The Rhythm of Time

The Rhythm of Time
Bobby Sands


There's an inner thing in every man,
Do you know this thing my friend?
It has withstood the blows of a million years,
And will do so to the end.

It was born when time did not exist,
And it grew up out of life,
It cut down evil's strangling vines,
Like a slashing searing knife.

It lit fires when fires were not,
And burnt the mind of man,
Tempering leandened hearts to steel,
From the time that time began.

It wept by the waters of Babylon,
And when all men were a loss,
It screeched in writhing agony,
And it hung bleeding from the Cross.

It died in Rome by lion and sword,
And in defiant cruel array,
When the deathly word was 'Spartacus'
Along with Appian Way.

It marched with Wat the Tyler's poor,
And frightened lord and king,
And it was emblazoned in their deathly stare,
As e'er a living thing.

It smiled in holy innocence,
Before conquistadors of old,
So meek and tame and unaware,
Of the deathly power of gold.

It burst forth through pitiful Paris streets,
And stormed the old Bastille,
And marched upon the serpent's head,
And crushed it 'neath its heel.

It died in blood on Buffalo Plains,
And starved by moons of rain,
Its heart was buried in Wounded Knee,
But it will come to rise again.

It screamed aloud by Kerry lakes,
As it was knelt upon the ground,
And it died in great defiance,
As they coldly shot it down.

It is found in every light of hope,
It knows no bounds nor space
It has risen in red and black and white,
It is there in every race.

It lies in the hearts of heroes dead,
It screams in tyrants' eyes,
It has reached the peak of mountains high,
It comes searing 'cross the skies.

It lights the dark of this prison cell,
It thunders forth its might,
It is 'the undauntable thought', my friend,
That thought that says 'I'm right! '

A Spot of Ireland.

So in case you didn't know, part of my last summer was spent in Ireland. It was such an amazing experience and I wanted to share a little of what happened. Here's part of a letter that I wrote back home while I was there:



SO here we are in Ireland. We have this house in a town called Sneem in the South of Ireland. No joke. Sneem. Go ahead. Say it out loud. You'll laugh. We spent the whole way down saying SNEEEEEEEMMMM in really nasally voices out of our open windows of the car. But to get there we had a three hour drive across England. Then a four hour ferry ride. Then a six hour drive again across Ireland. I really could not feel my butt. All of the houses here are really Eastery colored. Like pink and lime green. That's kind of gross. Our house is on this TINY TINY road that our small British car barely fits through and yet there still is a sign there to remind us "No Passing". Our house is gorgeous. It's made of stone and is set on this rivery lake thing. We each get a room to ourselves. I have one of the less cool rooms cause I was being a gentleman and let the others get the good rooms... I figured I'm only sleeping in there right? Our view is a river/lake which is absolutely breathtaking -- complete with swan (Named Waldo. We spend the whole vacation going "Where's Waldo, guys!?") I took loads of pictures with Joshua (my camera). To top it off, a dog from next door who wasn't allowed inside, is constantly there. He's a Collie named Max and he plays fetch and stuff with us.

 You can walk into town from our house too. I say town, but really it's a village. It has three stores to buy things in so I find myself just coming back into the same ones with an awkward "Hi, again," thrown at the person behind the counter coupled with an embarrassed smile.


On the way to town I pass a few houses on the small road. One of them has two dogs -- this little devil terrier and this really really old Grey hound that had a few tumors on it. The poor grey hound looks as if it were in prime shape about the time the dinosaurs walked the earth. Like a puff of wind would cause it to shatter and disappear. The terrier looked as if it had human expressions -- and the expression was pissed off. So whenever I pass the house, the grey hound looks mournfully at me through sunken eyes and the devil dog barks ferociously lunging for my neck but only making my upper thigh.
I was walking down town the other day by myself and the devil dog came running up to me screaming its head off. Really annoyed, I was about to aim a well earned kick in its direction when this AMAZINGLY ATTRACTIVE guy comes out of the house and is all, "Good morning! I see you've met Fluffy. He seems to like you. He doesn't usually go up to strangers like that" In this gorgeous Irish accent. I like immediately drop to my knees and start petting the dog. I'm like "Oh. Uh, hi. He's a lovely dog." The dog is practically on my knees and slobbering on me but I just kind of pat him on the head while I talk to this guy. It was pretty much really awkward. Everyone seemed to think it was really cool that I was from the states which was weird but nice I guess. Finally I said I had to go so he kind of smiled and was like okay. I got up to go and the fucking terrier bites my fucking shoe and won't let go. I mean C'MON! Trying to be nice, I was like, "Uh. That's my shoe." The dog growled in agreement. I look at the guy expecting him to help but he's just merrily chuckling at my pain. What the hell? I was being eaten alive by his dog!! Basically I dragged the dog down the street a little before the guy stopped laughing enough to call the devil dog off me. Jesus Christ, man.

But really, everyone is super nice. My dad needed batteries one day for the flashlight, but he only needed two. The guy in the store looked everywhere but the smallest pack he had was a four pack. My dad was like, oh it's okay I'll just get that one. But the man has horrified and was like But you only need two! So he cut the package in half and sold him two for half price.
We toured around Ireland a bit. Our code that we didn't like something was either, "Do you hear thunder?" or "This is crap."



Well, that was a little window into my experience in Ireland. Go and visit there sometime. :) It's amazing.

That Moment.

There is a moment while riding a horse. As far as I know it is a well known -- as well as well dreaded -- moment for most equestrians. Let me lead you up to it:

You are approaching a jump, the horse drumming out a cool, steady beat below you. You can count the strides: One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four -- and you even hum a song in your head, perhaps to the rhythm of the hoof beats. Your eyes are fix at a point above and beyond the jump, your hands brushing at the whithers as you tighten your grip on the leather reins. You push your heels even further toward the ground speeding away beneath you, stretching your calf muscles longer and longer. The jump comes closer. You want to hold your breath, but practice keeps you breathing steadily in and out through your nose, your mouth curling into the smallest of smiles. Here it comes. The moment that should be the release, the freedom you get when your horse rears back and gracefully clears the obstacle in the way and you are disconnected with the earth, leaving your problems behind in the dust...

But that's not the moment I'm talking about.

The moment I'm talking about occurs exactly at the second when you think the flying will happen, but it doesn't. You press your heels down, throw your hands forward to give the horses head room and begin to lean forward -- but the horse has other ideas.

So as you steed veers suddenly to the left, shying away from some unseen terror, you continue to sail over the jump... alone.

