And if you hate these feelings
You can hold onto me until it dies:
And you rise,
May you rise.
I went to Ivy Lawn today, on the way home from school. I thought that I've been dealing with Papa's death in the past year, but I don't really know that I have. Or at least, if I've tried, it obviously hasn't worked. I think my way of dealing with it has been to try and make everyone else feel better about it. When I go to see Ami, and there's a lull in conversation, I can see that she's thinking about him... so I've gotten very good at coming up with something to talk about quickly. I guess one reason for that is that I don't want her being sad... another reason would be that I don't know what to do when she cries. When anyone cries, in fact. It's not that I don't understand them, I think it's that I feel too much empathy. That makes being encouraging sort of difficult. Since Sunday I've been trying to think of what I need to do to confront the things that have been bothering me. I'm still working on that, but when I thought of things that I consider "difficult", I thought of Papa's funeral, and how every day when I drive past the cemetery, my head goes blank and I don't think about anything at all for a few minutes. So today, after class and after I had gone to see Amelia for a while, I drove to Ivy Lawn.
I actually almost turned around at the gate, because it suddenly hit me how much I hate cemeteries - even that famous one in LA, Forest Lawn, which is apparently really cool... my mom and sister like cemeteries because they're quiet and "peaceful". I've never really been able to view death that way, though. Even at Papa's funeral, all I wanted was to get off the cemetery grounds and back into the normal world where there are cars and people and grass that isn't perfectly green. For some reason though, today I parked on the complete opposite end of the cemetery, so I had to walk through all the lawns and headstones. Papa's "grave" isn't really a grave - I don't know what to call it. It's inside the chapel wall. He's 4 up and either 7 or 9 over - I can't remember which. I don't know why he and my grandmother chose to do that - I don't like the fact that he's not underground. It's unnatural. I also don't like the fact that the slab with his name is higher than my head so that I can't reach it. There's a vase attached to each slab of marble, but there's no way to reach that high to put flowers in. It makes me sad that almost every vase had flowers except his. It gives off the impression that he didn't have anyone, which is obviously not true. Speaking of flowers, on the way back to my car I saw a maintenance man going around and taking dead flowers off of headstones and throwing them away. That made me sad, too. I guess it's important to keep the place clean, but really. Those flowers aren't hurting anyone.
When I went into the chapel, I turned the corner slowly because I wasn't sure if someone would be having a service in there; but it was empty. I walked down the side aisle, looking around, and then stopped and looked up - I was standing directly in front of his plaque. It was strange and eerie and cool all at the same time. The one plus about Papa being in the chapel is that I could sit in the pew next to him for a while. I can't actually remember thinking anything in particular this afternoon - other than that it was cold, and I remembered how I had sat next to my grandmother on the pew across the aisle on the day of his funeral. It had been cold that day, too - it was December, after all - and Jesse's mom had given me her black jacket with leopard print inside. Odd the things one remembers.
In all, I was there almost an hour today. I don't know that it really did anything - I've felt a bit out of touch with emotion since Sunday, so it's hard to tell. I think I was half expecting some huge breakthrough to happen, but I guess that was silly. Amelia said that her family used to go and visit her baby sister's grave every year - it was supposedly part of the healing process. She also said that they don't go anymore, because it seems like now it would hurt more than help. Then I started thinking, maybe it's exactly the opposite for me. I needed time to distance myself; but now maybe I ought to start going more often. It makes sense, in a backwards sort of way.
Either way, I want to figure out how to put a yellow rose in Papa's vase.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
With paranoia on my heels
I read somewhere that only 1 in 10 adults has nightmares more than a few times a month. I wonder if that's accurate, or if it's only the experience of one very lucky person talking. I've always had frequent nightmares, though they've gotten much worse in the past year. I also have dreams where I'm just crying throughout; by the time I wake up I'm exhausted. Then there are the mornings (like yesterday, and two days before that, as well) when I wake up and have no idea what day it even is. Actually, what happens is that I dream I've already gotten up and gone off to school and gone through my day... then I wake up assuming that I took a nap and that it must be the middle of the afternoon when it is, in fact, 7:00am. Yesterday I laid in bed for a full five minutes, trying to remember what I had done the day before so I could figure out what day it was. I think I have problems.
