We have survived the Apocalypse!
I know that the ash polluted the air and whatnot, and I know that breathing it was unsafe. And yet, I found those few hours of orange darkness to be incredibly entertaining. I was actually disappointed when it blew away.
So, I just got an e-mail from Six Flags saying that they are going to be open all weekend for Fright Fest, (despite the fire that was threatening the park). This means I might get to go with the band kids again on Sunday! Woo! But the only problem is… I also was planning (that if Magic Mountain wasn’t open) to finish my physics catapult at Michael’s house. Damn. Oh, what to do, what to do? Honestly, I want to go to Six Flags, and I’m planning on it. But I’m worried about Michael’s reaction. We were also planning to work after school Tuesday, and I think that might be enough time. Cross your fingers, friends.
What the world needs now/ is sleep, sweet sleep.
A shadowy figure stood in my bedroom doorway. In my daze I saw it was male, with a medium build, which lead me to speculate who it was exactly. Of course, as soon as he started speaking, I realized it was my dad. This would make sense, considering that he’s the only person who fits the aforementioned physical description who lives in my house. The effects of my previous slumber hadn’t entirely worn off, and I wondered just how long I had been conscious.
Jokingly, he questioned, “So, are you going to get an F in three classes since you decided to take a break?”
What? Classes? Break? I looked around the unlit room, and realized that the darkness had not been due to my weak eyes, but due to the lack of a sun. I became aware of my physical state – wrapped up in blankets, on top of a sinfully soft mattress. Why was I here? Where had I been before?
It struck me.
“Oh my gosh, what time is it?” I asked semi-frantically.
“About six.”
I was more awake, and able to do grade school math in my head. Quite the accomplishment.
“Have I really been asleep for four hours?”
“More like three and a half.”
It was then that I realized that I had been napping, and that my “nap” had been longer than my “sleep” the “night” before. [More like this morning.] As soon as I had gotten home, I had seized the chance that only Tuesdays and Sundays give me – to actually sleep. Wishing my parents a good night, I had flung myself into my bed, turned on some dozy Mazzy Starr and crashed.
And now I sit, in front of my computer screen, wishing that my moment of bliss was still upon me. So, will I get an F in three classes because I decided to “take a break”? No, but it’s almost depressing that the decision has come down to sleep or succeed.
It’s even more depressing that I have chosen succeed. And yet I am still getting more B’s than A’s. In the words of the oh so wise Hillary, “What the heck, man?” Also, Kellogg’s assertion that grade-wise, “B is the new F” maybe lead me to use the transitive property on my dad’s question. Observe:
If “taking a break” = sleeping,
and F = B,
then the question “Are you going to get an F in three classes since you decided to take a break?”
theoretically =’s: “Are you going to get a B in three classes since you decided to sleep?”
And the answer might end up being a positive. Although, I do not blame my mere “above average” grades on slumber since clearly, I don’t get “enough” of it. The actual culprits are tests, math, and science. Curse you, physics. I don’t freaking care how much applied force it takes to move a book up the wall. Books don’t belong on walls anyway; they belong in my lap as I sit in a recliner, basking in the wonder that is the written word. But apparently, my quest to actually finish the five or so books I have half-read [including, but not limited to: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Silence in Octoberby Jens Christian Grondahl, Click by Kristopher Young] is not quite as important enough as the effects of friction. Hold on a sec while I go pull out my hair by its follicles.
This week will be the worst yet. But oh, the precious hope of that wondrous break! My heart flutters.
“And while you watch the ships come in, I will take the early train.”
Today was a long day…but that doesn’t necessarily mean it was troublesome or tiring. Actually, I’m feeling mildly content right now, which is quite the accomplishment.
Practice today was not entirely horrible. Almost fun. It’s gotten to the point though, in which I’m 95% sure I am not doing marching band next year, simply because so much has changed: new director, new marching instructors, new rules. I’m not exactly stubborn in my ways – I can roll with the differences. But when I examine my priorities, I realize that I only do marching band because of friends, PE credit and music, in that order. Next year, all my now-senior friends will be gone, and I won’t need PE credit. It’ll be a nice change to focus on music in Wind Ensemble next year: a new chance to push myself, if you will.
After practice I went to Pizza Chief with Phillip and Shorty. My dad invited Phillip to church and he responded with a look of “Um, do I look utterly insane to you?” I laughed. Because let’s face it: I don’t even like going to church. Well, actually. Let’s rephrase that: I don’t like going to youth group. Church is fine. At church, I find that I have more in common with some of my parents’ peers than my own peers, which is frankly depressing. Although, I’m pretty sure that none of my parent’s peers have ever uttered the oh so eloquent quote of “…even though he has a calculusFUCK!” as I did today at practice. The obscenity, of course, was not originally meant to be there, but was caused by me running into a short pole that I didn’t see because the music stand I was carrying was blocking my view. Taz decided to be funny though, and asked what a calculusfuck was. That was amusing.