They say you really have never ridden a horse until you fall off. I remember my first fall was on a pony when I swung my leg up a little too enthusiastically to mount and plonked on my butt on the other side of the pony, my eyes wide with surprise. That doesn't really count, I guess. But not all falls are as comical. I've once fallen over the top of my horses neck at a jump, my hands twisted in the reins. I landed on my feet, only to tilt my head back and look to see a frightened rearing horse inches from my face, my trapped hand making sure that I could not move away. I've had so many falls that I can't give you a number, or tell all of the stories.
But I don't believe that is what makes me a rider. It's not the falling off the horse that is important... it's the getting back on.

Now in the "the moment" of falling some very unwanted feelings begin to bubble up under your skin: Anger, fear, betrayal... all of the feelings and instincts that tell you to never get on a horse again. See that, the falling, does not, and never will, make you a rider.

No, it's the moment when you pick yourself up, dust off your jeans, straighten your back and walk over to your unrepentant horse, give her a pat on the shoulder, and hoist yourself back up into the saddle to try again... That's the moment that you officially have ridden a horse.

This is how I try to go through my life. I believe that you have not really lived until you fail at something and then pick yourself up, stick up your chin, and try again.

So go on. Go fail epically at something. It's good for the soul. It's even better when you come back and kick ass at it the second time round.

Melody

So, I've been sitting here, staring at the seashells on my desk, and thinking quite passionately about toes ... when it occurred to me.

Woah. Music.

I mean, let me tell you, this was a pretty huge then-it-occurred-to-me moment, cause I managed to completely forget about toes. See, my iTunes is constantly playing in my room. Never is there a moment of silence or emptiness. Whether it is Mozart (yes I have him on my iPod. Don't judge, it makes you smarter.) or alternative or blues or punk or rock ... all different kinds of sounds and notes swirling playfully around my room, squeezing into every crack and corner, caressing every living or nonliving being in reach with its quick invisible hands.

I listen to all different kinds of music. It all depends on what mood I'm in. Sometimes the best choice, though, is a song without any words. Like, for instance, just strings, or piano, or a score from a movie you liked. When you take the lyric out of a piece of music, instead of lessening its value, you only purify it. You force the song to tell its story without the aid of the spoken word. In listening to this kind of music, I have become quite fluent in a language that is unknowingly used in every corner of this world.

And music has been -- and will, no doubt, always be -- a part of every culture ever made. Whether it be crickets chirping, or banging on old trash cans, or a more sophisticated form of instrument used, music has been a means of telling stories in a way that gives the listener no doubt of the meaning and raw emotion this is conveyed through a melody.

I mean even the word 'melody' sounds like a song. Go on. Say it out loud to yourself right now. Gah! I love those words that let your tongue just hug the word before it lays it out before you. It's one of those cool words that looks and sounds like its meaning, like voluptuous. Or guffaw. (Go ahead. Look the words up if you need to.)

My favorite types of instruments are the strings. Oh, there is nothing more gorgeous than a string quartet. They literally make me melt into a puddle of mush inside. The way that they can pull off the note in just one quivering pull of their hand. You know, the note. That one note that just leaves you leaning forward, your heart having skipped a beat and your lungs forgetting to breath. The note that seems to take a warm fuzzy blanket and lay it all around the world and tuck it in safely. I love that note. When that note hits my ear drums it seems like everything in the entire world is suddenly okay.

The instrument that I am most able to utilize however, is my voice. Yes, this does count as an instrument. You must warm up, and cool down. You must practice all the time to keep it in tune. You're whole body is your instrument when you sing. Me? I sing all the time. Not just like, in the shower or when I'm alone in my room holding a hair brush to my mouth like a microphone. No. I sing all the time. Making breakfast, doing the barn chores, riding the horse, doing my hair, waiting for the bus, walking down the street, watching TV.... If I'm not eating, sleeping, reading, talking, or pondering the meaning of life quietly to myself, I'm probably singing. Does it get on peoples nerves? Yeah. I mean, I don't think of myself as an excellent singer. I think that I can carry a note sure, but really above all, I just really enjoy it. Because it means that I can tell a story through a melody too. It brings me as much pleasure as acting. Singing is just another form of acting really.

Anyway. What I really meant to say was, I really enjoy music. Who doesn't right? But just letting it know how much it means to me. Peace Out.

I'm off to listen to Liszt. (Go ahead. Look him up if you need to.)

Funny Graphs

Here's a bunch of hilariously true graphs that I found online.
Haha.

My Future House

Hey! This is me being really bored this summer and creating my future house. That comes from my head. With assistance from Google Images and StumbleUpon

Enjoy!!

Here, below is the house itself. Nice, huh? Very Hobbit-esq. I'm thinking this will take place in either Scotland or Ireland.

The insides of the house look something like this:

Then! We proceed to the basement:

My modest little library. The attic is similar! Looking something like this:

The bathroom is also quite lovely. If you step through some doors here and follow this staircase up:

It takes you to the bathroom:

Cute, small, with rocks. Nice :)

The kitchen is also quite nice:

Oh and who could forget the bedroom!

And then of course the near by village

And last but most certainly not least, the pool!

What? What was that your thinking? Cost? Not important. Money will cease to matter in my future. All of this will simply, uh, appear. Yes. That's right. Hmmm? You think that my real future house will look something like this??

 






.....





......

I really don't want to talk to you right now.

Ten Rules

Below are the 10 rules for being human.

1. You will receive a body. You may like it or hate it, but you're stuck with it for the entire extent of your life. You can change the shape of it, the color of it, but it will, for better or for worse, be yours.
2. You will learn lessons. As soon as you let our your first charming wail as you are pushed into this world, you are enrolled in a full-time public school called, "life".
3. There are no mistakes, only lessons. Growth is a process of trial and error, of experimentation.
4. Lessons are repeated until they are learned. A lesson will show itself in many forms until it is learned. Only then can you move on to the next lesson.
5. Learning lessons never ends. There is no part of life that does not have lessons in it. If you are currently breathing, that means that there are still lessons to learn.
6. Other people are just mirrors of you. You can't love or hate something about another person unless if reflects to you something you like or don't about yourself.
7. What you make of life is up to you. You have all the tools and things you need. The choice of what you do with these tools is up to you.
8. All answers lie within you. The answers to all life's questions (42, btw) are all there for you to discover.
9. Life is a journey and the little issues that are encountered do not shape the whole picture. Things must always be kept in perspective.
10. You will forget all of this.

Books.

Today, like ALL of today, was spent in the barn. Literally 6.5 hours of cleaning out the barn. OH MY GOD. I can't really feel my feet and I have blisters in places that I didn't know existed. Now the whole left side of the barn, the goats paddock, the tack room and all of the water troughs are CLEAN.


I'm slowly figuring out that I have a mild case of OCD. For instance, I cannot do any work if my room is not clean. If I get a new book I need to clean out and rearrange my whole book shelf (Windex included). Today in the barn, I couldn't stop -- like could not stop -- until everything was swept!! I just... like things tidy, is all. And it's not a bad thing! Things are much more organized that way and it's easy to find things... but it can get in the way sometimes....

