Driving Without A Destination

First, I noticed the calm. The only tension that exised was the tension in his muscles. Usually, I am the irritable one, with something rubbing like sandpaper under my skin. But there was no electrically charged silence tonight. He talked, I listened. It all poured out of him, his eyes never leaving the road. His frustration was heartbreaking, his stories infuriating. It seemed finally, his venting had reached its conclusion.

There were times when I felt like I didn’t know him, or like I didn’t have an obvious position in his life. And it was times like those that my irritability was at its peak. Somtimes, I just didn’t understand, but others I understood all too well. Watching his gestures, and the emotions in his eyes, I understood–not as deeply as he may have needed me too, but I knew what he meant.

And it lasted for an hour, maybe a little more. It was the first time in over a month that we had just talked–just talked, listened, told stories. It was like time was sliding slowly, sluggish in the heat, and it was sliding slowly for us, as we drove and as we talked.

The roads he navigated were thin and bumpy, and, as far as we were concerned, they were nameless. Where we were was not important. It wasn’t important at all.

I knew in those moments what was no important–to me. We were together, we were not fighting, away from interference, away from fear. Nothing was scary. How could we be scared when we were sitting beside each other? Uncertainty was the only certainty in our lives, but when you have someone you are willing to spend the rest of your life with beside you? Uncertainty fadeds and becomes a passive monster unable to crawl from under your bed and put fear in your heart, unable to make you wonder if it was all worth it.

As we were driving without a discernable destination, I thought about the parallels our relationship had with this drive. We weren’t looking for a place to stop. We were looking for the right road, the one that would lead us to happiness.

And, at that moment, it was in his car, talking about our lives, and being together. Just us, me and him–him and me.

Postmarked From the Mind of An Unintelligent Student

Most of the time, I don’t worry about the perception of my intelligence: I even say it is notable. People come to me in class to make sure I understand, because if I don’t understand, maybe the teacher is doing something wrong. No, I am not boasting. I am setting up for you why such a statements as these would hurt:

I am revoking my reccomendation for AP Statistics. You just aren’t intelligent enough… and I don’t think you are motivated either.
You have made a 71 for the quarter, and that just isn’t something real honors kids would make.

There is a moment of stunned silence after I read this, because my brain will not process it. I am utterly shocked. All I do is nod, say, “Okay” and head back to my seat and begin reading a novel lent to me by my AP Language and Composition teacher. I am insulted, and it stings almost. I am intelligent, right? I make all A’s, except for Algebra II. I am writer, I blog, I carry on debates about the merits of a presidency and what they should be based on for hours on end with people. For some reason, no matter how much  I study, how hard I try, I am still not doing what she calls “honors work.” 71 may seem unintelligent, but between absences and field trips, maybe something slipped. Maybe it was my fault, and not hers. But, I didn’t think so.

Something I couldn’t understand about that class: I would know how to do everything. I would walk in, get all the homework right most of the time, and time comes for the test and I breeze through it, able to remember everything, and it would come back to me with so many minuses and circles that I didn’t understand what had happened. I am going to be honest: after 3 quarters of school of this, I was discouraged. It was like I was swimming up the creek without a paddle (won’t tell you WHICH creek…). Help was useless. She just looks at you like, “I don’t understand why you don’t understand. It’s basic algebra skills, you should get it.”

If it was basic algebra that was my failing point, I wouldn’t have made the 90s I made in both of my previous math classes. If I wasn’t a real honors kid, I wouldn’t have a 4.6 GPA, which is somewhere around a 4.1 now because of this class. If I wasn’t motivated, I wouldn’t be taking 3 AP classes, 2 Honors, and be the editor-in-chief of the yearbook.

This is what galls me: The woman has over 25 students that go to a tutor. Out of the miniscule number of kids that she teaches, I think that is significant amount. Every time someone mentions the name of the tutor she offers the following response:

Yeah, all my students go to her. She’s really good.

I don’t know why the people who would make great teachers avoid it. Just kidding. I know the answer to that one. Unfortunately, kids like me are the ones who get stuck with the people who don’t know what else to do.

