90th

Why hello blog.
This is my 90th post.
Right now I'm in Harvard Station, waiting for an inbound train, which I'll ride to South Station so I can walk over to Fan Pier and watch Boston Harbor as the sun goes down.
Today is December 18th, 2010. I've had this blog for almost three years now and I want to figure out what that means. I'm going home tomorrow and from the 22nd through the 31st I'm going to post, once a day, and finally reach 100. I don't know if I'll keep writing after that. There are some things in life that you can't just run away from so that they stay preserved and safe and beautiful, but this isn't one of them.

--

Well, it's 11:43 on the 22nd and I'm going to write. I need to. I've been having sort of a disconcerting time lately and I keep forgetting all the things that keep me grounded. This isn't one of them. Blogging generally is more constructive than pacing around in circles anyways. Keeps me human. That's what words do for all of us though, so I don't know why I always surprise myself.

The imaginary reader who has been flipping through these since January 14th, 2008, knows a little bit about how my life has gone, and some of where my mind is at. The imaginary reader will remember my dead cacti and how I go on and on about books and language and how much I complained about my classes and how I tried to be Holden Caufield last summer. Well, I need to catch back up again. I can't now, but I have up until my 100th post to formulate what I want to do and how I want to get there. And I want these to be good posts, not the usual rambling. They might take a bit of time but I think it's worth it.

I just realized that blogger is counting my drafts in with my posts, so this really isn't my 90th published post, is it? Oh well. I'm getting to 100, even if it spills into next year. I'll give myself until the 14th.


L

Frequency

It's strange that I'm only posting every few weeks after writing here so often. It makes some sense though; whenever I need to get something off my chest I grab the nearest roommate or whatever friend is on chat. I've been pretty ok lately anyways. Right now I'm stretching out for my modern company show. We've been working on it for about 10 weeks and I think it came together pretty well. I'm not nervous, just a little pumped. There's a little bit of a pre-show high. I've been trying to figure out when I stopped being nervous and excited to perform. I mean, nerves are never great but I used to perform really well with all that adrenaline; I remember a few years ago pulling off a triple turn on stage I had never done before, just because of the extra energy I had.
I guess I get pumped enough. But sometimes desensitization comes with nostalgia. I always wonder if I dance better or worse for it.

L

The Art of the Short Story

I'm in my Life Science lecture right now and I'm completely ignoring everything that's going on, which is a problem because then I fail my problem sets. Whoops.
I don't really care though. Weird? Yes. Don't worry, I'm not going to fail out of school or anything, I just have some new priorities. Or, rather, old priorities.
I'm excited about writing again.
I don't care about the chemical process of phosphate bonds and the protein structure of HIV; I'm distracted by the story I wrote and I'm getting all dorky and excited for my writing workshop later when I'm going to get feedback on it. I'm ignoring this lecture and reading through my blogs, and now I think I'll read through my story again and try to keep working through everything I don't want in there, narrowing down what I want to say (and figuring out what that is) until I can actually say it.
This is crazy. All I want to do is write right now, and that's the last thing I'm going to do.
I should write another short story.
I like short stories.
They're punchy and they say what they mean ad there's no room for a slip--either the writing is good or you're out and your reader is on to the next fad. Language amazes me.

L

October 30, 2010

I'm not going to pretend that I didn't just turn on my favorite song at 11:59 and rock out into my birthday.
Because that would be a lie.
Also, it was kind of really awesome so I wanted to share.

Reasons I'm not angsty about this birthday:
1. Just because I'm an adult now doesn't mean I grew/have to grow up. Let's face it, that's just not happening.
2. I think I'd like to do the same thing for every birthday. Wait until 11:59, turn on "The Poison", and have a mini-dance party. Remind me I said this when I'm 80.
3. I can actually start doing shit now. Not like "WOAH guyzz look, a cigarette!" more like, "You think I can't make a difference, orly now? Watch me."

I'm excited. I figured it out today (yesterday? the 29th): this year was cosmic bullying. Dude, I just got hazed by the universe for adulthood. And that made it so much more ok. Now I can fight back. With words.

BAM.
L

The Way I Respond To "No".

Step 1: shock
Step 2: shame
Step 3: sadness
Step 4: fury
Step 5: bitterness
Step 6: anger
Step 7: resignation
Step 8: resurgence
Step 9: resistance
Step 10: rebellion
Step 11: reevaluation
Step 12: "Aut via inveniam, aut faciam."

Step 13: I win.


You can make it from 1 to 12 in about half an hour. Allow the passage of years between 12 and 13.
Medicine is out, via Catch-22; my first real life plan got killed sooner than my first real relationship. And that's saying something. 
I think I'll concentrate in philosophy.
Plan A tied up loose ends with grad school and money nicely, so I'll have to sort through more of a mess to figure out how precisely I'm going to transition out of here.

I'll be doing what I've always done. I already miss the chance to do something else. Maybe I'll stay pre-med just because. We'll see.

In the end, it still comes down to me doing something. I don't know what that is yet, but I'll be damned if I don't get there.

More "good" ideas. And apples!

I haven't blogged in a while, which I don't particularly like. It's good to have things written so your mind can't tangle them up again. Let's talk about my newest "good" idea.

I decided I need a project.
I like it here. I love it here. I'm happy with everything at Harvard, but there's some general chemistry or something that's missing because it's still so new. As close to perfect as this has been for me, it can't be air-tight because that would be crazy. Don't ask me to explain what's missing for me, because I'm not totally sure. Maybe I'll be able to figure out. I do know that it'll definitely change given a little bit of time.

I was thinking about this, and in kind of an off mood for a different reason when I said to myself, "Focus. Get your mind onto something. Throw yourself into some crazy thing so that everything else can just fall into its own place." Do you know the feeling where you can tell something's coming but aren't really sure yet? I didn't know what would hit me. I just had the feeling that it would, soon, and that it would be epic.

So, I was walking back from the dining hall and I decided to write a book.
Not like I've always said, 50 years from now when I'm old and wise and omniscient, now. While I can. I don't have a story yet, but I've been writing a little bit, and I think I'll keep gong until I find one that feels real enough to record.

Let me emphasize the difference between writing  a book and publishing a book: I don't necessarily feel the need to make other people read this, maybe just a few when I'm done. This isn't about the story or the writing or the readers, it's about the product. I'm determined that there will be a product eventually. It feels right.

In other news, I have apples and IBC. My mind has settled down a little bit. Reason came back. Decision did too, a little. It's still messy in there, but it's not an unhappy kind of messy anymore. So, really, when you think about it, I'm almost entirely all set.

L

RAWR! Ow.

I had two of these dreams last night, and I think I've had them before.
I'm out in the woods and I get bitten by some wild animal--I never remember the bite very clearly, but the last time it was a lion. Because they're really common in the woods of the American Northeast. Whatever. No one really knew what to do, and my mom had a bunch of medication for it but they couldn't figure out what to give me, so I just had to keep going. Then finally we got wherever we were going and the people there knew what to do and ended up saving me. So that was a good thing xD

 Today I got a really cool necklace for a wicked good price from a cool street vendor.
I also got sealing wax. For letters. And figured out that I can use my cross as a seal.
So, the day started out strangely with weird, oddly painful dreams and then I found awesome things.

Vera vita.

L

Happy places

It amazes me how much better I feel now that I'm out here.
I don't have anything specific to blog about right now--nothing that could be put here, at least. Life is good, though, and I feel like that needed to be written down. I can't write something that's not true. There's something about bare print that keeps me from lying to even myself. I love that.

I've been working on personalizing my space and externalizing some of the Lauren-ishness onto my room, and I'm doing quite nicely. My bed-area-corner thing makes me happy. My desk-area-collage-thing makes me very happy. I like being here. That's probably something I'll need through this year. The thought of legitimately living here is awesome; not only is it awesome, it's reality.

That's kind of freaking cool.
L

Cambridgeland

I'm at Harvard.
Holy shit.
Ok, so now I'm waiting in an auditorium type thing to take my Latin placement test and blogging. Because that's what I do.
Our suite has four bedrooms and a common room for five girls, and I'm sharing the smallest bedroom, but it doesn't really matter because my roommates are awesome.
And I already have a bunch of friends from the backpacking trip I was on, plus my friends from refresh weekend, plus my new roomiez.
Dance classes are already lined up. Lunch dates are already made. And broken. And I have the second largest library in the country to explore--right next to the door.
Am I totally ok right now? Nahh... But I will be!

