But if I know you…

It feels like months since I’ve last blogged. Wow. 

I was planning on remaining on the route of doing two blogs (or more) a week and I still want to do so, but so far I have not held up that idea very well and I apologize to anyone that ever cared or wondered where I’d gone (if they did not know already). As far as this blog post, I have very little to say since I have had very little to do since after spending one entire week sick and in bed and another couple of days growing increasingly agitated under confinement after a freak snow “storm”. So far I have been spending my time either relaxing or slowly working through a very complicated paper for my CWI class – oh, and I’ve also become an unsightly neurotic mess after agreeing to be a TA (teacher’s assistant) for the second semester of my senior year. I’m the type of person that overthinks everything and has a tendency to be shy, reserved, and one who has wars that wage inside of her mind and never feels entitled enough or comfortable enough to actually share those problems with anyone, regardless of whether or not I am really close with them or not. 

I realize that that statement was a little contradictory to its content/point but I’m going to leave it there anyway. If you’ve met me you’d probably guess just as much from speaking with me, if I spoke to you at all. Anyway, as for the assistant role, I’m just going to have to deal with it. It’s not a difficult job at all, but my problem is that if something is simple enough I have to make it complicated and nerve-wracking just to feel like I’m actually doing something that makes sense. 

What a pain I am. 

OH! I’ve also started reading Memoirs of a Geisha. I have very… complicated feelings toward this novel since I know there are various inaccuracies and that it’s not really a look into a different culture so much as idealistic fiction/a Cinderella story, and also that it was written by an untrustworthy middle-aged man from Tennessee. Also, the metaphors and similes in the writing itself are so odd and often catch me by surprise. I find myself having to take a metaphorical step back and just sort of, picture what the book is describing before I can go any further. Still, I’m enjoying the story and it’s kept me in an entirely different world since I picked it up. That’s always appreciated.  

My Goals for 2nd Semester

2nd semester has already started and I feel slightly out of place. I ended the last semester with an unfortunate illness that I still have not yet fully recovered from and, in being so, have created a whirlpool of stress for myself and others that have to wait for the stragglers to make it over the last few hurdles. In all honesty it really isn’t as terrible as I am exaggerating, but I still feel helpless as of right now and hope that I can finish everything on time so that my GPA doesn’t somehow suffer on my sick, sick self’s behalf. 

Today we delved into the many ways that rhythm is created within poetry and already I’ve started getting the migraines that I used to receive during the last class that tried it’s hand at teaching me this. I am challenged when it comes to identifying syllables and, while I’m not proud of it, I suppose there’s little else to do but come to terms with the fact that I cannot be good at something like this without really, actually trying as hard as I can to understand it. There are things that come naturally to me just as there are things that come naturally to others, things that I cannot hope to compete with, and then there’s… this. I respect these devices but I just don’t like them and may never like them for as long as I am able to use them. Such is my lot in life.

Onto the main topic at hand: I am looking forward to writing more in class and exploring different genres, styles, etc., etc. when it comes to writing. I think my goals for AP this semester are really writing-heavy and perhaps preparing for the exam… which is still something I have unclear knowledge of. The rest of it I am only looking forward to. I have grown to enjoy our poetry sessions and discussions through AP reading and am a little fettered when it comes to the poetry-slam scenario but I’m sure that with enough practice that I will do fine. Reading in new contexts will also be a fresh challenge that I am definitely willing to undertake and accept, and I look forward to spending another semester with our class, each and every member of which I consider with great respect and consideration, and with you Mrs. Allyn. You’ve shown me quite a bit of consideration and I thank you.   

NMNMNM

I feel like I’ve been dying since Saturday night and right now it’s taking all of my energy to just type this. 

This post is so short because I don’t want to throw up on my computer so my AP Lit. book that I finished is The Scarlet Letter and as soon as I get back to class I’ll have a new book with me hopefully. 