I've had a weird few days. I called Amelia after dinner tonight (when I feel overwhelmed with depression or stress I usually feel better after a conversation with her), and she was trying to help me sort out some things. (Also, trying to talk me into being in love with some boy or another... we get far too bored without them to talk about, and when I claim that I'm not interested in anyone she'll hound me about it until she gets some sort of satisfaction. Which really only complicates things in the end... but at least she's happy...) Anyway. I'm glad I've got her. I've been realizing lately how much I don't talk about, and how hugely I explode on the occasion that it does come out. I love my parents, but it's become sort of hard to talk to them about things. There are lots of reasons, but I guess mainly it's because we're all tired, and we're all stressed - I can't complain to them and expect pity, when they're handling things that are just as difficult. Which sounds petty and selfish, I guess, but it's true. Also, I've become a bit of a masochist these days: I hate being alone because it leaves me in my head for too long... but when I'm with people, all I want is to be left alone. I'm not happier when I'm alone, per se, but it's much easier for me. It makes sense, but I can't figure out what to do with that.
There are other things, however, that don't make sense at all. Yesterday, for example. Jon and Kate were here until last night for Thanksgiving break, and after the three of us came home from church, I asked Jon some questions about Dad's sermon. He wasn't really paying attention to me while I was asking, and then took to responding with the general, "so why do we think that?" and "why do you say that?", instead of answering my questions... so I got frustrated. That much I can understand: I've always been an instant-gratification/give-me-answers-now kind of person. What I don't understand is that, when I got frustrated with Jon, I started crying. I honestly didn't know why - I wasn't even that worked up about the issues we were discussing. I just started crying. Jon then got worried about me (can't blame him), and wouldn't let me go until I had given him some reason for all this... we sat down on the top of the stairs and all of the sudden I was telling him things that I didn't even know still bothered me. About everything. We talked for almost an hour, and I was still crying. (And I don't even mean random tears and sniffling - I mean the kind of crying where you aren't actually breathing.) I feel like I wrung myself out and now I don't know what I'm left with... you know how you get that headache after you cry? That's how I've felt for the last two days. These past weeks I've actually felt pretty good - I've been keeping busy, doing pretty well in school, hanging out with people who make me happy. And then yesterday I snapped.
I guess that's what happens when you push things back and lock them up. I know you're supposed to deal with the things that bother you - I thought that I had already dealt with some of them. And with others, I honestly don't even know how to begin to deal with them. In the past few days, I've been struck again and again with the realization that I don't know a lot of things. I know that that's a good thing to know, but that doesn't mean I like it, or that I know what to do with that knowledge. I guess to just start over.
But starting over is incredibly daunting. Especially when you're at your weakest point.
I've had a weird few days. I called Amelia after dinner tonight (when I feel overwhelmed with depression or stress I usually feel better after a conversation with her), and she was trying to help me sort out some things. (Also, trying to talk me into being in love with some boy or another... we get far too bored without them to talk about, and when I claim that I'm not interested in anyone she'll hound me about it until she gets some sort of satisfaction. Which really only complicates things in the end... but at least she's happy...) Anyway. I'm glad I've got her. I've been realizing lately how much I don't talk about, and how hugely I explode on the occasion that it does come out. I love my parents, but it's become sort of hard to talk to them about things. There are lots of reasons, but I guess mainly it's because we're all tired, and we're all stressed - I can't complain to them and expect pity, when they're handling things that are just as difficult. Which sounds petty and selfish, I guess, but it's true. Also, I've become a bit of a masochist these days: I hate being alone because it leaves me in my head for too long... but when I'm with people, all I want is to be left alone. I'm not happier when I'm alone, per se, but it's much easier for me. It makes sense, but I can't figure out what to do with that.
