Ragefest

I feel like throwing things, breaking down, curling up, crying hard, running fast, and throwing up.

Not necessarily in that order. But particularly the throwing things part. Probably because there are a pile of tempting pillows in my vicinity.

Backstory:

As my IRL friends know, I have/had some bad history with a former best friend's ex. When they broke up, I felt obliged to completely ignore him, as was my duty to shun the guy who dared cause my bestie discomfort. Problem was, we had become pretty good friends during their one-year relationship. So when I started giving him the cold shoulder, it was pretty awkward. I didn't really like what I was doing, but considered it the social protocol, especially since said bestie was ranting about him quite a lot for the first few days.

He didn't get it for the first year and a half after the breakup. Things weren't helped by a different friend, who teased me with "liking" this guy, and that only served to make me distance myself even further. He would say hi, I would make some noncommittal noise. Reset, repeat. In the end, halfway through my junior year, the hellos and hugs decreased in number until we were both completely ignoring each other. He graduated last year without me ever getting up the courage to apologize.

Flash-forward to end of junior year:

This guy, who is super-uber smart, gets accepted to a very prestigious school. Because I'm a baby and don't like confrontations, I decided I wouldn't even consider said school because I don't want to run into him there, or look like I was following him. Besides, I figured I wouldn't have any chance of getting in anyways. Instead, because another university in the same city roundabouts started sending me letters and other paraphernalia, I looked into it, and was very impressed by what I saw. However, it's very difficult to get into, but that didn't stop me from applying. I figured, what the heck? It became my unreachable university, somewhere I could apply just to see if I could get in.

Flash-flash-forward to three days ago:

I got wait listed for my university. I was in complete and utter shock. My application, though I tried way too hard on it for something I thought I would get rejected from, apparently made up in EC activities what it lacked in grades. And I've read that lots of people who are accepted turn down their offer, so there's still a good chance I can get in.

Here comes the "but."

But I've read online that, since the two prestigious schools I've mentioned are so close to each other, people can't help but compare them. And what I've read hasn't exactly boded well. From what I read, my wait listed school (henceforth known as school A) is ever so slightly higher in national and international standing, but the atmosphere is very intellectual. The majority of people study hard and rarely do anything else, and the small small minority join frats and get drunk every weekend.

Contrast this with a university (henceforth known as school B) with a campus that isn't as beautiful, but has much more school spirit and is a little more social-oriented, while still being regarded as a highly academic school. Its student population is more diverse, as in there are lots more people who are really smart but still like to let loose often - more often than school A, anyways.

Now, if I were an introverted girl who cared deeply about my grades and disliked hanging out with other people, then school A would be my absolute dream school. No parties, just loads of time to study for what really matters. But while I do care about my grades, I don't care about them to the extent that people at school A do. I really like to be with other people, and not just one type of person either. I've tried to identify myself with a clique at my high school, but couldn't. I'm not a nerd, because I dislike studying and I don't have straight A's. Not musical, because I can't march around with a piano for band and I'm too shy to sing in front of virtual strangers. Not a jock - never participated in any school sports. Or attended any, for that matter. Not a prep/cheerleader - I don't have enough money to waste on looking good. Not an Azn - I'm not really into the whole kawaii/peace sign/sqee-ing all the time thing I notice they do. Plus, a lot of my friends aren't even Asian. I have many wonderful friends, but I don't belong in any category.

Which university would be better for me, according to this? The one with a uniform student population, or the one with more personality diversity? The one that centers on studies, or the one that allows for more fun too?

I hope you now understand my problem. I've applied and hopefully will get into an acclaimed university, but only NOW do I realize it was the wrong acclaimed university all along. When it's TOO LATE. All because of some guy.

Salt in the wound: These two universities are only 40 minutes away from each other. SO CLOSE, and yet so far away.

Sorry for all the self-pity going on here, but I need to rant and as I never told my parents about this most awkward time of my high school experience, I want to get it out somehow. And that somehow is to make lists.

Lots of them.

Pros of School A:

• Huge achievement if I do get in.
•  Known for graduating classes that go on to be very successful.
• Located on a lovely campus.
• Has four houses (like Hogwarts).

Con of School A:

• Has the wrong social atmosphere.
• Basically has no Greek life.
• Located near a "ghetto" neighborhood.
• Too focused on academics.

