I leave in three days. I hoped someone special would remember, but they haven't mentioned it yet. Maybe tomorrow- I'll cross my fingers.
Today was strawberry lemonade.
It was Milky Ways and running away
Not a drop of gray or any foul play
Today was a painting by Monet.
I'm one of those people who whole-heartedly believe that every day, there will always be good and bad things about the day. Getting my ACT score early was the good thing. Getting my haircut was the bad thing.
Remember my story, about getting my hair cut? Apparently those were too high of expectations, and I now look quite androgynous. Or Justin Bieber-esque. I'm not sure which description I prefer. It'll get better, though.
I've found myself reminiscing alot as-of-late. I've taken several very important people in the different parts of my life and traced back every good memory I could think I've shared with them, and pondered every fact about them I could remember. For some reason, it is always boys- it feels weird to think about girls, and boys just always seem so permanent. All of my girl friendships never lasted. Boys don't get angry at you and not talk to you for several months. I'm not sure how people can even like girls- they are all kind of selfish sometimes, but I guess boys probably are sometimes, too. It is so wonderful, though, just to think back on all of the good times- the happiness seems to seep forward, regardless of time. I suggest that you try it some time. I might make a list of some happy thoughts, but later.
*mack. :)
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, June 20, 2011
all ideas become one, eventually.
I love the way the ferris wheel shoots streams of neon colors in the background near the end, and that you can hear the song and the waves whilst watching the sun dip into the ocean. There is very little I wouldn't give to be there- even if it were a hallucination, it would be a dream in itself.
But today I stumbled upon the danger of dreaming, once again. People daydream of perfection, of twisting their surroundings into what they want life to be. But once they take off those rose-tinted glasses, they have to return to the real world, a world with some comfort but no perfection. Somebody in a book (Paper Towns, actually) once said that the fun wasn't in doing something, but in planning it, and this is the truest thing I've ever known but not realized. You can imagine perfection- I think that is why I daydream constantly and consistently of happiness- but you cannot live it.
I daydreamed for hours about my future home/cottage today. I've always looked to interior design as an inspiration and a hobby. I know that people say to "Follow your dreams" and "Do what you want to do with your life," but honestly I cannot. Alas, writing and interior design don't earn enough money- that doesn't utilize your talents, my parents tell me, so they push accounting and engineering pamphlets down my throat. But in my dreams, that is all alright. There are no struggles with money while I am dreaming, so that is where I reside- in my dreams.
Today specifically, I've looked at so many pictures of houses that I can close my eyes and simply imagine walking through "my" house. I have always wanted a greenhouse connected to the house, and every living space to have its own unique style. I don't even care for the outside of the house- as long as it can hold all of my dreams and lovely things, it will do. I think that summarizes how I feel about people, too, but I don't feel like explaining my vague metaphor.
mack. :)
This post is like a week old, but I just haven't come up with anything new. You can't always have a creative, new idea ready to develop.
Monday, June 13, 2011
getting a haircut.
Once upon a time, there was a girl. She desired for a change to alter her sad self. So she decided to get a haircut- that's what her momma had always done, and she had always come back with colors in her hair and a wider smile. She handed the stylist a picture of what she wanted her hair to look like, and when the stylist spun the girl around to face the mirror, she looked into her own blue-green eyes and saw a twinkle. Then her eyes quickly twisted upwards to her unruly eyebrows. She sighed and let her eyes wander through her hair. There were so many things that laid in her medium-length hair, many that could not be fixed with styling or highlights. In her hair, she could see all of the things she held onto. She remembered, remembered when a boy told her that she held onto too many things. How could he know that, when she didn't even notice that she was holding onto things? Right there, sitting in that chair, she thought about everything she had held onto.
She held onto her kindergarten crush that dumped her, the one she cried over on the playground afterward. She held onto all of the kids that made fun of her for her speech impediment, the same speech impediment that took her almost four years to get over. It kept her from speaking up, from talking to people. She held onto the boy in fifth grade that she was surely in love with, but her parents forbade her from seeing. She held onto the bully's remarks, a bully that tortured her from eighth grade to sophomore year. It took the girl years to get over her evilness, but once the bully fell from her high horse, the girl felt empowered- as though all of the remarks crumbled, too. She held onto all of the empty crushes that she had terribly hoped would work out, but never did. She even held onto that boy, that boy that seemed so perfect for her, but was interested in someone else.
