Sunday, June 28, 2009
Kick
'To My Favorite Luminous Darkness'
Hello, Moon
It's nearly sweet morn again
And I thought I should write to you.
And the clock, it reads, lonely four fifty-two,
As the birds sing their dulcet tunes.
And I lie here in my white bed of clouds
As the sky sails--black to rich blue.
And the stars--twinkling, surrounding,
You are long overdue
Tossing--turning, I am long overdue
So set now--surrender, my luminous friend
So I can sleep in the new morning dew
Let's let go, let's pass out, let us fall from the sky
Up with suns, down with stars
Goodnight, Moon.
---
'5:15 -- Blue Sunrise'
And you know that you're my favorite time of morning
Because I know that no one else sees you alive
And the sky sees you the color of the ocean
In tropic hues--momentous paradise.
And the angels give the robins their first chirpings
So they can wake the trees with holy tunes
And the trees, they stretch their stalks out to the sunrise
And the earthworms burrow, praying for the moon.
And here I lie, solely, sleepless, waiting
Because my eyes are all wrapped up in you
You know that you're my favorite time of morning
And there's all the time I need to sleep till noon.
12:42 and another for you.
You've turned to smoke--alone--
In my mind
An idea marred by shrieking ideals.
Not a body in the passenger's seat,
Or a corpse in the backyard--
Rotting till the neighbors dare to smell you.
And I wonder if you know I barely sleep.
And they ask with side-turned eyes
"What, do you, Child, know of love?"
And I reply,
"Why,
Absolutely nothing!
And you know...
Despite the fumes and eyes,
The putrid corpses, sleepless nights;
Languishing 'fore these mirrors,
Here--I find
I can not describe it."
In my mind
An idea marred by shrieking ideals.
Not a body in the passenger's seat,
Or a corpse in the backyard--
Rotting till the neighbors dare to smell you.
And I wonder if you know I barely sleep.
And they ask with side-turned eyes
"What, do you, Child, know of love?"
And I reply,
"Why,
Absolutely nothing!
And you know...
Despite the fumes and eyes,
The putrid corpses, sleepless nights;
Languishing 'fore these mirrors,
Here--I find
I can not describe it."
Monday, June 22, 2009
Iris
My sister has dewy, amber eyes.
They drink the sunlight like a withered desert traveler swills back his first cool cup of sparkling spring water.
They're sticky.
They're full.
They're warm.
Like dozy flies buzz to taffy, or sap,
We come, in sun rays.
To watch them reflect a thousand intricacies the world,
You,
Can never hope to know.
They drink the sunlight like a withered desert traveler swills back his first cool cup of sparkling spring water.
They're sticky.
They're full.
They're warm.
Like dozy flies buzz to taffy, or sap,
We come, in sun rays.
To watch them reflect a thousand intricacies the world,
You,
Can never hope to know.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Boys, Sticks, & Waterfronts
I don't understand exactly what it is about teenagers, rivers, and parks post-11 p.m. but I have to say the old adage is true. Nothing good can really happen. Just death, bludgeoning, and heartbreak. And they're all pretty much the same thing in the end anyways.
Sure, the water is gorgeous. And you feel like you can breathe a thousand clear gasps after a century submerged, as you bathe in the brazen midnight sky, the rapids tumbling over themselves excited to be alive and kinetic behind you. And maybe you're having fun taking pictures a mile a minute with whatever friends you have there in the pitch black, only the flash and their tunnel-echoing laughter for company. But you're still just boys and girls.
And when one of you remembers the last time she was at a waterfront, she'll most likely dampen the mood by putting her hands to her face far too many times, lucidly recalling those who are as good as drowned in the river behind her. Another of you, male of course, will notice; and he'll bound after her when she decides to scale the rock wall, because that course of action is better than sitting there trying not to cry. Besides, the wall has the most brilliantly God-carved hand and foot holds. And atop it is an alcove just big enough for two to sit facing one another. So they do.
"What's wrong with you?" the girl asks. Because the boy has been acting strangely all night, and she wonders if it has something to do with her presence in the group.
"What's wrong with you?" he replies.
"Nothing's wrong with me," she says too quickly.
"Yeah, there is."
She looks at him.
"What's wrong with anyone?"
It's easy for her to evade his questions. His eyes. His intentions. Far too easy.
At this point the girl shouts down to her friends, commenting something glib. The boy calls something too. They look at each other again.
"There can be a lot wrong with someone."
She laughs. A tinkling sound that compliments the rushing water.
"Yup," she says, before looking away.
"I was answering your question."
"I know."
"So what's wrong with you?" he asks again.
The girl is unsure of how to respond.
"Nothing new," she says.
"Anything you want to discuss?" he asks.
She doesn't look at him.
"Not particularly."
And she's sad. Because she wants to tell him everything. But it wouldn't be fair for either of them.
A boy calls from below. It's time to leave.
"I don't want to go," she says to him in the alcove.
"I don't want to go either." He pauses. "Why don't you want to go?"
She should have told him that she was tired of being alone. That she liked just sitting in the alcove. And the rushing of river. And that she didn't mind him there one bit either. But she didn't.
"Because there's just nothing to do at home," she lies.
He jumps over the metal gate inside the alcove and offers her his hand over the bars. She declines it, and lifts herself atop the bars before landing agilely on her feet, reminding them both that she can handle herself just fine.
"Why are you sad?" he asks as they walk to rejoin the others.
"I'm not," she says.
"You weren't before."
The girl considers this. He's right, of course. She wants to tell him that she can't tell the difference between self-sabotaging sadness and legitimate despair. But again, silence.
The conversation continues. Nothing is confided. He won't say. She won't say.
They leave the river in a big silver van.
As they ride, the girl contemplates the waterfront. She thinks about the past. She thinks about the future. She wonders when the past will finally dissipate, leaving her free of the ornately carved holes left in her psyche, her heart. Because that day will mean that for once she'll be able to say exactly what she wants to say to wrap him around her finger, instead of being calculating in a defensive manner. It would be nice to look him in the eye the entire time. It would be nice to feel no guilt. It would be nice to have an actual conversation instead of these silly shrapnel sentences, meant for analysing and play. And it would be especially nice to know who "him" is, and not to toy with boys by waterfronts.
But lastly the girl is certain that it would be very nice not to have to fend boys off with cleverly disguised sticks every time she haunts the river. For it really is heartbreaking. In its own way.