L

I don’t care if it’s a sad goodbye or a bad goodbye, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it.

So that was the end of the great Salinger adventure. [These overly-philosophical sentimental blog posts will henceforth be known as the Holden Caufield Series, and I might look back at them from time to time and relive what happened.]
I was ready to go home, I think, and now I'm here for four more nights, and that'll be it. Then I sort of go home again. It's like retracing my steps to Massachusetts. I miss the accents. 


If I'm supposed to be feeling some huge rush of nostalgia, then I'm missing something. I only feel detached, but I guess I've felt that for a while now.  I think it really is time for me to go. 

So, I have tomorrow and the next day to finish packing, then I'll be on a six-day hiking trip, and after that, something finally starts; I move in. If I can keep my game up and hold on to the fight, I'll breeze through this transition. If I don't keep my momentum going then it will take me a few years to get into the swing of things, just like every other school I've been to.


The only place where I really had a place almost immediately was my dance studio. I surprised myself; tonight was my last class, and I was pretty much ok, maybe because it doesn't feel like I'm leaving, just taking a break. ADA will always be my studio anyways, and I'll always come back while I can. When everything was shit, that place was the only thing that could make it better. I won't forget that. 


I realized too that I might not last forever in Boston. For the next four years, and probably a little while after that, it's going to be perfect. It's a great city and it's the perfect fit for me. But when we were driving back up from the train today, I watched out the car window like I always do, and the sun was at that perfect angle where it skims the tops of the trees and it feels like you're racing after that. Everything was in technicolor. For some reason, those greens were the brightest and most vibrant I've ever seen, and the tips of some of the leaves were turning golden, like the color from the sun had bled onto them and stained. I had a staring contest with the sun while it was behind clouds, following it through the trees, like we were facing each other. That's when I feel the most like myself. I'm never going to stop loving this place, either. I just won't. Maybe I can go sailing tomorrow morning--we'll see.


I think it's amazing that I'm going to be living in the physical manifestation of one of my mental "happy places" and I don't know what to think about it or what to expect or what's going to happen, so I'm just going to have to find out.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

08/15 @ 10:30 PM

I'm not crazy about last days. Penultimate days--now those are the best. You're not too caught up in the finality of things to enjoy it all.
Today was a lot of fun, though. We went for brunch and then walked through this slightly massive street fair. It was over ten blocks of stalls with people selling scarves and sunglasses and knockoff purses. And hats. I got a hat that I'm quite fond of, but I'm still determined to find a Holden Caufield hat. It will come to me when it's ready. After that was obnoxiously good pizza and a disappointing lack of bakeries at which to get a cannoli, and sitting in my room sans internet. (I'll upload this tomorrow on the train.)

The fair ended up near 51st street, where St. Patrick's Cathedral is. We had wanted to go see it anyways, so we headed in. It was amazing. This huge monument had enough detail to make you cry just looking at--have you ever noticed how the most beautiful things have divine inspiration behind them? We sat in the front pew for a few minutes to rest, and I got the chance to pray in this amazing building, and with tourists snapping pictures and people walking past and guards holding ropes across certain passages and a dim buzzing from conversation filing every crevasse of the cathedral, I still felt centralized, right there, almost part of the structure. There were rows and rows of votives lining the walls in tribute to hundreds of dreams and wishes and hopes and I jut looked straight up to the ceilings and stained glass; the glass was amazing. I didn't want to move, just stay there for hours and sink into this church. Most don't have me pegged as a religious person--an irreverent, cynical, sarcastic, somewhat bitter, logical, scientific, argumentative person? Yes, and parts of me are that person, but this is huge. Massive. Bigger than I am. I've never said this out loud, but I would like to say it: everything good, or innovative, or noble you see in me isn't me. You're just seeing through me. I wouldn't have it any other way, either. I get the credit for what I am, but you know, no one really can take credit for most accomplishments. Determination, hard work, resolution, and intricate thought are really all we can contribute to what we are. The rest is out of our hands, whether you think it's God or a god or genetics. That's universal. That's really as far as I'm going to go on religion because it's not something that I need to justify. If you want to know more about how this relates to my world, then just ask (that goes for anything, really, and it's true). The funny thing is that no one ever really has.

Deus et veritias. Deus et veritas per verba? Nothing has changed but now i fight with words. The words are a constant, they are a mystery, they will arrange themselves as needed when the necessary time comes. Deus et veritias et tempus et verba. This was the last day of my Holden Caufield adventure, and I'm going to reread The Catcher in the Rye when I get home. I've only read it twice, and the first time, in sophomore year, I didn't even like it. Well, the words helped. I'm not the first person they picked up and dusted off. I went to the sometimes-skating rink; I've walked 40 blocks through Manhattan, I've sat in a hotel room and realized that I was alone again, I explored Central Park and went to the zoo to see the sea lions. I found the museum where nothing ever changes, except yourself. I watched the carousel--I can honestly say that, because of the life of someone who never lived, that merry-go-round made me inexplicably happy. I let myself have a "thing" where I was decidedly not ok, and now I have a book living in my head. Words can do this. I don't know how Salinger knew how to make that novel, but he did it. Authors do it all the time; they arrange the words so that you can see them too. I'm not sure what happens next. I live, I guess. Well, I can do that. I have the heartbeat down, it's the breathing I need to work on. Damn asthma.

That's what art does. Books and music and dance and paintings and intangibility--that jump between what you're looking at and what you see--make a difference. If you're unwilling to even open a window into that part of your mind, (because your mind needs fresh air, from all directions, always) then you're missing something. That's all I'm going to say about that.

This is what I think. I think that everyone should have a place in their mind this fresh, this alive. I have many, and I can add a new sort of living novel to the collection, the remains of my trip to New York City.

So, yes, I had a good time XD. Now, onward.

L

What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to fall over the cliff

Ancient Rome never gets old.
Hehehe.
There are way too many cool things at the Met--it's almost obscene. They have O'Keefe. They have Manet. They have classical sculpture and pottery and jewelry that's thousands of years old, and they have a temple. Like, a whole Egyptian-style temple. In the museum, reassembled, and it is GORGEOUS. This all happened before I saw their Degas rooms, and that happened before I found Van Gogh.

[The only Holden moment I had today was seeing the fountain in the middle of Central Park; I think that, at one point, he just went in and soaked himself. I could almost see it while I stood there--a teenage boy just walking in and getting drenched, fully dressed, staying in the water for a second like he was acknowledging how strangely right it was. I wanted to go in myself.]

I could have sat in the Greek and Roman room and stared at statues of deities all day, but I sort of took an abridged tour of the whole museum instead. I'm going to come back though, someday, and do exactly that; I'll walk through the entire exhibit, all day, and read every single plaque on every single item. I'll skip lunch and probably dinner too and stare at all these wonderful things, just like their creators stared at them millenia before I existed even as an idea; and for that day, it will be like I am standing side by side with an alien people that walked a different planet, though in the lifetime of that planet we might as well have lived side by side. Then I'll do the same thing in the Medieval Art exhibit, then Van Gogh, and my life will be just a little bit different from that point onward.

I admit it. I'm sort of hopeless, falling in love with all these things all at once (but who could help it, in the end, it's one of the occupational hazards of thinking). Actually, no, I'm incredibly hopeless--crazy, really, partly full of clouds and wind and imagined things while being stuck to real life and spinning the air around to try and make something else. And sometimes I revel in today and sometimes it just makes everything unbalanced, almost, like I have no energy to get up and move my mind and process the things coming at me. I had that spark this past year, up through some of the summer, the signature thing that just sort of made my life awesome. There was breath in it, and a lot of belief. I sort of figured out why I wanted to take this mini-vacation from the world--I wasn't trying to find that spark, I was trying to learn to live without it.

I don't want to learn to live with or without anything. I just want to live.
There now. That sounds like me again.

L
 
PS: I was changing my facebook status and just wrote this, and it sounded true. I believe that the truth needs to be reported, and I wanted to save this for when I need a reminder myself: Don't ever believe it when someone tries to tell you that words don't make a difference. They are the difference.

I felt so damn happy all of a sudden . . .

