"What Are You Doing After High School?"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Ahem* My apologies... *Hyperventilates*  As a senior in high school, I have found that this delightful question comes up on a far too regular basis. It could be my dentist, or a visiting relative, or a friend at school, or the photographer of my senior photo- as soon as they find out how old I am, this is the question first on their minds. Now, I get that it's mostly an impulse question. It's only natural to wonder about a teenager's first steps into adulthood. However, I don't think they're enough aware of the weight of the question they're asking.

Sure, for most kids my age, the answer is fairly second nature. "I'm going to [such-and-such-a] college to study [whatever]." And whatever adult that asked this will beam with pride over their prestigious choice, and the overall success they will have in life. To all the kids out there that are this on top of things, I applaud you, even envy you. Because I do not have the foggiest notion of what I'm doing once I get that diploma. Other than panicking, struggling to appear normal, and ultimately death, the rest of my life is left pretty much unplanned.

It's not that I haven't thought about it- trust me, 98% of my life is spent pondering over my inevitable future. In my spare time, I daydream about the various countries I want to travel to, the people I'll meet, and the development of me as an individual. The idea of my life within the next 10 years absolutely enthralls me. What I plan on doing in the next 7 months, however, scares the living hell out of me.

Let me just establish something- I do not want to go to college. I even wrote a whole other post in a tangent against the idea. It's just not my thing. In an English assignment earlier this year, I wrote, "So, you may be reading this figuring that because my first plan after high school is getting a job, I'm either slacking off and not going to a 4 year college, or I have some plan to do it later. Well, actually, no. The more I learned about college- all the money, time and energy required to even get into one- and after pondering over the concept of 4 more years of optional school- all the nauseating tests and partying with kids I don't like just to get a degree for a future career that I may not even want to follow through on- sounded like a colossally, monumentally expensive waste of time, and I am perfectly content with skipping all the hassle and just getting a job, which is the ultimate goal of college anyway. A job is a job. I get paid, the money gets flushed back into the system, it's all good. A career does the same thing." Alright, this isn't to persuade you all to think that you shouldn't go to college. I suck at persuasion. I'm simply defending my lack of desire for it. You want to go to college? Go for it. There are plenty of people who don't despise school with every fiber of their being like I do, and they are all college students, starting a new generation of doctors, lawyers, and everything in between. But will I ever become a doctor or a lawyer? OH GOD NO.

And relax. If you think I'm going to be broke at the age of 26 and I'll get that desperate, I can go to a community college no problem. You can do that at any age. Why there is so much crippling pressure for teens to make important life decisions immediately after high school is beyond me.

THAT'S ANOTHER THING. I want to develop myself as a human being before I leap into a career that I'll regret for years to come. I'm one of those people that wants to "see the world" (corny, I know). I want to meet people outside of my own age group for once. Do you know how miserable it is to be surrounded by this generation of teenagers? I don't understand any of them. I want to experience new things without having an assignment due every week. I want to focus on my spirituality and on my wholeness as a person. I don't want my job to define me in that regard. I want to get paid, sure, but I want to LIVE primarily, work secondarily. I've spent my entire life so far living the demanding, lifeless routine of schooling- don't you think it's time I moved on?

And my interests have never been all that worthy of hardcore education, anyway. I live for the arts. If I were to choose my majors in college, I would be vacillating between music, writing, photography, and drawing- all classic majors with minimal benefit in the real world. You know what I would end up with in the end? 4 more years of my life with nothing really to show for it except for slightly improved art skills. Don't get me wrong, here- I see the benefit too. More job opportunities would definitely come my way. But the life of an artist is one of the most difficult to receive consistent paychecks. That's fine- I've never been much of a cheerleader for consistence, anyway. I just would rather do it independently. One thing I know about me is that when I make something I love required, I start to hate it. I'd rather keep my work and my passions divided to a certain degree. Ya feel me?

I realize this makes me appear to be one of those hippie-dippie chicks that'll struggle to pay rent the rest of my life. Sure, but I'll remind you that I'm just a stupid kid right now, and I have no idea what my future will look like. I'm not even 18 yet, and I'm supposed to be applying to colleges and plotting my whole life based on a career? Um... no thanks. At least not yet. I can't commit to something that huge yet.

*Phew* Okay. It's been said. Of course, none of what I've said here would be simple or concise enough to explain to anyone who casually asks me what I'm doing after high school. I've thought about it extensively, but the best answer I can come up with on the spot is spinelessly stating "probably DVC." And that's still very possible. "Are you planning on transferring anywhere after that?" they'll often ask. No. I see no need to. I don't want my experiences in my budding youth to be molded by peers of the same status as me. That's so boring. I want to travel to islands I've never been to. Make friends with 80 year olds. Maybe write a memoir. You know? That is the lifestyle I want. I've never been into the idea of sorority sisters, school spirit, hanging around people that are into exactly the same things as everyone else, tests, GPA's, and all that jazz. I have a burning, irrational hatred for the whole concept. But whenever I explain this to people, I find that as usual, I'm the odd one out.