Circuitry Overload

My brain feel like someone has stuffed it into a car compactor and turned the freaking machine on. It is so cluttered

Feels like it is going to explode

with all the work that  I have to do. And all the stuff I want to do. And the stuff I am going to do. I am constantly tired, need a daily dose of caffeine sometime around lunch or I am dead for the rest of the day. I don’t think all the lecture classes are helping me at all. Exams are coming up, so I am trying to soak in every bit of knowledge

Like a sponge

because I need it. Even when I don’t technically have homework, I feel like I should be studying in my spare time. Even though studying doesn’t actually help me. I just want to relax, to sleep, but no. I am reading like five different books, preparing for three exams, working on a couple stories, looking for colleges, preparing for prom… I feel like

A computer with too many commands, you know, the kind that freezes up and doesn’t work… it just goes kind of hazy…

everything has kind of crashed on me all at once. Not only do I have deal with everything school related, it is odd to realize I now have a life outside of school, even if some of it takes place in school. Odd concept. But I actually have to work on relationships, because I need to keep them. I have to get better at working with people, or college is going to be

Terrifying, horrifying, intimidating, the scariest damn thing you have ever been through, away from everyone

hell because I will be stuck with people I virtually don’t know. After all the relocating my family has done, it won’t be the initial shock I have to get over. It is the 24 hour interaction I am going to have with people. With limited interaction with the people I actually know, actually love

Like, seriously, what are you going to do, because you couldn’t even go to the Governor’s School for two years…

maybe it will make me a little less irritable, because I am being forced to interact. Not only that, but college will be a serious strain on a relationship.

You know, you aren’t making any sense

Writer’s Society

In an attempt to work on my “art,” (because when does one’s passion become an art?) I decided to try a writer’s society meeting. And sitting down to write this post is hard, because there is only one way to express my thoughts about said meeting. That lasted for a whole hour between 4 and 5 o’clock eastern time. And that is

……

That is about it. A stunned silence. Because I honest to God do not know what to tell you. I have nothing against the girls that were in that meeting, but I was astounded by their writing. There is stuff out there that is different from what I write, I am very well aware of this. But I have a genetic grudge against poetry, The Land of Too Few Words and Too Many Meanings. Probably because I am horrible at it. Believe me. I am going to stick to prose, because that is bad enough.

I was amazed about two things: the writing itself and the people. The people the most. That may sound horrible, but I do not intend to say anything horribly mean about them, even though there was this awesome parody piece running through my head that I want to write and bring to read next time, but I don’t know if they would catch on to it… Anyway, like I was saying, they just amazed me. And the way they talked in front of the teacher. Granted he is young, and I am still getting over the whole acting like we are adults, because no one treats us like that except the rare teacher. But there was one girl who AGGRAVATED me. I swear! I wanted to hit her with a mallet, and then the president would award me….

The writing also stunned me. Because my thoughts are not linear, but they aren’t…. OUT THERE, if you know what I mean. Some of the stuff I was sitting there thinking, how the hell did you get to that….? But they were probably thinking the same thing about what I wrote. There was a little “challenge” thing I guess you could call it and you got one word and sixty seconds to write. That was it. And this is what I produced from the world simplest (yes that was the word, do not ask me why):

The simplest thing I could think to do was say a few words that should never be said. What if they came back to haunt me? Because ghosts never die, even if you want them too.

Not exactly bestseller material, but I thought it had a certain quality to it. I liked it, but then you had poems about the oddest possible things. One girl, I actually liked hers, which was about how the simple things in life were free. I don’t know what was wrong with me, but I was sitting in that room trying not to stare at people with a look of “are you for freaking real?” on my face. That would be rude.

I am, against my better judgment, going back next week, and I am frightened because I don’t know if I can hold in all of my irritation. I am going to take something to read to them with me, but I am also frightened of that. Because I have to read it out loud, and I have a hard enough time letting people read things five miles away from me. I guess I have to get over it. It won’t kill me.  

An Irritated Citizen

Dear Government,

When I watch the news nowadays, I am almost automatically angry or irritated about something. I used to avoid watching the news because I really didn’t want to know how badly the law makers were hurting this country. Or the president for that matter. Now, I am old enough to watch the news. I have teachers who talk about current events every day (my AP US and Gov teachers), so I am paying attention.

