Quarter Review

This quarter has been fun. I was surprised when I found out we’d be making blog posts for homework, and for a little while in the beginning I’d been frightened- what if something goes wrong? What if I can’t make my posts because my computer crashes or I forget to do them? I soon found out that the blog posts were a fun, lighthearted part of my weekly homework; before long I was making my fiftieth post, more posts than anyone else in the Freshman or Sophomore classes. It became a sort of... way to entertain myself. Bored? Make a blog post! Nothin’ to do? Make a blog post! Trying to slack off? Make a blog post! I was actually quited disappointed when we took a couple weeks off to do other things in English like read books and do essays on them. Of course, this quarter of blog posts still taught me things.

I've been searching for years for the mistake I was making in all of my pieces. I would write these great stories, these wonderful narrations of a made-up world that fills up my every waking moment. But there was always something wrong with my pieces- there was always something off about them, something that made me throw them in the trash each and every time. At one point I started working on a long-term project (which I will now have to go back and edit) that started out great but started turning into a disaster. My teacher finally helped point out where I was having difficulty- Mr. Sutherland* noticed that I was putting too much detail in certain places and not enough detail in others (when I mentioned this insight to my mom she gasped, grabbed the edge of her chair, and said, “Oh! That’s it! We’ve figured it out!”). Using this feedback I began to be more aware while writing, and I do believe I’ve improved over the past month and a half. Along with this fun I’ve had real growth and time to think about my changes.

My favorite post would have to be “Rhythm”, although I do love the “Am I an Alien?” chain and I plan on continuing that throughout the year. I like “Rhythm” because it’s just so random but beautiful. It’s about being peaceful through a beat, your beat, and it makes everyone seem individualized (isn’t that what they want anyways? To be different?). It’s a people-pleasing post. And the “Am I an Alien?” series is just a really fun side-project that I enjoy working on. Some of my posts are from a chain called the “30 Day Challenge” in which you write thirty posts (not, apparently, over the course of thirty days, though) and each post is a letter you would write to a different person, like your crush or your parents. So far I've only gotten to around the sixth post in this Challenge because I'm stuck on the next 'assignment', where I must write a letter to my favorite actor/actress or TV character. I don't watch TV that often, so this should prove to be fun...

If you were to walk into my  house and watch me write these posts, such as the ones above, you would find me sitting on my bed with my backpack and random papers strewn out in front of me and my laptop on my, uh, lap. There would be no books open, no research showing, no tabs on the computer so that I can switch to them to read up on things. That only happened once (Am I an Alien?- Part 1). Most of what I write comes from personal experience or just random thoughts entering my head. At the beginning of the year Mr. Sutherland told my class that we could do one of two things on our blogs... A) take part in the “Arena” which means that we would do constant debates and responses on our blogs or B) take part in the “Journey” which means that we would write posts about creative things we’ve done or something that is currently taking up a lot of time in our life. I chose the Journey, and Journeying is exactly what I’ve done.

I’m inspired by many different things. Sometimes I write my posts out of anger- I don’t want to start shouting at people on the spot because, generally, when I get angry I stop thinking. I have a point, but I’ve forgotten what it was or I can’t formulate the words to explain it. If I write it down I can remain calm and actually get my sentences out without stuttering. I can edit my paragraphs, review my argument before I send it out for everyone to read. Sometimes my posts are inspired by general creativity- I have several posts that are fiction I based off of good music I listen to. I also have three posts that are stories- two of them are chapters of a book I’m working on and one of them is just a Scary Story, which Sutherland apparently thinks is disgusting- I agree. I remember when I made him read it... I later told my mom his thoughts about it, and what he'd said: "Ewww!!!" I then asked her if I could read it to her- she declined the offer and gave me a strange look. I think I deserved it.

I definitely think I’ve improved over the past quarter. With Sutherland’s advice and my own realization that he was right, I dedicated myself to making my paper’s more balanced when it came to detail. Although I’ve never posted it (which I might, maybe, possibly) I wrote an essay for writing class that turned out better than I’d expected. I just need to ask Mrs. Corbally if that's alright before I take any actions. My writing has already improved, and I’m having fun with every minute of it. In fact, sometimes I think I write and make posts too much... Even though I was reassured it’s OK...

*Aka Freddy.

Rhythm

Feel it in the air around you. The way the cars pass by outside at a steady pace, then way the pencil seems to swish along the flesh of the paper as you write on it your words and formulas. You could hum a tune to that beat, that seemingly endless thud of life, filling your ears with the sound of living, breathing atmosphere. Take a deep breath in and let it out slowly, closing your eyes and tapping something with your finger. Find your rhythm- don't be concerned if it takes a while, you'll find it eventually.

Your rhythm is your lifestyle. It's like a snowflake- no two rhythms are alike. Not completely. If you're experiencing the harsh reality that Life is Violence and there's a heavy weight on your shoulders like no other, simply return to this rhythm. Keep a certain peace within you while knowing, for certain, that this specific rhythm is your own. It belongs to you. It defines you. No one else can have your rhythm, and it sets you apart from everyone else in the entire world. Always remember about this beat. No matter how difficult the times are, no matter how much spoil these wars bring upon you, you will always have your rhythm.

