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Finding Myself


“Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armour yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you.”
― George R.R. MartinA Game of Thrones

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I’m sure I’m not the only one who has ever felt a little lost. I’m at a point where I don’t know what I’m doing, and am just plain tired of the stress, worry, and everything. Ever been in that place where a lot of your day to day life seems fake? Yeah. Not going to lie, that is and has been me for a while. But in the midst of this, I’ve also been trying to figure out who I am and establish a ‘me’ that I was the best possible, and best of all, real. It’s funny how life throws you into situations that help counsel you, and guide you in the right direction, towards a path of learning and healing.

So it was perfect when my pastor began a sermon on The Identity Lie last night. Now I’m not going to get into the religious part of that, but there was one story that he shared with us that was just so powerful I can’t help but want to share it. It moved me, and really got me thinking. When I got home I did a quick internet search and found it on another wordpress blog called Writing Canvas. 

When I sailed to Kiniwata, an island in the Pacific, I took along a notebook. After I got back it was filled with descriptions of flora and fauna, native customs and costume. But the only note that still interests me is the one that says: “Johnny Lingo gave eight cows to Sarita’s father.” And I don’t need to have it in writing. I’m reminded of it every time I see a woman belittling her husband or a wife withering under her husband’s scorn. I want to say to them, “You should know why Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for his wife.”

Johnny Lingo wasn’t exactly his name. But that’s what Shenkin, the manager of the guest house on Kiniwata, called him. Shenkin was from Chicago and had a habit of Americanizing the names of the islanders. But Johnny was mentioned by many people in many connections. If I wanted to spend a few days on the neighboring island of Nurabandi, Johnny Lingo would put me up. If I wanted to fish he could show me where the biting was best. If it was pearls I sought, he would bring the best buys. The people of Kiniwata all spoke highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet when they spoke they smiled, and the smiles were slightly mocking.

“Get Johnny Lingo to help you find what you want and let him do the bargaining,” advised Shenkin.

“Johnny knows how to make a deal.”

“Johnny Lingo! A boy seated nearby hooted the name and rocked with laughter.

“What goes on?” I demanded. “everybody tells me to get in touch with Johnny Lingo and then breaks up. Let me in on the joke.”

“Oh, the people like to laugh,” Shenkin said, shruggingly. “Johnny’s the brightest, the strongest young man in the islands, And for his age, the richest.”

“But if he’s all you say, what is there to laugh about?”

“Only one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He paid her father eight cows!”

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. Two or three cows would buy a fair-to-middling wife, four or five a highly satisfactory one.

“Good Lord!” I said, “Eight cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away.”

“She’s not ugly,” he conceded, and smiled a little. “But the kindest could only call Sarita plain. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid she’d be left on his hands.”

“But then he got eight cows for her? Isn’t that extraordinary?”

“Never been paid before.”

“Yet you call Johnny’s wife plain?”

“I said it would be kindness to call her plain. She was skinny. She walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess there’s just no accounting for love.”

“True enough,” agreed the man. “And that’s why the villagers grin when they talk about Johnny. They get special satisfaction from the fact that the sharpest trader in the islands was bested by dull old Sam Karoo.”

“But how?”

“No one knows and everyone wonders. All the cousins were urging Sam to ask for three cows and hold out for two until he was sure Johnny’d pay only one. Then Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said, ‘Father of Sarita, I offer eight cows for your daughter.’”

“Eight cows,” I murmured. “I’d like to meet this Johnny Lingo.”

“And I wanted fish. I wanted pearls. So the next afternoon I beached my boat at Nurabandi. And I noticed as I asked directions to Johnny’s house that his name brought no sly smile to the lips of his fellow Nurabandians. And when I met the slim, serious young man, when he welcomed me with grace to his home, I was glad that from his own people he had respect unmingled with mockery. We sat in his house and talked. Then he asked, “You come here from Kiniwata?”

“Yes.”

“They speak of me on that island?”

“They say there’s nothing I might want they you can’t help me get.”

He smiled gently. “My wife is from Kiniwata.”

“Yes, I know.”

“They speak of her?”

“A little.”

“What do they say?”

“Why, just…”   The question caught me off balance. “They told me you were married at festival time.”

“Nothing more?”   The curve of his eyebrows told me he knew there had to be more.

“They also say the marriage settlement was eight cows.” I paused.

“They wonder why.”

“They ask that?” His eyes lightened with pleasure. “Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the eight cows?”

I nodded.

“And in Nurabandi everyone knows it too.” His chest expanded with satisfaction. “Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for Sarita.”

