I ran again today. Ben and I went together, on just my regular route. But I probably wouldn't have gone without him today, cause I felt sore and super lazy.
While running I listened to "Another Day" and "Rent" from the Rent soundtrack which were both good because rather than thinking about running, or breathing, I was thinking about the movie in my head. (If I think too much about what I am doing, my body seems to want to shut down on me.) Plus they are upbeat songs with slightly defiant lyrics, which always pump me up.
I also listened to a Panic! song... same basic concept, high-energy and angry.
Next year will be great if Alicia and I can find time to run together. I imagine we would be good running partners, though I don't really have a basis for that sentiment aside from my understanding of our friendship.
In fact, I don't think I've ever seen her run, so I don't know her pace or anything, but... I see potential.
Anyway, tutoring was super fun today! Just ask Trevor. :P
(Hope you don't mind me putting this here Trev... or me calling you Trev.)
hahaha, so Sky pulled me aside before the session, and I think both Trevor and I thought he was going to pep-talk to me about last week. Instead he was like "we are gonna play a little game with Trevor today, in order to make this process even more effective for the two of you." Basically he went on to say that I was gonna act like nothing Trevor said or did was helping me in anyway, and I was just going to keep acting confused and telling him he isn't helping. Sky told me not to get too frustrated cause we want it to be believable, but to be sure to push Trevor's buttons a bit. Anyway, according to Sky I wasn't as frustrating as I should have been, but I sure got a rise outta Trevor. He even stopped the session at one point and asked Sky for advice, like I did last week. Not knowing I was purposefully being difficult, he didn't really seem to know how to react, but he started raising his voice, changing his tone, expressed anger through his body language. I didnt know he was capable of even the little amount of anger he expressed and I actually got kinda worried, to tell the truth... so I backed off a bit. Anyway, the experiment worked, and I think we both learned from it.
Needless to say, it was a much better session that last week, and I am excited because Sky is going to make Trevor pull something on me next week (which he says I won't be able to anticipate... although, I don't know what could take me by surprise <--probably why it will work.)
Yea, and class was canceled today, but me and the people putting the photo portfolio together spent more time on that then we would have spent in class anyway. But we had fun going through the pictures (although I got pretty frustrated at some points cause Tyler, you think you know everything and it makes me wanna smack you sometimes). Ha, so... the finished product is pretty representative of our trips, even though I would have liked to include more pictures (why not, if there is still space on the disk? ugg... old people).
Ahh, so that was basically my day, backwards.
Oh, and this morning I woke up from a dream in which I found out I was pregnant, and randomly Caitlin came out of the Planned Parenthood I was sitting outside of, and she was really happy for me even though I was having a mental breakdown. (or was that yesterday morning? ...must have been because I don't know when I would have had a chance to talk to Caitlin today, and I know I told her. OH YEA, it was yesterday, and I'm s'posed to call her today...)
...OH
and I browsed the official New Moon movie website obsessively.
and...
Monday night I read 3 chapters of New Moon and so now I just have the last chapter and the Epilogue and the Prologue for Eclipse, or whatever she provides at the end of NewMoon. After that, I am re-reading the first book, which will hopefully sustain me until the second movie comes out. Only then am I getting Eclipse and reading it.
Well, that is the plan at least (really depends how this last chapter pans out).
WOW.
Hope that was enlightening or something, cause it was pretty much a whole lota nothing, and you just read it ALL.
Now I really need to do work, cause I am celebrating Mary's birthday with her friends later... we are gonna play Cranium.
Ran a good distance today... more than usual even though I haven't been running at all lately. I had some motivation, and that would be anger. At what in particular? Just... humanity, confusions, stress.
Anyway, after my run I did 100 crunches and 20 sit-ups.
I hope I did them right, but I can't exactly remember how to do them the best way --I will look it up.
I need to change my diet and try to eat even healthier. Less binging, less sugar, more water, more fruit. I already eat lots of veggies, thanks to the Greenery. I've already eliminated caffeinated drinks, and ideally would like to reduce my carbonation intake (though, besides chocolate, that seems to be my one vice). Less greasy foods. More rice, yogurt, whole grains. For the most part I have been able to avoid trans fats over the past year, and significantly reduced the amount of saturated fat I consume. Mostly, I eat white meat, very little red. I could probably eat a bit more fish...though my taste for that is limited to salmon and tuna. Anywho... speaking of food, I am about to go eat dinner. Then I'm off to an Evaluation workshop, and a mandatory area meeting with Emma.
There's a bunch of work I need to do tonight, more I want to write about, and maybe I can squeeze in some time for a movie. We shall see.
Anyway, after my run I did 100 crunches and 20 sit-ups.
I hope I did them right, but I can't exactly remember how to do them the best way --I will look it up.
I need to change my diet and try to eat even healthier. Less binging, less sugar, more water, more fruit. I already eat lots of veggies, thanks to the Greenery. I've already eliminated caffeinated drinks, and ideally would like to reduce my carbonation intake (though, besides chocolate, that seems to be my one vice). Less greasy foods. More rice, yogurt, whole grains. For the most part I have been able to avoid trans fats over the past year, and significantly reduced the amount of saturated fat I consume. Mostly, I eat white meat, very little red. I could probably eat a bit more fish...though my taste for that is limited to salmon and tuna. Anywho... speaking of food, I am about to go eat dinner. Then I'm off to an Evaluation workshop, and a mandatory area meeting with Emma.
There's a bunch of work I need to do tonight, more I want to write about, and maybe I can squeeze in some time for a movie. We shall see.
"You just seem distant..."
Sometimes I feel like an old car that needs to be jump-started all the time in order to run right.
"Right"...
like there is a wrong.
It must be wrong to be so gone,
so gone from when I am.
so disconnected.
I want to feel more.
Perhaps my tendency to feel everything has begun to leave me numb.
---
[section omitted for sanity]
---
[section omitted for now]
---
I like to believe in Dig.
to believe that someone can/will always be there/able to pull me out of the hole I get myself into with this head of mine.
but right now, I don't believe that.
I'm not sure anyone I know right now has the strength or the means to keep me from falling.
Even the prospect of traveling isn't helping
...much.
There is a glimmer of hope...
maybe I will meet someone,
maybe I will see something.
maybe I will find some inspiration.
maybe.
I'm trying.
But life, as always, has its own direction.
Right now its throwing me more bones than I can fit in my mouth at once.
Is that good or bad?
or neither. . .
All of these arguments about happy vs. sad are making me think that mabe neither exist, and all there is, is in-between. all there is, is limbo.
But...
limbo is middle,
and middle is balance
and that is what you wanted
right?
(Maybe we always get what we want, eventually. That seems to be. But why is it always so bittersweet?)
Sometimes I feel like an old car that needs to be jump-started all the time in order to run right.
"Right"...
like there is a wrong.
It must be wrong to be so gone,
so gone from when I am.
so disconnected.
I want to feel more.
Perhaps my tendency to feel everything has begun to leave me numb.
---
[section omitted for sanity]
---
[section omitted for now]
---
I like to believe in Dig.
to believe that someone can/will always be there/able to pull me out of the hole I get myself into with this head of mine.
but right now, I don't believe that.
I'm not sure anyone I know right now has the strength or the means to keep me from falling.
Even the prospect of traveling isn't helping
...much.
There is a glimmer of hope...
maybe I will meet someone,
maybe I will see something.
maybe I will find some inspiration.
maybe.