I love Central Park.
It was a gorgeous morning when we set out today, and we were walking up from Times Square when all of a sudden this glorious patch of green rose up from the grey. We bought scarves from a vendor across the street and then I ran into a stand full of used books and really started to fall for the place. Hard. We kept walking up, parallel to 5th, and literally went straight into the most charming zoo I've ever been in. Phoebe Caufield liked it too. She and Holden watched the sea lions. There was one up on top of the rock in his enclosure, sunning himself, and if you added a mane and some paws then he wouldn't have looked out of place on an African plain somewhere. I saw the lagoon, too--the pond where, in the winter, the fish stay and the ducks leave for whatever haven they have.
I didn't see any graffiti at the Museum of Natural History. There was so much there, and everything was in stasis. The fourth floor was entirely filled with bones: dinosaurs, mammals, mammoth sea turtles, prehistoric fish, everything. They were coming at me from all sides and I had no idea where to look first. I wonder how different their bones are from ours. There was a cross-section of a huge redwood tree almost 2000 years old. I think that should be my next trip; I need to see those trees breathe.

The carousel didn't look like I expected, but there were benches arranged around it and pigeons flying all over the place. It made me smile.

I keep going back and forth on whether or not I like New York. Times Square went from exhilarating to oppressive, but away from the garishness the tall buildings are beautiful. I could live in Manhattan, but I would need to be near the park. Hell, I might live in the park. Lauren Covalucci: future pigeon lady of America.

L

Where do the ducks go when the pond freezes over?

I might have to order a replica Holden Caufield red hunting hat like John Green has, because a fictional character is single-handedly making my trip to NY awesome. If I'm going to have my own little meltdown then I might as well follow the champion of meltdowns. Minus the stripper. That would just be weird.
Today was really busy. We went down to Battery Park and took the ferry over to the Statue of Liberty. It's an incredible piece of artwork. The most famous pieces of art are always so overused that they lose their meaning, but not this statue. She's gorgeous; not in the literal sense because she sort of looks like a drag queen from a certain angle, but anyone who sees this thing can't ignore it. This has meaning. This is powerful. This is the New Colossus, and my favorite part of her is that she's stepping out into the ocean like some sort of crusader for the truth, and the most powerful city in the world follows. It's a universal piece, but there is still so much depth that every person who looks at her sees something different, finds another meaning. That was mine. Her face looks determined--not quite angry, not quite fierce, but completely fixed on her purpose, and she's walking forward and holding that torch out like she's going to be conquering everything that keeps people from seeing themselves as they are, and she's not going to do it gently. Champion of the Truth. I like that.

I took a 30 minute power-nap on Ellis Island. We went by the WTC and I was reminded of how powerful a nation can be. The strength lies in the individuals; it's amazing. When separate people together experience the same thing, the same recurring emotion, the same reaction, they become more than themselves. I remembered something about myself too--I don't get sad, or desperate, or hopeless. When I witness something that goes against our common humanity, I get brilliantly, incandescently angry. I'll be able to use that someday.

The nights here in Times Square are just...waste. There is so much energy when the sun goes down but all of it is disturbingly empty. Something that seems enchanting at first is just sickening papier mache and wires beneath. Central Park is going to fill up my tomorrow, though. If you look inside a tree, it's just a tree, and that's why they're so beautiful.

L

Who needs flowers when you're dead?

08/11 at 11:45 PM

I'm writing this in notepad (or whatever apple calls their version of notepad) because, in this super-swanky hotel in Times Square where dual showerheads, hip modern art, and HD flatscreens reign, we have to pay $15 for 24 hours of internet access. We sort of need computers to, you know, plan this little adventure, so we're getting it for tomorrow, which is probably when this will be posted.

As I was driving out of New Hampshire yesterday, I kept thinking to myself, I need to go out into the woods and lay down on the ground and just breathe and watch the trees. That is exactly what I need.
I'm pretty unfamiliar with the geography of New York City, but the knowledge I've pieced together tells me that it might be the absolute wrong place for my tree-hugging self-medication.

The nature walks will have to wait until next Tuesday and Wednesday; this week, my friends, I am very happy to report that I will be blogging from NYC. If it was good enough for Holden Caufield, it's good enough for me.

L

Mi casa su Blogger

Off of facebook, onto Blogger. I think that was a good transition for now. Besides, everyone who has the Insider's Guide to Lauren knows about these, and anyone who wants to will check them. I love blogs. So yes, I had sort of a thing yesterday, and I don't know if it was a breakdown or a meltdown or if I just snapped (the last one feels the most accurate) but I guess it was a long time coming. Reader, whoever you are, if you're worried at this point, then don't be. It's me. I can honestly say that I am fine, and "ok" is rapidly approaching, and soon we might even be in sight of "good" territory. I like it there. The grass is greener and the awesome is awesome-r.

I'm going to just focus really hard on something until school starts. If you have any suggestions for the something, let me know. It might be writing, it might be art, it might be zucchini. At any rate, welcome to my humble internet abode. I will be living here for a bit. Wipe your feet before you come in.

Olathhaig!
L

This is awesome.

So apparently there's an upside to just completely snapping. (I just completely snapped. I stalked a horsefly and went all Rambo on its ass. Keep up.)
That was interesting. Like, really interesting. It's like when you stretch a muscle so far that it just...releases. That's literally what it does; you can feel all the tension just leave, it's crazy. Well, I think I snapped. It felt good.
Anyways, my upside is this: I found my tattoo. Literally, I just looked in the mirror and pictured it and thought, "That's mine. It's supposed to be on my body, it's just not yet." THAT was really cool. I've been waiting for that moment. I'm really looking forward to getting it--it's a cross, and it just really needs to be inked onto my body soon. It's going to mean something and say something and help, and IT'S MY TATTOO!
I'm excited. And still slightly lightheaded from the snappage.
I should get angry more often.

L

They all cheat at cards and the checkers are lost

And down we go.

Mm. My Chemical Romance. Delicious.

The universe is good at leveling moods.

I found a new favorite place to read.
The ancient pontoon boat is usually the family library of sorts. Each of us goes out there separately during the summer when we have a free afternoon to read, so that's been my standby for years. I sit right at the front of the boat, in the single chair towards the bow, so I can rest my feet on the gate that supposedly keeps you from falling off when we're moving. It was kind of cold today, though, and my normal spot was shady. The jetski, however, was basking in the sun and I got jealous of it so I transferred. It's perfect. There's enough room to lay down if I wanted to and it rocks around with the waves just enough.
The world is a gorgeous place, you know. All you have to do is look.

L

And the prevailing mood today is...

...shit. The only thing that can bring me out of these moods is dance, and I don't have that for another nine days. I need to read. Or do something. Only I don't have any plans to go out so I'm going to be sitting in my house trying to focus on paperwork and essays and packing and things that are sort of immediately necessary that I definitely don't want to deal with right now.
So. Library run. I hate it when this happens.
Also, I hate writing angsty blog posts because, guess what? They don't make me feel better. They do make me look back at myself and say, "This is stupid. Don't be pathetic, pull yourself out and grow a spine."
My angry music, books, and tearing my room down to put in little boxes. That might do the trick.

L

[PS: I just looked. This is my 69th post. "Fuck" is describing things nicely.


Also, turns out I'm going to the library alone. This is an improvement.]

On raincoats. Not really.

I'm going to do something absolutely epic when I reach my 100th post on SAu. I just don't know what that is yet. Or when it will be, of if I'll even reach one hundred posts before the world blows up.
I hope I do. I've had this blog for two years. That's sort of a big deal for me. Not very many things can stay awesome for me past a few months.

It's like water-resistant jackets vs. waterproof raincoats.
Both are anti-water and pro-dry. That's great. Water is lovely, but not when you don't want to be drenched in it.
So, initially, water-resistant seems the same as waterproof. They look about the same, they're having the same effect, until they're put to the test. After a good few hours of downpouring, someone in a water-resistant raincoat might feel a few drops here and there, and soon enough they're wet and have nothing to shield themselves except a thin piece of soaked polyester. If you're wearing a waterproof jacket though, you're going to be watching on and shaking your head--your nice, dry, head.
Temporary, water-resistant awesome things like bad television and, let's face it, most of my long-forgotten "good ideas", can only hold out so long against life's boredom and general Worldsuck.
I remember making this blog on the spur of the moment just to check it out, and now look. It turned out to be waterproof.

L

Tastes like chicken

I wonder if it's harder to write a poem or a novel.
Both are almost impossibly hard.
Let me rephrase that--both are impossibly hard to do well.
I judge the quality of a book or a poem or any kind of writing by the effect it has on its reader.
As an author, how can you tell the way your writing is affecting the people exposed to it?

