Wednesday, March 20, 2002

Listening to "Do You Believe in Magic" by the Loving Spoonful (wow, that's a cool band name). This song puts a smile on my face whenever I hear it.

In other news, spring break is in TWO DAYS!! Oh wait, that's the big news. Anyways, I can barely believe that this year is so close to ending. Of course, we have three more months... but right now it feels like they don't even count. This school year has gone faster than any that I can remember. I'm not quite sure what makes that happen- and it's strange to think about all of those days just being gone. More that strange- frightening. I'm always thinking about the fact that a moment gone by is gone forever. The correct response to this kind of thinking would be a resounding "Carpe Diem!" of course, and I do my best, but sometimes I just get stuck thinking about the fragility of things instead of the way I could be using the moment to its fullest.

Interesting tie-in to that thought- we're doing "lyric projects" in english to take up time, and two girls brought in a spanish rap song thing that was exactly about that. The song was okay, but it was strange how much it tied in to what I've been thinking about. The power of music continues to amaze me.

Tuesday, March 19, 2002

Today I overslept an evening rehearsal- I woke up exactly when my clock changed from 6 29 to 6 30. Ran out the door and took my dad's car- he was a little disturbed when he got back from walking the dog and saw it wasn't there. Oh well. I got there at 6 45, and besides a snide comment about how you can't be in tune if you're late, Schwabe didn't say anything.

Interesting observation: 75% of the clarinet section was wearing black converse all stars.

Another cool development. First of all, Cassie lives about ten blocks from me. It's strange because we've been in band together since 7th grade (stand partners for two years) and we never knew. And now she's kind of gotten over her whole ditz thing, and we're sort of becoming friends. It's cool.

I want to write more, but I need to study for chem. Sorry for the choppiness.

Monday, March 18, 2002

So I'm finished. Done with my essay, though I don't think it did even a fraction of the justice both the idea and the book deserves. Maybe someone else could have done better. Or maybe I could have picked something simpler to write about. I'm still mildly proud of my idea, though. Even with all of the horrific mutations it's undergone since the lightbulb turned on at festival on friday, I still know what it's supposed to be and I like it. I just hope that anyone else reading it will understand what I'm trying to say.

I didn't start working until around 9 30. I was disgusted with myself, but now I'm happy that I was able to pull it off. It bodes well for my future (my mom even came in to say goodnight and told me I looked like a college student). Not my immediate future, of course - I predict passing out in at least two of my classes tomorrow - but it's a good skill to have. And the energy that I felt once I finally got myself together was good too. I'm not good at staying up late*, but it brings a strange thrill.

Good night.

*Late for me, that is. I've gone to bed at 11 30 for the past two nights. If you know me, you're either gasping in shock or laughing at the fact that I think I can do it.

Sunday, March 17, 2002

Sometimes the most important thing in life is remembering to breathe, and for me, sometimes that's something that takes more effort than most things. But if you're somewhere and it's raining right now, stick your head outside the window and take a deep breath. Isn't that something amazing?
Jocelyn came over to my house while the eluting solution was doing its thing at the chem lab, and checked blogs as I watched from the bed while doing my math homework. She got to mine (it's very strange to have someone reading your words while you watch), and I saw that I hadn't updated since wednesday. Oops. I knew it had been a while, but wednesday seems like a very long time ago.

Not like muc has happened. I've spent countless hours online, but I just didn't feel like writing. In a few words: track meet (step one checked off, like that means anything to anyone who reads this). Band festival (long bus ride. crossword puzzle. mildly fun). In n' Out (the best food after a long day of anything). "Working on my essay". Then shopping with my mom (lots of cool new stuff). "Math Project" (we got it done, but the productivity to hours spent at kai's ration was very low.) Chem lab. And now, homework. Lots of homework. This is my twenty minute break (uh oh, it's been 22 minutes. bad me, very bad). Then back to making up chem homework and then the mother of all homework assignments, my english essay.

So that was my weekend (+thursday). Maybe after I stop being stressed out, I'll have more to say. But anything I say now will either be bitchy or make absolutely no sense, so I've decided it's best for all if I say nothing.

(6 more days)

Wednesday, March 13, 2002

Oh my god! Huge literary insight! (that has, of course, nothing to do with my essay. Which I sat down to work on an hour ago and still haven't started. But anyways...)