There are other things, however, that don't make sense at all. Yesterday, for example. Jon and Kate were here until last night for Thanksgiving break, and after the three of us came home from church, I asked Jon some questions about Dad's sermon. He wasn't really paying attention to me while I was asking, and then took to responding with the general, "so why do we think that?" and "why do you say that?", instead of answering my questions... so I got frustrated. That much I can understand: I've always been an instant-gratification/give-me-answers-now kind of person. What I don't understand is that, when I got frustrated with Jon, I started crying. I honestly didn't know why - I wasn't even that worked up about the issues we were discussing. I just started crying. Jon then got worried about me (can't blame him), and wouldn't let me go until I had given him some reason for all this... we sat down on the top of the stairs and all of the sudden I was telling him things that I didn't even know still bothered me. About everything. We talked for almost an hour, and I was still crying. (And I don't even mean random tears and sniffling - I mean the kind of crying where you aren't actually breathing.) I feel like I wrung myself out and now I don't know what I'm left with... you know how you get that headache after you cry? That's how I've felt for the last two days. These past weeks I've actually felt pretty good - I've been keeping busy, doing pretty well in school, hanging out with people who make me happy. And then yesterday I snapped.
I guess that's what happens when you push things back and lock them up. I know you're supposed to deal with the things that bother you - I thought that I had already dealt with some of them. And with others, I honestly don't even know how to begin to deal with them. In the past few days, I've been struck again and again with the realization that I don't know a lot of things. I know that that's a good thing to know, but that doesn't mean I like it, or that I know what to do with that knowledge. I guess to just start over.
But starting over is incredibly daunting. Especially when you're at your weakest point.
Monday, November 22, 2010
And the world spins madly on.
I was talking to a younger girl (by "younger" I simply mean pre-teen) today... one of those sweet girls from a sweet family who I've known since she was practically a baby. Lately I've realized that girls that age (especially whose families I've known for a while) tend to really like me and hang around me; which, of course, means that I've got to be a bit more careful than usual about what I say and such. But anyhow - this girl was talking to me about what's been going on with her lately, and then she lowered her voice and told me something that that has been worrying her lately: "I think I'm a cynical person sometimes," she said. "You and the older girls are so cool - you know what you're doing... but people my age... I just don't like them much."
At first I just wanted to be like, "Kid, get used to it." Then the second thing I thought of was, ha, I know what I'm doing? (I'm a better actor than I thought.) Followed closely by: if this girl - this adorable, perky, wonderful little Christian girl - is cynical, then what does that make me?
For some reason it really bothered me. I've never really thought of cynicism as a bad thing... at least, not something worth worrying about and trying to fix. Most of the time I'd rather be cynical than disappointed. But this girl was so concerned about becoming a cynical person. Granted, she was horribly wrong about me and the "older girls" - we don't know what we're doing. (Well, maybe they do, but I certainly don't, anyway.) But I think in the particular area of views on cynicism, she's right: it isn't something to be comfortable with; certainly not something to be proud of. It's odd; I feel almost guilty about what she said... and maybe a little disappointed that I don't really have it all "worked out" like I apparently seem to. Maybe that's how it's always been with the people we look up to... I wonder if anybody ever did have things figured out by the time people took to noticing them.
At first I just wanted to be like, "Kid, get used to it." Then the second thing I thought of was, ha, I know what I'm doing? (I'm a better actor than I thought.) Followed closely by: if this girl - this adorable, perky, wonderful little Christian girl - is cynical, then what does that make me?
For some reason it really bothered me. I've never really thought of cynicism as a bad thing... at least, not something worth worrying about and trying to fix. Most of the time I'd rather be cynical than disappointed. But this girl was so concerned about becoming a cynical person. Granted, she was horribly wrong about me and the "older girls" - we don't know what we're doing. (Well, maybe they do, but I certainly don't, anyway.) But I think in the particular area of views on cynicism, she's right: it isn't something to be comfortable with; certainly not something to be proud of. It's odd; I feel almost guilty about what she said... and maybe a little disappointed that I don't really have it all "worked out" like I apparently seem to. Maybe that's how it's always been with the people we look up to... I wonder if anybody ever did have things figured out by the time people took to noticing them.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
The Lion in Winter
"We're jungle creatures, Henry, and the dark is all around us. In the corners you can see their eyes..."
