Hair Update

Another month gone, and my hair is ridiculously long.

Here's what it looked like in May:








Here's what it looks like now:







It's longer now than it's been at any point in my life. Occasionally I'll want to cut it, but then I remember how long it took to grow out and how much more fun long hair is, and I decide not to.

Eventually, I will cut it again, I'm sure to much blogging fanfare. That time is a while coming, though.

Showcase: August, 2003

Given the unusual length of the most recent Selected Entries, I've taken the rare step of narrowing it down even further. I did what cutting I could to the August, 2003 Selected Entries, but found I couldn't excise much more without removing the substance of all that happened that month. So, rather than hacking the Selected Entries to death, I've taken a few entries out of them to post on their own. There was no particular criteria for selecting these, other than that they seemed particularly funny and offered a positive perspective on what could be a rough time during my adolescence. Anyone who wants to read the full Selected Entries can. Otherwise, there's this.

August 16, 2003

Surprisingly, the only city where major looting took place [as a result of the Northeast blackout] was Ottawa, the capital of Canada. This was a bit unexpected, as Canadians really just don’t seem like the looting type. On the Conan O’Brien Show last night they presented a parody video of the Canadian looters. They were all carrying hockey gear and yelling “Eh?” to each other. The police officer who followed them was also proclaiming “Eh?”

Blonde Friend would’ve laughed so hard; we had a Spanish teacher from Canada last year and we always found creative ways to incorporate “Eh?” into everyday class. I remember that one of the more popular methods was writing “Eh?” signs on the chalk board.

Another was asking her to repeat test answers: “I’m sorry Canadian Spanish Teacher, I didn’t get number two in section A, could you tell me what it was again?” “Why certainly…A.”

And when I once received a detention for a fart machine (that incidentally belonged to Blonde Friend) I said, “Detention today, eh?”

Blonde Friend was fairly hysterical and shortly thereafter I proceeded to run into a desk (on accident, of course). Powell and I are here by ourselves. Mom and Dad are at Thomas’s scrimmage. We have nine days left until the start of school. It certainly doesn’t seem like it. It still seems very far away, but when you think about it, nine days is only like Thanksgiving break. That’s exciting and depressing at the same time.

August 17, 2003

Only eight days left. Two days ago, Pie got into the pool for the first time. She looked genuinely confused as Mom carried her around in the water, a puzzled face looking around from beneath a little white hat. Powell and I agreed that it was one of the most adorable things that either of us had ever seen.

It thunder-stormed terribly last night. Powell and Thomas slept in my bed and I told a scary story that concluded with a serial killer standing outside of my closed door. We were all quite silent after that, and even I half expected the door to burst open. We were all terrified, and we were making all sorts of jokes to stave the horror away.

Powell continued the story, saying that Warrdell (my serial killer’s name) had entered the room to find us gone. He assumed that we were hiding in the closet, and he never guessed we might be under the bed.

“That’d never work, though,” I said.

“Why?” Powell asked, already laughing.

“Because there’s stuff under my bed.”

Powell started giggling wildly.

I continued, “And even if we could, Thomas would be like, ‘Stop pushing! Stop pushing! Did I say you could touch?’”

Powell was shaking with suppressed laughter at the thought of Thomas giving us away to a ruthless serial killer. We then fell asleep, shortly after I told an incomplete story about the three of us going to Heaven after the house gets struck by lightning. Last night’s lightning storm was unlike any that I can remember having seen before. The night was illuminated bright as day for several seconds at a time; it honestly looked just like a cloudy Saturday morning, more strikingly so than I can recall before then.

I’m nervous about school. I’m worried that Sophomore Year will be more difficult than Freshman Year. What if I can’t get straight As in Advanced United States History? I can’t wait to take World History. I want to take European History, like Annoyingly Perfect Cousin did. It sounds like fun. And I’m going to be in Spanish III!

I’ve been diverting between terrified, excited, and depressed in regards to the coming school year. I feel emotionally confused and I feel as if I have no idea who I am. I want to take a shower, but it’s about eleven o’clock in the evening. For lack of a better thing to do, I’ll probably go to bed.

August 19, 2003

After babysitting the neighborhood kids (not difficult, as they watched a Mary Kate and Ashley video the whole time) I went back home, quickly changed and got into the hot tub by myself, alone in the serene and beautiful nighttime. I was struck all at once with how breathtaking and awe-inspiring the night sky was, and how at peace I felt in my little hot tub, my large house, my home, looming above me, its secure grounds and fence all around me.

