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Transmission From the Abandoned Frontier [05 Feb 2008|01:00am] Yo no soy sino la red vacía que adelanta  ojos humanos, muertos en aquellas tinieblas, dedos acostumbrados al triángulo, medidas de un tímido hemisferio de naranja. Anduve como vosotros escarbando la estrella interminable, y en mi red, en la noche, me desperté desnudo, la única presa: un pez encerrado en el viento (I am nothing but the empty net which has gone ahead of human eyes, dead in those darknesses, Fingers accustomed to the triangle, Longitudes of a timid planet of orange. I walked as you did, investigating The endless star, And in my net, in the night, I awoke naked, The only thing I caught: a fish trapped inside the wind) Be

I wrote a few interesting things at the end of High School... [26 May 2007|11:23pm] I’m leaving it all behind now, in the crevices where the ceiling always used to leak, and inside the art folders that saw so much glory, and under sleepy 7 am eyes, and around the track that induced so much pain, and in the lockers where there were laughs. I’m leaving it all behind now. I’m glad it’s over. Okay, I suppose I do feel a little bit conflicted about the end of school. But, more than anything, I think that it’s because I’ve acquired something of a fear of goodbyes and time passing before me. I’ve had so many good times that have lasted less than a month (family reunions, 7 summer camps, vacations, cruises) that you’d think saying goodbye to friends I made over the course of a week would be second nature, but it just gets harder. It’s become so easy to walk up to strangers and introduce myself and spend the days and nights with them (usually the best times of my life), but the endings have increasingly left me with an aftertaste I can’t shake. At this point, I can’t stand when a new month or a new season or a new year begins because it’s time passed and it’s out of my control. What makes graduating High School even harder, though, is that I’ve put twelve years socially, academically, physically, psychologically into the school system, and I still have an overwhelming sense of being unfinished, as if I haven’t yet fully proven myself (except to a small handful of people). I probably shouldn’t care, but it just feels like the ultimate rejection. That’s the part of me that wants to cry at graduation. Then again, I also want to scream SCREW YOU, HHS, I’M SO DONE. I’m leaving it all behind now. I guess I just can’t believe it yet. There was no final bang, and the world did not fall into an oblivion of Schoollessness. The last four years did not replay in my mind over and over as if it would be the last thing I ever do. There were plenty of hugs and goodbyes and love during the senior parade, but we walked out the side door next to the cafeteria on the last day, breaking off of the end of the parade, and that’s all it was: walking out. So, I casually walked out on twelve years of trials and failures and ups and downs and everythings inbetween, and also carried it with me, opening the doors and feeling the breeze and the heat on my neck. It was a comfortable temperature outside, and totally predictable for Holliston High. We went out on the note of Senior Prom. Also totally predictable. All the banging music and heat and chocolate fountain and afterparty was just as lovely as I would have hoped. All the stress about who would fit into a 10-person limo and separation of us and finding a date and making plans and hating my dress and my hair at the last minute is almost laughable now, and gone forever. I’m leaving it all behind now. But it will be etched into me forever. We have had quite a go at senior year. Beginning with last year’s presidential election of Craig Lynch, to the Senior Auction attempt at unity, to the administration bugging out about a skip day in February, to Cori, to the 4 most upstanding kids (one of them our valedictorian) in our grade "harmlessly" pranking by breaking into the security system and facing suspension/loss of all senior event privileges (including attending graduation)/criminal charges, to Craig Lynch not graduating/also facing a trial for threatening a teacher, to the senior parade and fifteen seniors involved not walking at in-school graduation for participating, I would say 007 created a few waves. I wonder what life at Holliston High will be like without us. I’m leaving it all behind now, under classroom doors and in heat-soaked windows and on Canty's notorious desk and with students to come. I’m looking to the future now. Everything is in plain view. Be