"And they can see ours. I'm a match for anything - aren't you?"
"And they can see ours. I'm a match for anything - aren't you?"
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
And we all shine on.
It's 10:03. I'm listening to Lennon Legend, drinking my second pot of coffee (granted, Dad helped with the first one), and trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow night. I'm going to a play at school with some friends and one should always look her best at the theater. It's just a fact of life. In fact, I should be coming up with TWO outfits, since I'm going to one play tomorrow and another (the brother's) on Friday. So that's exciting. Anyway... I think I might eat a second dinner soon, since I need to keep awake somehow, and coffee is only taking me part-way. They gave us all days to register on for next semester's classes, and my day is tomorrow... but, these classes fill up horribly fast. SO, the genius plan conspired is that I should stay up so I can register come 12:01. It's genius, that is, except for the fact that I'm dead tired AND I have speech class early tomorrow. Not only that, but I'm giving MY speech tomorrow. And I'm the first one to go. 9:00. Hmm; prayers would be nice.
I'm prepared, really... practiced a million times, and I've got nice little notecards and everything. But still. Giving a speech in class is about 20 million times harder than performing on a stage. When the words are someone else's, you can do whatever you want with them. When they're yours, the responsibility is, too. Which is a scary thing.
About this time last Wednesday, I was pretty much having an emotional/mental/whatever-you-want-to-call-it breakdown, thinking about all the things I had to do in the span of the ensuing 8 days or so. So I took a piece of paper, titled it "Game Plan" and wrote out a schedule of EVERY SINGLE THING I had to do. I've been filling out the little bubbles along the way, and since tomorrow is the last of the evil evil days (the next 4 weeks are only mildly evil in comparison), today was the last day on the schedule. Tonight when I finished my visual aid for my speech (and hence filled in the last bubble), I folded the schedule into a series of paper cranes. I haven't even made a crane in years... that's something to be said for muscle memory. Or else pure determination. Anyway - I then placed said cranes on a baking sheet and took a match to them. It's all very symbolic, really. The only trouble was that the fire went out after it burnt the heads off all the cranes. (I have a feeling that's symbolic too... but I'm not quite sure.) After much effort, I finally managed to burn the miserable cranes to ashes, but by then the house was all smoky and Mom wasn't too happy. But still - I did it. I feel oddly triumphant.
Who's to say there's no pleasure in the little things in life?
I realized today that there are only another 4 weeks of school. This thought fills me with joy but also with dread. I'm glad it's almost over... but 4 weeks isn't much time to turn my grade in math around. I decided not to drop the class. This could go for or against me, in a huge way. I was planning on dropping it, and just retaking it next semester... but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I absolutely have to do everything I can to make sure that I don't have to survive another semester like this one. If that means living and breathing math for another 28 days, so be it. It'll all be worth it if I get a passing grade. And if I don't.... well.... I try not to think about that. Basically what would happen is that I'd have to retake it in the spring, and then get a counselor to give me an "E" ("exempt") for this semester's class. So the failed grade would show up on my transcript, but my new grade would replace it so far as my GPA. Which is the important thing to keep up for those of us who are English majors. There's a lot of this choose-your-battles business in college. I just hope I win.
Speaking of college. I'm thinking about Wheaton more and more. There are lots of reasons for this... but I have to admit that one of said reasons is so that I can walk around singing "My Kind of Town" like Frank. That and they have a good Creative Writing program. AND a semester (or year) in Oxford. Love. Speaking of singing, last night I was struck by the holiday spirit so while I worked on my speech, I listened to Bing Crosby (pandora station: White Christmas) and drank hot chocolate. It was loveliness incarnate. Well, y'know, aside from the whole homework thing.