BUT no fear. My slaving away in the barn was not in vain. Because in payment for my efforts I was rewarded with a gift! Mum got 'Alice' for me. You know, the SyFy version of Alice in Wonderland? It happens to be my new favorite movie. Ever. For the time being anyway.

I went to the library with my sister today and got a hard back book in great shape for a buck. *All Hail Used Book Prices* Another thing about me. I collect books. Like ALL THE TIME. Whenever I pass a book shop I need to buy SOMETHING. Anything really. My sister is opposite. If she sees a book that she likes, she will return home and put it on hold in the library. This saves room and money.

But I don't know... I could never do that. I'm too in love with the books. Not just the story but the actual book. I love the look printed pages, the smell, the broken spine of a loved book. I love having a space just for that book on my shelf. And I love the fact that I can go to countless different worlds without leaving my room. Cheesy and overused line, I know, but seriously, that really is the main attraction for books for me. The more I have, the more escapes I have.

Plus, whenever I open up one of my books, I can remember exactly the place where I first read it, and bought it. I can never have enough books. And everyone of them has a small 'SM' in the cover just so I know which ones are mine and which are my sisters. We have an equal love for books, but just like everything we do, we show our love in different ways.

She's the one that got me into books in the first place. As a kid, I could never figure out why she enjoyed them so much. She was always in her room reading and instead of rock music, she had book tapes blaring out of her speakers at top volume. Being more of an outdoorsy child, I spent more time swinging and singing at the top of my lungs, and playing with my trains outside than reading.

Then one day I decided to see what all the fuss was about. I went to her room and asked for a book (please). She took her time choosing, brushing a book with her finger, looking at me with shrewed eyes, then moving on the the next. I was getting very impatient but I kept that all inside. Finally (finally) she slipped a book out from her book shelf. It was thin, with a huge dragon on the front. She gave it to me, only after making me cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die that nothing, nothing, would ever happen to this book. Ever. I solemnly swore that the book would be taken the utmost care of.

And... I fell in love.

It wasn't a particularly good read. It had a girl, and a dragon, and the dragon turned into a guy in the end and the writing was really so so. But it was the sheer impossibility and wonder of the fantasy that got to me. The whole new world being laid out before me in a labyrinth of letters and words.

I have a very visual mind, and whenever I read a book, it plays out like a movie in my mind. The book I was reading then was no exception. Soon, I became overly obsessed with the Harry Potter series, then more and more books came tumbling into my radar until the person that I am now was flung out on the other side, like in one of those water slides at a park. Now instead of me yelling at my sister to turn down her book tape because it was annoying me, it was because I couldn't hear my own.

I actually could not fall asleep unless I had Jim Dale speaking Harry Potter into my ear (to the distress of my friends at sleepovers). Hell, it was from those countless nights that I listened to Harry Potter that I got all of the vocabulary that I use now.

So it's really thanks to my sister that I have the ever growing library of books and that I'm never caught without one. Thanks to her that whenever someone is looking for a book to read I have at least 4 books on the tip of my toungue. Thanks to her that life sometimes just doesn't live up to my expectations. Thanks to her that I daydream about being in some other world.

So thanks, sister.

....

I'm going to go rearrange my bookshelf.

Stories about Toys

Toy Story 3 is definitely one of the best movies I've ever seen EVER. It was SO. GOOD. Those movies never seem to tire me. It totally didn't matter that my family and I were at least 10 years older than the target audience and still were gasping and crying and laughing. Yeah, crying. I don't want to talk about it.

But seriously, us older people have been waiting 11 years for the next Toy Story!! I mean really!

Never will I throw away a toy again.

ps.
There was a commercial for Smurfs *In 3D* and my dad was like, "Hey look guys, Avatar!"

Haha.

Avatar.

Funny.

Green Grass

At last! Summer has graced us with its presence! After weeks and months of count down, billions of daydreams during tests and lectures, and hundreds of hours procrastinating, it has, at last, arrived. Summer is an amazing time for us students. A time to be looked forward to. A time to enjoy and relax in. A time to see friends and go to the zoo and visit random countries and far away relatives. This is the time that seems to come slower the more you think about it during the school year.

...But then why does it not feel like summer at all right now? Ugh. Weather in this here state simply does NOT like to cooperate. It's kind of ridiculous. I mean, here we are: school is over, the pressure of finals is abruptly lifted, but I still feel like I'm having a three day weekend in March.

It's true that summer represents more than just a lack of school and an abundance of free time. The sun plays a huge part of it. It's funny, though. Whenever it's rainy and cold, I dream about it being sunny. But after a few days of sweltering heat, I'm fed up with the sun and am dying for it to begin raining. It seems the grass truly is greener on the other side of the fence. All you can really do is try to enjoy what you have as much as possible.

For example, I can look out my window and see unhappy clouds and rain and gross icky wetness.

Or...

I can see gorgeous green trees with new, fresh leaves sprouting out a lighter shade than the older ones behind them. I can see the little birdhouse attached to the ancient wood shed as a little bird sticks her little head out for less than a second before flicking back in. I can see Winnifred, the robin who taps furiously on my window in an attempt to kill the devilishly handsome bird that is trying to steal his territory (a.k.a. his reflection.) I see a sky that is soft and forgiving. I can see the rain, falling not as a punishment, but as a blessing. Cleaning the air of all the pollutants that our darling species has kindly spread around our earth.

If the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, it must be because it rains a lot on the other side. I mean, if it was always sunny on the other side, the grass would definitely be brown and gross and, well, dead.

So chew on this for a while. Just know that as you are longingly staring over that imaginary white picket fence that separates you from what you desire, someone is looking right back over that fence at your side.

Hey. Since it's raining all the time over here, maybe I'm on the side with the greener grass. Grass needs rain to be green. Just like in order to be truly happy, you gotta have the unhappiness bundled along in that package. Without the sadness, how do you know what happiness is? Sorry. Random tangent.

I'm going to go roll around in my green grass and then take down a picket fence. Who needs it anyway.

Happy summer

Ode To A Book

A forgotten treasure
In an abandoned corner.
Tucked away.
Hidden.
I brush dust away
And reach forward
Until my hand finally rests
On smooth satin
Liquid and solid
At the same time
Like a stone beat
By a roaring river,
It’s beauty only increases as
It gets battered
By the harsh hands of time.

A faded worn red
Rests calmly in my hands.
The cover obediently opens
And the flawless scent,
The perfume of books
Around the world,
Fills my senses.
Untouched dusty pages
Resolutely hold
Their purpose,
Refusing to let it
Fade with time.

