This week was crazy. And way over-stressful. With all of the homework and make-up work and every work you can name that involves school, I almost died. ...Yeah, I see you rolling your eyes. Like I said, almost. Every day turned into a complete wreck, one after another. And every time I said, "This couldn't get any worse" it did.
There were a lot of awkward silences between my best friend and I. She's going to a charter school next year and in my head I'm still upset about it. Somehow with the end of the year coming close, the subject kept coming up. We were never the ones to talk about it, but whenever it was mentioned neither of us knew what to say or how to say it.
Finally Friday came and I went over to another one of my very good friend's house for a pretty-much-the-end-of-school party. There were seven girls there, all bubbly and happy. We ate junk food, played Just Dance on the Wii, and sat in "the circle of secrecy" while painting our nails. I came home feeling better than ever. The week was finally over. No more homework, no more gossip, no more stress. This next week is going to be amazing. I won't let it be ruined.
Monday--No School (Memorial Day), BRUNO MARS CONCERT<3
Tuesday--Just a lame old day of school, but no homework :)
Wednesday--Yearbook Day/the best day of the year
Thursday--There's no way I'm going to school, and my aunt is coming from Illinois. :D
Friday--Small "party" at the Scera Pool with my friends to celebrate the official start of summer.
At the beginning of eigth grade I was convinced it was going to be the best school year of my life. Well the first semester was pretty stupid, but things went up a lot the second. Now I'm convinced ninth grade is going to be the best school year of my life. I guess I can just cross my fingers and hope that every year gets progressively better.
This summer is going to be way different, too. Partly because the only people I would even dream of crushing on are celebreties, and partly because I made a lot of friends in eigth grade that I hope to stay connected with this summer. As of now, I see bright things in the future! Summer, here we come!
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Dear Future Me
I never could have imagined this school year ending. In a way I almost expected it to go on forever. Eighth grade has been far from perfect, but it was just starting to be. I have all of my friends around me, always, and never to leave my side. Literally. I leave the circle to tie my shoe on a ledge and turn around to find the circle has repositioned, giving me no space to step away. It's so hard to believe it will be over, and I'll be alone most of the time this summer. I guess the reality of it all is still a little blurry.
Last summer was a lot different. My mind was occupied with much different things. But this summer will be unlike any other. Going back and reading some things I've written back then, I realize how silly I was. But I also realize that I learned a lot from my mistakes and was strengthened by reading my own silly thoughts.
So today, during church, I wrote a letter to me. The future me, at the end of the summer. "Dear Future Me," I wrote, "You're about to start ninth grade. I know change is hard, and different routines take a while to get used to, but I know you'll be fine. I know you can do it," I glanced over my scrawl of words and over to the lingering eyes of my sister. I quickly covered the letter with my hand. I was too late, and foud on her sketchbook was written, "Dear Future Me, Don't forget to buy milk. Love, Janell." I rolled my eyes and continued to write, ignoring both of my nosy siblings on either side of me. I gave myself advice, obviously knowing my weaknesses.
I look forward to reading it in three months. I hope the future me had a great summer.
Last summer was a lot different. My mind was occupied with much different things. But this summer will be unlike any other. Going back and reading some things I've written back then, I realize how silly I was. But I also realize that I learned a lot from my mistakes and was strengthened by reading my own silly thoughts.
So today, during church, I wrote a letter to me. The future me, at the end of the summer. "Dear Future Me," I wrote, "You're about to start ninth grade. I know change is hard, and different routines take a while to get used to, but I know you'll be fine. I know you can do it," I glanced over my scrawl of words and over to the lingering eyes of my sister. I quickly covered the letter with my hand. I was too late, and foud on her sketchbook was written, "Dear Future Me, Don't forget to buy milk. Love, Janell." I rolled my eyes and continued to write, ignoring both of my nosy siblings on either side of me. I gave myself advice, obviously knowing my weaknesses.
I look forward to reading it in three months. I hope the future me had a great summer.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The Man Who Can't Be Moved
With the end of the year comes the final projects. In Digital Photography, it happened to be a slideshow.
The assignment was to pick a song that had a story, take pictures that match the lyrics, and make a perfectly-timed-captioned-lyrics slideshow. I chose The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script, one of my favorite songs. I was excited and knew it would be fun.
One almost too sunny day in Spring Break, Kayla and Paul came over to be my models. They were both so cooperative and a huge help. I can't thank then enough. Both did pretty much whatever I wanted them to, and were actually pretty darn good at it.
The assignment was to pick a song that had a story, take pictures that match the lyrics, and make a perfectly-timed-captioned-lyrics slideshow. I chose The Man Who Can't Be Moved by The Script, one of my favorite songs. I was excited and knew it would be fun.
One almost too sunny day in Spring Break, Kayla and Paul came over to be my models. They were both so cooperative and a huge help. I can't thank then enough. Both did pretty much whatever I wanted them to, and were actually pretty darn good at it.