Pros of School B:

• Still a pretty good achievement if I am able to transfer (I've heard it's easier to transfer into colleges than get accepted from high school).
• Has a lovely campus.
• Better social atmosphere (more Greek life).
• Known for graduating classes that go on to be very successful.

Cons of School B:

• Difficult to get into.
• Not as academically acclaimed as school A.
• Freezing weather.
• Might see The Guy wandering around.

Call me immature, but that last con is actually a pretty big deal to me.

This post has been two days in two days in the making, and I've calmed down considerably since then. I've done some more research, and while I'm still angry at myself for not considering school B, I've accepted my mistake and am looking into other options, like transferring. Of course, this all depends on me getting into school A in the first place. I don't think I'd want to transfer from a lesser college, because then I'd feel that I don't deserve it.

Yes, I also realize what an ungrateful lout I'm being. Here I am, being considered for a really good university, and all I'm doing is griping about how I want to go somewhere else. Humor me.

I've also done more research on waitlisting, and I've realized that I may not even need to worry about going to school A or B. After reading this article, I realize I may not even get off the list. The chances of getting completely rejected mid-May are so high I don't really want to think about it. I still really want to go to that university, since I've already come so far, but I'll definitely schedule a meeting with my college counselor before deciding on what, exactly, I can do to let school A know I'm still interested. If you, reader, have had any experience with this sort of thing, I would welcome any advice.

I've dug around a bit more and found this thread, which basically is school A telling waitlisted students what they can do to help boost their status a little bit. I'm still worried, but having a plan helps.

College is not turning out the way I'd hoped. C'est la vie.

I Am I and My...

Colleges have been on the mind too much as of late. I'm distracted with too much work, too much school, too much life. I'm trying to make the best of my circumstances.

Recently, my mind has been wandering back to my college essays. I've been rereading them of late, and wishing I could've tweaked that, changed those words, moved that phrase from here to there. It's all too late, but at least I know I'm bettering what I've done. So what no one else will ever know?

So because I'm a lazy bum, I'm just going to copy-paste one of my extended essays I wrote for a college. If you applied there too, you'll know which. It is rather distinctive for it's essay topics. Due to this distinctiveness, I tried to choose the strangest and most unlikely topic I could - desktop wallpapers. Maybe I'm trying too hard, but at least I'll stand out now, right?

So, without further ado, I present:

I Am I and My Desktop Wallpaper

I wish it weren’t always so, but I have come to discover that we humans enjoy asserting our personality in as many ways as possible. We decorate ourselves and belongings with posters, pictures, badges, and fandom paraphernalia (maybe the teenagers more so than adults, especially for the latter). We flaunt our strengths and passions. However, we must do it in a way that appeals to others, so that our show-off routines are appreciated and leave a desirable impression. So, how can we easily show our personality while using the Joneses’ cool new electronics? Wallpapers.

A musician might have a banner of their favorite group, an artist could have an expressive painting by some obscure professional, and a cat lady may have a group picture with all her beloved pets. Humans instinctually label their things with personal touches that subtly drop hints about their best qualities. So if I see a good friend’s wallpaper for the first time, be it their locked iPhone screen or on their laptop, it usually doesn’t surprise me, because I would expect that friend to have a wallpaper that ties in with their personality and interests. Even when an unrepresentative wallpaper is chosen, perhaps because of a dare, it tells me that the person enjoys taking risks, or will willingly do something undesirable just to make others laugh. Someone’s wallpaper can reveal just as much about a person as their clothes or personal space do.

The quote “Yo soy yo y mi circunstancia” is rather expansive. An environment covers quite a lot of space, and not a lot is left that doesn’t affect a person. However, despite the broadness, people like to judge others based on how they react to a pressing circumstance, where they are panicking so much they don’t bother to create a façade that presents only the best side. Therefore, I tried to look the other way. How do people act when they are buried in their comfort zone? What do they reveal about themselves willingly, and not involuntarily, that still shows their true personality? Wallpapers are a lot more than a picture that takes up space. Even a blank or default desktop can reveal a person’s character.

I can hardly continue now without describing my own wallpaper. It’s a picture of the black cat analogy. The picture is, of course, in black and white. My close friends understand that it doesn’t matter to me that the logic of the analogy doesn’t perfectly work. For me, it’s funny and it has a cat on it, so I suppose I’m a person who enjoys semi-intellectual-ish humor. It’s black and white, so I can still see my desktop icons without psychedelic colors camouflaging them. Lastly, whenever I lock my account on the family computer when guests come over, I like to think that if they read it their impression of me is that I’m a witty and clever girl who enjoys learning academic things outside of school. Even I, a wallflower, cannot help but try to impress those that I will likely never see again.