I never realized how important the right to vote was until I started watching the news every day leading up to and after this most recent election. Because, the people who don’t vote can’t bitch because they didn’t put their two cents in when it was important. I can bitch because right now I am unable to vote, even though I voted in the mock election at my high school. It didn’t matter in the national election, and the person who won our school, ultimately, was not the person I voted for. But, the news has shown me that the right to vote gives you a voice, even if the majority of the country is stupid.

I am sixteen years old, and while I cannot vote, I can still express my opinion. And to tell you the truth, I am kind of sad that our country is going downhill because low information voters finally decided to get up off their asses and vote. In my city, we had record turnout for minorities: 94%. It has never been that high in the history of this state.

Hm.

I wonder why.

Watching the news, I am impressed at how much like sheep the American public is. We go in whatever direction we are prodded to go and we question nothing. Nothing at all. There is an art to watching the news now. You have to look through the bias. You have to look at what is not being reported, because if you don’t, you believe every line of bullshit they are feeding you. And when people actually talk about what is going on, like your opinion leaders, both liberal and conservative, they are attacked by opposing parties. Rush Limbaugh? Leader of the Republican party now, because they are too afraid to do anything.

Am I biased? Of course. Every person is biased whether or not they want to believe it. I just never realized it until I started watching my country fall apart slowly. I talk about it every day with my friends. People don’t understand that teenagers are watching what’s going on, as well. And they don’t understand that we don’t all swing towards the liberal party just because we’re open minded at such a young age. Me and my friends understand what’s going on. We don’t like, but sadly, we can’t do anything. We don’t pose a threat. We aren’t important enough.

An Irritated Citizen 

The Year Winds Down?

I have never really noticed how things escalate towards the closing of a school year. Things become more and more stressful and everyone is rushing to finish everything, rushing to hold onto people that are leaving and may never come back. I just noticed this on Friday. I had a packed weekend, and it was almost depressing.

Prom for my school is in April, and I did my shopping late. I got my dress, my shoes, and afterprom outfit, and shoes for that as well. But before that, I sat in a testing room for five hours with about twenty other kids who looked just as tired and stressed as I felt. The SAT has to be the most singularly stupid idea that any person ever came up with. And of course it came from The College Board. What else comes from the college board? The three AP exams I will be taking in the first two weeks of May. It’ll be great fun: stress, last minute studying, and the constant nagging fear until July when they finally get around to sending in your test scores. Also as a junior, I will be taking the ACT sometime soon which will kick my ass because the math section has trigonometry. I am barely making it in my Algebra II Honors class.

Besides testing and the fact that we have met all of our deadlines in yearbook (YAY!), I am currently finishing up with all the prom stress. The boyfriend isn’t too worried about it, but then he’s a guy, not the one who will get talked about. I’m not worried about getting talked about, I’m just worried about everything going smoothly like I want it to. That would be ideal. But I finished all my shopping so nothing can go wrong, right? We’ll see.

Now that the yearbook cycle is over, we start the new one in a couple weeks, as soon as we tie off loose ends. There’s a two week break, and then back to it with planning for next year: I swear it’s not a job training course. It IS a job. It has certainly given me a new definition of stress.

The end of the year is havoc, to say the least, and it seems to become increasingly so with each passing week. Teachers are frantic to finish curriculum, kids are frantic to leave without too much psychological damage. The end of the year should be interesting, though, a new experience. I actually attend graduation this year. I bet twenty dollars that I will be crying.

Lost and Still Losing

There’s an empty space by the bed when I turn the light on, the click of the light switch resounding in the near silence. My eyes were drawn to that spot. I distract myself, right the monitor, turn on music. It doens’t really combat the fact that I’m alone. Again.

That’s what I wanted, right? Time to be alone, if not to cry, then to think things over? No. I wish, now, that I wasn’t alone.

~

I got lost once. It was a new neighborhood, much larger than any I’d ever lived in. A walk, to clear my mind, was what I wanted. And then things seemed to get away from me and I had no idea where I was. I was lost, and it was the worst feeling in the world. Wandering around, trying to find my way back had felt like a losing battle, and the sight of that familiar street sign that had my street name on it lifted a rock off my chest, and I ran utnil I was in my house. I stood in the kitchen–I had only known it for a week–slightly disoriented and wishing we had never moved. Then, laughter, an unlikely plant in the desert, blossomed inside me and I laughed until I cried.

