Junior year. I should be studying for psychology.

With a workload that even Atlas himself couldn't balance on his shoulders, I fight to keep my sanity through this crazy year. The climax of this plot is still on its way, and it won't be until spring I get any (if any) falling action.

I remember the happy days of middle school like they were just yesterday. I remember the happy days of sophomore year as if they were just an hour ago. Less worries, less work, more enjoyable classes.

That was the time I used to write. That was the time I believed that I, a supposed English prodigy, would follow my love and write to inform the world of what was going on. I would write to spread my voice.

That time is over. In the midst of never-ending school assignments, a screaming 'forget me not' social life, and journalism/design (my temporary love) the romanticism of childhood is quickly coming to an end...

...and I hate to cut the eulogy, but the signal detection theory is calling.

Good night, should anyone read this. =)

The summer starts with some kind of throat illness, my voice taken from me, my nose stuffed, my coughing endless. There's nothing I hate more than that hopeless, sick feeling that has adorned me for the last three days.

Nonetheless, it is in this fit of illness I was able to go through that white, old-school-stuff box in my closet. I found old yearbooks, stories, and yearbook. I found some entries from my old diary. Basically, I feel bad for myself.

She, the little girl in the pictures, with the big brown eyes. She, the shy one, who says she could use more friends, that she loves her parents, that she wants to grow up to be "nice and to cooperate" (as stated in the first grade book thingy, "My Heroes"). You feel bad for her, see her as a stranger, but then it strikes you that those big, brown eyes are yours. You look in the mirror and think, 'Wow, I was that person.' and it's so hard to believe.

People let go of the past so easily. It's going back and looking through it that we really get an idea of what we've really become now.

Wow, I wish I could talk and communicate these ideas, but with my throat/voice, that's really not an option at the moment.

<3

I suppose I either forgot about this thing or how to write period. It has been months since I've written anything creatively: swamped with schoolwork and life, I have forsaken my apparent (but fading) writing talents for the joys of having absolutemment (I tend to use my French freely, unfortunately) no free, constructed time. My life screams the words "VITE VITE VITE!" For every minute, there is something to do. A second sitting it is a second wasted. VITE VITE VITE!

Even now, as I type these words, the keyboard second nature to my veteran fingers, I feel the seconds moving, the clock ticking. I've got government to do. I did want to watch Beauty and the Beast tonight (for old times' sake). So much to do! So little time to do it! Why, I need to wash my hair, pick out my outfit for tomorrow, go to bed at 10 (it's a far-fetched, but it's worth pushing for). I can feel the fatigue of tomorrow already creeping up today.

Gone are the days of childhood, where I could frolic and let my fingers explore the keyboard, making up little words to describe me and pretend characters' lives. Woe.

Vite, vite.

Can anyone say suck up?

Midterms.
all week.
studying.
every day.
Oh my god.

Tell me when it's Friday after 11:30.
Then I can live again.



GOOD LUCK TO YOU TOO.

No explanation necessary.

Homecoming was absolutely amazing.

End of story.

"Man is born free; and everywhere he is in chains."
-Jean Jacques Rousseau

After some luck, I got into our school's journalism class. I quickly learned that only fifteen people will get into the paper next year (out of a class of 30). So where does that put me?

I'm afraid I won't have the skills to get in, which will stink because of the late I've seriously decided I'd like to be a journalist of some sorts when I get older; whether it be one working for a newspaper or a news anchor like Katie Couric. Apparently, in order to make it next year, what sets apart a good candidate from a great candidate is "attitude, work ethnic, cooperation, and quality of work". I'm not sure how far my writing will go this year, but I'm pretty sure I'll have to work at it. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

In my life, I have always liked to believe two things:

A) There is at least ONE person who wishes they were you.

B) There is at least ONE person who secretly loves/admires you.


When asked if I know my A and B distinctly, I will still say I don't know. If the mystery is drained, what else will I have to believe in?

School is leaving me blue. The more I sit in it, the more I wish I was back with my schedule from last year. Every day feels like forever. I can already feel the stretch of tomorrow haunting on me today. Tell me, is that right?

...I didn't think so either.

Have finally realized summer is over.
Disgusted feeling at the pit of stomach for new schedule.
Excited to see old friends.
Upset to give up barely sleeping in.
Doesn't want to go back.
Regrets taking Drama a second year.
Regrets reasons for regretting taking Drama.
Hates, hates, HATES the first week of school.
Does not have any 'school supplies'.
School is Monday.
Sister's orientation is tomorrow.
Thursday is tomorrow.
The calender hates me.

"You look perplexed."

