases. Americans have the right to express themselves, after all. But Stalin? In the same place where veterans are being honored? This should be offensive to anyone whose family has ever fought in the US Army. I can't understand how anyone in their right mind would put up an image of the man the entire world was fighting, alongside with our heroes. And especially now that this McIntosh wants to receive federal tax dollars... how does he expect the American people to just let that happen? Granted, the American government hasn't been much of the patriotic kind lately, but if they allow this to happen, it will send out an even bigger message. The American people are losing backbone. Since when does "being accepting" include celebrating the acts of a mass murderer?

I find it a little strange...

that I'm white and I make amazing quesadillas. Seriously, amazing. In fact last summer at camp when I was working in the kitchen, a girl from a Hispanic group came up and told me that it was the best quesadilla she'd ever had. Racism is silly - it should be decided, not on the color of someone's skin, but on how well they can make Mexican food.

Me and My Ninja

Long day. Tiring day. Good day.

I got to hang out with my little asian brother (aka, The Cub, or more commonly, Luke) and Uncle David all day. I then came home and read some about Gatsby and his greatness (also, Fitzgerald, I love you. How do you write the way you do?), and then went off to church for the youth night. Laura Mc came for me, which was lovely. We all played volleyball. Or more appropriately, they played volleyball, I swung wildly, and Laura ducked. Which, in some countries, might be a real game after all. Anyway. The Cub.

Firstly, Uncle D had Luke dressed to impress. He was sporting a Yellow Submarine T-shirt, and underneath, a white T with green letters that read "Kiss me, I'm Irish". People gave the boy some veeeeeery odd looks throughout the day. Anyway - first we went to the pier. The last time I was there it was 4:30 AM, empty, and pitch-black and beautiful. This time it was crowded, a bit muggy, and loud - but still lovely. Luke was afraid at first (nearly crying, the poor lad) because he thought he was going to slip between the cracks in the pier. The only way I could get him to go all the way down the pier was to keep sighting pigeons, and then saying, "Let's get them!" We would then run about twenty yards until the birds flew off, at which time I would find another bird up ahead to aim for. In this fashion, we made it to the end. The pier was filled with fishermen, their bait, and their dogs (among which were such names as Sunshine and Bear). Fishermen, though creepy, are very friendly, and we got a look at a few of their catches. One fellow was sitting on a bench and shouted to me (while Luke and I were busy chasing a pigeon), "Hey, if you guys pull that yellow rope up, you'll see something cool." It sounded a little suspicious to me, but Uncle David went to the railing and gave the yellow rope a few tugs. Presently, a very strange (and somewhat large - perhaps 3 or 4 feet in length) creature was lifted above the surface of the water. I asked the fellow what it was, but I couldn't understand his answer. It sounded like some kind of shark - it was really weird looking. Cool, though... if you're into fish...

Anyway, from the pier we went to In N Out, which was a real blast from the past - Uncle David used to always take us there. Then we drove to the park near the beach, where we flew kites last time. This time, though, Luke and I contented ourselves with running on the sand, trying to knock over the palm trees, and commandeering a pirate ship playground. It was rather crowded there too, which didn't sit well with Luke - the boy is rather possessive of his pirate ship, and of his co-captain. I had to pull him off of a few kids who were attempting to take his place. (After our jaunt on the pier, he wouldn't let me out of his sight, or let my hand out of his. I suppose I've been claimed.) So we ran around growling and calling each other "captain" and having a merry time.

At one point, he was at the ships' wheel and yelled to me, "We're heading through a storm! Hold on!" So I promptly grabbed a pole.
"Don't worry," he said bravely, "I'll get us there!"
"Where are we headed, cap'n?"
"Costco!"

Then later, we were climbing around underneath the jungle-gym (my knees are killing me) and this stupid little kid with a mohawk came in and pointed his fingers like a gun at Luke and started shouting "BANG BANG BANG!" Luke stared at him for a minute and I was about to intervene when he suddenly started waving his arms in Taekwondo fashion and hit the "gun" from the kids' hand. The kid ran away. I was so proud of my little ninja!

I think I'll be a reasonably good mother; I get along so well with the young kids. And then they hit middle-school. Then we should send them all to boot camp...

To our... survival.

I've come to realize I get very clingy over a few people. Mostly family... although Amelia's been gone a week, and now she's home (since last night, or this morning, perhaps, I'm not really sure) and the fact that I haven't been able to get a hold of her via phone/facebook is driving me crazy. I'm also very clingy over my brother. I notice that I'm getting worse about that issue of mine - the issue of forgetting to miss people until I actually see them. And then when they leave again, it gets worse every time. That phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder" has never really applied to me. When someone is gone, they're gone. It takes a little while to get used to, but it works for me: I stop bothering to contact them if they don't contact me back, and I stop thinking of events in terms of what's available to them. Absence really just makes me forget. When the person I miss comes back and disrupts my happy forgetfulness, I get more and more miserable with each time I see them drive away again.