Weezer's Butterfly = Gatsby's perception of Daisy and the mistakes we make by investing too much in our dreams:

When I woke up today
And looked in on my fairy pet
She had withered all away
No more sighing in her breast
I guess you're as real as me
Maybe I can live with that
Maybe I need fantasy
A life of chasing Butterfly

Don't you see!? Rivers is talking about how it's easier to chase a dream than pursue someone in reality; how when he finally captured his "butterfly" his perceptions of her as perfect and fairy-like withered away.

And then Gatsby:

"There must have been moments even that afternoon when Daisy tumbled short of his dreams - not through her own fault but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion"(101).

It all matches up so well! Truth is everywhere. And it's beautiful.

Anyways, I'm excited...
Though today started out on too high of a note (meaning too high of a frequency, meaning tension and the feeling that things could snap very easily), it settled down into a day of going through the motions and trying not to crash. In other words, a reasonably normal day.

Chem test: that was not fun. It caused me undue amounts of stress beforehand (actually, the correct amount of stress for what turned out to be on the test, but it shouldn't have been so much for any test), and during, and afterwards when I got to complain about wexler at the top of my lungs in math class. I wonder if Ms. Rubin thinks we complain about her to other teachers. If I were a teacher and I heard my students complaining every day about their other classes and work and teachers, I would worry that I'm gettting the exact same treatment in other classes. But I'm also unusually paranoid, meaning that this is probably a case of projecting my emotions on to other people.

And today was Festival, the one in the not-so-crazy location. Playing the Tchaikovsky was physically exhausting - I can't imagine playing the whole thing - and a bit of a stress too, because of the inferiority complex I have in orchestra. But we got a Superior, as expected. The only thing I really gained from today's trip was extra time to do my math homework. Oh, and an amusing bus ride home. Bonnie is a born comedian. She has the delivery, the material, and the correct level of cynicism to make it in today's world. A little too cynical at times - my head was hurting enough already without being blasted by deragatory remarks about Britney Spears - but really funny.

I got home and fell asleep by mistake. The right mistake to make, though, because I feel a lot better now. At least my head doesn't hurt anymore. And I am looking forward to Saturday more than anything, simply because it's the only day in the next two weeks where I have no commitments.

Oh, and the most beautiful thing I read today was this (today's entry). It made me wistful and nostalgic for something, though I can't figure out for what. It's strange that another person's normality can make us wish for our own routines. Many of the days I'll be missing for most of my life have already gone by, and though I might want some of them back, it's almost as comforting to have them in the back of my mind, ready to pull out whenever I'm feeling lonely.

Tuesday, March 12, 2002

So I told myself I wouldn't come here and complain, because whatever I'm feeling will go away soon and people will be left thinking horrible things about me because by the time I get happy it'll be too late to update... but screw that logic. I want to write out how I feel, and for some (probably exhibitionist-based) reason, I want to do it in a public domain.

Right now my head hurts. Hurts from too much thinking, too much stress, too much worrying about things. Yesterday when we were running, I told Caroline I wasn't stressed at all. What a difference a day makes! I have so much stuff to do tonight (let's ignore the fact that I'm updating instead of starting now and working diligently), and I feel like responsibilitites keep piling up. They probably wouldn't add up to much if I listed them out methodically, but every time I think I have it all down on a nice little organizer in my head I realize I have one more thing to add. Then one more thing. Then another.

I keep coming to the conclusion that I do few things well. Many things slightly above average, but very few things truly well. And what's worse is that I'm afraid to push myself towards those things I do at an average level because I'm afraid that I'm going to screw things up. I want to be an english major at this point in my life; it's something I truly love to do. But it seems like there are other things I could do as well, but I'm satisfied sitting in class writing down whatever the teacher writes on the board. I don't think it's wrong to want to do something I love, I just think that I should have more experiences before I settle down with something that comes reasonably easy to me.

This isn't coming out right. I'm sorry. Maybe I'll delete this post later or something. But I still want people to read it and want to comfort me. Oh, how self-centered we are.

Monday, March 11, 2002

So that was very unfun. Nonfun. Whatever, it's been too long since I've read 1984 and I'm tired anyways. It all comes down to the fact that we had a two hour orchestra rehearsal, which was almost but not quite as exhausting and painful as the one last week, probably because we didn't have to play those damn A clarinets for as long. And now I have a chem lab to work on, but it's the last thing on my mind. As a matter of fact, homework is running a distant last place to thoughts about how few real talents I really have, how much of a slacker I've become, the fact that I keep changing my mind about people, and the overall realization that all these thoughts are going through my head but I'm not really affected by them.