Well. I think I'm going to go eat... and then try on shmancy clothes... and then drink more coffee... and then do something or other.... and then sign my life away for another semester. C'est la vie.
POWER TO THE PEOPLE. Sing it, John, sing it.
I'm prepared, really... practiced a million times, and I've got nice little notecards and everything. But still. Giving a speech in class is about 20 million times harder than performing on a stage. When the words are someone else's, you can do whatever you want with them. When they're yours, the responsibility is, too. Which is a scary thing.
About this time last Wednesday, I was pretty much having an emotional/mental/whatever-you-want-to-call-it breakdown, thinking about all the things I had to do in the span of the ensuing 8 days or so. So I took a piece of paper, titled it "Game Plan" and wrote out a schedule of EVERY SINGLE THING I had to do. I've been filling out the little bubbles along the way, and since tomorrow is the last of the evil evil days (the next 4 weeks are only mildly evil in comparison), today was the last day on the schedule. Tonight when I finished my visual aid for my speech (and hence filled in the last bubble), I folded the schedule into a series of paper cranes. I haven't even made a crane in years... that's something to be said for muscle memory. Or else pure determination. Anyway - I then placed said cranes on a baking sheet and took a match to them. It's all very symbolic, really. The only trouble was that the fire went out after it burnt the heads off all the cranes. (I have a feeling that's symbolic too... but I'm not quite sure.) After much effort, I finally managed to burn the miserable cranes to ashes, but by then the house was all smoky and Mom wasn't too happy. But still - I did it. I feel oddly triumphant.
Who's to say there's no pleasure in the little things in life?
I realized today that there are only another 4 weeks of school. This thought fills me with joy but also with dread. I'm glad it's almost over... but 4 weeks isn't much time to turn my grade in math around. I decided not to drop the class. This could go for or against me, in a huge way. I was planning on dropping it, and just retaking it next semester... but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I absolutely have to do everything I can to make sure that I don't have to survive another semester like this one. If that means living and breathing math for another 28 days, so be it. It'll all be worth it if I get a passing grade. And if I don't.... well.... I try not to think about that. Basically what would happen is that I'd have to retake it in the spring, and then get a counselor to give me an "E" ("exempt") for this semester's class. So the failed grade would show up on my transcript, but my new grade would replace it so far as my GPA. Which is the important thing to keep up for those of us who are English majors. There's a lot of this choose-your-battles business in college. I just hope I win.
Speaking of college. I'm thinking about Wheaton more and more. There are lots of reasons for this... but I have to admit that one of said reasons is so that I can walk around singing "My Kind of Town" like Frank. That and they have a good Creative Writing program. AND a semester (or year) in Oxford. Love. Speaking of singing, last night I was struck by the holiday spirit so while I worked on my speech, I listened to Bing Crosby (pandora station: White Christmas) and drank hot chocolate. It was loveliness incarnate. Well, y'know, aside from the whole homework thing.
Well. I think I'm going to go eat... and then try on shmancy clothes... and then drink more coffee... and then do something or other.... and then sign my life away for another semester. C'est la vie.
POWER TO THE PEOPLE. Sing it, John, sing it.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Ohhh Mondays.
Feeling a little under the weather and entirely worn out. I spent 6 hours writing an 8 minute speech last night, and went straight from that to writing another paper for art appreciation. I'm about to leave for a day of classes, and I still have tons of math homework to do when I get home from mime tonight, circa dinner time. Just feeling kinda down and super overwhelmed. Prayers please?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Thesaurus. Always sounded like a dinosaur to me...
Travel
I’ve always had a certain wanderlust:
A dream to be off, to see the world.
To traverse the borders from one land to another,
To Voyage, to Journey,
To Know.
Not just a tour,
Or simply a trip.
I want to experience Life in another place,
To see the colors of distant countries.
Travel isn’t just a hobby,
Or a way to roam around.