So that’s the answer, I thought: vanity.

And then I saw her. I watched her enter the room to place flowers on the table. She stood still a moment to smile at the young man beside me. Then she went swiftly out again. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin the sparkle of her eyes all spelled a pride to which no one could deny her the right. I turned back to Johnny Lingo and found him looking at me.

“You admire her?” he murmured.

“She…she’s glorious. But she’s not Sarita from Kiniwata,” I said.

“There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps she does not look the way they say she looked in Kiniwata.”

“She doesn’t. I heard she was homely. They all make fun of you because you let yourself be cheated by Sam Karoo.”

“You think eight cows were too many?”

A smile slid over his lips. “No. But how can she be so different?”

“Do you ever think,” he asked, “what it must mean to a woman to know that her husband has settled on the lowest price for which she can be bought? And then later, when the women talk, they boast of what their husbands paid for them. One says four cows, another maybe six. How does she feel, the woman who was sold for one or two? This could not happen to my Sarita.”

“Then you did this just to make your wife happy?”

“I wanted Sarita to be happy, yes. But I wanted more than that. You say she is different This is true. Many things can change a woman. Things that happen inside, things that happen outside. But the thing that matters most is what she thinks about herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. Now she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands.”

“Then you wanted -”

“I wanted to marry Sarita. I loved her and no other woman.”

“But —” I was close to understanding.

“But,” he finished softly, “I wanted an eight-cow wife.”
Tell me that didn’t at least elicit an ‘awww’ from you. 🙂 That, along with the message of the service set me up for a long night of thinking of identity and perception. This morning in my sociology class my teacher brought up the concept of a looking glass self. This basically says that our definition of self derives from how we believe others perceive us.  That’s a bit of a confusing concept. What we think of ourselves is directly based upon how we think others think of us… Never the less, I can’t help but feel that this is true. My mind drifted back to the Johnny Lingo story. How clearer can such a point be made.
In another thought I was brought to a book a read last December Every You, Every Me by David Levithan, The basis of his beautifully crafted, and slightly weird plot was how every person around us knows a different ‘you’. That may sound odd, but isn’t there at least some truth to it? Think of how you act with your best friend. Now, move to your family, other friends, acquaintances, co-workers, boss, and crush/significant other.  Don’t you try to project a different persona with each of these? Are any of them less you? No, of course not. But your actions with them affect their perception of you. The culmination of all these ‘yous’, plus whoever you are when you are alone, are held within you and you must deal with all of them.
So these are my thoughts on the matter. If you made it all the way through this post of thought puke, bless you. I’m still working through this myself. From what I have gathered thus far, I can’t help but come to the conclusion that if you tell yourself that you are an ‘eight cow wife’ then you will become one inside and to those around you. What are your thoughts on the matter? How do you identify yourself?

******

Through My Eyes

Well that’s all for now guys, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

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A Humble Hello


The most sacred place dwells within our heart, where dreams are born and secrets sleep, a mystical refuge of darkness and light, fear and conquest, adventure and discovery, challenge and transformation. Our heart speaks for our soul every moment while we are alive. Listen… as the whispering beat repeats: be…gin, be…gin, be…gin. It’s really that simple. Just begin… again.
Royce Addington 

*****

I come to you, dear readers, if there are any of you left, to begin once again this process of blogging. I’m a terrible blogger, I know. For a while there I was doing so well, and there were so many stories I would have loved to share with the world. Trust me, I’m in desperate need of a venting resource. So why did I cease my awesome blogging streak back in June?  Well my computer died.

Rest In Peace little darling.

How did this tragic turn of events occur? What can I say, I am a serial technology killer. Seriously. Anything that even remotely revolves around technology might as well be granted a death certificate when it first touches my hands. My computer? Well, it lost the ability to eat power. If it was just the charger, I would have been back a lot sooner. No, it’s anorexic ways were not caused from a faulty power source, but from the area where said power was consumed. In other words, it was shot.

Hope was not fully lost however, for my beautiful Virus Trap laid in waiting, ready to be of service. Great, right? Wrong.  The lovely contraption was fraught with chronic Narcolepsy. It fell asleep/died literally every five minutes. As you can imagine, after about the fifth time of restarting the thing in a thirty minute period, one begins to become overly irritated. Not precisely a great tool for writing. Not to mention it’s utter hate for youtube, Microsoft Word, and basically every website and program that I enjoy. Needless to say, the situation needed correction.