I'm trying.
But life, as always, has its own direction.
Right now its throwing me more bones than I can fit in my mouth at once.
Is that good or bad?
or neither. . .
All of these arguments about happy vs. sad are making me think that mabe neither exist, and all there is, is in-between. all there is, is limbo.
But...
limbo is middle,
and middle is balance
and that is what you wanted
right?
(Maybe we always get what we want, eventually. That seems to be. But why is it always so bittersweet?)
I forgot 2 of the most important things!!!
1) It's my half birthday today! :)
annnd
2) I got into the Andean Roots program, so I am going to PERU next Spring!!!!!!!
AHH! That's exciting!! ^_^
(ok, now I am really going to start working on my paper.)
1) It's my half birthday today! :)
annnd
2) I got into the Andean Roots program, so I am going to PERU next Spring!!!!!!!
AHH! That's exciting!! ^_^
(ok, now I am really going to start working on my paper.)
I read Ben Gibbard's The Meaning of Life.
As much as I enjoy reading everything he has to say, somehow the article didn't do anything for me in terms of something profound.
It was enlightening in terms of who he is, as well as his relationship to his music, and I definitely related to it, but I suppose I was too expectant of how it was going to make me feel. (Ironic much?) (Oh, in so many ways.)
Whatever. I enjoyed the reading.
As much as I enjoy reading everything he has to say, somehow the article didn't do anything for me in terms of something profound.
It was enlightening in terms of who he is, as well as his relationship to his music, and I definitely related to it, but I suppose I was too expectant of how it was going to make me feel. (Ironic much?) (Oh, in so many ways.)
Whatever. I enjoyed the reading.
of
too little sleep
+
too much nerves
=
no good.
I fuckin' cried in my practicum today.
It really pisses me off when I get like that, frustrated to the point of tears. And I didn't need that today... not today when I had my practicum (and nothing prepared for it, adding to my anxiety about it), and when I have a research paper to start and finish, a book to read (or, at this point, at least get an idea of), and sleep to catch up on before the field trip tomorrow.
Plus, evals, interview, CV papers, note-taker stuff, camp stuff, moving out, and the final project for PacNW which I haven't even thought about yet.
Not to mention, I need to start running again; I'm getting lazy, and even if I wasn't, I don't feel like I have the time or energy.
Ugg... I feel alone too.
Oh, and tt kinda bothers me that no-one ever thinks I'm in my room. I mean, I'm quiet and my door is always shut so I don't blame them, but its kinda funny listening to people's conversations when they don't consider the possibility that you are around. Not so much funny, as strange.
Anyway, I think some people talk way too much about way too much.
I could be wrong.
(Maybe I write way too much about way too much.)
Speaking of,
now I need to go pound away at that research paper...
too little sleep
+
too much nerves
=
no good.
I fuckin' cried in my practicum today.
It really pisses me off when I get like that, frustrated to the point of tears. And I didn't need that today... not today when I had my practicum (and nothing prepared for it, adding to my anxiety about it), and when I have a research paper to start and finish, a book to read (or, at this point, at least get an idea of), and sleep to catch up on before the field trip tomorrow.
Plus, evals, interview, CV papers, note-taker stuff, camp stuff, moving out, and the final project for PacNW which I haven't even thought about yet.
Not to mention, I need to start running again; I'm getting lazy, and even if I wasn't, I don't feel like I have the time or energy.
Ugg... I feel alone too.
Oh, and tt kinda bothers me that no-one ever thinks I'm in my room. I mean, I'm quiet and my door is always shut so I don't blame them, but its kinda funny listening to people's conversations when they don't consider the possibility that you are around. Not so much funny, as strange.
Anyway, I think some people talk way too much about way too much.
I could be wrong.
(Maybe I write way too much about way too much.)
Speaking of,
now I need to go pound away at that research paper...
i really really hate this.
and i think that a lot.
but mostly I think you are wrong, because you think you are always right.
but mostly I think you are wrong, because you think you are always right.
I wrote this reflection for Cultivating Voice in response to what I had written in my blog the night before, which was the night that I decided to stop writing in my blog. That post is called "Questioning" and I included it in what I turned in last week. Here is the rest of my reflection, acting as a reaction to that post:
"While I understand what I wrote last night, and remember why I wrote it, I do feel differently today.
After reading this weeks article, “The Classroom and the Wider Culture: Identity as a Key to Learning English Composition” by Fan Shen, I feel better about my writing, blog or not. I realized much about myself from the authors anecdotal reminiscing. S/he (?) only had to go so far as discussing the implications of the individual as a writer before I changed my thinking. I then remembered the possibilities inherent in an ability to express oneself through written word. We (I) do have the ability to change our voice, our audience, our purpose. And equally as powerful, we (I) have the ability to reassert our (my) original intention toward writing. That 'intention' seems to be what I am most questioning about myself as a writer. Do I intend to be an artist? Do I want to entertain? Am I trying to forward an opinion, or am I simply sharing my thoughts? …
Aimlessly flipping through my planner I come across the page from last week. So many wonderful ideas were shared in seminar this past Monday and I had written two of them down. The first one says 'desperation is my inspiration.' Someone had quoted their friend on that one, and I am quite enamored by those words which aptly describe my ability to write well, under the influence of sadness or a deep need to express.
The other quote reads 'each person can write and is a writer for whatever purposes they want to be.' Sandy said it, though I cannot recall whether this was a reference to the reading last week, a sentiment that came from her heart, or both. In any case, when I read those words, I closed my eyes, nodded, and told myself, 'Yes, remember this.'
Often I find myself surrounded by people who will take anything and find something wrong with it; people who enjoy the “best of the best,” and love critique because it will only make them better. Of course they are entitled. I find myself being critical too. But, its like this: I’m listening to Jack Johnson in the car with my sister. His lyrics are simple, while his music is straightforward and easy, and it doesn’t try to be anything more. Nor should it. This music makes me feel good. It evokes smiles, dancing, sing-along, ect., and I’d be willing to bet that is all he intended it to be.
Sometimes things just exist to exist, not to exist greatly. They exist because someone felt like creating, and did just that. And when it comes right down to it, for me, I’d rather read a thousand different ideas, from a thousand different people, with a thousand different viewpoints, even if they aren’t the best or even close to it, before I’d read just one most pristine and perfect piece with the answer to 'life, the universe, and everything.' Is that really true? Yes Yes Yes! Gimme rough, raw, good, bad, ugly, random, corny, thoughts, questions, anger, expressions; things with intention, or none at all.
My intention? To put these thoughts on that paper, and that’s that. (This is not to say anyone should shy away from improvement, but if I have to try to be the best, then I will never really write again.)"
(Ironically, the next day Nygil handed me an article written by Ben Gibbard, entitled "The Meaning of Life." I still haven't read it yet, but I will most likely comment on it when I do.)
"While I understand what I wrote last night, and remember why I wrote it, I do feel differently today.
After reading this weeks article, “The Classroom and the Wider Culture: Identity as a Key to Learning English Composition” by Fan Shen, I feel better about my writing, blog or not. I realized much about myself from the authors anecdotal reminiscing. S/he (?) only had to go so far as discussing the implications of the individual as a writer before I changed my thinking. I then remembered the possibilities inherent in an ability to express oneself through written word. We (I) do have the ability to change our voice, our audience, our purpose. And equally as powerful, we (I) have the ability to reassert our (my) original intention toward writing. That 'intention' seems to be what I am most questioning about myself as a writer. Do I intend to be an artist? Do I want to entertain? Am I trying to forward an opinion, or am I simply sharing my thoughts? …
Aimlessly flipping through my planner I come across the page from last week. So many wonderful ideas were shared in seminar this past Monday and I had written two of them down. The first one says 'desperation is my inspiration.' Someone had quoted their friend on that one, and I am quite enamored by those words which aptly describe my ability to write well, under the influence of sadness or a deep need to express.
