Today I wrote my entire 12 page English Poetry Reflection within the hours of 6 AM to 11:40. Fun times.
Today I got yelled at by a librarian for eating in a study room (in my defense, it was just an apple, and I was being neat) and promptly began to cry owing to the stress and fear of being kicked out of a room that was integral to my finishing the paper.
Today I went to a doctor's appointment only to find out it was for next week.
Today I voted YESSSSSSS on the Override!
Today I gave Mr. Hill my journal of favorite poems.
Today could make or break everything.
Tuesday, May 20
Saturday, May 17
I've looked at life from both sides now...
God, I love that song. I first listened to it in theatre class and was instructed to, with four other groupmates, choreograph an interpretive dance to it. That was actually more fun and less awkward than it sounds. As we performed it, it almost made me cry. It really "hit home" with me. I spend my life trying to figure myself out, analyze my actions and plan new ones for the future. Despite what people may think about how my emotionality leads to rashness, it actually is not true. I am a very calculated thinker. It sometimes scares me, the stratagems I come up with to get what I want or need. This song, however, really speaks the truth: that no matter how much I think or plan or discover, I still am just as clueless as the next person. e.e. cummings once wrote: "Love's function is to fabricate unknownness". After my brief confusion at reading this statement, I saw what e.e. meant.
Right now I am writing down favorite poems, sonnets, and (sometimes) quotations that I love. They are poems that have moved me in ways that prose cannot. I am recording them all in this beautiful book. The cover is made from the fabric of a woman's sari, the pages are all recycled material, like cotton and there are even little blue pressed flowers in the pages. It is lovely. I am almost exactly half-way done. I am still debating whether I will keep it to read when I am feeling poetic or sentimental, or if I will give it to someone. That debate will probably last until June.
I don't know what quality it is that I have that makes me so susceptible to poetry, films, and music. I guess it is compassion. Sometimes I feel like my heart is a black hole, taking in all the emotion around it. Sometimes I feel like the films I watch, and poetry I read, and the music I hear goes straight through the pores of my skin and infiltrates my very cells. Granted, this is a very poetic, romanticized way of saying, "Art moves me" but this is genuinely what I feel. In the words of Ricky Fitts:
"Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."
I will finally leave you with a monologue that my acting teacher gave as one of nine that we could choose from. It is from Dead Poet's Society. I find it refreshing and truthful.
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse." That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
Right now I am writing down favorite poems, sonnets, and (sometimes) quotations that I love. They are poems that have moved me in ways that prose cannot. I am recording them all in this beautiful book. The cover is made from the fabric of a woman's sari, the pages are all recycled material, like cotton and there are even little blue pressed flowers in the pages. It is lovely. I am almost exactly half-way done. I am still debating whether I will keep it to read when I am feeling poetic or sentimental, or if I will give it to someone. That debate will probably last until June.
I don't know what quality it is that I have that makes me so susceptible to poetry, films, and music. I guess it is compassion. Sometimes I feel like my heart is a black hole, taking in all the emotion around it. Sometimes I feel like the films I watch, and poetry I read, and the music I hear goes straight through the pores of my skin and infiltrates my very cells. Granted, this is a very poetic, romanticized way of saying, "Art moves me" but this is genuinely what I feel. In the words of Ricky Fitts:
"Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world I feel like I can't take it, like my heart's going to cave in."
I will finally leave you with a monologue that my acting teacher gave as one of nine that we could choose from. It is from Dead Poet's Society. I find it refreshing and truthful.
"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse." That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"
Friday, May 9
"They love to tell you, stay inside the lines...
but something's better on the other side..."
Three cheers for low expectations. I came to school today late, my homework undone, dreading Psychology. I spent yesterday watching movies. I came home from the English AP, watched Dead Man Walking, cried my eyes out, watched Snow Falling on Cedars, teared up, and finally, watched Volver. All three were very good movies. And it was worth it. And the last thing one feels like doing when one gets home from writing for two hours straight is do more work. So there.
I steeled myself for my teacher's reactions. Well, my first stroke of luck was that my Math class was in the library, researching for our final project. I looked up some websites for later reference and then proceeded to finish writing the third study for my Psychology project, jotting down a hypothesis and not caring what the group thought of it, seeing as no one bothered to contact me about working in the first place. Zoe did not bother to thank me when I came to class with study sheet and hypothesis in hand, but then again, it's Zoe. I'm fairly convinced that it was she who convinced one of the people from her group of friends to pinch my butt at a dance two years ago, or at least she was giggling when I turned around, and I have not forgotten it.