All you've got to do is listen to the way the air moves around you, close your eyes, hear your heart beating, and begin to tap your fingers. There it is. There's your rhythm.

It may change over time, but that's natural. Just as you may change- your tastes may branch off from what they once were, your outlook on life may take a drastic turn (for the better or the worse)- your rhythm will change. Don't fret- it is still yours and only yours, to carry with you from the moment of your birth to the last breath you take. It will remain a snowflake among other snowflakes- always different.

Your rhythm is a beautiful thing. It makes you beautiful.

Of Mice and Men

(Seriously, Mr. Sutherland, how can you sit there and go through the same essays over and over again? Doesn't it get boring after a while? I mean, even if everyone did a perfect essay, it'd still be a lot of repetitive information, just written differently. How much coffee do you drink to stay awake, man?)

The novella Of Mice and Men, by author John Steinbeck, written in 1937,  is about two men, George and Lennie, who are constantly having to move from town to town because of Lennie’s mistakes. Lennie has some kind of mental disability that makes him not remember things and makes him really stupid. He especially enjoys touching soft things, which is the main cause for conflict in the story.
  
Speaking of conflict, I think the main type of conflict in the story is character vs. society. This includes character vs. character, self, and society because everyone is part of the greater community, even oneself. If a person hates themselves for some reason, they are hating a part of someone that’s in a community.

At first it’s character vs. character- Lennie vs. George. At one point on page eleven George says, “You crazy son-of-a-bitch. You keep me in hot water all the time.” Throughout the course of the book it is made clear that Lennie is holding George back- he’s slow, and he’s always getting into trouble that makes them need to move around and start over somewhere else. Like any normal person, George is getting sick of it. He often calls Lennie a “crazy son-of-a-bitch” and tells him just how much he holds him back. Lennie threatens to leave, go off the live in the mountains, if he bothers George that much.

That’s when it becomes character vs.self. Almost immediately after George blows up at Lennie and starts shouting at him, he begins taking it all back and apologizing. On page thirteen after Lennie had been threatening to run away, George says, “I want you to stay with me, Lennie. Jesus Christ, somebody’d shoot you for a coyote if you was by yourself. No, you stay with me.” This sort of love-hate-tug-of-war is hidden in the background for the rest of the book, until the last chapter. George tries to be nice, because on the inside he’s shooting himself ten times over for ever being mean to someone as mentally messed up as Lennie.

The people outside of the pair (George and Lennie, that is) are the source of the character vs. society, although Lennie or George could, at any time, be counted in as part of society. Anyways, every man (and woman) on the farm or ranch has something to do with the conflict in the story. Crooks scares the daylights out of Lennie when he says, “S’pose George don’t come back no more. S’pose he took a powder and just ain’t coming back. What’ll you do then?” (Page 71) Curley causes much conflict with the way he’s always getting angry and trying to find any reason to pick a fight with Lenni, who never wanted to hurt anyone. Curley’s wife is a big part of the conflict- she just had to be the biggest whore around. Marriage and a home isn’t good enough- she’s got the flirt with every guy she can rest her eyes on, and do much more than that if she can. Poor Lennie falls into a trap of seduction, but things go much differently than she’d planned, especially when she ends up dead.

Everyone is part of society in some way, even the main characters. That’s why, if you single out one character, everyone else (even the other main character) is also just another part of society. That’s why I think that the main conflict is character vs. society. It’s a big enough umbrella to cover most of the basics.

Religion

How does Christianity make sense? How does religion make sense?

There are people starving in Africa. There are people murdering, raping, torturing, molesting, abusing (mentally and physically). There are horrible politicians. There are wonderful politicians that should be elected but never were. If there's a God, why isn't he helping these victims? If he were supposed to bring the Rapture in 2000, isn't he a bit late? And why can't anyone see God?

And what about animals? If God made all these different animals, why isn't he protecting them? Animals are being abused and killed every day- from domestic animal abuse to the murder of wild animals. Entire species going extinct all the time. If there's a God, why isn't he helping them?

And why are there other planets? Why, if God made this planet as a special planet, why are there so many others? Why were we able to go out into space without seeing heaven on the way?

I don't consider my own religion really... a religion. In fact, I hate that word. I hate using the word 'religion'. For me, it's a way of living. I spend my days worrying about the planet and the things living on it (other than humans, we're already fucked anyways). I do lots of things with herbology (lavender makes you fall asleep so fast), stone working, and full moons. I'm a spiritual person, but I'm not spiritual in a freaky way. I'm not cultish. I don't sacrifice babies and small animals (that's sick, people). I don't even believe in sacrifice.

Personally, in my opinion religion is merely a tool used by governments and other high powers to control the population. Religion is not something I approve of.

That's just my opinion.

Quiz thing

http://www.wordofmouthexperiment.com/dedpyhto/tests/tibetian/index.htm

It's really cool. I mean, I dunno if the whole "YOUR WISH WILL COME TRUUUUEEEE" thing is right, but the results of the actual quiz made my jaw drop because of how, um, insanely accurate they were...

SO TAKE THE QUIZ.

And perhaps my tiny wish will come true. If it does, I'll tell you guys. :D If not, it's still a damn cool quiz so take it.

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50th Post

Yes, indeed, this is my 50th post since creating this blog.