After a little while in the hot tub, I jumped into the pool, by then icy cold. And it felt so good and refreshing, and at that moment I was absolutely convinced that everything would be fine

I continued to alternate like that, between the hot tub and the pool (quite contrasting). I was eventually joined by Powell and Thomas. They first jumped in the pool, though, to cool themselves off from football practice.

Powell and Thomas went inside and I was alone once more. Powell soon called me saying that Dad had gotten sushi. I was overjoyed. We haven’t had sushi in the longest time, and Dad knows I’ve been craving it. I stepped out of the hot tub, and as I stood with my arms on the deck railing, surveying our backyard and the beautiful summer night, I thought, “We’re as wealthy as we’ll ever need to be.”

Selected Entries: August, 2003

This Selected Entries section is longer than usual, and easily the longest I've posted since switching over to the Selected Entries format. A good deal happened in August of 2003, though, and the entries I have showcased here, often shortened from their original form, provide telling glimpses into the life of a teenage boy nearing the end of his summer. I was fifteen years old during this month, and chronicled family quarrels; a vacation to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania; anxiety regarding the coming school year; a historic power outage that plunged New York City into darkness; and attempts within the child country on whose throne my brother Powell then sat to loosen his grip on power.

August 5, 2003

We came home today, much to my pleasure. Gettysburg is certainly nice, but I missed home. And, of course, Blonde Cousin can only be tolerated for so long.

We went last night on what we thought was going to be some type of a haunted house or something (the title, which went along the lines of “Walk With the Ghosts: A Haunted Tour” was more than a little deceptive). What it turned out to be was a woman with a flagrantly fake Southern accent leading us around downtown Gettysburg and stopping in front of some buildings. We didn’t actually go in any of them, mind you, oh, no; we would just stop and she’d bore us for fifteen minutes or so before moving on.

It continued in this fashion for an hour and a half, the woman’s intonations growing more than predictable by the tour’s end. Her highly exaggerated smiles sufficed to startle, frighten, and annoy the entire crowd at the same time. Aunt Lesbian was less than thrilled when the tour ended with the woman saying dramatically, “You may not have seen any ghosts, but if you’ve learned something new that you didn’t know before, I’ve done my job.”

Some incredibly stupid man stood there with a sentimental smile on his face and said, as if in reverence, “Thank you.”

This same man then started an applause, which some joined in enthusiastically, and which others (like me) joined in only politely. It annoyed me that they were making some emotional scene over nothing more than a waste of six dollars, when the village idiot could have told me the same information for free. When we got back, Blonde Cousin and Thomas were both misbehaving.

When I got back to the cabin we roasted marshmallows and made S'mores. This was the first time that I had ever had this delicious snack, and I enjoyed it, very much so. After that (quite late at this point) we ate chicken. I went in to get some apple juice. Mom told me that Blonde Cousin and I needed to be quiet upon reentering the cabin later. Aunt Lesbian was surprisingly nice last night. She and I don’t usually get along, as she has had a tendency in the past to take liberties of authority that she doesn’t have. She was fine last night, though.

August 14, 2003

Today has been, by far, one of the most exciting and eventful days of the summer. It started out perfectly normal. We woke a bit earlier than usual today, helped out around the house, and went out to play. I had been swimming in the pool for a considerable amount of time when I became hungry. Swimming always has this effect on me. I went in and grabbed a cheeseburger and some noodles. Before heading back outside I saw on the news that a terrorist had been caught.

Then they were all of a sudden talking about how the United Nations had been evacuated along with the New York Stock Exchange. I assumed that they were closed out of fear from terrorist retaliation, as the man sounded like an important terrorist general. It was then that I found out.

The center of a North American power grid based in Niagara Falls, New York, had malfunctioned in some way. The result, within minutes, was that New York City was left entirely without electricity. Elevators and subways stopped en route. For subways deep in underground tunnels, this has presented a unique horror and a very prominent problem. The subways are about ninety-five percent evacuated. The fact that the largest city in the United States is completely without power has gone surprisingly smooth.

Then again, darkness is only now setting, and riots are expected, I mean, feared, in the pitch black of night. Imagining New York City at night without lights gives me an indescribably eerie feeling. I can only fathom what it will be like to look out over the New York City skyline and see a night full of stars. It probably hasn’t been so in decades.

