Fedallah: Human’s Dominant Drive For Revenge

When confronted with a character like Fedallah, a reader has no choice but to agree with other characters, because Melville provides him with so little information. He is forced into believing the crew’s opinions that Fedallah is the devil, and not without reason. Fedallah (or Parsee) represents the evil in each person, the human desire for revenge, that driving force that urges one on to achieve what he so desperately wishes for. Society hides this force, tucks it away in their jackets so no one can see it until they catch a glimpse of their goal. It is here that this power slips out and is seen for the first time, as is Fedallah in The First Lowering.
Ishmael and Queequeg, while on their way to the Pequod to board, all set to go whaling, they get themselves into a curious situation: “‘There are some sailors running ahead there, if I see right,’said [Ishmael] to Queequeg…” (122) and later, Ishmael’s questioning tone transfers itself to the reader: “‘Those sailors we saw, Queequeg, where can they have gone to?’” (123). Like the other crewmates, an observer catches traces of that hideous idea that Parsee represents, the compelling urge to take vengeance. In others, one can hear the “cough” (245) of the underlying desire, but desire never reveals itself until it is close to its goal, as Fedallah does, when the first whale is sighted.
“But at this critical instant, a sudden exclamation was heard that took every eye from the whale. With a start all glared at dark Ahab, who was surrounded by five dusky phantoms that seemed fresh formed out of air.” (272) Fedallah appears at the first sign of a whale, hoping, like Ahab, that it is the infamous Moby-Dick. “Phantom” was the perfect word for Melville to use in this passage. According to Merriam-Webster Online, the definition for the word is, “something existing in appearance only,” and since Parsee shows no emotion, even when he knows his life will end for Ahab, -- “‘Though it will come to the last, I shall still go before thee thy pilot.’” (630)-- one can confirm that spirit who was “fresh formed out of air,” (272) sufficiently describes him.
Our phantom, Fedallah, is seen always with Ahab, and Ahab always with him, another way that the reader can deduce that Fedallah is the goading on that Ahab needs to avenge the death of his leg, and possibly his soul: “‘…whole oceans away, from that young girl-wife I wedded past fifty, and sailed for Cape Horn the next day, leaving but one dent in my marriage pillow…” (686) Ahab’s heartbreaking tone in this passage allows the reader to assume that Ahab would not the person he so deeply cares about, unless the ever-present, miniature Fedallah on his shoulder constantly reminds of the leg he lost, and how intensely he wants revenge. One could almost argue that Fedallah was present in the marriage bed as well.
If not in Ahab’s marriage bed, at least on the bedside table, for Fedallah is omnipresent, on the ship as well. Where Ahab is, Fedallah is sure to be: “‘Is your Captain crazy?’ whispering Fedallah. But Fedallah, putting a finger on his lip, slid over the bulwarks to take the boat’s steering oar, and Ahab…” (562) and “Started from his slumbers, Ahab, face to face saw the Parsee; and hooped round by the gloom of the night they seemed the last men in a flooded world.” (629) are prime examples of their connection.
Consistent with Fedallah’s prophecy, he dies before Ahab, reminding the reader of their connection once again. This represents the death of human desire and of the human himself, because the two must die together, as one being. Since Fedallah is dead, and both parts of his prediction have been fulfilled, Ahab is driven by the knowledge that he is about to die. His thinking, which is reinforced by the epistrophe in this quotation-- “‘Towards thee I roll, thou all destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee.’”-- follows a train of thought such as, “If I’m going to die, why not die fighting? At least if I fight, I have a chance at winning.”
Some form of Parsee exists in every person, be it the cartoon devil on his shoulder or her naughty best friend. Both encourage them to drive themselves to achieve their ambitions, even if it means taking someone else down with you. In the world, there are two types of people who exist: criminals and the rest of society. Struggles in life consist of arguing with the Fedallahs, the passion that drives one to extremes, and taking the advice of the Starbucks, the conscience that struggles against getting sucked under by the vortex of the sinking ship. One can reason that the criminals are the ones who side with their Fedallahs, with no regard to their Starbucks, and the rest of society are the ones who side with their Starbucks, with no regard to their Fedallahs.

Based on Moby Dick

Five-Finger Discounts

In all my one year working in retail, I have never witnessed someone shoplift before. I have tailed suspicious people, helped to call in suspicious people, found things that have been stored away for stealing later, but never have I witnessed someone in the act... until tonight.
This evening, at E.B. I was working peacefully and folding shirts, as was my business. We had two customers in the store, both "Koreans", or so they said, and they were rather nice. They didn't appear to speak much English and asked the price on everything. Now, being the nice, non-racist associate that I am, I rang the first woman up. Nothing fishy, right? Well, these ladies were headed toward the door, and I'm in the middle of the store. When they walked past me, I figured, Well, they're probably going to look around some more, because the second lady had a sweater in her hand still. The next time I turned around, the ladies were opening the doors and the second woman had her hand in her relatively large purse, and the sweater was nowhere in sight.
I knew I sould have stopped them, but I hadn't actually seen the woman put the sweater in her purse so if I had stopped her, I couldn't say anything because I couldn't prove that she took anything. I told my manager really fast and she had me get the liscense number so we could report her to mall security. I really hate shoplifters... We get trained in the initiation videos on how to deal with them and keep them from stealing, but you never think that it's going to happen to you. And then it does, and you feel like crap.

How To Deal

When dealing with a stressful situation, people often refer to the "flight or fight" response. Depending on the situation, I usually prefer the flight.

Step one: Remove yourself from the situation.

Step two: Listen to some music that will help calm you down. (For me, this is usually angry music. It helps me to realize that there are a lot worse things to get angry about... and then there are other times where it just makes me angrier.)

Step three: After the cooling off process, ponder your problem.

Step four: Think about how you can handle the situation to make it better.

Step five: Put whatever plan you had just concocted into effect.


Now that I am at my father's house, I am finding it very difficult to follow these five steps. Usually they help, but now they just aren't working. I pray for God to give me the strength I need to get through this, as he's already provided me with a companion to help deal.

Hating

You know what I hate? I hate breaking up. I hate breaking up for stupid reasons. I hate breaking up for stupid reasons that make absolutely no sense. If S.H. had told me at the beginning of the relationship that he wasn't ready for a girlfriend, then yeah, I would submit more easily. If we had started dating two months earlier, (like he wanted to, but we didn't because I was still hung up on C.R.) then he had broken up with me within the first month, I would be happier. But the reason that I am still basically upset about this is because it takes me roughly six months to find another boyfriend after my last relationship makes a break. Homecoming is in October. That is less than three months from now. How am I supposed to find a date by then?!? I got it! I'll put out an ad!! Not.
Best SELF is now over and I cried on the last day. No, not because I was overflowing with emotion. No, I cried because I didn't know what I had done wrong to make the kids I taught hate me so much. I cried because they thought that I had no authority because it was my first year and I was just an assistant. And the worst of it? I cried in front of my "worst nightmare" students.
I hate the fact that I still have homework and that I'm leaving for my father's house on Thursday. I can't stand to live in the same house with all his kids, and not to mention the in-laws who are coming. They don't treat me like their grandchild, and they don't treat my little brother and sister like their grandchildren. It's like their only relatives in that house are B.A. and M.R. Majority rules and I say, as well as my father, that they are not welcome in that house. Alas, it is not my house and therefore not my place. I'll just stay locked in my room when I'm home and leave the house when I'm not. Take my homework elsewhere to do. Maybe to Noon Moon so I don't have to put up with P.H's dysfunctional side.
I might think of other things to hate later, but right now, life is pretty good. It's just my sucky personality.