She felt the scissors snip away, and watched every lock as it floated onto the floor. She had held onto these ugly ideas for years, but that day, she noticed that the ugly ideas she was holding onto were not her "memorable" childhood, but her way of blaming her problems on exterior factors. She was the one making them matter, she was the one making herself feel ugly. She finally let go, closing her eyes and feeling her head as it became lighter.
The girl waltzed out of the salon, her smile shining brighter than ever before. She had always hidden behind bangs, but now she would not be able to. Her hair was very short, and it perfectly framed her beautiful face. But it wasn't about this haircut that was her metamorphosis- it was the happiness from inside of her that now exuded from her face.
iwish,
mack. :)
She held onto her kindergarten crush that dumped her, the one she cried over on the playground afterward. She held onto all of the kids that made fun of her for her speech impediment, the same speech impediment that took her almost four years to get over. It kept her from speaking up, from talking to people. She held onto the boy in fifth grade that she was surely in love with, but her parents forbade her from seeing. She held onto the bully's remarks, a bully that tortured her from eighth grade to sophomore year. It took the girl years to get over her evilness, but once the bully fell from her high horse, the girl felt empowered- as though all of the remarks crumbled, too. She held onto all of the empty crushes that she had terribly hoped would work out, but never did. She even held onto that boy, that boy that seemed so perfect for her, but was interested in someone else.
She felt the scissors snip away, and watched every lock as it floated onto the floor. She had held onto these ugly ideas for years, but that day, she noticed that the ugly ideas she was holding onto were not her "memorable" childhood, but her way of blaming her problems on exterior factors. She was the one making them matter, she was the one making herself feel ugly. She finally let go, closing her eyes and feeling her head as it became lighter.
The girl waltzed out of the salon, her smile shining brighter than ever before. She had always hidden behind bangs, but now she would not be able to. Her hair was very short, and it perfectly framed her beautiful face. But it wasn't about this haircut that was her metamorphosis- it was the happiness from inside of her that now exuded from her face.
 |
| her hair looked a little like this. |
iwish,
mack. :)
Friday, June 10, 2011
one day.
(This might make sense, it might not. I hope you enjoy it.)
If I was to tell you a story, why, I'd have it right marked out in my mind how I wanted to tell it. I'd start at the beginning, advance to the middle, and end with the resolution if it was a happy story, or just a conclusion if it was a sad tale. But writing a story, well, that's a whole different story. I'd write the juicy part first, and then I would reach the end, and finally turn around to backtrack to the beginning. But I'll be telling you the story here, not writing it. The only problem was that I had no idea how the story was going to start, at first. Can a person write a good story about nothing? I know people have told good stories about nothing, and they have produced good television series about nothing. People do a lot of things about nothing, and for nothing. It doesn't matter. But I never would have thought a walk after school one day would have been the beginning of my story...
It was the last day of school. The sun was shining, the bluebirds were boasting their beautiful feathers, and hundreds of kids across town were outside for what felt like the first time in months. It was that sense of freedom, that sense of having somewhere to go and an actual life to lead, that reverberated through the halls in the young souls' loud laughs and cries. I walked alone, not because I had no friends, but because all of my friends had already graduated high school a day earlier. I was officially a junior (seeing that I had passed all of my courses), and the observation was odd. It was like having a birthday, but not feeling older. I walked out of school, as a junior, alone.
The main entrance (or exit, at the time) was packed with other individuals traveling in groups, trying to get away from the place they so easily dismissed as being "hell." The doors were flung open as each group proceeded through the door, letting the sticky summer air hang over in the lobby like a fog. The door was slammed in my face- so much for the etiquette classes we were forced to take. As I exited, the air conditioning extinguished immediately, leading to the exhausting heat outside. Henry, my best friend, had told me that he and all of our other mutual friends were going to be at the usual teen hangout, a bakery/smoothie place amiably called The Crisp Mango. It would be the last time I would see Henry for awhile, as he was going to Florida with all of the other seniors immediately the next day. The quickest way to get to The Crisp Mango was going down Baker Street, walking north on Sycamore, and then I would reach it immediately- it was only a five-minute walk away. That seemed too easy, however- I wanted my own adventure. I aimlessly walked south on Sycamore.
