7 Devils All Around You

The mind is turning, turning, turning… always turning.

                I don’t want to go to bed but it’s nearly that time. If it weren’t I would be up to recapping the events that have taken place over the past free week like most other people would. I’m just too tired for it now and my mind is buzzing with present matters, all of which I cannot quite indulge you in knowing out of a combination of embarrassment and that terribly wonderful feeling of having a special, secret something all to myself.

I’m reading a story that has left me breathless. It’s not even a published work you can find all pressed and covered and fresh on a bookshelf in your local bookstore or library and yet I cannot tear my eyes away. Of course, it’s of particular interest to me because it includes elements that I have been utterly fascinated with for many years. You won’t know this about me until I tell you but I am often interested in the development of relationships between people of great innocence and those that, in all their glory, are the kind of terrors you might imagine hiding in your barely open closet; people and creatures that seem too awful to be real. I don’t know why I’m so enamored with these stories but whenever I do come across a story that capitalizes on what would be deemed as evil trying to comprehend something that’s good and perhaps having what good there is come under the skin, I cannot go on without knowing what happens. If that makes any sense…

In all honesty I’m barely focusing on anything at the moment. My imagination has sent adrenaline pumping through my veins like nothing else and I’m trying to get ready for bed but I just… I just want to move and read and move and read and do anything but sleep but I can’t!

                I need to finish this story, that’s for sure. I can’t go back to my dreary school work without at least knowing what happens next. It’s unfortunate in the case of my insomnia, which I’ve been batting down for the last seven months but I think tonight it’s worth it. 

It Might Be You

Really hoping that it’ll be a two hour late start tomorrow because I am already done with this week. I really just want a day to sleep in, but doesn’t everyone?

                I’m going to have to save my holiday posts for the break, not that it matters. I’ve been so moody lately I’ve not been able to keep it together and am just hoping to get through by the time of Christmas Eve because it. Is. Insane.

As of now I’m trying to ignore it by thinking/watching things of interest to me. Ever since I was a child I’ve had this point of watching movies until either the video tapes were too worn or the VCR was broken, for example. I think that, not only did those obsessive rewinds form plenty of my thought process and personality but also the tendency toward watching movies over and over again when I get into a state of unbalance. In lieu of The Emperor’s New Groove I’ve begun to watch and re-watch Tootsie.

                Aside from all of the nice gender and equality commentary, and the fact that what led me to watching the movie was an interview in which Dustin Hoffman, the lead actor in Tootsie, started crying after recapping his discoveries of just how much he’d lost having been brainwashed to believe that only certain women were worth talking to solely based on their looks, it’s an incredibly funny movie. I had no idea what I was missing out on and had no idea that Jessica Lange was featured in it.

The only downside to watching it so many times is that the theme song, “It Might Be You” by Stephen Bishop (I think) is just on a constant loop in my brain. 

I begged you to get therapy

Today in my psychology class I learned that anger isn’t actually ‘human’ so much as it’s just a state of being a person enters into when they are frustrated or annoyed with a person so much simply because the person, the one that is frustrated, wants everyone to be ‘just like them’. It’s the mentality of ‘if you were just like me, then I would like you right now.’

                It makes a lot of sense and yet is so difficult to wrap your head around because anger is just an emotion in our minds. It just is a function of our being, not a something that’s been injected into our brains through our culture and our influenced perspective. To live in a world where others do not become angry when people set them off would be pretty amazing. That’s not to say that I’m above it all, I tend to get mad at others for doing things that are out of my control just like anyone else. But admit it, it would be great if these standards could be broken down and people could get over themselves. Oddly enough the article we read about saying “farewell” to anger said that the key to letting anger go was to think more highly of oneself and just let it go when others act in a way that isn’t like you and which you find negative.

                There’s so much one can learn from this subject that it just boggles my mind and sometimes I wonder how I would be if I’d been introduced to the concept sooner. Then again, I tend to practice many of the calming techniques in psychology already so, interesting little tidbit there. 

The Hot Man Meeting

I have nothing to talk about. Nothing.

                Huh.

Well, I suppose I could list some random things in preparation for my holiday post(s) that are going to come up next week. (I’m hoping that during the winter break we don’t need to blog because I earnestly don’t  think I’ll remember to blog during that time but… whatever.)

Here are some random facts about anything that I find sort of interesting/pathetic enough to be entertaining:

1. I have a ton of irrational fears such as the fear of cleaning products, dressing rooms, going down the escalator, fear of black holes, and the fear of being squished by something larger than myself. The last fear comes from when I was a child and every time I killed a bug I swore some karmic device was going to come and do the same to me.