Becoming Antisocial

It isn't working. The day I posted last, I had no idea that something would happen to me that would give me something to write about. I broke the news to my mother the next morning. I talked to one of my friends about it that night and he said to "give him some space, then slowly start talking to him. Maybe, just maybe, he'll realize how much he misses me and come back."
Now, you've probably guessed it... Spencer broke up with me, and I am feeling extremely sorry for myself. I had resolved not to pick up the phone, or talk to my friends on the internet, just disappear for awhile until school started, get my homework done, travel a little, pay off my car. And the only people who would know what had happened to me are the one's I live with and the people I work with. My friends are not co-operating. I've gotten 2 instant messages and three or four phone calls since. Unfortunately, none of them were from the person I wanted to phone, and none contained the grovelling that I wanted to hear. I guess I should consider myself lucky though; at least my friends care enough about me to not let me go that far. So now I am here, alone with my goals and dog, and paying off a car.

I Wish I Was Old Enough To Drink More Than Thera-Flu

I feel relatively neglected by my friends. My throat is relatively sore and has been for a week or so. My ears are relatively plugged with some substance from my innards that isn't earwax. I still have half of two assignments to finish and am relatively bored with it. I've been drinking nothing but apple juice and Thera-Flu which tastes relatively like lemon juice in water and I'm relatively hot in my shorts and t-shirt.
I tried calling S.H. today. When he didn't answer, I called R.M, twice. I felt like bragging that I finished Jane Eyre before he did (he has an air that makes him appear that he thinks himself better than everyone else). He didn't answer either. So I'm feeling somewhat lacromose and woebegone because my friends don't want to talk to me, and my boyfriend just might want to break up with me (he hasn't called and we haven't seen each other for so long. He doesn't seem to care anymore), and I've been sick for the past two days. I wish I was 21 so I could go out and have a good drink, but I don't think the alcohol would mix too well in my system with the Thera-Flu.

Building Blocks

Building blocks have been stacked to make metropolises through my head. The three-year-old that constructed my headspace city was awfully smart, because I can't seem to wander to the other side and find my ideas. I'm kind of lost and there are no city buses or trains or taxis. I have no way out except to keep walking straight, and maybe, just maybe, an earthquake will come along and knock my imaginary city down. Or I'll reach the other side. Anyways, the point is, I've hit a writer's block, again, and there will hopefully be more posts next week.

Snot, Mucus, Mucus Membranes, Brains?

Uhh, allergy season has come to kill me. All the pollen is floating about, people are mowing their dead lawns, and my hay fever and allergies are acting up. Poor S.H. He saw the worst part of me yesterday when it started at the Hal Ketchem concert. I had to blow my nose every five minutes (Warning: this is not an exaggeration). Well, I woke up this morning and felt like my head weighed five pounds more than it usually does. I debated calling in sick, but I'm really not that kind of person. So I toughed it out at work, again, blowing my nose every five minutes.
And afterwards, I sat pondering the color and texture of snot. I began to contemplate that maybe the phrase, "Blowing your brains out," was true. I mean, sentiments like that have to come from somewhere. And I notice that as the day goes on, I am having a harder and harder time thinking and speaking. Then it occured to me; maybe all the poundage of snot that I'm clearing out of my sinuses is actually my brain melting in the heat and dripping out my nose.

Girl's State!

Okay, I admit that most of it wasn't fun. I had a good time campaigning for the first day or two but after that, the only things to really look forward to were graduation and daily meals. I ran for many different offices and lost every single one of them, putting me into the wonderful Gold House of Reps. We started passing bills the first day! I think that we even passed more than the Winners House of Reps. Before we knew it, we were eating our last dinner on the college campus and the girls from the city of Clark were performing their song and walking across the stage to recieve their certificate from Mona. That night, we had a fun party, including pizza, movies, and a ton of junk food! Yum yum!

Two Days Ago

Two days ago, I found out that I had been cheated on. I had ideas along those lines when he was home, but I didn't say anything because the last time I had talked to him that week was the Saturday when I had a great time with my new boyfriend (back when he wasn't my boyfriend yet. I really couldn't say for sure, but it was the only explanation that I could think of for his dog tags being at her house. But I couldn't prove it.
And then, two days ago, someone who used to be my best friend told me something that tipped me off, said that it was his business to tell me. I asked C.G, or more like told him, "She's pregnant, isn't she." He nodded, confirming my belief that when she called me a whore, she was really just the pot calling the kettle black.
When I returned home, I was so angry. I picked up the phone, dialed his number, and listened to his God-forsaken voice tell me that he was pretty busy and that I should leave a message. Yeah right.
I'd like to think that I was only affected because getting cheated on hurts. It may be that in some small way, I still cared for him. I was almost to the point when I didn't care that he screwed me over. Didn't care that he had, in some small way, cheated... and then I talked to him today.
"When, after you got back, did you start sleeping with her again?"
"Respectively, that's none of your business," he replied, "but I'll tell you because I feel I owe you that much. About two or three days."
Mmm, nice.
"How did you find out anyways?"
"Well, I wouldn't have if a friend hadn't said something to help me figure it out on my own. The reason that I've been trying to call you the past couple of days is to request that you take my number out of your cell phone and never call me again."
"Ouch."
"But I don't think that I'll do that because I'm not as angry as I was. Are you going to marry her?"
"I don't know. We've talked about it but the fact remains that she's very young, and I'm too young, and I still have a job to do." He proceeded to kiss my ass so much after that so much that I can still feel his lips there. I could tell he was trying to get back into my good graces. Then he asked the question that I didn't want him to ask, and didn't know how to answer.
"Why do you care anyways? You have a boyfriend."
I don't know, but I shouldn't.
"Why were you so surprised when I told you that I had another boyfriend?"
"I didn't mean to come off that way. You shouldn't think worse of yourself just because of what I did to you. You're still a princess in my eyes."
"Don't call me that." The other night S.H. tried calling me that and I said the same thing to him, just because that's what he used to call me.
"Okay... look, before things end on a bad note, just let me tell you I still want to talk to you and be your friend, so I'll call you on one of your days off because my mom is on the other line." Pause pause pause. His mother never liked me.
"Well, I'm off everyday this week except for Tuesday, but I won't be around Friday."
"Okay, well, I'll call you sometime this week then."
Whatever, that's what you said shortly before my birthday. Oh well, S.H. is better than you anyways. He might want to get into my pants, but he's a lot more respectful than you and cares about my boundaries more than you, which is why I love him. Maybe.
"Okay, bye."
"Mmm bye."
Ten minutes later: "S.H, don't ever cheat on me."

I'm Trying To Forget That I'm Addicted To You

I admit, I am an addict.


McDonald's fries - People say that these are so soggy with grease and have layers upon layers of salt on them, but I think that they are delicious.

Music - Depending on my mood, I love all kinds of music. It provides the soundtrack to my life. When I get home, I turn on the radio instead of the T.V. It keeps me company.