Wallpapers are my near equivalent to book covers: They’re easily judged, and they divulge their owner’s personality. Of course, circumstances are everywhere and therefore probably a more reliable indicator, but desktop wallpapers reveal more intimate and less vague details about a person. We are ourselves and the sum of our lives, but how to let other people know? Hi. This is me, and since I know I won’t be asked outright who I am, here’s my wallpaper. Make of it what you will.

---

I have no excuses.

Eyes on the Prize

Despite my average records, I'm generally used to success. I don't have to try very hard to pass classes, nor do I get rejected when I least expect it. A good example would be my piano career: I would practice very hard the days leading up to the examination, and study theory like heck, but still not know it very well. However, I would always have a gut feeling that I may not do excellently, but I would play very well on the practical exam and score high enough on the written exam. Every year I would advance to the next level with pretty much the minimal amount of practice. I get the same feeling for other things before they happen too: when teachers will call on me, what grade I got on a test just taken, etc. Usually, surprisingly, I'm right.

Yesterday I was not.

My school has a program called CSF. It's an honors program that admits students who get enough points to join, and these points are based grades. An "A" is 3 points, a "B" is 1, and a "C" is zero. AP and honors classes allow you to get more points: an "A" is 4 points, and so forth. At the end of senior year, if you have been a part of CSF for four semesters, you graduate with a gold cord. Every single semester of my high school career I have been a part of CSF, which means six semesters. I get to graduate with the pretty gold cord now, right?

Here's the catch: One of those semesters has to be from your senior year. And last semester, my grades were... not impressive. I lacked two points to reach the minimum of ten points required.

Now, I don't really care about joining CSF. I'm not interested, myself, in being an honors student, probably because I always had been, starting from sixth grade. I just care about what other people think of me. My mindset: if I don't graduate with a gold cord, I will be embarrassed to show my face in front of my friends, all draped with gold string and tassels. I think they will be surprised and, for lack of a more appropriate word, condescending. The gold cord is a symbol of high school success. The following is definitely not true, but I'm upset, so bear with me: If I don't get that cord, everyone will think I'm stupid.

*I'm NOT saying other people with no cord are stupid. I just feel it was expected of ME to reach that goal, and a failure of realizing it concludes MY lack of intelligence. I know plenty of people who are smarter and work harder than me who aren't getting the cord, simply because they didn't want to apply during their four years of high school.

Whine, whine, whine. It's just a piece of colored string, for heaven's sake. Why do I care so much? Because I have not yet grown out of the teenage insecurity of appearances to other people. I care VERY deeply about how others see me. Think it's pointless and shallow? I do too. But telling me that thinking this way is silly, and I that shouldn't care what others think, won't make it go away, just like telling an anorexic girl that she's beautiful the way she was won't solve her problems in that second. It's just unrealistic. I can tell myself all I want that I shouldn't care, but that won't do anything until something or someone else big enough comes along and fixes me. My brain, while appreciating the thought, rejects your consoling words and good intentions as meaningless. I can't stop it.

So, faced with the horror of no gold cord while graduating, I tried something I never would have years ago. I actually went to my counselor to talk about it. Well, what's so bad about that? The problem is, I also have a fear of strangers (while I try to impress them at the same time. I don't know...). I can put on a charming show when meeting them face to face, exemplified by the comments my dad receives after I'm introduced to his work friends, but I would much prefer no contact at all. But clearly I would rather talk to a near stranger (the horror!) than graduate without a gold cord (the horror!).

I'm so glad I went.

Now that I've given away the happy ending, the rest can be abridged. I talked to my counselor, she said lets go talk to a career counselor, we talked, and I discovered another way I can join CSF (albeit a bit late). I can still qualify for a gold cord. I can reclaim my pride, save face, and look impressive to people I don't even know. As I said, I don't care if that's petty and shallow. At least I admit it myself. We can't all be Mary Sue's.

So the moral of the story is?

Maaaaaaannn!

Just kidding. While I do dislike some stories with blatant morals, this experience definitely has one. "If at first you don't succeed, try try again." Irritating to think, but perfectly correct. Or maybe, I just thought of a different one, which at least sounds nicer and a tad more sophisticated: "Keep your eyes on the prize."