So, I brought the homework to Psych and hoped for the best with the essay portion of the final. And I knew every one of the terms! Even the one that I guessed at. It was so cool! Then, we watched Mujeres Al Bordo Del Un Ataque Nervioso (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown) in Spanish and it was the strangest, funniest thing I've seen in a long time. And Antonio Banderas is in it with one of those cropped but poofy haircuts and glasses, and he stutters, and I didn't even recognize him until Sra. Elkind said, "Asà es Antonio Banderas" and the whole class went, "WHAT?"
In Theatre I had my monologue down word for word (the best out of the class) and I only made a slight error in moving to Susannah Kaysen instead of Beatrix Kiddo (we chose three characters and had to seamlessly move between them. My third was Maggie Fitzgerald from Million Dollar Baby), but no one noticed, I'm sure. The icing on the cake was when my Anatomy teacher pushed back the lab until Monday, and our quest until Thursday! So it was a spectacular day on all accounts.
I went to see Romeo and Juliet and it was lovely. It was really well done. Mercutio was stunning. He stole every scene he was in (as Mercutio should) and I never do this, but I went up to him afterward and said, "You don't know me, but I wanted to say that you were spectacular." I just couldn't... not.
So, overall, it was a pretty good day! All you have to do it go in with rock bottom expectations.
Three cheers for low expectations. I came to school today late, my homework undone, dreading Psychology. I spent yesterday watching movies. I came home from the English AP, watched Dead Man Walking, cried my eyes out, watched Snow Falling on Cedars, teared up, and finally, watched Volver. All three were very good movies. And it was worth it. And the last thing one feels like doing when one gets home from writing for two hours straight is do more work. So there.
I steeled myself for my teacher's reactions. Well, my first stroke of luck was that my Math class was in the library, researching for our final project. I looked up some websites for later reference and then proceeded to finish writing the third study for my Psychology project, jotting down a hypothesis and not caring what the group thought of it, seeing as no one bothered to contact me about working in the first place. Zoe did not bother to thank me when I came to class with study sheet and hypothesis in hand, but then again, it's Zoe. I'm fairly convinced that it was she who convinced one of the people from her group of friends to pinch my butt at a dance two years ago, or at least she was giggling when I turned around, and I have not forgotten it.
So, I brought the homework to Psych and hoped for the best with the essay portion of the final. And I knew every one of the terms! Even the one that I guessed at. It was so cool! Then, we watched Mujeres Al Bordo Del Un Ataque Nervioso (Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown) in Spanish and it was the strangest, funniest thing I've seen in a long time. And Antonio Banderas is in it with one of those cropped but poofy haircuts and glasses, and he stutters, and I didn't even recognize him until Sra. Elkind said, "Asà es Antonio Banderas" and the whole class went, "WHAT?"
In Theatre I had my monologue down word for word (the best out of the class) and I only made a slight error in moving to Susannah Kaysen instead of Beatrix Kiddo (we chose three characters and had to seamlessly move between them. My third was Maggie Fitzgerald from Million Dollar Baby), but no one noticed, I'm sure. The icing on the cake was when my Anatomy teacher pushed back the lab until Monday, and our quest until Thursday! So it was a spectacular day on all accounts.
I went to see Romeo and Juliet and it was lovely. It was really well done. Mercutio was stunning. He stole every scene he was in (as Mercutio should) and I never do this, but I went up to him afterward and said, "You don't know me, but I wanted to say that you were spectacular." I just couldn't... not.
So, overall, it was a pretty good day! All you have to do it go in with rock bottom expectations.
Tuesday, May 6
I'm so giggly and girlish,
it almost makes me sick.
And all for a boy. Le'sigh.
I honestly never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd swallow my pride and fear and... ask out a boy.
And I did!
And he said, "Yes".
Holy shit.
And all for a boy. Le'sigh.
I honestly never thought I'd live to see the day when I'd swallow my pride and fear and... ask out a boy.
And I did!
And he said, "Yes".
Holy shit.
Monday, May 5
I hate hospitals.
I hate the glaring white walls, the sickly ambience every room exudes, the irritable nurses, the long waits (if you're not bleeding from the head), and everything in between.
The only good thing that came from passing out in F Block and going to the ER was that I didn't have to take the bus home and then walk (seeing as that was the exact thing I was dreading at the beginning of F Block, hot and sweaty, short of breath, and dizzy). I guess it was nice to be chauffered to the hospital by ambulance and then to home in a cab. What service.
There's nothing terribly wrong with me by the way. Dr. Thompson (a really nice doctor who reminds me of Katherine Hiegl in looks as well as demeanor) said that my QT was a tad longer than normal (the time in between the electrical current that starts your atria to contracting. She said to get it checked out but not to worry.