--------------
Author's note: Yes, this happened. Consider it a journal entry, folks.
Sure, the water is gorgeous. And you feel like you can breathe a thousand clear gasps after a century submerged, as you bathe in the brazen midnight sky, the rapids tumbling over themselves excited to be alive and kinetic behind you. And maybe you're having fun taking pictures a mile a minute with whatever friends you have there in the pitch black, only the flash and their tunnel-echoing laughter for company. But you're still just boys and girls.
And when one of you remembers the last time she was at a waterfront, she'll most likely dampen the mood by putting her hands to her face far too many times, lucidly recalling those who are as good as drowned in the river behind her. Another of you, male of course, will notice; and he'll bound after her when she decides to scale the rock wall, because that course of action is better than sitting there trying not to cry. Besides, the wall has the most brilliantly God-carved hand and foot holds. And atop it is an alcove just big enough for two to sit facing one another. So they do.
"What's wrong with you?" the girl asks. Because the boy has been acting strangely all night, and she wonders if it has something to do with her presence in the group.
"What's wrong with you?" he replies.
"Nothing's wrong with me," she says too quickly.
"Yeah, there is."
She looks at him.
"What's wrong with anyone?"
It's easy for her to evade his questions. His eyes. His intentions. Far too easy.
At this point the girl shouts down to her friends, commenting something glib. The boy calls something too. They look at each other again.
"There can be a lot wrong with someone."
She laughs. A tinkling sound that compliments the rushing water.
"Yup," she says, before looking away.
"I was answering your question."
"I know."
"So what's wrong with you?" he asks again.
The girl is unsure of how to respond.
"Nothing new," she says.
"Anything you want to discuss?" he asks.
She doesn't look at him.
"Not particularly."
And she's sad. Because she wants to tell him everything. But it wouldn't be fair for either of them.
A boy calls from below. It's time to leave.
"I don't want to go," she says to him in the alcove.
"I don't want to go either." He pauses. "Why don't you want to go?"
She should have told him that she was tired of being alone. That she liked just sitting in the alcove. And the rushing of river. And that she didn't mind him there one bit either. But she didn't.
"Because there's just nothing to do at home," she lies.
He jumps over the metal gate inside the alcove and offers her his hand over the bars. She declines it, and lifts herself atop the bars before landing agilely on her feet, reminding them both that she can handle herself just fine.
"Why are you sad?" he asks as they walk to rejoin the others.
"I'm not," she says.
"You weren't before."
The girl considers this. He's right, of course. She wants to tell him that she can't tell the difference between self-sabotaging sadness and legitimate despair. But again, silence.
The conversation continues. Nothing is confided. He won't say. She won't say.
They leave the river in a big silver van.
As they ride, the girl contemplates the waterfront. She thinks about the past. She thinks about the future. She wonders when the past will finally dissipate, leaving her free of the ornately carved holes left in her psyche, her heart. Because that day will mean that for once she'll be able to say exactly what she wants to say to wrap him around her finger, instead of being calculating in a defensive manner. It would be nice to look him in the eye the entire time. It would be nice to feel no guilt. It would be nice to have an actual conversation instead of these silly shrapnel sentences, meant for analysing and play. And it would be especially nice to know who "him" is, and not to toy with boys by waterfronts.
But lastly the girl is certain that it would be very nice not to have to fend boys off with cleverly disguised sticks every time she haunts the river. For it really is heartbreaking. In its own way.
--------------
Author's note: Yes, this happened. Consider it a journal entry, folks.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
What 'Shuffle' says about you!
I'm playing the Ipod shuffle song game that Hayley played on her blog. It's fun. It's easy. It says a lot about you. Even though it can really misrepresent you too.... Basically all you do is turn your Ipod on shuffle and write down the first 10 songs it chooses.
Here are mine:
1. I Think About You Everyday - A Rocket to the Moon [LOVE HIM!]
2. Five Four Three Two One - A Rocket to the Moon
3. Go All the Way [into the Twilight] - Perry Farrell [courtesy of Marion. Yes, this is from the soundtrack of Twilight.]
4. Charlie Chaplin - Katie Herzig [This song is one of my favorites. It's amazing.]
5. Baby We're Invincible - A Rocket to the Moon [I only have like 15 of his songs, I swear!]
6. Pollen and Salt - Daphne Loves Derby
7. Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park
8. All Good Naysayers! Speak Up Or Forever Hold Your Peace! - Sufjan Stevens
9. The Frug - Rilo Kiley [Thanks, Molly.]
10. Masters in China - Priscilla Ahn
Aaah! I want to keep going! So I will.
11. Your Body is a Wonderland - John Mayer [Ew. He's such a man-whore. Good song though.]
12. Little Razorblade - Pink Spiders
13. One more with Feeling - Get Cape Wear Cape Fly! [Best. UK. Indie. Band. Ever.]
14. You've Made Your Bed - You Me at Six
15. Simple Pleasures- Henry Homesweet
16. Sky - Joshua Radin ft. Ingrid Michaelson [Both of them are amazing artists.]
17. Heimsdalgate Like a Promethean Curse - Of Montreal [One of my top songs of summer '09.]
18. Touchdown Turnaround - Hellogoodbye
19. 99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger
20. Maybe - Secondhand Serenade
I think the second set was a more accurate representation of my music since it didn't have three from the same artist. Weird fluke there. This was really fun. THANKS, HAYLEY! You guys should try it too. You know you want to.
x
Here are mine:
1. I Think About You Everyday - A Rocket to the Moon [LOVE HIM!]
2. Five Four Three Two One - A Rocket to the Moon
3. Go All the Way [into the Twilight] - Perry Farrell [courtesy of Marion. Yes, this is from the soundtrack of Twilight.]
4. Charlie Chaplin - Katie Herzig [This song is one of my favorites. It's amazing.]
5. Baby We're Invincible - A Rocket to the Moon [I only have like 15 of his songs, I swear!]
6. Pollen and Salt - Daphne Loves Derby
7. Shadow of the Day - Linkin Park
8. All Good Naysayers! Speak Up Or Forever Hold Your Peace! - Sufjan Stevens
9. The Frug - Rilo Kiley [Thanks, Molly.]
10. Masters in China - Priscilla Ahn
Aaah! I want to keep going! So I will.