There were so many different things about Alexandria that made it unique from any other city around. The smells that came from the rows of bistros were delicious enough to guide my walking. Sycamore Street weaved and twisted itself all the way around town, as did I. I wandered and found myself in a gourmet ice cream shop. Spiked with hunger, I reached into my pocket for a couple of dollars and bought a small ice cream cone, on a flavor called "Birthday Surprise." I normally would never buy anything with the word "surprise" in the title, but the first word was associated with too much delight to pass up. The old man's smile as I bought the cone also relieved my anxieties. I licked the ice cream cone once I walked out the store- yum.
Whilst licking my ice cream cone, I immediately felt like I was fifteen, instead of sixteen- almost like an anti-birthday, where a year was lost to time. I kept walking- I was now in the business sector of town. Adults dressed up in suits and nice dresses ran, coffee cups and suitcases in hand. The womens' heels clicked ominously on the concrete sidewalk. They didn't even bother to notice my existence, too wrapped up in getting somewhere and talking into their own ears on those stupid-looking talking devices. Amidst the banks and office buildings, there was a familiar salon, where Henry's mother worked. I saw her in the window, sweeping around her chair. I waved goodbye as I walked away, and she twinkled her fingers.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as I meandered down the suburban sprawling streets. The houses looked similar to one another, and the only variations in them were the types of similar houses. There were tall houses that all looked similar, and small houses that looked similar, and even fat and skinny houses that looked similar to other fat and skinny houses. Some were brown, some were white, and some were red. Nothing about the houses physically could change that they were homes, though. I looked at my phone: "One Message from Henry." "Where are you?" it read. But this was something I had to do, all by myself. He wasn't going to be here to be with me when I was bored out of my mind over the summer, writing words aimlessly on paper that probably would never be seen by anyone else. I clicked the phone shut, and wandered on. I noticed, walking by, that a family was moving into a huge million-dollar estate. A for-sale sign was being pulled up in the front yard. A lady in glittery high heels and a provocative black dress was shouting on her cell phone over the lawn mower, and as a design specialist tried to talk with her about some kitchen tiles. The movers drove through the open black-iron gate and started unloading a huge statue of someone, probably the woman with obviously fake-looking breasts. I walked on.
I was almost to The Crisp Mango. The only place I could think to go to next was the park. The park was very large, and sat in the middle of Alexandria. It was basically a pond surrounded by several playgrounds, a picnic area, and encircled by a walking trail. The rubbery walking trail felt warm under my thin flip-flops. The little kids ran back and forth from the playground to the parents to the playground again, comforted again and again by the sight of their protectors, and then forgetful of everything that mattered and played carelessly. The delight shone in their faces and large, bright eyes, brighter than the Sun. What I would give to be a kid again, all of the teenagers and adults always said when they reminisced on old times, when really they were "young times." The kids continued on, as did I.
I reached the picnic area, and no one was there except for an old woman with an equally-old dog. Her hair was peeking out of his flowered cap, and the soles of her boots were thin with the walking she must have done with the dog over the years. She wasn't seeking money, but a passer-by could see that she needed it. She saw me looking at the dog, and called over to me.
"Hello there," she said.
"Hi." I shyly replied, only making a small dent in my straight path to look at her. The dog ran up to me, and I petted it. The dog had no ticks, and his fur seemed clean. The only things that looked old were his eyes- a dull grey color that seemed to tell hundreds of stories. The energy the dog had about it was still youthful. The old woman slowly rose from her seat on the bench and walked over, facing only the dog. I could tell that that dog, no matter how old it was, was her biggest concern in life.
"You know, a dog can tell if a person is nice or not," she started. I smiled. "Yessiree, this dog right here has been with me for the long haul."
"What's his name?" I wondered aloud (I could tell now that it was a male).
"Roger." She said, reaching down to pet him. "My husband named him. Roger was a wedding gift, and we took him everywhere. We even took him on our honeymoon..."
"That's very sweet."
"Yep. Of the three of us, we are the only two left now. But that's okay. It'll be the three of us reunited, soon enough. It's very important to have adventures, but it's equally as important who you have them with." She smiled. The dog urged to walk home, so we parted ways. I walked out of the park, and just a block away was The Crisp Mango. I walked across the street oh-so-carefully, and walked into The Crisp Mango. The air inside was warm but tolerable, especially compared to the tormenting heat outside. My friends were seated around the table in the back corner, next to a small bookcase.
