The First Year

This would be so much cooler if I had started this blog on January 1st and I was writing this on December 31st... Close enough.

 

(But let's be real, I kind of half-ass most things anyway.)

 

Here are some of the things that happened this past year to me:

• I wore a funny hat and this is basically Janelle's fault
• I became friends with Taylor Ashcraft and everyone disapproved
• I got locked out of the school and cried on his brother's shoulder (oh heaven help me)
• I fell in the toilet
• I went to a birthday party over the internet
• Everything had to do with band, guard, or people in band and/or guard
• I had no idea who Caitlin would become
• I called Tony a "great kid" for the first of many times (and became a drum major)
• I took an astronomy lesson to heart a little too much
• I obviously had a really busy week in March and I apologize
• I began to fall in love with my three drum majors
• Nathan died, and I kind of lost it after that
• State was all about winning and, once again, losing
• No wonder people thought I liked Taylor
• I came up with the absolute best way to name babies
• SL found its way to my blog because May was so boring
• I was pretentious
• I read Catcher in the Rye
• Charlie McDonnell taught me it's okay to be an introvert
• I wrote the shortest post about the longest week
• Band made things not suck
• I loved The Great Gatsby
• Heather gave me a square of duct tape
• I told a lot of people I loved them
• Janelle helped me end one thing and begin another
• I was struck by imaginary lightning
• I realized you can never have too many band posts
• Tony asked
• I answered
• We all had a really fun time
• I wrote a speech on love, kinda
• The best boys ever came to my rescue
• I made the worst analogy ever
• A class full of band kids is a blessing and a curse
• I told one person I liked them
• I still can't believe I'm a senior
• I was scared to death and they saw beauty in life
• My band is full of 9freakin59 babes
• I tried to convey how amazing my life is and came nowhere close
• I was am scared basically all the time
• I used to hate myself basically all the time
• Heaven destroyed Hell
• Lortab. If you don't know the stories, just ask.
• I found true love
• I wrote a boring post about Preference

There was a lot of crying this year, done by me and others and me because and for others and others because and for me, but mostly me. There was a renewal in my love of reading and writing. There were kidney stones and surgeries and an abundance of orthodontic work. There was laughing and loving and more crying. There was BAND. Preethi and I have been friends for four years and counting. I was so sad, but I had little reason to be. This next year will be better, fingers crossed.

 

Oh, by the way. This year ended the way it began: making a blog because of Janelle. Check out our new collaborative music blog, please and thank you.

Blesséd Stupidity

Tonight, I played Just Dance. I screamed when I tried to make a snowball. I was part of a chain of bodies as I was dragged across the floor and until I was held by my wrists and ankles and carried around, described as looking like a flying squirrel. I had an asthma attack, made all the more worse by my laughing. I sat on a lot of people, most of them accidentally. I helped lock a bunch of boys out of the house and felt scared out of my skin when I opened the door for them. I felt so silly and stupid and ridiculous. I felt alive.

I also played with Janelle's hair. I was the bookends of Taylie's night as we discussed Christmas and love. I sang with Tony and Janelle as he played a guitar, us three so calm and happy and in our own world. I felt so relaxed and peaceful and lucky. I felt so good.

Here I am Alive

2/3

Wednesday was fun. I went to my first Latin Club activity like the lazy child I am. Thankfully, Caitlin was there, and the new bass clarinet Brady child hung out with us. We all snuggled together on bales of hay and sang Christmas carols in Latin had a big nerdy party of a time. The best part was probably when Caitlin and I were discussing the perfection that is the second movement of "Kingfishers Catch Fire," and Brady told us he thought we were cool for talking about composers the way most girls talk about football players.

After we stayed late to clean up and inadvertantly fallin in love with a One Direction song, we eventually found our way to the section leader retreat at Logan's house. We played a hilarious game and a game hat scared the crap out of me and a game that drove me crazy until Cam pulled me aside and deliberately showed me how to figure it out, bless his soul. Once the boys started playing sting pong for at least an hour, I got tired and weepy and Lortaby. All hope was lost, until JR said diet soda tastes better than regular and the girls went to Caitlin's, where we talked and listened to music until we all trailed off at the same instant.

Thursday was good. We went back to Logan's, and his father made the best pancakes ever. We were all kinda dead, but we just chilled and played more dumb games. Logan and both of his parents left one by one, but Caitlin, Joe, Tanner, Kaitlyn, and I just stayed there, laughing and looking at memes and slowly dying from lack of sleep.

That night, I went to a ska concert since Jacob Baldwin was playing in one of the bands. I felt awful since it took me so long to get there and park that I missed his band, but the rest of the concert was brilliant. I'd never listened to ska, and I instantly fell in love with the distorted guitars and piano and the blaring loud horn sections and the sultry, soulful, and simple vocals. It made me so happy, I couldn't help but jump up and down and smile the whole time. The crowd was energetic and joyful, the room was lit by pulsing colored lights, the spirit of the room was youthful and peaceful (in a rockin kind of way.) Jacob asked me dance during the one slow song of the night, and it was adorable how cautious and gentle and nervous he was, though he tried to be a good sport. What a child. It was such a fun concert, and I'm dying to find some more to go to.

Today sucked. It sucked so much. Today was one of the worst days since we've lived in Utah. But I guess that's life: two out of three days were good, but it ended badly and kinda just made me forget how glad I was to be alive. I'd almost be okay with the world ending this minute.

Domo Arigato

I've got a secret, and I haven't told it to anyone.

Granted, that's how secrets are supposed to work. But we have all been told something and after swearing secrecy, tell our mom or our best friend or our journal, someone trustworthy and far removed from the situation (or so we think). I'm a bit ashamed to say I usually do.

But I haven't this time. This time, I've kept it totally private, and I've learned that I can do (though I might be busting at the seams by the end). It wasn't my secret to share, I don't want to incriminate the person who told me, there's a whole series of unfortunate events just waiting to happen because of my hypothetical inconsiderate and vapid actions.

(But I had to say the smallest of somethings, hence this post.)

Thankfully, the secret will hopefully be publicized today, either confirming it or making it merely a bad dream.

Preference

Tonight was magic. I felt classy. I felt sophisticated. I felt pretty, even though my hair was surely a mess and my teeth will always be distracting. My date was snazzy, sharp, and wearing a tux. My date was Logan, St. Logan, who was charming and witty and kind. My group was beautiful: Caitlin and Cam, Janelle and the long lost Brett, Erin and Tony, and my favorite Breather. Or Hayden. Or Heathen. You know who I mean.

We froze to death taking pictures. We ate fancy pizza. We danced to "Radioactive" like none other. We got locked out and went on a walk to Caitlin's house. We devoured crepes. We laughed. We sang. We danced. Mostly, we laughed. We were just happy.

I love those people so much. I love Logan. I'm so lucky to be friends with him, I can't even tell you. I'm falling asleep and it's screwing with my blog. Good night.

Notes from Financial Lit

I'm going to miss my Financial Literacy class. I'm going to miss beating up Chris. I'm going to miss Drew's snarky comments and Marty's ferocity when someone tries to keep them apart. I'm actually going to miss learning about investments and tax forms and credit reports and feeling that much safer in my future. I'm going to miss making the acquaintance of Braeden and Jace. I'm going to miss Coach Kelley's stories of his kids' quirks, his financial/wrestling history, and his biased political views. I'm going to really miss having time to spend with Logan in our class, developing our friendship with our own special inside jokes and laughs and tears. I'm really going to miss Gage, who I have grown to love so dearly in the past couple of months. I don't know what I'll do without his notes and pictures and hilarious faces.

We played Cash Flow. We passed out in our desks. We sang Queen at the top of our lungs, and we announced the Montezuma-Cortez High School Marching Band too many times to count. We got warning glares from Coach Kelley, and we enjoyed being "the back corner," the group of crazy kid who never strayed from their friendship and always managed to get the notes down. We were rebellious, lackadaisical, and pure in our high schooler experience, and we came out on top. Financial Lit, the most boring required class, became a haven and a sanctuary of sorts. We loved, and we now leave, parting ways and slipping into the practice of mere high fives in the halls (if we're lucky).

I'm going to miss them.

...

I feel I should say something about the shooting. I feel like I'd rather not. Not tonight, but not for forever. If we don't talk about it, those children will vanish even further, and we will be at fault.

The Concert

I went to the junior high band concert tonight to go support my little ninth graders. The night was chugging along, full of out of tune Christmas classics and stolen conversations with high schoolers. As the top band got ready to play, Jacob Baldwin and I finally went and sat down in the actual audience. I was enjoying their simple, though thankfully in tune, medley like any kindhearted band enthusiast would. And then the played a slow piece, and I started crying.

On the stage, I saw my freshmen, my babies I had met and encouraged and loved. They were playing a beautiful piece of music, and I proudly remembered their struggles to pass off music on time and the journey they've made since then. They weren't sweaty, they weren't tired, they were smiling like I had seen them smile at the end of competitions and successful practices.