Raspberry Buttercreams from See's Candy Store - Chocolate. 'Nuff said.

Really Good Books, Sometimes Classics - Some people where I live wouldn't know what kind of experience I was talking about when I described the feeling of climbing into my bed with a book that I get caught up in reading. Oftentimes, those nights end as far into the night as I can manage to stay awake, or early in the morning. My mother is the same way.

Talking On The Phone - This one is kind of inevitable, seeing as I am conducting something similar to a long distance relationship with my boyfriend. Without the phone, we wouldn't survive as a couple as neither one of us drives yet.

Laughing - They say that laughter is the best medicine and that it keeps you healthy. If this is true, then my friends and I have to be the healthiest people on the planet. My laughter is contagious and all one has to do to get me to laugh is say something so random, it's funny.

The Country of France - I am currently in the process of concluding my fourth semester of French at my high school. I love the language and having been to France in the summer of 2005, I want to live there and teach English as a second language. My two grandmothers are afraid that I'll move over there, meet a sexy French man, get married and never return. My mother, on the other hand, is all too excited that she'll have a killer vacation spot when she gets sick of her life in the States.

Moulin Rouge - This movie was not only based in France, but also used some non-fictional characters in the making, including (but not limited to): Toulouse-Lautrec, Nini Legs-In-The-Air, Môme Fromage (The Cheese Kid (I think that's how it's spelled)), and Charles Zidler (known as Harold Zidler in the movie). The elephant that Satine conducted all of her love affairs in also existed, although it served as an opium den as well as a smaller dance floor. Fictional it may be, along with many of it's components, I absolutely adore this film.

Snowboarding - Yes, I accept the fact that this is a winter sport and it is now May. However, I just can't put my snowboard away yet. I'm not ready for summer to come. This explains why I haven't yet taken my two quilts off of my bed yet and instead, sleep with the window open.

And Last But Maybe Not Least:
Blogging - Instead of pouring my heart out in a journal, I keep this blog, remaining fairly close to anonymous, except for those who I gave the URL to. This allows me to vent my frustrations with no chance of my father finding it and knowing who I am.

A Situation So Much Worse Than Mine

I was reading a blog earlier this evening, and about two paragraphs down, I began to realize that this woman's life is much worse than mine. I might moan and groan about how much I hate my father, and how I'm never going back, just because of all the little trivialities and wrongs that have been done to me. I swear that I don't care what he thinks and I don't care what happens; bring it on. I remember one time, in eighth grade, he got angry with me on the car ride back to Mom's. He couldn't control his anger (somewhat ironic because two years before this occurance, he was strongly convinced that I needed anger management classes). He pulled the car over on the side of the road and started yelling at me that I wasn't paying him the respect he deserved. I don't know what respect he assumed that was because, according to my belief system, respect is earned and he had done nothing to earn the respect he claimed I owed. I remember telling him my belief (not the second part) and then he unbuckled his seat-belt and came storming over to my side of the car. If I had been smarter, I would have locked the door. He wrenched open my door and threw the history book that I was using to do my homework into the back and chucked the soda I had been drinking out into the empty field behind him, threatening to whip me with a belt. When he was back in the car, just sitting there yelling at me, I started thinking that the nearest town wasn't that far away and I could just walk there and call my mom to come pick me up. I told him this and unbuckled my seat belt, reaching for the door handle. He grabbed the metal part of the belt, keeping me in my place as he accelerated, still yelling at me, and driving on the side of the road. He scared me so much that day, and although I've talked about it numerous times with a few different people, I still can't get over it.
When I learned that he had threatened my sister (well, step-sister) with an aluminum baseball bat, telling her that if she and her friends weren't quiet, he would make it as red as her cherry-colored sweatshirt, I freaked out and talked to B.A, his wife and she claimed that it was an analogy that he shouldn't have drawn. I remember yelling at her, telling her that she was stupid and recounting the story that only my mother knew about at the time. She called my father in and made me retell it, mainly focusing on what he said to M.R. I don't think she ever really believed me about what happened in the car that day. I don't think anyone but my mother ever will.
Then there are the days that we get together and have a great time. I hate these days the most because they give me the illusion that my dad isn't a bad guy. He's the man that I always had fun with as a little girl, the one who got me a cat before I developed an allergy. The one who picked me up after-school every other Friday, just to spend the weekend with me. The one who took me to awesome places where we had pictures taken of the two of us, me looking happier than ever. The one that I went on bike rides with who never claimed to not have enough money or time to come see me. If I knew that dad now, I would want to make an effort. But I don't, and hence the funeral of that character.

Addressing Different Issues

Firstly, I successfully accomplished giving blood for the third time today, something that I have feared doing for the longest time because I can't stand the thought of having needles or any other foreign object inserted into my skin. However, the P.S. Blood Clinic employees made it easy and worthwhile. They always greet you with some kind of joke, or ask you about your life. These are people who have donated before and know how nerve-racking it can be. I found out that my blood type is O positive and knowing that my mother's is O negative, I want to find out what kind of blood my father has, just for biology's sake. Things like blood typing interest me.
So here I sit, typing this post, awaiting the next big event: my birthday, which just happens to be this Saturday. I really don't want to be getting older. I know that it's inevitable, but I just wish I could delay my aging and stay this age for a little while. This year's been fun, and the drama level has gone through a dramatic decreases since the time that I was fifteen. To celebrate, after S.H. gets home from Arizona and I return from K.K.O.S. we'll be going paintballing.
Another thing I must address is the reason why I use my friends' and family members' initials instead of their real names. I know that whatever sense of anonymity that I think I have would go down the drain if I revealed the people I associated with. I also try to respect the privacy of my friends, and I find that the most accurate and least confusing way to do this is through using their initials, because they can't just be left out of my life.

Too Much, Too Soon... Maybe

I think that I got more than what I bargained for in agreeing to be S.H.'s girlfriend. We have these insane discussions in which we talk about nothing in particular, and yet everything at the same time. Never having had a girlfriend previously, S.H. is rather inexperienced in anything that has to do with the female kind, his knowledge limited to the immature sex jokes that his hormomal teenage guy friends tell him. Ha ha, not that I have much to go on either.
The first time he held a conversation with someone that went over an hour was towards the middle of March, the individual with whom he was speaking being me. I think the only reasons why our conversations last so long are because we ask the other questions or tell each other secrets; it's kind of like a game of truth or dare, the difference being there exists no dare option. Today, the conversation was cut short on account of a babysitting job that I had set yesterday. But all it consisted of was accounting the things that we have never done, and want to do. Some things about him surprise me; some things about me surprise him. Having been screwed over many a time, I try to keep my guard up, a relatively pointless action on my part, mainly because he hasn't given me a reason not to trust him. But try as I might to defend myself, he often takes me by surprise, saying things that you wouldn't expect to hear from a typical teenage guy. These things are really cheesy, but maybe it's the level of corniness that gets past my onion-like layers.
Even though it's a wonderful way to get to know someone else, I often find myself thinking about the one other time that I played this game of Truth with someone else, someone whose answers were more colorful, sweet, and insightful, and as much as I try, I can't forget the nights when I talked until midnight or later. I must give props to S.H. though. I don't think that he knows what he's in for when he meets my extended family, and although he may not be a Marine, I know he's strong enough to face my family, and yet mellow enough to not attempt controlling me.

