t h a w

The confusion, laziness, and incompetence of the last few days is coming back as biting failure... and it hurts.
And if you're pessimistic, you may see this as an end... but I try not to be. So in fact, it's really a beginning. A wake up call.

I'm going to work really hard again - it's not easy to forget that insane motivation I felt back in March and April. No more pity, no more regret... and maybe, just maybe, I'll make it through the last stretch to summer alive!


Just the beggining by Photosnap

f r o z e n

I'm suspended somewhere between excitement for Human Rights Week and dread for the French Oral Final, History Project Presentation, pep rally, and Spring Show.

These few days have been strange. I've been sleeping without my homework done (and getting up early to finish) because I simply can't concentrate! Catching my train of thought is like catching minnows with your fingers. It's nearly impossible! My brain is slippery. Now that's a pleasant image. You can probably hear the static going through my head, since all my thoughts are uncollected and completely raw. No additives, no preservatives, no high fructose corn syrup. This is it... wait, what is it? Ahhh. Point proven.

Anyways, I'm probably putting a pimple on the face of this blog I've worked hard to keep up with... but I just felt... stuck. Maybe after all this is over... maybe life can return to normal. Or as normal as it ever was.

A burst of color by Jenya88

break from r o u t i n e

/ happiness /
My heart feels so warm
Like sunlight touching my skin
In the cold winter

Today has been an inspiring day.

I spent my morning experimenting with watercolor, and ended up with an anti-war picture.

I went to orchestra and we played songs that I actually like. Albert's solo (in Salut D'Amour) makes me heart-wrenchingly happy. During the rests, I just look up to see him possessed by the music, growing and swelling inside of him.

Afterwards, I came home and finished watching Gandhi. It is a great film, Gandhi is an amazing man - sometimes too amazing to fathom. I hope someday I amount to 1/59492456 of what he was.

Then, since time is on my side for once, I took a nap, and then awoke to the prodding of the usual Castle Park crew. (Minus Jeri... come next time please?) We went to "The-park-behind-my-house", and that brought back another wave of memories that make me smile.

When I came home, my parents were watching Amadeus - a film about Mozart. I've played his pieces more times than I can count and never once have I known anything about his life. It's inspiring to connect what I'm playing to events in his life, to know that the notes that I play mean something special to someone.

Then I come back to the computer, and read, for once, happy blog posts. That's saying a lot!

I can't help but feel excited for the future. A final stretch before summer in which I have to keep my grades up, then summer, and then sophomore year! (And then bsapps... :] ) I made my schedule for next year last week - I had to fight with Mr. Emery to let him let me take all my classes! xD
Honors English, Honors History, H Algebra 2, H Integrated Science 2, French 2
Journalism & Howler/Creative Writing (depends if I get into Howler for the 2nd semester), Band, Speech and Debate, and Colorguard!

Smile by werol


Thank you world for letting me see another day on this Earth!
edit: *dies of cheesiness*

ode to P O P S I C L E S

{{ Katrina and I were talking about popsicles, it was originally her idea to blog about them :] ... }}

The popsicle juice dribbles down my chin, and almost instinctively I catch it with my tongue. Flavor dances on my tastebuds as I muse about the riddle on the popsicle stick, cradled for a moment in a peaceful popsicle-repose.

All of a sudden, the memories race each other back.

Whoosh. I'm five, it's Brookline. I'm rollerblading with Ruby when the familiar music-box melody of the ice cream truck crescendoes as it nears. Frantically we stumble towards our houses, ready to grovel at the feet of our parents and babysitters for a bit of change. Popsicle, popsicle...

Whoosh. I'm nine, it's Newton. I'm on the swings with Sylvie when the familiar music-box melody of the ice cream truck ricochets off the brick walls of our school. We jump off the swings and sprint to the truck, counting pennies and dimes in our pockets. Popsicle, popsicle...

Whoosh. I'm fourteen, it's California. I was posing for a Darfur rally picture with Katrina yesterday when the familiar music-box melody of the ice cream truck stirred dusty memories. Popsicle, popsicle... One glance at each other and we remembered what to do. Without hesitation we handed the crinkled dollar over to Mr. Ice Cream Man, and something childishly excited inside me awoke.

I realized that my childhood has been characterized by popsicles. Popsicles in times of joy, in anger, and in sadness. What is a better comfort these days than a little frozen block of sugar - a simple reminder of simple, happy times? Times of less pressure, of less drama, clear of the intricate, mind-crushing webs of thought that constantly cling to our consciences.

It's pleasantly simple.
The thought floods the mind and echoes its happy mantra:
popsicle... popsicle... popsicle...

Kiss from a Cherry Popsicle by Adorkable-3


...popsicle!

that s i n k i n g feeling

/ I walk barefoot where the water drowns the sand / with you no longer here to hold my hand / I let go / The ocean makes my swelling heart feel small / With the sounds it makes you won't hear it if iI call / I let go / There's a breeze in the air / There's a boat anchored out here / There's a calm under the waves as I choose to sink /

There are days when, other than a minimal amount of homework, I have literally nothing to do.
You might be thinking, oh that's nice...?
No. I sit there and rot. I feel like my life is wasting away.

These days, everyone important, or destined for an important place, seems to be busy all the time. When they're not under extreme academic stress from constant studying and AP classes, they're consumed in extensive extra-curriculars that take up hours every single day. They go off to Ivies, to Stanford, to UCLA.

Where am I in all this?

As the 'successful' people rise in life, I'm that hobo on the side of the street, caught between the parallel webs of helplessness and self-pity. I have to get out of my cardboard box more; I can't sleep on newspapers forever.

That's probably a bit of an exaggeration, but I still do feel like I'm not doing enough.
I want to do things, go places.
At the rate I'm going, the chances are unsettlingly slim.

In reality, those rising people probably work 10 times harder than I do. On the surface they appear to instantly succeed, like it's in their nature. But when they go home, what do they do? Study study study. Then again, maybe I'm just trying to comfort myself.

I guess success is something we have to slowly build up, through good habits, perseverance, blood and sweat, like a plant needs to be watered.

AMEERA90: Plant of Success

a s c e n s i o n

glass hearts ~ a haiku

balancing on pointe
as we pirouette through life
aching hearts take flight

lets fly away from this mess.


fly away by tiberiunedelea