The other quote reads 'each person can write and is a writer for whatever purposes they want to be.' Sandy said it, though I cannot recall whether this was a reference to the reading last week, a sentiment that came from her heart, or both. In any case, when I read those words, I closed my eyes, nodded, and told myself, 'Yes, remember this.'
Often I find myself surrounded by people who will take anything and find something wrong with it; people who enjoy the “best of the best,” and love critique because it will only make them better. Of course they are entitled. I find myself being critical too. But, its like this: I’m listening to Jack Johnson in the car with my sister. His lyrics are simple, while his music is straightforward and easy, and it doesn’t try to be anything more. Nor should it. This music makes me feel good. It evokes smiles, dancing, sing-along, ect., and I’d be willing to bet that is all he intended it to be.
Sometimes things just exist to exist, not to exist greatly. They exist because someone felt like creating, and did just that. And when it comes right down to it, for me, I’d rather read a thousand different ideas, from a thousand different people, with a thousand different viewpoints, even if they aren’t the best or even close to it, before I’d read just one most pristine and perfect piece with the answer to 'life, the universe, and everything.' Is that really true? Yes Yes Yes! Gimme rough, raw, good, bad, ugly, random, corny, thoughts, questions, anger, expressions; things with intention, or none at all.
My intention? To put these thoughts on that paper, and that’s that. (This is not to say anyone should shy away from improvement, but if I have to try to be the best, then I will never really write again.)"
(Ironically, the next day Nygil handed me an article written by Ben Gibbard, entitled "The Meaning of Life." I still haven't read it yet, but I will most likely comment on it when I do.)
Today is the anniversary of Prom, meaning it is, in some sense, also our anniversary, Matt.
I doubt I can put into words what you mean to me, and I'm not going to try very hard because I'd rather spend the time with you while I am still in Seattle.
We have been damn near inseperable since last February, which is a long time. It has been a crazy-long, super-packed and eventful year, that feels more like years. But that night, exactly a year ago tonight, does not feel so far away.
But it does feel different. We were different for sure.
Life has changed us both, and that is the real distance.
I think we are better people having spent the time we have together. For me at least, each day you remind me of who I really am, and who I want to be. You remind me that I am "wonderful" -- I think that is the word you use ^_^
You keep me striving to always be better, even when everyone else around me is settling for less.
You keep me wondering and searching and learning because you are constantly so eager to grow and expand the capacity of your mind.
You make me happy with your open heart, your love, and your kindness.
You always force me to look at things from a different perspective, when I get stubborn and shut myself down to new ideas.
I think I could go on forever, and you arent busy anymore, so I am going to go spend time with you. But just know that I love you, and I will forever, no matter what. Thank you for sharing the amazing person you are, with me. I am priveledged.
Happy anniversary!
I doubt I can put into words what you mean to me, and I'm not going to try very hard because I'd rather spend the time with you while I am still in Seattle.
We have been damn near inseperable since last February, which is a long time. It has been a crazy-long, super-packed and eventful year, that feels more like years. But that night, exactly a year ago tonight, does not feel so far away.
But it does feel different. We were different for sure.
Life has changed us both, and that is the real distance.
I think we are better people having spent the time we have together. For me at least, each day you remind me of who I really am, and who I want to be. You remind me that I am "wonderful" -- I think that is the word you use ^_^
You keep me striving to always be better, even when everyone else around me is settling for less.
You keep me wondering and searching and learning because you are constantly so eager to grow and expand the capacity of your mind.
You make me happy with your open heart, your love, and your kindness.
You always force me to look at things from a different perspective, when I get stubborn and shut myself down to new ideas.
I think I could go on forever, and you arent busy anymore, so I am going to go spend time with you. But just know that I love you, and I will forever, no matter what. Thank you for sharing the amazing person you are, with me. I am priveledged.
Happy anniversary!
Class was canceled today. So I worked on the How I Write paper for practicum.
I ate breakfast and lunch at the Greenery, which is rare.
I decided not to go to the study abroad workshop (which I know was a good decision because of other things I had to do, but kinda regret it now because I don't think I am going to get into Andean Roots...)
Good things about today though::
Sky put in a recommendation with Sandy for me and Trevor. He told us after our practicum today (our first actually experience tutoring!!) I felt pretty damn good after that, even though I was so nervous going into it, and felt that inhibited me a lot. But I have areas to work on now, and I am ready to step it up.
Then I went to the academic fair, which is always fun, then overwhelming, then shitty. Ha. I went to the Andean Roots table first, and I didn't have any questions, I just wanted to meet the teachers and hear what they had to say. What I learned was good, and I am soooooooo set on taking it. But this fuckin sophomore status is a killer. Who knows what will happen.
Anywho, then I went to see Sandy at the Writing Center table and she had her delicious cookies, so I ate one and stood around while she was talking to someone else. Then she was like, "hey, I just want to let you know that I just read your reflection, and I want you to know that we put that article in the curriculum for a reason, because of the potential for it to resonate with students. As you pointed out, it didnt seem to hit many people, but you really got it and you should never second guess yourself on how something like that makes you feel." The actual interaction was more conversational, but that is basically what it came down to. It was just really cool. This is what I love about having teachers who can put a face with the name of the person who's paper they are reading. She has done this so many times, and class has only actually met like 7 times. It is quite amazing. And it really boosted me when I was overwhelmed. Anyway, then I wandered for a long time, talking to people. I saw Ralph and Martha which was strangely awesome. Its just nice to have these professors know you so well, and like shake your hand and remember you and take interest in your life. I love that about this place.
Anyway, that made me feel better too, but then I ran into Dani from class and someone had stolen/taken her purse. I felt so fuckin bad for her so I got her number and like ran around the gym frantically looking for it. Although I had no luck, I really hope she was able to track it down. After a bit of that, I decided to go the the INS table, just to check it out, because I was so discouraged by the prospect of not getting into AR. I decided I would feel better if I at least knew what I was getting into with plan B. I met the guy teacher (the only faculty from the program who got a good review on ratemyprofessor), and he was truely helpful and encouraging. Not that I am like super stoked to take that class, but at least I am pretty sure I am capable of passing it. Algebra + biology + chemestry + physics = Daunting. But... he said I am prepared, so...
I left the fair at 5 and went back to my dorm to wait for the camp person to call me. I took a nap cause she wasnt calling. Then went to Annie's with Tyler and Ben and we watched Saved. The camp lady called me during the movie and told me she didnt know if she could hire me because i can't make the last week, but she would get back to me on friday. I think if they want me, I will go. If not, I also applied to that day camp in Seattle, and I will just do that, or figure something out.
Yea, after the movie we all went to Rob's to hang out. It was a fun night. It was a late night. And now I want to go to bed.
Oh, and as you can tell, after that very breif hiatus, I am writing here again.
I ate breakfast and lunch at the Greenery, which is rare.
I decided not to go to the study abroad workshop (which I know was a good decision because of other things I had to do, but kinda regret it now because I don't think I am going to get into Andean Roots...)