"I'm always confused."

"Well, look on the bright side: at least you're thinking."

Once upon a time, in the heart and heat of summer, on the page of my one and only exclusive Xanga, I begun documenting my 'literary' quest. "Since school is out," I reasoned, extending a pointer finger for self emphasis, "I shall attempt to keep my skills sharp so when I go back, I won't be as dead as everyone else!" A pause, "And I'll do this uhh...by writing lots of silly stories and actually checking books out of the library! Brace yourself English 10 GT!"

And it did very much brace itself.

On quiet days, my mother, sister, and I would arrive at the old library; a place that many people consider for nerds. Why hang out at a library when there are 'Be Quiet!' signs everywhere? You can't scream in that establishment. You can't be eccentric. You can't be crazy. You can't even talk at a normal volume without having the rest of the room listen into your conversation. Even with these limitations, I went anyway, in the hopes of getting an ice cream on my return (strawberry custard with lemon ice...mmmm....). Every time I went, I seemed to think of a new book I wanted and thus searched for it on the library's computers and checked it out. At one point, I even checked out A Hard Day's Night on DVD. Mmm...cute Paul; I'm Happy Just To Dance With You; All My Loving ("close your eyes and I'll kiss you. Tomorrow I'll miss you...")...all the early hits that won me.

Anyhow, from my rentals, I derived a list of books I wanted to read and in the order I am going to read them. I am listing them here because I seriously doubt I will finish them (not with the lure of my Nintendo DS and neighbors)...

Books:

Everything Is Illuminated
Flowers For Algernon
The Great Gatsby (halfway through!)
The Three Muskateers
The History of Love
Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close
Brave New World (finish)

While I have all of these books, minus the first two, in my house I seriously doubt I will finish them because I cannot make myself sit down and read for long periods of time. I will never be a reader, I suppose, no matter how hard I try to read books 'for fun'. There is too much going on out there; the sun is too busy shining; the birds are too busy chirping; the world is too busy spinning. There also hasn't been enough rainy days. I emphasize the fact that though they call for rain in the forecast, IT DOES NOT RAIN!

I pray for a snowy winter to compensate for it.

I've also been writing too, but my fiction is far to boring to list. Prose On The Go!, the collection of stories I have conjured up this summer, is at an official standstill. I'd call it a shame too, but at least I have my DS.

Happy Last Two Weeks of Summer, guys! It's killing me too.

I went to a wedding yesterday, which means a day in heels and a dress (quite a stretch for some people). Again I am reminded on how TV has got it 'all wrong'.


The reception was amazing after. I use amazing meaning it was amazing that I could have myself five Shirley Temples, without paying a cent. I could tell by the end of the evening, the bar tenders were annoyed with my constant orders; or orders in general. There was dancing and a rather interesting mix of music. Rap and country; country for slow, rap for casual. My eyes brightened at the sound of the Jackson Five; a frown reappeared as it faded into some rap song. Oh, Micheal, why'd you have to lose your childish charm and trade it in for molester harm?

Slow dances were awkward to watch, but surely romantic for the couples. Did I dance one with my father; did I dance one with my brother? No. Did I dance at all? Once. There's something about watching your father boggy that makes you just want to join with him. My sister, however, strayed on the side. After, I was confronted by my old uncle-or-something. "I saw you out there! You said you couldn't dance!" One of my aunts at the table cut in, only to me nodding.

"I can't."

Earlier, when asked whether I could dance or not, I had replied flatly I wasn't 'capable'. Darn, I forgot to stick to it.

Sterile. White.

The waiting room of my doctor's office is a miserable, isolated place. I sat on a brown chair with blue cushioning, beside a small table of brocheures. Plain ignorant and nervous, I reached over and grabbed one with a pink cell phone. As my dream life includes having my own cell phone of that hue (or something other than the typical hue of gray or black) I was drawn. I was quizzical. Why on Earth would my doctor's office be advertising cell phones? Did Verizon strike a deal with them?

And if so, why Verizon? There was T-Mobile; Sprint; that company with the 'come and get your love!' slogan; the orange little head and body? Why discriminate? What if their employees had a different phone company? Did the phone companies take turns around doctor's offices? Were there epic competition; epic showdowns in which two representatives from phone companies stood vertical from another, backs turned. A raised gun. Unheard of silence. A tumbleweed lingers inbetween. "Alright, T-Mobile. We're in a showdown for the eye doctor's office! CHA-CHOW!"