Update on Your Senior Project

I hope that these blog posts don’t have to be in order they are listed in your post Mrs. Allyn because I didn’t find a poem in the anthology book and don’t have that with me so… yeah.

As far as my senior project, I have changed a few things and still have to make sure that other things are set in stone and on track. Speaking of track, I’m apparently going to be riding the train from Vancouver to Pasco and back on the last week of February, which is fun. I’ve only ever been on the train once before, to the same destination, but with my younger sister and my grandmother. I’m a little nervous to ride alone but am glad that I’m not still ten-years old. The ride won’t be cheap either, but we’ll see what we can make of it (if only I had a job to pay my own way but… can’t be helped).

Also, apparently the only form that I need to fill out is a volunteer form which is a blessing because “background check” sounds scary, even when I don’t know what it entails exactly, having never had to fill one out before. And still won’t have to until an undetermined time in the future thankfully.

As far as preparedness, I’ve been ruminating over a few things that I could do in the classroom but haven’t run anything by my aunt (the teacher). We’ve been talking a lot more to get things settled and I’ll have to speak up more often than not on this project I know. I’m also anxious about the environment that I’m going to be subjected to. Let’s just say that, I’ve heard some things that I’m not too keen on about this 3^rd grade class. I mean, my aunt tends to exaggerate things but from what I’ve heard I have reason to be cautious. We’ll see if I survive after February. 

I actually got to eat dessert today

I’m facing a sudden reawakening of my deep love for Anne of Green Gables.

                There’s a strange winding road affect, when I come across something of great nostalgic value, that tends to get me into that mode of teary-eyed and constantly locked in daydreaming. I often find myself clinging from one beloved treasure to another like I’m caught in a whirlpool, searching for something sturdier to keep me afloat for an even longer measure of time. At present I’ve jumped from  my love of an old movie to Anne of Green Gables without any real connections between the two whatsoever. Yet I hold no surprise since it happens to be a sort of pastime.

That’s not to say that I’m not perfectly happy in this spiral of reminiscence. I feel like I’ve actually been in need of some comfort after the past four, five days or so. You could almost say that I’ve been pulled apart by dual spirals of happiness and the domino effect that is “when one thing goes wrong, everything else has to come tumbling down”.

Show me the way, Anne Shirley. Show me the way. 

Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney – Expansion on a theoretical interpretation

(THIS POST HAS SPOILERS FOR INFAMOUS LITERATURE/FILM(S))

 

I’m not sure if the entirety of our AP class has analyzed this particular poem with Mrs. Allyn but, just to be safe, here is Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney:

 

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer’s blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.

We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn’t fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they’d keep, knew they would not. 

 

                For the AP exam (about which I still have some reservations due to not having asked the specifics yet) we’ve been analyzing poetry throughout the year but this new system of group analysis has actually put into a mood to actively participate in discussion instead of letting it and our entire class lead me along. It’s quite a nice change I suppose, and yet I still tend to put my foot in my mouth (as a turn of phrase) when I try to explain things clearly. Unfortunately for poor Mrs. Allyn, I was unable to communicate my personal interpretation of the poem at large and ended up just sort of giving a rushed hash of what I thought about it. It’s been gnawing at me, how poorly conceived my explanation was, and so I’ve decided to take another crack at it while utilizing a more skillful approach… at least I hope I can better decipher what just seems to be a frighteningly intense blur of images, words, etc., etc. in my mind.

                So I mentioned on Wednesday that I likened the poem to Fight Club, more specifically Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, not the film version with Brad Pitt (although I’ve been in search for material that’s circulated the web that would lead me to watching the movie since I have yet to see it myself). I have no doubt however that the film version is just as gross, if not “grosser” than the book.