...

I'm sorry, Mr. Sutherland. And everyone who goes into Google Reader every day and sees "Susan Peevy- seven new posts!"

...

The irony is, this is yet another post that shows up on Google Reader and annoys you just a little bit more. :D

So. Who wants to celebrate my 50th post with me? :D Pepporoncinis for all!!

...not really, they is miiinneeee.

...Elizabeth says hi. :D

Of Mice and Men Essay (First Draft?)

Of Mice and Men is about everyone else being ‘against’ Lennie. Lennie isn’t ‘against’ anyone else, because he’s not sane enough or smart enough to feel that way. Everyone hates him. He just wants something soft.
  
I think the main conflict of the story is character vs. society. At first it’s character vs. character- Lennie vs. George. At one point on page eleven George says, “You crazy son-of-a-bitch. You keep me in hot water all the time.” Throughout the course of the book it is made clear that Lennie is holding George back- he’s slow, and he’s always getting into trouble that makes them need to move around and start over somewhere else. Like any normal person, George is getting sick of it. He often calls Lennie a “crazy son-of-a-bitch” and tells him just how much he holds him back. Lennie threatens to leave, go off the live in the mountains, if he bothers George that much.

That’s when it becomes character vs.self. Almost immediately after George blows up at Lennie and starts shouting at him, he begins taking it all back and apologizing. On page thirteen after Lennie had been threatening to run away, George says, “I want you to stay with me, Lennie. Jesus Christ, somebody’d shoot you for a coyote if you was by yourself. No, you stay with me.” This sort of love-hate-tug-of-war is hidden in the background for the rest of the book, until the last chapter. George tries to be nice, because on the inside he’s shooting himself ten times over for ever being mean to someone as messed up in the head as Lennie.

The people outside of the two are the source of the character vs. society, although Lennie or George could, at any time, be counted in as part of society. Anyways, every man (and woman) on the farm or ranch has something to do with the conflict in the story. Crooks scares the daylights out of Lennie when he says, “S’pose George don’t come back no more. S’pose he took a powder and just ain’t coming back. What’ll you do then?” (Page 71) Curley causes much conflict with the way he’s always getting angry and trying to find any reason to pick a fight with Lenni, who never wanted to hurt anyone. Curley’s wife is a big part of the conflict- she just had to be the biggest whore around. Marriage and a home isn’t good enough- she’s got the flirt with every guy she can rest her eyes on, and do much more than that if she can. Poor Lennie falls into a trap of seduction, but things go much differently than she’d planned, especially when she ends up dead.

Everyone is part of society in some way, even the main characters. That’s why, if you single out one character, everyone else (even the other main character) is also just another part of society. That’s why I think that the main conflict is character vs. society. It’s a big enough umbrella to cover most of the basics.

Uncontrollable

(Note: To Constance and your mom, sorry I got some of the facts wrong when I was telling you guys about it earlier XD)

The year I was born (1996) my brother was nine years old. A week before his birthday, he began complaining about headaches and body cramps. He didn't feel well. Since my brother, at that age, was constantly coming up with fake "illnesses" to get out of school, my mom barely gave it a second thought. She sent him to school. When he went to the nurses office, they didn't believe him either and sent him back to class.

Later that week, he couldn't use his leg. It was completely limp, and he dragged it behind him as he walked. Since he'd been complaining about the same symptoms all week, my mom decided to take him to the doctor.

In that week, my brother had had six strokes. Five of them had been minor, and had, all together, only managed to make his leg limp. The last stroke, which happened at the hospital, made it so that he had to stay in his hospital bed for the next week, missing both his birthday (December 22nd) and Christmas. Ever since then the entire right side of his body hasn't worked quite as perfectly as it should. His handwriting is atrocious. He doesn't have peripheral vision on that side. Occasionally, if he's a bit hungry or has been working hard for a long period of time, his hands will begin to twitch or shake.

That's why I'm so sympathetic. Don't get weirded out if I start getting protective. You know who you are.

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Day 6- A Stranger

Dear Whoever you are-

Hopefully you're human, or at least something like it (see these posts). I hope you're something like me, because that would make it easier to write this. It gets awkward trying to talk/write to someone that I have nothing in common with.

What's your hair color? Your eyes? Your skin? Are you short or tall? Round or skinny? Do you laugh a lot? Or are you more serious than that? Do you cry when you get angry, like me? Or do you get really quiet and start plotting revenge like my mom? Are you smart? Not so smart? Were you offended by that last statement if it was true? I'm sorry, then. And if you weren't offended because you know that you're smart, then I'm not sorry, because there's nothing to be sorry about.

What country do you live in? America? Is it anywhere that I would like to live? What's it like there?

Are you different from me? What's it like being someone else?

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Day 5- Your Dreams

...really...?

Uh... I guess my dreams are for Nolias to be real so that I could go there... But if the answer needs to be more realistic...

My dreams about five years ago were a lot different. I wanted to live in a house with LOTS of stairs to run up and down on, I wanted my own kitty, I wanted to be able to fix all my parent's health problems, I wanted to have a special refrigerator that's always stocked with whatever I want most... I wanted to have the ability to "one-up" all the cruel popular people that harassed me every day... I wanted to be filthy rich so that I could buy every single toy, movie, CD, or piece of furniture that I saw. I wanted to have a pool. I wanted to live on the edge of a beautiful forest so that I could have conversations with the magical trees that lived there.