The people of New York are surprisingly calm, even though thousands (maybe even millions) have been forced to walk on foot to their homes. New York City isn’t the only city without electricity, though; Detroit, Cleveland, Erie, Ottawa, Toronto, and numerous other smaller cities have been left without power, too.

I still just can’t believe that: complete electrical failure in New York City. They can’t wash or dry their clothes, take showers, microwave their food, watch television, listen to the radio, do work on the computer, turn on the lights, use the stove, turn on air conditioning or even a fan. They can’t do much of anything. They can’t even use their VCRs or DVD players, which we’ve always been able to use even when our television goes out during a storm. What happened today truly reveals how startlingly dependent we really are on electricity. The power outage affected New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Connecticut, Michigan, and parts of Canada (most notably Ontario). Oh, and also Vermont.

Powell was all in a huff today because Second Twin came back from Vast State without recruiting any subjects. Powell gave him the mission of starting a province in that state when First Twin and Second Twin went on vacation there, but for whatever reason he couldn't do it. I think Powell is more angry at the children in Vast State than he is with Second Twin, so I doubt Second Twin will get in any trouble. The Arian government is now viewing Vast State as a colony, which means that they have the right to make a province there once they find people.

I wonder if electricity is back on yet in New York (I still can’t believe that New York City lost all power). I hope that they all did get a chance to see the stars.

August 16, 2003

Surprisingly, the only city where major looting took place was Ottawa, the capital of Canada. This was a bit unexpected, as Canadians really just don’t seem like the looting type. On the Conan O’Brien Show last night they presented a parody video of the Canadian looters. They were all carrying hockey gear and yelling “Eh?” to each other. The police officer who followed them was also proclaiming “Eh?”

Blonde Friend would’ve laughed so hard; we had a Spanish teacher from Canada last year and we always found creative ways to incorporate “Eh?” into everyday class. I remember that one of the more popular methods was writing “Eh?” signs on the chalk board.

Another was asking her to repeat test answers: “I’m sorry Canadian Spanish Teacher, I didn’t get number two in section A, could you tell me what it was again?” “Why certainly…A.”

And when I once received a detention for a fart machine (that incidentally belonged to Blonde Friend) I said, “Detention today, eh?”

Blonde Friend was fairly hysterical and shortly thereafter I proceeded to run into a desk (on accident, of course). Powell and I are here by ourselves. Mom and Dad are at Thomas’s scrimmage. We have nine days left until the start of school. It certainly doesn’t seem like it. It still seems very far away, but when you think about it, nine days is only like Thanksgiving break. That’s exciting and depressing at the same time.

August 17, 2003

Only eight days left. Two days ago, Pie got into the pool for the first time. She looked genuinely confused as Mom carried her around in the water, a puzzled face looking around from beneath a little white hat. Powell and I agreed that it was one of the most adorable things that either of us had ever seen.

It thunder-stormed terribly last night. Powell and Thomas slept in my bed and I told a scary story that concluded with a serial killer standing outside of my closed door. We were all quite silent after that, and even I half expected the door to burst open. We were all terrified, and we were making all sorts of jokes to stave the horror away.

Powell continued the story, saying that Warrdell (my serial killer’s name) had entered the room to find us gone. He assumed that we were hiding in the closet, and he never guessed we might be under the bed.

“That’d never work, though,” I said.

“Why?” Powell asked, already laughing.

“Because there’s stuff under my bed.”

Powell started giggling wildly.

I continued, “And even if we could, Thomas would be like, ‘Stop pushing! Stop pushing! Did I say you could touch?’”

Powell was shaking with suppressed laughter at the thought of Thomas giving us away to a ruthless serial killer. We then fell asleep, shortly after I told an incomplete story about the three of us going to Heaven after the house gets struck by lightning. Last night’s lightning storm was unlike any that I can remember having seen before. The night was illuminated bright as day for several seconds at a time; it honestly looked just like a cloudy Saturday morning, more strikingly so than I can recall before then.

I’m nervous about school. I’m worried that Sophomore Year will be more difficult than Freshman Year. What if I can’t get straight As in Advanced United States History? I can’t wait to take World History. I want to take European History, like Annoyingly Perfect Cousin did. It sounds like fun. And I’m going to be in Spanish III!

I’ve been diverting between terrified, excited, and depressed in regards to the coming school year. I feel emotionally confused and I feel as if I have no idea who I am. I want to take a shower, but it’s about eleven o’clock in the evening. For lack of a better thing to do, I’ll probably go to bed.

