I love philosophy and the old cliches that are true in life. When I am lost I rely on wise words to get me through. Some of my favorite cliches are those that involve knowledge, time or love. (“The good life is inspired by love and guided by knowledge.” Bertrand Russell).
Although on the surface I might appear shallow to others, I am usually motivated by the desire to have others go beyond trivial emotions and pains in life. I try to base all of my decisions on logic and not on whim alone. Sometimes, however, logic doesn’t even make it’s way into the equation.
I often try to control my surroundings in any way possible. Generally, this does not work out and it leaves me feeling powerless and depressed. When I feel insecure my sense of humor completely disappears.
I spend a good amount of my free time planning the future. I have trouble with dwelling in the past and hoping for the future that I ignore the present. I do not do my homework yet I’ll set there and research colleges. The absolute pointlessness of it all make me laugh, but cry a little inside. I could tell you more about Eastern Michigan University then I could tell you about the structure of cells or factoring an equation.
Add It All Up January 11, 2009
I Was Just Thinking… About That Speech You Gave December 25, 2008
Can I just scream? That would get it out. Get IT out. All out, all gone, it’s lost. I’m lost. Truly don’t know what to say. Don’t get weird on you? What is that supposed to mean? On you? Don’t be weird. I was already weird, but you certainly are not helping. This is driving me crazy. You are driving me crazy! Do you want me to be crazy? It sure seems like your goal. Get me alone, crazy, stupid. (Alone. We are alone. Two stupid lonely souls combining to get… You are not alone. You already have…) No, not stupid, terrible thing to say. That someone so smart could be so stupid. (Might have to take me out back and…)
Me? Smart? Smart aleck, smartastic, sarcastic? Yes. Smart? No.
My blood is running cold and I am shaking. Not from the cold, I’m used to the weather. But this -this thing- makes me shiver, my hairs stand on end. On end, the end. Is this my end? End is definite, death too final, too simple. (Suicide is no longer an option.) The dead are cold. Am I dead? I think, therefore I am, therefore living. Can I be and still be dead? It’s not a physical cold, (physical. Physical cold. Physical hot.) it’s a psychological cold. All in my head. All in. All or nothing, in my head. Making it up, of course not intentionally. Or, yes, intentionally, subconsciously.
Talking about it does not calm anybody down. It is not up for discussion. (SHUT UP) It is to reflect and drive me crazy, but it is never to be discussed. With anyone, especially you. I cannot talk to you about you. (You: the object of my affection, my attention. My excuse for lack of attention to things others deem important.)
Take a pain killer, numb myself. Hardly solves anything. Seems that whenever I am numb is exactly when I need to feel. (Feel what? Feel who? Feel life.)
A Little Over Board November 16, 2008
It is about time. For once (make that twice) , time has ruled in my favor. And victory sure tastes sweet.
Victory number 1: Barack Obama. Finally a Democrat is back in the office. Someone to bring up the nation from the disparity of the Bush Administration. In the beginning, and to a certain extent, now, I did not know that much about Barack Obama.
Victory number 2: I finally found my wallet, which contains, amongst other things, my library card. I was not able to visit the library for weeks. I was deprived of reading anything other than debate research.
So it struck me. I needed to read, and I had someone I wanted to read about. Without delay, I placed a hold on practically every book on Obama within my library network. When I finally made my way to the library, the books sat snuggled on the holds shelf.
I stacked the books in my hand, barely able to balance them to the checkout counter.
The first night I let them sit at the foot of my bed, as I was preoccupied with piles of homework and chores. The second night I cracked open the first book with Barack’s face on the cover.
I was delighted as I learned previously unknown information on our president elect. From Hawaii to Kenya to Chicago to Indonesia to Iraq. I became frustrated, twice shouting at the book, for the overused reference to Barack Obama as ‘Barry’.
I still have a lot more to read, (including Audacity of Hope)and I am looking forward to it.
Maybe if I ramble… November 2, 2008
National Novel Writing Month. Forcing yourself to write 50,000 words in 30 days. It fast forwards the entire writing process. I planned on participating, but I have yet to do anything about it. I haven’t drawn a brainstorm web, nor an outline. I have absolutely no idea what I am going to write about on the first page, let alone another 200 pages.
The longest I have ever stayed on a project was 20,000 words. However, I do not count this, as it was over a period of four years. So writing more than twice that in a month should not be a problem. I will just have to give up all of my time. What used to be time spent for poetry and pleasantries such as sleeping, will now be spent as a novelist.
Now the only issue is what I could possibly write about. There is clearly not enough time to be doing any research. (Aw, yes, once again my greatest foe has screwed me over. Time runs out when I am busy and goes painfully slow when I wait.) What do I know well enough to write a novel on? Heh, heh. That’s not very… okay, maybe something a bit more age appropriate.
I have nothing. I will write a book about nothing. A title, my name, and hundreds of blank pages. I am sure it will sell. As a starter log, but hey, as long as I get royalties.
If you can’t meet a deadline… October 27, 2008
No, I do not pay attention in English. I’ll admit to it. But that is not the reason I am currently failing. I’m failing because time is my worst enemy.
My teacher does not accept late work. For the most part, I understand this and I respect it. However, when the thing I cannot turn in late is what the teacher is basing the entire first card marking on, I’m going to be ticked. Especially when the project is something a respectable writer should not be doing.
Let me elaborate. Every year, as a student in multiple classes within the language arts department, I am stuck composing a book of poetry, Do not get me wrong, I love writing poetry. I don not even mind being graded solely on how well write, or my ability to stick to a form.
However, in no way do I condone mindless typing and binding of work. Finding picture in magazines (using someone else’s work to show of your originality.) and slapping them onto previously untainted literary art is just not right. Neither is putting a title on every poem, lest ye be marked down for not finishing the assignment. Not every poem can be titled right away. Sometimes it takes day, even weeks to think of a fitting title. So having a student label a poem five minutes after writing it is unjust and agaisnt any sort of writers code.
I do not fail from not doing the work. I do the work, as pointless as I find it. I have it done, just not with me. It was due at the beginning of the hour, as soon as I arrived. Unfortunately, at the time it was siting n my nightstand. I attempted to have my mother drop it off, but it never came.
So don’t call me a slacker. Do not say that I am under protest and wanted this failing grade. Just see it as another attack from time, another victim to the cause.