 

1. I sound like a broken record but I am severely worried that I will not be accepted into college since I’ve been rushing through the essays and informational portions of every application I’ve submitted.

 

1. I’m upset due to the fact that my mother might be working Christmas Day… again.

 

 

1. My sister is still the best basketball player in Hockinson and I am so proud of her. That does not mean I would ever think to return to playing basketball, but it’s still spectacular how good she is.

 

1. I’ve been watching The Emperor’s New Groove nearly every day for the past week and a half. I still laugh out loud through the majority of it and have actually spent time looking into its production, which was actually pretty intense. Eartha Kitt is my queen.

 

 

1. I know I should be humble but I’m looking forward to Christmas presents, mainly because I’ve been getting in the Game of Thrones series and I want to read the books (and I was laughing when I found out that the school library, OUR school library, had one of the books ).

 

1. I’ve lost nearly 20 lbs. Neat.

 

1. I don’t have any idea where my future is heading at this point. I figure I want to be an author but then I figure I want to be some sort of activist since I’ve begun to become interested in human rights, specifically representation and feminism. I don’t suppose it’ll matter if I don’t get into a college for further instruction however.

 

This post is so boring, please disregard it. 

I Want You to Want Me

I don’t believe this applies to AP Lit. but I cannot stop laughing at the fact that a coworker of my mother’s just stated right in my face that my sister and I remind her of the Stratford sisters in the film 10 Things I Hate About You.

                Oh wait, let me do a half-baked connection inspired by 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon: 10 Things I Hate About You is teen rom-com about a guy trying to get a girl whose father won’t allow her to date until her (the girl’s) older sister does. The older sister tends to intimidate/scare away her suitors so the aforementioned guy goes to another guy and has that guy pay another guy to try and date the older sister so the first guy can date the younger girl; And the whole thing is a modernization of Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew and remains in the vein of 90s rom-coms inspired by playwrights of old including and particularly Shakespeare whom wrote many works of literature including Othello which our AP Lit. group is now reading and dissecting accordingly!

Anyway…

                It’s been snowing at my house for two hours now and I really just wish we would all get a call that Hockinson High School is cancelled for tomorrow because, you know, there are never enough free days when it comes to high school. Not that I didn’t enjoy reading Othello with my AP class of course, that was actually a highlight of the day and a reason that still exists where my being forced to attend school tomorrow is concerned.

                It’s just that I have this very… blustery feeling about me that I can’t shake. It’s difficult to discern where the feeling is coming from, if whether or not it comes from the fact that it is snowing still and I feel a familiar bit of giddiness just seeing it, the kind of giddiness that was far more intense when I was around seven or eight years of age, or if it’s the Frank Sinatra and Sting singing their way into my emotional perception. Whatever it is and wherever its coming from, it’s making me so happily weary that I cannot make sense. I really wish I was floating on a little boat out to sea right now with nothing but some music to comfort me. I could be far, far away from all of this stress that comes with the future being unknown but linear. The sea leads to many places, maybe I’d land somewhere better than the present moment. 

Vuelie

 

A sign that you’re growing old: the holiday season becomes stressful.

I really, really, really cannot stand how stressed I am. It’s not good for my physical, mental, emotional, or cognitive health and I’m getting a little pissed off, if you’ll excuse the harsh phrasing. I should be able to start relaxing and let myself have a break but there’s too much to worry about! I feel like I won’t ever be able to unwind again until I’m 98 years old and alone. Not that I mind the lack of company but, really, when new life starts it shouldn’t beat you over the head… not yet.

My mind is still wandering however and I came across something thought-provoking earlier today. It’s December and I’ve been coerced into making a Christmas List for yet another family Xmas, and the focal point of my list is the amount of books there are. I’m a big fan of literature, as I’m certain nearly everyone in our ‘little’ classroom unit is, and I enjoy reading nearly anything. I also enjoy diversity and to read a variety of different genres and perspectives. My list has a good distinction in terms of genres and subjects, but I’ve begun to really think about what I read lately and I’m not entirely sure that I couldn’t be more diverse in what I pick and choose and what’s out there.

I came across this list in the library today – by the way I’m sorry Mrs. Allyn, I went home early today – and it was for those that were requesting new books that the library didn’t already contain. I’ve probably seen this list a hundred times or more since I’m in there so often getting the work I wasn’t able to finish earlier done, but today it made me feel ponderous. In my second period class we were talking about substantive democracies and then watched a video on Nigeria’s lack thereof. Now, I don’t advocate profiting on people’s suffering or treating their them or their lives as props but I wanted to learn more about the state and its history. And I feel as though I learn the most from reading exciting, profound, meaningful, ideal books, so I put two and two together and had the desire to not only try and update my Xmas list with some new books but to also look for books that lay outside the zone of European and/or US – centric. Again, not trying to offend anyone’s sensibilities, but I’ve always been vocal (with the people I trust to have at least some interest in listening) that the books we are meant to read are predominately written by white men of European descent. The most noteworthy or famous of the books we read definitely are.