"Where were you?" Henry asked from the counter where he was buying cookies, beckoning me to come over. He hugged me, and whispered in my ear. "I have a surprise for you."
I followed his lead back to the table. As I was sitting down, they laid a cake down, set with sixteen candles. I giggled as everyone came out and started singing. I looked at Henry and replied.
"Oh, I had just one day to be fifteen."
That's what I said- fifteen. But I also felt five and fifty, all at the same time. Age is just a number, and life is just a short amount of time. You have one day to live your life until you hit another number, and then more come and then you're suddenly in the ground you'd always walked on over. Nothing will matter then, but some things are nothing now.
If I was to tell you a story, why, I'd have it right marked out in my mind how I wanted to tell it. I'd start at the beginning, advance to the middle, and end with the resolution if it was a happy story, or just a conclusion if it was a sad tale. But writing a story, well, that's a whole different story. I'd write the juicy part first, and then I would reach the end, and finally turn around to backtrack to the beginning. But I'll be telling you the story here, not writing it. The only problem was that I had no idea how the story was going to start, at first. Can a person write a good story about nothing? I know people have told good stories about nothing, and they have produced good television series about nothing. People do a lot of things about nothing, and for nothing. It doesn't matter. But I never would have thought a walk after school one day would have been the beginning of my story...
It was the last day of school. The sun was shining, the bluebirds were boasting their beautiful feathers, and hundreds of kids across town were outside for what felt like the first time in months. It was that sense of freedom, that sense of having somewhere to go and an actual life to lead, that reverberated through the halls in the young souls' loud laughs and cries. I walked alone, not because I had no friends, but because all of my friends had already graduated high school a day earlier. I was officially a junior (seeing that I had passed all of my courses), and the observation was odd. It was like having a birthday, but not feeling older. I walked out of school, as a junior, alone.
The main entrance (or exit, at the time) was packed with other individuals traveling in groups, trying to get away from the place they so easily dismissed as being "hell." The doors were flung open as each group proceeded through the door, letting the sticky summer air hang over in the lobby like a fog. The door was slammed in my face- so much for the etiquette classes we were forced to take. As I exited, the air conditioning extinguished immediately, leading to the exhausting heat outside. Henry, my best friend, had told me that he and all of our other mutual friends were going to be at the usual teen hangout, a bakery/smoothie place amiably called The Crisp Mango. It would be the last time I would see Henry for awhile, as he was going to Florida with all of the other seniors immediately the next day. The quickest way to get to The Crisp Mango was going down Baker Street, walking north on Sycamore, and then I would reach it immediately- it was only a five-minute walk away. That seemed too easy, however- I wanted my own adventure. I aimlessly walked south on Sycamore.
There were so many different things about Alexandria that made it unique from any other city around. The smells that came from the rows of bistros were delicious enough to guide my walking. Sycamore Street weaved and twisted itself all the way around town, as did I. I wandered and found myself in a gourmet ice cream shop. Spiked with hunger, I reached into my pocket for a couple of dollars and bought a small ice cream cone, on a flavor called "Birthday Surprise." I normally would never buy anything with the word "surprise" in the title, but the first word was associated with too much delight to pass up. The old man's smile as I bought the cone also relieved my anxieties. I licked the ice cream cone once I walked out the store- yum.
Whilst licking my ice cream cone, I immediately felt like I was fifteen, instead of sixteen- almost like an anti-birthday, where a year was lost to time. I kept walking- I was now in the business sector of town. Adults dressed up in suits and nice dresses ran, coffee cups and suitcases in hand. The womens' heels clicked ominously on the concrete sidewalk. They didn't even bother to notice my existence, too wrapped up in getting somewhere and talking into their own ears on those stupid-looking talking devices. Amidst the banks and office buildings, there was a familiar salon, where Henry's mother worked. I saw her in the window, sweeping around her chair. I waved goodbye as I walked away, and she twinkled her fingers.
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket as I meandered down the suburban sprawling streets. The houses looked similar to one another, and the only variations in them were the types of similar houses. There were tall houses that all looked similar, and small houses that looked similar, and even fat and skinny houses that looked similar to other fat and skinny houses. Some were brown, some were white, and some were red. Nothing about the houses physically could change that they were homes, though. I looked at my phone: "One Message from Henry." "Where are you?" it read. But this was something I had to do, all by myself. He wasn't going to be here to be with me when I was bored out of my mind over the summer, writing words aimlessly on paper that probably would never be seen by anyone else. I clicked the phone shut, and wandered on. I noticed, walking by, that a family was moving into a huge million-dollar estate. A for-sale sign was being pulled up in the front yard. A lady in glittery high heels and a provocative black dress was shouting on her cell phone over the lawn mower, and as a design specialist tried to talk with her about some kitchen tiles. The movers drove through the open black-iron gate and started unloading a huge statue of someone, probably the woman with obviously fake-looking breasts. I walked on.