It’s an Adventure, an Exploration.
To travel is to be Free.
I’ve always had a certain wanderlust:
A dream to be off, to see the world.
To traverse the borders from one land to another,
To Voyage, to Journey,
To Know.
Not just a tour,
Or simply a trip.
I want to experience Life in another place,
To see the colors of distant countries.
Travel isn’t just a hobby,
Or a way to roam around.
It’s an Adventure, an Exploration.
To travel is to be Free.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Whyyy
does everything have to happen at the same time? Seriously, Homework. College plans. Presentations. People. Brain. Give me a break!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Say hey, don't you leave me in L.A. alone,
Lover...please please please please...
Turn your car around and come back home.
New York is such a beautiful city I'm sure:
It's just too far from California,
Just too far from California,
A little too far from California for me.
I've rediscovered a few old favorites, music-wise. Namely, Arcade Fire and Joe Purdy. (Obviously not to be listened to together.) I think the trouble with Joe Purdy is that everyone connects him with that lovable but obnoxious song "Just Can't Get It Right Today". If you listen to the album Sessions from Motor Ave while driving along that coast-lining highway at night, however, I bet you'll appreciate him more. Speaking of motors, I've decided that I should become one of those girls who knows about cars. The only trouble is that I don't know where to start. My brother (though he will deny this and kill me for saying it) isn't much good with them, and while my father knows how to change the oil and apply tire chains (and that, sometimes, takes some doing), I think that Papa really cornered the market on automobile-intelligence around here. At the co-op where I've taken classes since 4th grade, they're offering an Automotive Basics course this year, but it's full and I didn't get in. Which is sad. I don't want to have to depend on my guy friends (who ARE in the class) the next time my tire blows. A girl shouldn't be helpless in this world, after all. I spoke to my grandma about the matter the other day, and she told me about the Automotive Basics course that she took at college. She said that she took it with a friend, and it was a wonderful class because they didn't really have to do anything. I told her that my guy-friends have all had to change the tires on their cars during class time, and added that it sounded fun to me. "Not in silk stockings!" she said. I said I supposed she had me there.
Aaaanyway. Maybe I'll find me a manual or something.
I've also rediscovered my love of stretchy pants. Actually this might be a first-time discovery; don't know that I've ever really worn them much. I'm talking about those black stretchy capri's that one wears in exercise classes - they're fantastic! You can sit cross-legged on the computer chair, which tight American Eagle jeans never really let you do. Ha, I'm a picture at the moment... me sitting here in my stretchy pants, red plaid-flannel jacket, and holding my Mary Poppins mug. If I had to draw a picture of happiness, this might just be it.
I had a math test today. I've been doing so poorly in this class that I basically decided that this test will determine the class's future: if I fail the test, I drop the class. Because if I don't drop, and if I keep on failing tests, I'm going to fail the class, which wouldn't look so hot on a transcript. If I do well on the test, I'll take it as a sign that I can work my butt off and escape the class with at least a C. (It's hilarious, looking back at my posts from last semester... I was worked into a horrified frenzy over a B. Ha!) Anyway. The test. It only had 6 problems, which is a good thing and a bad thing. I actually feel like it went pretty well, over all - though I know that I got 1 wrong, for sure, and when you only have 6 problems, 1 is a pretty big deal. So hopefully that's all I got wrong. Either way, I'm sure you'll hear about it later. For now, I'm just glad the test is over.
Ah! We worked on CHRISTMAS SONGS today in mime. I am so excited. Though, some of them are inevitably weird; one of them, in particular, is hilariously wacky... we all kind of look like elves from the 70's. (I suppose, however, that if you're going to be an elf, you might as well be from the 70's. Tis the way.) Anyhow. Christmas is a nice thought. A new year, new semester, The Dining Room, graduation, trip to Ireland with mum. Happiness.
Hmm. I know I should be doing something right now, but I can't think of what.... oh well. One more cup of coffee for the road.
Turn your car around and come back home.