And correction it got… after over two months of work with people I couldn’t stand and a boss and bitch dream team that tried to get me fired at every turn, I earned enough to buy myself a new laptop. I ordered it off an online deal from a trustworthy source. Now, I have never been a strong believer in the great power that is the postal service and I’ve been wronged by them too many times to count, so why on earth would I ever be stupid enough to trust them with something so valuable that I had worked so hard to receive? Heaven only knows.

The day of the predicted delivery came, and I spent the day stuck at home and anxiously awaiting its arrival. And when we got antsy about the lack of technological presence, we checked my email to see that it had supposedly been delivered an hour before. Insert mad string of cuss words here. After another two hours, several furious phone calls to the shipping company, the accusation of stealing, a visit from an arrogant cop who basically told me to get over it, some angry pacing in the driveway, and a kindhearted delivery man rushing over during his free time and knocking on our neighbors doors until alas he found the missing property, I finally held my new computer in my hands. All was well.

Or so I thought. Remember that trustworthy source from which I bought my computer? Yeah, well they called the next morning saying in essence that, oops we sent you a computer that’s worth two hundred dollars less than the one you ordered which actually happens to be sold out now so would you like us to send you a fifty dollar rebate to make up for it?  As if that wasn’t a hundred and fifty dollars less than what I had been jipped out of. I was pissed. My father bargained with them, getting me another computer equal to the one I thought I had. But we had to buy that one too and then return the one I had to get our money back. Thank goodness for parents, because Lord knows I didn’t have the money to pay for a second computer.

Two weeks later I came into the possession of a laptop that was kind of similar to the one I had wanted. Yup. If you did the math for a timeline here, then you know that this excuse only accounts for the days until about August 29th. So why didn’t I make this post at anytime during the last month? I don’t have a good reason. Excusing school starting and a line up of classes that are going to be the death of me, as well as wrapping up my seasonal job and my recent inability to even think, there is absolutely no good reason for my absence. I forgot. I’m sorry.

So, I’m extending a hand, waving a white flag of surrender, and hoping for a peaceful return. I can’t promise that I will post everyday, but I will try to at least frequent more than once every three months. I want to do this. I do. But I fail at being a blogger. Heck, sometimes I think I fail at life, no matter how much one of my classmates labels me as over dramatic when I vocalized this thought the other day. I’m at a weird place in life right now. My mind isn’t functioning properly and my emotions are going haywire. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. None the less, I want to make this work. It’s not going to be easy, but I’m willing to try. Please forgive me. And if you have stuck around and read this after my absence, thank you. 🙂

 

 

******

Through My Eyes

 

Well that’s all for now guys, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

Travels


“When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.” – William Least Heat Moon
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So, a few weeks ago my sister and I were taking a road trip and we came across this cute small town with some awesome old buildings. Camera ever present, I took a lot of pictures, and because I don’t have much else to say, here they are 🙂


Through my Eyes

Well that’s all for now guys, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

Changes


“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.” -Andre Gide
*****
Sorry I didn’t post yesterday guys, but I had a bit of a packed schedule. The beginning of that, after school of course, was quite a big change for me. One of my sister’s friends works up at a hair salon in a big city a few hours away, and she was in town for the week for a wedding. While she was here my sister set up an appointment for me to get my hair cut. It’s really short; barely touching my shoulders. I’ve never had it this short because my dad has a thing against us cutting our hair *eye roll* which is why he is currently both pissed off and not speaking to us. I don’t care, I love the way it looks, and I got lots of complements from people at school. According to my crush, the second person to comment, “it looks nice. Good… really good.” Of course blushing soon ensued. But oh, it was worth it 🙂

This is the mark of the changes that will be happening over the next few years. Already I have had my first job application, interview, turn down, and acceptance, along with my first bank account and State Id (which I have yet to get the plastic, official version of.) This summer I’m looking forward the additional freedoms that a job will bring. Plus, three of my good friends are lifeguards so we get to see each other a lot. I also plan to spend a lot of time walking around town and going to the park and such. I want a tan, and just in general, out of the freaking house whose walls have become  like prison bars in my mind more each day.

Looking past that, I also plan to start applying to colleges soon, which will take up a good portion of my time and is sure to cause rifts in the family ties. My father thinks I’m going to the one closest to our town, boy will he be surprised to learn that that is my last plan, my fallback if everything else falls through. Before college my best friend and I plan to take a summer long road trip up the west coast. This is yet another plan to which my father is blissfully unaware.

In other news, Camp nano starts today, and I have yet to write anything on it. I’m headed that way now, as soon as I finish this post. I have the basic outline started, but I’m so nervous to start. This is try number two. We’ll see how it goes. Wish me luck!

