I haven't written here in a while. I have been busy on my journal and writing random rants on loose sheets of paper.

It seems to me that the words of my ninth grade english teacher and the Greeks could never be truer. Moderation in everything is the key. When you tip the balance, when you decide, or are unwittingly forced into a situation when you simply have too much, life begins to shift, taking away bit by bit until you are forced into medium.

This isn't about me. So I won't say anymore.

It was partially because of that that I drew a picture last night. I had wanted to draw one thing, a collective symbol for the past four years. I came up with a tree. That old, nostalgic tree. I remember drawing it, many years ago. I also wondered if I should draw in leaves, or sketch a likeness of all who had a part in planting that tree. But then I realized: the tree is dead. I am probably the only one who still clings to it.

I was always the last one. The last one to still want to play hide and go seek at parties. The last one to play on the playground. The last one to give up on a story idea. The last one to let go. I think it's because I am so firmly rooted in the past. I am a packrat. So I remember.

I wish my friends shared this perspective, but I'm mostly glad they live him the present, looking forward. Still, the past is what we were. So this is for them.

September 11th, Part Two

I know I just made a post about ten minutes ago, but I felt the urge to blog again. And really, when I feel like I want to write, I just have to run with it, because I know I usually don't wanna.

A quote, an important one: We all start out with the same alphabet. We are all unique. Talent is not the most important thing --- discipline and dedication are. Craft can be learned but desire and longing are innate. Despite the demands of school and just being young, try to write SOMETHING every day --- a description, a captured emotion, a simile, a metaphor. Read, for crying out loud! A writer must read the way a ball player must go to the ballfield every day to practice. Everything is possible in this world of ours--- and so's publication.
- Robert Cormier, answering the question "What advice do you give to young people who want to be authors?"

And I don't even have a voice.

Despite the previous rant on essays, I didn't (completely) forget what day it is. I know. And it's sad. But at the same time, I don't know, because I was more than half my age at the time, and frankly, it's on the other side of the country. So while I do recognize the tragedy that occured on this date 8 years ago, I don't quite know what to feel.

One Single Life-Defining Event

What kind of English prompt is that?? I don't even remember most of my life. How do I determine which murky memory made me who I am?

He said to own it. Make it your own. Your event. Your voice. Oi. That's the most difficult thing to do. Especially for the satrical AP Lit & Composition teacher who we've had for all of two weeks...

A life-defining event. A life-defining event.

Really.

Discovery of music? Ok, lemme try.

I grew up around (amongst, in...) Classical music. Having begun piano lessons at the age of 4, by the time I was in 6th grade, I was well versed in the works of Bach, Betoven (...that's not right), and Chopin (kind of a lie, but of well). My only experiences of pop culture were a brief obsession with Britney Spears' "Hit Me Baby One More Time" and scornful listenings (need to edit) to the radio during field trips in the later grades of elementary school. It was in the 7th grade when...

Gr. Somehow I don't think it's right. He said to own it. I don't know what I own. I don't really know what makes me, me.

Own it, goshdarnit. In 725-775 words...

There are so many questions in the world. They fill your mind. It's this headache that I'm attributing to all the problems and stress and questions. I don't think that made sense...

But it's like it's always building on you - questions, and problems, and unhappiness and uncertainty. And it's like it's impossible to get rid of the burden.

Maybe part of it is thinking about it. Ignorance is bliss. Other cliches like that. I mean, maybe if you believe you don't have a problem...it'll just go away. Well, not literally, but the stress of it at least. Then you'll be clear headed for decision time.

When I think about teenage problems, the world narrows into the small scope of our school, my friends, and this tiny perspective. Then I think of the world ending in 2012, and the possibility of a divine predictor. It's mind boggling that there are so many different sized views, and somehow they all link together. Or maybe they're just random.

Honestly, I just want A's in all my classes this year. Is it too much to ask for?

Every time I come to make a post I forget.

Shopping annoys me. I know what everyone else wears. I just don't want to. I just keep on thinking of things wrong with it. It's not that I want to assert my individuality or anything. I'm just the kind of person who likes to wear baggy sweats and T-shirts and read on the couch. Or spend the afternoon just thinking. There's nothing wrong with that?