Good things about today though::
Sky put in a recommendation with Sandy for me and Trevor. He told us after our practicum today (our first actually experience tutoring!!) I felt pretty damn good after that, even though I was so nervous going into it, and felt that inhibited me a lot. But I have areas to work on now, and I am ready to step it up.
Then I went to the academic fair, which is always fun, then overwhelming, then shitty. Ha. I went to the Andean Roots table first, and I didn't have any questions, I just wanted to meet the teachers and hear what they had to say. What I learned was good, and I am soooooooo set on taking it. But this fuckin sophomore status is a killer. Who knows what will happen.
Anywho, then I went to see Sandy at the Writing Center table and she had her delicious cookies, so I ate one and stood around while she was talking to someone else. Then she was like, "hey, I just want to let you know that I just read your reflection, and I want you to know that we put that article in the curriculum for a reason, because of the potential for it to resonate with students. As you pointed out, it didnt seem to hit many people, but you really got it and you should never second guess yourself on how something like that makes you feel." The actual interaction was more conversational, but that is basically what it came down to. It was just really cool. This is what I love about having teachers who can put a face with the name of the person who's paper they are reading. She has done this so many times, and class has only actually met like 7 times. It is quite amazing. And it really boosted me when I was overwhelmed. Anyway, then I wandered for a long time, talking to people. I saw Ralph and Martha which was strangely awesome. Its just nice to have these professors know you so well, and like shake your hand and remember you and take interest in your life. I love that about this place.
Anyway, that made me feel better too, but then I ran into Dani from class and someone had stolen/taken her purse. I felt so fuckin bad for her so I got her number and like ran around the gym frantically looking for it. Although I had no luck, I really hope she was able to track it down. After a bit of that, I decided to go the the INS table, just to check it out, because I was so discouraged by the prospect of not getting into AR. I decided I would feel better if I at least knew what I was getting into with plan B. I met the guy teacher (the only faculty from the program who got a good review on ratemyprofessor), and he was truely helpful and encouraging. Not that I am like super stoked to take that class, but at least I am pretty sure I am capable of passing it. Algebra + biology + chemestry + physics = Daunting. But... he said I am prepared, so...
I left the fair at 5 and went back to my dorm to wait for the camp person to call me. I took a nap cause she wasnt calling. Then went to Annie's with Tyler and Ben and we watched Saved. The camp lady called me during the movie and told me she didnt know if she could hire me because i can't make the last week, but she would get back to me on friday. I think if they want me, I will go. If not, I also applied to that day camp in Seattle, and I will just do that, or figure something out.
Yea, after the movie we all went to Rob's to hang out. It was a fun night. It was a late night. And now I want to go to bed.
Oh, and as you can tell, after that very breif hiatus, I am writing here again.
TEN Things you would like to say to ten different people:
1. WHY CANT YOU BE REAL?!
2. I really do love you. And will forever. Thank you for being so wonderful.
3. I can't believe you are leaving...
4. I'm not sure what I will ever do without you.
5. I'd rather you talk to me instead of just staring at me all the time.
6. Please, stop. Stop now. You are messing me up.
7. I think what you did was truly horrible.
8. I keep looking for you, even though I know you aren't around.
9. You have always been so faithful. I hope you are happy, and enjoyed it all.
10. Sometimes, I want you all to myself.
NINE things about yourself:
1. I'm obsessed with clothes shopping.
2. I'm often indecisive and random.
3. I love love love to eat!
4. I hate being teased.
5. I get way too caught up in fantasy, and often pretend its reality.
6. I believe in all different sorts of love.
7. I don't like sleeping alone, but ... I guess I kinda do. I just feel safer with someone else.
8. I feel I am an artist person without enough artistic ability to express it all. Expression through most media is overwhelming to me, which I feel, often inhibits me.
9. I love making other people feel good.
EIGHT ways to win your heart:
1. Be Edward Cullen/Robert Pattinson :P
2. Have passion and drive.
3. Be open-minded!! Try new things, be outgoing and exciting, don't be so judgmental.
4. Don't interrupt me.
5. Do random romantic/thoughtful things for me.
6. Be able to make me laugh (even when I'm sad).
7. Care about the well-being of all living things.
8. Be able to make me some good food.
SEVEN people of the same sex who mean a lot to you:
1. Mom
2. Becca
3. Caitlin
4. Alicia
5. Dana
6. Emily
7. some others
SIX things that cross your mind a lot:
1. Edward Cullen
2. What should I do about this/that/ect?
3. What do I want to do with my life?
4. Did I remember everything?
5. I want a hug.
6. the past/the present/the future
FIVE things you do before falling asleep:
1. use the restroom
2. brush my teeth/wash my face.
3. make sure lights, stove, and everything is off in house/apartment
4. check for monsters under my bed
5. turn off lights/set my alarm/put in earplugs
FOUR things your wearing right now:
1. socks
2. .
3. .
4. .
ha
THREE songs you listen to often:
1. Decode - Paramore
2. Who is She - I Monster
3. Losing Keys - Jack Johnson
TWO things you want to do before you die:
1. Write a book, make a movie, or reach out to the larger population in some way.
2. Swim/dive with a blue whale, visit space, or experience something just as rare and fantastic.
ONE confession:
1. I wish I had gone to bed sooner.
1. WHY CANT YOU BE REAL?!
2. I really do love you. And will forever. Thank you for being so wonderful.
3. I can't believe you are leaving...
4. I'm not sure what I will ever do without you.
5. I'd rather you talk to me instead of just staring at me all the time.
6. Please, stop. Stop now. You are messing me up.
7. I think what you did was truly horrible.
8. I keep looking for you, even though I know you aren't around.
9. You have always been so faithful. I hope you are happy, and enjoyed it all.
10. Sometimes, I want you all to myself.
NINE things about yourself:
1. I'm obsessed with clothes shopping.
2. I'm often indecisive and random.
3. I love love love to eat!
4. I hate being teased.
5. I get way too caught up in fantasy, and often pretend its reality.
6. I believe in all different sorts of love.
7. I don't like sleeping alone, but ... I guess I kinda do. I just feel safer with someone else.
8. I feel I am an artist person without enough artistic ability to express it all. Expression through most media is overwhelming to me, which I feel, often inhibits me.
9. I love making other people feel good.
EIGHT ways to win your heart:
1. Be Edward Cullen/Robert Pattinson :P
2. Have passion and drive.
3. Be open-minded!! Try new things, be outgoing and exciting, don't be so judgmental.
4. Don't interrupt me.
5. Do random romantic/thoughtful things for me.
6. Be able to make me laugh (even when I'm sad).
7. Care about the well-being of all living things.
8. Be able to make me some good food.
SEVEN people of the same sex who mean a lot to you:
1. Mom
2. Becca
3. Caitlin
4. Alicia
5. Dana
6. Emily
7. some others
SIX things that cross your mind a lot:
1. Edward Cullen
2. What should I do about this/that/ect?
3. What do I want to do with my life?
4. Did I remember everything?
5. I want a hug.
6. the past/the present/the future
FIVE things you do before falling asleep:
1. use the restroom
2. brush my teeth/wash my face.
3. make sure lights, stove, and everything is off in house/apartment
4. check for monsters under my bed
5. turn off lights/set my alarm/put in earplugs
FOUR things your wearing right now:
1. socks
2. .
3. .