But, if all else fails, I could just say this and be on my merry way:

My Speech For English Disses Public Speaking Hardcore

Just this past week, I was assigned in my English class to give a speech on whatever topic I wanted. I couldn't think of any normal topics, so I decided to address how unhappy I was about doing the gig in general. Here's the document I read from:

*Greet audience*

Hi, I'm Amelia, and for my speech I'm going to talk about how much public speaking sucks, because... it felt relevant.

First of all, I'd like to point out that for the most part, everyone hates it. I honestly can't think of a single person I know who actually enjoys public speaking, except for my one friend who's really gregarious and actually loves attention, but she's the one exception I can think of. When I got this assignment, I went up to her and told her I had to do this, and she actually said it sounded fun. And maybe it would be for some people, but honestly I have been dreading this speech since the moment I was assigned it. Even with it being weeks in the future, I had brief panic attacks over the past few weeks just envisioning me standing in front of the classroom and talking for 5
minutes straight.

Especially considering that I don't talk that much even casually with my friends. I seriously never have that much to say consecutively unless I'm writing it down and people aren't watching me say it verbally, so this'll be interesting. If it weren't for this paper in front of me, I'd probably be lying dead on the floor right now.

But pretty much 75% of people generally hate public speaking with a burning passion.

Which is a legitimate statistic, actually. I looked it up. So the odds are really good that most of the people in the room have been dreading this speech as well, and are really thankful that it's me talking up here and not them.

I think we've all heard that fact that 'most people would rather die than speak publicly'- I hear it a lot from teachers who are about to make you do a presentation or something, and they just felt like acknowledging their awareness before they torture you anyway. It's really messed up, but it's still really true- If I happened to get in a serious accident before I got up here, I think I would've been completely fine with that. And there's got to be some psychological problem with that.

This fear is, according to Google, called glossophobia, which is basically a fancy name for stage fright. Experts say it's a subset of social phobia, or fear of social situations, which is definitely true of me.

I'm gonna tell a story- The only other time I had to entertain a whole class by myself was freshman year in drama- I honestly have no idea why I took drama if the whole purpose is to entertain people on stage, but the deed is done, I guess. Maybe I thought it would help me be more comfortable in front of people, but, that didn't really work at all. Anyway, so at the end of the year- it may have been for the final, or something- we had to all go up and do stand up comedy. And that may sound pretty standard for a performing arts class, but it was the most mortifying thing I ever had to do in my life. Because not only did you have to stand up on stage solo with a literal spotlight on you, but you had to actually be funny. We were never taught specifically how to be funny. We just went up there, and hoped that the audience would throw us a bone. And obviously, the more popular kids got a lot of laughs simply because they had a lot of friends in the class. So loud people, as usual, had a leg-up with this assignment, just like they do in every presentation at school. But unfortunately, all the awkward dorks with no friends would have to go up there too, and they'd say something ironic, and hope for the best. And as you might have assumed, I'm in that category. ...Somehow, I went up last in the whole class, and impressively, I think I got the least laughs, other than a few pity laughs from Ms. Lopate. The dead silence that followed all my jokes still haunts me...

I think the reason it's so intimidating to stand and talk in front of your peers is because there's so much pressure nowadays to be accepted. It's really stupid, but the main goal in every teenager's life is to just get through school with their reputations reasonably in tact. So getting up in front of the class with everybody looking at you makes you a public spectacle, and their whole opinion of you can be blown out of proportions by something you say, how nervous you look, what you're wearing or how weird your laugh is... It's all just a social game. And I hate playing it. And honestly, do people really ever learn anything from student presentations? Whenever I'm in the audience, I usually just pity the poor kid presenting, and I daydream about a song stuck in my head or something. And whenever I'm the one presenting, like now, I'm basically just panicking and hoping I get a decent grade in the end. Whether you guys learn anything from what I say is immaterial to me. I mean, I see why teachers would say it teaches you to talk to people in group settings and all that jazz, but I think all it's done for me is crippled me with fear.

For this speech, I went to this website about phobias and did a little research, and on the page talking about glossophobia, it had a subheading for complications of the disorder. And basically, it said that despite the fact that a majority of people have stage fright, an overwhelming majority of careers still require some level of public speaking in one form or another. Because life sucks. But if you think about it, it's really true. If you're working at an office, you're bound to be forced to do some kind of presentation, which is why I've made a vow to myself that I would never work at an office, among a million other reasons... But on the same website, it mentions more symptoms of glossophobia, including the irrational fear of just small-talk. Apparently, some people with this fear have the mind-set that life is a performance, and even the thought of socializing with anyone casually sounds terrifying, which sucks because pretty much every job out there involves some kind of communication. This social anxiety often leads to the desire to isolate one's self, which, unfortunately, can lead to depression.

So, what do you do if you have this problem? Do you just sit around at home and live in fear? Well, you can, but a common treatment is called cognitive-behavioral therapy, where you learn relaxation techniques, and gradually confront your fear in a safe and controlled environment. So, I would assume there are clinics somewhere that do this, but I'm not an expert. There's also some various kinds of medications I'm sure you can take, but unfortunately, no matter how awkward or filled with fear you are, teachers and future employers will continue forcing you to be in charge of an audience for the rest of your life, and there's nothing you can do to stop them.