Mindreading and writing might be the same thing.
I want to create something I find beautiful and just throw it out there and hope other people find it beautiful too.
Does that count?
Blegh. I know I'm going to be stuck doing this. Writing. At some point or another, and it's just going to be ridiculous.
Oh well.

L
 
[2 MINUTES LATER]
I guess it's like cooking.

[2 MINUTES AFTER THAT]
I can't cook for shit.
I'm a microwave champion, though.

[30 SECONDS LATER]
And cake decorating. I'm really good at that. AND gingerbread houses. I make badass gingerbread houses.

[10 MINUTES AFTER THAT]
I saw a pie-chart of concentrations (prick-speak for majors) for the class of 2014 and was...shocked. I, as you know, am about as Undecided as they come. I have minor issues picking out socks in the morning. Unless they're neon and awesome. Anyways, I have to fall in love with something before I make a decision about it. The problem with this is that I love learning everything except the Taylor Theorem and how to get that "Hot Summer Look in 3 Easy Steps" so this makes some decisions a little more difficult. Anyways, I was enlightened. I learned that .2% (the decimal is in the right place) of admitted students have not decided the general area they would like to concentrate in.
As I'm writing this I realized that I'm not in that minority since I probably said I would like to have a concentration somewhere in the Humanities, but it's the principle of the thing. It makes me want to picket a building or something.

That's about it, I think.

03225

My town kind of freaks me out.
I know I shouldn't be this prejudiced, but it's just really weird to me. The poverty isn't a new thing; I've always been around that. But every time I go into one of the local businesses (i.e. a gas station or the country store because that's about all we're working with here) everyone just seems--defeated. Worn down. Worn out. In Massachusetts poverty seems more aggressive. I don't know why, but there has always been more fight in those people, across all socioeconomic backgrounds. Barnstead just doesn't have any hope for opportunity or expansion or anything. I know a lot of people find the country peaceful and I do too. It's the sadness that bothers me. I don't notice it as much in my area because it's mainly composed of middle-of-the-middle-class retirees from, you guessed it, Massachusetts, but as soon as you go towards the center of town where old families are established, you can just feel the weariness. It's not only the adults either. The kids don't have any prospects here because neither their education nor their circumstances demand it of them. Many of them will stay here for the rest of their lives. If they choose it because they love the area, then that's wonderful. I wish them the best of luck and hope that they can make the most of whatever limited opportunity they have. If they don't see any other option, then I feel sorry that they couldn't live up to their potential.
When I talk about opportunity, I'm not talking about a white collar job that brings home a wheelbarrow full of cash. I mean the opportunity to explore what talents and abilities you have, to make more of yourself and push yourself towards whatever direction you find yourself naturally oriented. Is there money in that? Sometimes, yeah. But it's the options that people need, not the finances. Hell, do you think I'm going to Harvard for the financial security? I don't know what I'd do with money. I honestly don't. I would keep enough to pay for college for whatever kids I may or may not have, set a little aside to live off of when I retire, and probably end up just giving the rest away. Excess is just unappealing. (I am SUCH a lousy American, where did my culture abandon me to a side road...) If I do go into medicine, start making a list of charities that look halfway decent. I'll need someone to take the waste off my hands.
L

NEW OBSESSION! (Another one)

Gerry, I think, may officially not be just a phase anymore. My relationship with him has lasted longer than my relationship with the guy who gave him to me, so I think it's safe to say that we're pretty serious. We're going to be living together in the fall.
Anyways, after my little unsettled blog post last night/this morning, I actually slept (good idea) and felt better after said sleep (always do). For kicks I went on the College Board website because I remembered them having good resources for picking areas of interest/majors/personality types, and I went through their stuff and checked it all out again. They have a few questions you can answer to match you up with a career or a major, AND they have a full-blown surprisingly insightful personality test, which I retook. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it so much that I started hand-profiling everyone I know into one of 16 personality types and then checking the info on each to see how well they matched up. There are four letters that stand for individual characteristics; I/E for introvert/extrovert; N/S for intuitive/sensing; T/F for thinking/feeling; and Z/A for organizing/adaptable. You take an 80-ish question test that determines which option you are for each category, and then you get divided into one of four categories (Troubleshooter, Traditionalist, Catalyst, Visionary), each category with 4 separate trait combinations. So, all in all, they sort you into one of sixteen rough outlines of personality types. They're pretty impressively good at identifying communication styles and motivations, and I was just completely fascinated by it for no good reason. Whatever, I don't care. It was freaking cool.
So, for example, I was labeled INTA (though the test encourages you to take a look at the other four options within the main categories  and I identified with ENTA a bit too). If you mash the two up, it actually kind of works for me, and they tell you some of your general strengths and weaknesses based on your personality type. This is where I decided to get fancy and label everyone else. (My friend Jocelyn is totally an INFZ. I don't know what specific type he is, but when I think Troubleshooter I think V. And come on, I'm a Visionary! XD)
I stopped actually filling out the questions after myself and started just going through each individual letter to profile people. I know my shit, man. So if you want me to tell you who you are then by all means, because I "prize [my] ability to solve complex, abstract problems through analysis and precise thought." Hehehehe.

(PS: Did any of this actually help me sort out what I want to focus on? Well, it didn't tell me anything I don't already know; out of 30 possible career fields it said I would be a good match for 24 of them. Thanks so much.)
L

Written at 2 in the morning on an itouch...

I took some time out of my day today to have a mini-identity crisis.
Seriously now...what am I going to do? For a career--just picking one thing and limiting myself and my time to it? I'm going to have to decide. I just don't know how to do that right now, or ever. Let me tell you, those career aptitude tests might be the most unhelpful tools ever made. If I take the same one twice it contradicts itself because I contradict myself. That's just me. I can be a lot of different things rolled into one. That should be useful in deciding what to do after college, but it isn't. At some level I know that I can't just rush this; I need to wait. I just wish this didn't feel like waiting in the middle of a four-lane highway for an eighteen-wheeler to hit me.

L

Blehhh

I'm mildly annoyed because of absolutely nothing and I'm stuck in the house while all my dance friends are at a party so I can't do anything about it and raaaahhaibzsvonoecrhuosjjn. That's my new word. It means "mild annoyance for a bunch of stupid reasons." It's Arabic. All the cool kids speak it now.

Hm. I'm getting a stomachache. That should be entertaining.
I could read. I like reading. I found this really depressing Charlotte Bronte book about a girl who just goes through her life kind of getting disregarded by everyone. She's a really cool character that no one really pays attention to or gives any credit. She just kind of does her thing and stays respectable and honest and works to survive and tries to help people and constantly gets shafted. I mean, everyone has moments where they're just kind of doing their thing but it feels like they've been forgotten, but that's pretty much this chick's entire life. But you know what? She's ok in the end. I think. I haven't finished yet, obviously, but I can more or less guess what will happen.

So I can read and type on Gerry for a little while and then maybe take a shower and get out of here... That'd be nice. We'll see.
L

New (-ish) fun stuff to play with

I had been looking at laptops all week for something to do.
I wanted a PC.
I wanted the Dell Latitude E6140 Workhorse with 4GB of RAM at 7200RMP, 250GB of storage, a 14.1" screen with a pretty shiny red cover.
I stopped at Harvard. I went to their computer store. I was on that wreck of an oversized unintuitive paperweight for 30 seconds. Then I got a MacBook Pro 13.3" screen with 4GB of RAM at 5400RPM and 250GB of storage. And an iTouch for $100 after a mail-in rebate. And a free printer I can pick up when I get to school.
Today's project was to get my music off the PC and onto the Mac, and then get everything on the iTouch. Being technologically hindered by absolute cheapness, I didn't just grab a cable to hook up the two computers and have at it. First I cleared out my old nano, then copied my entire itunes library onto it (not that huge, just a little less than 6 gigs of music), and put it all on the laptop, then the touch. The whole process took about three hours, with 2 and a half devoted to an extremely lazy desktop.