August 19, 2003

After babysitting the neighborhood kids (not difficult, as they watched a Mary Kate and Ashley video the whole time) I went back home, quickly changed and got into the hot tub by myself, alone in the serene and beautiful nighttime. I was struck all at once with how breathtaking and awe-inspiring the night sky was, and how at peace I felt in my little hot tub, my large house, my home, looming above me, its secure grounds and fence all around me.

After a little while in the hot tub, I jumped into the pool, by then icy cold. And it felt so good and refreshing, and at that moment I was absolutely convinced that everything would be fine

I continued to alternate like that, between the hot tub and the pool (quite contrasting). I was eventually joined by Powell and Thomas. They first jumped in the pool, though, to cool themselves off from football practice.

Powell and Thomas went inside and I was alone once more. Powell soon called me saying that Dad had gotten sushi. I was overjoyed. We haven’t had sushi in the longest time, and Dad knows I’ve been craving it. I stepped out of the hot tub, and as I stood with my arms on the deck railing, surveying our backyard and the beautiful summer night, I thought, “We’re as wealthy as we’ll ever need to be.”

August 22, 2003

Three days. That’s no more than a long weekend. It’s truly unbelievable. Pie is much better today. She’s all cheerful and smiling and cooing. Mom and Dad, though, aren’t quite happy; they’re still a bit sour with each other after the argument that they had last night over the baby.

It was all prompted with Pie’s previously-mentioned shrieking. Mom had gone off to get a haircut, leaving Pie with our father. After trying for some time to calm her, my father, in stupid frustration, yelled, “Pie, I don’t know what’s wrong! I don’t know what the Hell is wrong!”

Thomas told Mom, and she was very angry. Really, who can blame her? Honestly, what’s the point in yelling at a crying baby? It’s not as if it will fix anything; it will only perhaps upset the child more. Mom pointed this out to Dad, saying that Pie couldn’t register what he was saying but that she could sense the difference between happy voice and angry voice.

Mom and Dad quietly fought over the issue, and although my father denies yelling, Thomas and I heard the entire thing. Just the mere thought of it angers me; he’s so used to being able to use curse words and unabashed rudeness to silence us that it’s probably inconceivable to him that he can’t discipline his youngest child in such a fashion. He’s also convinced that an infant can be spoiled (ah, my father, that ridiculously hypocritical and conservative disciplinarian). Interestingly enough, my father counts himself a Democrat (which means that his rights mean more to him than ours (conservative he is).

A crisis approaches Aria.

The Senate, dissatisfied with my brother's rule, demanded that the people be able to elect a President. Powell said that that was stupid and only the Czar can rule, but when he tried to stage a coup most of the provinces sided with the Senate and he had to agree to the elections.

Anyway, they are due to take place on August 24th, and there are only two candidates, neither of whom is qualified to rule as President. This could push Aria to the brink of instability and perhaps cause the nation to collapse.

The only suitable candidate (especially with Powell as Czar) who could bring together a broad national base would probably be First Twin, but he has thus far refused to run! The Atricians are trying hard to draft him, but as of yet he's not having it.

Most of the other kids don't seem too upset over this, but my prediction is that it could seriously jeopardize the country.

August 23, 2003

Two days. It’s only one weekend. There are two days left of summer. This is incredible.

We’re going to Aunt Ostentatious's house today (a venture that I am regarding with a mixed state of anxiousness and revulsion) for a little end-of-summer soiree. Actually, I take that back; such a crude gathering could not be described as a soiree. I am angered by my aunt’s family’s rudeness and stupidity, their simple errors and trifle failings, which, together, make them barely tolerable.

Powell is treating the occasion as a state visit to Cristalia, of which Blonde Cousin is queen. There, Powell, soon to be a constitutional Czar, will tell Blonde Cousin about how Aria will no longer be ruled by only a Czar, but also by an elected President, who will have at least equal power with the Czar.

He's not looking forward to this at all as he thinks the whole idea of shared rule is ridiculous, but under the agreement he reached with the Senate he has to inform the provincial rulers of the new arrangement. I would be the first to admit that Powell has been a lackluster ruler (I think I did a much better job), but making him run this errand himself seems just mean and humiliating.