Odd Dreams

I honestly don't know what brings these things into my head at night, but sometimes I have these really psychotic dreams. Here's one from the other night, and I guess what the strangest thing was, was my reaction. I would have never laughed.

Picture: a house near a street with a lot of neighbors, and with enough room to have many trees as well as a workshop next to the house. The night that I was there, there was a party going on. We aren't talking about a teenage drinking party where the music is loud and the neighbors call the police within the first hour. No, the party that I was at included mostly adults, a few young children and a witch, a bit like a July barbecue. I just happened to be sitting next to the witch on the couch and she started telling me that she liked using rocket fireworks instead of the old fashioned brooms. She took one out of her jacket/cloak, and handed it to me, explaining that, in order to use it, you have to hit the pointy end on the ground, then flip it over and hit the other end on the ground as the rocket is expanding. So I took this firework outside and did what she said, and just as she promised, it worked. Immediately after the rocket was out of sight, the mother of the household let out the family puppy, something that looked kind of like a beagle, only it was black. The beagle and I were just sitting there on the porch, looking kind of pathetic, because I didn't know anyone and he was just a little puppy, waiting to be let inside. Neither of us was making any noise but the door to the shop behind me opened and this boy stood there, letting the dog in, and silently, inviting me in, too. So I pick myself up and go into the shop, noticing first the concrete floor, and second all the old fashioned knives that looked like they could have been from the late nineteenth, early twentieth centuries. I asked the boy, "What's with the knives?" He told me that he loves old things like that, and hates to see them die out, so he makes them and collects them. It was then that I noticed all the equipment and tools in the room.

Time warp: I'm in the same shop, sitting on the couch on the far end with the little black puppy. The witch had given me another rocket, which I held on my lap. The neighborhood is burning down; every house is on fire, including the one that I started in. The shop is the only fire-proof building nearby. The boy comes bursting through the door, and I calmly shut it behind him. He yells at me, "What are you doing?!? Now my family can't get in and they are all going to die in the fire!" And you know what I did? I laughed. I don't know why, and I didn't know the family or the boy. I had no clue who they were, and yet I laughed at the thought of their skins burning off.

I think that there is something incredibly wrong with me.

Letters From My Ideal Vacation Spot

No, it's not Mexico. It's not the Caribbean. My little vacation spot doesn't even show up in the guide books. It's a little town called Donzère, existing cozily next to the Rhône river, in the west region of France. It's the kind of town that my friend would call a sneeze town (sneeze and you miss it). It's a beautiful place, with many things to see if you look hard enough. Everybody knows everybody to the point that you could walk down the street and say "Bonjour!" to everyone. I love places like this. I came across this little nook in the world during a trip to France last summer. I stayed with a French family for a week and got to know them all quite well. Two of my host sisters spoke English, as did the mother. The one that I knew best did not, of course, and so whatever we did, she would always ask the English word for it. When we played games, she would say "Encore? Qu'est-ce que le mot en anglais? and I would reply, telling her that it was "again." After receiving a letter from her towards the end of last summer, I tried to reply, but I guess my letter didn't get to her. Or her reply didn't get to me. Whatever the case, I tried to write again, through her sister's email, and when she didn't respond, I wrote another letter. The last letter went out about two weeks ago, and today, as I was getting the mail, I pulled a red, blue, and white striped envelope from the 3" by 3" mailbox. In seeing the stamp and the PAR AVION air mail sticker in the margin, I knew right away who it was from. I got updates on F.D.'s family and she asked me to come visit her this summer. I don't think that I can raise enough money by the time August rolls around, but I can certainly try. Who knows, peut-être ça va avec mes parents.

Something I Want To Say, But Probably Will Never Say Aloud

Once upon a time, when he wasn't a inconsiderate jerk, C.R. told me that he would be the biggest mistake I would ever make, or the best lesson I ever learned. As much as I hate to admit this, he was right. He was the best lesson I ever learned. I think that what sparked this thought was when I was telling him off, telling him all the things that he did wrong, telling him at a near whisper that I wanted more respect, telling him all the things that I wanted to say, and yet feeling like he wasn't listening to anything I was saying.
Well, I never really thought about that first comment about the best lesson, or the worst mistake. It registered to me that is what he was saying, but I brushed it off as just something that he didn't mean. Now that I think about it though, I realize that he was right. His actions towards me have taught me never to compromise my romantic ideals, and the respect that I not only demand, but deserve, for anyone. I know that my current boyfriend will treat me with the utmost respect, because he does the same for his mom. This goes for my father as well. He never really has respected my boundaries and for that, I don't see him.
C.R. If you're reading this (and I don't think you are, as you don't like the internet and don't know the blog address), I just want to say thank you for the lesson, because I know that if you had treated me well, I would have never learned it.

P.S. Uncle Dan and Grandma, I wanted to apologize for the uncensored post from a couple weeks ago. I was having a horrible day and I never really apologized. I think that's why you stopped reading for a few weeks. Thanks for reading guys.

P.P.S. I don't want to talk about this one, B.L. I love you a ton, but I promise this is the last you'll hear about him.

Screenplay Writing, Directing, Acting, Filming, Editing, and Producing

Filming for my music video began today. The song is Nickelback's Photograph. About a week ago, I started thinking about what I could do for my video project in Mr. MC. class. This video isn't really even close to being school related, but he said I film it anyways. Well, when I began to think about this project, I had a few good ideas, but most of them were crap. Now, I have all my lyrics and all my scenes written down so that I know exactly what and when I'm filming. The filming started tonight and my only thought on the matter is that it is very difficult to make a movie when you are the only one doing everything for that particular scene. Man, I had to move all the furniture out of my room... well, into a corner, at least. I had to queue the music, film, and act, all at the same time! Difficult! But I'm almost done for tonight. I have one more scene to film, but I'm going to have T.L. help me do it, (or at least watch the camera). It's going to be an awesome video, and if I can figure out how to post it here, I'll do it.

Déja Vu

This evening, I witnessed a little girl, standing in her driveway, saying goodbye to her father. Daddy carried her down the sidewalk and set her on her feet in the driveway, promising that he'd see her later. "Maybe tomorrow," he said. He rolled down the window of the little black truck that he was driving and pulls out of the driveway. The young girl broke her position of standing back and waving to run up to the driver's side door. She held onto the window and jumped up and down so Dad would listen to her. "Well, I can come back later tonight if you want." Upon hearing these words, the girl became excited once again and went back to standing and waving in her driveway. He pulled away, glancing back at the little girl multiple times in his rear view mirror as he left. All the motion leaves the girl as she does the same, including the animated wave of her hand. As the pick-up rounds the corner, out of the little girl's sight, she waved one last feeble wave, then turned around to go back inside.
Whether these two characters knew it or not, they had just re-enacted a dream, a nightmare that consumed me as a child. In the dream, however, I was the little girl and instead of happily waving, I screamed and cried, begging him not to leave with my grandma, and he was a heartless father who never said anything, never returned. I look at myself today, and the irony of what I see compared to that dream fails to escape me.
The cynic in me knows that when this girl grows up, her father will fall from that pedestal that she has him on, letting her down hard like mine did. Their relationship shows a lot of similarities to that of mine with my father, especially when I was that age. I've come to expect a lot less of him than I did then. And yet there's another part of me that has hope for the two. I guess that is the small side of me that hopes that my father will someday change.
That black pick-up never returned this evening.