As I turn the first page
A whisper snakes it’s way
Through the dust
To reach my ear.
I bend closer
To hear this unheard story.
Like a lonely old man
Searching for a friendly ear,
The book I hold so carefully
Reveals to me a tale
As only books can do.

The words weave
A colorful world
Swirling around me.
I sink,
Falling into the familiar
Excitement of the
Unknown

I, too, sing America

I am the student.
The bright eyed observer.
My eyes reflect
The future generation.

I walk down halls, streets,
A rhythm to my stride.
Restless eyes wandering.
Seeing the roads
Others have taken.
Watching for ways
To improve my own.

Tomorrow,
My stride slows and shortens
Wrinkles line my face,
Mapping out past smiles and tears.
But my eyes are unchanged.
I still remain the student,
My eyes reflecting
The future generation.

I, too, am America.

Cookie Story

I was on StumbleUpon and I came across this... enjoy


A young lady was waiting for her flight in a boarding room of a big airport.

As she should need to wait many hours, she decided to buy a book to spend her time. She also bought a pack of cookies.



She sat down in an armchair, in the VIP room of the airport, to rest and read in peace.



Beside the armchair where the packet of cookies lay, a man sat down in the next seat, opened his magazine and started reading.

When she took out the first cookie, the man took one also.

She felt irritated but said nothing.

She just thought, "What the nerve! If I was in the mood, I would punch him for daring!"

For each cookie she took, the man took one too...

This was infuriating her but she didn't want to cause a scene.



When only one cookie remained, she thought:

"Ah... what this abusive man do now?"

Then, the man taking the last cookie, divided it into half, giving her one half.

Ah! That's too much!

She was too much angry now!



In a huff, she took her book, her things and stormed to the boarding place.



When she sat down in her seat inside the plane, she looked into her purse to take her eyeglasses... and to her surprise... her packet of cookies was there, untouched... unopened!

She felt so ashamed!!!

She realized that she was wrong...

She forgotten that her cookies were kept in her purse.



The man had divided his cookies with her, without feeling angered or bitter...

while she had been very angry, thinking that she was dividing his cookies with him.

And now, there are no chance to explain or apologize...

***

THERE ARE FOUR THINGS THAT YOU CANNOT RECOVER:



The stone... after the throw.



The word... after it's said.



The occasion... after the loss.



The time... after its gone.

Night: A Found Poem

Hey! So I found this old poem from Freshman year... consequently it happens to be a Found Poem that I found. Haha. It's from Elie Weisel's Night. I read it and it's really not half bad... here you go:

Night: A loss of faith
Sophia Mirashrafi

Three gallows
Three black crows
Three victims in chains
One of them a young boy
The little servant
The sad-eyed angel
Sentenced to death
A merciless selection
A young boy in front of thousands
All eyes on the child
Lividly pale, almost calm
Gallows throw its shadow over him
The child is silent
Where is God?
Total silence.
Chairs tip over
We are weeping
Where is God?
Sun is setting
Struggling between life and death
Where is God?
Dying in slow agony
Where is God?
His tongue red
His eyes not yet glazed
Where is God?
He is hanging on the gallows

That night the soup tasted of corpses

Pet Peeves

Hey sooo new background! Yay. Trees were cool but it was all so very green.

To counter my last list, I've decided to share the things that absolutely just get on my nerves. You know, like pet peeves. Why they are called this I have no idea. Never made sense to me. Some people tend to say that EVERYTHING gets on their nerves. And that can't be true! Not everything is bad. I mean, I'm not perfect. Far from it. There are somethings that, I don't know, just get under my skin. Let's list 25 shall we, to balance the happy things.

They are as follows:

1. Old movies when the driver never looks at the road.
2. Condescending people
3. When strangers touch you in a friendly way
4. When people chew gum with their mouth open
5. Facial twitches
6. People picking their nose when they think no one's looking... but you are...
7. PDA
8. People who answer the phone with a color (i.e. "Yellow?")
9. People who abbreviate words that should not be abbreviated (i.e. legit, fab, disgust)
10. Facial Piercings.
11. Body piercings
12. Really loud high laughs
13. Yapper dogs
14. Monkeys
15. People cheating off my test when they think I'm not looking
16. Laziness
17. Large people who walk slowly in the middle of the pavement.
18. People who pronounce vehicle, VEE-HICKLE, or MOTOR-SICKLE
19. Bigots
20. Miley Cyrus
21. Butterflies
22. Windshield wipers
23. People that don't understand the meaning of "personal space"
24. Hypocrites
25. People that complain about their pet peeves.

Sorry I can't write more... I really cannot afford to procrastinate any longer. It seems my teachers have only just realized that there is 3 more weeks of school left and there is SO much LEFT to DO. Ughh.

Any more pet peeves? Let me know

Natural High - Smile Dammit

So, I have been sitting here... procrastinating away, staring at my Spanish homework for about half an hour... and then my mind starts to wander.

Okay, that there in itself is a bad sign. Unlike, well, normal people, when my mind begins to wander strange things begin to float into my mind. Like, for example, pears and scalps and their strange similarity... Or ants and their disturbing fascination with wheat.

But this time I was making a list of natural highs. See, everyday in school people talk about getting "so totally buzzed" over the weekend and getting high off drugs or alcohol. Getting a thrill from something so harmful to your body that it's almost disgusting that it would ever be considered that doing that to yourself for 'fun'. Some people do it for the thrill, others for the status, or popularity, I guess. Or simply to reach that high and feel... good.

And so I decided to write down my list of simple highs that can be acted out easily and everyday, free of charge. These are 25 things that occur to me on a regular basis and make my life worth while I guess. Enjoy!

1. A hot shower
2. No lines at the supermarket
3. Getting mail
4. Running on a pretty road
5. Hearing your favorite song on the radio
6. Lying in bed and listening to the rain outside
7. Hot towels fresh from the dryer
8. Deep conversations
9. Finding money in your coat that you forgot was there
10. Laughing at yourself
11. Running through sprinklers
12. Laughing for no reason.
13. Inside jokes
14. Friends
15. Waking up and realized you still have a few hours left to sleep
16. Making new friends or spending time with old ones
17. Hot coffee. Black baby.
18. Swinging on swings
19. Catching the eye of a cute stranger
20. Homemade cookies
21. The sunrise
22. Good hugs
23. The smell of pavement in the rain
24. Rain in general
25. Walking downtown with friends

So the next time one of these happens to you, smile. Because happiness is a choice. For the most part anyway. If you wake up in the morning and say, "Today is going to be great." It probably will be.

And I'm not saying you should to that everyday! Hell, I know there are some days were I have decided looong before I wake up that I'm going to be in a bad mood. It's called PMS. Being a teenager sucks. Moving on.