I was almost to The Crisp Mango. The only place I could think to go to next was the park. The park was very large, and sat in the middle of Alexandria. It was basically a pond surrounded by several playgrounds, a picnic area, and encircled by a walking trail. The rubbery walking trail felt warm under my thin flip-flops. The little kids ran back and forth from the playground to the parents to the playground again, comforted again and again by the sight of their protectors, and then forgetful of everything that mattered and played carelessly. The delight shone in their faces and large, bright eyes, brighter than the Sun. What I would give to be a kid again, all of the teenagers and adults always said when they reminisced on old times, when really they were "young times." The kids continued on, as did I.
I reached the picnic area, and no one was there except for an old woman with an equally-old dog. Her hair was peeking out of his flowered cap, and the soles of her boots were thin with the walking she must have done with the dog over the years. She wasn't seeking money, but a passer-by could see that she needed it. She saw me looking at the dog, and called over to me.
"Hello there," she said.
"Hi." I shyly replied, only making a small dent in my straight path to look at her. The dog ran up to me, and I petted it. The dog had no ticks, and his fur seemed clean. The only things that looked old were his eyes- a dull grey color that seemed to tell hundreds of stories. The energy the dog had about it was still youthful. The old woman slowly rose from her seat on the bench and walked over, facing only the dog. I could tell that that dog, no matter how old it was, was her biggest concern in life.
"You know, a dog can tell if a person is nice or not," she started. I smiled. "Yessiree, this dog right here has been with me for the long haul."
"What's his name?" I wondered aloud (I could tell now that it was a male).
"Roger." She said, reaching down to pet him. "My husband named him. Roger was a wedding gift, and we took him everywhere. We even took him on our honeymoon..."
"That's very sweet."
"Yep. Of the three of us, we are the only two left now. But that's okay. It'll be the three of us reunited, soon enough. It's very important to have adventures, but it's equally as important who you have them with." She smiled. The dog urged to walk home, so we parted ways. I walked out of the park, and just a block away was The Crisp Mango. I walked across the street oh-so-carefully, and walked into The Crisp Mango. The air inside was warm but tolerable, especially compared to the tormenting heat outside. My friends were seated around the table in the back corner, next to a small bookcase.
"Where were you?" Henry asked from the counter where he was buying cookies, beckoning me to come over. He hugged me, and whispered in my ear. "I have a surprise for you."
I followed his lead back to the table. As I was sitting down, they laid a cake down, set with sixteen candles. I giggled as everyone came out and started singing. I looked at Henry and replied.
"Oh, I had just one day to be fifteen."
That's what I said- fifteen. But I also felt five and fifty, all at the same time. Age is just a number, and life is just a short amount of time. You have one day to live your life until you hit another number, and then more come and then you're suddenly in the ground you'd always walked on over. Nothing will matter then, but some things are nothing now.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
(I can't find one picture to recognize as summer- I guess it's just a feeling after all..)
I've developed an unhealthy addiction to summer and everything is does to me. The sunshine just creeps through my veins, lingering in my heart and in my brain. I'm lazier than my usual school self, but it feels right. It's just a weird, mellow feeling. Like I was listening to music earlier, and suddenly I made my own daydreams out of the music. I never really connected the two arts, of visual and auditory, together- try it sometime- it's surreal.
I've hung with my best friend practically ever single day this week. I'm so happy for that- sometimes he can totally crush my esteem, but this week all I felt was better about myself. The people that can crush you, but don't, are the people you should try your hardest to keep in your life. :) He left today for his summer program. I'm not sad because I know our summers will be good ones, even though they will be mostly separate.
I started reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows the other day, before school let out. I'd forgotten how "fun" reading is when you do it simply for enjoyment, instead of as a source of archetypes and varying sentence structures. I think I might just hit up a Borders sometime before I leave for my program. I'm also gonna (hopefully) buy Catcher in the Rye and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and re-read both of them. Any suggestions for books for me to take (preferably about teenage shenanigans, adventures, and self-discovery)?