Through my Eyes

Well that’s all for now guys. So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

Habitual Nature


Acting is the most personal of our crafts. The make-up of a human being – his physical, mental and emotional habits – influence his acting to a much greater extent than commonly recognized.
Lee Strasberg
******
So I was sitting in my Spanish class today thinking about human habits. Now, it’s not an odd thing for me to be avoiding actually listening to the Spanish lecture to opt for a more fun thought wave. But that’s not necessarily why I was thinking of this then. You’d have to see the way we sit to understand this.

I’m not sure how other Spanish classes are set up, but for mine, there are about seven rows of three pushed up against one wall, and seven rows of three pushed up against the opposite wall, facing each other. We were allowed to choose where we sit.

In my first semester this year we were segregated straight down the middle, boys by the window wall, girls by the door. But even within these sections there were splits by how they set themselves up, based more on personality and friends. Now, in my second semester, our class was split in a more complex way, which was made abundantly clear on valentines day. My side? nothing. Not one valentine. The other? Tons.

So yes, basically we split by popularity. Our side made light of this by labeling ourselves the ‘forever alone’ side. Coincidentally, most of us have tumblrs, and though we might not hang out in our day to day life, during that one period of the day, we are a united, fully functions nerd herd.

I love the people in my Spanish class. Even the other side is amusing. One half is the guys, which are mostly made of the the trouble makers, but the funny ones, and the other half consists of the preppy girls. There is no end to the stories I could tell you from that class alone, but that is a story for another post.

In my English class, the room is structured similarly, and we sat ourselves in an order of my group, the quiet girls, the preps, the loudmouths, and then onto the trouble makers. Group discussions are pretty one-sided. Pun intended.

At lunch, we all find ourselves sprinkled amongst the school. My group either eats on the hillside outside, when it’s nice, or on the floor by the heater near the office when it’s not. The same outside groups always sitting around us in their usual places.

During assemblies, you see this pattern setting in as to where we always sit. Based, again, on groups. Now, I should mention that our school isn’t radically divided. But we still have our normal groups, that appear in all school settings.

My point is guys, that when left up to our own devices, we will choose to turn to the familiar, the comfortable. And why wouldn’t we? It’s so ingrained in us that that’s we’re we belong that it is downright scary to go against that.

And it isn’t just in school settings that I see this. It’s everywhere. From buses, parks, and pools, to my job, and coffee shops and even grocery stores. We interact with those who seem the closest to what we have always known.

I have trouble with this at my church especially. It’s a college church, and I attend with my sister. She knows people there, has friends in the congregation, while I… do not. I find myself constantly blending into the background, keeping my trap shut and hovering near my sisters group. I am not my sister, by any means. Her group is not like my own. I almost constantly keep up this feeling of being an outsider. So uncomfortable. Nothing changes when I do this, the uncomfortableness has just become a thing of normalcy.

The question I’d like to pose to ya’ll is how are we ever supposed to experience anything new if we never break from our self determined packs and habits? Sure we have fun together, but how often is that fun really that great? I know my group has become so comfortable with one another that we’ve run out of things to talk about. Lunch periods are rather boring sometimes. But we keep coming back because that’s what we’re used to.

Haven’t the greatest memories, that are story worthy been from those times that we were hurled into the unknown? Curiosity and wonder are natural, and good, but so often we suppress these for familiarity’s sake. Life is not about security. We should be taking chances, changing things up, making mistakes. Nothing would ever be accomplished, no new inventions would be notable if someone hadn’t have stepped out of their personal comfort zone to chase the uncertain path of their thoughts and ideas.

So I pose a challenge to you readers. Try to do at least one uncomfortable thing this week. Whether it be talking to a stranger, sitting in a new area, or simply trying a new restaurant, activity, or outfit style. What ever you want, just go out of the way to reject the ordinary. You may be surprised by the results.