Powell will also tell Blonde Cousin to prove her claims of nine serfs and some nobles, accounting for a total of about eleven citizens. If he finds that she has been lying to the Czar, all of Cristalia will be put under arrest and she could be stripped of her crown.

He's already fairly teed-off at her for up and invading Greece without so much as a word, so I don't think it would take much for him to go off the edge with her.

August 24, 2003

My heart leapt as I rounded the corner that brought my [old] school into visibility [during the trip to Dirty Town]. As I reached the street separating me from the building, my blood was thundering against my veins. I crossed the street and looked up at the building, butterflies wreaking hurricanes in my stomach, and I thought, “Within those walls…”

I walked to the school’s main entrance, the excitement unbearable, and the doors were locked. I tried every door at the main entrance, but they were all locked.

Disappointed, but not as terribly as I would have thought, I made my way toward the library. I walked up to the stone steps of the exterior of the library and ascended them, looking into the windows of the circular library where I had spent countless hours. I thought that it was one of the weirdest sensations that I had ever felt.

I walked back toward Blonde Cousin’s house, but met her before I would have arrived. We walked past Fat Cousin’s house together, but she wasn’t home. I experienced a feeling of complete revulsion as my eyes fell on Old Friend’s house. We passed it quickly, but his mother was only one house up with some neighbors. One of their dogs ran up to me, circling me continuously and delaying us in front of the house for about half of a minute.

And yet, Old Friend’s mother didn’t seem to recognize me. As we turned a corner for Blonde Cousin’s street, Nasty Guy, a sixteen-year-old boy who no one was all too fond of when I lived in Dirty Town, drove by us. Also not recognizing me, he tried to peel out—in his mother’s car.

I then made the decision to visit Younger and Older Twin, my two former best friends, who I’ve tried to distance myself from because they are part of what symbolizes my rejected past.

As I walked up the central road, passing so many familiar blocks, my heart began pounding with anticipation for the second time that day from the excitement of a reunion. One thing was for sure; Younger Twin and Older Twin certainly wouldn’t be expecting a visit from me. I was nervous at the prospect of knocking on their door, and then, there they were, outside, playing basketball, as if for my convenience.

Certain that they would instantly recognize their best friend of nearly a decade, I approached cautiously. As I made my way to the second house down the street, coming nearer and nearer, there was nothing, not a sliver of recognition. I was a bit stunned; my best friends since childhood didn’t, couldn’t recognize me.

I could only have been ten feet away when Younger Twin’s jaw dropped and he said, in disbelief, “BB?”

Now Older Twin turned, too. The physical changes that had occurred since my last visit were incredible, particularly with Younger Twin. Older Twin, considered fat for so long, is now 6’2”, 250lbs, dwarfing me at 5’8.5”, 121lbs. He is still large, but not quite so unashamedly obese. He looked scarily strong.

Younger Twin had grown, too. Still by far the thinner of the two, he is much taller than I am, and much stronger as well. He now weighs 140lbs (less than Powell) and has a mustache. His basketball playing abilities are nothing short of spectacular, and he looked like someone from the city. Both of them, however, to my immense shock, lag far behind me academically. Neither are in Advanced Placement classes, neither has achieved a 4.0, and their lowest GPAs of the year were 3.0, whereas mine was 3.5.

We caught up on things, and I went home feeling happy for having spoken to them.

August 25, 2003

Yesterday, Sunday, was an odd day, one that felt as if it were in the middle of summer. Today, though, the transition to school went so smoothly that it was barely noticeable.

The bus ride, like in the beginning of last year, was so crowded that we had to stand up on the ride to school. The bus was slightly less crowded than last year, when we sat on the stairs by the bus door. I wasn’t nervous at all, not after I’d actually gotten on the bus. I felt all of the anxiety drain away.

Our homeroom teacher was a comical lady with a gawky voice and wide eyes who made odd jerking motions and spontaneous giggly outbursts. And yet, still a teacher.

One girl I knew last year is in my homeroom.

I have Biology, Business Law, U.S. History (A Day), Chorus II (B Day), and Biology. I had so much homework tonight. Business Law is my favorite class.

Decisions

In the languid environment of summer, it's easy to fall into inaction. Projects begun (or planned to be begun) in earnest are pushed aside as the hot sun saps energy and the cool poolside beckons, while without the diversion of school and mostly without any real work to do, entire days easily slip away while I listen to my iPod, take walks around my neighborhood, or goof around on the Internet.