                Speaking of which, Gross is just the terminology that explicates my connection from Blackberry-Picking to Fight Club. Both are intensely Gross in their physical intensity, the exact thing we were analyzing during our discussion of Seamus Heaney’s poem. There’s a kind of raw and vividly graphic reminder of bodily fluids when you read either the poem or the book, although of course the book does mention body parts and fluids all too often…if you’ve read the story or have seen the movie than you know what I’m speaking of and I’m hoping that, in your minds, you said ‘ew’ right as I did.

                I mean, there’s gross and then there’s Gross.

 Anyway it was that and the fact that Mrs. Allyn herself believed that the poem was a metaphor for the loss of virginity. With that in context, one can easily conjure up society’s turmoil when it comes to the very concept of virginity and think of anything from “if a woman loses her virginity she is automatically impure and a whore, thus she cannot hope to “keep” like the blackberries in the poem” to “sex is a disgusting human function and basically sullies everyone that participates or performs in sexual intercourse or any form thereof”. There are densely unfortunate implications with either of these statements and/or with the spectrum in between, but if I were to get into that now I would be unprepared and would probably let my emotions slip into things. That would ensure that this post become a dissertation of some sort, at least fifty pages long or so.

                But getting right down to the topic, it was the bodily functions that really made the comparisons to this poem and Fight Club click for me. Heaney seems to mosey around the line between really vibrant descriptions that relate to the topic of blackberries and picking them and describing actual human lesions. For instance, with line 3:  “At first, just one, a glossy purple clot” makes me automatically picture a large welt or bruise on the eye or skin. A few more specific, graphic instances include lines 5 and 15 and 16 . Line 5: “You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet” makes me think of two men getting into a scuffle because they want to, because ‘they’re men all raised by women” as the book describes, and they haven’t “been through a war” that would really make them masculine, so they fight. With Lines 15 – 16: “Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard’s.” which only emphasizes that imagery. There’s plenty more, but I think I’ve taken up enough time making that point so I’ll move on to the next one.

                Earlier I tried to communicate to Mrs. Allyn that I imagined the poem about mental illness which, granted, is a key factor of Fight Club. I thought of the narrator and his alter ego, Tyler while ruminating over how the poem begins with 16 lines and ends with half of that number. It was interesting to picture how, with the way that the poem begins with such hope and such a unique way of describing and putting things, even while examining something that seems so simple, this was a character study of Tyler. His misaimed fandom certainly paints him as an all-knowing someone whom you should idolize when in reality, as is clear by the last stanza of the poem that made me think of the narrator of Fight Club himself, it will only lead to the decay of the brain. Truly a mental illness to ravage the mind and make you realize that it’s wrong, wrong, wrong to believe in.

 

I’m Living in an Age

 

                I had just about the worst headache that has ever plagued me, since last year, today. I couldn’t concentrate after 4^th period and I was just about to shut down when 7^th period rolled around. I figure I’m not alone in this, but thankfully we all made it through Monday.

                I’ve been trying to rest since coming home but it feels impossible, even when I technically don’t have any homework that’s exactly urgent at the moment. I’ve finished reading to the place I was meant to read in our chosen group books and I’ve continued to study for this test which has seemed prolonged to the point of near exhaustion for myself and my classmates. My brain seems to be loose a wire or two, otherwise I could make up a decent blog post.

                Let’s see… Ah, yes! Allie was saying that today marked exactly five months until we graduate. That’s stunning to hear, especially since it still feels as though we collectively have plenty of time until we’re (somewhat) off on our own, seeking independence and connections and a way to find comfort in ourselves and our lives. At the moment I feel indisposed toward the idea, even with its complex implications. It seems like I’m consistently flitting through existential crises’ and cannot embrace the void that is, essentially, my freedom.

                Certainly, the thought of not really having any limitations or set behaviors in one’s future is a good thing, but it’s also incredibly terrifying, and I’m not yet comfortable with the adrenaline rush.

I think it’s that thought of freedom that’s led me to start missing weird fragments of the past. I was just thinking about my A. Algebra class that I had taken last year and felt my lower lip start to tremble at the realization that I would never return to that class.