~

I couldn’t shake off the lost feeling for a long time. It would come back to haunt me. It was a scary thing for a twelve year old, to be lost with nothing to guide her but alien street signs and half-hearted instincts that recognized things as things they were not.

I feel lost, now. I don’t know what to do anymore; it’s so hard to keep my head above the water, when there’s always a presence reaching out with a large, commanding hand to shove me back under. It’s not so much that I need to be able to swim, to get somewhere. It’s that I need to stay baove water. I need to keep myself from drowning.

It feels like I wake up every morning just to fight another battle. You never know if you’re going to win. There’s no guarantee of tomorrow, right? So you do your damnedest to ensure that you will make it to tomorrow. But, tomorrow is unttainable. It’s always one day a head of you, always one step ahead.

~

There’s an aching loneliness under the frustation and tears and helpless, lost thoughts. Sometimes, I wonder if it’s enough to just know that someone will always be there. My distrust of people wants me to constantly put that to the test. But that wouldn’t be fair.

These are my battles, no one else’s. I am the only one to be blamed for any of my problems. Because, tomorrow will be a new day, and I will have new fights to engage in, new defeats to cope with. Even after being lost, it still feels like I am always losing.

For My 201st Post, I Thought I’d Do Something Reflective…

I think junior year has been the most stressful year I’ve ever gone through, hands down. Aside from the half years in different states and schools, this first two months of school have left me completely exhausted. I’m spending my free days sleeping, and my not free days hunched over paper with a pen, trying to finish all my homework and keep my head above the water. On top of all of the classes and school-related activities, I actually have a “life” this year. It might not be as hectic as most people’s, but it’s a lot for me, and this year has been a lot different because of it.

I understand the people who go on trips for a week or two for reflection. I really do. Just a period of time by yourself to think things over and take a breath, a deep, cleansing breath of air that is untainted by the people who seem to be always there. Because, once in a while, it all piles on top of you and you need a break. I think, that if I could, I wouldn’t take a break like that. I might understand, but it seems vaguely irresponsible to just take time away from life because you feel overwhelmed. There are plenty of people who don’t do that, who are fine. Like my parents. I just use my time effectively when reflecting. And my blog is a really good way to look back, and read through what I was thinking, what I was going through. There are some things that stun me, and some posts that will get deleted because I resent them for representing me at some of my worst times. But at least I understand where I’m coming from.

Happiness? Yeah, I’ve got lots of that. I think that’s why the stress really doesn’t bother me until I’m by myself and having to work dilligently. With this year, things haven’t bothered me as much because I haven’t had to deal with things myself. I can talk to people about stuff, people who will actually listen instead of going, “Yeah, okay.” It’s been an adjustment, not working through things by myself. I’ve just been so self-reliant for so long that people being around throws me off sometimes. I still don’t talk about everything. I keep a lot of it to myself, because some things are just hard for me to share.

The changes I’ve gone through are evident, not just in my life, but in my writing. It all sounds different from when I first started out, because of influences, and because I’m realizing for myself who I actually am. My About Me on my facebook says “Under construction” because I am.

I don’t think you can ever truly know who you are. I think people change a lot more than is realized. You adapt to your lifestyle more than it adapts to you, which is how it’s been in my life. A person is ever changing, and that person will know who they are deep down, they will be able to say, “This is who I am.” But, that will change. It always does.

A Post About Everything and Nothing

Most of my summer has been dutifully spent on reading and writing (and working up at the school on yearbook stuff, of course).  I had a load of reading to do for my AP Language class I’m taking next year, and I’m trying to get halfway through writing a novel in case this year turns out to be extremely time consuming.  However, this isn’t going as well as I expected, because my attention span is…

Small.