I’m also kind of tired of the idea that everything’s been done before, which is a sorely pessimistic way of viewing things, especially since as individuals we have such a miniscule knowledge of the entirety of the world and only really perceive what we experience from day to day and nothing more. I feel like learning through the eyes of those that have an entirely different culture and upbringing would be… amazing.

If I only had a brain…

“Don’t let numbers tell you what to do. You are blood and earth, not theory and chalk.” – Night Vale Radio

(I really liked what Anna M. brought up today in class about GPAs and how they can define a student according to their school system and determine a person’s future. And then I found this quote not too long after school and it was just perfect.)

                So I really, really enjoyed listening to Sir Ken Robinson’s TED talk today. It was a refreshing and a  relief from the stress I’ve begun to endure just being back at school and just having remembered the work load I never made a dent in during break. It’s always lovely to hear someone, rational and intelligent, have an opinion that I not only share but one that makes sense and is brought into the light in new and further enlightening ways.

                As far as answering the ‘questions’ that he brought up in that talk, I really don’t know where to start. I feel like, if I did try to formulate an answer and discuss it on this blog, it would take more than five pages and I doubt anyone wants or has the time to read all of that. I was really happy when the term “Tyranny of Common Sense” was brought up since it I’ve been accused of having ‘no common sense’ and the very connotations of that part of his speech made me feel better about being one of the few right-brained people in a family that is predominately left-brain.

                In fact the entirety of Ken Robinson’s speech reminded me of my psychology class and how my teacher was just recently talking about the future of schooling. He said how it seemed like we were heading toward a world where the more practical careers involving things like science, math, and technology were not going to be as necessary as they’d previously been and that the more creative activities, that have always had the negative implication of being extracurricular and not valuable, like art, music and even sports will become more significant in our future. Robinson and Mr. Beers make a good point in validating passions that are otherwise believed to be lesser when it comes to the adult world where professionals are scientists, engineers, medics, etc. I won’t dare criticize doctors or technicians or whomever works in those types of fields, and if it came off that way to some, then you’re totally missing the point.

It’s a sad fact we learn as we get older, but many of the things that we have a passion for are often constricted by society and we are shamed for liking all kinds of things, even subtly.

                I think Robinson’s talk about the fast food model that education has become is exactly right and ties into that lack of passion and drive that people can achieve. Whether you enjoy mathematics or drawing, playing soccer or creating new experiments through write-ups, you should have quality information that is attainable in that it is customized toward your preferences. People go through their lives enduring their jobs and making little use of their education, which has been clearly established as not only a privilege but a right.

I’m personally afraid of going to college for this reason. I like the idea of a major and minor, of being able to go in-depth with something I am passionate about and I’ve wanted to have a system like that since I was in middle school, maybe even younger. Yet I fear that I will never make use of my education regardless of whether or not I really go to college and succeed there and that my passion will remain dormant inside me and will wither away until I’m old and grey and have been useless to the world around me.

Contrary to what I believed when I was in my freshmen year, I would like to contribute something to the Combine.  Contrary to what happened to me in my sophomore year in my creative writing class, I don’t want my passions to be defeated by one oppressive environment.

Passions should be celebrated and should culminate into something beneficiary and bring joy to those that have and seek it, and should not be boiled down to numbers  and standardized testing results. School these days is not a measure of intelligence and personal worth – we’re graded for our effort, and not even effort in satisfactory learning.

There’s no opportunity in that. 

Blue lips, blue veins, blue, the color of our planet from far, far away

A sudden bout of busy-ness. 

                There’s so much to do and so little time, and I realize we’re almost to halfway mark for this year. Good lord, those first few months went by fast! I assumed senior year was going to drag on, but now that I’ve developed an unhealthy fear of college it’s like I’ve begun racing through time in a very dubious fashion.  Of course, there are some setbacks. My grades for my classes, with the exception of a few, are not the best and I’m going to have to tweak them after Thanksgiving Break as much as I can – since there’s no way I can fix everything by this grading period’s end. It’s alright though, I’m up for the challenge.