Through my Eyes

That’s all for now. So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

The Remains of Loyalty


So often is the virgin sheet of paper more real than what one has to say, and so often one regrets having marred it. ~Harold Acton, Memoirs of an Aesthete, 1948
******
Guys, I don’t have a brain right now. Partly due to seven hours spent on stupid science posters this weekend, partly because I’m working on the history musical because Mr. Director sir lost two pages of it :S and partly because I’m using the rest of my brain power to try to figure out a pre- plot hole for my camp nano novel. Trust me it is brain eating material. Anyhow I don’t have the necessary brain waves to come up with a better topic so I’m posting a short story I wrote last year. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think.
******
The air’s substantial weight pressed in on his skin; twisting its scummy fingers in an encasement around his throat and locking itself like shambles on the limbs. An eerie silence floated on the mist, leaving all drenched in suspicion and dire blood thirst. Adrenaline, anger, anticipation, and awe pumped their way through his vascular system as he trampled the blood drenched ground which led back to home base; their hazardous safety net.
Hurricanes of incomprehensible thoughts sucked everything into the torture chamber of his mind; throwing them like sacks of potatoes onto unstable spiked beds and chaining them there with a steady flow of solitary tears of water splashing between their eyes. All thought, emotion, and common sense were trapped behind a boulder of explosives, leaving the embarrassingly exposed primal intuition lying with the master key to his body’s control center at hand.
His heart played a one man tennis match against the wall of his aching chest; butterflies ran a soccer game between his internal organs, but even this was incoherent to any true meaning. The metal head of his fire arm was clenched within the sticky sweat of his fingers, bobbing up and down with his awkward rhythmic gait. But he held on with the instinct to protect; fight or flight was never an option. It was win or die trying.
Every man and boy left standing were herded into this outskirt of civilization, readying themselves for the final determination battle that tomorrow would drag in by the ear. His enemies, the Thieves of Rowkwell, who’s pilfering of the precious Gem of Lathum led up to the bombing of the nation’s proud capital building, and later, the inevitable war; had managed to fly under the radar of all Lathonian soldiers. This brought the harsh, yet eminent ring of death all too near.
As his body crushed the flimsy threshold of the ramshackle base, his feet drew him to the cot of pointed steal springs, cushioned only by a thin layer of synthetic down. His brain numbed into the familiarity of the ever widening black hole, plunging his spirit into the lasting effects nothing; a complete blank. There was no restfulness or comfort in this; just a time passing technique he had perfected back when he had learned forgetting everything that made you humane was essential for there to be any hope of survival. Those who could not take this lesson to heart, no longer walked this planet.
He shot into action as the deafening tone of bullets and cannons pierced through the flat line of his consciousness. Embracing his rifle to his side, he propped his finger against the cool trigger; firing round upon round at anything that dared to step into his path as he raced toward the frontlines. Men baring Rowkwell’s signature grey and gold were blasted back as miniature missiles bombarded their torsos, leaving them to descend to a terrorizing pain-filled death in seclusion, as their collogues crawled over their mangled corpses.
Without eliciting any emotion from him, death ambushed soldiers on both sides; some coming directly from his own hands. Cries of pain engulfed the area with a steady soundtrack of horror but the skirmish raged on. Sweat seeped deeply into his clothes, doubling the already boiling temperatures, as the sickly sweet aroma of blood and burned flesh penetrated his nostrils like a thousand tiny needles being prodded into his fingertips, repeatedly.
Then, as if a meteor had struck the land with no warning, all action ceased. Men on the other side had either retreated or were now all trying to knock down heaven’s gates. The barbell of air shot down on his head as if someone had just let loose the blade of a guillotine. The collective force pinned his feet to the ground, leaving no possible way for him to return to his deceptive oasis of sharpened metal wire and feathers.
A movement, subtle at first, caught his eye, as his head whipped back in the enemy’s direction; granting him access to his lower limbs. His body took control, flinging the pistol upward. Upon glancing toward the twitch of motion, his eyes glazed over, seeing the recognition flush over the perpetrator. It was a man of the same age; hair slicked back with desperate sweat; body weak with loss of blood.
The steal doors of his defense system slid open just enough for the delicate memories to crawl out and ensnare with the blockade that his mind had welded together; leaving him with no choice but to watch them dance across the stage of his past. He was a boy again. His younger self joking with a youthful version of the pathetic creature his body was now facing.
A crystal blue lake rose in the distance, as he and his buddy sprinted down the sand packed shore. Balls were tossed carelessly between groups; in fields, beaches, and lawns. Bicycle wheals rolled on for miles. Unnoticed movies played in the background of teenage conversations. Contests that questioned manliness were pursued in all seriousness. Girls were the object of turmoil; parent the root of all things unfair. Punches were thrown and insults were hurled as they sought out illegal goods and under-aged rebellion. All moments and pictures that flashed before his eyes had one important piece in common; he and the man on the enemy’s side.
Back in real time the soldier stumbled; losing balance for only one moment as a foreign ache pulsed through his heart and stomach. He gasped, slightly confused as he tried to recover the mental barriers that had been so carefully and protectively laid. But it was far too late for that; he had seen, and he had felt. His body fought for control, moving his forefinger near the frighteningly ready trigger. His muscles tensed, questioning his sanity. What was he doing? There was no hesitation in the game of war. Where was his instinctual command to fire, to kill at all costs? Why the hell wasn’t he taking advantage of such weak prey? Everything in his past training had taught him that there were no second chances for those who defended the terrorists. Where were all the thoughtless actions that had been branded in his mind for so long?
The eyes of the man looked on knowingly, and almost seemed to pity the internal battle waging on before him. He rolled to the side, presenting the bullet wound that still oozed molten blood. At the sight of this, the soldier needed know other advice on action. He stumbled, shakily forward to the side of his childhood friend and tossed his gun far in the distance; falling to his knees as his unsure fingers tore off his own shirt and wrapped it around the bodice of the man. When it was in place enough to slow the gory flow, he hoisted the man into his arm and directed himself back to home base. Screw the government, friends come first.