[27 Apr 2007|08:37pm] Hey there! Do you know what you should do tomorrow (Saturday April 28) at some point between 10 am and 2 pm?? Come downtown (in front of Fiske's) and buy food from me (and Sara Einhorn, Alyssa Elisas, and whoever else randomly shows up.)   ( Featured: ) Oh, and if you need more incentive (which you should't) children will be smiling as a result. All proceeds go to Make a Child Smile (MACS), a project for which HHS kids have been making pretty cards for sick children all year. They need envelope/postage $$. Anyway, things should be cheap, food is good, and simply the image of me in a black poncho huddled under an umbrella with crashing noises and light flashes and a deluge of rain in the background (if it ends up raining, I have no idea), pleading "Please, Sir, Make a Child Smile!!" and him gruffly growling, and a sick child in a full-body cast waiting by the mailbox (do hospitals have mailboxes?) of a hospital and not receiving his card because there were insufficient funds for MACS at HHS because a gruff man was callous and you "forgot"...should conjure up quite a bit of pity. If nothing else, I'm going to scream "HEARTLESS JERK!" and make pity sales. In conclusion, kill two birds with one stone: support the American economy and sick children (and make me happy in the process). It may just boost your karma enough so that you can go and do something stupid. Be

[22 Apr 2007|11:35am] And then everything returns, the motions and procrastinations and worries and food stains that I was immune to before vacation. Ireland was fine. Belfast was dirty and, to some extent, Americanized in fast food chains and weight. The Antrim Coast was positively gorgeous and every view and photograph was perfect. I uploaded the pictures to facebook. We took a bus from Dublin to Belfast, rented bikes for the weekend, took a car up the antrim coast, and hiked Torr's Head/Cave Hill/Giant's Causeway/Carrick-a-Rede and I loved it. Now I'm back, wondering what to do about a prom date and how many people to invite to my graduation/birthday party and putting the finishing touches on a bake sale next week in front of Fiske's. (Yes, I finally booked something! This is actually happening.) I'm still doing work for Physics to some extent, and I'm almost done with my third Hemingway book. I won't say Cori was a close friend, because he wasn't. I knew him through good friends, I had conversations with him when I was in chorus, I had seen him occasionally outside of school, but we knew each other only externally.  However, from this, I know he held on tight to his friends and did things for them, and did things for people who weren't his friends. I know he had a way of talking that broke down barriers, he was plenty hilarious, and strong as hell. I know he's missed by just about everyone who ever met him. I know that this death doesn't just affect his close friends. It was something that brought reality back to being a teenager and a senior, and reminded everyone about the ones we love. I know it casted a pall over the 2:03 bell before spring break for HHS, even though I wasn't there. Having left for Ireland, I heard about the accident almost five days after it occurred. Above all, I know that he had strong values, stronger friends, and Holliston High is going to have a huge void when we return tomorrow. I know that it's difficult, but the days do get better. I know that his life was over at 6:45 AM, but ours will go on. Things go on. Rest in Peace Cori Sheahan April 13. Be

[30 Mar 2007|02:27pm] I suppose I sleepwalked (sleptwalked?) last night. I mean, I can remember things from choosing the cereal on (though some of it in a dream-like, senseless recollection), but none of it made sense, before then or after.  I think that I woke up at 2 AM, went downstairs, poured myself some cereal, took it back up to my bed, ate it, and went back to sleep. The crazy parts are 1. If I had thought it was time for school, I would have laid half-asleep (but conscious/thinking) for another 30-40 minutes. 2. I cannot for the life of me remember opening my eyes or pulling the covers off of me. 3. I didn't notice that no one else was awake, or that all the lights were off, or that everything was pitch black with only moonlight to guide me. 4. I chose Kashi cereal (usually for my mom) over Life. 5. I took it upstairs, into my bed. Just because. From getting out of bed to walking downstairs I have zero recollection. From choosing the cereal to bringing the bowl upstairs, I can almost faintly remember it like it was a dream--as in, my dreams are totally out there, random, senseless, yet they make total sense when I'm in it, just like pouring Kashi in pitch black quietness at 2 AM made total sense in my dream-state. From halfway through eating the cereal in bed to realizing what time it was, I think I finally came to. When I finished eating, I looked back at the clock three times before I started piecing things together. When I finally did my double-take of 2:12 AM on the alarm clock, my first thought was, "Sweet, 4 more hours of sleep." At that point, I put my cereal bowl on the floor and left it there. It was the only evidence that the strange experience ocurred, no doubt licked clean by our kitten-cat Milo. Now I'm off to Stonington. Maybe I should start locking the bedroom doors. I know someone who graduated last year who said that she used to take showers and have conversations with her family members in her sleep. Be

[27 Mar 2007|07:17pm] It's all good. My application did me well--I was not rejected anywhere. It was really a perfect situation, because I was accepted at my first choice and wait-listed at my second. ( The Decision/The Rant ) Goodness, this is a funny kind of ordeal, isn't it? 1 Moment| Be