Mail Time!

For those of you who have kids who are of a young age, you might recognize the "Mail Time" song if someone was humming the tune. The majority of my friends have little brothers and sisters who watch Blues Clues, as do I. This song literally causes happiness in everyone at getting the mail, making us believe that, today, there might be something good for us. Why else would my little cousins K.Z. and J.Z. argue about who brings the mail into the house? As a teenager, I rarely get anything exciting in the mail. For the past three months, I have been receiving letters from a not-so-special someone that I freaked out about (in a good way of course). Now all I get is the occasional college solicitation and card from Grandpa and Grandma (not that they aren't special).
So you can imagine my surprise at finding the little note in our inbox today, stating that I had a package to pick up. Hmm... wonder who it's from. Seeing as it's close to Easter, I have a pretty good guess. Besides the fact, B.A. called the other day to get my new address so she could send it to me. Yes ma'am, that's right. It was from my father. The box contained all sorts of goodies as well as a card saying that they couldn't wait to see me, that they missed me, and other cliched phrases. Oh yeah, and they love me. As I sat on the bus reading this card, I thought to myself, Ha! If they loved me, heck, if they knew me, they would know that I couln't be bribed. Pretty close to repulsion, I set the card back in the box, and don't plan to read it again. I don't really even want the goodies. I mean, breath freshener? Are they trying to tell me something?
And you would think that if they plan to send me a package, they would send my Christmas gift, too. No such luck. They still hoard it at their house, holding it over my head, trying to make me jump to get it. Sorry guys. If you aren't willing to give it, then I don't want it.

Painting in Words

I have never possessed fantastic drawing abilities. When I was younger, my mother and I took drives with our pencils and notepads, looking for a good spot to draw. One day, we stopped at the river and she came back with an excellent piece of art, whereas I came back with a bunch of circular markings that held little resemblance to the sandbar that I was attempting to capture on paper.
The other day, I sat on the bus, not really paying attention to anything, when this man (about 20-30) got on. Nothing new, right? This young man plopped himself down on the seat and immediately removed some charcoal and a notebook, as well as various other papers. Shuffling his papers until he found the one he wanted, he flipped to an empty page and promptly started to draw the figure from the loose page he was studying. His drawings, although they were of cartoon characters, were of amazing quality; the man had skills. He continued this process of selecting a loose page and drawing for the remainder of the trip, which was about a half hour long. In that half hour, this guy managed to crank out five to ten drawings.
And as I was sitting there thinking that the man could become a cartoonist, or an animator, it hit me: this man shows the world what he sees through his drawings and cartoons. He illustrates his surroundings to show others his view from the looking glass and, like him, I do the same thing with my writing. Pictures may be worth a thousand words, but words can do the same as a picture. I try hard to vividly describe my world to the people who read my writing. Another thought that came to mind was the fact that, the possibilty and chance of this man becoming an artist (be it a graphic artist, a video game artist, a painter, or a cartoonist), I have the same potential to become a writer.

Sweet Revenge

I feel really good about myself. In a few simple words, my self-esteem was raised from a level zero, to a level ninety-five on a scale of one to one hundred.
When C.R. skipped out on a meeting for me to explain my anger with him, I was pissed. I decided not to give him another chance... ever. And, oh, how ironic, I saw him at the mall on the way home. Shocking! Oh, and guess who he was with? His prostitute of an ex-girlfriend! Disturbing!
So, my brain jumped to the fight or flight response that a person experiences when they're nervous and at first I thought I wanted to hide, so I ran into the nearest bookstore; someplace that his Neanderthal brain couldn't possibly handle. Then I think, Wait a minute... Why am I hiding from him? He should be hiding from me. That being thought, I turned around and walked right back out and through the double doors marking the exit to the mall. He followed, about a minute behind. I'm headed over to Target, and then another thought occurred to me: I still have his guitar pick, and I really don't want to keep anything of his. Again, I turned around and walked right back to him.
Taking the guitar pick from my hand, he asked, "Did you buy this, or is it from a long time ago?" I replied with my own version of the latter.
He further explained that he didn't know whether he was supposed to meet me or whether I was going to call him when I specifically told him that I needed to talk to him in person.
When I turned to walk away without any explanation, he called after me. "Are you going to talk to me or what?" Without a hitch, I whirled on him and replied, "Yeah, I'll talk to you... when I feel like it. And right now I just don't feel like it."
Since that conversation, I suspect that it was him who left two blank messages on my answering machine.

Breakfast at the Bakery

I knew it was going to go badly... I had a premonition that things weren't going to go smoothly from the moment I got to his house. Knock, knock, knock. Three hard taps and no answer. Knock, knock, knock. Gone again. Having aquired blisters on my feet from the shoes that I haven't broken in yet, I slipped them off and walked around downtown for about a half an hour, checking back chez lui to see if he'd returned yet. Finding the door open, I trudge up the front walk, shoes in hand. Seeing me, C.R. gets off the couch and meets me at the door with a hug. "Did you go to the wrong place?" he asked. I told him that I had been looking for him when I didn't find him at his house. So we take off to a little bakery down the street after he grabs his new phone, something that he's "supposed to have with him at all times" so the military can track where he is, whether the phone is on or off. He didn't turn it off for me though. No, instead it beeped all the way to the bakery and through breakfast. At one point, he got a text message that said, "We're going to Mount Baker. Wanna come? Too bad, you don't have a choice," followed by a time that the sender would pick him up. After we were through with breakfast, his damned phone rang again. This time, it was his buddy, Robert, calling to tell him that he was at his house, waiting to play video games. C.R. pays, and we take off once again, back to his house. After we arrived, C.R. plops down onto the couch, and doesn't acknowledge me again. C. and R. beat the game and C.R.'s family comes home. They play for about a half hour, and his slutty ex-girlfriend shows up. Turns out that she was the mystery person who had texted him at breakfast. Great.
Flashback: He'd been looking for his dogtags all morning.
Out of the blue, he asks her if she has them. Her reply? "Yes."
She waited there in the doorway for about fifteen minutes until he starts to get ready to go. The two of us were in the process of making plans to go to dinner with his brother and I tried to get his attention to have him call me with the verdict. No such luck. He thought that it was her talking and says, "Okay, we're going!" Everything just finally hit me, causing me to realize that I mean nothing to him. Needless to say, I opened the door, calmly. Walked out, calmly. Closed the door, calmly. Walked down the sidewalk, calmly. And once I was off his property, I calmly kicked off my shoes and ran. He never followed me.