But on most days, waking up and deciding to feel grateful instead of resentful is sometimes all it takes to change a cloudy day into a bright one. The more you smile, the happier you'll be. It's like, scientifically proven, or something.

Life's a joke. Smile dammit.

Silent Speech

You know, I've always been an animal person. Ever since before I can remember. I feel more comfortable around them than I do around people. This sounds a little hermit-ish, I'm not a complete loner. I just feel better when I'm with them.

The thing with animals is that they have no facade about them, no pretence. When they feel happiness or fear or anger they are quick to tell you, or more, show you. Animals always find a way of speaking to you and letting you know everything they have to say, without speaking a word. All you need to do is learn how to read them.

Take my horse. I've been with her long enough to understand her body language without thinking about it. The key to understanding her, horse for that matter, lies in the ears and in the eyes. I have a slight obsession with eyes, if my profile picture gives it away. They are traditionally the 'windows into the soul'. Cheesy as this sounds it really is the truth. People have developed the skills to shut off their eyes so that they are no longer readable. But with my horse, her eyes tell all.

The less likely way to read an animal, the ears, are probably one of the most important tools for a person to have. Take any emotion, fear, anger, curiosity, contentment... it's all in the ears. One of my favorite things about horses, in fact, is that when you talk to them, they use those ears and listen. I can come and just prattle on and on about my day and the people I meet and the things I do, and my horse's ear will be cocked in my direction the whole time. I'm the kind of person that lets the other person talk in the conversation. People like to talk about themselves and I like to say that I'm a pretty good listener, so I just let them talk. I learn it from my horse. Talking to my horse is really the only time that I talk about me and nothing else. And having someone listen to everything you say, even if it's stupid or boring, is addicting. She's like my own personal psychiatrist.

More on horses... One of my favorite things about riding, is that when you're on the horse, you are creating a connection that goes beyond words into this whole new language where you speak using your body: A shift in my seat, a twitch of my pinky finger, a slight flex of my calf... all of these things trigger some response in my horse. To have a whole conversation, asking and receiving, rewarding with a scratch to the neck, is to have trust on both sides of the bargain. The downside to this, however, is if you are afraid of something, your horse will feel that in your body, and be afraid of the thing as well. Say I'm really nervous about a jump and so my body tenses up and I begin to shake. There is no way in hell that my horse is going to jump that jump if she think that her rider is scared of it. As a rider, I learned to keep any fear or doubt locked tightly above the neck so that my body betrays nothing and therefore keeping my horse as calm as possible.

It's ludicrous to me that people still believe the misconception that horseback riding is merely sitting on a horse and pointing it in in the right direction and bouncing up and down as it obeys you.

That assumption is almost disgusting to me. Let me tell you right now, I do not own a sweet horse. She does not fawn over every person she sees, she does not let her opinion go unnoticed. To think that she is an obedient mare that does anything for anybody when they sit on her back is laughable. She cares for me and listens to me because I have worked four years to establish that kind of relationship with her. And let me tell you it wasn't easy. In fact, in the beginning, we didn't even like each other. I would almost dread riding her. She would go to kick me when I put on the saddle and bit me whenever my back was turned. But, what with me being crazily stubborn and her being just as opinionated, we gradually and grudgingly began to respect each other.

Then came the trust. True, it started out as me trusting her to try to bite me as I went to pick out her hoofs just as she trusted me to answer with a whack of my own. But eventually, I would trust that she would jump whatever I asked her to, because she would trust that I would not make her do anything that would get her in trouble. She doesn't do the things I ask her to because she fears me, or because she is a mindless drone, she does it because she trusts me, and we are a team.

That's another thing that I really hate. I hate it when people use the term "break" when they speak of teaching a new horse how to ride. "I've always wanted to break a horse and raise it myself". As if sitting on a bucking foal and whacking the crap out of him is how to train a young horse. My preferred term is to "start" a horse. Because that is really what is happening. You are starting a relationship, starting to form a team between you and your horse. A good horse does not have it's spirit broken, but instead has all that power and will flowing through the positive outlet of a common goal for you and your horse.

Horseback riding is not easy. Sitting on a horse is easy. Squeezing your legs to ask them to go faster is easy. Pulling on the rains to make them turn is easy. But riding - really riding - is something that is not easy to achieve. And unlike other sports it isn't just accomplished by practicing something over and over and over. Unlike a ball, a horse can kick back, a horse is 1000 pounds heavier than you, and it has it's own brain and opinions. Horseback riding is a constant giving and receiving of information, it is to be a leader who listens to the other side of the story.

To ride is to speak without saying a word.

Fanny Packs: Fashion Scare? Or Possibly the Greatest Invention Ever?

Okay. I'm not gonna lie. I am kind of in love with fanny packs. You know what I'm talking about. Possibly the ugliest garment ever placed on the anatomy of a human being, with a name to match, it is this bag that is tied around your waist and rests gently on your, uh, fanny. Hence, fanny pack.

So, the reason I'm in love with them? They're like the most practical thing ever. So much stuff fits in them and they are right at your waist. It's so marsupial-esk.

I went on a trail ride today and my mom tossed me this giant blue blob of a bag. I looked at her incredulously.

Seriously? Thanks Mom.

But really, it never got in the way while I was on my horse and I could just stuff my phone, iPod, and keys in there and I was good to go. Hell, I even squeezed a book in there. And a piece of candy. (It was a long car ride okay?)
But there was no issue. I barely felt it there. Think about it! If we could somehow make fanny packs 'in' life would be so much more convenient. All of your stuff is at your waist! And so much stuff fits! Plus it's much harder to pick-pocket money from a fanny pack.

I've decided that it's my short-term mission in life to seek out a fanny pack that looks good. Or at least as good as something with the name of 'fanny pack' can look.

Fanny Packs.

Are they really as bad as they seem?

Or are we just judging a book by it's cover?

Think Fast

Hey, so I haven't written in forever I know. This week has been hectic. You know, the week before Spring Break, teachers are all a-frenzie, tossing homework and projects at their students like monkeys flinging poo.


Good image. Moving on.

This week, as we all know, was St. Patrick’s day. This day always pisses me off. Like, I have total respect for the original meaning of the day. You know, the snakes fleeing Ireland and all that. But now - obviously - on this day people must wear the color green. This makes complete sense. (?)

Personally, I think that the only reason this 'holiday' is celebrated by students just for an excuse to injure their peers. See, if you don't wear green, you basically get attacked and pinched and bruised by the end of the day. And this is accepted as fine. Am I bitter? Slightly.

Anyway, every year, at my godmother's house, we have a St. Patrick's Day party. Cool down, it's okay. Their actually Irish. My sister and I are usually the only younglings there and the party mostly consisted of adults that were vaguely familiar to me from past parties my godmother had. They're all nice and the conversation can get quite interesting.