No matter how cheesy it sounds, if you want something, go for it. Try everything you can to reach your goal. If it matters, make it happen! The ancient goddess Hecate, though best known for being a goddess of magic, is also the goddess of choice. There are always at least four choices when you reach a crossroads - three for moving ahead, and one for going back (I can shamelessly thank Rick Riordan for that knowledge). I guess my three choices were do nothing, seek help, or buy a fake cord and pretend I earned it. The choice for going back... repeating senior year? I wouldn't be that extreme,  not just for a golden cord.

Perseverance. I'm keeping my eyes on the prize.

That's enough images for one post.

#deep

I might stop my every-Friday-write-a-post thing. I think of all these cool topics to write about during the week, then forget them when I sit down to write. I might just write on whatever day, whenever I think of anything, while it's still fresh in my head.

In other words, I have absolutely no idea what to reflect on, other than I know there's been a severe drought this winter, but the amount of rain we're getting now is ridiculous.

Dwarf willow (Salix herbacea)

You might've guessed from the name of this plant that it's actually a tree. The dwarf willow is the smallest tree in the world, and one of the smallest woody plants out there. The reason for its size is the factors of its habitat: it lives in freezing alpine and arctic environments. If you want to research further, you'd be hard pressed to find a plant up there in the north much bigger than this. And I'm not forgetting the actual pines up there, I mean finding large plants in the wind-swept tundras and moorlands. Its leaves are round, green and about the length of 1 cm. The dwarf willow has female and male catskins, which means it's appearance varies. It can be yellowish (male) or red (female). Based on this, I conclude that the willow above is female. I'm a botanist!

They're mostly found on both sides of the northern Atlantic region, including Greenland, Canada, Northwest Asia, and in the northern ranges of the Appalachian Mountains. It grows in ranges about 1,500 m altitude and over, but that doesn't stop people from bringing it down closer to sea level. The dwarf willow is a popular choice for advanced bonsai growers, due to their delicate frame, size, and the color of their buds. Exhibit A:

Just kidding, no more exhibits, I had a really nice picture of an even smaller bonsai willow, but I can't find it again. Curses.

Fun Facts:

• It's the only type of tree that grows in the tundra.
• It can only grow up to a maximum of 10 cm: About the length of an average human's palm. However, they average to about 5 cm, but can spread itself out quite a bit.
• Its other names include snowed willow and least willow.
• Texts from Sumer, Egypt, and Assyria that the bark and leaves of the willow tree can be used to cure aches and fevers. I don't think they meant this specific willow. Whatever. Still interesting.
• The Ancient Greeks also believed this.
• So did the Native Americans.
• It should be noted that not all people accept the dwarf willow as the smallest tree. Some say it doesn't qualify, and that it's actually a small shrub.

Elementary, My Dear

I am a little ashamed to admit that I haven't bothered to clean out my bookshelves since I was around 13. This means most of my childhood companions are still on the shelf - The Penderwick Sisters, Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, White Ruff, The Trumpet of the Swan, Chasing Vermeer - all along those lines. I can't visit the library as often as I like, which means I frequently revisit these bookshelves. The stories are still as good as I remember, and there are constantly little bits that I read that I don't remember reading the first time. That's one of the best parts of rereading, right? You get to find new sentences you skimmed over last time. I still find new parts in my Harry Potter books, and I've thoroughly canvassed those. Thoroughly.

And yet, while most of them present unchallenging topics, I pulled from my shelf two days ago a book that was surprisingly advanced for its book cover and length. Super surprising, because this is one of those that I've reread many times - maybe five or six times? - and I've never picked up on so many subtle themes before. Is it my age? Am I finally "mature?" I can't believe that was the reason - I remember thinking nearly the same as I do today as I did back when I was thirteen, and yet even I can't help feeling a little condescension towards those in their early double-digits.

But I digress.

This book is called The Shadow Guests, by Joan Aiken. The last time I read it was, oh, maybe two years ago? Back when I was still a sophomore. The basic plot (I'm trying so hard not to spoil) is that Cosmo Curtoys (pronounced 'Curtis' - Cosmo's a stickler about that) moves from Australia to England to stay with his Cousin Eunice, a mathematician. While there, odd occurrences happen and he discovers that he is part of a family that has a curse upon it, one that dates back to when the Romans began taking over what is now the U.K.