I'm not sure that I put leisure reading in my summer post. I also want to make my own dreamcatcher. :D And tie-dye a shirt. And put some crazy color (pink/purple?) temporarily in my hair, probably around my birthday.
the summer lives on in me and my desires,
fueled by the sunshine and moonlit bonfires.
mack. :D
I've hung with my best friend practically ever single day this week. I'm so happy for that- sometimes he can totally crush my esteem, but this week all I felt was better about myself. The people that can crush you, but don't, are the people you should try your hardest to keep in your life. :) He left today for his summer program. I'm not sad because I know our summers will be good ones, even though they will be mostly separate.
I started reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows the other day, before school let out. I'd forgotten how "fun" reading is when you do it simply for enjoyment, instead of as a source of archetypes and varying sentence structures. I think I might just hit up a Borders sometime before I leave for my program. I'm also gonna (hopefully) buy Catcher in the Rye and The Perks of Being a Wallflower, and re-read both of them. Any suggestions for books for me to take (preferably about teenage shenanigans, adventures, and self-discovery)?
I'm not sure that I put leisure reading in my summer post. I also want to make my own dreamcatcher. :D And tie-dye a shirt. And put some crazy color (pink/purple?) temporarily in my hair, probably around my birthday.
the summer lives on in me and my desires,
fueled by the sunshine and moonlit bonfires.
mack. :D
Friday, June 3, 2011
how to have an invincible, dangerous, lovely summer
Summer: a period consisting of no school, a 5-week summer program, my birthday, and maybe some relevations and good times along the way.
Bumbumbumm. My long summer list. If you read my list last year, most goals are the same, but I added some more, too.
There are already some things I am being forced to do, like:
[] Finish my summer work- I'll hopefully do this before the last week before school. I have soo much.
[] Studying for academic team- My coach wants me to get in the top twenty or so in the state. In TWO subjects! That will take a lot of work.
[] Volunteer doing different things- Thanks, Mom, for signing me up to do things with strangers.
[] Go to my 5-week summer program
BUT, there are some things I have set on my mind to do this summer, like:
[] Go to a concert- I really want to go to Warped this year! Or maybe just another band that I enjoy. Probably with Dirk again, or maybe someone with the same musical taste.
[] Go on a run/jog every once in awhile- I can do this is at my program (if I have time). I'm hoping maybe, because they have a couple of tracks of campus, I could meet someone who would "run" with me.
[] Spend a whole day reminiscing- It never fails to cheer me up, or teach me something new about myself.
[] Make a new friend OR, help a friendship blossom- The summer program is made to meet new people that you become friends with for the rest of our lives. My teacher got married to one of her GSP buds- my friend, a year later, still gets teary-eyed about how amazing her experience was. I refuse to be shy and unconfident at this program, because if I am I will probably not enjoy those 5 weeks at all.
[] Send my best friend a card- We will both be in different cities at diffferent programs for 5 whole weeks. My own form of contact with my family and friends is through the very little time I can use my cell phone. I always will have the trusty United States Postal Service.
[] Leave special messages in books- I actually have accidently done that before, but these will be on purpose. Also being on a college campus, where most people are pretty chill and interesting, will probably provide a breeding ground for this new movement.
[] Try a new food/type of food I'd normally never attempt- I probably will end up trying Asian food and/or Starbucks. Most people look at me funny when I say that I've never tried either one. Sorry, I am not your regular trendy teenager.
[] Get a new hairstyle I actually can do- And like. I've been considering cutting it radically short.
[] Write a story I actually like- And that story will probably be my story I started in 9th grade, got 20 pages finished, and then never could finish from a lack of inspiration.
[] Have a birthday party this year- This has been on my mind for a really long time. I have always wanted to party like Marie Antoinette. With this goal, includes playing a huge game of hide-and-go-seek and camping out under the stars AND walking up on my secret hill.
[] Dance down a busy street- I am sure that at my program, there will be people just as crazy as I am.
[] Take more pictures than I ever have before
[] Go on an adventure- Imaginary or not.
[] Have a full-blown epiphany
[] See some good movies- HARRY POTTER. And possibly The Hangover (both of them).
[] Bake something- With or without setting anything on fire. Possibly Tie-Dye cupcakes.