You would think that I would be totally in love with this shiny new fast computer with pretty brushed aluminum and a backlit keyboard.  However, my heart was stolen last week, and I don't know if I'll ever get it back from Gerry.
One could say that Gerry is an older machine. One would be right. He's come a long way since 1940, but he's still beautiful and I've grown quite attached to him in the short time we've been together.
Gerry is a black steel gorgeous Royal KHM typewriter of which I came into possession last week. Except for the fact that I have some trouble carrying him around, we've been inseparable ever since. Prettiest. Thing. Ever (and best gift ever, or very very close). That's why he gets a name, sorry MacBook. You can tell they were designed with the same sort of values in mind--sleekness, streamlined form, simplicity, utility. The only difference is that one is a state-of-the-art computer and the other is a 70-year-old typewriter that needs a good cleaning and could easily break my foot if I dropped it.
I love you Gerry.

L

And here comes summer.

Don't get me wrong; I love summer vacation. I really do.
However, I'm extremely good at only remembering summer selectively. That is, I wait all year and look forward to it thinking, ok, I'm pretty much going to be with my friends running around every. Single. Day. I just forget that I'm with people for only a couple of days at a time... The rest of it is me sitting at home reading in my pajamas waiting for my life to start. My life consisted of two interesting things: one of which I won't be going down to until August 19th (AAH!) and one of which just got shipped of to Colorado to get his ass kicked in BCT. So now it's Let's Get Ready for Cambridgeland time and lists and thank you notes and stupid placement tests and, in between, watching tv, reading, and playing with my new (relative to me) typewriter.
After a year of always being busy doing something, it hasn't taken me long to get sick of sitting at home.
What am I doing about it, you might ask? The usual--absolutely nothing besides complaining about it.
My game plan for today is to take at least one more placement test (I have four more due by Wednesday) and maybe get out for an adventure tonight. We'll see how that goes.
L

Fun in Nowheresville. Really.

First jetski ride of the year! XD
It was getting a little late but the sun finally came out, so I figured I'd take her for a spin.
I forgot how much I love that thing, and how much I love the lake. Just being out there in the middle of the water is the best feeling--and the sun was starting to come down (straight into my eyes) with the spray shooting up from both sides and the nice cool water. That's one of the things I'm going to miss. Just being outside at this time of year, at that time in the day, is awesome. I can just be out there with the trees and the sun and the wind and the water and it all just adds up to me being a very happy person. Like I said, I'm going to miss it. I'll probably end up haunting the commons before sunset to get my grass/trees/happy-green-things fix in. As for water... I'm all set for that.
Love that dirty water (whether it be lake, river, or ocean).
L

Well, that's that.

So what'd I do?
I immediately wrote a preachy salutatorian speech. Then I read it out loud to one of my English teachers and threw up in my mouth a little bit and rewrote it yesterday morning.
Oh, hey. I graduated. That was kind of cool.

I'm done with high school.
I want to go live in Boston now. First, though, I have one summer to get through.
Will it be complete with the usual awesomeness that comes with a summer with my best friends? Of course. Is there plenty of added stress and craziness to bring the suck levels up? Of course.
But really. I just finished high school. And I barely even noticed it happened because I was giving myself unnecessary work all the way through up to the end.
And I just graduated. You know, it kind of does feel like four years have passed. I can see that. And that's kind of what it feels like; it's past me now. You'd think that when I come back down to live it'd feel almost like none of this ever happened.

You would think that. But I know it will be different. High school, moving up here, really did change me. It helped me. I'm different now, but different in the fact that I now know myself better. I grew in many ways, but I think the most important thing was that, as my abilities and knowledge expanded outward, my knowledge of myself grew inward. You need to have a solid core to do anything--that I learned in dance. It's kind of comical how hopelessly dependent my life is on dance, but that's what I grew up on, and that's how transcendent it is.
More later. Life: to be continued.

L

Salutatorical?

So I'm kind of done with high school.
I need to write my salutatory speech.
I want to make people cry. Actually, I'd rather make them laugh. I don't know what I want them to do. I just want them to do something. They deserve a speech that gets a reaction, and (unjustifiably, probably) I feel like I'm the best chance they have for that.
Here's the question though: what do I say?
Where's the balance between self-indulgence and crowd pleasing? I know I could definitely write a speech that was just me talking, me having my little therapy here's-what-I-have-to-say moment with a microphone. Would it be great for me? Absolutely. But it's not even remotely fair to my class. Plus, I'd look like an idiot.
Another option would be to give them what they want to hear. "You've done great. Relax for a little bit. Enjoy your lives. Have fun at college. Great memories. Go 2010!" Oh, wait. What's that the sound of? Mediocrity and boredom. Two of my favorite things, and two more things that my friends shouldn't have to sit through at their high school graduation.
Third option? Some candid advice. Me saying, "Hey. Here's what I picked up from the last few years. Maybe it will help you." That sounds great to me, honestly. I know, though, that it will come across as didactic and preachy and condescending when I really just mean to emphasize the fact that I care about these people. So option three is out.
I could combine all the above. Or I could just come up with something totally different.
All those in favor of option 4?
Yeah, me too.
L

Snobbery!

I just read a commencement speech for Kenyon College from 2005. (http://web.archive.org/web/20080213082423/http://www.marginalia.org/dfw_kenyon_commencement.html)
The ideas were really cool (if slightly incohesive) but I thought the writing could be better.

When did I turn into a seventeen year old literary snob, and can I please please reverse that?

I can't be going around discontented with normal writing forever. I've just been spoiled by the good stuff, I guess... Maybe we just have to hope that the good stuff never runs out.

Here's to the future of verbal expression!
L

Trixie goes to Harvard

So I just came back from Prefrosh weekend at Harvard.
Um. Awesome.
I honestly didn't realize that it was this actual place where actual awesome people lived and I found out that, above all, it was just really really really me. That's all I want in the end: I don't want to be an investment banker. I want to be Lauren.
Ergo, I just committed. It feels damn good.
Go Crimson!

This weekend was ridiculously fun. I met some of Alycia's friends and some random people we picked up along the way, and it turned into this whole solid mini-group. I also introduced myself as Trixie from "all over the place, really" to anyone I met on Saturday and  most of Sunday and therefore got a reputation as a pathological liar. That was amusing. Other events included ping pong, falling, door difficulties, direction issues, chess masters, party failures, free ice cream, and some of the funniest stories I've ever heard. It's taken me a while, but I got to a good place, and now I'm completely psyched.

Veritate,
L

A Short Revelation

I could create and destroy several small civilizations while I wait for these pictures to upload onto the yearbook site, but I'm blogging instead.
WAIT. I can start Metamorphoses while I wait for this. Or maybe reread I Am The Messenger.
Bye.

L

Coming soon to a bookstore near you. Or not.

I am really really really sick of writing about college.
So I'm not going to.
Unfortunately, with my default subject matter gone, I'm kind of left with...my original default subject matter: books!
Let's talk Steinbeck.
I read Travels With Charley while I was hanging around airports when I went down to Virginia. It's not some fictional story set up in Salinas with lots of artificially placed metaphor and symbolism and mice and dead chicks floating in the ocean. I do love those books because I love Steinbeck. This one, though, was different.
Here's the story: Steinbeck realizes that he's been writing about America, a very changed America, without having really seen it in a few decades. To fix this, he gets a truck made into a tricked out camper, grabs his dog, piles books into the vehicle, and takes off across the country from New York. And he writes a book about what he saw.
So not only do you get a fantastic, pinpointed, captured in time, unique perspective of this sprawling glorious mess we call a country, you get to hear about what it was like to be writing about it.
And, for some reason, all the books I've read had finally built up to a point this summer where I realized that I want to write one. I'm not talking a little fluffy novel here, I'm talking about a Book. A good one. It doesn't have to be long, but it has to stand on its own as something worth existing independently. Ask me about the subject when I come up with one. At this rate, this whole thing might happen from the inside of a locked room painted white, but maybe the sedatives will add an interesting flare to my narration.
I'm nowhere near ready yet. This'll take me a couple decades, I know that. Things have a way of building up for me before they actually happen, so I'll just keep on going until one day it all comes crashing out. Until then, maybe I can write some short little pieces of absolute crap to get warmed up; it's not like I won't have people around to help me out. I hear Harvard is good for finding random awesome people who wouldn't mind working on making my writing less shitty.
I was hoping I could avoid the college subject for at least one post, but apparently I just blew it. Whatever. In the next four years, maybe I can work on shifting the balance from stercus to aureum. I don't have high hopes, but it's worth a shot. (See "Carpe diem coleos" on SAe.)