A pretty typical plot, very predictable, but that's not why I've brought it to light. Concentrated in the middle of the book are a lot of theories about mathematics, space, time, that sort of thing. Here, have a quote:

"I began to wonder why their maths was getting better and better but also wilder and wilder - they seemed to be grasping concepts that I'd have thought were far out of their reach; and then I went out to dinner with the local Laird and his family, and when I got back the students and the whiskey runners were having a great party, playing sardines all over the castle and hunting in the dungeons for the square root of minus one, which somebody swore he had seen down there." 

 

It's not just the students grasping at concepts. Aiken mentions quite a few; I dogeared the pages that stood out the most to me. A lot are about bending time and space. It's along the lines of looking at stars as they were millions of years ago, and if there were living organisms on those stars/in those solar systems, they would look on Earth and see the volcanoes covering the surface, or the ocean forming for the first time, or maybe even the first of the Australopithecus. In short, concepts I skimmed over when I was younger.

"Can we affect what happens in other dimensions? Or can those happenings affect us?... I honestly don't see why not... After all, even if you just see a thing, it can affect you in all kinds of ways... Seeing a film can change your life. And if the sight of a thing can do that to you, then the sight of you can affect it. There's a theory, you know, that no experiment can be wholly detached and scientific if somebody is observing it. 'Dear sir, it is not at all odd/ I am always about in the quad,/ And that's why the tree,/ Still continues to be,/ In the sight of,/ Yours faithfully, God!' " 

 

Seeing a film, yes, that can change your life, but can you change the life of the film? Not likely, unless it was by your approval that it was hugely popular or your condescension that lowered the net gain of the company. So, you can change an inanimate object's life, but I don't believe the pure sight of you changes them. Not directly, of course. I suppose I see the reasoning behind the theory mentioned - as long as someone is putting on the pressure to do well, there will always be a bias. Doesn't mean I agree with it. I further researched that interesting phrase and found this page. By reading this I realized it's a limerick. Much more sense. Of course, this theory is only valid when it is given that God is real. Wait, no, there's always something somewhere. They make it seem that everything's under observation by God, but if you count beings that aren't sentient (like the film) then we are always under observation by those things too. No need for God.

"I chose to go off into the desert because I didn't choose to die in some stupid war... Wars are an outdated way of settling problems."

Why doesn't everyone else understand this? This has been my mentality since nearly forever; I remember my 8th grade English teacher showing all the boys in my class a form they had to fill out in case the Army et al ever recruited them when they were older, and thinking, I'm glad I don't have to ever be forced to go to war. This is one gender stereotype I'm moderately okay with.

Don't get me wrong, I 97.6% (there are always some people with questionable morals who enjoy it) support those that go to war to shield and defend their families, and even especially those who are drafted into a war where they aren't defending anyone, but forced to by higher powers. I've heard of the ways some people who don't support a war (mainly the Vietnam War) treat those that were a part of it. No matter the reason the war was fought, those soldiers still put their lives out on the line. It is inexcusable behavior to treat them with disrespect and contempt. The majority probably didn't even want to go into battle.

This being said, I still think there shouldn't be wars at all. Alas, I probably won't live to see those days, if they ever do come.

" 'How do you suppose that circles differ from triangles?'
  'Well, sir: triangles are all different from each other. But circles are all the same. You could put them all inside each other and they'd fit.'"

One of those things that are so blatantly obvious and yet is still somewhat of a mind-blower when you realize it.

" 'Ain't she smashing with her hair done so posh,' said Mrs. Tydings fondly, and Cosmo noticed that Eunice had her hair drawn up in a great silver-yellow sweep and looked quite like a model of a film actress - not in the least like a possible Nobel-prize winner."

 

Perhaps it's the feminist within me that cries out that it is unjust to think that a woman can be either smart or beautiful, but not both. I'm a little put off by that voice; to me it's whiny. Ah well.

Eunice had told Cosmo about ogham: It seemed a very useful and beautifully simple writing system, twenty different combinations of straight lines meeting each other; what a pity it was no longer used.

 

Here's everything: link. I wouldn't call it beautiful, but it is quite interesting. 

" 'Teach you? Wh-what am I supposed to teach you? Geometry - stuff like that?'
   ' Nay, no magic. I am a very plain fellow.' "

 

To think that geometry and simple maths used to be thought of as magical. If the twelfth century could see our age now. Or if we could see the thirtieth. 