                In the meantime I have to get as much as I can done without letting the fact that I am now crying get in the way. A combination of makeup irritant and this movie, one of my all-time favorites, has really messed with my tear ducts. Here’s a fun fact: in my junior year of high school, I was utterly in love with Charlie Chaplin movies (and music) and almost exclusively watched his movies for the longest time. I still love them, if only for their nostalgic purposes. I only bring this up because I had the moving idea to watch City Lights, a Charlie Chaplin film and one of the last silent films to be made in the 1930s, tonight when I got home. I don’t know why or where that genius came in, but it has reduced me to pure emotion in one fell swoop. I’m currently trying to pull myself together, but it’s always been a little difficult when I see that one scene in a film or read that one chapter in a book and become lost in how it can be both uplifting to the highest degree or so soul-shattering you may as well just give up on the world because nothing can compare to it.

                The ending of City Lights gets to me no matter how hard I try to just respond to it as a functioning human adult would. It’s just so… it’s so… indescribably sweet and stirring. I can’t decide if it’s one of those things that I would love to share with the world a hundred times and feel the serenity that might come from doing so or keep it hidden like it’s a secret only for myself. I don’t know, but I suppose if I can and do have the power to promote, I suggest you watch it for yourself. I recommend though that, if anyone does watch it, they watch the entire thing and not just the ending. It’ll have much more meaning that way.

When I first watched it I just couldn’t contain myself. Nostalgia makes me weepy I guess. With all said and done though it was truly a life changing experience and, I would say, a perfect movie to watch with holidays coming up. 

They’re Creepy and They’re Kooky

Favorite poems? I have too many to count.

                Let’s see. I’ve mentioned that I read a collection of World War I poetry that I had received from Mr. Coffing last year, yes? Well if not, I did read the entire collection and the majority of it was astoundingly profound (and I imagine would be difficult to read again during the winter months considering how darkly depressing it all was). I love Edgar Allen Poe still, despite reaching a point where I’ve long reconsidered the attempt at leading a specific life, because he is a master at Gothic poetry in the actual sense that it is Gothic and not gothic.

Hm. This is a little too tough for me.

I will say however that I have loved this one nursery rhyme that I believe counts as a poem…?

It’s called “Monday’s Child” and is/was significant for being a ‘fortune-telling’ poem meant to describe what future children born on certain days of the week would have, and was also meant to help them remember the days of the week. Honestly, it’s a little disturbing to me. This is a common modern version however:

‘Monday’s child is fair of face,

Tuesday’s child is full of grace,

Wednesday’s child is full of woe,

Thursday’s child has far to go,

Friday’s child is loving and giving,

Saturday’s child works hard for a living,

But the child who is born on the Sabbath Day

Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.’

 

Ha, so if you know what day you were born on… I pity and/or congratulate you, I guess. I’m a Thursday child you know. I’ve got far to go.

Nah, I don’t believe it. I believe this little folk-song rhyme as much as I genuinely believe in horoscopes. Still I enjoy both with much mirth and good-spirit and wouldn’t judge a soul that did genuinely believe in either that or this. It’s just pointless to degrade others for their realities.

Anyway, this little poem caught my attention at a young age when I associated it with Wednesday Addams of The Addams Family fame. Christina Ricci’s portrayal was such a neat little thing to aspire to. Now I just think it’s pleasant to say when I need concentration or to relax and pull myself together. That sounds a little absurd now that I’m typing it, but it’s actually true. I have it on my bedroom wall. 

OFotCN (My abbreviation is so fun to try and pronounce)

 

I did not like this book.

                No one likes challenges when they’re a child, some adults only want the easy way out. I was just the same when I was younger and in some respects I still look for the most tranquil resort in a situation. Still, I feel like I’ve grown to at least acknowledge problems with a sort of grudging respect. Questions are worth more than answers. Thus, I feel as though this novel was successful in not only earning my disgust, but also my stony respect.

                It’s a story about rising against authority, plain and simple. There’s little else, character –wise, to keep one invested in the lives in said uprising. There are certainly colorful characters in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, but this literary world only revolves around two it would seem and those are the only two that stand out above the rest. I hated this novel for that very fact alone.

                Not to mention the fact that this story made me appreciate The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath all the more. In the beginning I compared the two books together, thinking in terms of the fact that our entire class was meant to read this after The Bell Jar and that both books center on insanity. Except, they really don’t and I was a fool to try and read into them as if they did. I realized further on that neither book really gives perspective into characters with the kind of mental deficiency that might equip them with the term of ‘insane’. Both are very strangely written and feature some morbid and macabre elements, but you can’t say that Esther Greenwood or Chief Bromden/Randle McMurphy are that cuckoo.

                It’s the world that they live in that really punctuates that state that we think we’re going to read about. There’s so much about the environment and standards that a person is brought up to that really create their perspective and it is not the characters themselves that do this.

                One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was still grossgusting though.