[14 Feb 2007|09:32am] So I did it. I jumped in the Atlantic when it was 4 degrees with windchill out (it was actually 36 degrees in the water, but being submerged in that "denser" cold I guess felt worse), following the organizations' regulation that I could only wear a bathing suit and had to get my head wet (if only for a nanosecond). Maybe it was a good thing that my body numbed so quickly. But the day, overall, was enjoyable and exciting. If nothing else, it certainly got me to appreciate the warmer things in life (hot chocolate, hot shower). Anyway, the Tab, the Metrowest Daily (I saw reporters from both interview us, but can't find the articles online), WBZ,  Holliston Net News, and others (aka Dad) caught on to the event and on the 2 which have video, you can barely see me. (On the WBZ video, that's Ali Love staying in for the longest of us, playing with ice).  ( The (other) proof ) Speaking of winter, it finally IS! It snowed enough to cancel school. I think the total snow fallen before today was something like 4 inches, about 1/7 of the average in ALL past years. We better be living this one up. So I didn't take skip day. But considering my english teacher told only us what would be on the test and brought us in munchkins, my spanish teacher cut the work that everyone else had to do in half for us, my calculus teacher gave us notes on a new topic for the quiz that he never explicitly taught the others, and there were plenty of laughs (like when we called matt chaves in class while he was skipping), I don't feel too bad. Considering it's early and there will be a ton of chances to skip (7? For 07?, which, by the way, is NOT going to work because the admistration is so pissed off--apparently they're delaying the last day of school if we have another one), I would like to take a day off on my own time when I need it. There's a possiblity I could be missing a week of school, anyway, in April to go to Ireland. And, as I have already missed (I think) five days for funerals/diseases/college, another five days in Ireland and seven days of skip would mean I'd be on the brink of not graduating. The thing about Ireland is not at all final, though, and it might end up being over vacation. I'm pretty excited anyway. The other good news is I somehow got Honorable Mention for a graphic design self-portrait I did in a beginner's class last year at this statewide "boston globe scholarship art" competition. Simply being chosen to be sent to this competition was huge, since the art teacher at Holliston chose only sixteen pieces from the gazillion that he had to go through. I had totally forgotten that I even did a self-portrait for a short Graphic Design 1 project last year before Mrs. Bynoe approached me and showed me. There's an article about the competition here. My name appeared here. I could have attended the awards ceremony, if I had actually been told I got an award beforehand. Kelley Cintra and Rachel Maynes both got a "gold key" award. I thought that was pretty cool.  It's a good valentine's day this year. I think it's going to be a good year overall. Be

[30 Jan 2007|07:54pm] Gosh, it'll be, what, 5 days now till I jump in the Atlantic Ocean. Yeah, that's right. I would really lurve any last-minute donations. Speaking of fundraising, I'm hoping that a bake sale during the antiques show at HHS on the 24th-25th will come through to finally pay for the postage that Laura's been footing. Getting word out, again: any volunteers would be greatly appreciated (if it ends up working out). On the job side of things, there's this babysitting/pseudo-nanny job that I'm pretty sure I'm taking that involves, three days a week, picking up this sixth grader after school and hanging out with her (?) for three hours until the mom comes home. The description says it would include "occasional driving inside Holliston (or to Blockbuster), baking, arts and crafts, homework help, and reading." The more awesome part: fifteen dollars an hour. So the wage per week comes out to about the same as if I worked double the time for minimum wage. Yess. I'm seeing Ok Go this Thursday yay. Backtracking quite a bit, two weeks ago, I went to the science museum with kids I haven't seen in foreeeever and, out of sheer dumb luck, we were handed four free tickets (=$64) from some adults that couldn't go that day. No joke. Oh, and I'm also pretty psyched that my first semester grades should be high enough to bolster second semester. Still, the full-on effect hasn't quite hit yet. It will. Senior events will help. I'm pretty sure I'll be taking Senior Skip Day, unless some extenuating (is that right?) circumstance comes up. However, I have nothing to do for the showcase, so boo. I just have to see Pan's Labyrinth, of which absolutely eeeveryone has been singing praises of. Lordan is so silly. We watched Rebel Without a Cause today and it was pretty bad.  I really should be reading A Farewell to Arms, which is good, or maybe The Tortilla Curtain, or maybe some short stories in Spanish. That's all. Peace. 1 Moment| Be