All this and more in a book aimed at middle schoolers. And here I am, a high schooler about to go off to college,  learning new advanced maths in it.

Maned Wolf (Chrysocyon brachyurus)

How gorgeous is this thing? Deer-wolf!

It's been a while since I researched an animal/plant, so I want to resume with this guy. I can't stop looking at dem legs.

They aren't very big, only about 3 feet at the shoulder and 50 lbs. Theirs ears are quite long, about 7 inches, presumably to catch even the smallest sound. They have a reddish-brown coat with black points (muzzle, legs, ears - they're called points on a bay horse (as well as other colors), I took some liberties with transferring the usage). Their throats and the tip of their tails are white. The long fur on the back of their necks can stand on end, giving the appearance of a "mane." They live in Central and Southeastern Brazil, Paraguay, eastern Bolivia, and northern Argentina, in the open forests, savannas, and marshlands. They are omnivorous, eating small mammals, insects, reptiles, birds, bird eggs, fruits, and vegetation.

They're not completely endangered, per se, but they're a bit too close to the line for comfort. They don't have many natural predators, but need lots of open space to claim as territory. This necessity proves to be their undoing, as habitat destruction is spreading over their homes.

Fun Facts:

• They can tap the ground with a front foot to flush out the prey so they can then pounce on it. 
• Maned wolves are monogomous. Though males and females generally live solitary lives and come together only during  breeding season, they share defended territories. 
• The maned wolf is the only species in its genus.
• The maned wolf’s fox-like characteristics – the shaggy, white tipped tail and large ears – have earned it the nickname of “fox on stilts.” ACCURATE.
• They like bananas, apples, and avocados.
• Many are hunted because it is believed, in some parts of the world (probably Asia), that specific body parts contain magical healing properties. Gee, where have we heard that before? The magical western black rhinoceros, with it's all powerful "cancer-healing" horn, was declared extinct on November 6th, 2013 due to excessive poaching. The last one was seen in 2006. Seriously though! People are basically eating placebos made of ground fingernails!

Enough depression.

This song seems accurate for this post: What's My Age Again?, by Blink-182

Running Amok

As senior year goes on, I find myself caring, in various and wildly fluctuating degrees, less about what happens. Or more. As I said, it fluctuates. I'm drawing in more from strangers, and expanding my boundaries for close friends. One of my past posts, 10 Myths About Introverts, talked about common misconceptions of the socially awkward. But I want to draw slight attention to Myth #4: They can count the number of close friends on one hand. It's my senior year, I've given up on making anymore true friends, so I've just focused on strengthening the friendships I do have, because I fully intend on making the best ones last my entire life.

“It's not all bad. Heightened self-consciousness, apartness, an inability to join in, physical shame and self-loathing—they are not all bad. Those devils have been my angels. Without them I would never have disappeared into language, literature, the mind, laughter and all the mad intensities that made and unmade me.” Stephen Fry

Mad intensities? Do breakdowns count? And I don't think I'm at the point where those devils became my angels. Yep, they're pretty much still my devils. But I agree, "they are not all bad." I do not dislike the solitude I am often confronted with, but neither do I believe that I can go extended periods without contact. A book sort of meets in the middle - I am completely alone, physically, but am surrounded by fictional friends. A perfect compromise. So I guess I am, to some degree, thankful for my "devils" - they gave me the books I treasure so much.

 “Solitude is a chosen separation for refining your soul. Isolation is what you crave when you neglect the first.” Wayne Cordeiro

Isolation is... what you desire when you.... ah, ok, that one took me a bit to understand. Ok, sure, everyone needs their alone time to sit and be. I guess the reason that took me so long is that I dislike just sitting blankly without something to occupy myself with. Even when hiking, I am content to sit because I can listen. Here's a tip, if you're interested: if you close your eyes long enough in an environment with just enough noise, the world gets a lot closer, somehow, with none of the claustrophobia. I think it has a much nicer effect in a natural environment, but if you like concrete jungles better, hey, that's your thing.

“As the new work fills my notebooks, I've come to realize that the characters in my stories were so real because I really did want to get close to people, I really did want to know them. It was just easier to do it on paper, one step removed.” Charles de Lint

TRUTH.