4. .
ha
THREE songs you listen to often:
1. Decode - Paramore
2. Who is She - I Monster
3. Losing Keys - Jack Johnson
TWO things you want to do before you die:
1. Write a book, make a movie, or reach out to the larger population in some way.
2. Swim/dive with a blue whale, visit space, or experience something just as rare and fantastic.
ONE confession:
1. I wish I had gone to bed sooner.
I...
[there are so many things to follow right now. Where to start? Or end... as the case may be.]
I think I may stop writing in my blog, indefinitely, for my own purposes.
I feel inadequate, unsure, empty, right now --but mostly only when it comes to this... this being, my attempt at... anything involving talent, originality, or artistry. Maybe that article, which everyone attacked, and I commended, really was bullshit. Maybe I only really liked it because it was what I needed to hear at the time in order to justify my continuously disappointing endeavors as a writer/photographer/whatever. "Everybody is Talented, Original, and has Something to Say." ...great. Whatever misguided sense of optimism I had when I read that and felt good about it, is gone. And if somehow that sentiment is true, then I feel I am the exception.
Sky says I can't self-deprecate. That is one of his rules.
Well, I listened to him for a while, and tried to be strong in my work and have faith in myself. But all of my surroundings (people and their talents and their criticisms of myself and others)broke through and demolished my attempts to feel a greater sense of worth.
When I write in my blog, I relish the idea that I am writing for myself, and I embrace that by expressing whatever I want, however I want. Of course, I have an audience (small, but present) and I am aware of such as I write. But, it doesn’t keep me from expressing MYself on MY blog. And when it comes to reflections for Cultivating Voice, of course I try harder because I want Sandy to enjoy what I write, but I don't feel the need to edit, or rewrite anything I initially say because everything we do is so open-ended. When I am writing for The Pacific Northwest program (for which writing has only been assigned once or twice the quarter) I again feel no need to revise much, or even try much, because I am confident in my ability beyond the level expected of me in that class. And even the more weighted papers I wrote for Legacy... the only reason I got so stressed over them was because of my own expectations of myself when it comes to essay writing (as I was conditioned to be through my AP classes). I never felt overly concerned that my work would be deemed inadequate, and even if it was it would only be the difference between a "needs work," "good," "very good, or "excellent" penned across the top of the page (of which I only ever received the latter two).
What all this adds up to the idea that perhaps my lack of anxiety has possibly led to the unfortunate crippling of my ability to write. Either I must stop being so complacent, or I must stop being so aware of other people --talents, criticism, ect-- (or, I must stop writing).
The purpose behind ending my reliance on this blog, is to begin writing for a new audience. An audience that will force me to use whatever talent/endurance/stubbornness that I have within me, which has at many points allowed me to be proud of what I transferred from thought to paper.
I don't know if I believe that, or this (any of this). I just know that its what I am feeling, was feeling, have felt.
I don't know if I will ever write here again, or if I will write here tomorrow (Or even later tonight). I just know that change is penetrating everything in my life, and certainty seeps from my mind with each passing day.
[there are so many things to follow right now. Where to start? Or end... as the case may be.]
I think I may stop writing in my blog, indefinitely, for my own purposes.
I feel inadequate, unsure, empty, right now --but mostly only when it comes to this... this being, my attempt at... anything involving talent, originality, or artistry. Maybe that article, which everyone attacked, and I commended, really was bullshit. Maybe I only really liked it because it was what I needed to hear at the time in order to justify my continuously disappointing endeavors as a writer/photographer/whatever. "Everybody is Talented, Original, and has Something to Say." ...great. Whatever misguided sense of optimism I had when I read that and felt good about it, is gone. And if somehow that sentiment is true, then I feel I am the exception.
Sky says I can't self-deprecate. That is one of his rules.
Well, I listened to him for a while, and tried to be strong in my work and have faith in myself. But all of my surroundings (people and their talents and their criticisms of myself and others)broke through and demolished my attempts to feel a greater sense of worth.
When I write in my blog, I relish the idea that I am writing for myself, and I embrace that by expressing whatever I want, however I want. Of course, I have an audience (small, but present) and I am aware of such as I write. But, it doesn’t keep me from expressing MYself on MY blog. And when it comes to reflections for Cultivating Voice, of course I try harder because I want Sandy to enjoy what I write, but I don't feel the need to edit, or rewrite anything I initially say because everything we do is so open-ended. When I am writing for The Pacific Northwest program (for which writing has only been assigned once or twice the quarter) I again feel no need to revise much, or even try much, because I am confident in my ability beyond the level expected of me in that class. And even the more weighted papers I wrote for Legacy... the only reason I got so stressed over them was because of my own expectations of myself when it comes to essay writing (as I was conditioned to be through my AP classes). I never felt overly concerned that my work would be deemed inadequate, and even if it was it would only be the difference between a "needs work," "good," "very good, or "excellent" penned across the top of the page (of which I only ever received the latter two).
What all this adds up to the idea that perhaps my lack of anxiety has possibly led to the unfortunate crippling of my ability to write. Either I must stop being so complacent, or I must stop being so aware of other people --talents, criticism, ect-- (or, I must stop writing).
The purpose behind ending my reliance on this blog, is to begin writing for a new audience. An audience that will force me to use whatever talent/endurance/stubbornness that I have within me, which has at many points allowed me to be proud of what I transferred from thought to paper.
I don't know if I believe that, or this (any of this). I just know that its what I am feeling, was feeling, have felt.
I don't know if I will ever write here again, or if I will write here tomorrow (Or even later tonight). I just know that change is penetrating everything in my life, and certainty seeps from my mind with each passing day.
unexplainably
and this is what I wanted,
right?
and this is what I wanted,
right?
All week I have been thinking so much about John's death. I think it made me live more, but I don't really know how to explain that. Anyway, I had tons of emails when I got home and here was the update from Martha:
Alex,
John had a massive heart attack. Apparently he had an hereditary condition and was getting maxed out in terms of stress load. His death re-energized the project and Senator Murray is hoping to send a big federal stimulus check to Growing Places. We will see.
Alex,
John had a massive heart attack. Apparently he had an hereditary condition and was getting maxed out in terms of stress load. His death re-energized the project and Senator Murray is hoping to send a big federal stimulus check to Growing Places. We will see.
Danielle is now the Director. You could send the photos to her - email address on the Growing Places website.
The service was very heartfelt as only a small town can do.
Martha
*sigh*
Well, receiving this converged with receiving a phone call from one of the camps I had applied for. They threw me into an intensive interview right away, which that burnt me out and kinda deterred me from wanting to work there. Long hours, no breaks, and too many extenuating circumstances. I'm confused about it, and I should call and ask questions but I couldn't really understand the woman on the phone, and I got the call pretty shortly after I got home from my trip.
Anyway, both of these things just kinda overwhelmed me. And I can't stop thinking about John. Plus, now I want to be even more involved in Growing Places... I will email Martha about possible opportunities this summer. Maybe I can just stay with her... oh man... that's a good idea for housing next year, or even just this summer if I possible help out with the project.
Another option this summer is working at Wilani. I am going to apply today. I think that particular camp fits my personality better (just a feeling). Plus I have been there, and I kinda know the ropes, (and the season is shorter).
i don't even care right now, im so tired. I think I'm gonna ask mom if she wants to watch girly movies tonight, and hopefully cry some.
I feel super down right now.
Pizza, sleep and girly movies should remedy that for today. After that though, who knows.