Years before that my dreams were only slightly different. I still wanted money and to live on the edge of the forest, but I also wanted so very, very much to grow up to be a doctor so that I myself could cure my parent's illnesses. I wanted more attention from my older siblings. I wanted to go to my grandmother's house all the time to swim in her huge swimming pool.

Now, though, my dreams aren't like that. I want a hot tub, not a pool. I want a girlfriend or boyfriend. I want to get perfect grades in school so that I can become and engineer, lawyer, or famous poet/author and I can make enough money to buy a farm in Montana or Ireland and get good medical care for my parents. I want my guitar to be fixed and my piano tuned. I want to be able to order clothes from catalogs. I want to be able to buy a better laptop. I want to own a dog, and maybe my own goat. I'd name the dog Goat Goat and the goat would be named Bunny Bun.

My dreams have simplified over the years, I suppose. Maybe I'm being depressive and realistic. Maybe I've taken into consideration that if you shoot for simpler things, you won't be as disappointed if it doesn't work out.

Another Poem for the World

As mem'ries dissolve into nostalgia

And hope begins to fade into the years...

I truly hope that somewhere in this crazy head of mine

Is the strength to forget all of my fears.

Short poem by me, Susan Peevy. :)

Just what am I seeing

...when I look out the window? What kinds of people are there? Do they look like me? Do they act like me? Or am I somehow completely different from everyone else in the world? Part of me wants to be. Part of me wants to be someone amazing- someone who ends up in the history book for... I dunno, doing something wonderful. The other part has this simple life planned out- marry some smart guy with a good sense of humor and have two kids. Live on a wonderful farm in Ireland or a comfortable house in France. Have a small house near mine for my parents to live in. And what about the other people of the universe? Will I meet other people in my lifetime? Will my children? Will my children's children?

But, I think, if I could, I'd escape. I have my little world, Nolias, tucked away in the depths of my imagination. I have my characters, little bits of my fantasy that are like saved files on a computer. In my mind, Nolias is a beautiful world that doesn't have the diseases ours does- technology, overpopulation, animal murder. It's just green. Trees, mountains, fields, streams, rivers, oceans. And it's all clean- no plastic bottles and bags everywhere. And the people, the people are all so understanding- there's not that many secrets in Nolias, unless you've murdered someone you weren't supposed to.

But that might sound crazy. Hell, I could be crazy. For all I know, this is all some dream that my head has conjured up while I'm in a three year long coma, which is where my mind has sent me to after being tortured nonstop for several hours... Things like that happen to people. For all I know, this is the Matrix and the image I see of myself is actually just a computer generated image. Life... could be from the imagination of some other blond haired girl living on the planet... Marxuc (Mar-zuke) who thought it would be interesting to have her own planet called Earth. And others would say, "What a crazy soul you are, Nodena, making up these strange stories about that thing you call rock and roll and that food you named sushi. What a strange girl you are." And I would be just another character- possibly just another face in the crowd to create a background for the true main character.

But who is the main character? Is it the president? Is it my next door neighbor? Do I know any of the main characters? Am I the main character? How will I ever know? That is, if it turns out that I am, indeed, a fragment of Nodena's imagination.

But if I'm not a main character, then why is my personality so complex? It's one thing to say, "Oh, she's emotional, but she's also quite silly." It's another thing entirely when I'm good at logic and solving puzzles, I love to write poetry, tiny things bring tears to my eyes- especially as I get older, for some strange reason- and I love to laugh loudly until my stomach hurts and I must take a nap or go to bed afterwards from exhaustion.

Not that any of those things are different from other people, but perhaps Person A doesn't have quite the same mix of personality as Person B. Person A could have all of the above mentioned personality traits except for a habit of trying not to laugh because of nervousness and insecurity. Person B could be, well, me.

But what makes me... me? My personality? Or do I need my physical appearance in order to be me? If I were to look into the mirror and see that my reflection is not my own, I would say to myself that my appearance is, indeed, not my own. I would say "That's not me." And then I would insist that someone stop playing nasty pranks. However, if I saw myself (while in a different body/appearance) but with a different personality, I would say "That's me! Give me back my body!" So, taking that into consideration, is it that the appearance is what defines how we are recognized? But the personality is what makes it so that there are people to recognize that you are who you are. Without a friend or family member to recognize who you are, your personality would be for nothing.

So your appearance is for those who don't know you to identify you and for those who do know you to find you in a crowd. Your personality is that for someone else to interact with and recognize you by long after they've already memorized your appearance. If someone were to be acting like someone else, their friend might say, "Joe, you're not acting like yourself. Snap out of it."

...are we actors, then? All part of one long neverending play? Or are we really our own, individual people? Will we ever know? I sincerely doubt it.

Better

A ‘positive deviant’ would mean, in more simple terms, ‘good difference’. So when Atul Gawunde gives tips on becoming a positive deviant, he’s talking about how to make yourself stand out in a good way. In the Afterward he wrote, he talks about medicine and gives tips on how to stand out as a doctor- but one could become a positive deviant in whatever way possible. In my case, I could become a positive deviant in high school.

