You're a Non-box.
What box do you get put in?
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Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Well, last week was the happiest I've been in a long time. Just living life as it is and not yearning for or fretting about something in the future, and not really regretting not being in another time. That's when I'm happiest, I think.
The only regret I have is not walking home in Monday's wild and beautiful flurries.
Well, that was last week.
My designation of weeks is rather arbitrary; being that Tuesday, the unexpected half day, was spent all on my history IA, I have marked it as the beginning of this new dreary and hellish week, the Week of the IA stretching from Tuesday to Tuesday. You know how people say that time flies when you're having fun? This is true, but time also flies when you're stuck in a suckysucksuck-fest. Amazing, I spent seven hours reading about Hitler. That does not make life better; you'd think I'd be smart enough to pick a topic that doesn't make me depressed, but no. I'm reading about the German resistance, with its optimism as frail as an eggshell... but of course, we all know how this story ends. Which makes it depressing all the more.
It just makes my life down. My day starts out well, of course, coaxed out of bed in a pleasant kind of sleepiness, and at physics, I've found that I feel at peace. A quark is a quark, and Mr. Martz has endearing quirks, and the banter is warm, friendly, casual and relaxed. School is okay, except for drawing and design where my project has ended up shittier than expected, and I'm not really up to dealing with it. And me stumbling all over my foreign language oral practice after school with Ms. Wang. It feels like I'm choking... I think in Engish; when I cease to think in English I cease to think at all, leaving my brain turning blue in the face and gasping for newer and faster thoughts as everything goes straight from my head to my mouth. And going to Fine Lines listening to the weary drone of commentary after commentary under the guise of creativity. I go, perhaps narcissically, to see what kind of response my poem will receive; I don't know if it's been commented upon already, or if it's yet to be read. And I haven't been losing any weight over the past few days. The optimistic thing about a diet is that you think perhaps you can make a permanent change for the better, and I've been daring to hope for the past week. My line of thought goes like this:
Maybe I can finally look good in a prom dress! Maybe I can flirt with people casually and not feel awkward in social situations and places with normal teenagers! Maybe I can go to Hong Kong and not feel awkward with my relatives! Maybe I can finally buy clothes that aren't 'knit shirt and blue jeans!' Maybe I can order a pretty outfit for Renfest and feel elegant and not be another 'Faire Fatass' or 'Fat Chick Who Plays D&D.' Maybe I can take acting lessons and feel confident of how I present myself on stage! Maybe I can look good in a swim suit! Maybe I can finally excel at fencing! Maybe I can finally learn how to dance! Maybe I can go jogging or biking with Malex and not slow him down! Maybe I can go to all my middle school friends now and go, hey, I've changed and you can see it. Maybe I can go to college as a new person.
Etc. And after all of that, it would seem horrible to me to just lose five pounds and then just stop. And then gain it all back again.
And above it, outside, the shrill call to arms: wielding duct tape for our windows, gas masks for our faces and canned food for god knows what, we march off to the drums of a new kind of warfare, where nobody feels the distance of a thousand miles of ocean between the Front and home anymore. Our Somme and Normandy are the walls of our own cellars. It is, as Herschel noticed, rather absurd and comical... but only if you choose to and have the strength to laugh.
I went home and collapsed into bed, not so much from lack of sleep (I went to bed at 11 last night which is good for me).
And for those of you who say that working on my IA this early will help me complete it not at the last minute: no, this is not me working early, this is very late procrastination. I am taking extensive notes on sections of both my sources (I had only been planning on taking extensive notes on my second source but found I didn't remember my first one at all well), leaving me with 400 pages (I've got 170 pages down so far) to cover by Friday night, so that I can write the actual damn paper over the weekend. The rest of you, I'm sure, are probably all done with your sources.
I am taking a mental health day tomorrow, seeing as that the Kagan quiz has been moved back to Friday. There is nothing due, not even stat homework, no tests, no quizzes.. Do not expect me; seeing as I've been expecting to see Malex for the past two days, he can wait to see me again. We're just alternating our absences; if we all take days off in shifts, we can have at least one blogbuddy at home each school day of the year, so that we're all on holiday in spirit.