There was one man there, my godmother's older brother, who was particularly intriguing. He spoke of his travels to Africa. Ohhhhh my God.

Random Fact About Sophia: I really, REALLY want to go to Africa. To the dismay of my parents.

Anyway, this guy was talking about how he went to Kenya on this all-inclusive trip. He described how beautiful his hotel had been, and the animals had been fantastic.

"But," he added, the smile slipping off his face, his eyes unfocusing as he remembered, "as we exited the hotel and glimpsed what was happening on the streets, it was like someone had flipped on a switch." He described the extreme poverty and children struggling to reach their next meal, let alone the end of the day.

The conversation ended there, as if because of that, my desire to travel there would abate as soon as I heard this. I didn't push the subject. Instead I checked out mentally for a while to think.

I am at a huge impasse when it comes to this. I react in very consistent way whenever I hear or see situations where people suffer. In Global Studies class last year, we would watch videos of Hiroshima, or slavery, or the Holocaust and how people were being mistreated, tortured, killed. Some people in the class detached themselves from the subject and were unaffected, some became very sad. Me? I became livid. Like, red face, hard breathing furious. I don't know why, but I felt an undeniable need to stop their pain. To go up to the monsters causing these people such suffering and punch them in the face. Forcibly make them pay for what they were doing. I would leave the classroom with my hands clenched in fists.

That was me watching a video.

What would I do if I was mere feet away from a starving child? A dying man? And worse...what would I do if I couldn't do anything to stop it? It's a sick feeling, a powerless feeling. And I hate it.

But then there is the 'other hand.' And it is not even an option. The other hand, is to ignore it all together. To keep it out of sight and out of mind in ignorant bliss. I feel like this is the ultimate form of cowardice. To pretend that nothing is happening so I can carry on living my little life without any problems other than my next Chemistry test.

The ‘other hand’ is sickening. But it is also a frighteningly accurate description of some people view in the world.

And yet, as many people are quick to point out, what am I going to do about it? Me. The powerless little 16 year old who sits on my thrown of comfort and criticizes how people treat others. "What can you do to make a difference, Sophia?"

What do you say to that? As children, we dream of becoming astronauts or inventors or heroes that save the world. But as we grow older, more and more dreams we had as children prove themselves to be false. First, Santa doesn't exist. The tooth fairy isn’t actually real either. Then you find out that you didn't actually come from a Stork like you thought you did. But then it gets more serious. You learn that not everyone is kind. People kill other people. The good guy doesn't always come out of the battle alive. And there are millions upon millions of people dying everyday from things that seem trivial to us. Things like water and food and shelter.

And...I can do nothing.

And I'm not saying that I can literally do nothing. Sure, I can save my pennies and sent it to Africa or Haiti. And I will make my little difference. And that is good and helpful and everyone should do it. It is possible to help other people. But I'm talking about fixing it. Everything. Stopping all of the stupid deaths and unnecessary pain that is inflicted on people everyday.

I have been staring at this screen for 10 minutes trying to think of something lighthearted and witty to say. Something that will cause you to smile and forget of this heavy and daunting subject. Count on me to help you out of this hole that I’ve dug with these words.

But I can't do that.

So instead I'll leave you with a thought. A question.

The world becomes darker and darker as we rise from our shelter of adolescence. If ignoring suffering is not an option, yet you are powerless to fix the whole problem and protect every man, woman, and child in need of aid, where does that put you? And how long do we have to ponder this question before all hope for saving these people is gone?




Better think fast.

The Dreams That You Wish Will Come True (as long as you have talking mice and a fairy godmother, that is)

 Okay. Let's be honest with each other here. Mr. Disney is teaching some pretty despicable things to our youth if you think about it. I mean, look at his classics:


Would Cinderella really have gotten anywhere without the aid of her rodent friends and her imaginary godmother (who is actually insane, by the way. Bippity-boppity-boo? Really? C'mon woman) The answer is no. The mice help her DRESS every morning. The mice made the pink dress. And get the key from the evil stepmother in the end. The figment of dearest Cindy's imagination (the godmother) is the one that got her the pretty dress and turned a pumpkin (ew) into a freaken carriage!! Really, Cinderella never gets off her ass the entire movie. All she does is sing, clean some floors on her knees, feed some chickens, sing, have her dress ripped apart, cry, get bippityboppityboo-ed, ride in a pumpkin, dance a lot (A LOT), sing, go home, get locked up, cry, then put on a shoe. Sing. The end. The only actions that she actually carries out are cleaning, singing, and crying. Is that the message we're trying to send young girls in our society?? Cry, clean, and sing, and mice will come to carry you to a prince and a happily ever after? Not only is that incredibly unsanitary, it's down right archaic.

And don't get me started on the shoe business. This prince is as dumb as a doorknob. The story from his point of view, is basically as follows: He sees this girl across a crowded room and falls in love with her (judge by appearances much?) Then he's too much of a prissy to actually catch up with her as she runs away. I mean, thinking objectively here, he's in fairly comfortable shoes and pants and she's in a gown with glass high heels... and yet she outruns him?? Methinks something is amiss here. In fact, princey, it's kind of embarrassing.

So what does our gallant prince do? Ah-ha! A brilliant idea occurs to him! Since she has clumsily dropped one of her glass slippers, he'll just have his manservant go around the entire kingdom and try it on all of young maidens and then, THEN he will find his love. Hmmm... this tells us two things. One: He doesn't remember what the hell she looks like, so he'll have to go by shoe size. And two: He doesn't realize that there might be the faintest teensiest possibility that some girls HAVE THE SAME SIZE FEET. I mean for god's sake! So now on top of all of the pressures set on young girls nowadays, now they have to worry about their feet.

Life lessons learned from Cinderella:

1) Talk to mice. They make pretty dresses.

2) Uncomfortable shoes help find husbands.

3) Make sure no one has the same size feet as you.

4) Sing, clean, and cry and good things will happen to you.

5) If you hallucinate and see an insane old woman who speaks in three-year-old language, it's okay. She's your fairy godmother.

6) Without a prince, there is no happily ever after.

7) If you sit around and wait for long enough, mice and hallucinations will occur, and you dreams will come true!

Part Two

How about Snow White? Firstly, can I just say how much that name pisses me off? It's like unoriginality at its greatest. I mean, I know the mother was gonna die and all so she really didn't have long to thumb through the "What to name the Baby" book. But really, basing the name on skin color? If you follow that logic, most babies would be called "Sickly Green", "Beat Red" or "Putrid Purple". Now that would liven up school attendance... And what about the dwarfs!? Dopey? Grumpy? What does that do to their self esteem I wonder?