More than anyone I know, I can find myself at the conclusion of a summer's afternoon wondering what I did all day, and sometimes even writing blog posts is too much.

I have one keen advantage over others, though, in that while I can at times be exceptionally lazy I take resolutions quite seriously and am apt to keep them.

Three times since starting this blog I have declared resolutions to be met, and my track record thus far has been, while not perfect, certainly better than most people's in the area.

First came the January, 2009 post entitled "BB's New Year's Resolutions."

This list of goals, sixteen in all, came on the tail end of a long and debilitating depression that was easily the most damaging experience in my young life, and I was still handling lingering self-doubt, self-pity, and pessimism. Those resolutions dealt mainly with changing my negative outlook and branching out of my comfort zone, an endeavor in which I have excelled. A year and a half later, my life is completely different, largely because I determined to make things better no matter what it took. Going through all that, including the recovery, endowed me with a kind of stoicism that has proven helpful. Sometimes things just are what they are, but hard work has nearly unlimited potential. That duality has empowered me immensely.

The second round of benchmarks, which I termed "summer resolutions," came in May of 2009. There were only two this time. The first was that I would record my original song, "So Long," and the second was that I would get my first kiss. The recording happened in May, and while the kiss didn't come until October, it still took place.

Then there was this January, when I dedicated myself to four aspirations: to get in better shape, to devote more time to my writing, to work towards career goals for after college, and to actively pursue singing.

I did well on the first two counts, adjusting my diet and putting more effort into my stories, including one that I may share, there being the will for it, on this blog.

The second two were met, too; I secured a public relations internship at Major University in May and was offered a recording contract in April.

I don't play with these things.

And while I may occasionally miss (I could definitely have done more on the fitness side and the record deal wound up not working out), I wind up in the right direction and more or less succeed.

In the spirit of those prior commitments, I am making my second year's summer resolutions, all three of them related to earlier marks I set for myself.

Here they are:

1. In keeping with this winter's promise to make the most of my singing and hopefully build something from it, I will be setting up a YouTube account and trying out for American Idol this summer. The YouTube account I will, unfortunately, be unable to share with you because it will show my face and be under my actual name, but the American Idol audition will make for a great blogging adventure.

2. I will undergo track training. This one has actually already begun. I have noted for some time that the cross country boys at Major University are easily the hottest guys on campus, while Black Boy, my nineteen-year-old neighbor and a former track runner himself, is looking to shed some of the weight he's gained since high school. Our interests thus conveniently converging, we decided to put in the time together and endure some fairly rigorous physical training four days a week.

We were due to start on Thursday but Black Boy got sick, so it was today that we met in our front yards just after eight o'clock in the morning and headed for Mountain Town Middle School's running track. We absolutely murdered ourselves, running just under a mile (though not all at once) and performing a number of strange exercises, including lunges, high knees, butt kicks, and a challenging set of crunches known as 30-30-30s that contorted us into five different positions for a total of 150 lifts.

It was all quite envigorating, and, to be honest, not as bad as I'd imagined. It certainly was very tiring, but I'd thought it would be much worse. I think that the bike rides I've been doing four times a week must have helped my endurance, because I found myself holding up fairly well, and, for my obvious lack of athletic ability, I did not once falter on a run, stretch, or warm-up, however much I may have struggled.

I managed to lose half a pound during this hour-long activity, something I'll have to watch. I'm 5'10" and only about 125lbs to begin with. Black Boy says we'll both probably lose some weight initially before adding muscle mass. We'll have to see.

I'm insane, so of course I'm pushing to go again tomorrow.

3. I will finish my story, Captain Vanilla and the Great Adventure, by the end of the summer. This one will be the hardest. When I actually sit down to write I usually get a good bit done, but putting myself to the grindstone without a deadline is difficult. My more longtime readers will remember that I posted some of this story last summer, and if the followers would like I could do that again this year, putting one chapter up a week. Having an audience waiting for new material would keep me going forward, but despising as I do those bloggers who push their work on others I won't include the project here unless I'm convinced people would enjoy it. I may submit the first chapter up and then ask if anyone would like to hear more.

So that's it for now. Wish me luck going into all this.

The Years Have Passed So Far Away But They Still Seem So Close

I know that my last actual post was a journal entry, but today presented an anniversary that I thought should be touched upon. Four years ago, on June 16, 2006, I graduated from high school. That milestone is important, because it means that I've now been out of high school for as long as I was in high school. I've changed a great deal since then, mostly for the better.