Things have been so busy for me lately that I've forgotten that I really dislike some things about life this year. Important things; not just little things that teenagers inevitably get angsty about. These things matter. But I've been so busy, like I said, that I forget about them... things like how much I miss my parents hugs. Or another teen's conversation. Or sitting on the couch and having a cup of coffee with someone in perfect silence, for goodness' sake. Then when things slow down, and someone or something reminds me of what life in this house used to be like before everyone went away and grew up, I get depressed.

Jon left tonight, and I'm not really sure that I'll even see him before I go to Europe in a month. When I hugged him goodbye, I told him to come back soon, please: "I get a little crazy."

"I know," he said. "But you're doing a good job."
"That's what we actresses do," I said with a cheerily pompous grin.
"Oh, you're not acting. You're being..." He stopped.
"Were you about to say 'mature'?" I asked somewhat hopefully, but feigning shock to cover it up.
"No... Yes."

Well, brother bear, I do try. It gets tiring, but I suppose it's all we can do to keep on going. As Ami said once, "It's what we do best."

Tennis and the Dining Room.

It makes me feel like a total wimp, but I have ridiculous tennis-elbow from Wednesday. (At play practice, a lot of us weren't even needed on stage, so we grabbed some tennis rackets and played on the Mitchell's driveway behind the stage.) It was rather sad, playing with guys who are actually ON tennis teams (leagues? je ne sais pas...) and actually can PLAY the darned game... when I have trouble even hitting the ball. Actually that was mostly at first... I improved. Slightly. Mais, tu vois, ce n'est pas ma faute: Before Wednesday, my tennis experience was limited to a few summer nights at the park when I was about ten. Dad tried to teach us how to play, but gave up on us shortly after. Apparently we were not raised to be atheletes. In any case, my elbow hurts. Kate says that tall people have weaker joints, though, so I'm using that as my excuse.

Anywho. AH! Excitement. In the fall, I plan on getting a few of the theater children and myself together and putting on The Dining Room. This will be a pretty big undertaking, as I think I'd be directing it (with the help of Hanna.). I didn't want to seem copy-cattish, seeing as how Biola just did it and Jon was in it... but this play is so great. And it's a real chance for us to actually ACT and be dramatic and whatnot. I hope it actually happens... it's up to us, though. Which is exciting, but daunting too. But mostly exciting.

Such is the future, n'est-ce pas?

Oh Marley.

There's this crazy little girl at my church (who is, what, three? four?) and tonight at a youth group thing, I was sitting with her watching her color some cartoon Bible pages. It was a picture of a basket in the reeds of a river, so I asked her who she thought was inside.

"Baby Jesus!" She said.
"I think it might be Baby Moses," I offered.
"Mmm... nope."
"Why not? Maybe they're both in there."
She tilted her head and looked at me with huge eyes. "Hell-LOOO?!?"

Forget the fact that driving terrifies me...

I want to take a roadtrip. Just throw a few things in my 70's plaid suitcase (yes, duct taped and everything) and just GO. Seattle sounds nice... I've got a jacket, and I've got an ipod. What else does a girl need??

For some reason the thought of not being able to do this makes me want to cry.

"One more year."

I should've counted how many people clapped me on the shoulder today and said that to me. Mom and I went to help set up/serve cake/clean up for the ACHEV graduation today, and it was lovely. I love graduations... most festivities, really. Especially ones where I know people and can hoot and holler without shame. Being a junior, I guess it's my turn this up-coming year. That'll be nice. All those people hooting and hollering for US. And giving us money. That'll be nice, too. A lot of my friends graduated today... a few even graduated last year, though I was up in the mountains at the time, and therefore missed the occasion. And still, more of my friends graduate (alongside with me) next year.... and then of course come the ones who will graduate AFTER. I don't know that I have friends younger than these... close ones, I mean. I don't know... I may. I just didn't have enough coffee today. ha.

In any case, it's weird to think about - graduating, I mean. My parents will cry, I'm sure. In fact, I know. I am the baby, after all... I guess it can't be helped. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself afterwards - VC for another year, and then off to somewhere, I just don't know exactly where yet. I don't even know what I want to do. I suppose I'd better write - my life wouldn't make sense without writing. But writing what? I don't know. Writing novels is a pretty unsteady job, they tell me. And I don't want to have to depend on getting married. Sure, I want to get married. But I don't want that to be my life goal... I mean, look at those girls who go to college specifically to find a guy. And then they DON'T. I'd feel pretty silly if that were to happen, wouldn't you? I know what direction I want to go in for now, but after graduation, it gets a little hazy. And every time someone says "One more year, then it's your turn!", I get a little bit more freaked out.