11. Your Body is a Wonderland - John Mayer [Ew. He's such a man-whore. Good song though.]
12. Little Razorblade - Pink Spiders
13. One more with Feeling - Get Cape Wear Cape Fly! [Best. UK. Indie. Band. Ever.]
14. You've Made Your Bed - You Me at Six
15. Simple Pleasures- Henry Homesweet
16. Sky - Joshua Radin ft. Ingrid Michaelson [Both of them are amazing artists.]
17. Heimsdalgate Like a Promethean Curse - Of Montreal [One of my top songs of summer '09.]
18. Touchdown Turnaround - Hellogoodbye
19. 99 Red Balloons - Goldfinger
20. Maybe - Secondhand Serenade
I think the second set was a more accurate representation of my music since it didn't have three from the same artist. Weird fluke there. This was really fun. THANKS, HAYLEY! You guys should try it too. You know you want to.
x
Saturday, June 13, 2009
She's a ho for sho.
I had a really fun time at work last night. It's something that made me feel guilty. Like I was doing something wrong for enjoying myself and getting paid for it. There's something wrong with that scenario. I guess I don't like my job as much as I thought I did. Maybe I've just been dealing with it for the money. I know it's not bad or anything, but last night was actually something else. Because of who I worked with. And that's not going to happen very often. It's just sad that there's nothing you can do to improve a situation. It's just bland.
And now there's this new guy who's supposed to start working with us. He came in with his authoritative [potentially misogynistic feathers] in a ruff, pretending he was all in charge when he's not even a manager. It was so weird. He gave off these vibes. I'm going to talk to the manager and see if he's been hired yet, because I think he's trouble. I'm not going to go into what happened, because to be honest I just don't feel like it, but trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Ugh. As soon as drama at work finally passes, this has to happen. He's going to ruin everything. I don't want to work seven hour shifts with this guy. Staying alone with him until all hours of the night. No thank you. I will make my concerns known now before it's too late.
In other news, I work in under an hour. The library called. They have books for me again. I have books for them again. My grandparents are here. I have yet to say hi to them. They just walked in. I guess I'll go do that after I get changed for work.
Oh, and misogynist feathers guy strutted in wearing a "she's a ho for sho" shirt. Classy. I mean, really, I respect you as my authority figure now. I honestly don't understand what goes through people's heads.
And now there's this new guy who's supposed to start working with us. He came in with his authoritative [potentially misogynistic feathers] in a ruff, pretending he was all in charge when he's not even a manager. It was so weird. He gave off these vibes. I'm going to talk to the manager and see if he's been hired yet, because I think he's trouble. I'm not going to go into what happened, because to be honest I just don't feel like it, but trust me, I know what I'm talking about. Ugh. As soon as drama at work finally passes, this has to happen. He's going to ruin everything. I don't want to work seven hour shifts with this guy. Staying alone with him until all hours of the night. No thank you. I will make my concerns known now before it's too late.
In other news, I work in under an hour. The library called. They have books for me again. I have books for them again. My grandparents are here. I have yet to say hi to them. They just walked in. I guess I'll go do that after I get changed for work.
Oh, and misogynist feathers guy strutted in wearing a "she's a ho for sho" shirt. Classy. I mean, really, I respect you as my authority figure now. I honestly don't understand what goes through people's heads.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
My Medical Stamina is Dwindling... Dwindling
Now, I'm going to make a generalization to start this off, because I think that for the most part it's going to prove true for the average person today who hasn't had the vast amount of tawdry, Valley of the Dolls [with a 'Private Practise' glossing] experience with today's medical health system that I've had, so here it is. People either fawn over doctors like the Second Coming come early or avoid them like the cliched plague. And ironically that's how plagues get going in the first place, but that's not what we're talking about today.
The point is, both of these groups are idiots. The fawners are idiots. The Doctor Dodgers are idiots. The doctors are idiots. I'm an idiot. You're an idiot. We're all a bunch of decrepit, bumbling, snivelling idiots who have no idea what's wrong with us or why, and the sooner we come to grips with the fact that we are not in control and may drop dead to life's garden hose at any second like the friable ants we are, the better. The doctor isn't a god among men, and neither is he out harm you. He's an idiot, like us. Admittedly, ten years-plus of medical school makes him less of an idiot, but you get the point. We're all on the same playing field here as doctors and patients, with the exception that some of us are direly ill and some of us are supposed to, oh, I don't know... help or something?
And you, Sir Medically Achieved, are not above me as my doctor. I respect you with the same respect that I hold for the gas man. Because we are human. We are peers. And that is all we are until you prove that you deserve those degrees hanging on your wall, because I've seen too many sterile halls to feign "mildly impressed respect" while you grunt over my folder, secretly thinking about your golf game.
I'm sick and tired of being tossed about like a rag doll, when all I want is to hear the words "I don't know" or "there's nothing we can do" coming out of your oh so highly educated mouth. Because at least that would be honest, and you wouldn't prescribe me something we've already tried under the ruse of a "flashy new label" that's meant to con the stupid girl who "probably just didn't take it right the first 100 times she tried it". And then there's my personal favorite, the "hip med '09" principle. Face it, both you and I know you're only doling whatever trendy medication Club Zanadoo Pharmacuticals tells you to slingshot into the throats of the masses, because they're the ones that fly you to sunny Bermuda for 'learning conferences'. Forget general boredom and disregard for the patient, Doc, let's go for the green! But here's the kicker for me: if you were honest about what I was taking in the first place, I wouldn't have to go to google and throw a freaking mental hissy fit, and then blog about it like a pre-pubescent girl on livejournal when I found out exactly why I've been acting [and looking] like a brunette Peyton Sawyer the early years! [Minus the sketchy yet eventful 'Nathan Scott' social life and doubling the emo-moodiness. How unfair is that?]
This all may sound a smidge bitter, but I really don't care. Because I just got through googling what exactly it is "they decided to stick me on this time" and I'm less than thrilled with my findings. And seeing as I've been in this particular instance, oh I don't know, five hundred times now, I thought I'd share my unrest with the internet. Hi, friend.
The following side effects have been seen during clinical trials of *insert the name of Drug Various Dr. InsertPhDHere is testing on Shawna this month* in preventing frequently recurring migraines. The most often reported effects were:
headache (Ha! What a joke. I'll bold it, but there's really no way to tell is there?)
paresthesia (numbness & tingling)
upper respiratory tract infection
diarrhea
nausea
somnolence
anorexia (loss of appetite)
insomnia
memory problems
dizziness
anxiety
mood swings
depression
changes in taste
vision disorders
For your viewing pleasure I've taken the liberty of bolding the things that are bothering me to a heightened extent. For goodness sakes I'm annoyed. But ranting helped. I have to admit the "golf game" and "Zanadoo" jabs were a bit extreme, as was at least half of that spew. For the most part the doctors are kind, overworked, overwhelmed people who just don't know what's wrong with me. My side? Just say it and stop pumping me full of medication before I become quasi-indistiguishable from the more anorexic of the Olsens. But I can't even work that bug eyed thing. I'm P-Sawyer all the way. Right down to my black painted "paresthesiaed" extremeties.