******
Through my Eyes

That’s all for now guys. So until next time Keep on dreaming &*)

~Rose

Nerdom


“…because nerds like us are allowed to be unironically enthusiastic about stuff… Nerds are allowed to love stuff, like jump-up-and-down-in-the-chair-can’t-control-yourself love it. Hank, when people call people nerds, mostly what they’re saying is ‘you like stuff.’ Which is just not a good insult at all. Like, ‘you are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness’.”
― John Green
*******

If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m a nerd. I admit this full out, without restraint or hesitation. I wasn’t always so open about this fact, but trust me, it was painfully obvious to everyone around me. Don’t believe me? Let me list my nerdy attributes. I have a blog. I spend a good portion of time on my tumblr. At school you will almost always find my head stuck in a book, or hand furiously scribing in my notebook that I designed and laminated with quotes about writing. I’m a writer, and spend hours of each day devoted to thinking about/talking to my characters. I make detailed drawing of what  I believe my main character looks like:

 

And then upload that picture onto my computer so I can make a book cover out of it:

I spend a few too many hours devoted solely to finding videos on youtube searching for parodies of songs, and songs about books I’ve read. I can quote Twilight off the cuff, no problem. Say just about anything and I can associate it with a song, and will burst out singing despite the fact that I have an awful voice. I do Nanowrimo, I have a pen name. I get a large portion of my social life by talking to my online friends who I have never met. I spend a great deal of time with these online friends, role-playing with our novel characters. I have a large portion of memory devoted just to Disney songs. I collect pens. I ship fictional characters that come from totally different worlds, and spend months counting down to the release dates of books from my favorite authors.

I could go on guys. The point is, I’m a nerd. But the much greater point of this post is that we all are, at least in part, slightly on the nerdy side. Being a nerd has led me to passionately explore different routes of entertainment to pursue these nerdy things, and had led to a great number of friendships without which my life would be sadly lacking. There’s nothing wrong with being passionate about things. In fact, many of the people who have made a lasting impression on our world have been, beautifully, wholeheartedly nerdy. If they had been too afraid to be passionate, where would we be? Where would our technology be without Steve Jobs, or Bill Gates? Where would entertainment be without Walt Disney? What if one of your passions could turn out to be something as powerful as these individuals’ passions were? What are you nerdy about?

I’ll wrap up this post with just a couple more quotes from John green.

“Saying ‘I notice you’re a nerd’ is like saying, ‘Hey, I notice that you’d rather be intelligent than be stupid, that you’d rather be thoughtful than be vapid, that you believe that there are things that matter more than the arrest record of Lindsay Lohan. Why is that?’ In fact, it seems to me that most contemporary insults are pretty lame. Even ‘lame’ is kind of lame. Saying ‘You’re lame’ is like saying ‘You walk with a limp.’ Yeah, whatever, so does 50 Cent, and he’s done all right for himself.”
John Green

“Gentlemen, nerd girls are the world’s greatest underutilized romantic resource.”
John Green

Through my Eyes

Well that’s all for now. So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~Rose

 

My Masochistic Mind


A film is – or should be – more like music than like fiction. It should be a progression of moods and feelings. The theme, what’s behind the emotion, the meaning, all that comes later.
Stanley Kubrick

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I have read, in several places, that one way to learn how to plot well, is to dissect the movies you watch. Like my choice in reading materials, often my movie experiences are emotional roller coasters.  What can I say, I’m a masochist at heart. Last night I went on a netflix rampage. I should add here, dear readers, that I usually try to avoid that website at all costs. As much of a time drain that youtube is, at the end of the day, Youtube videos are generally only around four minutes long. Netflix holds movies and entire series at the click of a mouse with no interruptions beside the occasional slow browser. I have an addictive personality guys. Entire weeks can be lost to Netflix. I certainly do not need that right now. 