It's strange, because I don't feel depressed. Maybe a little defeated, but I pass that off to tiredness more than anything else. No, what I feel like is someone who thinks she's depressed but really isn't, who is putting on an act for unexplicable reasons. Almost everything I hear myself say and think seems like a weak echo of thoughts I've had before and been affected by deeply, but now they barely skim the surface. I've either developed a higher tolerance for depressing thoughts, or these are just watered down versions of the real thing. But I keep finding myself carrying out the motions of what I believe I should be doing, whether it be laying my head down during class or complaining to people about my life for sympathy. I really don't need to do that- I have no need but the driving force of habit. Human beings do strange, strange things.

Sunday, March 10, 2002

I'm doing my english homework; it's the most fun I've had with an assignment in a really long time. We're supposed to write a style imitation of Fitzgerald for one of the "missing conversations" in the book, and the more I write, the more I feel like I'm actually... well, not becoming Fitzgerald, but writing with his pen. The only problem is that it's supposed to a conversation, and I have exactly four words of dialogue in two pages. Hopefully Ms. Horn won't mind too much- inner narration is just as good as talking, anyways!
This has been strange. Maybe it's because I ate too many M&Ms this afternoon, but I have a weird feeling in my head that won't go away.

Went to Jocelyn's to hang out and get chemistry supplies (2 big bags of M&Ms, regular and caramel. Sooo good!). That was a nice thing to do. Not blissfully exciting, but fun. Then to Dutton's, where I could spend hours and hours browsing through the big stacks of books they have on the shelves and the floor. I immediately found the book I was looking for, and then read excerpts from The Dharma Bums and With Love and Squalor. The latter is a book of essays by writers who are responding to Salinger and discussing the impact he had on their lives. I found a lot of parallels in my feelings, including that Salinger isn't an especially good writer, but penetrating and mesmerizing. Also the tendencies of his books to create a group of people who fancy themselves as the intellectual elite and are mildly crushed when they find out what they thought was speaking directly to them was also heard by many, many others.

It left me with an urge to go home and read Salinger, and also a feeling of doubt for so many things. I drove home with Weezer on as loud as I could to try and drown out the thoughts in my head, but it didn't really work. "Every time I pin down what I want it slips away" -- Weezer, Butterfly. That fits so well, even though he's more talking about physical desires as opposed to philosophical beliefs. Thanks to a discussion on Garrett's LJ, I've been feeling pretty good about being alive recently. Fears of death had been slightly banished, and I was really believing people's reasons for living. But driving home, it all came back to me, and I felt totally inconsequential. I wonder how many other people go through their daily lives haunted by something they can't put into words. (My god, that sounds cliche. But dammit, that's why cliches are cliche. Because they make sense!)

Saturday, March 09, 2002

An excellent Saturday thus far- I've managed to combine productivity with fun, and what's even better is the productivity phase is about over and I'm about to head back to my life. Despite a bad start, first being woken up by the 5 45 am alarm that I had forgotten to turn off, and then my sister's friends, I actually used today. This morning I was lying around, but decided to write something about my life right now- the way I feel about things, the recurring thoughts I've been having. It was really rewarding, and then I went back and read through some old poetry and other things I had written. It's a very nice feeling to appreciate your own creativity. When I write it's often a spur of the moment, stream of consciousness sort of thing, and so I'm afraid it won't make any sense when I read it later. And if I can't understand my efforts to express myself just a few months later, I can only imagine what other people, or even future me, will think when reading it. But these fears were banished, because I understand (and like) what I've written.

After being uplifted by my own past self, I decided that the day was just too good to waste and went down to Main Street for lunch with a few friends. We ate good food, including some delicious chocolate mousse, and I, at least, had a good time. I always love using sunny afternoons for something else besides sitting around, and I'm glad that a few hours weren't wasted.

Then home for a ton of homework, which, when I sat down and actually did it, wasn't too bad. And it felt so good to just get it out of the way! I'm not sure if there's anything specific I'm actually making time for, but it's nice to have the time available- also nice not to have things hanging over my head.

Friday, March 08, 2002

Today was nice. It's Friday and I'm happy about that, but just because I'm getting a respite from waking up early every morning and going through half the day with sense of routine but no awareness. No Friday night stigma for me, at least this weekend. Maybe it will hit tomorrow night, but for now I have plans and that's enough for me.

My favorite part about the school day was sixth period. It was more fun that track usually is; actually, not more fun, but a different kind of fun. Instead of girls-only perpetual laugh sessions, I walked around school and felt like I was being watched, both by imposing Big Brother type of eyes and more casual, teenage ones. Definitely a good time, nevertheless.