We took pictures, re-took pictures, and I marked off my storyboard along the way. Soon we were finished and I excitedly took my lovely collection of pictures to school to build my slideshow.
The requirement was to bring ten pictures a day and to pass you only needed 30. I had all 50 of my pictures in the first day. I edited them to perfection, and put them in the slideshow in the order they went in. Other students put them in in a random order and their timings ending up way off. Others had several gramatical errors a page or poorly edited pictures. Thanks to my OCD, I was feeling on top of the world.
One week before the slideshows were due, I was completely finished. Every class period afterwards I tweeked and cleaned my slideshow when I wasn't messing around with random pictures in photoshop. Finally, the day came. The day before they were due that you were supposed to save the slideshows in a video file to put on your hard drive.
"Who's done with their slideshow?" Mr Busby called out. Of an entire class, me and three other people raised our hands. He gave us instruction and I confidently clicked every button he told us to click. The loading bar appeared. "Now, this is going to take a while," Mr Busby warned. Oh, it took more than a while. We waited the rest of class. The lunch bell rang and everyone sprinted out of the classroom except us four girls, sitting and wiggling our mouses to keep the screensaver from interrupting the process. We talked a bit, but none of them were really my close friends. Mr Busby got bored and left us on our own in the dreary room.
Ten minutes into lunch, they were done. We all cheered as ours finished, one by one. Feeling accomplished, I decided to double check my video to make sure it worked. I clicked and my eyes sparkled at the opening slide, white letters bodly announcing my project. As the show continued, I realized the bottom of my video had somehow been chopped off, the second line of my lyrics now gone. I wanted to scream in rage. It's ruined. I have to fix all of those slides. It has to be perfect, I stared at the screen, eyebrows furrowed.
The other girls began to file out of the room, leaving me alone. And I felt really alone. I closed my slideshow, turned off my computer and slouched out of the room, very discouraged. My friends found me but I had nearly nothing to say. My mouth felt dry.
The next day I stayed after school to fix my precious slideshow. My friends sat around me, entertaining me, "oohing" and "ahhing" at my silly slides, and teasing me about my intense need for perfection. When it was all fixed and the video was finally finished saving, We watched it. Every word was seen and every picture centered. Just like I wanted it. I beamed as I left the school and went home, plenty satisfied with that determined man. After all, they say he can't be moved.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Beautiful Things
Mom says these are weeds, but I always liked them.
My neice's tiny little hands
A new iHome :)
Sunsets through the dining room window
Dandilions are annoying, but super fun to take pictures of.
There's my picture post for now. Enjoy!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Forgetful
*Ring*
I stood there on the porch of my best friend's house ringing the doorbell, calling her phone, and making desperate attempts to figure out what was going on. Tucked under my arm was a pillow and a backpack with pajamas, lotion, and a toothbrush.
*Ring*
I didn't want to give up. It was 10:30 p.m, the air was chilly, and the light above the kitchen stove eerily shone through their window. We had been planning this sleepover all week.
I turned around to see my parents, still waiting in the car by the curb, motioning for me to get back in the car and go home. And I did. I wished I could stay and sit in the curb until she got home or keep trying to call. But my better judgement won (for once) and my frustrated feet shuffled over to the car.
I went straight to bed when we got home. I reached down beside my bed to feel the familiar texture of my stuffed dog. I bought Softer when I was five years old with my birthday money and he was my favorite thing long afterwards. I couldn't sleep without him until Jr High when Softer started sleeping on the floor next to my bed and half the time I forgot he was there.
I held him in front of my face, staring right into his deep black plastic eyes. "Why does she invite me over if she's not even gonna be home?" I rambled to the inanimate face, "If she forgets me in less than 10 hours as it is, who knows what it's going to be like next year when she's going to a charter school and I hardly ever see her? She won't even know I exist." Softer gave me a sympathetic silence as I continued to carry on. I fell asleep frustrated, disappointed, and afraid, a stuffed dog curled under my arm.
The next day only got worse. Which is how a lot of days seem to be going recently. They all just get worse. After a completely different unpleasant stir of events, I felt absolutely miserable. I locked myself in my room, wishing it all away. I pulled out my sketchbook and covered a page with the same sentence over and over: "I hate myself." I cried and cried. Now I was angry, scared, frustrated, sad, regretful, and my self-esteem had reached an all-time low. I went upstairs and washed the dishes, listening to the most depressing song on my iPod. (Not the smartest thing I've ever done, seeing as that just made me cry more, sniffling so much I started coughing up my lungs.)
80 years seems like an awful long time to have to live, I thought. And I meant it. In that moment I almost wished I was done living. I couldn't wait until I could be in heaven where there's no more yuckiness and blah. The more I thought the more upset I got, but I didn't want to cry anymore. With every uneven breath I pressed my arm against my face. Stop it, Tessa. It's going to be okay. Every day won't be like this. Don't wish your life away. After I clumsily spilled water all over my pants, changed, and dusted the house, my friend called.