They looked so nice in their tuxes and dresses, and in them, I saw both the future and the past. I saw their bright hopes and dreams and aspirations. They are the future drum majors and section leaders and marchers of the week. Magna erunt; magna sunt. But then I saw myself. I remembered the swing of Mr. Piwetz's mustache, I heard the great pieces "Summer Dances" and "Loch Lomond" in my head, I felt the satisfaction of hitting a high G for the first time. When their French horns soared, I remembered Shanti, and Hans was brought back with a single clarinet run. I tried to see myself as an eighth grader, so small and delicate and adorable as they were, conducting my own band. I was a mere child! And yet, if I could do it, so could they. Again, it all went back to their futures. Going further down the road, I saw them becoming band directors and leading my children through their first concert, the steamy stage lights and countless eyes and adrenaline weighing them down with such ironic joy.

Afterwards, I got to see them. Summer smiled wide and questioned incredulously, "you came like you said you would." Cam's adorable Spencer ran up to, smiling and jumping up and down and repeating my name. I thanked Dallin for their performance, and I told Eric, Michael, and Stephanie of how they made me cry. They were so happy and loving and immediately accepting, I was just overcome with feelings of true love.

They are beautiful souls. Truly.

Drugs

Emma does not do well with Lortab. If she doesn't eat before taking it, she gets so nauseous, it's kind of scary/disgusting. When she eats, she cries over anything and everything.

I'm not even kidding.

Moral of the story: Emma needs to stick with Motrin.

An Early Christmas

[published Tuesday, December 11]

Driving on my own is like a sacred experience. Sitting in the parking lot after guard practice, I can turn the heater on, choose whatever station I please, adjust my mirrors and my seat just the way I like as my mom's key chains dangle against my leg... There's just such a pure and unadulterated sense of bliss; so simple, and yet it's simplicity is what attracts me to it. As I drive on the fairly empty streets, I don't have to worry about hurrying home or trying to please anyone. Every time , I think maybe I'll stop in at Caitlin's or go to the store, but I just smile and push all trivialities from my mind. It's just me and the road and slightly concerning dim headlights.

Both guard practices were mainly drill; there was only a touch of learning work at the end. Although drill is infuriatingly boring, it sure beats technique, which had me quaking at the mere thought. But oh, then the work. I adore learning work. I may suck at making it strong or making it look nice or even succeeding at all, but I can damn well learn routine like nobody's business. It's super fun, and what with it being partner work, that just adds a dimension that reminds me that I could never quit guard and be happy about it. Ever.

Logan answered me tonight. Yes, I know it's been a month and a half, but I honestly don't care. It was so cute and made my heart melt like a joyful little benign volcano. I came home to a bouquet of roses, a Symphony bar, and a card with a poem he proudly stated to have written all by himself. The whole card and everything was so adorable and so precious and so Logan, I couldn't even handle it. My dad was annoyed by all my awwing and happy dancing, to say the least.

In other news, Tony and Janelle and I slept in the snow just as #yellowcardtoldusto. Dressember is going quite smoothly. Our Crime and Punishment book group is smashing, I have a perfect new favorite song ("Love is Easy" by McFly), and Eli is Mormon.

Life is so good.

Sleep Overtook Me

My oral surgery went well today. I wasn't totally crazy and hallucinatory on the anesthetic this time. My pain med nausea only lasted a couple hours.

But what really made today so much better than what it could've been was a little show called Lost and, much more importantly, a little program called Skype. After conversing with Caitlin for over two hours, we both skyped Eli. We laughed and played videos and fell back into our short summer friendship with ease. We decided to go on a double date, Caitlin with her Tooele man and Eli and I on our second date. We might go to the zoo. I haven't been to a zoo since I was 11 or 12, and the thought of being there with one of my best friends and one the craziest men I've ever met fills me with this hope that adulthood won't suck so bad and maybe someday I will have a man of my own, even if he lives far away from.

I'm growing up. I can handle things. I can go to the zoo.

Jessie's Guy?

It seems like the majority of the guys I know have a woman. Almost everyone of the ones I'm friends with ain't single, which is fine by me. I'm not attracted to them. But to see them, such kind and noble and hilarious souls, I see what I want in my own man who has yet to show.

Brayden always has a smile and a high five for me and seems unbelievably sweet towards his love. Gage is witty, artistic, and a honking nerd who's a little too enthusiastic about his girl in public, but even then I can't blame him. Taylor has always been a good friend to me, him and Sabrina were truly the best I could've asked for in my transitionary period here (I wish them the best in their future). Logan defends his girl and their love. Cam, despite all his lady problems of past, is the most perfectly twitterpated goofy honestly enamored sweetly loving boy I've ever met. Erik makes me laugh. Baugh is such a character, I think everyone can't even. Will is a hilarious little hipster. Bradan puts up with me, even going as far to sincerely compliment and hug me.

These boys? They aren't stupid; I am grateful to have them at all in my life, and each of those special girls they care about are so very blessed. Boys aren't a stupid race of creatures, whose sole purpose is to break girls hearts. Girls aren't stupid either, for becoming so unrequitedly attached. It's the adolescence and the high school and awkward hormones that are at fault here.

I know there's no need for me to feel forever alone or personal inadequacy based on the lack of men lining up for me. But the fact that there's not even one sweet child with a wilted flower in his hand or a love note hastily scrawled upon his heart for me right now if the icing on top of a depressing cake. It's probably the kind that sunk in the middle cuz it's too moist to be enjoyable and since you didn't let it cool, the frosting is chunky and pooling at the bottom. Dang I'm hungry.

I've always heard you can't love others until you love yourself. I think "others can't love you until you love yourself" is much, much more accurate.

The End of Hell Week

Honor band was spectacular. It was worth the 16+ hours in three days and the extreme pain my upper lip went through. I made friends, I "partied," I laughed, I cried. I made music. I fell into others' music. I sat on that stage, taking in the lights and our sweet conductor's smile and listening to the trumpets swell and the clarinets groove along. There really is no good way to explain band to those who have never experienced being in a magnificent concert band. It was simply great.

I went to the Baldwins' house tonight, even though my body screamed (is still screaming) for sleep. It was magnificent; I just love spending time with people, gosh darn it. Everyone bought my BS definition in Balderdash. Tony put together a sonic screwdriver, and Bradan hugged me of his own volition. We made a sort of cuddle train, with Erik leaning on Joe and I on Erik and Jacob on me and some auxiliary additions on the sides and by our feet. We were all snuggled together and breathed in and at the same time and such compression felt safe. I felt a sort of comfort that I would not have had with strangers or family or a bunch of giggling guard girls. It was nothing romantic, it was just warm, a safe haven where you felt warm and calm and soft delight while you watched the live action Grinch.

This was a really difficult week, but I made. It was excruciating at times, but I found a number of positivities each and every day. It was a perfect little microcosm of life, and while I'm so glad it's over, I'm so glad it happened.

whyamistillawake

[RANDOM CRAP STORY: I didn't do anything with my hair today. I didn't even just put it in a ponytail; it was flat and uneven and gross looking in every way. I got to financial lit and Logan turned and said, "I really like your hair today." I kind of laughed and, since it's practically a fact that I can't accept a compliment from him, said, "Well, today's the crappiest it's been in like weeks," which made him almost frown since he is cursed with the inability to do so and he said, "Oh. Well, I like it." Then we just stared at each other awkwardly smiling and feeling weird until I just burst out laughing and said, "I've missed you so much, Logan." Then he laughed and I knew we were okay and I felt so happy and hopeless and okay because Logan said nice things to me when no one in their right mind should've.]

This week is closing in on me. As I practiced rifle for 30 minutes tops and wrote the first paragraph of my 5-8 page paper, I didn't feel too stressed. As I danced to Huey Lewis and the News and The Beatles and listened to my dad talk about his childhood and tried on a new dress and ate the most delicious steak, I felt my life was so good.

Now I'm just scared to exist.

Reason #24 Why I Often Hate Myself

What happened to this weekend? It went by so fast and felt like such a waste. There's so much I could've and should've done, and here I am, totally screwed for the upcoming week.

Updated List of Three Things I Want More Than Anything But Won't Ever Have:

1) a good attitude
2) another opportunity to run across the field, yard markers in hand, trying to look happy and chill and enthusiastic as I pass Drew and Spencer Meyers and Matt and Spencer Wright and try not to die from an asthma attack I'm hiding from Logan and Cam
3) a man

(No surprise there^^)

No matter, because Janelle drank tea and liked it.

The Whole is Greater Than the Sum of the Parts

I was reading up on hipsters, and I came across this gem in a section debating hipsters' apparent lack of personal hygiene:

"Arguably, hipsters aren't so interested in "making the most of their assets" because they see their entire self as an asset; from a self-esteem point of view, this is actually a rather healthy outlook."

Hipster or not, I wish people could see themselves as more of the whole that they are, rather than focusing/obsessing on a few of their traits, whether they be positive or negative. A human being is a complex system of varying cells and dreams and secrets and downfalls and mysteries and interests and miracles. It is just as much a shame to ignore the the messy pieces of humanity as it is to not utilize everyone's natural magnificence, and in the words of John Green, "What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person."