9:45 - I grab my keys and walk out of my house, shutting the door gently behind me, as not to wake the sleeping bears again. I left a note on the refrigerator, stating where I was going and the approximate time of return. There's enough info there to keep Mom from freaking.
9:59 - I arrive at the predetermined destination, hoping to find him there. His sleeping habits were horrible before he left and I can only hope that he changed while he was away. Feeling my hands tremble, I mount the stairs and deliver a hard knock to the wooden door, saying a silent prayer that he would be there, opening it with a hug for a greeting. I haven't seen him for three months, so I'm allowed to be nervous.
10:00 - Both doors to the duplex slowly swing open, neither one revealing the face that my eyes are longing to see. K.N, from behind door B, waves good morning as I ask if C.R. is there. His friend, peering at me with bloodshot eyes from behind door A, glances behind him and turns back to me. "He's sleeping," he replies. Requesting that he tell C.R. that I stopped by, I turn my back and head back the way I came, looking back every so often to see if he's following me, like I so desperately want him to.
10:15 - I arrive back at my own home, unlock the door, and push it open to find my mother folding clothes at the table, seemingly waiting for me. She hold's the opinion that he's not good enough for me. But then, in her eyes, what guy is? "Well?" she asks. Nothing, I think, but I don't want to give her the satisfaction of being right. I was met with nothing last night when we stopped too. But I so intently want her to be wrong about him, so I act like everything's fine. When asked if he was there, I know she already knows the answer. I leave a message for him, inquiring whether we still have a date scheduled tonight (although I know he doesn't check his messages. Damn him.
1:00 - My shoes have been purchased and I take them to show Mom and her co-workers before catching the next bus home. These shoes are the ones I'll wear tonight, if he ever calls me back.
1:45 - SKAT drops me off a block away from his house. I approach slowly, feeling the wobbles start again in my hands and legs. Why am I so nervous? Six short knocks later, and nobody has answered. Closed eyes and a deep breath. Today is your last chance, C.R. You had better prove that you are worth my time.
2:00 - I arrive at my house again, only to check the messages and find none from him. On Sunday when he called me, we agreed that today would be the day that we go on our date. I won't wait for him after this.

Dearest Daddy Doesn't Desire Dinner

Today was a irritable day. I rolled out of bed this morning, taking my quilt with me, which really wasn't a bad way to start off the morning. I showered and dressed, hoping to catch the next city bus downtown but I was running a little late, and didn't make it. So, I'm stuck hoofing it through the rain, down to Woodfest to get some used books. For twenty-five cents apiece, who could resist? Luckily, just as I was turning the corner, SKAT was picking up passengers at the end of the next street, and heading my way. Not only that, but there was a bus stop less than fifty meters away. So I take off at a dead sprint, racing the bus like my life depended on it. I mean, I was drowning in the torrential rain as it was. The merciful bus driver pulled up along the curb, recognizing a poor teenage girl who looked like someone had thrown water at her.
So I returned my CD at Target and managed to get home at about 11:00 after buying my books and picking up the mail, containing nothing of interest except the carabiner key chain from come college.
Almost right after I got home, I get a call from S.A. telling me that he wasn't going to come up to dinner. No, instead they had already picked a restaurant out of the Tukwilla phone book. Ha ha, and get this... they probably picked it because of the name: The Rainforest Café. And the only thing that would have changed their minds about coming up here was if there was one near me. Just before he hung up, S.A. told me to check around the area to see where the closest one was. Let me tell you this: I have lived in this Valley for eight years and am as familiar with the places and sights as I am the scars on my knees. There is not a Rainforest Café anywhere near here. I guess it's a good thing that I'm going snowboarding tomorrow. I can ride hard and sweat all this crap out of my system.
For now, I can put them off, and not visit them in their little town, while making plans behind their backs to visit my friends and my sister over summer vacation. Oh yeah, and one more thing... Twenty-four hours later, I'm still waiting for the call back from C.R. who promised me that he would "call me later".

Second Post for Today

Okay, so I know that I have already posted for this evening, but I got some huge news in the form of a phone call this evening. C.R. is coming home on Monday!!!!!!!
I was sleeping again, (for some odd reason I have been really tired lately) and all of a sudden I hear the phone ring. I pick it up of course, since no one in my family ever does, and on the other end of the line, I hear a staticky voice ask if I was here. "Yeah, this is me," I reply, my own voice somewhat gravelly from the lack of use within the past hour. He starts talking to me, like normal, and I (being the cool one that I am) stop him and ask if this is who I think it is. "This is C.R." he says. My face explodes into a smile and after about five minutes of chit chat about how he graduated today, he says, "Don't start crying on me now," which I wasn't, but I guess the rocks stuck in my throat hadn't cleared out yet. We talked for about a half hour. I'm the first friend that he called! He blew off all his other friends just to talk to me! AND LET'S NOT FORGET THE FACT THAT HE'S COMING HOME MONDAY!!!
Oh happy day!

Possible Kidnapping in the Making

If I told you the scenario without telling you the characters, you would tell me that I'm setting myself up to get kidnapped. So let me give you the specifics.
Knowing my father like I do, I know that he would try anything to get me to come over to see him now. In the past, he has been refusing to come visit me and I have been acting likewise. If you're wondering why, I show my father no respect because he shows me none, therefore making him undeserving of it.
I was talking to my step-sister last night on the internet and my dad came downstairs, wanting to talk to me. I replied with some unkind things directed at him, and he dropped it. Later, she got back online and told me that Shane told her to tell me that they were going to be in my neck of the woods, if I had time to do something. This is a major guilt trip directed at me, because I have been using the excuse that I have too many things to do over here to keep visiting him, including work.
Now, all of a sudden, he and his wretched family want to have dinner with the outcast sister? Yeah right. If you knew my father, you would suspect a second agenda as well. I think that his plan is to get me to go to dinner, then take me back to the east side of the state without my mom's consent, all the while claiming that according to the parenting plan (which we no longer follow), it's his visitation time.
What are my options? I can go to this dinner, and risk becoming a missing person. I can refuse this dinner and make myself look bad to a potential judge. I could have C.R. come with me, but from the looks of it, he will not be home in time. I could arrange for my mother to come and get me if he tries to take me with, causing a scene at whatever restaurant we may be in. Hmm... what to do...

"This Class Is A Joke!"

First and foremost, let me just say that I HATE posting over email. It screws up the freaking format on my blog, but sometimes I have to do it.
Secondly, I am in a really bad mood today, for no reason in particular, except for the fact that I just don't feel like being the nice person that I usually am (some people would disagree with this statement, but they can just go commit suicide). I guess it started during lunch when I was just sitting there, trying to eat my still-hard noodles from my Cup of Noodles. This was because the school doesn't heat up the water to the point that the noodles get soft. For some odd reason, that really made me angry today. So then one of my friends comes along, and by this time I am developing a headache. He pats me on the head as he walks by and since I'm feeling a little less than cordial, I yell, "Don't touch me!" This, of course, draws attention to myself and causes more people to touch me, increasing my anger levels, the volume of my curses, and most likely my blood pressure. I was getting hot, like I had a fever, and my friends were looking at each other like "What's wrong with her?"
The noise level in the cafeteria finally overloaded my brain and I took off to go to class after I hit the library. Class commenced again and finished without disturbances. So I found my next class, where, not ten minutes in, this asshole of a hick gets mad because some girl got the pass to leave before he did. All this kid wanted to do was fill his water bottle and he was seriously pissed off. Mr. H. called him out into the hall, somewhat like kindergarden and talked to him in "private". While this little conferance was going on, I raised my aching head off the table and shouted, "This class is a joke!" People were shocked by my outburst, because I don't say things like that, let alone in class. It was totally inappropriate, but I was really ticked. So then I went off about the reason I started taking honors courses, which is to get away from screw ups like the ones who sit in the front of this particular class, telling my audience that I wish there was an AP History so I could get away from those inconsiderate failures who don't want to learn. K.L, who lives just down the street from me, kept telling me to calm down, while C.G. kept reminding me that all of high school is a joke. The superiors only pass you because you can say that you've learned something. B.L. and A.W. asked what the cause of my little tirade was and I further explained that I wasn't feeling good, that I hate people of their kind, and that maybe I just didn't feel like being the nice person that I usually am. Mr. H. comes back into class after I've finished my lovely little impromptu speech and K.L. informs him that I have just gone off on the class. K.H. (the teacher) turns to me and says, "If you want to go off on these guys, fine. Just do it." K.L. replies that I already have and that "It was awesome!" I hate high school.
My horrible attitude was pushed a little farther off the cliff of insanity by C.R. not coming home today. So I went home, proceeded to try to do my homework on the internet, but my computer froze twice. I finally said, "Whatever, I'm done," a phrase that I've been using quite a bit today, and slept for a couple of hours. When I felt like getting up, it was 5:00 and I really wanted a cookie and a sandwich. So I convinced my step-dad to take me to Subway if I bought dinner. So now here I sit, venting my frustrations with our "free" school system, which says that we don't have to go if we don't want to, yet turns around and disciplines us when we skip class. The administrators suck.

