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.

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.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0w-12F2r2jQ

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!

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.

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.

Nails

As long as I can remember I've picked my nails. It's not biting them, but sometimes it can be worse. One minute I'm sitting watching a movie, getting a lecture, or in an uncomfortable situation and the next minute all of my nails are down to chiseled stubs.

But there was once a time I had long nails.

I don't know who was more in love with them, me or my mom. Mom had been trying to get me to quit for years. But finally one summer I discovered nail polish. When my nails were painted I didn't want to chip the polish. So my nails grew and grew until they were longer than they had been my entire life.

But one piteous and fateful day I was walking home from school and my nail broke on a fence. Not wanting an irritating hangnail, I tore it off. After that it was like a drug addict given drugs after going without. My nails were gone. My beautiful, long, perfect nails.

And it started again. Tap, tap, tap. There my thumbs went, tearing off my precious tips. I'd try to grow them out but it only took a social trajedy or stressful school assignment until I had to start all over.

Recently it's gotten bad. Really bad. Everything sets me off. Every day I say I'll try and every day I come home to realize my nail polish is ruined and loose pieces of skin sting around the areas of my nails.

I'm wrapping my thumbs. I want my long nails back.

Surprises

Life is full of unexpected events. We usually plan on the good things, take them for granted, and when the bad things come as a surprise, we are blown away.

I was at a friend's house on a school day, expected to be home at 6:00 for dinner. It turns out my friend's mom couldn't give me a ride so I called home and waited for our white mini van to arrive on the curb. The doorbell rang and my friend and I stumbled over to the door to see my dad, helmet in hand. We were going on the motorcycle.

Dad had brought my sweatshirt, hairbands to put my hair back, and my helmet. He was compeltely prepared. I geared up, mounted the large bike, and rested my hands on Dad's shoulders. The air was refreshing on my face, the sun blazing with a cold continuous rush of wind pushing the heat aside and grazing my skin as we soared over the road.

Trees were budding, dandilions congregated in lawns, and the signs of spring were finally beginning to show. There were walkers, people checking the mail, and people in cars all around us. Pedestrians often stopped to wave as we whooshed by, bringing a smile to my face.

I almost didn't want to be home. My heart hoped Dad would take a detour where we'd admire more of the small city. Our city. A city full of people, churches, sports teams, homes, and the newly brightened gardens. It was a sweet moment when life seemed beautiful. I had no bad thing to think about for those minutes of driving home. I just sang my favorite song quietly to myself and brimmed with the glee of the moment.

After a few short minutes, we pulled into the garage. I guess not all life's surprises are bad. :)

Part of the Job

"Mom. ...Mom? Mom?! Mom! MOM!"
You turn the corner, and there she is, on the phone again.

Every day it's the same.
"Hey mom, I need new pants."
"Later."
(Later means "there is the slightest possibility in the far future")

"Hey mom, can you take me to the library?"
"I need to do a food order."
(Let me tell you, there are a lot of financially challenged people in my ward. I have no idea who they are, I just know there's bajillions of them cause Mom is ALWAYS doing a food order or three.)

"Hey mom, didn't you say we'd go swimsuit shopping today?"
"Maybe this weekend."
(Weekend comes... doesn't happen.)

"Hey mom, let's go spend some quality mother-daughter time together!" . . . . . . .
. . . . . "Nah, I'm off to work."

The older I get the less time I have with my mom. She's always working. Laundry, bills, grocery shopping, cooking, her four different book keeping jobs, being Relief Society President, coaching Kayla for motherhood, couching Janell for dieting, running errends, making important phone calls, doing interviews. When you think about it, her life is just one huge hideous job. And the older I get, the less I feel like I'm part of her job. The more I feel kind of alone.
I miss you mom. And I love you.

Copy Cats and Colors

Laying on the couch staring off in the space can spark random curiosities. As I stare around the quiet room, my eyes roll over each individual color. Do we all see color the same? If we all saw colors differently, we would still know red as red because that's what everyone told us that's what it is.

People do this everywhere. If someone does something, that automatically makes it correct or enjoyable. Have you ever noticed all of your younger brother's lame comebacks all originated from you? Did you decide butterflies were beautiful on your own, or did you grow up acknowledging them that way? Have you ever seen someone wearing the most stupid looking thing just because the world told them it looked good?

Just something to think about.

Spring Break

This week has gone by WAY too fast. Once Mom and Dad left for a wedding in Georgia, Janell, Braden and I set off to have all the fun we could.

Highlight #1: Bunny-sitting

My friend is on vacation in Moab and had us watch her bunny. Countless lonely hours at home have been spent stroking and feeding the fluffy rabbit, and I think I'm finally starting to grow on him. Now he nuzzles my hand when I open the cage.

Highlight #2: My lovely sunburn.

I sat inside, like usual, lazily reading a book on the couch. I glanced outside to see my neighbors playing with a ball in the street. I longed to be with them. Ever since Jr. High, I haven't associated much with my former best friends. I threw on my flip flops and head outside. They soon welcomed me, and we all head off to the park to play Four-Square. The longer we played, the more kids showed up. By the end, there were ten of us, all taking turns bouncing the ball. No matter how hard I tried to just be a kid with them, I still felt out of place. When I finally came home, I realized I was red as a cherry, and I hurt all over.

The next day I got out of the shower to discover my entire face was peeling. I attempted to scrub the skin off, but that just left soars all over my face. That's what I get for trying to relive the past.

Highlight #3: A Mall and Movie Adventure

One morning Janell announced a plan. A plan to take us to the movies. We left before 9:00 in the morning to go to the mall for a bit before the first movie showing of the day. We entered the mall to discover no one there to greet us but a giant plastic dinosaur and an empty treehouse.

 We strolled around, realizing there wasn't a single store in the entire building that wasn't closed. The only people there were a few old couples walking around for excersize. We gave up on the idea and crossed the large parking lot over to the theater. After the movie we walked over to Farr's Fresh Ice Cream for a treat.

Where I concocted this delicious creation.

Janell and Braden finished their ice cream fast, and I ended up taking mine with me when we left.

Highlight #4: The Social Gathering

A bunch of my school buddies had been scheming a party we referred to as "The Social Gathering" cause typical teenagers partying is WAY different than what we did.

We all agreed to meet at Ally's house. It was hilariously awkward when Ally was the last one to show up to her own house.

We walked around...

We drank fluffy lemonade...

...And we even walked around with our fluffy lemonade.

We ate pizza, the boys played video games, and Ally's little brothers harassed us for hours. By the end of the day we were all pooped.

But when we all got home we agreed on one thing... "Let's do it again!"

Highlight #5: Fondue with the Fam

With Mom and Dad gone, Janell planned the menus this week. Thursday was a fondue party, and we were all excited. We invited Kayla and Andrea to join the fun.

I was Janell's faithful co-chef, and we cooked up homemade pretzel bites to dip in the best homemade cheese sauce in the world.

 

I love my siblings!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

After a week of free time and festivities, I'm really bummed I have to go back to school on Monday.

Talking with Mom

Lady Antebellum blasts through our white minivan. I'm the DJ when mom and I drive around together, and there's a limited selection of songs she likes on my iPod. We drive in the car, singing loudly between my irrelevant comments.
I like spending time with my mom. We have the randomest conversations and every day after school I come home with my line of "I have a story!"
She says, "Of course you do," with a smile and an eye roll. I then proceed in telling her, in full detail, about every event throughout every class that day.

I'm going to miss my mom while she's in Georgia for this next week. Everyone else in my family pretty much ignores me.