So none of you worry, either! I think it was just a combination of things: being a little upset about an emotional conversation I had previously with a teacher, it being very hot in said teacher's office, and the trek downstairs to Anatomy where (I thought) fetal pigs awaited me (they weren't). The last thing I remember was turning to my friend Akiyah and saying, "God, it's so hot in this room". The next thing I remember is everything being black and hearing, "No wait, look, her chest is moving up and down. She's breathing." And that seemed really strange to me, and the next thing I knew, Ms. Rosen was shaking me lightly and I woke up and the class, for once, was dead quiet. Ms. Rosen thought that was really funny, seeing as she's been trying all year to get them to shut up for five minutes so she can teach. I live to serve.
The only good thing that came from passing out in F Block and going to the ER was that I didn't have to take the bus home and then walk (seeing as that was the exact thing I was dreading at the beginning of F Block, hot and sweaty, short of breath, and dizzy). I guess it was nice to be chauffered to the hospital by ambulance and then to home in a cab. What service.
There's nothing terribly wrong with me by the way. Dr. Thompson (a really nice doctor who reminds me of Katherine Hiegl in looks as well as demeanor) said that my QT was a tad longer than normal (the time in between the electrical current that starts your atria to contracting. She said to get it checked out but not to worry.
So none of you worry, either! I think it was just a combination of things: being a little upset about an emotional conversation I had previously with a teacher, it being very hot in said teacher's office, and the trek downstairs to Anatomy where (I thought) fetal pigs awaited me (they weren't). The last thing I remember was turning to my friend Akiyah and saying, "God, it's so hot in this room". The next thing I remember is everything being black and hearing, "No wait, look, her chest is moving up and down. She's breathing." And that seemed really strange to me, and the next thing I knew, Ms. Rosen was shaking me lightly and I woke up and the class, for once, was dead quiet. Ms. Rosen thought that was really funny, seeing as she's been trying all year to get them to shut up for five minutes so she can teach. I live to serve.
Sunday, May 4
Lately I've been wondering
why Steve, my best friend of two years, is not someone who I can date. Everything's there: I love him, he loves me, we are ridiculously compatible, we both like the same things, I can tell him anything, and vice verse. And yet, I can't seem to hold a relationship with him. I think we've "dated" three times and I always ended it. Somehow, I can't commit to someone who I know is decent and respectful of me, and kind, generous and sweet. I don't know what's wrong with me. I suspect that, after dating a series of crappy, manipulative, demanding boyfriends from age 14 to 16, I sort of got used to dating only jerks and scumbags. And now, when I try to date a genuinely good guy, it just seems off. I have no idea why this is. I always knew there was something wrong with me.
There's no point anyway; I'm leaving in three months, and we're such good friends, and it obviously hasn't worked in the past, so why give it one last shot? The thing is, I'd do pretty much anything for Steve: I'd quit soccer, I'd come down from NY every weekend, just to see him. He's one of two men I would marry without a second thought. I can honestly picture myself spending the rest of my life with him.
And yet, I can't bring myself to date him. I think it's because I'm scared to mess it up, like I always do. See, all those times I dated those horrible boys, I had something to try to fix, something to salvage. I was in control (or so I thought). However, if I were to date Steve, there would be nothing to remedy, nothing to complain about. He's a perfect gentleman to me. I realized this yesterday as he held me in his arms and stroked my hair while I cried my eyes out. I've never had a man do that for me. Not even my own father. And that is what I'm scared of: losing that constant affection, respect, and security. I'm a strong girl, but knowing that I was responsible for ruining the best thing that's ever happened to me? That would completely destroy me.
There's no point anyway; I'm leaving in three months, and we're such good friends, and it obviously hasn't worked in the past, so why give it one last shot? The thing is, I'd do pretty much anything for Steve: I'd quit soccer, I'd come down from NY every weekend, just to see him. He's one of two men I would marry without a second thought. I can honestly picture myself spending the rest of my life with him.
And yet, I can't bring myself to date him. I think it's because I'm scared to mess it up, like I always do. See, all those times I dated those horrible boys, I had something to try to fix, something to salvage. I was in control (or so I thought). However, if I were to date Steve, there would be nothing to remedy, nothing to complain about. He's a perfect gentleman to me. I realized this yesterday as he held me in his arms and stroked my hair while I cried my eyes out. I've never had a man do that for me. Not even my own father. And that is what I'm scared of: losing that constant affection, respect, and security. I'm a strong girl, but knowing that I was responsible for ruining the best thing that's ever happened to me? That would completely destroy me.