Sorry, back on topic. Is it just me, or is it AMAZINGLY creepy that it is accepted as okay that this guy who very much resembles a woman, hears this girl sing (in a very wobbly and annoying voice) and falls in love her, never actually seeing her. Then months later he finds this dead chick in a glass case (what is it with Disney and his glass fetish?) guarded by midgets, and on a whim decides to make out with said dead chick, who then randomly wakes up (to this stranger making out with her) and then they're both like MY LOVE! And gallop off into the sunset without so much as a word spoken to each other!

Now how long is that marriage going to last I wonder?

And here again! Our lovely heroin has the surprising job of CLEANING and SINGING.

Seeing a pattern here?

I'd say that from Snow White we learn that:

1) If you find a strange house in the woods, it's okay to go sleep in the beds as long as they're really small.

2) Small people have very one way personalities and are named thus.

3) Once again, cleaning and singing prevail.

4) It's okay to eat a pie that a bird has used it's feet to make the crust with. (Just don't tell the health inspectors)

5) Animal control doesn't answer calls in Snow White's neck of the woods.

6) If you fall into a coma and wake to find a strange, girlish man 3 inches away from you, calm down. He's your true love.

and 7) Don't eat apples. They're bad.

Walt (can I call you Walt?), I love you man. But your original movies are kind of insulting to my gender. If you ever wake from your frozen death, just know that women have a stronger roll in society now. I just wish that Cinderella and Snow White weren't the first women that we see as little girls.

Speaking for myself, I suck at cooking and cleaning. I do archery. I can ride a horse and punch better then most guys in my school. And anytime I wear heels, I fall. In a nutshell, I kind of fail at being a girl.

But seriously, don't let Disney's portrayal of women get you down. Sure they're pretty. But honestly, I'd take an episode of Robin Hood (BBC version of course), Batman, or Lord Of The Rings over a princess any day.

Dreams do come true, but you gotta get off you butt and make it happen.

Perspective

I went to Starbucks yesterday during my free period. (Is it just me or is it weird that these epiphanies happen during my free period?) Anyway so I went there to get a drink. My usual Iced Grande Café Mocha (with whipped cream). Of course. The barista was a different one that is usually there. See, when I go there and my barista is there, she knows my order. Cool, huh?

Any hoodle, I get there and asked for my Mocha and she said “Coming right up!” in a jovial way. I handed her my money, smiled and went to lean in that casual and cool way up against the wall. In a few minutes my Mocha was finished. I was so prepared to dive right into that Mocha it wasn’t even funny.

She slid it onto the counter and said, “Enjoy!”
There was only one problem…

There was caramel on top. Yup. Caramel. Now, I’m not a big fan of caramel and it’s over powering taste is difficult to bare sometimes.

I was having a slight mental freak out over this for about 10 seconds. And then I thought, “Hey....”

Hey. What the hell am I thinking? Here I am. In this warm coffee shop. With lovely music playing. A mocha in front of me that was handed to me without any fuss. No one was trying to shoot me. I was completely safe and utterly privileged to be handed this drink without second thought…
And here I am complaining about a little caramel??

I should be ecstatic that something as nice as caramel was drizzled artistically on my beautiful Iced Grande Café Mocha (with whipped cream). Who am I to complain about a privilege?

In the 30 seconds that this took place, I changed my perspective on a lot of things. School is still a pain but I’m so lucky that I can walk into this building for free, without fear of being beaten mentally or physically. With wonderful friends. With amazing programs that are right at my fingertips.

So what I’m basically trying to say is… suck it up. We live in a society where we are privileged beyond belief. To complain is almost blasphemous. And whenever you’re feeling like the whole world is compiling against you, or you don’t really like the food your parents set in front of you, or school is taking a lot of your time… just hold it inside. And remember, there are millions and millions of people that are a hell of a lot worse off than you are and would be so grateful to just have a day in your shoes.
You are lucky. Really lucky.

So make the most of the little pleasures and gifts. Like a smile from a stranger. Or a hug from a friend.



Or even a little caramel on your Mocha.

Something To Ponder...

These aren't my words. But man, it pretty much sums things up don't you think?


One day an old Native American grandfather was talking to his grandson. He said, "There are two wolves fighting inside all of us -

the wolf of fear and hate, and the wolf of love and peace."

The grandson listened, then looked up at his grandfather and asked, "Which one will win?"

The grandfather replied, "The one we feed."

A Day in the Life

Of me.

A frantic beeping sound awakes me with a jolt. I tell my eyes to open, and after a few seconds, they comply. It's six o'clock.

Good morning.

I sling my hand out, aiming for the tiny sleep button on my alarm clock to silent the persistent screeching in my ear. I miss, hitting instead the radio button. Now an overtly cheerful voice squawks "-- and if you order in the next few minutes--" My patience thinning by the millisecond, my fingers curl into a fist as they punch another button. This time loud persistent drums from the CD player slips into the impromptu symphony.

I begin to sit up to vent my anger on the little machine that is begging to be killed at this point. I had less than a seconds warning -- a small whimper of excitement -- before I was through back onto the bed by two hefty paws. My face is promptly covered with kisses. Wet ones.

Good morning Finn.

My mutt continues to slobber all over my face until I shove him off, muttering derogatory things about wet, slobbery things. Namely, my dog's tongue.

Finally, I swing my legs out from under the warm covers and the cold air licks my feet and the bottoms of my legs that aren't covered in from my checkered green pajamas. I drag myself to my feet and shuffle and stumble my way over the clothes, books and pieces of paper that are trying to trip, snag, or otherwise trying to incapacitate me. When I finally reach the door, the orange yellow light of the hall slaps me in the face and I wince, squinting my eyes while they adjust.

I walk into the kitchen to the sounds of my mother going about her usual morning duties. She turns, her blank expression brightening into a smile. "Good morning Sophie!"

"Good morning, Mom." I make my way over to the cupboard and slide the Special Kay off the shelf. I grab a spoon and bowl and then fall onto a stool. As I munch broodingly on my cereal, NPR spouts out some terrible stories about people dying.

That sucks. Too early to care.

Finally, I shower. I think that's when I really wake up. The water splashes my face and sharpens my senses. I throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not caring what clothes I'm wearing. I mean, honestly. By the time I get that on and gather my school things, it's 6:55.

I kiss my mother, and yell a goodbye to my Dad. Then I'm outside, staring expectantly at the bend in the road. Five minutes later, I'm on a big yellow bus, speeding too fast through the wet green forest and wine vineyards filled with horses, cows, and elk, that has been my home my whole life. I'm silent on the bus trading off between staring off into space, contemplating the meaning of life, and reading the book carefully laid on my lap.

I arrive at school. I flash a smile and a thank you to my bus driver. I whip out my iPod and stick the earphones in my ears and turned it on shuffle. A song with a loud beat plays in my ear and my feet fall into step with the rhythm. I slide into the crowd of chattering students. I glance at them, not interested. Some girls twitter in front of me about the latest style.