                I HATED that class. (But I loved the teacher.)

I’m constantly on the cusp of

I am suffering severe burnout and this isn’t going to be a blog post to remember so don’t expect anything amazing. Did anyone ever…? 

I have literally spent the past 6-7 hours watching videos on stoichiometry for my H. Chemistry class and interchanging between those videos and vine compilations of cats on youtube. 

I guess it beats looking for scholarships and feeling that impending agony of FAFSA. 

Going Down in Flames

The hunt for scholarships has become dire and I’m losing hope fast. It doesn’t help when the majority of my time this evening has been taken up with reading the stories of students that have taken tremendous loans for college and are now in deep, deep, deep, deep, deep… debt. 

It looks and sounds exactly like indentured servitude to me. 

My good mood is now being stunted by this absolute fact and by the future five and a half months of school still left to attend and excel at. The stories I’ve been reading have yet to be updated, although I don’t blame the author since she is, most likely, detained by life outside of prose. There’s another thing that bothers me about school continuance, that whenever I need to really get down to business on homework and the like I always feel like I should be doing something more akin to my desires like writing or reading or practicing some hobby to get really, really skilled at. 

I don’t know, life isn’t going that far at the moment. Although, I am glad we finished Othello despite already knowing how Shakespeare loves his tragedies and wouldn’t have allowed for a happy ending where Desdemona and Othello were concerned, nor a happy ending for any other character as well. I’m hoping to turn in the book tomorrow along with Paper Towns, a book that I, unexpectedly, did not enjoy as much as I thought I would. Still, perhaps finding new books to explore will make me lighten up considerably for the next week or so as I try to, likewise, figure out my increasingly hectic schedule. 

Of course I’ve got backup plans for some minute happiness. As of now I’m listening to a combination of venting music (A La Nine Inch Nails/Arctic Monkeys) and nostalgic soundtracks from my youth – 10 Things I Hate About You soundtrack, anyone? That always helps the stress lessen a degree or two and allows for me to get my bearings. 

 

Whirring

 

                I feel a flurry of excitement, in spite of the approach of the end in regards to the two week vacation our school had the pleasure of participating in. I presume it comes with actually engaging in conversation with others or activities that I absolutely enjoy, but it still surprises me somewhat that my tune is still fairly merry.

I’ll make it short and quick, my Christmas was spent rather successfully and I attained a modest amount of gifts from drowsily contented family members. The party wasn’t much of a party, just a small get-together assembled by my cousins and aunts and one or two of my elusive uncles. Thankfully the headache that is unlocked during every family reunion was subdued by my being able to take an entirely necessary midday nap. Nothing of genuine importance occurred afterward or in-between that needs to be mentioned. I am a little proud of myself for not hiding in my room as I’ve done in years past. New Years Eve was spent in a different way however since, on the Eve I was actually invited to spend the night with a friend. I’d had no time to hold any reservations about it, but I really did enjoy myself and am thankful to have such thoughtful individuals in my life.

                As you may have guessed I’ve become somewhat prose-y with this post. I was the same for the last post which, frankly, was undeserving of its robust and senseless title. Another little tidbit about myself surfaces now in that I spend much of my time writing while listening to music and songs that I really enjoy tend to take up my thoughts. Sometimes even simple one-sentence lyrics can just pulse inside of my brain and bring up images or scenarios so often that I cannot help but include what I feel or see into what I’m doing. Even when there’s no reason at all for the odd placement of it.

                Still, I think it’s best if I try to maintain this whimsy writing habit for a time. It may help me improve my writing and bring out my voice, my style, that flare of life that has, so far, been quite lugubrious in these posts. I’ve been aided in changing the dynamics (just a smidge) of my words by what I’ve been reading and I think that that’s fairly important for these blogs. To write well or even fine you should identify sources wherein the writing is exceptional, right? I would say so, it’s definitely helping me creatively.

I wish I could share with you what I’ve been reading… SO MUCH!