That's all for tonight. Two tomorrow, Janelle? Or one? Or just stay forever? Bring your vinyls, if you've got any. I'm still without a phone, so I hope this all works out.

Self-Explanatory Post

I'm not going to be able to say even half of the things I want to, but here goes:

I'm thankful for the way the high note in Time For Three's "Hallelujah" seems to punch me right in the gut with the softest touch, shooting straight up into my heart like the Heimlich gone right, giving real meaning to that one Bob Marley quote.

I'm thankful for pie.

I'm thankful for Moonrise Kingdom for showing me the most beautiful and imperfect children and making camping a bit more attractive.

I'm thankful for The Lizzie Bennet Diaries for being such an excellent time waster of mine.

I'm thankful I know that Sudan recently split into two countries and that there are plenty of Christians in Africa so that I am more aware of the global culture I am a part of and so that people don't think I'm ignorant.

I'm thankful for DMA, where I learned you could become the firmest and most natural friends with a stranger in less than a week and where I met a boy who would wipe away my tears and read centuries old poetry to me and rap and dance and hold my hand as we skipped down the street and where my favorite hash tag became #inhonoroftom and I was filled star thoughts and I got to be my screaming counting cheering crying self at a DCI show and where I first realized how lucky I was to be a drum major with those exact three people.

I'm thankful for toilets. Like, immensely thankful, praising the heavens and groveling on the floor thankful.

I'm thankful I have a best friend who loves to read as much as I do and who doesn't hate me after probably scaring away one of her friends/creepers over the Internet.

I'm thankful I love Logan more than I hate No Shave November. We could never get married, but I love knowing that I could marry him and be eternally happy with an intelligent, faithful, hilarious, determined, financially-minded, musically-inclined son of God who knows the names of many Land Before Time movies.

I'm thankful for all the times Cam has let me see him cry. It's shows a rather juxtapositional strength of being able to share your feelings, no matter how embarrassing or terrifying it may be. He is willing to both talk and listen to me. He makes me feel important and loved. He gives me strength. Both of the boys do.

I'm thankful for Caitlin and how she doesn't think I'm crazy or weird or creepy since we're kinda the same person. I am thankful for her presence by my side everyday, past and present. There's really not much I can say; I just have the best sister wife anyone could ask for.

I am thankful for Janelle's gratitude post and her love of German culture and her love of boys and her love of art and her love of Psalms and her love of me.

I'm thankful for Tony and the TARDIS that sits proudly atop my dresser and the memories I have of being in awe of him on the bus from California and sitting by the fire and freezing up in the complete darkness of the cave and singing harmonies and dancing with/tripping over him under the stars and crisscrossed branches and laying in Taylie's yard and on Erin's couch and laughing on the bus and just sitting together in church, but most especially for the hug he offered when I would've felt lucky to not be laughed at. Everyday, he reminds me everyday that even when things are hopeless, that doesn't mean there's not a reason to smile, and if for nothing else, I'm thankful for that.

I'm thankful for AVPM.

I'm thankful for one last chance to do guard. It has been one of the shaping forces in my life, and while it has been a roller coaster of triumph for the past three years, I am just happy to look ahead to the next five months with hope.

I am thankful for the gratification one feels after they fill a starving belly with food. It's a miracle, our body's reward system. It's a miracle, our body.

I am thankful for Psychology and Latin and Language, my "just for fun" classes. Knowledge is a gift, and I am thankful I have been given the skills to learn, use, and appreciate it.

I am thankful for the new friends I am making and continually coming closer with, such as Breanne and Bradan and Gage and Jordan and Brayden and Natalie and my new favorite section, the Saxophones. They give me hope and confidence that I can make friends even though it scares the crap out of me.

I'm thankful for Sam and her constant belief in me. I wish I could be as supportive to her as she is to me. Her jittery legs and suppressed squeals and mascara-ridden tears are all signs of a beautiful girl who only deserves the best. She just makes me a better person.

I am thankful for the rhythm I can find in the hum of a ceiling fan and the cracks in the sidewalk and skeletal system of a cat.

I am thankful for attractive men.

I am thankful for root words

I am thankful for my iPod.

I am thankful for my true loves, past and future.

I am thankful for band. I will never stop being thankful for band. I will be in heaven, exclaiming how thankful I am for band.

I am thankful for the sun.

I am thankful for you.

All I Need

It's been a good week.

Yesterday, I wrote an in-class essay on the topic of dignity, and I did indeed enjoy it. I talked with Gage in financial lit about his eclectic musical tastes and dueled with our pens. I walked Taylie home and felt such love for the beautiful ginger. Bobby said I was cool. I got to see Rachel from Lehi and hang out with her and Caitlin at the chair test for honor band. Cameron and Davis were quite encouraging, and the judge felt bad cuz I had braces. I didn't get last chair, and neither did Rachel. Caitlin did quite well, and Cam fulfilled his goal to get first again. We inspired Joe and Jacob's instantaneously composed ditties and laughed at their complete accuracy and hilarity. I joined Cam on the floor, he laying on his stomach spread eagled and I with my head on his back, and smiled as we engaged in deep, philosophical talks about the amount of spit on that very floor. We planned a drum major outing full of promises of ice cream and sweaters and hand holding and sushi. I verbally beat the crap out of this little punk, and Preethi loved me for it.

Today, I laughed with Davis and Chris in the back row of band, as per our usual behavior. We ended ten minutes early and got to eat donuts in the band room. We watched an episode of Psych in Psychology. I jammed out to AWOLnation with Breanne. I got a little piece of the Feast of Beeson. I went Maddie's house and we watched A Very Potter Musical and laughed so hard that I'm pretty sure we have six-packs. Gretchen dedicated a post to me, and I had the pleasure of reading her writing once again. I had cheese and ham and oranges and pie for dinner, and I was just happy.

I will hopefully be hosting a tea party for Janelle on Friday, so I should get to work.

"Will you go out with me?"

Nothing like watching The Notebook with your parents to make you want to dance in the middle of the street, wear red lipstick and brightly colored jumpers, and die from embarrassment.

Sometimes, I just feel so lonely.

Janelle, let's hang out. My phone is broken, and I need My Favorite so dearly.

Fear #4: Finances

[New thing: to work on not swearing, I'm going to insert a name of an author I adore where a swear word might have been]

We've been putting together budgets in financial lit this week. It's been very eye opening, making guesses at how much I cost my parents a year. However, it wasn't until I had to project my future spendings in college that I panicked.

How the Green am I going to pay for college? There's tuition and books and fees and housing and staying alive and not dying from lack of leaving a desk to do fun things. That's a Salinger of a lot of money that I don't have. I can get a job. I can get some scholarships. I can maybe get some money from my parents. But even with those three options, I was $3000+ in the red. It was as if I were looking at my life in shambles instead of a poorly constructed, definitely inaccurate spreadsheet I threw together.

I almost lost it. Thankfully, my dear, dear friend Logan was there to distract with his dream about killer Spongebob and rant about communism and tell me that I will find a way to go to college. He made me wipe away the almost tears and pretend that I wasn't freaking out. I almost felt better, and I love him for that.

However, that doesn't change the fact that I have no idea how I'm going to ensure I have a way to obtain money so that I may ensure a way for me to always obtain money. It's hard when I feel I know nothing about making or managing money. Add that to the fact that I feel I've been lied to, one way or another, about my family's finances. I just have no idea what's going to happen, and it makes me want to curl up in a ball until I disappear from existence.

Positivity: I love jazz bands and my brother and saxophones.

An Escape

A few weeks ago, I said there were three things I wanted in life: to be able to speak a different language, to go to Grand Nats, and a man.

It's no secret; I desperately want a man.

(Can you blame me?)

I see my cousins and friends getting married, and I think, "I want that someday. Why not take the tiniest first step imaginable now?" I see these awkward band couples making googly eyes and interlocking their fingers in such a jagged and disjointed manner that seems to defeat the purpose, and I think, "I want to be that one band couple that isn't awkward." (ha.) I see all these girls crying and hurt and all these boys lost and confused, and I can't help but think. . . Is it worth it?

(I think yes, but that's another post waiting to happen.)

I want to be in love so badly. I want to skip down the halls, having just seen his face. I want my friends to roll their eyes as I mention his name again. I want to use up my phone's unlimited night and weekend minutes. I will sing him this:

I want to love someone so badly. I want to have someone to talk to whenever I feel low. I want to struggle to come up with the perfect Christmas present. I want to give up a part of myself and to care more for another human being than me. I will be sung this:

I want someone to love me so badly. I want a best friend who will watch tv with me. I want a boy to compare our hand sizes and laugh at my yawns and pinkie promise that he'll kiss me one last time before the next day. I want to know that he doesn't need me to be happy, but that he wouldn't have it any other way. We will sing this together (start at two minutes):

I just want to be loved, you know? And I know I'm loved; I know I have many friends, both boys and girls and gays and straights and band kids and non band kids, that love me exceedingly. But anyone who's ever been in love the slightest bit, who's held hands with an enchanting boy or kissed the cheek of a beautiful girl or been grateful to be lucky to have the best friend one could ask for knows what I mean.