The point is, both of these groups are idiots. The fawners are idiots. The Doctor Dodgers are idiots. The doctors are idiots. I'm an idiot. You're an idiot. We're all a bunch of decrepit, bumbling, snivelling idiots who have no idea what's wrong with us or why, and the sooner we come to grips with the fact that we are not in control and may drop dead to life's garden hose at any second like the friable ants we are, the better. The doctor isn't a god among men, and neither is he out harm you. He's an idiot, like us. Admittedly, ten years-plus of medical school makes him less of an idiot, but you get the point. We're all on the same playing field here as doctors and patients, with the exception that some of us are direly ill and some of us are supposed to, oh, I don't know... help or something?
And you, Sir Medically Achieved, are not above me as my doctor. I respect you with the same respect that I hold for the gas man. Because we are human. We are peers. And that is all we are until you prove that you deserve those degrees hanging on your wall, because I've seen too many sterile halls to feign "mildly impressed respect" while you grunt over my folder, secretly thinking about your golf game.
I'm sick and tired of being tossed about like a rag doll, when all I want is to hear the words "I don't know" or "there's nothing we can do" coming out of your oh so highly educated mouth. Because at least that would be honest, and you wouldn't prescribe me something we've already tried under the ruse of a "flashy new label" that's meant to con the stupid girl who "probably just didn't take it right the first 100 times she tried it". And then there's my personal favorite, the "hip med '09" principle. Face it, both you and I know you're only doling whatever trendy medication Club Zanadoo Pharmacuticals tells you to slingshot into the throats of the masses, because they're the ones that fly you to sunny Bermuda for 'learning conferences'. Forget general boredom and disregard for the patient, Doc, let's go for the green! But here's the kicker for me: if you were honest about what I was taking in the first place, I wouldn't have to go to google and throw a freaking mental hissy fit, and then blog about it like a pre-pubescent girl on livejournal when I found out exactly why I've been acting [and looking] like a brunette Peyton Sawyer the early years! [Minus the sketchy yet eventful 'Nathan Scott' social life and doubling the emo-moodiness. How unfair is that?]
This all may sound a smidge bitter, but I really don't care. Because I just got through googling what exactly it is "they decided to stick me on this time" and I'm less than thrilled with my findings. And seeing as I've been in this particular instance, oh I don't know, five hundred times now, I thought I'd share my unrest with the internet. Hi, friend.
The following side effects have been seen during clinical trials of *insert the name of Drug Various Dr. InsertPhDHere is testing on Shawna this month* in preventing frequently recurring migraines. The most often reported effects were:
headache (Ha! What a joke. I'll bold it, but there's really no way to tell is there?)
paresthesia (numbness & tingling)
upper respiratory tract infection
diarrhea
nausea
somnolence
anorexia (loss of appetite)
insomnia
memory problems
dizziness
anxiety
mood swings
depression
changes in taste
vision disorders
For your viewing pleasure I've taken the liberty of bolding the things that are bothering me to a heightened extent. For goodness sakes I'm annoyed. But ranting helped. I have to admit the "golf game" and "Zanadoo" jabs were a bit extreme, as was at least half of that spew. For the most part the doctors are kind, overworked, overwhelmed people who just don't know what's wrong with me. My side? Just say it and stop pumping me full of medication before I become quasi-indistiguishable from the more anorexic of the Olsens. But I can't even work that bug eyed thing. I'm P-Sawyer all the way. Right down to my black painted "paresthesiaed" extremeties.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
"Ain't she jus' darlin'?"
So I get out of bed and it's all nutso foggy out, and all I've wanted to do for the last 4 hours is eat my increasingly diminishing body weight in Frosted Flakes cereal, but I don't think I can, because I don't think we have any. So I here I am instead blogging about how I was up all night reading about Jessica Darling's misanthropic misadventures in Sloppy Firsts.
And how strange it is that I still can't get over that Marcus Flutie is a red-head [did I read that wrongly?], or that his last name is Flutie. And how I can't for the life of me stop having inner dialogues that go something like this:
"Paul Parlipiano is gay!"
"Well, you'd know that if you knew him a little bit better."
Or this.
"He's my Paul Parlipiano. Except I can pronounce his last name without pausing, and he's not gay... I think. Yeah, he's straight. No wait, maybe he's my Marcus Flutie. Screw it. I'm sticking with Jordan Catalano."
At this particular moment I am both envying Jessica's ability to subsist on cereal that her family actually *has* and sharing a listless insomniatic bond with her. We both sleep until late afternoon. Also, I'm in a state of paltry jealousy. I want Meghan McCafferty's vocabulary and brain. She's a pop-cultural/general pistol and I could barely keep up with her sometimes. I feel slighted and determined to destroy her. Nothing personal, Meghan. You're just very, very good at being glib. And that is something that isn't accomplished particularly effortlessly in high_school_teenage_angst books. Your book was a layer cake, where most others of its kind are thin mints. That said, I will now study you in awe&envy stealing your tricks and rendering you utterly obsolete. Just kidding. [Sort of.]
I can tell I'm going into one of those phases again. "Shawna Reads Like Mad and Doesn't Sleep like a Human: Volume 113" Maybe I'll find some cereal, drift into dreamland, and awaken at a decent, pre-4 PM hour. Not likely, but it could happen. I'm all Jessica Darling ranty-brained! But I don't have a Marcus Flutie to call to talk my insomnia off.
Now where are you, Tony the Tiger....
And how strange it is that I still can't get over that Marcus Flutie is a red-head [did I read that wrongly?], or that his last name is Flutie. And how I can't for the life of me stop having inner dialogues that go something like this:
"Paul Parlipiano is gay!"
"Well, you'd know that if you knew him a little bit better."
Or this.
"He's my Paul Parlipiano. Except I can pronounce his last name without pausing, and he's not gay... I think. Yeah, he's straight. No wait, maybe he's my Marcus Flutie. Screw it. I'm sticking with Jordan Catalano."