And after schol I came home and sat in the back yard with my mp3 player, listening to beautiful melodies that seemed to rise and fall with the breeze. I looked up and saw that our plum tree had blossomed- the bare, skeletal branches are showing signs of life (fragile, delicate life) once more. It was such a pleasant surprise, but at the same time it made me think about time passing, and how each minute that is over lives on only in our memories or in the pages of books (or now, I suppose, online). Just more echoes of my recurring thoughts and fears about my own mortality.

Thursday, March 07, 2002

I'm in a strange sort of mood right now. It's interesting that whatever mood I'm in when I change my imood or update my blog becomes people's impression of my mood and activities for that day. Sometimes my moods or thoughts are so fleeting, but they end up being recorded for posterity.

One thing I'm thinking about is this book I just read, The Tribes of Palos Verdes. It has little to nothing in common with my life, besides the fact it takes place in southern california. But for some reason I felt a strange connection with the heroine, and with her brother, and her boyfriend. Maybe it was the passion, or the imagery, or something. Or just the love for water and the ocean. But it seems relevant. I'll have to figure that out.

Right now I have no overall feelings- my streak of happiness has basically ended, and now I'm just living. Sometimes confused, sometimes ecstatic, a lot of the times frantically trying not to think about what I want to be thinking about. Why do we try to stop ourselves from doing what we want?

Wednesday, March 06, 2002

Just got home from the choir Masterworks concert;- they performed Mozart's Requiem with amazing musicality and skill, enough to send chills through me a few times. Afterwards, I watched as the guys in tuxes and girls in long black dresses met and hugged and made plans to go to Denny's, and I got that feeling again. I hate it when it creeps up on me, but it does: I feel like there should be somewhere else I should be, talking to different people than I am (not at that very second, but after I'm alone), because that place and those people are infinitely cooler than I can ever be. Luckily it wore off in the car, though the remnants of that strange energy have gone into my inclinations to go online instead of get to bed like any smart person.

I wonder what it takes to make a person feel totally accepted at all times. Does one ever achieve something like that? Or do we just put on shows for each other, with masks that some have applied more skilfully than others, and suffer in silence?

Tuesday, March 05, 2002

But I'm shaking at your touch
I like you way too much
My baby, I'm afraid I'm falling for you
and I'd do about anything to get the hell out alive
Or maybe I would rather settle down with you

--Weezer, Falling for You

So life seems rather uneventful lately. When this week began, I felt like I had tons of responsibilities to uphold, and so being at home (not doing my homework) on Tuesday night seems wrong. That nagging feeling is back... But I'm grateful that I don't have anything I really need to do, because last night's big commitment - orchestra rehearsal - was thorougly exhausting. I was so tired and annoyed that I felt like crying. But again, a nice silver lining- I realize that the only times I've felt like crying in the past months is when I'm so exhausted I have no control over my emotions. Unfortunately, I've been that exhausted a lot recently, which has led to a lot of close moments and one not-very-fun one last friday. I keep diagnosing myself with needing more sleep, and failing to comply to my orders. Maybe tonight will be the lucky night...

Sunday, March 03, 2002

I went on Morpheus and searched for Weezer; I'm now going methodically through the list and downloading every song I haven't heard (and I few that I have) starting with "Jamie", per Garrett's recommendation. Weezer is one of my favorite bands of all times.

Do you know what makes me happy? Going to imood and looking at the section that has my last 5 moods displayed. This puts a smile on my face because the five moods displayed are all positive and remind me of the fact that I have been happy for weeks now. I remember when every single update came with a little sad face, and now I don't even go near it. I'm happy- it's a nice feeling.
It's a totally familiar feeling, wrapped up in the guise of something new. Sometimes you don't expect it to feel so right and true, but then you close your eyes and you feel like you're ten years old again. It's the comfort of lying drowsily in the sun, or the feeling of laughter making your sides hurt. It's special because it's a totally individual experience, and you know that no one is reacting the same way you are right at that moment. At that point in time, you are more yourself than you have ever been before, because the way you feel is only possible as the sum of your own experiences.

Saturday, March 02, 2002

I've been in permanent nerd mode since after school Friday, and let me tell you, it's been a lot of fun. Practice sessions yesterday (well, that was fun except for the emotional breakdown), 8 rounds of sci bowl today, and two dinners where we spent at least two hours at the restaurant with conversations interspersed with chemical formulas and hysterical laughter.

And our A Team WON!! It was so exciting! I'm so proud of all the geek boys. I love nerdy guys, I really do. They are the greatest.

Perhaps more details to follow later, but I've been up for way too long- bedtime for me.