New York is such a beautiful city I'm sure:
It's just too far from California,
Just too far from California,
A little too far from California for me.
I've rediscovered a few old favorites, music-wise. Namely, Arcade Fire and Joe Purdy. (Obviously not to be listened to together.) I think the trouble with Joe Purdy is that everyone connects him with that lovable but obnoxious song "Just Can't Get It Right Today". If you listen to the album Sessions from Motor Ave while driving along that coast-lining highway at night, however, I bet you'll appreciate him more. Speaking of motors, I've decided that I should become one of those girls who knows about cars. The only trouble is that I don't know where to start. My brother (though he will deny this and kill me for saying it) isn't much good with them, and while my father knows how to change the oil and apply tire chains (and that, sometimes, takes some doing), I think that Papa really cornered the market on automobile-intelligence around here. At the co-op where I've taken classes since 4th grade, they're offering an Automotive Basics course this year, but it's full and I didn't get in. Which is sad. I don't want to have to depend on my guy friends (who ARE in the class) the next time my tire blows. A girl shouldn't be helpless in this world, after all. I spoke to my grandma about the matter the other day, and she told me about the Automotive Basics course that she took at college. She said that she took it with a friend, and it was a wonderful class because they didn't really have to do anything. I told her that my guy-friends have all had to change the tires on their cars during class time, and added that it sounded fun to me. "Not in silk stockings!" she said. I said I supposed she had me there.
Aaaanyway. Maybe I'll find me a manual or something.
I've also rediscovered my love of stretchy pants. Actually this might be a first-time discovery; don't know that I've ever really worn them much. I'm talking about those black stretchy capri's that one wears in exercise classes - they're fantastic! You can sit cross-legged on the computer chair, which tight American Eagle jeans never really let you do. Ha, I'm a picture at the moment... me sitting here in my stretchy pants, red plaid-flannel jacket, and holding my Mary Poppins mug. If I had to draw a picture of happiness, this might just be it.
I had a math test today. I've been doing so poorly in this class that I basically decided that this test will determine the class's future: if I fail the test, I drop the class. Because if I don't drop, and if I keep on failing tests, I'm going to fail the class, which wouldn't look so hot on a transcript. If I do well on the test, I'll take it as a sign that I can work my butt off and escape the class with at least a C. (It's hilarious, looking back at my posts from last semester... I was worked into a horrified frenzy over a B. Ha!) Anyway. The test. It only had 6 problems, which is a good thing and a bad thing. I actually feel like it went pretty well, over all - though I know that I got 1 wrong, for sure, and when you only have 6 problems, 1 is a pretty big deal. So hopefully that's all I got wrong. Either way, I'm sure you'll hear about it later. For now, I'm just glad the test is over.
Ah! We worked on CHRISTMAS SONGS today in mime. I am so excited. Though, some of them are inevitably weird; one of them, in particular, is hilariously wacky... we all kind of look like elves from the 70's. (I suppose, however, that if you're going to be an elf, you might as well be from the 70's. Tis the way.) Anyhow. Christmas is a nice thought. A new year, new semester, The Dining Room, graduation, trip to Ireland with mum. Happiness.
Hmm. I know I should be doing something right now, but I can't think of what.... oh well. One more cup of coffee for the road.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Here, there, and everywhere.
I've been realizing today how insane this month is going to be. But then I came to the conclusion that it's only one month. It will be evil and hard and stressful, but after a while it'll be gone and I'll never have to see it again. Then it'll be December... and the first two weeks of that will be ridiculously full of finals... but that, too, will be over in a matter of days. And then I'll be finished with this nasty semester, and my family will be able to have a real Christmas. I'm ready to be warm and cozy and festive. It's been too long without it.