He's out there somewhere, and that thought gives me hope.

Fear #3: Everything

I'm scared to go to sleep. I'm scared to wake up. I'm scared I have a kidney stone. I'm scared Once Upon A Time will become lame. I'm scared of losing my drum majors. I'm scared of reauditioning. I'm scared of low battery. I'm scared of misplacing my rings. I'm scared my phone is broken. I'm scared I'll fail my classes. I'm scared I'll miss the college application deadlines. I'm scared boys don't like me. I'm scared girls don't like me. I'm scared of being crazy. I'm scared that I can't stop twisting and being sad and being prescribed Prozac. I'm scared of Miller. I'm scared of my horn. I'm scared of braces. I'm scared of driving. I'm scared of dreams. I'm scared of attendance school. I'm scared of being a know it all. I'm scared of not knowing anything. I'm scared of attractive men. I'm scared of unattractive men. I'm scared of him and him and him and him. I'm scared of scaring people. I'm scared of dying. I'm scared of not living. I'm scared of not having money. I'm scared of being alone and on my own and by myself. I'm scared I'll have to drop Latin. I'm scared of graduation. I'm scared of my house. I'm scared of heights. I'm scared of coming off too strong. I'm scared of never taking chances. I'm scared of leaving. I'm scared of staying. I'm scared of the future. I'm scared of others' futures. I'm scared I'll ruin Preference. I'm scared I won't be asked to Prom. I'm scared for Kristian. I'm scared for Preethi. I'm scared for Taylor. I'm scared by stupidity, spiders, and sunburns. I'm scared of change. I'm scared of loss. I'm scared of you.

Pantophobia: the fear of everything, including pants (or rather, how I look in them)

Positivity: I fell asleep while trying to think of something positive, so now I'm a little less scared in the morning.

Trapped in a Dreamworld

Have you ever had a dream that felt so real, you wake up still tasting what you ate needing to pee after going five times in the dream and feeling how many miles you walked? Now, has that dream ever been a bad dream, a nightmare? Has it ever frightened you, not because there were monsters, but because you were the monster yourself? Where the after effects are shame and fatigue and still needing to pee?

What does one do? I feel I hurt a very dear friend and that I need to apologize and beg forgiveness. I feel I ruined a friendship and that I need to try and repair it. I feel I broke the rules and need to repent and hide it from my mom and pay off the people who saw and then repent for doing those horrid things. I feel I need to crawl in a hole and hide from humanity for the rest of my life. I feel awful.

And it wasn't even real.

It never happened. Now, more than ever, it never will. Why is this dream so crushing and painful? Why can't I forget it like all my other dreams? Why can't I make it stop?

Dreams terrify me.

•••

Positivity: terrify comes from the Latin word "terreo," which means "scare, frighten." How freaking awesome is that.

Nothing really matters

I was supposed to write tonight, both on her and on SL. I was supposed to write two days ago about Preethi's birthday. I was supposed to write about sitting on Taylie's curb and conducting in front of the student body and shopping for Preference dresses with Caitlin.

I don't want to write about any of that.

I don't want to write about anything.

I don't want to romanticize everyday life. I don't want to answer essay prompts and fill out college applications. I don't want to write a 5-8 page explanatory paper on a topic in Africa. I don't want to write a new poem for Micaiah. I don't want to rewrite the drum major or my speech on love. I don't want to write; I'm barely managing to even type.

I'm just done.

To fulfill my requirement of following negativity with positivity. . . My mother bought me jewelry. I shall now strive to wear rings all the time.

Ich wünschte, ich könnte einfach den Mund halten und glücklich sein

I ditched seminary to go to Janelle's German class. There were so few students and the desks were all scattered about and I laid my eyes upon Mr. Garlick, a tall, slightly intimidating man who constantly spoke very loud German, only stopping to ask if I knew Spanish and my scripture mastery in Spanish.

Despite the absolutely terrifying situation, I adored the class. The people in it, the topics they discussed, the videos they watched filled with umlauts and seemingly random capitalized words, they all filled me with this sense of otherness, that the world exists outside of me and my language and my history. I am so deeply attracted to foreign languages now, even more so than before with my dabbling in ASL and Latin. It's time I learn me some Spanish (and German.)

I stopped by Heather's house today. She opened the door to see me curled up like a lost fetal puppy on Boxing Day (at least, that's how I felt.) We chatted on her stairs, sharing secrets and frustrations and an abundance of awkward stories as we overwhelmed her cat with attention. As she drove me home, her golden Toms sparkling and her wrist brace darkly glowering, I felt as if I had been cheated out of the ability to gain and cherish beautiful best friends. I had three sets of friends in three separate states. How am I supposed to be comfortable enough to go to someone's house, unannounced, with perfect ease. And then, being the intelligent girl I am, I realized I had been able to do just that. It didn't matter that I'd known Heather for less than a year and that our deep chats are far from a common event, she smiled and welcomed my creepy self in.

I really should stop being the definition of creepy.

The Best Unreal Weekend

We had our band tour this past weekend. It was my last band season and probably my last trip and I kind of couldn't handle it. I cried so much, it's not even funny. I just felt as if I were losing all the beautiful people and experiences in my life. Really, though, I was gaining them like never before.

I wrote a poem for the drum majors. Some lines turned out super awkward once I read them aloud, but it was a success. Everyone cheered and clapped, and my dear three all hugged me with a small kiss on the top of my head from Logan. I had never been more nervous to read a poem, for I think you struggle to tell the people you love most how much you care about them. You assume they know, so you just give up on trying to vocalize it. But standing next to an impatient Ed in front of my whole band with a shaky voice, I tried to lay out my heart for all to see. It was worth it.

Isaac wore the shirt I made for his birthday.

At the dance, Cameron and I wiggled our hips and eyebrows to "Call Me Maybe." Logan and I made up our own version of Soulja Boy. Caitlin found the most fantastic stranger. They are so getting married.

State felt good, but prelims felt ten times better, even in the hot sun.

My room watched "A Cinderella Story" and slept with Yoda and wore our non-offensive room shirts.

I told Gage the altos were my new favorite section. He hugged me and made me an honorary saxophone. I had never been more honored to be a faux section member.

Before finals, I went around and said "I love you" to every single band member. At first, I thought it would be taxing and tiresome to say what I imagined would be meaningless words to hundreds of kids, but as soon as I started, I could feel this change come over me. I could feel genuine love for each and every one of them. Some bothered me, a few were jerks, many I barely knew, but it didn't matter. I could honestly tell them all that I loved them individually for their hard work and their unique abilities and their racing hearts. It was such a powerful lesson for me of unconditional love that I will cherish and keep in the forefront of my mind for as long as I possibly can.

Caitlin said our drum major prayer. Two sentences in, Cameron was bawling. We held each other and cried and hugged and prayed with feathers tickling our noses and the sound of a band in our ears and tears practically running down our uniforms.

Ed said we were a year of drum majors to be remembered.

Tanner Atkinson made my life. After finals, he hugged me and told me he didn't know me at all when I was announced as drum major. Then at the beginning of the season, he didn't like me. But as he got to know me and as he saw me improving, he grew to like me more and more and said I was once of his best drum majors. He just made me bawl because I knew I was the crazy weirdo drum major. But if I could get through to one person, especially one who didn't like me, and make a change for the better I'm them, it would be all worth the complaining g and mean things people said about me.

I learned all the pit's names, and they forgave me never getting to see them before a show.

When they announced that we had won finals, I laughed and cried and screamed and squealed. I shook hands and congratulated people from other schools. I tried to hug as many people as I could. Taylor hugged me like four times and I was shouting and crying the whole time. Rachel and Lexi stayed to watch us and came down to hug me.

The encore was a miracle.

Ed told me I had a smart mouth and that he wished he could've gotten to know me better.

The saxes and the percussion were astonished to see I brought the big trophy on their bus when so many other sections should've and would've taken it. I told them I was looking out for them, and I swear there were tears in a few eyes. Everyone cheered and got to hold it or kiss it or take dorky pictures with it. I felt like I had fought through a jungle with a machete to make them that happy, and I felt blessed.

I sat next to Tony in church. There were brilliant songs chosen ("All Creatures of Our God and King, In Humility Our Savior, and How Great Thou Art.) I was so very disappointed we only got to sing one verse of the last verse because I loved listening to Tony sing. His voice was so different than his normal half-screechy fake singing voice, and to hear switch from bass to tenor to bass and miss a few notes here and there the same way I was singing was a brilliant picture of music and devotion that I can't even explain. With his bow tie and minimal and hilarious comments/looks and the hopefully not creepy realization that his eyes are blue, he was a perfect church partner. Dang, I sound creepy.

Logan and Lydia took pictures at the temple. Afterward, I got him to agree that it was "totes adorbs."