It was freezing today. [08 Dec 2006|10:15pm] [ music | Guster ] This morning, I saw Guster for free at Borders in Boston with Dana, Eve, Chrissy and Kasey. The timing was perfect and I got a CD signed, and we had some sushi after. I am both tired and pleased. I started this week thinking I was doing a leadership project which I would be a "Holiday Fun" event at town hall next weekend--stuff like arts and crafts, food, music, games for little elementary school kids. I created a flyer, e-mailed the principal about sending the flyer home in Miller school kids' backpacks, printed business letters on special stationary to get stores like AC Moore/Shaw's/Toys backwards R Us to sponsor me, I made a waiver to let parents drop their kids off day of, and began spreading the word around. I was just about to post online to ask for high school volunteers when, lo and behold, Town Hall, which my whole event revolved around, was taken all next weekend. Laura had seemed to say that her grandpa would be santa claus and town hall would be open, no problem, but I suppose not. Oops. I think Laura is now going to be helping me with some penny-drive kind of deal--after vacation. Atleast it's less weight on my back for now.  Next Thursday is the holiday party where seniors buy presents for underprivileged children and gift them during school. Neither Melanie, my partner, nor I knows the child assigned to us's gender nor age. And, since this is the last weekend before the party, shopping next week (when we will be getting our assignment (Monday I hope)) may or may not be a big problem. All I have left to do on my college checklist is supplements. And find out about Mr. Groce's teacher recommendation, which, apparently, only a few of my schools have received. Crap. On the other hand, I am pleasantly suprised with my recent SAT scores, along with the fact that I can understand Calculus...almost. I developed a roll of 35mm film that I was kind of proud of, especially since I have never done anything amazing in the past. I tried a 30 second exposure at night, which was kind of exhilerating and stressful at the same time for a very long 30 seconds. We'll see how I did. It would have been your birthday today. A 19-year-old college student. One year ago today I made my last contact. I'm so sorry. The worst part of this whole thing is that, because we lost contact, life has continued as it might have if you were still alive. Still, I miss you. I don't know if it would be different if you were there. Maybe it's the fact that you never will be. 2 Moments| Be

Poem to Be Read at 3 A.M. [15 Oct 2006|11:18am] Excepting the diner On the outskirts The town of Ladora At 3 A.M. Was dark but For my headlights And up in One second-story room A single light Where someone Was sick or Perhaps reading As I drove past At seventy Not thinking This poem Is for whoever Had the light on  -Donald Justice I've been so tired. On thursday, though, I ran the best 6 mi I've run all season and was put with varsity on friday to run hospital hill in Medfield. We stopped on the way back at Friendly's, which was really pleasant. That afternoon, I came home and my grandma, who has been deteriorating from dementia since I was about nine, had died from a virus that turned into pneumonia. Being customary to bury her a day after the death, we were going to go to New York on Sunday (Saturday being the Sabbath), but both my mom and my aunt came down with my grandma's virus, having sat by her bed for 24 hours. So it has been delayed until monday. Through all of this, I have had to get things done: I took the SAT IIs in Spanish on Saturday, went to the BSO on Saturday night (which was terrific), wrote something for the funeral, and, though I told everyone differently, I will be doing the walk against breast cancer today. I still don't know what to do for Senior dress-up day. The college deadlines are looming and not helping and I just need a day, one day, to forget about stress. Be