Ooh, we had our first mime performance on Halloween (Reformation Day, yes.). It was at one of the mime's church's Fall Festival, and we did 12 songs. Well, I only did 3... but it all went very well. It's odd how powerful those presentations are to people - everyone, not just the audience. I suppose it's something to do with how visual and physical it all is. It just effects people very strongly, which is precisely the reason I love it. Because otherwise we'd just be a bunch of weird kids making weird faces with our white paint and eyeliner.... but it's a lot more than that. And I'm very much looking forward to our next performance. :)
Ah! Now it's time for the most recent installment of Jana letters. She makes me so happy.
Hello Laura,
Do you like pizza? I love pizza. what you birhday? I 15.5. 2000. Herman is angrý! Do you like Karel IV, Czech king?
Hello Jana,
I LOVE pizza. American pizza is very different from Czech pizza, though... but both are very good. Have you ever had American pizza? My birthday is April 7. Our birthdays are only about a month apart :) Why is Herman angry? My cat is angry, but she is always a little angry.
I don't know much about Karel IV... will you tell me about him?
(Bip!)
Hello Laura,
sorry, my birthday is 15.4.; 15.5. was a mistake. Herman is always hungry, not angry :-)) It is funny.
Karel IV, he was separted from his mother when he was 3 years old and was imprisoned. At the age of 7 he was sent to France. He learned French, Latin and German. He could not speak English. At school, I will have a short prezentation on Karel IV. Do you like gifts? Karel IV died of pneumonia.
BYE BIP BYE BIP
(with a little help of my father)
Jana
Why can't everyone be as fantastic as this little Czech girl? While I was there, she was really into making thing with beads, and she made me a flower one day, and an angel another. The angel hangs from a wire on my bulletin board, so I see it every day. It was kind of funny; she gave it to me one night when we were driving back to Prague from Liberec (about two hours away) and along the way it kept getting lost somehow (slipping out of my hand when I fell asleep, etc.), but I (or somebody else) always ended up finding it again. When I woke up the next morning I still had it in my fist.
When I'm stressed about school or other things, I randomly remember things like that, and I just want to get on a plane and fly away again.
Ooh, we had our first mime performance on Halloween (Reformation Day, yes.). It was at one of the mime's church's Fall Festival, and we did 12 songs. Well, I only did 3... but it all went very well. It's odd how powerful those presentations are to people - everyone, not just the audience. I suppose it's something to do with how visual and physical it all is. It just effects people very strongly, which is precisely the reason I love it. Because otherwise we'd just be a bunch of weird kids making weird faces with our white paint and eyeliner.... but it's a lot more than that. And I'm very much looking forward to our next performance. :)
Ah! Now it's time for the most recent installment of Jana letters. She makes me so happy.
Hello Laura,
Do you like pizza? I love pizza. what you birhday? I 15.5. 2000. Herman is angrý! Do you like Karel IV, Czech king?
Hello Jana,
I LOVE pizza. American pizza is very different from Czech pizza, though... but both are very good. Have you ever had American pizza? My birthday is April 7. Our birthdays are only about a month apart :) Why is Herman angry? My cat is angry, but she is always a little angry.
I don't know much about Karel IV... will you tell me about him?
(Bip!)
Hello Laura,
sorry, my birthday is 15.4.; 15.5. was a mistake. Herman is always hungry, not angry :-)) It is funny.
Karel IV, he was separted from his mother when he was 3 years old and was imprisoned. At the age of 7 he was sent to France. He learned French, Latin and German. He could not speak English. At school, I will have a short prezentation on Karel IV. Do you like gifts? Karel IV died of pneumonia.
BYE BIP BYE BIP
(with a little help of my father)
Jana
Why can't everyone be as fantastic as this little Czech girl? While I was there, she was really into making thing with beads, and she made me a flower one day, and an angel another. The angel hangs from a wire on my bulletin board, so I see it every day. It was kind of funny; she gave it to me one night when we were driving back to Prague from Liberec (about two hours away) and along the way it kept getting lost somehow (slipping out of my hand when I fell asleep, etc.), but I (or somebody else) always ended up finding it again. When I woke up the next morning I still had it in my fist.
When I'm stressed about school or other things, I randomly remember things like that, and I just want to get on a plane and fly away again.
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