We sang the friend song. I cried my eyes out. I hugged Logan. I cried my eyes out. Spencer told me I now I have time to get a boyfriend and a job. I cried my eyes out. I hugged as many people as I could. I cried my eyes out. I thanked Tanner for his comments. I cried my eyes out. I hugged Caitlin. I cried my eyes out. Camille apologized for never being able to tell me how much she loved my energy and spirit and service. I cried my eyes out. Ed hugged me goodbye. I cried my eyes out. Bryton mello-kissed me. I cried my eyes out. Abby told me I was spunky again. I cried my eyes out. I hugged Cameron. I cried my eyes out. I gave Mille the shirt I made him with everyone's signatures. I cried my eyes out. I told Seth I would see him again. I cried my eyes out. We took Solei home. I cried my eyes out.

I can't even begin to describe everything that happened on tour. It was all so funny, relieving, magical, painful, enlightening, exhilarating, peaceful, powerful, perfect. I couldn't have asked for a better year.

It was no mistake that I moved to Utah halfway through high school. I was given the chance of a lifetime, and I took hold of that chance. I am forever indebted to Miller and the kids in this band for helping to win me a championship. No matter how many times Miller praises us, me, I wouldn't have won anything at all. It was all y'all.

Congratulations, good job, and I love you.

The Best Day?

How can one judge when it's the best day ever? Can I be happy when others are not? Surely, there are days like yesterday where others felt it was a great day, and I was just not feeling it. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great. Shouldn't the absence of bad things constitute for good? It certainly doesn't work that way, but I don't know if it should. Some days are just bound for apathy.

"Bound." How much depends on the events that take place, and how much really depends on our attitudes? I used to say attitude was everything, but what about those positive people who crumple and cry after the most taxing day or the depressing people who smile and skip on the most beautiful of days? I'm not a terribly positive person as I once was, but I was happy today, when my more recent self would've probably been indifferent.

I made Isaac's birthday present. I listened to music and wrote in the drum major journal during Latin. I addressed the principal about a crappy and outdated pamphlet, and it didn't turn out disastrous. I played a board game with Logan, Gage, Marty, Drew, and Jace in financial lit. I sat in Taylie's yard and talked with her and Tony for an hour. I wore an outfit that matched in every detail and aspect. I am full of anticipation for St. George. I am about to read my psychology textbook and make shirts for my room. I am happy.

It certainly seems I was only blessed with a sunny sky and a pile of grass to pull up or hands stained with paint or a principal who humors me. I don't feel like I woke up this morning with the decision to be happy and then reaped the benefits of doing so.

I just had a good day, and I am grateful.

959.67

What a great show. What a great competition. What a great principal and fan band we have. What a great feeling it was to give that speech. What great drum majors I get to work and be with. What a great night.

I got to say the drum major prayer. I got to call the band to attention. I got to accept the first place trophy. I got to help revive the clarinets' singing. I got to hug him. I got to hug and congratulate a lot of people. I got to be a part of this band.

That was honestly the best part. I don't get to march or spin or play, the scores have nothing to do with me, and I would never be devestated if we got second. But to see these beautiful people's faces light up, to be able to go up and shake their hand and say their name and call them a 959 babe, that's what I live for. I dream of making these kids be happy and helping them out in any way I can.

I keep hoping its not too late for me to make a difference, that there's still time for me to love them and for me to feel their love for band each other (and perhaps me.) St. George is next week though, and I'm scared. I'm scared for it to end. I'm scared to not slave away in the heat and get high cuz I have to paint the field over and over and to jam out in the shed with my DMs and to have those run throughs that just make me feel okay. I've gained so much from band, and I feel like I'm going to lose it all once we drive home in a week.

Though really, I don't think I could ever forget tonight. Mitch's pride and Natalie's questions and Cameron's love and Dave's speech and Camille's candy and Caitlin's generosity and and Sabrina's comments and Logan's humor and Tony's excitement and Bradan's hilarity and Brayden's acceptance and my brother's anticipation and Eli's presence and Abby's shout out and Janelle's return, they are the reason I adore being a human being. These are the people who waltz through my life and leave me the better for it.

This is the best beginning of the end I could've asked for.

Not Everyday Miracles

What a miracle it is to be a drum major of one of the most amazing bands I've probably ever come in contact with. To be given the opportunity to stand in front of them tonight, facing the back corner and craning my neck to look back at Logan, and to be bombarded by this wall of cultivated sound that grew and grew til my heart stopped and raced on simultaneously, not knowing if they truly needed me but relishing the fact that I was there jumping and gasping and shaking and smiling for them, since I am lucky enough to be in this band at all, that is something I will never forget and will obviously take excruciatingly long run on sentences to explain.

What a miracle it is to associate with the great Joseph Baldwin, the newest member of the All-American Army Band. He smiled and bowed with the utmost humility and almost made me forget that I was currently having an asthma attack brought upon, literally, by conducting the band inside. As he gave his speech, reminiscent of an Oscar acceptance, he thanked all the people who made a difference in his musical and personal lives. He called my name, slipped in right at the end of his four years' worth of drum majors. I would have never imagined being in the acceptance speech of someone so noble for such an honorable award. Cameron began to ask less and less frantically what he could do to help me breathe as his eyes began to well up. I was perfectly fine with that; heaven knows I cried enough later. He talked about both the team and the individual and the effects we can have on the people around us, and I decided we need to have him come to our last drum major sectional to talk to the bright future of the band again. He got a well-deserved standing ovation, and i couldn't help but smile. What a good kid.

What a miracle it is to dance in the snow you had hated so much this morning. To dance around in a tshirt and short shorts and barely feel the cold was impressive in itself, but the real beauty came in the palaces of ice, falling under a golden light, as if to make sure us humans have something to be happy about.

What a miracle it is to come home, paint a shirt for my Phineas costume, watch The Colbert Report, and find out that one of your best friends of the past has finally published it.

I love being a human.

(I hate how late I've allowed myself to stay up.)

An Ode to Zach

Or Zack.
I'm not really sure.

I'm sorry I thought poorly of you.
For some reason, I thought you rather disliked, ever since English last year.
I'm pretty sure I misjudged you.

I thought I wasn't the only one skipping class.
(It was just seminary, and I couldn't take it.)
Turns out you don't have a class to skip.
We watched the video in silence, all alone in the big empty hall.
You were displeased, and I had to agree.
We had a moment there, talking without reservation,
I voicing my frustration and you your resignation.
It seemed like you were getting choked up as you got caught up.
Maybe I imagined it.

A smile, one of the first.

This morning, I found a pair of strange cards in the bathroom.
This afternoon, as I skipped yet again, you held the card in your hand.
The blue envelope brought us together again.
We laughed at the absurdity of the invitation and the situation.
We stumbled over awkwardly mangled statements and then parted ways.
That is, after you quietly watched me spin for a minute.

You are a stranger to me.
And yet, our relations have doubled in in number and positivity.
The past two days have been wonderful examples that two people can connect.
I didn't know you, and yet, we still could talk.
Even if only fairly negaive.
And a tad bit accusatory.

But it's fine.
Like seriously.
I just wanted to say thanks for smiling and talking to me like I matter.

Thanks.

Nice People

It's a miracle, the little things people say that can touch your heart or make you feel strong and happy like none other. These simple thoughts they receive through paying attention to minute details or being considerate and then voice aloud, they are just a wonder, a proof that you don't need to plan or rehearse or fret over what you're going to say to impress someone or lift their spirit. Rather, through Occam's razor, we find that the words that come easiest are often the kindest and most powerful of truths.

I have been impacted by so many of these simple statements, especially tonight (hence the post.) Namely, three individuals turned my night around, further cementing a place in my heart for them. I'd like to honor them here, in case I never get the courage to thank/rethank them.

Logan led off the night, forcing convincing me to do something I was scared to. As I did it, he continually helped and encouraged me, being my humble assistant. When I finished, still terrified but feeling a lot more confident, he told me I did a fantastic job. He made me do what I needed to do and told me what I have been needing to hear in order to make me feel a little closer to my healthy self-image.

The next two were much shorter and simpler, but equally as edifying. After the friend song, Alex hugged me and said that he had seen me earlier and just thought I was gorgeous. It was so honest and kind and sweet, and I nearly about started crying. Then Natalie thanked me for running. I wasn't sure what she was talking about til she reminded me that I had run while setting up yard markers for practice. She said she knew I didn't run so as not to die from asthma, but was amazed and grateful for the fact that I ran for the band. Simple act, simple statement.

Could we do that? Could us normal people be more open and honest, sharing and finding as much meaning in the modern day world where I do the same routine over and over? Or more importantly, in someone else's life, schedule, everything.

I Despise Homework

I chatted with four of my dearest Austinites on Facebook tonight, and they each were so different in their characterization, their archetypes of a friend. The subject matter, voice, the use of punctuation; it was all so indicative of their personalities and my own.

Preethi: the convo started out with a set of apologies, of course: I for writing a bitter letter last night, her for accidentally typing "LOL" in response due to her multiple conversations. We discussed our future presidential campaign and discovered the identity of Helen Hunt. After I became the morose Romantic and she the absentminded neutrally supportive friend, she had to leave in order to keep up her reputation of never going to bed after midnight on a school night. We said we loved each other in a dorky way.