His first tip is to ask a question that’s friendly and doesn’t have anything to do with the work at hand. If I were to treat my classmates as though they’re just other students that I have to go to school with, I’d never get anywhere in life. But if I were to ask them questions- “What’s your favorite color?” “Where do you buy your clothes?” “What’d you do this summer?”- they become real people, and once they become real people, it’ll be easier to work with them. Instead of thinking ‘My task is to work with this person whose name is Joshua,’ I’d be thinking ‘Oh, great! I get to work with Joshua! He likes that one roleplay website as much as I do, so we can talk about that while we’re working!’ I can make friends easily that way. Just as well, if I’m working with someone I don’t know that well, I’m more likely to be nervous and mess up. But if I ask them questions and get to know them, it becomes easier and easier to work, and thus I do a better job.

His second tip is that you shouldn’t complain. That’s something that I already know, but I still complain a lot to my friends, and sometimes even to my parents. When I complain, whatever I was doing becomes less and less something I want to do. It becomes harder to finish, harder to work with others, harder to just continue with whatever it is I was doing. It’s scientifically proven that if you frown or grimace, your mood drops. If you smile, your mood rises. The same must be true with attitude. If I act like something is really horrible and boring and I-don’t-want-to-do-this-anymore, then I’ll shut down and stare down at the paper as though it has done something to me personally. But if I act like it’s just another task I must perform to become a better me, I can get it done with the thought of a good outcome.

His third tip is to count something interesting. That’s not saying that I should go around my house counting all the books (I’d lose count and probably bore myself to sleep that way)- but if I see snails after a light shower, I could count them, and perhaps that night it would rain harder and I could count the snails the next day and compare the two numbers. I could count only my books, and then compare them to the amount of books my friend owns. When he says counting, he doesn’t mean that you should just count something and let it be done with. Notice other details that go along with that number. Let’s say I have more horror novels than my friend- that says something about our personal preferences, and about our personalities. Counting isn’t just ‘one, two, three, four…” What are you counting? What does that number represent in your mind? Is the number too high or too low? Do you think you should own fewer books or more books?

His fourth tip is to write something, anything. It could be a simple list, or it could be a novel. Whatever it is, just write. I’ve already taken this tip to heart, even before I read the Afterward. I’ve been writing short stories and poetry since before first grade, although when I was younger my words were sillier and more childish. Because I’ve been writing so long, I’ve figured out ways to easily describe my emotions without just writing “I am happy because…” Instead of that, I could write something like “There’s a certain joy welling up inside of me, a certain overwhelming happiness that makes me want to run out, into the cold or warm, into the rain or shine, and laugh like a small child in the spring.” I could then go on to write more details about why I’m happy. And instead of someone reading that and saying, “Oh, that’s great,” they could say “Oh, wow, I know exactly what you mean!” And it’s in those moments that you feel especially connected with the world.

His fifth and final tip is to change. Now, he doesn’t mean that every week you should completely change who you are in order to be constantly changing. He means that if something comes along that is different, learn to adapt to it. In the past couple of years I’ve had to learn this. Up until seventh grade my life has generally been the same, and I was perfectly content with that. But in eighth grade things started changing, new things began popping up, and old things that I had grown used to and wanted to keep the way they were began to either disappear from my life or change drastically. For a while it was like I was standing over a crack in the earth with one foot on the side of my younger reality and the other foot on the side of this new reality, trying desperately to pull them back together to make my present time normal again. But the crack began to widen, and if I didn’t choose one side or the other I was going to fall in and die. I chose the new side, not because it was safer, but because in the end I decided that whatever happens in life happens, and I’m going to be changing my entire life anyways.

In high school I expect new cracks will appear in the pavement, but when they come, I’ll be ready for more change.

Day 4- Your Sibling

Hey Cora. Gere. You guys rock. I mean, you guys put up with me for so long, your tiny little annoying sister. One of you is ten years older than me and the other is nine- yet, even though you guys had lives to get to, you still managed to be such a huge part of mine.

Cora! Good job getting into MAC! You've come so far as VintageorTacky, and now you're moving up! I swear, someday you're going to be a very famous make up guru. You're already known by so many people around the world. How many subscribers do you have- like, sixty thousand or something like that? Damn, girl. You dun good. I'm proud of you, my older sister that never even learned to drive yet made it so far. You're one of those uplifting stories we read in school about people who started out on a bumping road but used their own strength to pave it over and make it all better. In our family you're legendary.

Gere... Peet's Coffee won't be a good job forever. It'd be a good part-time job while going to college, but you aren't doing that, are you? You were the sibling that spent the most time with me when I was little- remember when I used to sit on your back and watch you play video games? Or harass you and your geeky friends as you sat around in your smelly room playing D&D? And now... now you're barely passed that. I mean, it's good to be a geek, but sometime in your life you've gotta do something big. Even if no one notices, I will. I'll be the passerby that heard the sound of the tree falling in the forest. Of course, mom'll be there too. You know she will.