At this particular moment I am both envying Jessica's ability to subsist on cereal that her family actually *has* and sharing a listless insomniatic bond with her. We both sleep until late afternoon. Also, I'm in a state of paltry jealousy. I want Meghan McCafferty's vocabulary and brain. She's a pop-cultural/general pistol and I could barely keep up with her sometimes. I feel slighted and determined to destroy her. Nothing personal, Meghan. You're just very, very good at being glib. And that is something that isn't accomplished particularly effortlessly in high_school_teenage_angst books. Your book was a layer cake, where most others of its kind are thin mints. That said, I will now study you in awe&envy stealing your tricks and rendering you utterly obsolete. Just kidding. [Sort of.]
I can tell I'm going into one of those phases again. "Shawna Reads Like Mad and Doesn't Sleep like a Human: Volume 113" Maybe I'll find some cereal, drift into dreamland, and awaken at a decent, pre-4 PM hour. Not likely, but it could happen. I'm all Jessica Darling ranty-brained! But I don't have a Marcus Flutie to call to talk my insomnia off.
Now where are you, Tony the Tiger....
Monday, June 8, 2009
Captivated.
I spent last night in the white folds--
And tumbles that I know,
In blankets where I always sleep alone.
Uncurling tight-knit memories,
I tread the glass strewn hallways of my heart.
And there you sat, alone at last,
A tired knife of pity,
"Here we are."
But I had no words to say,
And blue eyes sent those bullets at the start.
"Contain yourself, contain yourself,
In waging war, death is naught but dark.
So, I won't take the contours of your face."
And, alone, I left you there
In shattered glass, with ocean's stare
Not looking back, lest torn in half,
I left our alcove, and collapsed.
In beds alone, in fields where blue--
Skies torment me with eyes for you
And lying there, fields and all,
I have not one, steady recall.
For I could not see
The valleys of your face, dear.
And from my greenest field I flew
Back to my bed--
And mashed my hands against my head--
Last night to just remember you,
And the hilltops of your face....
But furling--fetal,
I was one upheaval
Short of any use.
And tumbles that I know,
In blankets where I always sleep alone.
Uncurling tight-knit memories,
I tread the glass strewn hallways of my heart.
And there you sat, alone at last,
A tired knife of pity,
"Here we are."
But I had no words to say,
And blue eyes sent those bullets at the start.
"Contain yourself, contain yourself,
In waging war, death is naught but dark.
So, I won't take the contours of your face."
And, alone, I left you there
In shattered glass, with ocean's stare
Not looking back, lest torn in half,
I left our alcove, and collapsed.
In beds alone, in fields where blue--
Skies torment me with eyes for you
And lying there, fields and all,
I have not one, steady recall.
For I could not see
The valleys of your face, dear.
And from my greenest field I flew
Back to my bed--
And mashed my hands against my head--
Last night to just remember you,
And the hilltops of your face....
But furling--fetal,
I was one upheaval
Short of any use.
Total Recall.
I spend a lot of fruitless effort these days trying not to think about you. Blocking out that hallowed hallway we walked is too hard for me tonight. So, I won't. I'm going to share our oddities. The weirdest, best, and worst of things that happened to us. It doesn't matter where we are now, but where we were. I guess I just wanted you to know I'm not going to look back on these things any differently. And it's taken me awhile to get here.
Locker.
For my entire high school career I never locked my locker. Ever. Do you remember that? It used to drive you crazy. I think it did anyways. I would just leave it sitting there slightly unlatched because I could never work the combination locks. And then the off times when the teachers would catch me leaving it open and make me lock it, I would get you to open it for me, because you knew my combination. Haha - then remember that one day I came to school in the morning and it was locked and you didn't show up? I had to get Slim to saw it open. I think that happened more than once. I never could work those freaking things. There's something wrong with me.
"You look so good in blue. You look so good in blu-u-u-u-ue."
Okay, so we had multiple nicknames for a certain teacher. I'm not going to say anything about that because I'm terrified he's reading this right now and I won't betray any secret info. He taught us philosophy in the morning, second period I think? Right before lunch. Anyways, I would always be so tired because, well, you know me, I don't sleep like a human being, plus my headaches, and I would always miss his class. I remember that I missed every single test he ever gave in philosophy except one. Isn't that nuts? I never got in trouble either. He used to be scared of me or something. We used to laugh about that. Remember how you and me used always sit in the back corner of class and hassle James? I always took it way too far. One time I tried to draw faces on his arm. We used to spray perfume on him and he'd always yell, "I smell like girl!" and freak out. I remember one time he actually retaliated and started fighting back, and the teacher-in-question just said "James, what's going on back there?" and he didn't get me in trouble at all. I never understood that. So weird. Haha - I remember one time the teacher used a Captain Planet reference in philosophy. It's so weird calling him "the teacher". When he first started that year, the guys all referred to him by his first name. He only told them to stop for a few weeks. We all called him by his first name. Habit.
Emo Lab
I spent a lot of time alone at that school and a lot of time crying. But we all did. I remember we all left Slim's lab classes in tears at one time or another. Erica left a few times in tears and he would always just continue on teaching as though someone hadn't just ran out sobbing. Bre left in tears once. I didn't give him the satisfaction. I remember one time you and I were talking and he shouted at us to "SHUT UP OR GET OUT!" and then he continued to yell something. We shut up. I was going to get out. But I didn't. One time he was standing on that one wooden lab stool reaching for something in the cabinets and it was sort of tipping. I was wondering what would happen if he fell and just broke his neck. Or if I helped the situation along. That was when I realized something was wrong with me. Then there were those times he was so nice. He took us to Tim Hortans. Or when we made peanut brittle in chem lab. He had such a pomp to him. But I could wrap him around my finger. I remember that it was too easy to say exactly what he wanted to hear because he was so wrapped up in whatever he was wrapped up in. I really wish I didn't spend so much time alone that last year. It really sucked and I missed you guys.
Tears tears tears.