I've done a lot of self-examination throughout my angsty teenage years, and I have concluded that, though I call myself introvert, I actually can't stand being alone. Isolation scares me, especially in a setting where it seems no one else is as alone as you are. I guess dealing with it has taken the form in stories. My protagonists are always perfect: strong, badass, the witty comment always on the tip of the tongue. Essentially, what I flatter myself to be a perfect me. The more I created ( I can't say wrote, I've rarely finished any of the stories), I realized that these were all Mary Sue's and that that was kinda bad. I try to create characters now with flawed choices and imperfect personalities. I guess I do create my own friends sometimes.

“You are the salt of the earth. But remember that salt is useful when in association, but useless in isolation.” Israelmore Ayivor

In all seriousness, I'm not quite sure what this exactly means. I think it might be dissing introverts, though. Sounds cool. Have it.

So this was basically an excuse to save interesting quotes I've compiled over the span of a couple days. I'm tired.

Here is evidence of my imagination run amok.

A good song recommended by a good friend: Kryptonite, by Three Doors Down. The actual music video's a bit weird, in my opinion; if you truly want to see it, it's somewhere on YouTube.

Scattering of Stars

The stars are pitiful tonight.

Honestly though, when I was down south in Sequoia Natl. Park, I could barely make out the only constellation I recognize, Orion, because there were so many stars in between. And I could see the Milky Way. Faintly. Just barely there. But still, it's the first time I've ever seen just a hint of it, and it was gorgeous. The fact that I was surrounded by glittering snow both "above" and around can only add to the effect I was experiencing those nights.

It was a bit of a letdown coming back home. Hey, my eyes have to actually flicker to make out the next speck of light. Oh look, there's the big ol' neon orange city, glowing away. The one time I tried to take a picture of the stars in my backyard, with prolonged light exposure, three dots came through. Three. Really? Is this what we've given up for our beloved nightlife? The problem seems so much bigger than usual when you're right in the thick of it.

I don't want to rant anymore, not really in the mood. Jasmine hot chocolate does wonders for the mind.

---

I’m lying on some surface. I don’t really know what, but it’s something, because I can feel it beneath me. I hear a whooshing sound, so I must have ears. In opening them, I discover I have eyes. 

The first thing that registers is white: bright, blinding light. I squint and use the appendage at the end of my arm to shield the glare. Hand, I think dimly. This is called my hand. I wonder with vague curiosity where the memory comes from.

Once my eyes have adjusted to the light, I let my hand drop back down to the surface. Then I can’t do much more than sit paralyzed with stupefaction, because there are an infinite number of stars spreading above me, so thick I can barely tell one from the other. The great moon hangs off to the left, and I realize its light was what blinded me when I first opened my eyes. The stars cluster around it, swirling in thick streams across the heavens. 

A handy branch hangs next to me, and I lean on it, blinking around at the scenery. I see a jungle sprouting up not a hundred meters away. In front are these massive black lumps. I listen closely, and discern that the whooshing noises are coming from those lumps. Whatever those things are, they’re breathing. Like I am. One lump shifts, and the moonlight outlines a reptilian head, curled around its body. The whole thing is lying on top of a dirt nest.

 Dinosaurs.

 I don’t know where that word came from, but I know I have to get out of here. I stumble to my left, away from those dinosaurs, as if the moon were pulling me towards itself. I start to run, but branches still whip my face, scratch my arms, and finally one giant root trips me. I extend my arms, close my eyes, and brace for impact that never comes.

---

My eyes finally open again. I’m lying on a bed, with dirty linen sheets on top of me. The stars no longer hang above me; instead, I see dusty wooden rafters. Something clinks below me, and a voice mutters odd words. Carrots, lentils, celery. I sit bolt upright, because it’s a human voice. In flinging back the dirty sheets I realize I'm wearing even dirtier linen clothes. But no matter. I hesitantly climb down a rickety wooden ladder, turn around, and come face to face with the voice.

I'm standing in a wooden room. A small table is crammed into a corner, boxes of various objects are stacked haphazardly in another, and a fireplace with a mantle above it occupies the left wall. A figure with a spoon is stirring something in a pot that hangs on a hook above a fire.

Then something strange happens. Another image flashes above the homely one. The wooden room is now made of sterile metal. Instead of a small table, there is a sleek platform jutting out from the equally smooth wall. Instead of messily stacked boxes, there is a glossy silver filing cabinet, with one drawer open. And where the fireplace was, there is a countertop with random beakers and papers strewn across its top. The light comes from a fluorescent bulb on the ceiling. And the figure is in a stark white coat.  Instead of a spoon, it holds a syringe of clear liquid.