I turn up the music to drown out their voices and walk swiftly to my locker. The rest of school passes in a blur of equations, songs, experiments, facts and... everything else. By the time it's over, I'm drained.

I enter my house at the end of the day, only to be prompted to leave to do the barn chores. Cool. I enter the barn, narrowly avoiding tripping on Piper, the barn cat. She drops a mouse at my feet and steps back, looking at me expectantly. Slightly disgusted, I reach down and pat her on the head. "Uh. Good girl."

I move in a pattern as I go through my barn chores. Horses: muck out, hay, grain, water. Cats: clean litter, give food, water. Guinea Pigs: hay, food, water. After a few other things done, I'm finished and I come home to the smell of dinner saturating the air. I eat, finish my homework, and fall into bed, slipping into the dark mystery of night...


A frantic beeping sound awakes me...

At First Glance

You know those people that you look at and you immediately dislike. You know the one. Maybe they say their vowels all nasally. Or they have a funny nose. You know. That ONE GUY. Who just pisses you off.

I have a free first period. I was sitting in the school cafeteria writing an English paper and sipping on my iced Grande Mocha (with whipped cream). The chairs there are really uncomfortable. I was sitting on the one that squeaked whenever you shifted your weight to the right. Sorry. Unnecessary details.

So anyway. I was talking to this guy about nothing in particular. There was a Math Teacher Convention thing. Where they talk about how great the math program at my high school is. (Which, by the way, SUCKS.)The guy and I happened to fall onto the subject of the Math Convention and the certain person that was running it. The person was THAT ONE GUY. I dunno, they just looked like a douche to me.

One of the staff members of my high school who I'm friends with through the drama department came up to us. She/he smiled and asked me how I was. Having just talked about the person running the Math Convention I told him/her I was fine, but that this person was just pissing me off.

"You know those people that just LOOK like a douche? They're like that."

The staff member looked around and his/her eyes fell on the person running the convention. "Who? That one?"

"Yeah," I said with venom.

"Oh." She/He was quiet for a minute before turning to me and saying. "That is my partner."


...


Oh. My. God.

Oh my God!! Do you realize the magnitude of this situation!?

I didn't even know what to say! I mean, what are the chances that THAT ONE GUY was my friends PARTNER?!?!


Moral of the story. Never ever EVER judge by appearances. I learned this the hard way. Try to learn from my mistake and not put yourself ever EVER in that situation.

Sleep.

It’s funny when people
Sleep.
Relaxed faces.
Deep breathing.
When they
Sleep,
They loose all pretence.
All their cool.
Suddenly as they
Sleep,
They are simply
Them.
Loosing who they think they are
They find,
Subconsciously of course,
Who they really
Are.
And what really
Sucks
Is that because they’re
Asleep,
They miss the
Whole damn thing.

Halls

Okay here's my ish. One of my huge pet peeves in this world are hallways. Not because of the actual structure but rather the beings that occupy the said hall.

It's like... It seems as if groups of friends seem to feel, I dunno... safer? Better at least, to stand in a large circle in the hallway. See, I don't know about these people... but see, there's really only two places that I'm interested in standing at school. By my locker, and in this place called a CLASSROOM. GASP.

But, with these people standing in their sacred circle, it seems that any chance of me getting to my destination is diminished. So you stand there and wait. And wait. Clear your throat. And wait. Then finally, carefully and oh-so-smoothly, slam your shoulder into the closest circle-maker and charge through. 'Tis the only way.

Oh, and while I'm at it. Another hall peeve that I have are those people that walk really. Really. REALLY slowly. It's like JESUS. THIS IS NOT A FUNERAL. OR A WEDDING FOR THAT MATTER. (Which, might I point out, both have the same pacing while walking. Coincidence? I think not)

So for all you Circle Slow Walkers. Just know. You bug me.

Kind of a lot.

Shiverme timbers and all that,
Sophia The Great

All The World's a Stage

Acting.

People think of it as a form of entertainment. A way to divert one self or other people.

But I kind of look at is as an escape. A way to become someone entirely new. What's weird about it, is that as myself, I am afraid to speak in front of a crowd. It makes me nervous. But, as someone else, if I'm someone else on the stage, then there is no fear. No butterflies even.

Isn't that fascinating? When I act, even my mind becomes part of the character. Sometimes as I act, what is me is simply occupying a small corner of my brain. It's amazing really.

Anyway, I think that's why I enjoy it so much. I could be having a terrible day, just failed a test or something. But I step in to the theatre and up on to that stage and I can shed those feelings. And it feels great. It's like the only acceptable place in the world that you can set your problems COMPLETELY aside.

But... I can't be an actor everywhere. I can't have that privilege in the real world. And yet... sometimes I cheat. Whenever I feel nervous and I need to speak in front of people, I become this confident bravado character. And it works wonders. I can't speak in front of crowds as myself: The sarcastic, shy, silly, teenager girl who is too old for her age... No, but I can pretend to be the bold, confident, and witty girl in front of a crowd.

It's become like I am both people now. Like I'm not even pretending to be the other person, that brave person anymore. It's like I have schizophrenia but in a good way. By pretending to be the brave person so much I have become that person. If the end justifies the means than I'm all good I guess.

So for me I guess Shakespeare's words hold some truth. All the World is my stage.

...Ay, there's the rub.

Sophia
President of the "I think Shakespeare just woke up one day and decided to write a random play that rhymed. End of story" Club.

It's Funny...

You know, it's funny. Not ha-ha funny, but wierd funny. It's funny how most of my generation is slipping away from reading and writing and, well, thinking, and falling into this blissful and twisted world that is technology. And when I say most, I really mean pretty much all.

I mean, I never thought I'd see the day when sending an EMAIL was archeic. An EMAIL! Email's used to be IT. Now I'm lucky to get an email that isn't from 'Facebook' or a stupid recruting college entitled "We want YOU, Sophia!", let alone a card! Now birthdays are acknowlaged with a post on your Facebook wall or a text saying "Omg hppy brtdy lol haha".

Oh the eloquance and depth.

And if someone takes it out of their oh so busy life to actually send a card, they're message is pretty much consisting of Halmark's regards and their hurried signature at the bottom.

All I'm saying is that it wouldn't kill our generation to actually pick up a book. And read it, not just pick it up. Or maybe write someone a letter. That's longer than your signature. Say a page.

It won't kill you I promise.

And you know, maybe taking time out of our busy life to connect to other people through the hand written word will force us to fill our lives with something with more substance than what we have now.

Hell, maybe it won't made a difference anyhow. But I guess it's worth a try.

You know what else is funny? Whales.