[24 Aug 2006|06:03pm] Cross-country camp in cow country NY: twelve Holliston girls on the team running two times daily and spending the rest of the day having too much free time. Were I to describe the bed ordeal on the very first night in which a counselor threatened to throw specifically me out and I, for once, stood up for myself with anger and attitude (in the end, by the way, I'd say she became one of my favorite counselors), the all-nighter of the last night, the oreo incident, the meanness and tension and badmouthing and Dana posse and "baggage" between campers and the tears that we went through to get to this point, I would probably receive only a blank stare in return. You may even laugh if I said that I had to turn Sexyback into a ringtone when I got home. It's true. There were so many hormones raging that last night, every frustration and torment and self-confidence issue exposed for everyone to see, out on the newly redone floor and that we littered with wrappers and elastics and yelling and also on the Thumper on the wall which we laughed at and took sexual pictures of. Constant interruptions and, when she left the cabin for the rain, she slammed the door so hard the whole place shook. But, you have to understand, before we later gave the long island boys Cosmopolitan and played the pen game, we also told each girl in turn why we loved eachother. And we do now. There is nothing like our bond. For the final hours in New York, I was not in my body anymore, only watching madeover friends experiencing the rush of no sleep and ten million hookups and tingles and seeing a naked man in the car next to our bus. We were rebellious, sneaking out at 4 am enough times so that the counselors didn't care anymore. We were crazy, enticing Tom DeLay and Matt Perry (yes, that was their names) and the Holliston boys with graham crackers. We made it the whole, very long night without sleep and I slept 12 hours the next day. Suffice it to say that running camp couldn't have been better for me at this time in my life. And now all that's left it really ugly bug bites and still-soar abs and my great-uncle and applebee's and cooler nights and days upon days upon days and the moon. I haven't seen the moon in a long time. 1 Moment| Be

To Steve: [24 Jul 2006|10:23pm] The matchmaker, the lover, the poet, the emotional, the fool, the awkward-silence-righter, the dangerous, the asshole, the sports fanatic, the beautiful, the crazy, the intense, the angry, the loud, the defensive, the self-conscious. The one who brought everyone together the first night for pizza. The one who yelled at me just to stand up for his friend. The one who made me cry. Who wanted to plan a road trip for the day after he got his liscence. Who made a list to handle all the love he had. Who called Jews for Jesus on carnival night and sang the fuck song that kept us in stitches all night. Who brought everyone out to play volleyball in the rain and get unbelievably muddy. Who organized a picnic one afternoon for his friends at Explo, called in pizza, bought soda, which we spilled and sprayed, and other food items, and got a corner $1 rose for each of the picnicers who came. Who tried to compile all too many Explo memories into one beautiful story, and gather other people's writings on the subject, never finishing in the end. The one who found about 5 sappy children's birthday cards (the kind with bees saying "We're all abuzzz!"), wrote in them, and put a dollar in each of them, and gave them to Chelsea for her birthday, along with a "birthday binder" (how do you think of that?) that had stickers and pictures and that night that he was so creative, it was so perfect. Who would wish me "Happy Tomorrow" when we stayed up all night chatting. Who shared carrot cake around the table for Chelsea's birthday only to find out nobody including him really liked it. The one who I just didn't see or hear enough of. Who would run up to you, pick you up, and spin you around as hard as he could if it's been a while (or even if it hadn't). Who wouldn't part with his Yankees hat. Who wouldn't smile for a picture. Who just wanted his friends to be happy. He would have hated a sappy online post about him. The one who opened up, acted up, listened, cared, wanted, loved. To Steve: You have forever touched my heart. You will always be with me. Right there, I wanted to scream, to tell everyone how you would have hated all this sadness, this black and especially hated being called Steven. Fitting, that you left us playing games on the last day of this year's Explo, in the first year that you didn't return. I love and miss you too much to put into words. I just can't believe this is happening. Rest in Peace Steve Fagan July 22