There's a huge dance tonight that apparently everyone's going to... and I was invited (twice) but I didn't know how big of a deal it was so I decided to stay home with Kate instead. Then everyone gave me a hard time about it and I feel a little guilty. So my idea is to party it up with Kate and then I won't feel like I missed out on anything. So ha. Fun, starting soon with Chinese food. Then perhaps some movies... coffee... tribal dancing... use your imagination. :)

Wheels keep on spinning round

It's so weird how summers used to seem to long and full of nothing. Not in a bad way, in fact that's what's lovely about them. This summer has been lovely, but nothing like the rest. Seems like I'm always gone doing something. They're good somethings, but still. I kinda wish there was more time to lounge around and read or write or something. Oh well. At least I'm not being eaten by a bear.

First off, happy 2nd anniversary to my big sister and her mr. :) Two years ago our house was filled with a hundred bridesmaids who hogged our one bathroom and made our house smell like hairspray and nailpolish, and I slept in Kate's room, on the floor. And none of us got any breakfast. Somehow those kinds of days always turn out nicely :)

Last night I started taking a lindy hop class. It's a summer class that the Bozarth's do, so I know everybody and it's fun. Lindy hop, though. Man. They had us do all these exercises to make sure we were leaning back enough (it was really just to make sure the guy had a good lead and whatnot), and we had to hold onto somebody, toe-to-toe and knee-to-knee, and go down in squat-position all the way, and then back up. For a long time. My legs hurt. Alot.

Katrina filmed a sequel to Bernie: World Traveler on Saturday/Sunday, using me again as Bernie (the well-kempt and well-to-do) and Joseph as the Painter (who dons a cowboy hat and boots in attempt to woo me). I'm excited to see how it turns out :)

I should probably start studying Czech. It's an interactive program on the computer that they sent to all of us. I started a few weeks ago, while I was studying up for my French final... I ended up getting them all confused, and when the computer asked me, "Jste Američan?" I responded, "Ano... je suis américaine." Well... perhaps I'll meet a French-speaking Czech, and then we'll hit it off just great.

Martha! Martha! Slowwwly I turn...

I figured that Martha Jefferson probably didn't have short hair like me. Also, she had auburn colored hair. So today Mom and I went to a wig store and, after waiting about twenty minutes for the old woman in front of us who wanted to look "glamorous" in a short wig with highlights, we bought a long haired, auburn-colored wig. I'm a little self-conscious about the way it looks, since it's SO DIFFERENT. Oh my gosh. I put it on and looked in the mirror and almost had a heart attack. I look like KATE. It's weird. Here's the proof.







Scary, isn't it?

Dick Van Dyke, I do love you.

I saw him once, you know. It was four or five years ago, maybe more... we were at a ballet of Mary Poppins. During "Chim Chiminey" there was a ripple of whispers through the crowd and someone was pointing near the foot of the stage (about six rows in front of us) saying, "That's Dick Van Dyke." It assuredly was, too. Black suit, white hair, big smile. There was this wonderful little moment where everything paused and Ballet Bert looked off and saw the Real Bert, standing at the edge of the stage grinning up at him. Then everything went back to normal pace and the man sat somewhere in the crowd. People have said "no way!" so many times when I tell that story that I'm starting to doubt whether that's the way it went. But that's how I remember it.

Anyway. This is all because I've got "Hushabye Mountain" from Chitty stuck in my head. What a beautiful song.

We had our first full-on practice for 1776 today. 8 hours... 8:15 to 4:30. Ridiculous, too, because that meant I had to wake up at 6:15 since it's quite a drive... which I was pretty unhappy about. Morning's shouldn't exist. People who have sense don't like mornings. I don't like mornings.... not that I'm claiming to have sense, but I speak for the others, at any rate. And I think God knew that morning's were a horrible thing - that's why he gave us this beautiful thing called "sleeping in." I miss it. It's SUMMER, damnation, and I don't get to sleep in. Something is wrong here.

At any rate, practice was fun. Even though this morning feels like ages ago. (Earlier today I remarked that "this morning feels like it was hours ago"... which was not a high point of my intelligence.) It's not the most exciting play in the world... not at all, actually. But we're having fun. I have to say, I think your favorite part, Beth, will be the stage kiss between Jefferson and Mrs. Jefferson (the latter being the role of your brunette kid-sister). I figured I'd give you fair warning now, so that when you come to see the play, you don't gasp and get all scandalized at me.

Anyway. I really want to go to bed. But I feel like, since I'm home now, I should be staying up late doing whatever I darn well please. Somehow I don't have the energy to be alive right now though... or the COFFEE, damnation. Dad needs to buy some.

I've also learned that I get really grumpy when I don't have enough sleep for a few days. So pardon.

Also, haggis sounds like the most horrible thing ever. Why it was even invented is beyond me. I thought Scottish people were cool...