 

None the less, I willing stepped into the quicksand. I began with Ted Talks. I don’t know if I have mentioned my recent obsession with these, but let me tell you, when I get started on these, it never ends quickly, or without some sort of guilt for not devoting all my time to saving the world or something. Of course I want to save the world. I just don’t know how to do it. Anyway, after I had crawled my way through those like a whipped puppy, I found myself staring of the cliff of the long, dangerous fall, that is a tear-jerk-er Hallmark movie. This one, The Shunning. took place in an Amish community. We followed a girl, Katie, who was about to be wed to the local Bishop. When we first meet Katie, we see her sneaking off to find a hidden guitar, an object that would not please her people. Later, she learns she is adopted, and decides she can’t go through with the wedding. 

 

I became so attached to Katie that I was crying for the last solid thirty minutes of the movie. She was real to me. The movie makers had perfectly kept up that essential suspension of belief. I want my characters to be like that; to be so real, not only to me, but to anyone who may read my work. For the most part, my characters are real to me. They have unique voices, appearances, back stories, thoughts… everything that real people have. I just wonder if that is displayed to those around me.

 

Anyway, I began this cry fest following my walk home in a whirlwind of cotton infested air from my job. We were in the actual pool today, and I spent my two hours with my head stuck in various confined spaces along with mold and multiple, various cleaning supplies. Needless to say, by the end of the night, my head was not feeling so well. Twenty minutes and six ibuprofen later (I generally take Excedrin for I’m all but immune to the healing affects of most headache medicine; thus the upped dosage) I was on my way to dreamland.

 

I had a very interesting dream last night, and it was similar in style to ones I’ve had multiple times before. I was in a building very similar to the church I was born into… I was looking for something, but also I got the feeling that I was running from something else and trying to escape. My main obstacle in doing this however was the slew of stairs that never led the way I thought they were going to and were utterly confusing. At one point I began following a wiener dog up the stark white, wooden stairs, but he led me farther astray than I was when I was alone. I woke up right as I reached the top of the stairs and came to a balcony which overlooked a thirty story building. I felt trapped and realized that the only way down was through the stairs or to jump. My eyes opened to reality before I made this decision. I have no idea what that was about. I’d blame it on the meds and fumes if not for the similarities to other dreams I’ve had.

 

I rolled over and grabbed my phone only to find five new text messages from my Spanish partner asking which vocab words I had on my section of our script. That was a great thought to wake up to. I have a strong, passionate hate for that class, and I didn’t want to begin my Sunday that way. Oh well, it needed to be done.  

 

Now that I’m typing this I’m listening to a selection of John Mayer songs on Youtube while smelling the baked potatoes in the oven for lunch. I don’t want to even think about all the homework I have to do today, but I don’t have a choice. Again, I’m thanking the good Lord that I don’t have school tomorrow.

Through my Eyes

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Well that’s all for now guys. So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)

~ Rose


I don’t know much about creative writing programs. But they’re not telling the truth if they don’t teach, one, that writing is hard work, and, two, that you have to give up a great deal of life, your personal life, to be a writer.
Doris Lessing
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Okay, so it’s not summer yet, for me at least. I still have another week and a half, but as I mentioned yesterday, I have begun training for my summer job. We didn’t meet at the pool yesterday, but at our local recreational center. Personally I find meeting there a bit strange for the center, nestled behind the local middle school, is a know hangout for drug addicts of all kinds. But whatever. I wrote a quick, on the fly poem about the experience:

Six strangers

Thrown together in a room

Forced onto the solitary

Half moon couch.

Just enough space between

So they won’t touch

Still

Too close for comfort

Fiddling awkwardly with

Their pens; trying to listen

To the pair up front

How is it

That soon

They will spend

Nearly everyday

Together?