...but no. Once again, my innocent eyes are deceived. Just a brief look inside and I found mass information on cervical cancer. "You want your daughter to have a full meal of breakfast, wouldn't you want...?" The brocheure went on and on; trying to inform mothers of the risk. Throughout this, I shook my head. Yes, I know it's caused by HPV. Yes, I know it shows little to no symptoms.

But did you know a vaccine has been found and approved by the FDA and will be in distribution by next year? Do you know this vaccine greatly decreases the risk, if not eliminates it for some altogether? Do you know this teenage generation will have a chance, so long as (and even if they don't) restrain from sex? Yes, your pink cell phone is attractive; so very. But did you know that you are spreading unnecessary worry and fear? I'm sure new pamphlets are in the making as we speak. My doctor's office is a little slow, anyway. The marketing? Far advance.

Anyhow, my trip to the doctor was quite short spent. There was the tradition height and weight session, in which I learned that I'm not 5'5, I'm almost 5'5 and God, I'm so short; I could cry. There was the talking to the doctor briefly, finding out I was a-okay and doing fine. Completely healthy. And then the test...

The nurse comes in with a faceless expression. She sets her bag down, tells me my finger's going to get a 'prick'. Dabs it. Dries it. PUNCHES A HOLE INTO IT; without a blink, without a word. Grabs a drop of blood. squeezes it for two. Secures a Bugs Bunny band aid around it, practically squeezing off my circulation. My typing and right pointer are rendered. While it didn't hurt, explaining the details to my cousin only disgusted her.

"EWWW UR SICKING ME OUT EWWW SICK!" Her IM flicks on my screen, after my glorious description. A second. "EW EW EW E WE WEW EW EW EWEW!" In this exact typing; I know, I copied and pasted.

I find it amazing that even when causing pain to someone else, the other end can act so emotionless. She didn't say, "This'll only hurt a minute, sweetie!". She just did it. I'm not sure whether this comes with age or the fact that she's an intern. Whatever the case, I can't say it was that horrible. It was just remarkable. More reminders that the only doctor I hate is the dentist. The main doctor is second on my list only to the eye doctor, which is the best doctor to go to in the entire world, so long as you're not going blind.

Letters, letters, letters!

Outside my window, the forest that stands in my backyard is tinted. Bright green has now turned into a more subtle color, emphasized with the faded tan of its branches. This green fills my backyard, from the swings of the forgotten playground to the stairs of my extravagant porch. It is rainy. It is 10 AM. I love it.

There's this calm before the storm; this time of complete silence. The only thing I can hear is the chirping of the bugs in my woods, sizzling as if there was a sun out. Green leads into more emerald as you continue into this words and through the window, I can see the outline of further trees. In the winter, they are just gloomy branches; a forest of brown and grey. In the fall, they are reds and oranges and browns, a mass display of color. In the spring, they are budding greens with white flowers; petals descending down on the ground. The forest is a perfect display of the seasons.

It also tempts my mood. Today I am feeling easy-going; free. There is no intense sun on me, just the calming sound of those little bugs, my keyboard, and the pleasure of knowing that surely, it will rain; it will pour. I will be stuck indoors all day, but that doesn't matter. Thoughts come easier in rain. It's almost artistic and as this summer progresses, I find days like this are a rarity. When it rains, it pours, and won't that be nice?

When I first heard of LiveJournal, I was a wee little preteen, peering over the shoulder of my big, big brother while he updated his. "What is this?" I inquired, in a squeaky high voice, in which he looked over at me and shrugged.

"A LiveJournal." Simplicity in tone.

"Oh...can I make one?" Girly grin.

"Well, that's up to Mom and Dad, and I don't think you're old enough."

Driven, I almost did, about to hit the link to start my blogging days. When I realized, however, it was meant for the sages older than me and not for me to tarnish the quality of with my teenybopper thoughts (Orlando Bloom is NOT hot, he only LOOKS hot), I refrained, beginning my great social networking adventure with my first love, Xanga.com. The bright colors attracted me, like every other little junior high student, to write about my days at middle school. 'Today sucked,' begun one hypothetically, 'Because Mr. So-and-So spent the whole time being a subbing snub and everyone took advantage of him. How rude!'. Nowadays, the entries have become slightly different. 'Today sucked for some people because John took advantage of Sarah and now she's afraid she's pregnant with his child. Has anyone heard of abstinence anymore? I think not! Really, TMI! How rude!'.

Of course, I am only kidding, because my life is far cleaner and more boring than that. Nevertheless, I am ready for the mature blogging experience the sages once held. Although my writing is not top-notch, it is certainly coming along and I feel I am ready for the challenge of living up to LiveJournal's supposedly good name. Brace yourself, LJ, for the commentless entertainment is here!