Maddie: she immediately came out and said she had to tell me and only something or she would burst. After she revealed her secret to me, I awwwwwed and smiled and promised not to share it or to judge, which I have, of course, kept up. We marveled at our similarities in situations though we were clearly not as identical as we believed and said I love you a million times. She tried to juggle comforting me and my life while expounding on the trouble with her life. She too, had to sleep, and she, naturally, said "I love you" before I got picked up.

Gina: what a glorious ginger. I had actually debated against talking to her, what with I being far too awkward and shy right as she said hello first. We discovered that we both weren't doing homework like we were supposed to, no surprise there with us two. We went through the small talk and both apologized for being atrocious conversationalists. We then expounded on our lives and decided that it seemed like neither had really changed in the way we were, fundamentally. She disappeared without a trace. I wouldn't be surprised if the service was wonky at her house; that always seemed to be our case during our late night talks.

Kristian: I just love him to death. We talked about men. We talked about memories. We talked about the origins of our friendship and he guessed what faces I was making during our convo guessing correctly, down to the details. He was mostly right, and I was mostly impressed by his accuracy and love for me. All he had to say to properly end the convo was to quote the lyrics of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand."

I'm so lucky to have such a varied set of friends. Thank you for respecting me and my friendships. I am just so grateful for this wonderful menagerie of people I love. Good night.

Fear #2: Aging

[Note: this was actually published October 13th. Stupid Blogger.]

I'm sitting here at one in the morning, eating a cup of noodles and drinking a cup of blueberry tea, thinking of loves won and lost and never to be gained and taken by others and attracted to their own sex, wishing that I were Mitchell and that I could find my lovely Cam because maybe things would be easier that way, and I'm realizing I'm terrified by the fact that I won't be able to do exactly this soon. I'll have a job. I'll be in college. I'll be more mature and won't take as much pleasure in tumblr and tv and staying for the sake of staying up. I'll be a grown up.

I don't feel ready to be an adult. I haven't read enough books, kissed enough boys, tried to rock climb or ride a book enough. My mandolin will sit in the corner and continue to gather dust as my poster lay unpinned, giving way to family photos and color-coded wall calenders.

I see Sam with her purple hair and her legs on Spencer, his own outrageous hair bouncing as they discuss 20th century poets next to Will and Arianna playing MarioKart and slumped so far down on the couch, it's a miracle they can see. I see us gathered together for what seemed like the sole purpose of watching cats. I see a carful of girls screaming as the freeway becomes dominated by traffic cones before they resume their neverending heartbroken rants, each girl bemoaning their own boy, some eyes filling with anger and some with exasperation and some with sadly undying hope. Surely, adults don't do that. They don't have the beautiful side effects of youth, that reckless abandon and sexual attraction and love for internet fandoms. They're not me.

I'm not ready to lose what seems like my entirety. In the same way that Amy and Rory's hints of leaving could never have prepared me for their deaths, financial lit has not prepared me for a life where I have to make my own money in order to survive. How will I be able to wear the clothes I want or eat the food I like or live between some walls at all? How will I be able to read or write or go to school or fall in love if the majority of my life is spent trying to sustain my life?

I'll be expected to be in a stable relationship, preferrably a marriage. Boys don't like me. I know they don't. I'm too sarcastic, too crazy, too pretentious and emotional and needy and nerdy. I'm quiet and shy and anxious. I'm not skinny and I'm not sweet and I'm not pretty enough to make up for any of that. If I can't get any silly teenaged boys to like me, how in hell am I supposed to find an eternal companion? (not with language like that, I can tell you) It seems the older I get, the less appealing I become. I swear, Micaiah was an anomaly. I was lucky enough to garner the attention of an older man who liked band and the idea of raising children and making out. Who am I to think that one single relationship that shouldn't have happened in any real universe qualifies me to be romantically happy at all?

I don't want to feel like this, scared and lonely and low. That's no way to finish out high school. But with all of my friends here going on missions straightaway and all of my friends in Texas sending off their college applications, I feel that I am going nowhere. I have no plan, and that brings me down. I have no present, and that brings me down. I can't write a sonnet or play "The A Team" or anything from Southern Air, and that brings me down. Things are supposed to get better as you get older. High school is supposed to be better than middle school. Senior year is supposed to be great. College is supposed to be better. My path seems to turn out as a negative graph, and through extrapolation, I can just see myself hating life as the future goes on.

I guess I'm not afraid of adulthood. It seems I'm actually afraid of myself.

Senior Night

Last night was the last home football game. Here, that meant the end of the terrifying reign of kind of evil pep band. But at Westwood, that would've meant Senior Night. They'd take a picture of all the seniors wearing their letter jackets up in the stands and then we'd all go home and the seniors would stand in a long line and the whole band would go down and hug every single senior.

Freshman year wasn't overly extraordinary. I hugged the baritones Melissa and Daniel. I was afraid to hug my drum corps section leader Pipkins until he irritably told me I was his favorite freshman so I better damn hug him. I hugged Aubrey and she said she remembered me from the day she had brought 3-D chalk. I hugged my first drum majors, Suraj and Elsie and Nick, who all smiled and knew my name and thanked me for being a good little euphonium. I hugged Peren who picked me up and swung me around, making me feel like I was important and loved and an integral part of his life even though I was just friends with a member of his section. It was my first truly emotional band experience.

Sophomore year, I was a wreck. A good wreck, but a wreck nonetheless. After the game, I had waited for Micaiah to finish taking pictures. As we walked back to the busses, nervous to hold hands in public, he went on and on about how excited he was to graduate while I got increasingly uncomfortable with the idea of all my seniors leaving. We got back to the school, and as I promised myself I wouldn't cry, sweet little Marisa played and sang her original composition. It was so beautiful to see this freshman sing about how much she appreciated the seniors... And then she started crying, sobbing so quietly and intensely that she had to stop singing altogether. I knew it was over for me.

But I stayed strong. I didn't cry as I hugged my old section leader (and Stupid Jessica's brother), John, and my former section mate Leyla. I didn't cry when I sadly remembered that Ashley should've been there. I didn't cry when I hugged my captains and dear friends Krista and Lisa. I almost started crying at the sight of Micaiah, but he cried out that he wouldn't hug me if I cried. I smiled and he hugged me, pulling me closer and tighter, as if he wanted to absorb me like an amoeba, before choking up and passing me along to Alex, who rolled his eyes but hugged me anyway and passed me to Lipinski who was much more welcoming with his hug. I hugged my drum majors Ryan and James and freaked out because the third, Jonathan wasn't there. They laughed and told me he was a junior, and I jumped for joy while trying to wrap my brain around the idea of a junior being drum major.

I walked out of the procession to the waiting Stupid Jessica, said "wow, I almost cried but I didn't. I am proud of myself," and then burst into tears. She cried and Susan cried and I couldn't stop crying. I waited for Micaiah, and as we walked back to the band hall, holding hands under the cover of night, he simply asked if he could call me when we both got home. I said yes and then we hugged, my tears wetting his cheek and his heart beating so fast I could feel it. When he called me, he told me all about his life since he joined band and orchestra in middle school and guard in high school. I remember, his favorite performance up to that point was a finals during his sophomore year, just like me now. He told me of all the people he'd met and places he'd been and things he'd learned, and then, as I was getting a lump in my throat, he stopped and said, very clearly, emphatically, and unconsolably, "Emma, I will miss you so much." He cried for the next five minutes straight and I cried for most of that time and we dried our tears and sat in silence for a few minutes more before continuing our conversation for another hour.

Last year, we did the senior at the last concert, which I thought was kind of dumb. Probably because I had very few friends and just hugged Melissa before running after Taylor so I could inform him that he hadn't hugged me and then awkwardly proceed to do so.

This year, I've felt that I'm not a senior. I don't feel as if I'm acting on people's lives like seniors should. I haven't been the benevolent fairy godmother figure with psychedelic chalk. I've been neither overly gruff and loud nor overly kind and huggy. I haven't threatened to punch anyone's boyfriend or cheered for a colorguard girl cuz she plays euphonium. It feels like other people are still acting on me instead of I on them.

But maybe that's how all people feel. We admire and adore and fall in love with people who make a difference in our lives. Even all these seemingly perfect and fantastical people have their own group of people who mean something in their lives. We just always know what we feel and often never know how others feel. I never told my old drum majors that I worshipped the ground they walked on. It took four months after our break up to tell Micaiah how much those tears of his meant to me. I still feel like I never properly thanked Taylor for being to welcoming and inspiring to me.

And as I, a student leader of the band, ate a cold treat and hung out near a swing set with a sophomore colorguard girl who wasn't sold on the idea of being a captain, I thought back to when Krista and I ate slushies in the park near the swings as we talked, former captain to incumbent captain, graduated senior to accomplished sophomore, friend to friend. It doesn't matter how many people's lives I change as long as I affect one single life for good.

Progress Report

How blessed I am that he is such a good sport. How blessed I am that he is kind and welcoming and grateful. How blessed I am that he exists at all in my life.