The image above was taken about a week earlier, when a bunch of the Seniors got together for a pool party at one girl's house.


June 16, 2006

Today, a Friday (though the day of the week barely seems relevant), I graduated from Privileged High School. Me, a high school graduate. I cannot believe it. It seemed as if it was impossible that it could ever happen.

Now, on this June day, for the first time since I was three years old, I am no longer enrolled in the public school system.

Graduation has always been something we looked upon distantly, something that much older, somehow much more sophisticated and capable individuals, experienced. I remember in 2003, watching through Freshman eyes as that year’s graduated filed down the hall in their blue and white robes. I thought that they must be terrified, and imagined that by the time 2006 came along I would somehow have completely grown up.

Now, I’m a Senior—or I was a Senior until several hours ago. The Class of 2007 is now the star, the head on the top of the totem pole. The Freshmen I came to know, the little runts of the school who comprised the Class of 2009, are PHS’s youngest occupants no more. They are now Sophomores, displaced themselves by the incoming Class of 2010. And time moves on.

It all seems to go so fast. Sitting in the gymnasium in our gowns, receiving last-minute instructions from our teachers, it felt completely surreal, like we were playing dress-up and not really getting ready to vacate the academic seats we’d held since 2002.

We walked outside and processed onto the Front Lawn, where a beautiful ceremony had been put together before the school’s massive Front Portico. The ROTC students stood at attention, forming a military honor guard through which we went to find our seats.

The speakers were nice. Smart Boy was Valedictorian, and Bookish Girl and Greek Girl were Salutorians (they tied). One semi-famous public official, who is apparently a cousin of my friend Literary Girl, was our Guest Speaker. I found his words to be very wise and insightful, especially given the historical context in which he delivered them.

June 17, 2006

Today was my graduation party, the fourth such occasion that I have attended since Senior Year began to wind down. The first was on June 7, 2006, when some friends and I reenacted the Civil War with water-balloons on the Front Lawn for our Senior Prank and then headed over to Random-Girl-Whom-I-Haven't-Talked-to-Since's house to go swimming. The second and third parties were yesterday evening and night, at Greek Girl’s house and at a rec center, respectively. I didn’t get home until 5:30 this morning. I’ll have to write more tomorrow, because my right arm and hand pain me. The celebration was a success though, you should know that. Tomorrow is Pie's third birthday.

In Summer

Selected Entries: July, 2003

At the beginning of my blog, I promised I would do these once every week. It's now been nine months, from September of 2009, since I posted the last one, and I think the time has come to catch up on a component of this site that I believe is an enriching and eye-opening window into the background of the person I've become.

In July of 2003 I was fifteen years old, between ninth and tenth grades.

These selected entries detail the mounting struggles with my parents and of course war updates from the child country of which I was by then a token and reluctant member.

July 7, 2003

Since our arrival back home yesterday [from visiting family in Decaying State], not much has happened. Oh, wait, we didn’t come home yesterday. We came home on the fifth. That afternoon I met Courtney, a friend of Powell’s.

She’s, I believe, nineteen years old, and she’s undeniably one of the nicest people that I have ever met. She was telling us that she wanted to open her own restaurant and that she was majoring in accounting to accomplish this goal. That way, she reasons, she can efficiently run her business; she says that she can already cook.

She asked us what we liked, and Powell and I said apple pie. She said that she would make us one, in what I thought was a joking, “one day…” tone. Well, wouldn’t you know it, she showed up here yesterday with a hot apple pie.

She was wearing oven mitts and warned that the pie was still hot--she’d just taken it out of the oven! I immediately invited her inside. The pie was delicious, too. I was astounded by such a random act of indiscriminate kindness. I truly believe that Courtney is one of the most pleasant people whom I have ever had the honor to make acquaintance with, quite unlike some other people who reside in this neighborhood.

Allow me to explain some of the outrageous events that took place today. Today started off badly. First, when I woke, I ate and cleaned my room. That was fine. I had decided that I wished to visit Blockbuster and seek employment. I did this yesterday, however their manager was not present. I was told yesterday that she would be at the store between 10:00a.m. and 4:00p.m.

So, around ten o’clock I decided to shower and go there, taking with me a due movie.

Well, for whatever stupid reason, I asked Mom if I could take a shower. Of course, she refused this request, saying, “You got in the pool yesterday.” As if this was a legitimate excuse.