L

Trying to go Crimson

     I've kind of given up my quest to be valedictorian. Cool things kept happening to me anyways. I got full tuition from Trinity. Then I got a full ride at Washington and Lee. Then I got into Dartmouth. Then I got into Harvard. I keep thinking that whatever news I get is the most lucky I'll be... and then something tops that. I'm still kind of reeling from it all. One thing that I became ok with was that I won't be valedictorian, and that's fine. I also thought, though, that I wouldn't make High Honor roll for the first time since freshman year because I had a B in physics along with my usual mid-80 in Calc and (GASP) for the first time ever: a B in English. That's literally never happened to me. Ever. And now, for high school at least, I don't think it ever will, because at the last minute I pulled Physics up to a 92 and English up to a 90 xD. It was a nice surprise. I didn't think I had done it, but then I saw my report card online, and there were some A's.
     As for Harvard, I've made progress there. It took me a week before I could even say the name of the school in connection with the phrase "I'm going to." It's still a little difficult. That' where I know I'm going though; I know myself well enough to know that's the logical choice I'm going to make; I can't see myself going any place else after that. It still feels, though, like I haven't made the choice... My mind is there, but my heart isn't yet. I'm going down again in a week so I can get it there; I know my emotions will come around eventually. I'm still just shocked, though. It's a lot of shock to get over.
     Maybe I should have known all along. The signs are there: crimson (me and the color red go a long way back), veritas (my obsession with truth), and John Adams went there. If that's not a smaller-scale parting of the Red Sea then I don't know what's going on.

[10 minutes later]

You know what, maybe it's not Harvard itself I'm so ambiguous over. It's a great school. Actually, it's arguably the greatest school. There's really no reason for me not to go there; the tuition is really affordable and I know I'll love it.
Maybe it's the fact that my whole life has been oriented around waiting for college and college acceptances since, I don't know, October. Waiting to go to college and going to college don't seem all that different, but in reality it's kind of a crazy transition to get over. Now I'm waiting again. I'm waiting to feel totally committed to the entirely new life that just opened itself up to me nine days ago. It literally was life-changing. And it hasn't even been two weeks. I've been telling anyone who asks that I'm going to Harvard because I know I am. This is true. Still, my mind is far ahead of my perception of myself and let's be honest: college shapes much of who you are. So now I'm trying to reconcile this whole new part of my life with the life I have now, and it's not a bad change, it's a really good one. It is a change, though. And I don't think it will stick if I try to force it. I might just need time to let this assimilate into what I already know because this really is beyond what I imagined.

See, who needs a therapist when you have blogger.

L

Trivial news--pun intended.

So I've been offered full scholarships from two of the best liberal arts schools in the country.

I'll let you know how I feel about this when I figure it out.

BUT. Fordham is out, BC is out (those cheap Jesuit bastards), and UNH was out a month ago. Unless I a) get into Yale, Dartmouth, Brown, Harvard, or Tufts and b) get pretty damn good aid packages for them, I'm going south for the fall.

If I decide to leave the residents and Hartford in peace, I'm gonna scare me some Virginians. Remind me to leave the letter 'r' up here.

On a tangent, my friends keep noticing that I do, in fact, have an accent, and the other day I actually found myself talking about pahkin my cah. Woah. NH hasn't gotten to me so badly after all.

On another tangent, I got to go to a Quiz Bowl tournament today, which was AWESOME. I love geeky trivia stuff. I did really well, suprisingly, since I've been out of practice since the Pound of Feathers Incident, and overall our school took first because we just have cool people who run train on life, that sort of thing. The competition was fantastic. A sampling of my favorite questions: where is Old Ironsides docked (SNIPE for Boston); what is the meaning of the Latin root of these words: capital-- (he stopped there because I buzzed in with the answer "head); which two muscles are attached to the leg by the Achilles tendon ("gastonemius and soleus", which was totally fantastic and got me crazy looks from both teams); and what important federal document was signed by... (insert names of English sounding people here). I pulled the Mayflower Compact entirely out of my ass and got it right.
We call that a win.

L

Paene...

A week and a day from tomorrow.

So I thought the absolute horror that was last week would end with, you know, last week.
Unfortunately, this is not the case.

So, excuse me if I skip the blogging for a little while. For one in my life... I'm really not in the mood to write. There's just too much to deal with and not enough words. Story of the universe, eh?

Wish me luck. I might be human again after Easter.

L

14

days.

16

Well, I did it. Let's just see if it sticks.
I think that a blog is a good way for the NLC to come back. This way we can just... keep in touch. No strings, no crazy effort needed, just a couple messages here and there so we know we're still alive. Therefore, I would like to welcome my fourth blog, the NLC 2.0, into the world. Unlike the others, this one isn't really mine; it's collaborative, and that's what I think I'll love about it.

Also, if April 1st wasn't already significant enough (since I'm getting all my letters back then), it became a little more important on Friday.
I am, as of the middle of last week, the class salutatorian, trailing the valedictorian by a fraction of a GPA point, and I have until the quarter ends, April 1st, 16 days away, to change that.
I don't know if I can do it. But I'm damn well going to try.

L

Lauren Loves Airplanes

Here's how my week went.
I got to the airport on Tuesday morning and read some Steinbeck and got a bagel and got on a plane to LaGuardia and got to NY and read some Steinbeck and got on a plane to Roanoke and got to Virginia and waited for the shuttle to come and drove another hour up to Lexington.
Let me just say that I absolutely love flying, in all seriousness. Being in and around airplanes was one of the best parts of the trip--I considered running off to join the Air Force but decided against it because of all the money my family already dumped into applications.

So, I was in Virginia for Tuesday, Wednesday, and part of Thursday for the Johnson Scholarship Competition and Washington and Lee. A couple of years ago, some ridiculously loaded alumnus gave the university 100 million to set up this scholarship, and every year 40 of us reap the benefits. The school pays for about 180 seniors to fly down and stay in the dorms so that they can be interviewed and check out the vibe of the campus.

I liked it. I didn't love it. I got to sneak into the dress rehearsal of Chicago with the theatre majors and successfully avoided the massive party scene. Cool people were met. Good interviews were had. I went through four airplane takeoffs and loved every one of them. I got to hang around airports and people watch and relax a little bit. I started writing my speech. I went to school on Friday.

I had a free hour and a half Friday morning, so I decided to type up and learn my fragmented and mixed-up speech for that afternoon so I could read it to the panel and qualify for the actual contest. With an hour to go in my study, I completely scrapped it and wrote four entirely new pages and that's what I'm taking with me because, apart from the fact that I need to sink way more time into it this weekend and do some polishing, I really really like it. I'll put it up on SVe and probably facebook too.

I came home. I watched a movie. I went to bed and slept.

L

PS: 19 days until April 1st.

Speeching

I thought of a topic.
For junior English, we had to make a five minute speech according to some criteria, and then some of the juniors go on to a contest. I'm crashing the party.
I loved this contest because I love the art of rhetoric; I think speech-making is a really valuable method of communication that people can't utilize, and speaking a piece of writing out loud to an audience uses so many cool techniques that you can't put anywhere else. Sure, Patrick Henry's address to the House of Burgesses still reads incredibly well on paper 250 years later... But imagine what it must have been like to be in the audience. Novels can change lives, poems can change lives, music can change lives, but never in the same way a speech can. It can be so direct, so amazingly concise and pull directly at what the audience was thinking--it can change history in a minute. What else is that powerful? A bombing could, maybe, relegating a place and its people to a few sentences in a history book. I have no doubt in my mind that some speeches, in their time, affected the speaker's world in the same way a missile would have, even more so because the effects of words often last longer than a few scars on the earth.
Obviously, I don't have that kind of talent. If I did, I could actually develop something vaguely resembling interpersonal communication skills. I do, though, like writing something down to talk to people about, and this contest is a handy little chance to have fun with that.

Archimedes' principle, roughly, I think, states that the volume of an object can be measured by the amount of mass it displaces; the contours, shape, and capacity of an unknown object can be found by, rather than observing the space it does occupy, observing the space that it doesn't.
Isn't it the same with the human being? And, if so, shouldn't we grapple with things that are, by definition, larger than us so that we both change and define our limits and ourselves?

Wooaaah. Heavy speech stuff there. I can't wait to get crackin'.

L

All the rest have 31.

I have 31 days until I know precisely which schools have accepted me, and I'll probably know where I'm going a few days after that.
(YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!)
I'm going to Virginia in nine days.
I have school and dance again tomorrow.