I love both of you guys. You're the most awesome siblings ever. :) And yes, Bucky, you're awesome, too. It doesn't matter if you're blood or not, you're still part of the family. Hell, I've known you so long you seem like an older brother, anyways. I barely remember anything before six years old, and that's around the time you came into Cora's life and became a permanent part of it. By the way? You guys are the cutest couple. Ever. In existence. Now gimme some nieces and nephews.

Scary Story

A man was sleeping in his bed when his daughter came up next to him.

"Daddy?"

He propped himself up on his elbow. His sight was blurring, but he could still make out the numbers on his alarms clock glowing red- 3:23 AM. He looked at his daughter and blinked repeatedly. "What  is it?"

"I had a nightmare."

His vision cleared every so slightly. She was extremely pale. "Why don't you crawl in next to me and tell me all about it?"

"No, daddy!"

"Why not?" He frowned. There was something odd about her face.

"Because in my dream, when I told you about my dream, the thing wearing mommy's skin sat up."

He froze, paralyzed. Her face was a mask of pure horror. He held his breath as the blankets behind him shifted.

About Dancing

(Inspired by the lyrics to the song Aubrey by Bread [yes, that's the band name]. Check the song out here. The story takes place around the time of World War 2.)

He did not know the girl he was dancing with. He knew almost all of the men in the room- he'd fought along side most of them. As soldiers, pictures were often being shown around of wives, fiancées, mothers, sisters, and even cousins. These men that he'd trained with were his brothers, and he knew all about them. Not any one of them had ever mentioned a young woman with bright blue eyes and dark brown hair.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Aubrey, you?"

"...Lenox." She had confidence. If he'd been any normal man, she would have made his knees wobble. But he was a soldier, and nothing could compare to the things he'd seen.

"Aubrey... do you actually know any of the men here?" By finding out who she knew (that is, if she knew anyone- she seemed like the kind of girl that would walk into a soldier's party just to dance and have a few drinks), he could find out more about her.

"Colonel Sonian is my father," she replied. "And you? Do you know anyone here?"

It didn't take long for Lenox to understand what she meant. "She wasn't able to make it." He cringed at the disappointment in his voice.

Aubrey stared at him thoughtfully. "What's her name? Your girl?"

"June. Her name is June."

"Is she your wife?"

He frowned. "No. She was... something for a while, but we've decided that it would be better if we weren't in any kind of actual relationship."

She smiled sadly, knowingly. "I can't imagine why she'd just... let someone like you go."

"Someone like me?" He wasn't used to being complimented.

A new song came on, something more waltz-y but fast paced. Their circular motions sped up, making Lenox feel dizzy. The entire world seemed to spin around them, the lights a glowing blur, the faces of his many friends just a background scenery for the one that he was staring at. She was definitely a beauty, but not in any classical kind of way. She was beautiful in odd ways. It made her all the more interesting.

"I love your name," Lenox said, for lack of anything better to say. "It's different."

Her smile was warm. He enjoyed that smile. "Thank you."

Later on, when Lenox looked back at those few moments he'd spent with Aubrey, a small part of him wished that he'd have done something like ask for her telephone number. He never did see her again, but he always remembered her name, and just how much he loved it.

Day 3- Your Parents

Hey, mom and dad. Um... I know I can be a pain... And I know that in the past couple of years we've had a lot of problems... But I'm working my ass off now. I'm pulling all of my grades up. You guys don't have to stress out anymore. You already have enough health issues as it is- I don't need to add to anything. I love you guys, even though sometimes it probably seems like I hate yours guts. I could never hate you guys. You're my parents. It's not physically or mentally possible for me to hate you. I'd just... implode if that happened.

So yeah. That's all. I love you. :)

Day 2- Your Crush

Shane. I miss you. I don't even know if you remember my name, but I miss you. We met in kindergarten. Remember that? The kindergarten class was playing duck-duck-goose, but (if I remember correctly) you were playing a pretend game (dinosaurs, heehee) all by yourself. I got up to play with you because you looked lonely. You were my first friend.

Then first grade came. I don't remember much of first grade. That was the year I met Jayla, Kalli, and Cassidy. I played more with the girls that year. I remembered seeing you at lunchtime though. And I remember that day when I kissed you on the cheek and you kept squirming.

Second grade was better. I started playing more with you and your geeky friends. You guys were either dinosaurs or wizards- I think, at one point, both. But I didn't want to be a dinosaur, so I decided that I was going to be a pixie. I hadn't even known you'd heard me, but later that day, during lunch, you came running up screaming, "MY PIXIE, MY PIXIE!!!" D'you know how special that made me feel?

And then third grade came. Oh, what a nightmare. That was the year I moved away. Of course, I was an idiot and forgot to get your phone number before I left. My mom says that as we were pulling out of the parking lot you looked at our car with a sad face. I feel bad about it, but I'm actually happy that you were sad- sad that I was leaving. It means I wasn't just a friend. I must have meant something to you.

I remember that horrible feeling I got when I called Jayla and she said you'd moved away, too. It was then I knew I'd completely lost you. But I kept searching for your name in the phone book, your face in the crowd.

Perhaps now that your sister has added me as a friend on Facebook we can become good friends again. And I can ask you if you were as deeply wounded as I was when we parted ways.

NaNoWriMo!

NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month. It's where people around the country spend a month writing their own story (50, 000 words long) and then go to parties and read them in front of people. It's a way for people to say "Psh. Please- I once wrote a novel in a month. What have you done?"