Candy Girl
I finally cut my new Prose piece for Catholic Forensic League Nationals. I chose to do an edgy, riskier piece than normal (when you're doing a piece about a girl who decides to strip for a year in front of judges who may as well be southern preachers, you're pretty much asking for trouble). However, it's my last year doing Speech and my last tournament, and I'm going to go out with a bang, doing a piece that I like, and that I chose, and that I cut. My other prose piece (The Sweet Hereafter) was one that my coach had picked and cut and given to me, saying I'd do well with it. However, when I only broke to semifinals at States, it worried me. Granted, the judging at States was completely effed up, I still felt nervous at the thought that the piece I'd be taking to Nationals in a little over a month didn't make the top 6 in Massachusetts. Therefore, I sought out a new piece, one that I would have fun doing, and one that wasn't nearly so confusing. (As my friend Stephanie told me, "It's a reeeeally confusing piece. You only did well with it based on your talent.") She finally put it into words for me, and as much as I hate complimenting myself, she's right. I really only took it to finals at state tournaments because I could infuse an overall cryptic piece with life.
So my original cutting of Candy Girl by Diablo Cody (the screenwriter of Juno (which you should ALL make a point of seeing, by the way; it came out on video last Tuesday)) ran about fifteen minutes. Not good, considering it should be no more than 9 minutes 30 seconds (leaving room for an introduction of approximately 30 seconds, and still getting under the 10:30 time limit (it's safest to shoot for no more than 10 minutes, to leave time for dramatic pauses or audience laughter, if the piece is funny). I've always wanted a dramady piece. And that's what this is. It starts out edgy and hilarious, and then it really gets pretty heartbreaking towards the end. I am so excited. I'm going to have SO much fun with it! I'm going to work SO HARD with it. I'm already working with this guy Eric Leist (a former National qualifier himself) on this Thursday, so I hope I have the time down and an introduction written by then. I'm not worried about my Poetry piece. It's been taking care of itself. The only tough part is that it kind of depends on women judges. They're the ones who get emotionally involved with it (since it's about a woman who looses her son). Anyway, I hope things will sort themselves out.
It's my last shot at Nationals after going for the fourth year in a row (yeah, I'm kind of a big deal.) Not. My first year going in Prose/Poetry I only got to Octafinals (I was still really sick then), then going in Duo the next year, I think it was only Octas then too. Last year going in Duo, we didn't break at all :( and who knows what's going to happen this year? Cross your fingers for me during Memorial Day weekend! Send good vibes all the way out to Appleton, Wisconsin for me. Love you all.
So my original cutting of Candy Girl by Diablo Cody (the screenwriter of Juno (which you should ALL make a point of seeing, by the way; it came out on video last Tuesday)) ran about fifteen minutes. Not good, considering it should be no more than 9 minutes 30 seconds (leaving room for an introduction of approximately 30 seconds, and still getting under the 10:30 time limit (it's safest to shoot for no more than 10 minutes, to leave time for dramatic pauses or audience laughter, if the piece is funny). I've always wanted a dramady piece. And that's what this is. It starts out edgy and hilarious, and then it really gets pretty heartbreaking towards the end. I am so excited. I'm going to have SO much fun with it! I'm going to work SO HARD with it. I'm already working with this guy Eric Leist (a former National qualifier himself) on this Thursday, so I hope I have the time down and an introduction written by then. I'm not worried about my Poetry piece. It's been taking care of itself. The only tough part is that it kind of depends on women judges. They're the ones who get emotionally involved with it (since it's about a woman who looses her son). Anyway, I hope things will sort themselves out.
It's my last shot at Nationals after going for the fourth year in a row (yeah, I'm kind of a big deal.) Not. My first year going in Prose/Poetry I only got to Octafinals (I was still really sick then), then going in Duo the next year, I think it was only Octas then too. Last year going in Duo, we didn't break at all :( and who knows what's going to happen this year? Cross your fingers for me during Memorial Day weekend! Send good vibes all the way out to Appleton, Wisconsin for me. Love you all.
Saturday, May 3
A Fresh Start
Sometimes, the best thing you can grant someone is a fresh start. I have deleted my old blog due to... discrepancies about the material being posted there. I will not admit that I was wrong, but I will submit to another's wish. It was a reasonable thing to ask of me, I suppose, and that is why I have made a brand new blog on which I will never vaguely mention anyone. They will be named. The only reason that I was ambiguous in the first place was to protect myself from their criticisms or rejections. But since Mr. Hill thought it best for me to get rid of a couple posts, I thought, the hell with it, and scrapped the whole blog because, after all, Mr. Hill always looks out for me and knows exactly what is best for me.
I suppose that was catty. But I meant it. I will not hold back my opinions, and now, thanks to Mr. Hill, everyone about whom I am speaking will be specifically identified. I suppose it was cowardly of me to hide behind a guise of anonymity, but then again, this is the internet, and who doesn't worry about what people will read?
I suppose that was catty. But I meant it. I will not hold back my opinions, and now, thanks to Mr. Hill, everyone about whom I am speaking will be specifically identified. I suppose it was cowardly of me to hide behind a guise of anonymity, but then again, this is the internet, and who doesn't worry about what people will read?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