Details

Okay, so you want details. I didn't meet this guy online like everyone seems to think. I was at a friends house hanging out and he lived next door. So he came over to hang out too. We were introduced, and after that I got busy with my life and same with him. Then, about 3 months later, he got on SKAT (public bus system) and began talking to me. We had an excellent conversation, so I gave him my phone number. He called the next night and we talked for awhile. We hung out together a lot through December. He called me his girlfriend to his cousins, and started acting like I was, but never asked me out. About a week before he left, he started backing off, pushing me away so that neither of us would get attached before he left for boot camp. I gave him my address, asking him to write me and I've written countless letters to him, always getting a reply to the latest. He called me about two weeks ago to let me know that he wouldn't be able to write much for the last part of boot camp to graduation. Today is his graduation date, and he's supposed to be coming home soon, either today or tomorrow. I guess that's all I really know for sure... You tell me the rest.

Fortunes are Fortunes, Whether By Teller or Cookie

Okay, before I start this post, I just want everyone to know that I've been posting a lot through email because I'm not really getting internet access at home.
So, last night I had Chinese food for dinner but I forgot to eat my fortune cookie, and stuck it in my coat pocket to find this morning. Well, I was walking down the hall and talking to Mrs. H. about fortune cookies. She asked if it was a good fortune and I replied that I hadn't read it yet. So she pulled it out and showed it to me. This fortune made me wonder who gets paid $7.63 an hour to pull stupid "fortunes" out of their hindparts. "An empty stomach does not make a good political guide," my fortune read. And politics don't belong "in bed," as a typical teenager would say.
I think in all of my life, I have gotten one valid fortune, and it was so vague that it could have been anybody's problem. "A challenge is ahead," it warned me. A few weeks later, I recieved a letter from C.R. letting me know that he's thinking about asking me out. C.R. is being sent away ten days after he gets here. I don't know where to, but the probability of him being stationned near home is slim to none. Long distance relationships are difficult to maintain, and I knew intuitively that this was the challenge my fortune was talking about. But, as I said, fortune cookies are hardly reliable and so vague that one has to wonder whether or not it was really
meant for them. I guess the only way to find out is to pray for the answer, to pray for the validity.

Open For Discussion

Can a person fall in love with someone else through a series of four letters and a phone call? I want any and all opinions. Thanks guys.

A solitary lunch.
Last year I would have complained.
But I'm starting to enjoy it.
A seat near the windows
Remaining unoccupied
Beckons to me;
A clique of one.
Overlooking the crowds
Gazing out into the sunshine
Backstabbing friends
Laugh and shout
Excluding me.
I've come to expect it.
I never knew that life could be so peaceful
And so disastrous in unison.
Following no pattern,
My thoughts pile up,
Like rising water
Drowning all the useful information.
They don't speak to whores;
At least not in truth.
The words said aloud:
"Sure I'm your friend."
The rest is in their heads:
But I think you a whore,
A bitch.
A slut, even.
These are read on faces
That are supposed to be learned
In concealing ones thoughts.
Look away,
Look away as I pass by.
Why don't they just come out
And say what they really think?
They try to pretend,
But I was told
About the stainless steel
Blade,
That everyone knows about.
You think that a smile,
And a statement;
"I like your pants,"
Will make you my friend again?
YOu could never be so wrong.
Maybe I deserve this constant state of solitary,
But I don't want those faux amis.
The ones who whip out their knives
When your back is turned,
When you're least expecting it.
I guess it's just something people do;
A force that can't be stopped.
Now, only one question remains:
Why risk befriending someone,
If you already know
Betrayal is unpreventable?

Eating Out

The other day, I walked into a Wendy's restaurant, ordered a meal of the processed meat and deep fried potatoes, and sat down to eat. As I was masticating (awesome word!) I observed my surroundings. There was, of course, the usual objects that you would see in a fast food restaurant, such as the food, cups, the littl cardboard holders and paper that contain your food, the registers, ect. There was also a small sign, barely noticable, hanging above the registers, stating that "Wendy's cares..." followed by a phone number and an invatation to "give us a call." And, as it is unpreventable, I began to wonder; did I really enjoy my service, or was it a bit lacking? So I went back to my regular occupation of analyzing the people and things around me. It was then that I came to realize that the girl behind the register was just repeating the same thing over and over again. It also hit me that I do the exact same thing in working retail. However, there is a small difference between us: this young girl, about my age, seemed to be void of life. Don't get me wrong, she does work at a fast food restaurant, which would be a bit depressing to me as well, but this girl didn't let a single smile escape to one of her customers. Maybe I just caught her on a bad day, and she really enjoys her job, constantly laughing and joking with everyone as she asks what kind of sauce they would like for their dipping purposes. But from her appearance, and from her co-workers' appearances, they don't have fun with their jobs.
On a less depressing note, take a look at this popular waiter's website. This man has some excellent stories that are quite humorous most of the time, and quite a bit of life experience.

Long Time, No Posts

Update on the Casey at boot camp front: his next letter is supposed to get to the Small Town post office by tomorrow. In his last letter, he described things that the drill sergeants do that are completely inhumane, (like slamming the recruits heads up against the wall? Sounds like someone needs a little anger management, and that person is not me (contrary to the belief of my father)). I'm literally counting the weeks until he comes home from the hell that he's in right now.
In other day-to-day news, a new guy (S.M.) just transferred into my second period class, and he's been assign to the computer next to me (I have yet to decide whether this is a good or bad thing), and it seems that he is doing everything that he can to get my attention. M.M. sits on the opposite side of him, and instead of asking a fellow male (who is as far along in the project as I am), he turns to the female, allowing her to make a complete fool out of herself (which, more often than not, she screws up the process of what he's supposed to be doing, and messes up, or forgot, further proving the thought that men have in their heads that women and technology don't mix). Why guys do this, I probably will never find out.
As far as history goes (the class), C.G. has managed to land himself in another one of my classes(ha ha, that's ironic, considering the aformentioned and I have a history) , granting himself the opportunity to drive me up the wall for yet another semester (something that he will not be doing, unless he wishes to strive diligently, which he won't, the cause being that he's lazy). He's talked to me once so far this semester for about five minutes, long enough to tell me that his friends are starting to suggest that he apologize (this includes C.R. but that was when he was still here at the end of December), later explaining that he hasn't yet because he doesn't see what he did wrong. My reply was that I hadn't told anyone anything except for the fact that we are no longer friends and my reasoning for that, seeing as it was my decision. In the words of my friend, M.H, "we all thought C.G. went wrong by dating S.S. but I guess it all went downhill after that." Man, is that the truth...