It turns out she really did forget me last night. The phone call was the short and I only managed to say a few words in between my sniffling and I said I'd call her back when I was done with my chores. She said she'd wait for me so when I was done working we could get together. I finished my jobs and when I called her back she was out eating lunch with someone else. Did she forget? I thought to myself. The conversation was awkward, as if she'd been caught doing something embarassing. She said she'd call me when she gets back. She'll probably forget that, too.
I stood there on the porch of my best friend's house ringing the doorbell, calling her phone, and making desperate attempts to figure out what was going on. Tucked under my arm was a pillow and a backpack with pajamas, lotion, and a toothbrush.
*Ring*
I didn't want to give up. It was 10:30 p.m, the air was chilly, and the light above the kitchen stove eerily shone through their window. We had been planning this sleepover all week.
I turned around to see my parents, still waiting in the car by the curb, motioning for me to get back in the car and go home. And I did. I wished I could stay and sit in the curb until she got home or keep trying to call. But my better judgement won (for once) and my frustrated feet shuffled over to the car.
I went straight to bed when we got home. I reached down beside my bed to feel the familiar texture of my stuffed dog. I bought Softer when I was five years old with my birthday money and he was my favorite thing long afterwards. I couldn't sleep without him until Jr High when Softer started sleeping on the floor next to my bed and half the time I forgot he was there.
I held him in front of my face, staring right into his deep black plastic eyes. "Why does she invite me over if she's not even gonna be home?" I rambled to the inanimate face, "If she forgets me in less than 10 hours as it is, who knows what it's going to be like next year when she's going to a charter school and I hardly ever see her? She won't even know I exist." Softer gave me a sympathetic silence as I continued to carry on. I fell asleep frustrated, disappointed, and afraid, a stuffed dog curled under my arm.
The next day only got worse. Which is how a lot of days seem to be going recently. They all just get worse. After a completely different unpleasant stir of events, I felt absolutely miserable. I locked myself in my room, wishing it all away. I pulled out my sketchbook and covered a page with the same sentence over and over: "I hate myself." I cried and cried. Now I was angry, scared, frustrated, sad, regretful, and my self-esteem had reached an all-time low. I went upstairs and washed the dishes, listening to the most depressing song on my iPod. (Not the smartest thing I've ever done, seeing as that just made me cry more, sniffling so much I started coughing up my lungs.)
80 years seems like an awful long time to have to live, I thought. And I meant it. In that moment I almost wished I was done living. I couldn't wait until I could be in heaven where there's no more yuckiness and blah. The more I thought the more upset I got, but I didn't want to cry anymore. With every uneven breath I pressed my arm against my face. Stop it, Tessa. It's going to be okay. Every day won't be like this. Don't wish your life away. After I clumsily spilled water all over my pants, changed, and dusted the house, my friend called.
It turns out she really did forget me last night. The phone call was the short and I only managed to say a few words in between my sniffling and I said I'd call her back when I was done with my chores. She said she'd wait for me so when I was done working we could get together. I finished my jobs and when I called her back she was out eating lunch with someone else. Did she forget? I thought to myself. The conversation was awkward, as if she'd been caught doing something embarassing. She said she'd call me when she gets back. She'll probably forget that, too.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Curse My Eyes
I haven't really paid much attention to the [insert creative insult here] recently. I avoid making eye contact at all costs and nowadays I pretty much refuse to acknowledge his existence. In English class we were studying philosophy, and there was the whole tree-falling-in-a-forest analogy. Apparently some philosopher said if something is not percieved by us, it does not exist. It sure seemed like a ridiculous idea, but it worked where the mop was concerned. If I blocked him out of my bubble of perception, he would no longer exist to me.
Today I sat in History and started talking to a couple of my friends when he randomly joined the conversation. We were just talking about sports, nothing out of the ordinary.
But then, for the first time in months, I actually looked at him. I mean, technically I could see him before but I never actually looked. I then realized I had forgotten what he looks like. As I looked, my insides burned with bitterness and hatred. The air felt thick between us. There was a wall. A wall so dense and so strong nothing could peirce through the air in that moment. I don't even remember what he said.
I quickly turned away. The air still felt heavy and my head was swarmed with words of displeasure towards him. The rest of the day I was fine, but all of these words I just had to get out. So here I am. And here are my words.
Today I sat in History and started talking to a couple of my friends when he randomly joined the conversation. We were just talking about sports, nothing out of the ordinary.
But then, for the first time in months, I actually looked at him. I mean, technically I could see him before but I never actually looked. I then realized I had forgotten what he looks like. As I looked, my insides burned with bitterness and hatred. The air felt thick between us. There was a wall. A wall so dense and so strong nothing could peirce through the air in that moment. I don't even remember what he said.
I quickly turned away. The air still felt heavy and my head was swarmed with words of displeasure towards him. The rest of the day I was fine, but all of these words I just had to get out. So here I am. And here are my words.
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