And that’s about all I can say.  Because of this, I’m going to be chugging along on the newest novel, but I’m going to start a string of short stories that I will actually post here on the blog for those who are interested in reading and giving feedback.  Most of them will probably be supernaturally based, like most of my writing, but since the stories are short, I might be able to stomach real life writing for a bit.  I have an issue with writing about real life.  I live real life, why do I want to read and write about stuff like that?  I’ve got enough to handle with my life. 

~~~ 

I am also going to try to get over my camera “phobia.” I’m not afraid of cameras, but I don’t like pictures taken of me.  My aunt took plenty while she was here, and so did my parents, so as soon as I manage to snag the digital copies of them, I will probably put them in a post related to the trip that we took to Charleston.  (My first time being there; it was beautiful.  My mom wants to live there, but I didn’t think it was that beautiful.)

This post is kind of a conglomeration today, because I haven’t actually been able to sit down and think about writing in a while.  I’ve been stuck on new characters, and worrying about yearbook ad sales (GAG ME.  Or just kill me.)  I’m just overall a very restless person nowadays and I don’t know what do to.  So, I will be in and out of all my online applications, instead of out, like I was for about that month.  (And I can guarantee you that that month was spent on the phone.)

I will be back soon, but until then, Au revoir!

Fettuccine Al-dead-o

The afterlife has been somewhat of a concern for me.  Especially since the past few weeks have found me relentlessly questioning my faith.  For the longest time, I had always just taken for granted what everyone told me to believe.  And that’s what it has been all of my life.  People say, “God exists, and you must believe in him.”  Because I was young and impressionable, I did. However, now that I discovered the ever nifty “thinking for yourself” application in my brain, I wonder if I really, truly believe that.  And I don’t know.

We don’t go to church.  Even when we did go to church, I absolutely loathed it.  I had to get up early on Sundays, I had to wear a dress and tights and uncomfortable shoes, and getting ready for church usually put my parents in a really bad mood.  The last time I actually went to church (outside of the going with friends on Sundays before they take me home) was probably when I was ten years old, or somewhere around there.  And I have not really regretted it.  I don’t think that, fifty years from now, that I will say, “Damn.  I really wish I had gone to church more…”  However, I think church may have helped me on my way to the conclusion of what my faith actually was.  When I say that I don’t go to church, I get these hilarious looks that are like, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME???”  My friend and I have talked about this quite a bit.  People, nowadays, believe, not in God’s salvation, but in the salvation that church provides them.  They think that attending church will save their immortal souls.  They think that going to church makes you a good person.  I’m not going to be the one to tell them that going to church is supposed to help you understand–it’s not going to help you ensure your position in heaven, not if you rely on it completely to erase the sins you committed that week.

My friend made an excellent point when we were talking about Catholicism.  “Church is a rehab for sinners, nor a gathering place for saints.”  And that’s how some Catholics view things.  Not all of them, but many of them do.  My father’s family is Catholic, he was raised Catholic, but now, he’s not.  My family “believes” as my mom says.  She doesn’t understand why you have to go to church to be able to call yourself a Christian.  But it isn’t like I exactly want to call myself a Christian, because some of the “Christian” behavior is questionable.  The protesting of a gay man’s funeral is the worst thing I have heard in a while.  It’s appalling to me, that those people call themselves Christians.  That’s very Christian behavior.  People constantly say, “What would Jesus do?”  I can tell you that he wouldn’t do THAT.  That’s fine if you don’t agree with their lifestyle, but that’s none of your business.  Forgiveness is the greatest tool that we have.

So, in all of this that I am saying, none of this has helped me in my search for something to believe.  What’s going to happen to me when I die?  I absolutely refuse that after this life there is nothing.  There’s no possible freaking way I went through all the shit I went through for it all to be OVER.  Just over.  However, I don’t want reincarnation or immortality.  Me and Taylor were talking about that and Futurama came up in conversation.  Bender said ”If I found out I had to live another life, I’d kill myself right now.”  It makes me smile.  I am still on my search for what’s on the other side of this life, because I’m not sure.  But people are helping me find my way, so maybe I’ll be okay. 

I just want to know that when I am fettuccine al-dead-o, or basting the formaldehyde turkey, that there is something waiting for me on the other side.  I know there is, but the specifics are eluding me.  So, now starts my search.  I’ll let you know how it goes.