Missoula Children's Theater

Earlier this evening, I sat on the steps, writing a letter and a post at the same time (without intending to). I was babysitting, waiting for my charge to meet me with her father at the prearranged time. As I was waiting, little girls (and sometimes boys) scurried past me to the restroom that was serving as a dressing room for the night. When they headed back the way they came from, they were barely recognizable, disguised as characters, that I later learned were called "foresters." People payed me no attention, allowing me to watch without distraction (a perk of being a wall flower). Friends hugged each other, wishing the other luck; over-enthusiastic parents demanded that their children say cheese, pleading them to pose for picture after picture; the actors who run the show, rushing around to make sure that all the skunks are in their places... I have done two shows with Missoula Children's Theater, both in which I played a small part, and both in which my parents were the same way. I remember that my father brought me fifty roses and my mom took me out to Big Scoop for a dinner celebration. I was in third grade! How was I to know they were competing? As all MCT shows go, this one was extremely cute, and very fun to watch. Perfect for the little kids and adults who want a laugh.

Finals Week

Finals week is once again upon us. I find myself stressing about Chemistry, because the teacher can't teach, stressing about math because I don't remember hardly anything from the beginning of the semester. My health final is oral and in front of an entire class, where I'll turn red, stare at my paper, and speak with a soft voice. And as for English? Most of the Honors kids were scoring at about a 4 or 5 on the papers that we were writing at the beginning of the semester. All I can say is I'm glad that the semester is almost over. I was beating my head against a very hard, very solid brick wall during third period, that which Mr. McCoy would never explain anything any different than what he had originally explained, ignoring the fact that explaining something different can help a student learn better, and ignoring their questions. I will be immensely glad to have new classes next semester. Change can be depressing but I think I'll make the best out of the new classes, and besides, Casey (from whom I recieved a letter from boot camp on Sunday), will be returning to this good old, little town at the end of March (something to further look forward to).

To Trust, Or Not To Trust...

As it stands, I have inadvertently become part of the high school tabloids. I suppose it all started with the one rumor. The one tongue of a “friend” who has unexpectedly stabbed me in the back. I didn’t know that by allowing an innocent kiss to happen, I would become a whore. And all because an ex-girlfriend of his (who happened to break up with him so she could date his best friend), is jealous. Let's explore the definition of the word "whore". Merriam Webster Online defines it as "a woman who engages in sexual acts for money, a PROSTITUTE, a promiscuous or immoral woman, or a male who engages in sexual acts for money." Last I checked, I was none of these things. I do not sleep around, I do not make out with random guys, I do not sell myself to guys. Given that, is it right to slander someone's name without grounds? Yeah, I didn't think you would disagree, which is exactly the reason I have chosen to exclude their names. The guy with whom said kiss took place, heard the rumor a long time ago, and yet, when I asked him who it was, he wouldn't divulge that information. Well, now I know, and that's a good thing; not because I want revenge, but because now I truly know who my loyal friends are, and who not to trust.

A myspace Scandal at Small-World High School

To start off, I just want to state how incredibly stupid some people can be. I bet you have all heard of the new myspace.com trend amongst teens that has been going around. The best description of myspace is a place where people sixteen years and older can post blogs, post pictures, and view the profiles of other people. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on who you are) my high school has also heard of this website and has been invesitgating it's students' profiles. Well, some of said students had previously posted photos of themselves at parties, beers in hand, as well as journal entries that have described what goes on at said parties. Authorities are currently in the process of weeding out the individuals who have taken part in these activities and suspending them from school for a few weeks. The friends of suspended parties are calling this a violation of privacy. And yet, as always, I find myself taking different views on the matter.
Now, allow me to remind you that these students are my age (under 21). Allow me to further remind you that underage drinking is ILLEGAL. My thoughts on this subject are as follows: IF YOU ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO POST PICTURES OF YOURSELF DRINKING AT A PARTY, WHILE YOU ARE UNDERAGE, YOU ARE STUPID ENOUGH TO GET CAUGHT! The internet is public! Myspace is a part of the internet! If you don't want to get in trouble for doing things that are "forbidden," DON'T POST YOUR EVIDENCE IN A PUBLIC PLACE!
This punishment of suspension does not do the "criminals" justice. What really needs to happen is the offending students need to attend their regular classes, with a few de-toxification treatments, a few Alcholics Anonymous classes thrown into the mix, and quite a bit of community service. You see, by suspending these students, the school is simply giving them a chance to throw their own parties at home. Even if these students' parents did give a damn about what their children were doing, what is stopping them from climbing out the window and shimmying down the drain pipe in the middle of the night, just so they can go and get busted once again?
So, the lesson to be learned from all of this, in short: If you want to do something illegal, fine. If you don't want to get caught, don't leave evidence. If you do leave evidence, don't post it on the internet (which happens to be publically accessible). And last but not least, if you do decide to post it in a public place, DON'T PUT YOUR NAME ON IT!

It's Funny How Things Can Change In An Instant

I was getting straight A's
Until that fateful night.
All my friends were good people,
Their records all white.

An awesome new tee,
A sweet short skirt,
I was off to a party
Where I'd be a cute flirt.

The frat boys got close,
And brought me beer after beer.
I decided to leave,
I had nothing to fear.

My friends said not to go.
"You're smashed," they did say.
My actions I couldn't control,
And I walked with a sway.

I hopped into the car,
My thoughts coming late,
And my reactions delayed.
I didn't know what was to be my fate.

My Toyota swerved around on the road,
Catching a Ford by the fender.
Both of our cars were thrown into the ditch,
Guaranteeing this to be more than a bender.

I stood and waited for the police.
Paramedics cared for my pains.
I begged them to check on the woman and child
But their ailments were more than just strains.

Front page news, the headlines scream
"Teen Kills Small Family in Crash"
The story told the known facts.
It made me look like white trash.

I went to the funeral
Of the mother and child.
All the tears of the relatives
Were driving me wild.

Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth,
Or so the woman's family believed.
They wanted me hurt, if not killed,
If only to have the burden relieved.

And now here I sit,
Two murder counts staining my record
And an MIP that will screw up my schooling,
Not something that I can afford.

I can't believe that one person
Could cause so much pain.
I stare at the torn outfit I wore
That night that the road was stained.

I took two lives with a simple decision,
About driving after having those drinks.
I wish I'd been a little bit smarter,
And took some time to stop and think.


*Although this poem is styled in the first person, the writer has not and will never participate in acts of stupidity, such as drinking and driving.

Bet You Thought I Didn't Make It...

Hey guys, I bet you all thought my head exploded on Y2K+6, because I haven't posted in so long. This is my first post of the year and my unoffical first anniversary! Yea! A whole year of posting! I am so proud of myself and the fact that I didn't give up on blogging. I am even getting positive feedback from some old teachers. Thanks for your support guys! Tomorrow I'll be back with a poem.