I can totally do this. I don't know how this happened, but my confidence is back. I like it that way.
A month is something I can deal with. A month is... manageable, quantifiable, look-I-just-have-one-more-calendar-page kind of good, and I'm really happy about that. I have one month.
I have a list of things I need to do, but I know I can deal with it and get them done fairly easily. Hell, I'm going to enjoy this, because now it's the good kind of waiting, not the nervous hopeless long-term waiting I've been used to since December.

Dear March: I've been waiting for you. Bring it.

L

Bring me that horizon

     Guess what I love?
     Epics. See, I think I always have, but I'm just now starting to realize how fantastic they are. I mean, come on, how could I be reading them and writing them and watching epic movies and wishing I was living in one for the past six years and not notice a pattern there? Regardless, I don't really care. I love epics.
     I try to tell myself that, on an extremely present level, epics are completely unrealistic and idealistic and that, as someone who tries to be objective and logical, I shouldn't buy into them; but I do. My objectivity, my grasp of the clear-cut hard edges of real life takes a holiday every time I see Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp, in all their buccaneering glory,  grab a piece of rope and take out about two dozen British soldiers in thirty seconds. More than once, I've read myself half to death muscling through The Two Towers just to get to the scene at the end where Frodo and Sam are walking through the woods, talking about all the great and heroic stories they were told growing up. No matter how many times I've read it, it always kills me, and I hope that it will never lose its effect.

     What am I going to do with this? I don't know. It would be amazing to write an epic, if I could find the right hero. I would know if I found one, but until then there's really nothing I can do. Finding a hero, a story, would make me honor-bound to tell it, regardless of my ability to do so well. Just like everything else, I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I want to write at all, never mind taking over a genre and a plot that Homer created, Vergil immortalized, and Tolkien carried down. No pressure there. Maybe, then, I'll just have to live it.

Yeah. Right.

L

A post in which I use the word "plethora"

     Creating my plethora of blogs may have been one of the best ways I've ever wasted my time. Since this year, I've really started writing more than ever, and I love it. I absolutely love re-reading what I can come up with, just like dogs love eating their own shit. Maybe, if I practice enough, I could actually do something with this. Maybe one day I'll crap out diamonds. I don't know.
     Separating poetry from essays to rambling means that I can write a poem in response to something that happened during the day, then write on SAu about it and come up with an essay topic on SVe branching off the same thing, or something totally different. After I write my essay, I might go back to SAe and write on that new theme, and it just ends up being a really cool process that settles my mind and gets my thoughts down somewhere where I can process them. Not only do I have prettily designed (no self-congratulation there) places to write, I want to fill them so I can scroll through my archives and pluck out something to look over again--if my friends check up once in a while and stumble across what I have to say, that's fine. But they don't need to; it's enough that I can be my own audience.
     On SAe, I've been tagging my posts to see what I write about. Unsurprisingly, I've written the most about college (considering the time) and writing (which has been a perennial favorite to write about). I just pick out themes that I find in my creative writing, and I like seeing that cloud grow--I have about 15 posts up now, and with at least three tags per post, things add up. I'm waiting until my themes start to repeat themselves, until the cloud stops growing in size and the numbers next to the words start rising. If I keep at this for a while, I can go back when I want to read something about, I don't know, water, and I'll find a few pieces from a while back where I worked H2O into what I was saying. This could turn into a really good representation of a few months, or a year, or maybe a few years of my life; how many times can you say that about a project?
     If you want to see the best thing about my blog trio, just look at the post dates. I'm writing a lot now, from several times a month to a few times a day, and I think I'm getting better. Usually, I would have stopped by now, sick of an old project and ready to start a new one. I haven't yet, though, and I don't think I'll stop for a while because I set up a system of release and self-motivation. Now, I get to watch and see where the words take me.

L

Nerdfighting FTW.

In going back over some of the classic Vlogbrothers' Brotherhood 2.0 videos, I decided that my affiliation with Nerdfighteria, though strong, should be made somewhat more official. I think I've always been a Nerdfighter, especially now that I'm actually a part of the nation, but I'd like to put it in text. Ergo, I am making a Nerdfighter resume, a list of credentials and ways I DFTBA.

1. I love books. This needs some elaboration. I was too young to remember when I learned to read and I haven't stopped. I would rather spend time with book characters than most real people, and my favorite thing to do during summers is sit in a chair with a pile of library books I've already read a dozen times and not move for eight hours or so.
2. I taught myself the absolute basics of web/graphic design in sixth grade. I haven't gotten much better at it, but it's still a lot of fun.
3. I like talking about obscure literary devices and essays I think are funny and poetry I think is cool, even when the people I'm talking to don't remotely care.
4. I just realized that the rest of this list can be summarized by three letters and all that they have entailed: NLC.
5. Number four is my most powerful argument, so I think I'll leave it at that. 

L

Getting to the top

I have until the end of third quarter to get to the top and stay there. 

Let's do this.

I've been disenchanted with the Ivy League. Harvard and Yale, at least. That's a good thing.

We're weaving in art and it's AWESOME. I don't know why I like it so much, but I do. Who knew, eh?

I'll get beat up in double Wellness tomorrow. Considering the fact that I'm not exactly in bad shape, that's saying something, so I feel bad for my less-fit friends and their sanity. 

I think my Calc grade is currently resembling something like a high 80. I'm getting there.

That's my blog graffiti, just so I know I haven't cracked yet and I don't plan to. 

Lauren was here...

L

Still Waiting.

"Still Waiting" is a really good song by Sum 41. Just throwing that out there.
So I'm just hanging out for now, waiting for my life to start. If I let myself think about it too much, I might get bored. You know what happens when I'm bored. Ergo, I'm setting some arbitrary little goals to work towards and keep my mind off of the absolute nothingness of my life at the moment. The first, I think, will be an A in Calc. I'll actually have to work at that, but it will give me something to do, eh? The second has two parts: finding when class ranks are calculated and working my ass off until then so I can be valedictorian. I had this whole fantastic zen attitude towards it for a while, which was a nice break from the reality of my personality. I want that speech, and I don't mind fighting for it. Within the next month, I'll write a five-minute speech so I can do the Rotary Club contest again. A month from now, I'm getting a free trip to Virginia for a few days for the scholarship competition I'm in for Washington and Lee. Two months from now, I'll get some of the damn letters that are putting my life on hold.
Two months.
Thank you, God, for getting me this far.
I think, though, that I might have to muscle through the rest on my own.

Moritura te saluto.
L

Press "4" for hypocricy.

I was just on facebook and I came across another group that was against pressing "1" for English when calling an automated server or something. I've seen this whole movement before, the one where people complain about how the US is supposedly going to make Spanish the national language in 50 years and how English-speaking people are getting crowded out of the country and how it's just not right that Americans should have to press a button to hear a computer talk to them in their native language.
I thought about this.
I thought about it some more.

I came up with a question.
Why the hell do you give a shit?
Let's think about this for a moment. We speak English, yes. That's been established by the fact that I'm not writing in Swahili. Some people in America don't speak English. As inconvenient as that seems to me, they obviously prefer living with their own native language to putting forth the effort, time, and often a considerable sum of money, to learn the generally accepted vernacular of the country, which they have no legal obligation to do. Until the Senate conducts its meetings in Spanish, I really don't see how this affects us, besides the fact that we now have to strain the minds of the semi-literate who didn't receive the world-class education promised them by the land of the free and can't differentiate between the large English words on signs and the smaller Spanish/French words below them.

My main point is this: you just dialed a 10-digit phone number. You obviously have no physical inability to press telephone buttons. So SHUT UP and press 1. Assuming the problem isn't that you have a great dislike of the "1" key on your cellphone and the act of pressing it, this is probably a symbolic issue. Being asked to take that extra step is the first sign that the foreigners are coming to take over your country. It may be a small symbol, but the root of it will jeopardize your lifestyle as a traditional American citizen. Now, I am thrilled (seriously) that my fellow Americans are taking the time to examine their personal and political philosophies. We always need more thinkers, and everyone should take the time to reason out the causes and effects of today's American and global views. Do you feel threatened by being asked to press "1" for English? You have every right to. Personally, I don't. I feel more threatened by the concepts of capital punishment, apathy towards global poverty, ever-increasing levels of corruption in global and local leadership, bigotry, sexism, racism, prejudice in any form, intolerance, violence in inner-city schools, teen pregnancy, alcoholism, drug addiction, lack of treatment for mental illnesses, the fact that we have a supply of drugs to treat "insufficient (or not enough) eyelashes" but not malaria, technology to turn a B-cup into a D but not to keep explosives off of planes, rape, domestic violence, and global pollution. I would be a hypocrite to say that I am socially active against all of these evils and to call you to do the same. I am, however, aware that these threaten my personal philosophy, these stand in opposition to what I believe in and defy my way of life, that the hugely insufficient list that I just typed out contains problems that are urgent and need solutions now.
These threaten the American way of life.
These make a mockery of every good thing the United States government has done for the world and emphasize all that we've failed to do.
Please, do me a favor. The next time you're annoyed by an impersonal and inanimate voice asking you to press "1" for English, rack your brain to come up with some better things to be annoyed about. If you can't think of anything then, by all means, grab a picket sign and start writing letters. Call your local representatives, too. Let's hope they have live, English-speaking secretaries to take your calls.