Speaking of crying, do you remember right before I dropped out in year 11 when we were all taking accounting with Pinks? I had to make up a test I had missed for whatever reason. I missed a lot of stuff back then. Mrs. P [Slim's sister for those reading] said she could tell I wasn't doing very well because she could see it in my eyes. I wanted to tell her she was full of crap, and that I just wanted to cry, and I was holding it in and to get out of my freaking face with her coffee breath already. She gave me the test and I took it to the next room over [the lunch room]. I just stared at her bogus questions. They were ridiculous. She had this habit of blanking out the only words you needed in the fill in the blanks section. Like "The ___ was ____." How the frak do I know?! I really couldn't take it that day. She couldn't teach and I couldn't think. Everything was messed up so I lost it right there. I just cried. Anyways, Taylor walked by, doing his goofy bobble-headed noisy walk that only he does, right? And he saw me and made this noise like he'd just seen a murder. He turned in his tracks and ran for it. I jumped up before I knew what I was doing and ran after him saying something like, "Taylor, wait!" I just grabbed him and hugged him. We never talked about it again after that.
Top 3 Flip-outs. of my high school career.
So I'm normally a fairly level headed person. But on the off occasion that I flip out, I flip out pretty flamboyantly. And I prefer that my friends are around to see it, so I do not have to recount it 10 million times in horror/pride. I have a few to get through here so let's begin.
Lunch Room
So there I was, alone for some reason in the lunch room. I was sitting there, not eating anything particularly tasty, or I would have remembered. I think you and company had calculus at this point. In walks Kevin, Taylor and Ken. Now don't get me wrong, on a good day I like Kevin, Taylor, and Ken. But on a bad day KTK can be a womanizing, annoying, unwashed, rude element that makes me angry, especially if I haven't eaten properly which were most days of my high school career. [Also for those reading it's important to note that at my school we are all very close-knit. So I know these boys. Man, do I know these boys. And they, quite frankly, DESERVED WHAT THEY GOT!] Anywho, there I was sitting, enjoying the silence, minding my own business when I hear Taylor and Kevin talking about whatever disgusting sexual positions or innuendo their brain capacity can handle. This is nothing new, what is new however, is that they are doing it *loudly* and forcing everyone to hear them. I saw Christine eyeing me sadly from across the room almost asking for help. I blink slowly trying to force them out the back of my head to no avail, instead hearing them continue their conversation on what types of "tits" they preferred. I lost it, standing up and smacking the table.
"That's it!" I shouted walking towards them slowly, my finger pointing at no one in particular. "If I hear one more inappropriate word from any of you I will march down to Slim's office and tell him exactly what your 'tit preferences' are!'"
It was sort of a grand scene. Kevin's hands were held in front of him like I was going to shoot him. Taylor was sort of laughing and Ken had retreated like the lackey he is. My plan was to go back to my table and continue eating whatever I had triumphantly, but by this point I was shaking too much with angry Shawna adrenaline, so I just stomped off. Later Christine found me and said thank you for what I did. She also said that Taylor said I was probably off "crying in a corner somewhere." Which made me want to tear him a new one. It also sort of stung because it made me wonder if he had told anyone about that one time in the hall. I like to think the best of him and say he didn't but I don't know. He's really botched things up between us. I won't even go into it. Later you found me and I told you and the rest of the group what happened. I know you've always thought I over-reacted. You're wrong. You usually are.
Hockey Tournament.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but I'm sort of big into the sports thing. Or I was in high school. At this particular tournament, floor hockey, you and I were playing defence on the A team, which was Tyler's team of course. Man, I love Tyler. [Not to be confused with Taylor, readers.] Kevin was playing goalie for us, which was weird, because you were always our goalie. I didn't want Kevin to play goalie because 1] I thought you were better 2] I thought he was unreliable. Maybe these points are in hindsight but whatever. Anyways, the time comes where we're about to play a fairly important game and Kevin decides he doesn't "want to play in net." Naturally this gets my feathers in a ruff. I find him and go off on him about how you don't abandon your team when you make a commitment and you don't let your teammates down. He just gave me his crap excuses that he never wanted to play in the first place. I gave him my "you're dead to me" glare and walked away. I sort of shouted at him. Anyways, you laced up your pads and got in net and half-way through that game Kevin was coming out onto the court to say something to you about strategy or something during a time-out, and I ran out onto the court and hissed at him to "Get his butt back behind the line now." I may have also said something along the lines of "You have no right to be here." I get mean apparently. Whatever. He gave up his right. We won that game without him.
New York
I don't even want to talk about this one actually. You remember it. Taylor was such a jerk! Bre, Holly, and I broke in and pranked Edgar, Andrew, and Owen's room and Taylor gets all slighted? What? Yeah it was messed up. Taylor accused me of ruining the NY trip for everyone. I was literally ready to kill the kid at the time. You don't know this but I cried in the creepy stairwell one of those nights. I was more upset that you wouldn't support me - that you said I over-reacted. You were more concerned with staying politically correct. That really, really stung. You didn't even care that I was upset.
YouTube
You were always so supportive of YouTube and so was everyone else that I was comfortable sharing it with. It was really nice having the support. I do remember one time Brandon [aka minor niner attitude pack general] walked up behind me when Slim and I were talking [which means of course Slim was talking *at* me] and he said something YouTube related. "Shawna makes videos of herself On the internet speaking different languages". I wanted to kill him. I've blogged this before. But I'm so adept at handling Slim that I was able to brush it off easily. Brandon, however, he shall pay. Oh. He shall pay. And what an idiot. "Languages?" I'm not multilingual, turd. I can do accents. Enjoy community college, janitor.
Love or lack thereof.
And there was that time there was that boy, and that trip to toronto, and that dark/long/short/tense/calm ride in the back seat where I didn't hold his hand and I don't regret it, but writing this sentence contradicts that. And I sat beside him in the hallway of the Holiday Inn while everyone else was swimming. The carpet stretched for miles and I had to tell him why we couldn't be together. And we jumped on strangers' trampolines at night. And we used to be those kids who went to parks at night. We used to lie on blankets in the field outside his house and look at the sky at midnight. We used to throw gravel in the rain and be connected at the shoulders in your pontiac sunfire driving at night. But we don't do that any more do we? Because saying no was too hard, and the truth is it hurt to look at him directly. You said you'd never seen me like that. But feelings only matter to a point. You do what you know is right. Even if the blue eyes cut you to your soul and back. Even if they still do a year later.
I guess that's all I have to say. For now. I might do this again tomorrow. Or whenever I fel like it. It's good for me I think.
I don't know if you'll ever read this. I'm sorry if it upsets you. I'm sorry if you feel like I have no right. I'm just sorry in general.
Locker.