[] Draw up my future plans for my future house/cottage :]
[] Fall in love...- With my lovely self. Mwhaha. I don't need a man to be happy.
[] Write about my goals and adventures as much as possible
[] Be happy :D
Summer will NOT be a bummer. What are YOU doing?
it's been one long year...
I never wrote for my blog's first birthday. It was always looming in the back of my mind, to get it over with, but I always thought it was only a small while ago. It was actually about a month ago (my first post is dated as being 8 may, 2010). Whoops! Happy Birthday (Mackenzie's blog that is always changing its name)! (:
It feels like I've been blogging forever- maybe it's just because blogging/writing feels like a part of my daily routine now. I've been through alot this year- a bunch of relevations, a millions experiences, and some very good friends. Junior year has been very rough, but I've watched my enemies and my obstacles crumble (mwhaha) in favor of a brighter and happier future for me.
Today is also the beginning of a new period in my life- the first day of summer. Summer- how I've missed you. My summer11 to-do list is an upcoming post, so look forward to it. :)
This band is now history, but listen to it anyway.
MACK. :)
It feels like I've been blogging forever- maybe it's just because blogging/writing feels like a part of my daily routine now. I've been through alot this year- a bunch of relevations, a millions experiences, and some very good friends. Junior year has been very rough, but I've watched my enemies and my obstacles crumble (mwhaha) in favor of a brighter and happier future for me.
Today is also the beginning of a new period in my life- the first day of summer. Summer- how I've missed you. My summer11 to-do list is an upcoming post, so look forward to it. :)
This band is now history, but listen to it anyway.
MACK. :)
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
quite sad.
I've had to hold back tears several times just today.
Tomorrow is my last day of junior year, but that has nothing to do with why I am sad. In fact, looking back on this year, besides the beautiful friendships that have flourished, nothing particularly special has happened. Next year, will be harder, but I think I will enjoy it more (although socially I will cease to exist). I will study AP European History, AP Calculus (which will be quite difficult), AP Literature & Composition (not looking forward to it, for reasons I'd rather not explain), 2 College Classes, Fashion & Interior Design (:D), Physics, and one other class. Once again, the tears start forming under my eyes...
I am signed up for AP French IV, but I am so afraid of my future in that class. My favorite (French) teacher is leaving, and I don't know how to handle that. Generally, as students, we run back and forth from teacher to teacher, class to class, with our favorites in mind each year, and after that specific year we forget about them and move on. I have had HB (that's what all of her students call her) for 3 years now. She is the person that really made me succeed and enjoy French as a language and as a culture. She has given me the confidence about the French language that I never even had with the English language, as well as the experiences that go with learning a way of life that isn't similar to our own.
I'm trying to decide whether or not anything can be done, being that our last day is tomorrow and that apparently they have already hired her replacement, but it still doesn't feel right to just sit here. I am sure her replacement will be fine and "qualified," hopefully, but they better be a pretty amazing teacher to even begin to replace her in spirit.
Sorry. Sad rant over. I shall take a walk now.
Mack. :/
Tomorrow is my last day of junior year, but that has nothing to do with why I am sad. In fact, looking back on this year, besides the beautiful friendships that have flourished, nothing particularly special has happened. Next year, will be harder, but I think I will enjoy it more (although socially I will cease to exist). I will study AP European History, AP Calculus (which will be quite difficult), AP Literature & Composition (not looking forward to it, for reasons I'd rather not explain), 2 College Classes, Fashion & Interior Design (:D), Physics, and one other class. Once again, the tears start forming under my eyes...
I am signed up for AP French IV, but I am so afraid of my future in that class. My favorite (French) teacher is leaving, and I don't know how to handle that. Generally, as students, we run back and forth from teacher to teacher, class to class, with our favorites in mind each year, and after that specific year we forget about them and move on. I have had HB (that's what all of her students call her) for 3 years now. She is the person that really made me succeed and enjoy French as a language and as a culture. She has given me the confidence about the French language that I never even had with the English language, as well as the experiences that go with learning a way of life that isn't similar to our own.
I'm trying to decide whether or not anything can be done, being that our last day is tomorrow and that apparently they have already hired her replacement, but it still doesn't feel right to just sit here. I am sure her replacement will be fine and "qualified," hopefully, but they better be a pretty amazing teacher to even begin to replace her in spirit.
Sorry. Sad rant over. I shall take a walk now.
Mack. :/
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