Setting myself up.

I just realized how badly I want to be valedictorian and how badly I want to get into an Ivy League school and I have the worst feeling that I'm going to be disappointed.
I'm scared and I'm anxious and I'm impatient and I don't want to wait but I have to, even it it's not worth the wait.
I can see it now, someone else gong up the aisle on June 11th to give a speech and someone else getting dropped off in front of Dartmouth or Tufts. I haven't been on the sidelines in so long that I'm terrified of going back. I've been there, and if I'm going back again than I would rather know now than get my hopes up (like I do for everything) and getting let down (like what happens to me a lot.).
Remember what I felt like when I got that perfect score? I cried, I was so happy. Something beyond my craziest goals happened and I made it happen just my being me and it was one of the coolest things I've ever felt. I want that again.
My hopes are up, and not just for class rank and acceptance letters. Everyone has gotten my hopes up, including myself. I don't want to keep ending these stories, these pages in my life with "and then nothing happened."
I think everything's going to crash.

L

And I can't see so good.

Is it June yet?
Lately I've just been so exhausted with things that it's crazy. Dance is great, but even that has its setbacks, literally, since I haven't been able to get though a single intense class all year without stopping.
Am I physically tired? Yes.
Is that the problem? Maybe a little bit.
But I can deal with that. It's school that's my issue.
I'm done with high school. In all honesty, I feel like I've taken all I can from it and now I'm just working my ass off for the sake of working my ass off. Even that isn't doing anything for me. Except for a few classes, I'm really not benefiting from it and I'm reallyreally ready to move on but I. can't. yet. Sometimes I honestly wonder how I thought there was anything here for me. I do everything, while doing it better than anyone else, and I've learned some great lessons at Brady but I don't know how much more it has to teach me.
Would you care for an example? Two days ago in AP English, which is definitely one of the hardest classes in the school, I took an open-book test on something we had just learned that period. I didn't use my book. I got the only 100% in the class. Double win right there. Then, today, she entered the scores into our averages and took them out if they brought our overall grade down. My test didn't raise my average; my average stayed the same. Triple win.Or how about in my AP BC Calc class, the hardest one in the school, where I don't do my homework and don't know what's going on about one third of the time but keep up a solid B. Or honors Physics where I don't pay attention, study ten minutes before tests, and get A's. But wait, there's the Latin class that I didn't have time for, that I take after school once a week, where I translate the original Aeneid and have to recognize obscure literary devices in another language. I think that class is my highest grade right now.
Add running Literary Magazine. Add controlling the entire visual aspect of our class's yearbook Add five days in the studio. 
I was looking for a challenge by loading myself up like this. What I'm getting is a whole lot of time wrapped up in non-challenge. It's not even that my classes aren't hard--they are. For some reason, hard classes just don't test me and push me the way I need to be tested and pushed. The only things that are being tested are my time-management skills, which are completely pitiful, but instead of fixing that I just muscle through with brainpower and everything's fine... Better than fine. Academically, there's just less and less for me at this school, and socially, let's face it, there was never anything for me at Brady. At risk of sounding like a pretentious faux-sophisticated brat, I'm going through a serious case of ennui, and I don't like it. Boredom is not my thing.
Is it June yet?
I want to go to college.

L

But that's 105%!

This will be a quick post, since I want to get some Latin churned out before I go to bed, and I need to look sane tomorrow because I have an alumni (alumna, actually) interview for Brown after school.
Crossed legs and broken fingers.
Wait. Strike that. Reverse it.
(I love quoting Gene Wilder when I have the chance.)
Erm. I got some 98 cent orange nail polish from Hot Topic the other day.
Also, I played chess for the first time in at least a year and won twice. Good games, Anne. (I'm on a roll here, so if anyone wants an online game then that can happen.)
I'm avoiding my math homework. I always avoid my math homework. It's a lifestyle, really.
If you haven't already seen, I have two more blogs that I've been toying with. SVerum should be dormant for a little while, and for now I'm messing around with SAenum. {Link in the sidebar under Cetera [Nerdfighters FTW (If you don't get that reference tell me so we can fix that)]}

I'm planning the comeback for the NLC. Members, you'll hear from me soon.

L

New Year's Revolution.

Here's the deal.
I'm done living my life on anyone's terms but my own.
I am seventeen years old. It feels bizarre to say that because I have no idea what it feels like to be seventeen; I haven't felt my age in years, but I'm ok with that. It just means that I see more.
I'm going to be eighteen this year.
I am done living my life on everyone else's terms.
There are some things that I need to recognize as solid truths and start living by.

First off, I will control what I do and how I feel. I will never again be stuck in a situation that I hate and not have the means to get out. I believed that everyone has to just shut up and deal with things at some point so that someone else can have a good time. I don't think I believe that anymore. I am sick of wasting my time being miserable when I'm expected to have a good time, and I am sick of being unhappy myself so that I don't ruin anyone else's happiness. I enjoy helping out my friends, but not helping me out in return is no longer acceptable. I will dictate what I enjoy doing, not the people around me, and hating where I am or who I'm with will no longer be something I just "deal with". If I am legitimately unhappy, that is not ok. I deserve the right to do something about it, and I deserve the right to be assertive to get myself the hell out. Think what you want about me. Think that I'm an antisocial asshole. I don't care, and I am done caring.

I don't like being around idiots. I don't like being around people who are close-minded and inconsiderate and either don't know or don't care how repulsive they are. People can't help it if they're legitimately stupid; they annoy me, but I recognize that it's not their fault. When people choose to be idiots, I hate that more. I will not be forced to be around them. I hate their wasted potential and the fact that many people could be so much more than what they are. To those I know: I expect better of you. You expected better of yourself. You disappoint me.

Do not hold me back. My schools have held me back. Teachers have held me back. My family and friends have held me back. Stop. I'm done. I will go as far as I want to go and find my potential and push myself because that's what I do, and you will stand back and watch, and I may leave you behind. You should be proud of me. If you don't hold me back, my loyalty is stronger than you know. I still appreciate my friends who know me and know how my mind works because I never have to dumb myself down for you. As for everyone else, I am done distorting what I've done so you have a better idea of who I am; the two are connected, but my personality doesn't steriotypically match up with my achievements. I am done catering to steriotypes.

I have always based my actions on others' terms. I have always gotten to know people on their own terms. I have always talked to and connected with others on their own terms, and I finally realised that only a minority has noticed that and in turn worked on my terms. I hate selfisness so much that I tolerate it in others rather than myself, but I could eliminate it entirely if I forced my world to meet me in the middle.

That's why I want to go to these colleges. I know precisely the kind of people I want to surround myself with, and I know where they will be. Some of their locations are listed to the right in the sidebar of this blog. I'm honestly not going to stop looking for my perfect environment until I find it. I feel like I've been waiting for this for years and now, finally, it's happening.

So, 2010, these are my new year's resolutions. I know I'll break some of them, because, for some reason, I will always believe that what I see in others--their potential for happiness, their faults, their greatness--should be taken care of before I take care of myself. I know I can survive whatever may happen to me, but I don't know about them, so they will come first. I am done, though, accepting their ignorace and their inattentiveness, and I'll be damned if I just watch while they do stupid things and ignore everying I care about in them. So, if I come across as a little harsh, I may point you back to this post.

Also, I don't think I'm going to read this over fully because it seems really melodramatic and you know how I feel about THAT. (Ergo, ignore sucky grammar).

"Nothing has changed, but now I fight with the words."
Here's to you, 2010. I think we'll get along quite well.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
L