I am moving on. I am progressing.

As I hugged him, my face buried in his chest and our arms around each other, each slight movement or adjustment being noted like a lovesick cat, I had no thoughts of my past or the other boys who I have loved and lost. There was no comparison, no memories. Just me and him and a big puddle of happy friendshipness.

Selection from "Missing Pieces"

This is a small part of my recent autobiographical paper I wrote on the day I first realized I truly loved my fellow drum majors. I wish I could've finished this earlier for a number of reasons and that I could've posted the whole thing (it's seven pages long) so that I could get some feedback before turning in it in less than nine hours. Oh well, I hope you like it. I certainly kind of enjoyed writing it. I was going to write a real post, but screw it. Posting my homework is close enough.

 

***

 

Cameron was the closest to me, proximity wise. I barely knew him. We spent little time with each other exclusively or talked about anything extraneous, save two days before at our drum major camp when he disclosed particles of his love life to me. I had worked tirelessly to befriend him, tried desperately to be smooth and cool and interesting. Despite the fact that I had offered up my shoulder as a pillow to him, I hardly felt at place with him. He accepted, his eyes blearily grateful, and I pretended to be a normal girl with her normal guy friend falling asleep on her. A few minutes later and I was reluctantly placing my cheek on the top of his head, irrationally fearing he might have a double standard of personal space.
 

Almost immediately, I received a text from Caitlin, who was sitting far behind us, clinging to an electrical outlet she had snagged to charge her iPod. My phone read "you guys look so cute! :)," and I couldn't keep a slight grin from peeking out. After all, he was pretty attractive, and such a gesture was a monumental event in our newly formed platonic relationship, and . . . he was pretty attractive.
 

In an attempt to distract myself, I looked up at Logan and had to agree with the girls at camp. I remembered their bright eyes and love drunk voices telling Caitlin and I that we had a fine looking pair of drum majors; you could practically hear their hearts fluttering. I shut my eyes tightly as I processed what their words meant. Fearing I was blushing, I carefully reopened them to see that he was not even looking in my direction. He was slumped up against the hard back of his seat, entranced in what was probably our show music. The intense look of concentration on his face meant he was probably trying to memorize it a month in advance.
 

Logan was the serious one, I knew that. We'd spent more time together than his darker haired counterpart and, as a result, quickly learned that we did not have the same tolerance for awkward situations. Our conversations would roll smoothly along until some socially unacceptable line would slide past my lips and he'd pull his head slightly back, the faintest of grimaces crossing his face. It was like he was a turtle and an unintentional double chin his shell.
 

I retreated back into the world of my non-smart phone until a kind lady came over the speaker to announce that the 5:30 PM flight was now boarding. I nudged Cameron awake, and we all made our way to the gate. Logan and Cameron faced Caitlin and I, heavy bags in their hands and under their eyes, and waited a few eternal seconds before hugging us. It was nice, but short and laden with obligation, indicative of our friendship thus far. We stepped back and watched the boys, "our" boys, make their way up the line and out the doors. After delaying our flight for twelve hours, the airline spitefully split us up, separating us by gender and sentencing us to different planes at different times in different places. Caitlin and I stood together, keeping our eyes on the spot where we had last seen the boys until we almost apathetically accepted the fact that we were alone.

Under the Upper Hand

And they say she's in the class A team
Stuck in her daydream
Been this way since eighteen
But lately her face seems
Slowly sinking wasting
Crumbling like pastries
And they scream
The worst things in life come free to us

Who's on the A Team? The girl who has worked so hard and is so beautifully determined just to feel confused and sad? The boy who's made it to the top only to feel disappointed in himself? The me who tries so desperately to show love for all who thank me sincerely and then never invite me to their homes or inside their souls? What about the people who we view to be so perfect, so pretty, so pleasant and pious and appealing? Surely, they are just as afflicted as the rest of us. Surely, no one is free from heartache or financial issues or the mental prisons of depression and anxiety and self-hatred. Surely, I'm not the only one who is so saddened by this.

I'd hardly ever given thought to serving a mission. For girls, it seemed like Plan B, a second try at being useful if you ended up being a homely, undesirable single woman. But now, it seems like a noble cause that is almost as required as the men. Overnight, the connotation went from a negative worldly one to an overly positive one. I can see the future being overridden people sniping at girls who choose to go to college or travel or even get married instead of going on a mission.

The nonconformist in me says to not contribute to this seemingly inevitable downward spiral. Fortunately, that's a smallish part of me, and the rest of me thinks that maybe I could do this. It would be the opportunity of a lifetime to go somewhere new, meet and discuss with and teach all manner of different people, and to, most importantly, gain and nourish a healthy testimony. I must think and pray more on this.

I've got far too much to do in the next few days and am far too tired already. It's solely my fault (she typed as the clock ticked and tocked closer and closer to midnight.)

I fell asleep before I could post this

What a good day today was.

We had a competition today. I got to ride with the flutes and they are officially my favorite bus. I got to see Eli and Abby and the Lehi drum majors. We got first. Caitlin got hit on by a random Davis snare. Rode with the flutes again and enjoyed their continued shenanigans. We sang the friend song (any day is automatically a good day when we sing it). Went to sam's house and discovered where the picture of me from the band room mysteriously disappeared to and her parents graciously fed me McDonald's as if they had known I would be there and since they're always so nice to me, most especially in the food area. Went with Sam to Walmart to get more purple hair dye. Went to arianna's house and kind of helped to dye sam's hair and drank an unhealthy amount of milk. Watched the funniest movie ever and became the only person to cry because of it but not from laughing from actual sadness. I like these people.

I just really want to sleep and never wake up so that I won't have to practice all day tomorrow when it's not conference or homework time.

50 Shades of Pink

A slip of the tongue. That's all it was. And yet, what a devastating mistake it was. As if writing an essay and scribbling down some overheard random words, the wrong name fell out, replacing my dear friend and revealing my secret. His face froze and I gasped as the realization crossed over my accidental audience's faces. They laughed and he started talking faster and faster as I spiraled into a panicked and embarrassed state of hyperventilation. One said I was blushing so badly, and I knew there was no way I could deny it this time.

They gave me their promises of secrecy, but I am scared, regardless. This is getting bigger than I would've liked, and that makes it feel all the more legitimate and fake. I want to give up, but all these people are giving me coy smiles and jumpy squeals of joy and assurances of false hope. I feel like any disappointments that may come about are now not only mine, but theirs as well.

However, I am glad to have these people in my life. How grateful I am that these few who witnessed my great mistake are people I can trust, albeit with the price of their laughter and teasing remarks. It really was hilarious, something straight out of a tv show or a psychiatric session with Freud.

I have blushed twice as much in the past two days than in all the years before. Maybe this is okay. Maybe I need some more color in my life. Maybe I should welcome the reds and pinks and greens. Maybe I should go out on a limb and accept the possibility of some blacks and blues.

Maybe I should stop pretending my life is something cheesy like a canvas or a romcom and just man up.

Maybe I just like him.

A Centennial Sort of Magic

I am filled with a certain sort of magic today. A magic that only comes with loving an English class with a transparent and overly enthusiastic teacher and a prospective photo essay and where I "kicked everyone's trash" during our game to find quotes from the eloquent and fascinating The Motorcycle Diaries.

That comes with a new confidante in Breanne, one of the few that might more fully understand me and my past.

That comes with the giddy uncertainty of tacking your heart to an individual, watching as they unknowingly take you on a journey more loud and crazy and determined and nerdy than ever before, leaving you breathless and full of butterflies and optimistically hoping that something good will come of it.

That magic that comes with the telling and receiving of secrets and sitting in a parking lot with a dear friend and being reunited with your rifle. It's wedged in peanut butter sandwiches and the pages of the Latin textbook, found in texts of relief and a sense of accomplishment, captured in ever constant handshakes and staring contests with a boy you shall forever adore.

I am morally obligated to say that this magic is found in the Once Upon A Time season premiere I watched tonight.

•••

This is my 100th post. It seems unreal. How could I have so many thoughts to endorse, feelings to convey, stories to tell in nine short months? It's like I got pregnant, and now I'm giving birth to a new chapter in my life, where I'm not as whiny and homesick and gimmicky as I was in all my older posts. Okay, I need to stop talking now.

i CAN be happy

The past few posts have been on the depressing side. Going back two or three weeks, it seems they are all either describing my bad days and feelings or referencing to them. To try and work on Cameron's first lesson on how to be happy ("Be Positive"), I'm just gonna make a list of my top ten favorite things right now.

1. "Rory Arthur Williams and his loving wife Amelia Williams"
2. Texting Sam
3. Southern Air
4. the Lehi drum majors
5. Starbursts
6. doing parkour and talking about the Avengers, family, and fire hydrants with Tony
7. short shorts
8. store bought cupcakes
9. Primary kids
10. using the band room's stereo system to jam out with the DMs and to sing the friend song with ten other people

Here's to the future.

let's just keep driving on

Lost Opportunities

I can't play my horn. Even with wax over my cursed new braces, I have to curl up in a ball in my chair, writhing in pain and trying not to cry, every time I finish playing a passage with the tone I've had since elementary school. Even without the braces, though, I probably wouldn't be able to play any of these beautiful pieces. I suck too much and have never put in the practice. Ever. I know that it's my fault.