The image is gone as soon as it comes. I blink, unsure of whether I really saw that vision.

The figure turns, and I realize it’s a woman in a dirty print dress, with a stained apron tied around her waist. She smiles at me, and gestures to the table. I realize a bowl of food is sitting there, and just then do I realize how hungry I am. The food disappears.

The wind howls outside. I tell the woman I appreciate her taking me in, though I do not remember it. She smiles at me, the crow’s feet wrinkling around her eyes. I gather up my pack, put on a heavy coat she offers me, and open the door.

It is night out, and the moon sheds silver light on black lumpy haystacks, so much like those dinosaurs. The stars are still up there, but it seems to me a few of them have disappeared. I can actually make out the sky behind the lights now. I sigh, and take a step forward. 

---

Before I even open my eyes, I feel my body rocking back and forth. The movement is soothing for a little bit, and I keep my eyes closed and enjoy the sensation. There are clumping noises above me, though. The sound reverberates in my little area. I open my eyes, and see a flat wooden ceiling above me. Sloshing noises register in my ears for the first time, and I strain to decipher where it comes from. Everywhere, it seems.

I groggily swing my legs over the edge of the hammock-net I am lying in, and stumble towards the door at the opposite end of the stiff wooden room. The floorboards pitch me towards the door and before I can stop my momentum, I burst through the door.

I find myself standing in a short corridor, the air reeking of fish and smoke. There is a ladder at the right end of the corridor, with thick yellow light streaming in through the trapdoor at the top. Staggering and tripping all over myself, I finally make it to the ladder and pull myself up.

 The air up here is fresher, though the briny smell still lingers. The wind tears through my loose garments, and I shiver. Callous voices are shouting to one another, as people rush back and forth. The floor rocks under my feet again, and I grip the edge of a crate, staring, openmouthed, around.

 I’m on a ship. Thick timbers rise up like trees around me, their trunks heavily laden with ropes and rigging. Shadows cast by brightly flaming lanterns dance on the dark shapes. I’m facing the front of the ship, and I can see the prow ascending and dipping as it crests each wave. Barrels stand in groups here and there; one barrel has been knocked down by the ferocious wind, and a deckhand runs after it, slipping in the puddles of water.

 A stocky man swaggers up to me and asks me where I have been. Leaning back a little (he did smell rather strongly), I point down the trapdoor. He grunts and gestures toward one of the towering masts.

 There’s something about this man’s voice that differs from the woman’s. The cadence was off, the lilt was different, the accents stressed on different syllables. I just couldn’t place it.

I reach the mast and run my fingers across it, feeling the rough texture. I can count the stars above me with ease, but the black space between each glowing dot has grown bigger since I stepped out of that woman’s house however long ago. I squint at the stars, but the light from the scattered lanterns blinds me, and my eyes cannot adjust to the darkness needed to see those pinpricks of light. I peer carefully at the disappearing stars.

Fresh shouts split the air. I turn as a whistling sound comes toward me, turn just in time to glimpse a dark barrel, hung on a net of ropes, swing towards me. There is no time to do anything but stand and stare at the dark shape speeding towards me. In the split second before it hits me, my eyes catch the stocky man’s, and I see him with his hands above his head, his mouth open in a half shout. His eyes are wild.

The barrel caught me in the chest. I felt it crush my sternum, felt my spine curve around it, felt the briny air leave my collapsed lungs to make room for the unforgiving wooden boards. I fly, soaring backwards, my body a knife cleaving a path through the suddenly solid air. The lights speed away from me, then shoot upwards as I begin my fall towards the sea. The air scurries out of my way, and I hit the water with such force all the air I have managed to regain is pushed right back out again. My back screams dimly with pain, and I sink face up, the edges of my eyesight turning dim and wavery. I’m too surprised to obey my instincts to kick, to swim, to reach the air receding from my crushed lungs. I can’t do much more than think, there go the stars.

 ---

I don't, I- uffa.

At least I finished this one. It's time travel. That's all you have to know.

Seriously, I'm just sitting here, asking myself, where did this come from all of a sudden? I need a hobby. Well, one that I can carry out without a horse and an arena.

I'm going to stop explaining myself. Instead, I will share a song I found on Pandora, coming back from Sequoia. I had an irrational female connection with it, as in this song, quote-and-quote, "really got to me." Maybe it's hormones. 

The Script. "This=Love"