For my entire high school career I never locked my locker. Ever. Do you remember that? It used to drive you crazy. I think it did anyways. I would just leave it sitting there slightly unlatched because I could never work the combination locks. And then the off times when the teachers would catch me leaving it open and make me lock it, I would get you to open it for me, because you knew my combination. Haha - then remember that one day I came to school in the morning and it was locked and you didn't show up? I had to get Slim to saw it open. I think that happened more than once. I never could work those freaking things. There's something wrong with me.
"You look so good in blue. You look so good in blu-u-u-u-ue."
Okay, so we had multiple nicknames for a certain teacher. I'm not going to say anything about that because I'm terrified he's reading this right now and I won't betray any secret info. He taught us philosophy in the morning, second period I think? Right before lunch. Anyways, I would always be so tired because, well, you know me, I don't sleep like a human being, plus my headaches, and I would always miss his class. I remember that I missed every single test he ever gave in philosophy except one. Isn't that nuts? I never got in trouble either. He used to be scared of me or something. We used to laugh about that. Remember how you and me used always sit in the back corner of class and hassle James? I always took it way too far. One time I tried to draw faces on his arm. We used to spray perfume on him and he'd always yell, "I smell like girl!" and freak out. I remember one time he actually retaliated and started fighting back, and the teacher-in-question just said "James, what's going on back there?" and he didn't get me in trouble at all. I never understood that. So weird. Haha - I remember one time the teacher used a Captain Planet reference in philosophy. It's so weird calling him "the teacher". When he first started that year, the guys all referred to him by his first name. He only told them to stop for a few weeks. We all called him by his first name. Habit.
Emo Lab
I spent a lot of time alone at that school and a lot of time crying. But we all did. I remember we all left Slim's lab classes in tears at one time or another. Erica left a few times in tears and he would always just continue on teaching as though someone hadn't just ran out sobbing. Bre left in tears once. I didn't give him the satisfaction. I remember one time you and I were talking and he shouted at us to "SHUT UP OR GET OUT!" and then he continued to yell something. We shut up. I was going to get out. But I didn't. One time he was standing on that one wooden lab stool reaching for something in the cabinets and it was sort of tipping. I was wondering what would happen if he fell and just broke his neck. Or if I helped the situation along. That was when I realized something was wrong with me. Then there were those times he was so nice. He took us to Tim Hortans. Or when we made peanut brittle in chem lab. He had such a pomp to him. But I could wrap him around my finger. I remember that it was too easy to say exactly what he wanted to hear because he was so wrapped up in whatever he was wrapped up in. I really wish I didn't spend so much time alone that last year. It really sucked and I missed you guys.
Tears tears tears.
Speaking of crying, do you remember right before I dropped out in year 11 when we were all taking accounting with Pinks? I had to make up a test I had missed for whatever reason. I missed a lot of stuff back then. Mrs. P [Slim's sister for those reading] said she could tell I wasn't doing very well because she could see it in my eyes. I wanted to tell her she was full of crap, and that I just wanted to cry, and I was holding it in and to get out of my freaking face with her coffee breath already. She gave me the test and I took it to the next room over [the lunch room]. I just stared at her bogus questions. They were ridiculous. She had this habit of blanking out the only words you needed in the fill in the blanks section. Like "The ___ was ____." How the frak do I know?! I really couldn't take it that day. She couldn't teach and I couldn't think. Everything was messed up so I lost it right there. I just cried. Anyways, Taylor walked by, doing his goofy bobble-headed noisy walk that only he does, right? And he saw me and made this noise like he'd just seen a murder. He turned in his tracks and ran for it. I jumped up before I knew what I was doing and ran after him saying something like, "Taylor, wait!" I just grabbed him and hugged him. We never talked about it again after that.
Top 3 Flip-outs. of my high school career.
So I'm normally a fairly level headed person. But on the off occasion that I flip out, I flip out pretty flamboyantly. And I prefer that my friends are around to see it, so I do not have to recount it 10 million times in horror/pride. I have a few to get through here so let's begin.
Lunch Room
So there I was, alone for some reason in the lunch room. I was sitting there, not eating anything particularly tasty, or I would have remembered. I think you and company had calculus at this point. In walks Kevin, Taylor and Ken. Now don't get me wrong, on a good day I like Kevin, Taylor, and Ken. But on a bad day KTK can be a womanizing, annoying, unwashed, rude element that makes me angry, especially if I haven't eaten properly which were most days of my high school career. [Also for those reading it's important to note that at my school we are all very close-knit. So I know these boys. Man, do I know these boys. And they, quite frankly, DESERVED WHAT THEY GOT!] Anywho, there I was sitting, enjoying the silence, minding my own business when I hear Taylor and Kevin talking about whatever disgusting sexual positions or innuendo their brain capacity can handle. This is nothing new, what is new however, is that they are doing it *loudly* and forcing everyone to hear them. I saw Christine eyeing me sadly from across the room almost asking for help. I blink slowly trying to force them out the back of my head to no avail, instead hearing them continue their conversation on what types of "tits" they preferred. I lost it, standing up and smacking the table.
"That's it!" I shouted walking towards them slowly, my finger pointing at no one in particular. "If I hear one more inappropriate word from any of you I will march down to Slim's office and tell him exactly what your 'tit preferences' are!'"
It was sort of a grand scene. Kevin's hands were held in front of him like I was going to shoot him. Taylor was sort of laughing and Ken had retreated like the lackey he is. My plan was to go back to my table and continue eating whatever I had triumphantly, but by this point I was shaking too much with angry Shawna adrenaline, so I just stomped off. Later Christine found me and said thank you for what I did. She also said that Taylor said I was probably off "crying in a corner somewhere." Which made me want to tear him a new one. It also sort of stung because it made me wonder if he had told anyone about that one time in the hall. I like to think the best of him and say he didn't but I don't know. He's really botched things up between us. I won't even go into it. Later you found me and I told you and the rest of the group what happened. I know you've always thought I over-reacted. You're wrong. You usually are.
Hockey Tournament.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned it here, but I'm sort of big into the sports thing. Or I was in high school. At this particular tournament, floor hockey, you and I were playing defence on the A team, which was Tyler's team of course. Man, I love Tyler. [Not to be confused with Taylor, readers.] Kevin was playing goalie for us, which was weird, because you were always our goalie. I didn't want Kevin to play goalie because 1] I thought you were better 2] I thought he was unreliable. Maybe these points are in hindsight but whatever. Anyways, the time comes where we're about to play a fairly important game and Kevin decides he doesn't "want to play in net." Naturally this gets my feathers in a ruff. I find him and go off on him about how you don't abandon your team when you make a commitment and you don't let your teammates down. He just gave me his crap excuses that he never wanted to play in the first place. I gave him my "you're dead to me" glare and walked away. I sort of shouted at him. Anyways, you laced up your pads and got in net and half-way through that game Kevin was coming out onto the court to say something to you about strategy or something during a time-out, and I ran out onto the court and hissed at him to "Get his butt back behind the line now." I may have also said something along the lines of "You have no right to be here." I get mean apparently. Whatever. He gave up his right. We won that game without him.