I keep letting the boy I love (and by "love," I mean "like") slip through my fingers. After chickening out of kissing him and deciding once and for all to tell him how I feel, I have watched him walk through my life, ever so casually, ever so cool. I basically had the perfect situation fall in my lap today, and I didn't say anything. I fear I will never make a move and we'll forever exist as a stalemate. I know that it's my fault.

I should've been nicer to my dog. I should have showed him how much I loved him. I should be at the vet's office right now as he's being put to sleep. He's probably dead by now, and I can't change anything. I know that it's my fault.

•••

I've been breaking down for the past few weeks. I've had kind souls in my life, always ready and willing to pick me up and piece me back together. But I don't know what to do. I feel I'm letting them down every time I start crying in their arms, moping around at lunch and practice, almost literally wishing I would just die. I don't know what to do.

I know something's wrong with me. I sure as hell know that it's my fault.

I was safe in my fortress alone 'til you came and tore it all down

Questions

What am I supposed to do at the college fair tomorrow? Where am I to go next year? How am I going to pay for it? Would I be able to handle living alone? Is college even possible?

How long am I going to look this stupid? How much will it hurt? Will I be able to play my horn? Why did I have to get braces now? Why are they taking over my life?

Am I depressed? If so, what can I do about it? If not, why am I constantly miserable? Should I really be taking Prozac? Am I crazy? Why does a wave of intense melancholy and self-hatred wash over and drown me every time I make the smallest of mistakes? Why do I rip my hair out? Why do I hide my sadness from my family while proclaiming it through the halls at school? How many pairs of arms do I have to fall in and cry into to make to to try and take away the sadness?

Why do people disrespect the guard? Why do people disrespect the band? Why do people disrespect Miller and the staff and the drum majors? Why doesn't anyone care?

Why do boys seem to always kind of make things better?

Da Boys

I love two boys. A lot. With all of my heart.

My Cameron and My Logan.

I am so terribly blessed to be as close as I am to them and they to me. It is a heaven sent mountain of awesomeness to be able to have them as my friends, partners, leaders. They both bring such a vibrant personality and perspective to everything they do, and they're both low brass homies.

Logan makes me laugh. Cameron makes me cry. Both make my life better by doing so.

Logan said I'm not stupid or silly or unskilled or any of the negative things I or others might say or think about myself. Cameron said that he will always love me and that he is here to help me whenever I may need him. Both saved me from a terrible night and helped me restore the hope I have in humanity and in myself.

I love them.

TGIF

You know those days where you're the last to turn in the test, despite the fact that you could've aced it in your sleep, because you were doodling all over it for fun? Where you get to listen to passionate speeches in AP Language and old childhood stories in Financial Lit? When one of your best guy friends teases you about a boy and you couldn't possibly be mad at him after you have to wake up his redfaced, bleary eyed, sadly adorable self? It's days like today, filled with new friends and technologically challenged band nerds and frozen hot chocolate, that make me almost forget my insecurities and my fear and the widening gap between my front teeth.

Happy sailing, friends.

Fix Me

High up above or down below/ when you're too in love to let it go/ but if you never try then you'll never know/ just what you're worth

Today kind of sucked. Mostly because it was so happy and well and then it turned painful and confusing and basically suckish. I know, I'm supposed to be the eloquent one. Obviously^^

This post was supposed to be sad and angry and heartbroken, but I just received the loveliest text imaginable from Sam, and I just can't be sad. To type anything depressing at this point would be like violating her feelings and disregarding her good will. Thank you, Sam, from the bottom of my heart.

Lights will guide you home/ and ignite your bones/ and I will try to fix you

Thank you Coldplay/Yellowcard. I love you, Sam. And Janelle. And Sabrina and Caitlin and Taylie and Maddie and dear Cam and Sierra and Tony and Erin and Logan and Arianna and good old Gretch and Allison and Erik and Heather and Taylor and Davis and the band and my AP Language class and YouTubers and Sam Sam Sam and a lot of other people.

Time to sleep. Tomorrow will be better.

A Criticism on the Criticism of Love

This is the speech I wrote for my AP Language class. If you have the time and patience, I like to ask that you, my dear albeit small audience, read my speech and comment or tell me about anything I need to fix or if it's effective or if it just basically sucks before I present it to my class in two days. Thank you.

Romeo and Juliet is a classic love story, or so our English teachers always told us. We often scoff at the idea of teenagers dying for a week-old love and scorn the English department for ever thinking we could find personal meaning in the hysterical and outlandish dialogue and events. Interestingly, we carry this disdain with us once we leave the classroom, judging relationships left and right. Everyday, people are critiquing, criticizing, and discrediting the love that we teenagers feel for the people around us. Our society tells us that high school sweethearts are immature and lustful, friendships are disguised romantic endeavors or laden with homosexual undertones, anyone with a healthy relationship with their family is weak, or worse, a total dork.

But are these accusations and hurtful words an overarching umbrella of truth, covering all individuals and relationships? Of course not. Love is vital; love is precious. It's what builds us up, brings us together, binds us close. How dare anyone discount such an integral part of a human's experience? To take away one's heart is to take away humanity.

A teenager's heart is brimming with romantic love; such a relationship is a miracle in an adolescent's life. There is so much to experience, so much to gain and enjoy from young love: sunlit afternoons dotted with kisses on the nose, heart melting texts read in the dark of night, warm palms parting in the halls before class.

Young men and women can learn valuable lessons from such a partnership, and yet, these relationships are accused of leading to rebellion, unchaste living, pregnancies. While these disappointing actions can be born of infatuation, we can not demonize all teenagers who take a fancy to one another. The dearest of friends who delight in the subtle magic of a hug or a secret, knowing smile are no less mature than the club hopping adults who take their one night stand and accept society's stamp of approval.

Even the "practical" argument that points out that the majority of high school sweethearts never get married is invalid. Though his proposal may be to attend a dance than one of marriage, a well meaning teenager's love, though sweaty palmed and stuttering, comes from a very genuine, very real place. Romeo loved Juliet, not for her money or her sister or her hot body. He loved her because she was the truest love he had ever known. No one could, or should, attempt to destroy that.

Perhaps more concerning is the criticism teens often receive of their platonic friends. Same and opposite gender friendships are ever so valuable, giving us a welcome place to sit at lunch and a shoulder to cry on when adults are crazy and peers don't understand. A friend can be one of the most enduring relationships, and yet, the world is constantly jeopardizing our connections. Girls are cliquey, petty, and only looking to analyze, judge, and blame everyone else. Boys can't express affection for fear of being derogatorily labeled gay. Any boy and girl who are friends must either be secretly dating or eternally described by the dreaded "friend zone."

These negative ideas and attitudes serve only to delegitimize the love we feel for others, breaking it down until friendship is a mere concept that is easily swayed and dissolved by a move across the country, a minor dispute, the social confines of a community. When it becomes unacceptable to spend a whole day laughing together or to share clothes and food and money, it becomes unacceptable for Romeo to have been heartbroken by Mercutio's death. How can it be that a fictional boy be angered by a friend's murder and a boy in our day be unable to casually say "I love you" to his friends, male or female? We can not stand for such stereotyping and teasing, especially when it is directed at so precious a possession as friendship.

Finally, how could we forget our families? The family is a collection of people you're born into, the humans you are practically bred to love. Despite the unconditional love we're all supposedly endowed with for our families, we all know that as teenagers, we yearn for feelings of freedom and independence during this tempestuous time. We feel a certain exhilaration as we let go of our parents' hands and quit playing Barbies and video games with our siblings.

But what of those souls who hold fast to their roots, showing an undying love and respect for their families? Are they needy or naive? Perhaps. But can we ever clump an entire population into one negative mold? No.

Those who go to their parents for advice or spend their time with their relatives are no less of an individual than the next person. Rather, families increase our sense of self, giving our lives a unique set of values, a unique history, a unique foundation on which to build our own life upon. For all their faults, Juliet loved and respected her parents up until the end, bemoaning the existence of the feud but not of her family itself. Familial bonds have been and always will be a gift to humanity; we have no right to deface such an institution, especially at the risk of others' love.

No matter how true or deep a love, there will always be someone who fights against it. There will forever be a disapproving father, a jealous or cruel bystander, a high school student who humorously comments that he's glad Romeo and Juliet died. However, we can not stop experiencing that wonderfully ambiguous feeling of love. We must stand up in the face of opposition and calmly reaffirm our appreciation, our affection, our admiration for one another.

Relationships are meant to be made, kept, and cherished, and as we, the teenagers of today, become the adults of tomorrow, we can not afford lose our love. We can see ourselves in Shakespeare's classic, for we are all star crossed lovers, wishing only to love and be loved in return by the people who made our lives possible, who fill our lives with joy, and who make our lives worth living.