I need to run again too. Soon. Today, or tomorrow. No excuses.
*sigh*
Well, receiving this converged with receiving a phone call from one of the camps I had applied for. They threw me into an intensive interview right away, which that burnt me out and kinda deterred me from wanting to work there. Long hours, no breaks, and too many extenuating circumstances. I'm confused about it, and I should call and ask questions but I couldn't really understand the woman on the phone, and I got the call pretty shortly after I got home from my trip.
Anyway, both of these things just kinda overwhelmed me. And I can't stop thinking about John. Plus, now I want to be even more involved in Growing Places... I will email Martha about possible opportunities this summer. Maybe I can just stay with her... oh man... that's a good idea for housing next year, or even just this summer if I possible help out with the project.
Another option this summer is working at Wilani. I am going to apply today. I think that particular camp fits my personality better (just a feeling). Plus I have been there, and I kinda know the ropes, (and the season is shorter).
i don't even care right now, im so tired. I think I'm gonna ask mom if she wants to watch girly movies tonight, and hopefully cry some.
I feel super down right now.
Pizza, sleep and girly movies should remedy that for today. After that though, who knows.
I need to run again too. Soon. Today, or tomorrow. No excuses.
I will be back on Thursday.
going for a run in the downpour.
What do you think?
My brain says yes.
My body says no ...in every way it can.
but damn... music+running+rain on my face = a major temptation.
What do you think?
My brain says yes.
My body says no ...in every way it can.
but damn... music+running+rain on my face = a major temptation.
In my current state, it is no surprise that this almost brought me to tears. But it was exactly what I needed. Because no matter how many times you tell me "don't underestimate your writing" I'm still going to wonder. But that isn't the point, the point is that
"Everybody is Talented, Original, and has Something to Say" (by Brenda Ueland)::
"EVERYBODY IS TALENTED because everybody who is human has something to express.
Try not expressing anything for twenty-four hours and see what happens. You will nearly burst. You will want to write a long letter or I draw a picture or sing, or make a dress or a garden. Religious men used to go into the wilderness and impose silence on themselves, but it was so that they would talk to God and nobody else. But they expressed something: that is to say they had thoughts welling up in them and the thoughts went out to someone, whether silently or aloud. Writing or painting is putting these thoughts on paper. Music is singing them.
That is all there is to it.
EVERYBODY IS ORIGINAL, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it must be from his true self and not from the self he thinks he should be. Jennings at Johns
Hopkins, who knows more about heredity and the genes and chromosomes than any man
in the world, says that no individual is exactly like any other individual, that no two identical persons have ever existed. Consequently, if you speak or write from yourself you cannot help being original. So remember these two things: you are talented and you are original. Be sure of that. I say this because self-trust is one of the very most important things in writing and I will tell why later. This creative power and imagination is in everyone and so is the need to express it, i.e., to share it with others. But what happens to it? It is very tender and sensitive, and it is usually drummed out of people early in life by criticism (so-called "helpful criticism" is often the worst kind), by teasing, jeering, rules, prissy teachers, critics, and all those unloving people who forget that the letter killeth and the spirit giveth life. Sometimes I think of life as a process where everybody is discouraging and taking everybody else down a peg or two.
You know how all children have this creative power. You have all seen things like this: the little girls in our family used to give play after play. They wrote the plays themselves (they were very good plays too, interesting, exciting and funny). They acted in them. They made the costumes themselves, beautiful, effective and historically accurate, contriving them in the most ingenious way out of attic junk and their mothers' best dresses. They constructed the stage and theater by carrying chairs, moving the piano, carpentering. They printed the tickets and sold them. They made their own advertising. They drummed up the audience, throwing out a drag-net for all the hired girls, dogs, babies, mothers, neighbors within a radius of a mile or so. For what reward? A few pins and pennies. Yet these small ten-year-olds were working with feverish energy and endurance. (A production took about two days.) If they had worked that hard for school it probably would have killed them. They were working for nothing but fun, for that glorious inner excitement. It was the creative power working in them. It was hard, hard work but there was no pleasure or excitement like it and it was something never forgotten. But this joyful, imaginative, impassioned energy dies out of us very young. Why? Because we do not see that it is great and important. Because we let dry obligation take its place. Because we don't respect it in ourselves and keep it alive by using it. And because we don't keep, it alive in others by listening to them. For when you come to think of it, the only way to love a person is not, as the stereotyped Christian notion is, to coddle them and bring them soup when they are sick, but by listening to them and seeing and believing in the god, in the poet, in them. For by doing this, you keep I the god and the poet alive and make it flourish.
How does the creative impulse die in us? The English teacher who wrote fiercely on the margin of your theme in blue pencil: "Trite, rewrite," helped to kill it. critics kill it, your family. Families are great murderers of the creative impulse, particularly husbands. Older brothers sneer at younger brothers and kill it. There is that American pastime known as "kidding,"-with the result that everyone is ashamed and hang-dog about showing the slightest enthusiasm or passion or sincere feeling about anything. But I will tell more about that later.
You have noticed how teachers, critics, parents and other know-it-alls, when they
see you have written something, become at once long-nosed and finicking and go through it gingerly sniffing out the flaws. AHA! a misspelled word! as though Shakespeare could spell! As though spelling, grammar and what you learn in a book about rhetoric has anything to do with freedom and the imagination! A friend of mine spoke of books that are dedicated like this: "To my wife, by whose helpful criticism ... " and so on. He said the dedication should really read: "To my wife. If it had not been for her continual criticism and persistent nagging doubt as to my ability, this book would have appeared in Harper's instead of The Hardware Age."
So often I come upon articles written by critics of the very highest brow, and by other prominent writers, deploring the attempts of ordinary people to write. The critics wrap us savagely on the head with their thimbles, for our nerve. No one but a virtuoso should be allowed to do it. The prominent writers sell funny articles about all the utterly crazy, fatuous, amateurish people who think they can write.
Well, that is all right. But this is one of the results: that all people who try to write (and all people long to, which is natural and right) become anxious, timid, contracted, become perfectionists, so terribly afraid that they may put something down that is not as good as Shakespeare.
And so no wonder you don't write and put it off month after month, decade after
decade. For when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free, -free and not anxious. The only good teachers for you are those friends who love you, who think you are interesting, or very important, or wonderfully funny; whose attitude is: "Tell me more. Tell me all you can. I want to understand more about everything you feel and know and all the changes inside and out of you. Let more come out." And if you have no such friend,-and you want to write,-well then you must imagine one. Yes, I hate orthodox criticism. I don't mean great criticism, like that of Matthew Arnold and others, but he usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straitjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery. I hate it not so much on my own account, for I have learned at last not to let it balk me. But I hate it because of the potentially shining, gentle, gifted people of all ages, that it snuffs out every year. It is a murderer of talent. And because the most modest and sensitive people are the most talented, having the most imagination and sympathy, these are the very first ones to get killed off. It is the brutal egotists that survive. Of course, in fairness, I must remind you of this: that we writers are the most lilylivered of all craftsmen. We expect more, for the most peewee efforts, than any other people.
A gifted young woman writes a poem. It is rejected. She does not write another perhaps for two years, perhaps all her life. Think of the patience and love that a tapdancer or vaudeville acrobat puts into his work. Think of how many times Kreisler has practiced trills. If you will write as many words as Kreisler has practiced trills I prophesy that you will win the Nobel Prize in ten years. But here is an important thing: you must practice not perfunctorily, but with all your intelligence and love, as Kreisler does. A great musician once told me that one should never play a single note without hearing it, feeling that it is true, thinking it beautiful.