Honestly, other than the slight awkwardness, it wasn’t that bad. I only somewhat recognized two of them. One, a boy who has worked at the pool for years, and two, a girl in the grade below me. Mostly yesterday we went over the employee Manuel rules such as no smoking, drinking, PDA, eating the food for free, yada yada. Typical stuff. Our uniforms this year will consist of khakis, a lime green polo, and a deep red visor. I feel the need to break out in Christmas songs already. I’m kind of hoping they nix the visors.
I like my managers so far, though they are each others’ opposites. The girl is tall, perky, and a total drama kid (I know because she told me in the interview) so I felt an instant connection there. She seems really nice and open and is probably the one I will go to when I need help. The guy on the other hand is much more mellow. Except for a few quips here and there, he remained pretty much silent.He has the sort of dry sense of humor that I tend to like, but just like in the interview, I feel more apt to talk to the girl. She seems to be more in charge anyway.
There were only five of us there when I first arrived, all girls. The boy showed up a half hour late, and apparently there were four others who just didn’t  come at all. I have a feeling I will get plenty of hours this summer, considering my entire schedule is open. We are guaranteed twenty hours, and obtaining the rest will depend on our own actively searching to sub in for the other employees.
Today, I signed of for the two to four training shift in which we will begin cleaning the concessions side of things. I know that training is necessary, but I find myself wishing that it was already June seventh so I could start the actual job side of things. The two hour clips are merely teasers of what’s to come, and I am more than excited to jump in and get my hands dirty.
Needless to say, I feel like the majority of my social life will come from work. All this time at work will leave little left over for my writing, and I need my writing. I’ve gone without it before, and I do not want to go through that again. Writing in and of itself is work. It’s difficult to come up with appropriate words and actions and characters for a plot, but it’s a work that I truly love to do.
I’m glad that this is Memorial Day weekend because, despite my obvious lack of rest and sanity in the last week, I still have a lot to do, that for the most part I don’t want to. My science teacher extended the due date on those six posters to Tuesday, but I’ve yet to have a chance to even begin working on them. Then I have my Spanish Final Project which the teacher told us of two days ago and wants us to present on Tuesday, that forces us to act like we’re on a cooking show and show people how to make No Bake Cookies while having a memorized script with twenty negative and affirmative commands and twenty five vocabulary words (which is difficult because very few of the vocab words have anything to do with cooking). Between my project partner and I, we have each about a half a page of script to memorize. Plus we have a page of translations she wants done by Tuesday. Then I have about twenty Geometry problems to solve by Wednesday, and three essays for wellness due by Thursday. *sigh* I don’t know how I’m going to get it all done.
On top of this, I still desperately need to plot out my Camp Nano novel. Camp starts in six days and I have no idea how I’m going to manage that on top of everything else. I suppose though, that each time I jump into this train of literary abandon life is crazy, but I somehow always make it through. I mean, real life does not stop just because you want to write; you must make time or go without writing. I want writing to be my career one day, and the only way I can do this is to choose writing. It really is an either or; give it your all, or forget about it.
My friends do not understand this line of thinking. Whenever I respond to one of ‘let’s hangout’ texts with I’m busy writing, they always respond with ‘you’re always writing’. Well of course I’m always writing. The only way to improve at something is to practice a lot. I want to tell them that if I’m writing and I respond to or even notice that they have texted me that they are lucky. Somehow, I don’t feel like they would take that the right way. Seriously though, they should be used to it by now.
Through my Eyes
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Well that’s all for now guys. So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)
~Rose


Natalie Goldberg ~ Stress is basically a disconnection from the earth, a forgetting of the breath. Nothing is that important. Just lie down ~

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Today was nearly unbearably too long, especially after an hour long awards assembly which, when it finally came to a close, had us so tired and downright bored that the class period after that felt like its own personal kind of hell.  Not to mention my last class was going over in extensive detail of all the ways that energy drinks are bad for you. Although, this topic was much more enjoyable then that of two days ago when that featured images of meth addicts and people who had been victims of drunk driving accident. The only redeeming quality of that class is that I sit right next to the guy I like.
There were two bright spots of this day. First, was lunch when my biology teacher dressed up as one of the flying monkeys on Wizard of Oz as was the agreement if we raised enough money for this fundraiser the school held a few weeks ago. He walked through the outdoor commons during lunch surrounded by an entourage of yearbook photographers. Second came during my drama class as we were practicing for our final scenes. My group is doing a modern Cinderella in which two godmothers, one good and one bad, are trying to sway Cindy’s mind on something she has planned. (I’m the evil godmother *smirks*) What made this a bright spot however, was our forcing one of the senors to take our parts, first as Cinderella, and then as both of the godmothers. That kid is hilarious, and I sincerely hope he pursues a career in entertainment.
As for this moment I am preparing to go to job training which starts in a half an hour while simultaneously watching Two and a Half Men and listening to Michael Buble. I’m incredibly nervous for this, but I should get going. I’ll post again tomorrow.
Through my Eyes
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Well that’s all for now, So until next time, Keep on Dreaming &*)
~Rose