The only regret I have is not walking home in Monday's wild and beautiful flurries.
Well, that was last week.
My designation of weeks is rather arbitrary; being that Tuesday, the unexpected half day, was spent all on my history IA, I have marked it as the beginning of this new dreary and hellish week, the Week of the IA stretching from Tuesday to Tuesday. You know how people say that time flies when you're having fun? This is true, but time also flies when you're stuck in a suckysucksuck-fest. Amazing, I spent seven hours reading about Hitler. That does not make life better; you'd think I'd be smart enough to pick a topic that doesn't make me depressed, but no. I'm reading about the German resistance, with its optimism as frail as an eggshell... but of course, we all know how this story ends. Which makes it depressing all the more.
It just makes my life down. My day starts out well, of course, coaxed out of bed in a pleasant kind of sleepiness, and at physics, I've found that I feel at peace. A quark is a quark, and Mr. Martz has endearing quirks, and the banter is warm, friendly, casual and relaxed. School is okay, except for drawing and design where my project has ended up shittier than expected, and I'm not really up to dealing with it. And me stumbling all over my foreign language oral practice after school with Ms. Wang. It feels like I'm choking... I think in Engish; when I cease to think in English I cease to think at all, leaving my brain turning blue in the face and gasping for newer and faster thoughts as everything goes straight from my head to my mouth. And going to Fine Lines listening to the weary drone of commentary after commentary under the guise of creativity. I go, perhaps narcissically, to see what kind of response my poem will receive; I don't know if it's been commented upon already, or if it's yet to be read. And I haven't been losing any weight over the past few days. The optimistic thing about a diet is that you think perhaps you can make a permanent change for the better, and I've been daring to hope for the past week. My line of thought goes like this:
Maybe I can finally look good in a prom dress! Maybe I can flirt with people casually and not feel awkward in social situations and places with normal teenagers! Maybe I can go to Hong Kong and not feel awkward with my relatives! Maybe I can finally buy clothes that aren't 'knit shirt and blue jeans!' Maybe I can order a pretty outfit for Renfest and feel elegant and not be another 'Faire Fatass' or 'Fat Chick Who Plays D&D.' Maybe I can take acting lessons and feel confident of how I present myself on stage! Maybe I can look good in a swim suit! Maybe I can finally excel at fencing! Maybe I can finally learn how to dance! Maybe I can go jogging or biking with Malex and not slow him down! Maybe I can go to all my middle school friends now and go, hey, I've changed and you can see it. Maybe I can go to college as a new person.
Etc. And after all of that, it would seem horrible to me to just lose five pounds and then just stop. And then gain it all back again.
And above it, outside, the shrill call to arms: wielding duct tape for our windows, gas masks for our faces and canned food for god knows what, we march off to the drums of a new kind of warfare, where nobody feels the distance of a thousand miles of ocean between the Front and home anymore. Our Somme and Normandy are the walls of our own cellars. It is, as Herschel noticed, rather absurd and comical... but only if you choose to and have the strength to laugh.
I went home and collapsed into bed, not so much from lack of sleep (I went to bed at 11 last night which is good for me).
And for those of you who say that working on my IA this early will help me complete it not at the last minute: no, this is not me working early, this is very late procrastination. I am taking extensive notes on sections of both my sources (I had only been planning on taking extensive notes on my second source but found I didn't remember my first one at all well), leaving me with 400 pages (I've got 170 pages down so far) to cover by Friday night, so that I can write the actual damn paper over the weekend. The rest of you, I'm sure, are probably all done with your sources.
I am taking a mental health day tomorrow, seeing as that the Kagan quiz has been moved back to Friday. There is nothing due, not even stat homework, no tests, no quizzes.. Do not expect me; seeing as I've been expecting to see Malex for the past two days, he can wait to see me again. We're just alternating our absences; if we all take days off in shifts, we can have at least one blogbuddy at home each school day of the year, so that we're all on holiday in spirit.
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