And so now you will begin to work at your writing. Remember these things. Work with all your intelligence and love. Work freely and rollickingly as though they were talking to a friend who loves you. Mentally (at least three or four times a day) thumb your nose at all know-it-alls, jeerers, critics, doubters. And so that you will work long hours and not neglect it, I will now prove that it is important for yourself that you do so."
Now, I just need to respond to it in some sort of paper, due in less than 2 hours. :)
"Everybody is Talented, Original, and has Something to Say" (by Brenda Ueland)::
"EVERYBODY IS TALENTED because everybody who is human has something to express.
Try not expressing anything for twenty-four hours and see what happens. You will nearly burst. You will want to write a long letter or I draw a picture or sing, or make a dress or a garden. Religious men used to go into the wilderness and impose silence on themselves, but it was so that they would talk to God and nobody else. But they expressed something: that is to say they had thoughts welling up in them and the thoughts went out to someone, whether silently or aloud. Writing or painting is putting these thoughts on paper. Music is singing them.
That is all there is to it.
EVERYBODY IS ORIGINAL, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it must be from his true self and not from the self he thinks he should be. Jennings at Johns
Hopkins, who knows more about heredity and the genes and chromosomes than any man
in the world, says that no individual is exactly like any other individual, that no two identical persons have ever existed. Consequently, if you speak or write from yourself you cannot help being original. So remember these two things: you are talented and you are original. Be sure of that. I say this because self-trust is one of the very most important things in writing and I will tell why later. This creative power and imagination is in everyone and so is the need to express it, i.e., to share it with others. But what happens to it? It is very tender and sensitive, and it is usually drummed out of people early in life by criticism (so-called "helpful criticism" is often the worst kind), by teasing, jeering, rules, prissy teachers, critics, and all those unloving people who forget that the letter killeth and the spirit giveth life. Sometimes I think of life as a process where everybody is discouraging and taking everybody else down a peg or two.
You know how all children have this creative power. You have all seen things like this: the little girls in our family used to give play after play. They wrote the plays themselves (they were very good plays too, interesting, exciting and funny). They acted in them. They made the costumes themselves, beautiful, effective and historically accurate, contriving them in the most ingenious way out of attic junk and their mothers' best dresses. They constructed the stage and theater by carrying chairs, moving the piano, carpentering. They printed the tickets and sold them. They made their own advertising. They drummed up the audience, throwing out a drag-net for all the hired girls, dogs, babies, mothers, neighbors within a radius of a mile or so. For what reward? A few pins and pennies. Yet these small ten-year-olds were working with feverish energy and endurance. (A production took about two days.) If they had worked that hard for school it probably would have killed them. They were working for nothing but fun, for that glorious inner excitement. It was the creative power working in them. It was hard, hard work but there was no pleasure or excitement like it and it was something never forgotten. But this joyful, imaginative, impassioned energy dies out of us very young. Why? Because we do not see that it is great and important. Because we let dry obligation take its place. Because we don't respect it in ourselves and keep it alive by using it. And because we don't keep, it alive in others by listening to them. For when you come to think of it, the only way to love a person is not, as the stereotyped Christian notion is, to coddle them and bring them soup when they are sick, but by listening to them and seeing and believing in the god, in the poet, in them. For by doing this, you keep I the god and the poet alive and make it flourish.
How does the creative impulse die in us? The English teacher who wrote fiercely on the margin of your theme in blue pencil: "Trite, rewrite," helped to kill it. critics kill it, your family. Families are great murderers of the creative impulse, particularly husbands. Older brothers sneer at younger brothers and kill it. There is that American pastime known as "kidding,"-with the result that everyone is ashamed and hang-dog about showing the slightest enthusiasm or passion or sincere feeling about anything. But I will tell more about that later.
You have noticed how teachers, critics, parents and other know-it-alls, when they
see you have written something, become at once long-nosed and finicking and go through it gingerly sniffing out the flaws. AHA! a misspelled word! as though Shakespeare could spell! As though spelling, grammar and what you learn in a book about rhetoric has anything to do with freedom and the imagination! A friend of mine spoke of books that are dedicated like this: "To my wife, by whose helpful criticism ... " and so on. He said the dedication should really read: "To my wife. If it had not been for her continual criticism and persistent nagging doubt as to my ability, this book would have appeared in Harper's instead of The Hardware Age."
So often I come upon articles written by critics of the very highest brow, and by other prominent writers, deploring the attempts of ordinary people to write. The critics wrap us savagely on the head with their thimbles, for our nerve. No one but a virtuoso should be allowed to do it. The prominent writers sell funny articles about all the utterly crazy, fatuous, amateurish people who think they can write.
Well, that is all right. But this is one of the results: that all people who try to write (and all people long to, which is natural and right) become anxious, timid, contracted, become perfectionists, so terribly afraid that they may put something down that is not as good as Shakespeare.
And so no wonder you don't write and put it off month after month, decade after
decade. For when you write, if it is to be any good at all, you must feel free, -free and not anxious. The only good teachers for you are those friends who love you, who think you are interesting, or very important, or wonderfully funny; whose attitude is: "Tell me more. Tell me all you can. I want to understand more about everything you feel and know and all the changes inside and out of you. Let more come out." And if you have no such friend,-and you want to write,-well then you must imagine one. Yes, I hate orthodox criticism. I don't mean great criticism, like that of Matthew Arnold and others, but he usual small niggling, fussy-mussy criticism, which thinks it can improve people by telling them where they are wrong, and results only in putting them in straitjackets of hesitancy and self-consciousness, and weazening all vision and bravery. I hate it not so much on my own account, for I have learned at last not to let it balk me. But I hate it because of the potentially shining, gentle, gifted people of all ages, that it snuffs out every year. It is a murderer of talent. And because the most modest and sensitive people are the most talented, having the most imagination and sympathy, these are the very first ones to get killed off. It is the brutal egotists that survive. Of course, in fairness, I must remind you of this: that we writers are the most lilylivered of all craftsmen. We expect more, for the most peewee efforts, than any other people.
A gifted young woman writes a poem. It is rejected. She does not write another perhaps for two years, perhaps all her life. Think of the patience and love that a tapdancer or vaudeville acrobat puts into his work. Think of how many times Kreisler has practiced trills. If you will write as many words as Kreisler has practiced trills I prophesy that you will win the Nobel Prize in ten years. But here is an important thing: you must practice not perfunctorily, but with all your intelligence and love, as Kreisler does. A great musician once told me that one should never play a single note without hearing it, feeling that it is true, thinking it beautiful.
And so now you will begin to work at your writing. Remember these things. Work with all your intelligence and love. Work freely and rollickingly as though they were talking to a friend who loves you. Mentally (at least three or four times a day) thumb your nose at all know-it-alls, jeerers, critics, doubters. And so that you will work long hours and not neglect it, I will now prove that it is important for yourself that you do so."
Now, I just need to respond to it in some sort of paper, due in less than 2 hours. :)
Losing your best friend, losing someone you know well, losing someone you hardly know.
Loss of life is loss.
We lose people everyday. Well, yea, people die everyday. But we also lose people who pass us briefly. We lose them, but we also take them with us, and we also make them. We effect everyone we touch. We take something from them (or more accurately, they share something with us) and we, them.