I said to her, “A pool does not, in any way, substitute for a shower.”

My parents are persistent on this moronic, obviously-incorrect point. This is so barbaric and ludicrous and hypocritical that I am outraged just writing about it. I haven’t properly cleaned myself in two days! And tomorrow may make three! It is so embarrassing that I am ashamed to write on the subject. It’s so ridiculous that it even is a subject; it shouldn’t be debatable. Once a day to clean yourself, it’s quite simple. Tomorrow I must do this. I can’t wait for tomorrow.

So, to continue with today. After this argument I said that there really was no point in going to Blockbuster, and I laid down on my bed. Mom said that I could go cut the grass. She did this to provoke. I, however, won the fight. I took forever getting downstairs, then realized that my shoes were still up there. So, I retrieved them, then I half-heartedly cut the front lawn, then cut the back lawn (with a bit more effort) and sang terribly, and loudly. I pitied our neighbors at that moment.

Knowing that my mother desired my discomfort and would not allow me to swim, I went without seeking permission. She discovered me and told me angrily, although too late for her, that I had to finish my work first. So I finished.

My anger at her subsided when she took Short Boy, Tall Girl, Thomas, and I to the Library. I realized that she was trying to reconcile and I became pleasant. I went to Blockbuster, where the manager told me that they may or may not be hiring someone within the next week and that they’d get back to me.

July 9, 2003

It is very early in the morning, and I am at my grandparents’ house in Dirty County.

I needed to leave our house; I had to get out, I had to escape. I just couldn’t take it. I had been home for two days and I was already so miserable that just waking up at all was depressing.

It’s so different here. This is a place of love and kindness and respect and shelter for me. It’s a haven. And I’m going to be here for eight nights. I know that I should be looking for a better solution right now, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to care, I just want to get away. Running across the country won’t really help to permanently solve the problem, but at least I’m not there.

I told Anne that I wish she would somehow be financially and emotionally stable enough for me to live with her. Talking together, we hatched a plan. This plan involves her divorcing Angry Man and moving to Midwest State, where I could live, too. Although she seemed serious, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this plan will probably never be carried out. If, however, it could somehow be, I would be flying, soaring in my happiness.

I’ve discovered a family that’s strange and unusual and cares about art. Aunt Smugly Superior, Annoyingly Perfect, and Innocent typically have conversations about theatre, and Broadway CDs are popular in their car. I saw a brighter world from the back seat of my aunt’s mini-van. I saw a world beyond middle-class woes and monotonous talk of the house and the bills.

I met people who regard international matters of great importance. Political discussions were held every morning in my uncle’s living room, set in front of the television blazing CNN’s coverage of Liberia’s civil war.

News for our child country never stops coming. You'd think that, since the adults aren't allowed to know about it, people would be more cautious, but the need for secrecy hasn't stopped anyone from blabbing on and hasn't stopped things from happening.

My cousin has led an army into the city on her northern border that we call "Greece" and taken five prisoners. I love Blonde Cousin, but she is a mean queen. Oh, I mean governor now since we're officially not a monarchy anymore. It amounts to the same thing, though. She has wanted to take Greece for a long time, and now that Powell is president there's no one to stop her.

Meanwhile, back “home,” Tall Girl wants to be the governor of a province. Powell wants to let her, which definitely came as a surprise. He just said that he has to still be president.

Back when we were a monarchy, people hated us a lot, which is why the Revolution happened a year ago in the first place. Now Powell is doing the exact same thing, except he calls himself a president and I called myself a czar, and people are dumb enough to think there's a difference.

Why? It’s a mystery.

Powell was quite persistent on the phone that I recover the former Nicholia. That's one of the provinces we lost last year and it's in my grandmother's neighborhood.

I understand why he wants Nicholia and I think it's the right thing for the country, but I wish he would leave me out of it; I'm legally too old to still be involved because the law says that once you get into high school you have to give up your citizenship and never tell anyone about anything that happened.

My little vacation seems to have turned into a mission for the government of Aria. Powell said that even if I am too old I'm still his brother and he's still the president.

Nicholia's old king really likes Powell, so it shouldn't be too hard.

Well, I’ve been inspired by J.K. Rowling. Her success with Harry Potter was completely unexpected, she says, and so, I thought, why not try and have my book published? I'm definitely going to try and get a book published, and I'll ask Liberal Cousin how I should do it. I love life.