New York
I don't even want to talk about this one actually. You remember it. Taylor was such a jerk! Bre, Holly, and I broke in and pranked Edgar, Andrew, and Owen's room and Taylor gets all slighted? What? Yeah it was messed up. Taylor accused me of ruining the NY trip for everyone. I was literally ready to kill the kid at the time. You don't know this but I cried in the creepy stairwell one of those nights. I was more upset that you wouldn't support me - that you said I over-reacted. You were more concerned with staying politically correct. That really, really stung. You didn't even care that I was upset.
YouTube
You were always so supportive of YouTube and so was everyone else that I was comfortable sharing it with. It was really nice having the support. I do remember one time Brandon [aka minor niner attitude pack general] walked up behind me when Slim and I were talking [which means of course Slim was talking *at* me] and he said something YouTube related. "Shawna makes videos of herself On the internet speaking different languages". I wanted to kill him. I've blogged this before. But I'm so adept at handling Slim that I was able to brush it off easily. Brandon, however, he shall pay. Oh. He shall pay. And what an idiot. "Languages?" I'm not multilingual, turd. I can do accents. Enjoy community college, janitor.
Love or lack thereof.
And there was that time there was that boy, and that trip to toronto, and that dark/long/short/tense/calm ride in the back seat where I didn't hold his hand and I don't regret it, but writing this sentence contradicts that. And I sat beside him in the hallway of the Holiday Inn while everyone else was swimming. The carpet stretched for miles and I had to tell him why we couldn't be together. And we jumped on strangers' trampolines at night. And we used to be those kids who went to parks at night. We used to lie on blankets in the field outside his house and look at the sky at midnight. We used to throw gravel in the rain and be connected at the shoulders in your pontiac sunfire driving at night. But we don't do that any more do we? Because saying no was too hard, and the truth is it hurt to look at him directly. You said you'd never seen me like that. But feelings only matter to a point. You do what you know is right. Even if the blue eyes cut you to your soul and back. Even if they still do a year later.
I guess that's all I have to say. For now. I might do this again tomorrow. Or whenever I fel like it. It's good for me I think.
I don't know if you'll ever read this. I'm sorry if it upsets you. I'm sorry if you feel like I have no right. I'm just sorry in general.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Ridiculous.
I haven't updated in forever. A week actually, but that's forever. To report in paragraphs!:
1.
I have another video I have to edit from my time at Marion's house. It's a nonsensical montage. 2:13 in length to an amazing, repeaty song that I adore. Fantastic. I'm dreading editing it because I have like 1.5 hours of footage or something. What a nightmare. I hope people don't get sick of montage-y goodness. Oh well. My channel - my rules, Jack.
2.
Marion has left for France and I feel like running in that very small, infinite space before it starts raining at dusk. She's sitting on a plane right now with that sinking feeling I know all too well. I don't know when I'll speak to her next.
3.
Best friends with broken hearts. For once I want to be the camera that does the spiral motion above the scene instead of the girl lying motionless in the grass realizing her life is over. All she can do is lie there and watch the world spin, imagining a lens to make sense of it all. I wish I had something concrete to tell my friend. But my concrete's been cracked in half, and now she's shattered too.
4.
I finished Perks of Being a Wallflower. I'm still on the fence. On an unrelated note, the MC reminds me of Simon a lot. Just how he talks and reasons sometimes. It's funny. I told Simon this, and he'll be letting me know what he thinks of this assessment when he reads the book in the next few days. I'm looking forward to that. Some of the insights the book presents are beautiful. Some are mediocre. I should read it again, but probably won't. Such is life. Right now I feel that the book is pretty much on par with a lot of other works of teen fiction that I've read. And it feels really over-rated as a whole. I can see why the masses love it though. It just doesn't do it for me. Maybe because I've read a lot of teen fiction. This just didn't stand out. There was something beautiful about it though. There were flickers of ... something in that book I can't describe. Gorgeous. Next on the reading list: Sloppy Firsts and Miles to Go: Miley Cyrus's autobiography, co-written with some lady. They have to be back at the library by June 20th. Bleh.
5.
Tomorrow is a new day.
1.
I have another video I have to edit from my time at Marion's house. It's a nonsensical montage. 2:13 in length to an amazing, repeaty song that I adore. Fantastic. I'm dreading editing it because I have like 1.5 hours of footage or something. What a nightmare. I hope people don't get sick of montage-y goodness. Oh well. My channel - my rules, Jack.
2.
Marion has left for France and I feel like running in that very small, infinite space before it starts raining at dusk. She's sitting on a plane right now with that sinking feeling I know all too well. I don't know when I'll speak to her next.
3.
Best friends with broken hearts. For once I want to be the camera that does the spiral motion above the scene instead of the girl lying motionless in the grass realizing her life is over. All she can do is lie there and watch the world spin, imagining a lens to make sense of it all. I wish I had something concrete to tell my friend. But my concrete's been cracked in half, and now she's shattered too.
4.
I finished Perks of Being a Wallflower. I'm still on the fence. On an unrelated note, the MC reminds me of Simon a lot. Just how he talks and reasons sometimes. It's funny. I told Simon this, and he'll be letting me know what he thinks of this assessment when he reads the book in the next few days. I'm looking forward to that. Some of the insights the book presents are beautiful. Some are mediocre. I should read it again, but probably won't. Such is life. Right now I feel that the book is pretty much on par with a lot of other works of teen fiction that I've read. And it feels really over-rated as a whole. I can see why the masses love it though. It just doesn't do it for me. Maybe because I've read a lot of teen fiction. This just didn't stand out. There was something beautiful about it though. There were flickers of ... something in that book I can't describe. Gorgeous. Next on the reading list: Sloppy Firsts and Miles to Go: Miley Cyrus's autobiography, co-written with some lady. They have to be back at the library by June 20th. Bleh.
5.
Tomorrow is a new day.
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