This is what I think, ...what I hope.
I hope he remembered me. I remembered him. But... maybe that's only because I have pictures of him.
Either way, I can remember him now. His life will be remembered, by me, at least. Like the bird. The dead bird in the sun. The backwards bird in the sky. His backwards life in my mind. From my eye, flipped, to my lens, flipped, to my mind, flipped, switched, backwards, upside-down. Tilted. Tinted. Leaned against the truck.
ugghfdslahginlnv. I don't have anything else.
"Alex,
Loss of life is loss.
We lose people everyday. Well, yea, people die everyday. But we also lose people who pass us briefly. We lose them, but we also take them with us, and we also make them. We effect everyone we touch. We take something from them (or more accurately, they share something with us) and we, them.
This is what I think, ...what I hope.
I hope he remembered me. I remembered him. But... maybe that's only because I have pictures of him.
Either way, I can remember him now. His life will be remembered, by me, at least. Like the bird. The dead bird in the sun. The backwards bird in the sky. His backwards life in my mind. From my eye, flipped, to my lens, flipped, to my mind, flipped, switched, backwards, upside-down. Tilted. Tinted. Leaned against the truck.
ugghfdslahginlnv. I don't have anything else.
"Alex,
I will get to your letters ASAP.
Did you know that John Smith at Growing Places in Centralia died?I went to his memorial service today in Centralia. They showed photos of his life including one you took of him leaning on the pickup truck showing plans to all of us who were there that day. So many people talked about his huge hands and they thought your photo captured them best. Your photos were truly significant today for many many people.
Take care and be the best photographer you can - it means so much when we least expect it.
Martha."
Martha."
Woah! I ran 3 miles yesterday! Its been a bit over a year since Ive done that... it was so empowering. Somehow though, I found it harder to concentrate. Maybe it was the fact that I had to hold my MP3 player because I didn't have pockets this time. Or it could have been the elevation here compared to Evergreen, or the songs that played. Anyway, it felt wonderful when I was done. Except that immediately after I cleaned the disaster of a house (which is now dirty again because of the party last night.)
The party was good (so much amazing music and dancing!!), though I had much more fun at the Warehouse than I did when we came back here to my house. I guess I only like hosting when it is a tight group of people that I know and trust. It stresses me out to have so many people over... I should remember that.
It also stresses me out to mix groups of friends. Matt and John, with Tyler (or anyone from Evergreen), with the "Facakes," with people I don't even know. Its hard for me to navigate people, personalities, interests, ect.
Sometimes I don't know why I even try to mesh these things. I suppose it is because I want everyone to have fun with everyone else, I want to balance my time, I want my friends to experience new places and people. It doesn't matter anyway...
Back to the party. I loved the venue, and loved that almost everyone was dancing, and that there was no drama, and that Meagan was happy. The music was rad, and the performances were even better (minus my karaoke stint... haha). But yea, Sean and Spam and Croix were awesome. And James is back. :)
I don't want to go back to Evergreen. This is the problem with coming home, and its probably why I am so bipolar sometimes: I'm constantly transitioning; sleep patterns, attitudes, places, people. But... that is the way I like it. (My leaving on most weekends, it seems to piss some people off, though I can't imagine why. They don't understand.)
But, I do have to say I am making a more conscious effort to not be miserable at school, and its working, though somehow enjoying my life there is straining my life here... and that just sucks. Ah, its all about finding a balance...
Oh, and as crazy as I am about Matt's new apartment I already miss his dorm. I wish I could have spent more time with him on campus... I donno, it was just a cool feeling, and neat to be a part of a bigger school for a change. Whatever, the apartment is so rad I almost want to drop out of Evergreen and go live with them. :P
I'm anxious for next year already. How are things going to pan out? Well, that is the journey...
I just know it is going to be different with Alicia on campus. And Alex O. And Pierce? And Brian. And whomever else from Mt. Si decides to join me at EG. It should be interesting, but I'm just glad Alicia will be there to keep me from going completely insane.
Not to mention, hopefully I will be going to Peru next Spring. It's such a long ways to go, but I think that prospect is driving me right now, and I know the time until then will be filled with unthinkable and wonderful adventures, and changes.
I find it bizarre that not 2 hours ago I felt like my world was crumbling, but I always seem to be able to return to this faith that thing will turn out, that there is a balance, that we will be okay.
Remember when my return state was complete chaotic, depressive ruin? That was so many years. This is better. I'd like to say I'm happy, but I can still feel a sogginess behind my eyes, and tears coating the sides. And it reminds me why these past few weeks have been so hard.
--I like to think that movie really broke me outta that numbness I had going there for a couple weeks, but then again, there is reason behind these tears. I can cry again, at least, and that is something I need.
Arg... now on to homework. But then dinner and fun with my family!! Yay!
The party was good (so much amazing music and dancing!!), though I had much more fun at the Warehouse than I did when we came back here to my house. I guess I only like hosting when it is a tight group of people that I know and trust. It stresses me out to have so many people over... I should remember that.
It also stresses me out to mix groups of friends. Matt and John, with Tyler (or anyone from Evergreen), with the "Facakes," with people I don't even know. Its hard for me to navigate people, personalities, interests, ect.
Sometimes I don't know why I even try to mesh these things. I suppose it is because I want everyone to have fun with everyone else, I want to balance my time, I want my friends to experience new places and people. It doesn't matter anyway...
Back to the party. I loved the venue, and loved that almost everyone was dancing, and that there was no drama, and that Meagan was happy. The music was rad, and the performances were even better (minus my karaoke stint... haha). But yea, Sean and Spam and Croix were awesome. And James is back. :)
I don't want to go back to Evergreen. This is the problem with coming home, and its probably why I am so bipolar sometimes: I'm constantly transitioning; sleep patterns, attitudes, places, people. But... that is the way I like it. (My leaving on most weekends, it seems to piss some people off, though I can't imagine why. They don't understand.)
But, I do have to say I am making a more conscious effort to not be miserable at school, and its working, though somehow enjoying my life there is straining my life here... and that just sucks. Ah, its all about finding a balance...
Oh, and as crazy as I am about Matt's new apartment I already miss his dorm. I wish I could have spent more time with him on campus... I donno, it was just a cool feeling, and neat to be a part of a bigger school for a change. Whatever, the apartment is so rad I almost want to drop out of Evergreen and go live with them. :P
I'm anxious for next year already. How are things going to pan out? Well, that is the journey...
I just know it is going to be different with Alicia on campus. And Alex O. And Pierce? And Brian. And whomever else from Mt. Si decides to join me at EG. It should be interesting, but I'm just glad Alicia will be there to keep me from going completely insane.
Not to mention, hopefully I will be going to Peru next Spring. It's such a long ways to go, but I think that prospect is driving me right now, and I know the time until then will be filled with unthinkable and wonderful adventures, and changes.
I find it bizarre that not 2 hours ago I felt like my world was crumbling, but I always seem to be able to return to this faith that thing will turn out, that there is a balance, that we will be okay.
Remember when my return state was complete chaotic, depressive ruin? That was so many years. This is better. I'd like to say I'm happy, but I can still feel a sogginess behind my eyes, and tears coating the sides. And it reminds me why these past few weeks have been so hard.
--I like to think that movie really broke me outta that numbness I had going there for a couple weeks, but then again, there is reason behind these tears. I can cry again, at least, and that is something I need.
Arg... now on to homework. But then dinner and fun with my family!! Yay!