Then I went to Acapulco with Brittany, which was fun I guess. But there were too many acquaintances and not enough friends, so I left after a while and walked over to Wendy’s, even though it was my original intent to go to Latte 101. Apparently, although my sense of direction is fine, my sense of perception is lacking. Walking alone at night was strangely calming, despite the chill and possibility of getting mugged. At one point, a red Ford honked while passing me, and a hooded head looked back at my direction. I vaguely wondered if I knew them, but it was only because I didn’t want to assume that they were honking to be stereotypical males. Of course, my realistic nature knows that I’ve never met them before, the bastards.
Woo, Magic Mountain tomorrow! I’m stoked. But I’m not excited because it’s Magic Mountain; I’ve gone about five times since June. I’m really only stoked because it’s a day I could be in school, and I’m hanging out all day with friends instead. And it’s even better than a three day weekend, because I’m not going to be sitting at home trying to not think about the homework I should be doing. In other words, thank God for Magic Mountain. I should live there. And if I’m really lucky, I’ll also be going with Bradley and Taz and other assorted band people on the 26th as well.
Speaking of band, it’s pretty much my life right now, which might be viewed at pathetic, but it’s better than nothing. I did the math a while ago, and during marching season, band takes up 26 hours a week. Saturday is our first band competition, which means the season has officially begun. Hold on to your hats.
I just realized it’s actually the early morning. Hmm. Time to go to bed.
Oh, the fragilities of infant innocence.
I work at the child care at my church, usually with the toddlers. I have always thought of myself as a “toddler person” as apposed to a “baby person”. It’s like cats vs. dogs. Lately, however, due to lack of helpers we have been combining the two. That is how I ended up with a slumbering six-day-old infant in my arms.
A few weeks ago, I had to hold a three month old baby boy. I was incredibly nervous; I thought I was going to drop/break/destroy him in some clumsy and terribly tragic fashion. Despite the fact that Seasun was so much younger than even that infant, I felt completely in control from the beginning. A maternal spirit devoured and consumed any faults of mine, and my arms held strong for the whole service. It was fascinating simply watching her tiny face, and hearing her short and whispery breaths. My own breaths changed: as a musician, one learns to breathe from one’s diaphragm, and not from one’s shoulders; while I held little Seasun, I breathed as shallowly and slowly as possible, as to not disturb her.
There is also something to be said about a newborn’s scent. It is almost impossible to describe, but they do have a certain fragrance – maybe one of innocent helplessness. I would not be surprised at all if this scent has a role in our primitive instinct to protect the young.
So breakable. So beautiful.
Aha!
Here I am, creating yet another blog. Hopefully this one will survive the daily grind of life…all my other ones [count them: three] slowly had the insight and spunk squeezed out of them. Or were infected with talk of the menfolk, haha.
I finally finished “Apathy and Other Small Victories” by Paul Neilan. God, there were so many intense quotes from that book. Not to mention, the cover was possibly the greatest book cover in the history of mankind – and exactly the type of thing my parents would hate. [Even my friend Brittany was slightly repulsed, but that made it all the better, haha.] I kind of want to keep it, but Phillip needs it back to write a book report of sorts. Pshh, book reports in high school? I’m glad I don’t go to Buena.
Speaking of lack of work, my friend Bradley sent me a message in the middle of the day basically stating that he was bored beyond all belief, since he’s stuck at Santa Barbara City College all day on Tuesdays and Thursdays due to carpooling. And apparently he finished all his work and stuff? Dude, you’re supposed to be in college, and your work load is significantly less than mine…I’m kind of jealous. But at the same time, that’s what he gets for going to a community college. I don’t pity him, lazy bum. Ha, but he’s awesome anyway.
Today was not amazing in any respect. Writing an essay in the morning, with your parents yelling at each other five feet away from you – now that takes talent. Talent I don’t possess. I’m not a very emotional person at all; weeping isn’t exactly one of my hobbies. But if there was a day to have a breakdown, it would have been today. But I didn’t, yay!
Yeah, this blog is already getting too serious. I should tell some stand-up comedy. But that would be rather hard, considering that I’m sitting…oh, and I’m typing instead of talking. That too.
You know what? I hate The Brady Bunch. [Seemingly random statement, but my little brother is watching it right now...don't ask me why. My mom is the TV addict of the family.] I actually hate most TV. The sitcoms are all the same mundane one-liners, and the drama is all the same gasp inducing sludge. I used to watch stupid teen soap operas [Degrassi, The Best Years, South of Nowhere, etc.] online as a guilty pleasure, but the last Degrassi I saw, I realized just how unoriginal it all was. Not to mention, watching the same cast date every member of the opposite sex eventually…it’s not very exciting or entertaining at all. And I think they dealt with teen pregnancy like, three times. I know it’s a common and relatable subject to many, but good god. Overkill.
Not being tied down to the television is pretty refreshing. Now if only I could feel the same way about the Internet…