[14 Jul 2006|12:20pm] Yamilex, her sister who speaks no english, and her mother are moving out. They stampeded down the stairs yesterday shouting "Nos vamos!" and received hugs and kisses all around from the other 13 families. Christian, who will be eight next friday, says he wants to have his birthday party at Yamilex's new house. She's moving out on Tuesday, so I will see her only once more. She was the first kid I met at the shelter, on the first day when I was still scared that the trauma they'd seen would make them violent, bad people. She was beautiful. She didn't say a word to me for about an hour or so, until Christian came outside and started asking what I was doing here. Then it was all about the slide and I caught her every time. Interning at Pathways Shelter has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. My job at the shelter is to act as a mentor to a 10-year-old, Jeci (Jeciena), and her sister, Letaire (I have no idea how to spell her name), 13. But I usually hang out with about 5 other 4-12 year olds. I spend 12 hours a week there, so these kids know me well. My favorite moment is usually seeing Christopher's silly smile when I walk in the door. Their faces haunt me after I leave. What amazes me about these children is that they hear "Shut the fuck UP!" "Sit your ass on that chair NOW!" "DON'T ask ME for help!" around them, at them, from their mothers, everywhere, yet they are just as sweet and respectful as any well-off holliston kid I've ever babysat for. They ask me to help them climb the monkey bars, they see who can swing the highest, we smush play-do, I certainly have a good time. And yet, there is always something. The little ones, especially Christopher, will hide in a corner and begin to cry sometimes. When I ask what happened, he just presses his face to my shoulder. It seems the only help I can offer sometimes is a hug. And then there's Letaire. I am, supposedly, her mentor. I have never gotten more than two reluctant words from her. My supervisor, Marita, brought out bead kits, blo-pens, crayons, etc and told me that both sisters could use one at a time. What 13 year old, traumatized or not, will jump up and down when approached with, "How would you like to color with...RAZZLE-DAZZLE RED?" Forget that she's lived through things I can't begin to fathom, forget I am rich-and-fancy-white-girl, forget she already flat-out turns me down with no when I say, "Let's go upstairs." A 13 year old is a teenager, and she is not exactly ecstatic at the prospect of coloring. Luckily, Jeci has definitely taken to me AND razzle-dazzle red. When we were making bracelets, Jeci and I, she finished hers, but it was a little loose on her wrist, so I said, "Do you want to make it an anklet?" and bent down to check if it would work. "No!" she almost screamed. When I pressed her, she told me that it was like what the people in prison wear that hurts them. I was stunned. The first thing she thought of when a pink-butterfly-and-flower bracelet came near her ankle was a ball and chain, or electrocution band, I'm not sure. Yesterday, we started her summer reading choice, Gathering Blue, and made it through the first chapter. It's about a girl with a crippled leg who was saved by her mother as a child but her mother got sick and died, so the council debates whether to throw her to the beasts. Jeci doesn't like it. It's too sad. Imagine. A girl who's probably seen her own father in prison, gets verbally attacked every day, and has her own handicap in school (dyslexia) can't take tragedy. Well, I concurred with her when we were done, so we were thinking of starting Izzy Willy Nilly soon instead (which I think is about a girl who gets her arm amputated. Um, go figure). On the fancy side of things, a few months ago, my mom got 5 tickets to The Daily Show on the birthday (the 24th) of my brother the politics major and daily show enthusiast. I was so excited. I may not follow the show as closely as others in my family, but I certainly laugh every time. Of course, at one month to go, a catch. With how terribly rude, vulgar, and uncensored Jon Stewart is, under-18-year-olds don't get past the door. 17 and 2.5 month-ers who'll be with their mommy included. HOW MUCH DOES THAT STINK. I look quite old for my age. I mean, really. Ha. Funny juxtaposition. Be

[29 Mar 2006|09:10pm] In the span of about a month, Sheba the cat's muscles were relaxed enough to end the pain of her bone cancer, and Wilbur the neighbor's dog lay down for a sunbath in our backyard and had a heart attack. Their goings couldn't have been more peaceful. Sheba can now enjoy the coveted outdoors, and Wilbur, well he'll forever feel the warm glow on his back. ...For the past week, nothing but sun. In other news, I'm finding Shaw's hardest on my legs. Be

[17 Jan 2006|07:17pm] Wow. I'm back from Minnesota, full of sleep deprivaton and trivial pursuit at 2 a.m. and long flight delays. Work. So much work. Can't write, gotta study. Be

[03 Jan 2006|01:33pm] [ music | Come on, Feel the Illinoise ] Leftovers, evil mutant circus women bent on lobotomizing the male species, and sleep after four beautidul days with four(+) beautiful people. Thank God it's a snow day. Be