So far the people (that I know of) going to ASTI who are entering are Constance, Ms. Ahn, and myself. Anyone else interested?

Am I an Alien?

Last night, my family and I sat in my living room talking about random life. My brother suddenly sat forward and said, in a quiet, secretive voice, "You guys wanna know something?"

Our attention had been caught.

"Now, this is going to sound weird, but I have this theory... Whenever I talk about this at parties it always clears the room..." We were all suddenly nervous. What strange thing was he going to tell us? Had my brother finally gone insane? And then he said it: "We're all descended from aliens."

"Bullsh*t." I believed in aliens, but my 'beliefs' didn't go quite that far.

"No, no, no, listen, listen..." He shushed me. "Why did so many people just suddenly have pale skin? Blond hair, blue eyes? Red hair, green eyes?"

My mom and I were both quick to say, "Scientists have found that it was some sort of genetic mutation."

My brother kept saying we're descended from aliens, so I decided to set him straight. "Evolution, evolution," I said. "As ancient peoples migrated north, they weren't getting as much vitamin D from the sun... It was the vitamin D, vitamin D..."

He sat there calmly as I explained to him how logically we evolved over time. Then he fought back.

He started talking about planet twelve.

Everyone that knows anything knows that the planets in our solar system all revolve around the sun in basically the same way. Sure, they might be tilted differently. Sure, they might be farther away. But if you line them up, they're all basically in the same area. But there's a planet, planet twelve, that moves around the sun in a completely different way- perpendicular to Earth. And you know how sometimes planets line up, right? And how those are always the best nights to look at that planet through a telescope? Well, every couple thousand years this planet, planet 12, meets up with Earth. Guess what archeologists and scientists have discovered about each of those times?

Each time planet twelve lines up with ours, human civilization on Earth has some sort of technological leap. Like going from sharp rocks to farming tools to electricity to breaking the sound barrier. Every time.

Another thing (that I can remember- he talked at us about this for a couple hours)- a lot of ancient Gods and Goddesses had paler or white skin- if we go along with my brother's theory, saying that pale people are descended from aliens, this only proves our point. And if you look at ancient hieroglyphics in Egypt and Sumeria, there are drawings and carvings everywhere of people with space helmets and rocket  ships.

Other topics of interest during the discussion:

- Did we really land on the moon? My dad says "Of course!" because at the time it happened, he (and a crapload of other people around the world) were tuning in on their HAM Radios and listening in as Niel and his pals landed. We say they used satellites to bounce the signal from Earth and make the Radio people think they were getting broadcasts from the moon.

Also, if you ever see the "video" that Niel got on the moon, their are several key factors that make you go "Woah." I've seen them. Firstly, the American flag we supposedly put on the moon is waving around as if in the wind. There isn't wind on the moon. There isn't even enough atmosphere. Secondly, at one point in the background you can see something like a person walking past in a black suit- as if the whole thing was being recorded on a stage. Lastly, the way the astronauts were moving is physically impossible. Some scientists manage to recreate the gravity that the moon would have (using math to calculate it, of course- by how close the moon is to us, how close we are to the sun) and they managed to make that kind of gravity in a small location on Earth (like in a room in their laboratory). The kind of steps the astronauts were taking on the moon, in the kind of gravity the moon is supposed to have, should have sent them flying.

- The explosion that was heard around the world. June 30, 1908, something hit the Earth in Siberia with enough force to make a loud clapping sound that was heard, literally, around the world. At the spot were this happened, the trees that once stood tall are now flattened out in a sort of ring with the middle being the spot they're facing away from. In this stretch of area, nothing will grow- no new trees, no plants, nothing. Scientists can't even get pea plants to grow, and pea plants will grow anywhere if you give them sunlight and water. Some people say it was a tiny black hole. Others, like myself, say it was a UFO that ran out of gas. Oops.

- The Bloop. Look it up on youtube. The Bloop is a sound that can be heard occasionally in the ocean. It was caught on microphone. The Bloop is a sound so incredibly loud that no blue whale could ever make it. What immense creature could have made this sound? Do we even want to know?

So. Are we completely human? Or are those like me- people with pale/paler skin, blue or green eyes, blond or red hair- all the descendants of life forms from planet twelve? What do you think?

Sources:
My brother, my dad, news articles, and this little book called The Twelfth Planet by Zecharia Sitchin.

-edit- The Bloop was heard and recorded by U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) in 1997.

Stolen idea!- 30 Day Challenge- Day 1

I've seen some people doing this and I looked interesting so I decided to take part. :P Don't murder me?
---

Day 1- Your Best Friend

Dude, Constance. How long have we known each other? It's only been, I think, a year and a half, but it feels like we've known each other forever. I still remember that morning when I glanced over and saw your necklace and said, "Oh, hey, I like your necklace." And then I spent the next week psyching myself up to ask you if you were Pagan. I saw you at the library all the time. I don't remember, but you were probably reading Pratchett.

I remember the first time I went to your house. I swear, your house is like a drug, because the first time I saw it was, for some reason, the most awesome. I mean, it's still awesome, but my memories are telling me just how freakin' awesome it was then, too. It's like crack. Your house is crack.

And I remember the first time you stayed at my house. We stayed up until 8 o'clock in the morning, remember? I think you made your original Facebook account just so you could fill out that questionnaire thing with silly answers. Those answers were hilarious at the time because we were so tired, but they were probably crap answers, on both of our accounts.

And is it weird that I miss walking to school with you every morning?  I mean, except for all those annoying sixth and seventh graders that harassed us every day (kids these days!), those walks home were awesome. Most of the time, that is. Sometimes we'd fight. Those days were really sad.

I think one of my best memories is when we went to Yosemite. That entire time was completely amazing- with all the people from CAYA. And we would go outside every night to swing on that tiny playground, and we'd look at the stars and talk about random shit. And that stupid light would always slowly go out and then come back on again and we'd be like "WTF IT CAME ON AGAIN." And then we'd end up singing Beatles songs.

Dude, you're an awesome friend. If I'm ever being a jerk or something, just remind me about Yosemite. Because you're awesome. Seriously.

PS- Constance is not my only best friend (I have, uh, three others?) but she was the first thing that came to mind because she's so weird. XD)

PPS- HI JAYLA.

PPPS- And Mercedes and Elizabeth, yes, you guys are awesome too... :)

About Falling

(Inspired by the lyrics and music video for the song Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls. Check it out here.)

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming/ Or the moment of truth in your lies/ When everything feels like the movies/ Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.


He recalled the past few days of his life with a certain fondness that made his chest hurt. His heart was racing in his chest as he glanced over the edge, over his feet, at the dark water below. The sound of speeding cars behind him honking their horns alerted him to the fact that if he took too much longer someone might try to stop him.

He closed his eyes and smiled. He could see her now- her oh-so-pale skin framed by long, dark brown hair, her blue eyes staring past him. He'd been just a stranger to her. Just another person she passed by every day on the street.

He spread his arms wide, feeling the light sea breeze on his fingertips. He sighed and let himself fall forward.
---

Three Days Earlier


He watched her. From his tiny, round apartment overlooking the popular four-way street of London, he saw everything. By simply leaning against the window and gazing out at the corners, he learned who the people were. There was the businessman that he'd nicknamed George. George was quite a serious man, but after watching him, our protagonist concluded that he was a lonely man who tried to hide his sadness.

But the one our 'hero' (because the protagonist is generally the hero of the story) enjoyed watching the most was the beautiful woman that walked past his apartment every day. It wasn't that he was some kind of sick pervert- he was like George. Lonely, with nothing to do with his life. He just sat up in his room all day. Watching people was the only way to understand what others were like. It was the only way to know what was going on in the world without actually leaving his small home.

And she was so beautiful. She was petite but she had a full body, and she looked like she would be a good mother. He thought that if he ever wanted to marry and have children, she would be the perfect woman. She was generous, always helping people with things. He found himself falling in love with this woman that he didn't even really know.

He had to actually communicate with her, or his entire life would have gone to waste.

One afternoon, around the time that she usually appeared outside, he rushed down the stairs to his front door. It squeaked as he opened it- he hadn't gone out for a while and had been living off canned foods- and a gust of fresh air filled his lungs. He stepped out onto the sidewalk.

He couldn't have waited long before he saw her, making her way through the crowds, right towards him. For a moment he wanted to run back inside, escape the world, forget about this woman, but his feet wouldn't let him move. He'd become apart of the sidewalk, and it wasn't until she was a foot away that he found himself in control again.

"Excuse me," he breathed, reaching out to her. She stopped and her eyes met his.

He kissed her. Time seemed to hold still for those few seconds. He realized that his arms were around her and he pulled away, shocked with himself. Her eyes were wide with the same emotion.

"I don't want the world to see me, because I don't think that they'd understand," he explained in a hushed voice. "But when everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am."

Responding to another thought

I found a quote on Constance's blog in which she was responding to Stan's blog...

Now I, in fact, am Pagan, a belief system which is misinterpreted quite often. I have known people to call it devil worship, which is not true at all, and there are many prejudices against it in general. I see no reason for this. Just the fact that someone does not share my beliefs does not give them the right to assume it's something specifically against theirs.

Freedom of Religion, people. I think I'm beginning to love that part of the Constitution more and more each day. People have their rights to any religion as long as it doesn't harm other people. Because sacrificing people in the name of the "Devil" isn't cool. People are always trying to convert other people to their own religion, which often ends up in some kind of war. Religion is often connected to power and money and a certain drive for world domination. I'm not saying that religion is bad, I'm saying that some people use religion in bad ways.

Priests used to sell indulgences. Before the printing press was created, priests would often twist the Bible into whatever they wanted in order to influence the people. Political leaders are often chosen for religious reasons. As people living on one planet, we need to focus less on religion and more on what we can really see and feel. Because, truly, no one can actually see or talk to God. We can't hear him. We can't smell him. Religious peoples may try to say that we are always seeing, hearing, smelling, and speaking to God, we just don't know it- but how factual is that? That's like saying, "Oh yeah, you just ate dinner, you just don't know it because, even though you've been completely aware of everything for the past few hours, you couldn't feel, hear, see, smell, or taste the food you were eating."

If you can't believe that, then how can you believe in God?