[24 Dec 2005|11:16am] [ mood | lovely ] I love vacation! I love watching "Christmas Vacation", I love watching movies all day and not thinking too hard and doing nothing except being happy. I love friends and gift-giving and caroling and tournaments and candy. I love chocolate. I love giving chocolate to people I actually didn't know too well, I love donating and not feeling like a pinchpenny. I love how the only word that came to my mind was pinchpenny. I love words that are fun to say like hullabaloo and perpetually and schmuck and chortle. I love laughs, I love being crazy and not caring, I love being cool like that. I love how my cat just meowed in her sleep. I love hearing sounds, good sounds, I love the taste they leave you with. I love good music, I love the sound my piano makes. I love arguing with a 5-year-old about getting to watch 20 more seconds of tv before bed and him having a tantrum and me turning into The Babysitter from Hell, and he didn't fall asleep. Well, maybe I don't love that, but you can hear the sarcasm in my voice, can't you? I love winter and seeing the nearly palpable atmosphere of this season (minus the knock-you-over-for-the-last-furby thing), I love that everything in view looks like the perfect picture. I love photography, even though my prints haven't developed yet. I love black and white film because it's simple and sophisticated and majestic, and Ansel Adams chose it. I love my huge, old-school 35-mm camera. I love having a new hobby like photography, even though it's not so new because I loved it at explo where I took the course and I loved Ariana's camera and developing/printing and I loved having complete control over every aspect of every shot. I loved explo this year. I love staying in touch with other people and taking a trip soon to see Joanna/Rachel/the L3 girls for a reunion. I love NYC and Boston because I feel like I'm getting to know my way around them. I love anyone who is still reading this far into the paragraph and has read every word because you actually took the time to care. I love this entry much more than the hatred entry, I love happy endings, I love true friends and keeping friends from 9 years ago. I love this sweater and comfy pillows and my hands and love. 1 week, plenty of love, 4 movies, and 3 truffles later, I think I'm ready to be merry and happy for the holiday that fits. 1 Moment| Be

Thank you, Holliston [17 Dec 2005|05:46pm] [ mood | exhausted ] [ music | Zero 7 ] Holliston is famous for creating: 1. The sharp, metal little ridges on the edge of saran wrap boxes 2. The Green Line map inside the T (Mrs. Bynoe) Oh and our principal Mrs. Canty can draw--what? 4 Moments| Be

[16 Dec 2005|10:44pm] [ mood | good ] I hate hearing my own words, I hate trying to be deep because it's when you don't that the good stuff comes out, or so Murph says. I hate debating philosophy in school, I hate third lunch. I hate split ends and old bagels and loneliness. I hate being stressed and writing and writing and I can't stop. I hate my brain moving twice as fast as my fingers can type and letting the lost words dribble out my ears under my bed where the carpet tastes like caramel. And I don't even get what I just typed. I hate making this entry public becuase I'm self-conscious, I hate being a self-conscious perfectionist. I hate forgetting where I put stuff down, I hate getting upset over stupid shit, I hate when people are surprised that I actually swear. I hate that it's really hard to read my 20 million sentences, I hate missing out on other people's good times. I hate spending prolonged periods with my family, I hate closing up to them and magnifying their annoying habits like chewing loudly and having in-depth conversations about our obese cat. I hate doing nada. I hate translating random words within a sentence into spanish becaue it doesn't improve a conversation. I hate writing three pages in spanish, I hate forgetting to write and forgetting why I used to write about certain things, I hate my old entries. I hate long complaining rants because I don't do that. I hate being hypocritical, I hate hating fakeness because the rest of the world already says "don't be fake" and its so vague and it's human to copy behavior that is met with approval, or so one of those crazy transcendentalists said. I hate starting something new and thinking about the inevitable goodbye from the get-go, I hate the word "get-go", I hate the english language because it's so weird and nobody speaks it right excpet for my grandma, and, yes, she does. I hate so many things and every reason why the apocalypse is tomorrow and Wayland. I hate how long this is, I hate putting pressure on myself to find friends in facebook, I hate raping Thesaurus on Word, I hate my settings on this site. I'm pretty content right now. Good concert, plenty of money made throughout the week, and it's not impossible for me to do well in chemistry. 1 Moment| Be

[24 Oct 2005|11:49pm] [ mood | Just fine, thanks ] [ music | Dispatch ] I'm not sure who still reads this? So I think I'm finally at the age where I'm ready to enjoy being "older" without wishing I were a younger older (like, say, 14). I can almost see myself, in maybe 5 years saying "Gosh, it'd be nice to try on 16 again" and I remember just a few years ago, wishing that I could get out of middle school and be an oh-so-superior (not) High Schooler, that I could drive, that I could go out and actually do things and take care of myself, that I could be that fabled "sweet sixteen"-er, and make money and be self-sufficient (ha!) without being self-sufficient at all, really. Freedom, with security--independence minus the independence. AKA 16 (+1/2) is a good year. I realize that I have to hold on to this and my immediate future. I'm not saying that this is the best year of my life; there will be many more good ones to come. But this is a year I'll remember, when conditions are just right. Time won't stop for a good age. XC, piano, pasta party, and homework finished. I'm going to bed. 4 Moments| Be

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