So, on that note- I'm really glad this is over.

These Songs Are Important to Me

If there's anything you need to know about me, it's that music is one of my biggest passions. It's often my only outlet for my complex emotions, and the lyrics say more about me than I could ever express verbally. So, I thought I would make a list of songs that have touched me with their meaning and/or sentimentality throughout the years, and let you listen to them for your own pleasure and insight into the mystery of Amelia.

Mr. Brightside by The Killers
This is one of my all-time favorite songs ever in the history of my existence. Click the link above for why, but primarily, do yourself a favor and press play on the video.

Landslide by Fleetwood Mac
Same for this one. The link says it all. Quite a change of mood, here, but it's still beautiful.

Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police
This band has always been playing since I was a little girl, and this song always seemed like the most beautiful love song a band could write. It's a tribute to how wonderful 'every little thing' a girl does is. I swear, if some guy were to sing this about me, I'd never leave them.

1979 by Smashing Pumpkins
This song was popular back when I sat in a car-seat, and for that reason, it's always been a song filled with a lot of childhood nostalgia for me. But, when I started listening to the actual lyrics of the song, I came to realize that the whole meaning of it is about longing for the good old days when they were younger; back in 1979. I was born in 1997. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. There's just too much awesomeness going on in this song.

Float On by Modest Mouse
I first heard this song on a family vacation up in a place called Gualala. Never heard of it? I thought so. It's basically a small cloudy town by a beach in California. The house we were staying in was located right on a cliff overlooking the ocean, and as an ocean lover, it really was a beautiful place to stay. Well, as is typical of my family, we brought the video game Rock Band along with us for this trip (music, man, I'm telling you...) and late at night as all the kids had attempted to fall asleep, one of my cousins played this song in the living room, and as I laid there in the dark, it was the most beautiful song I had ever heard. Images of the ocean and mermaids and an overwhelming sense of calm overcame me. Now whenever I listen to that song, memories of the sea come to mind, and the peaceful night falling asleep in Gualala.

Help I'm Alive by Metric
I heard this song more recently, but the lyrics caught my attention immediately. I interpreted it to mean that just the mere act of living can be more frightening than even death, and I can't tell you how much I relate to it. And the song is just really well done.

Father and Daughter by Paul Simon
Oh, this song... This song makes me cry every time I listen to it. It really is the most perfect song about a father loving his daughter. The lyrics. The guitar lick. It radiates awesomeness.

Heroes by David Bowie
OH GOOD LORD DAVID NOW YOU'VE DONE IT. As if David Bowie wasn't already awesome in every way, he had to sing this song too. You've probably heard it before, because it's on the radio all the time and it's a classic, but it really is taken for granted. If you were to turn this song on just before you go to sleep, you would escape to a dreamland only David Bowie could take you to, and all you'd ever want is to be a hero with him, "just for one day". Honestly, do you know how many times I've imagined him actually serenading me with this song? SWOON.

Love Your Abuser by Lymbyc Systym
I've written about this song in an earlier, and there's a reason. It's unlike any other song I've heard. There are no lyrics, but even so, the music is so influential in itself that it doesn't need any.

The Scientist by Coldplay
Want to make me cry? Turn this song on. Let me explain my history with Coldplay- when I was little, and we're talking 5th grade, I hated the band with a burning passion. I used to think that Coldplay was a spineless crybaby band and that they only produced musical crap. I was really annoying about the whole subject, until one night I found that I had the album Rush of Blood to the Head sitting on my iPod, and I decided to take a listen just for kicks. The first song I heard was The Scientist, and even though I had heard it before nonchalantly on the radio, I was completely naive to how amazingly beautiful it was. In the middle of the night as it poured rain out my window, this song hummed gently in my ear, and sentimental thoughts overwhelmed me to the point of tears. I can't explain why I love this song so much, or why it makes me cry, but it does.

The rest of these have no profound insight into my personality, but they're a few of my favorite songs EVER, and I'm feeling generous.

Kids by MGMT

D'yer Mak'er by Led Zeppelin

Island in the Sun by Weezer

Feel It All Around by Washed Out

She's Got You High by Mumm-Ra

Daydreaming by Paramore

Chocolate by The 1975

Amelia by Bell-X1

...You're welcome.

Excerpts From Various Notebooks #2

I'm dazzled that I'm alive, that I actually made it past all the unfathomable "what-ifs" prior to my birth. Still, though, I feel somewhat unwelcome. I feel inadequate and unimportant towards the precious purpose of existence. Like accidentally getting into Harvard without having put in the necessary effort; not being good enough. I feel like I belong to an inferior race of human beings- the accidents. Those just meekly meandering the planet, using oxygen, burning through supplies, and feeling guilty for it each and every day.

The girl was like a furnace. A fire churned inside her, roasting her insides, and when she spoke, out came fireworks.

I walked out of my bedroom, the soulless pit of lukewarm familiar...

The fact that I look different, I think different, I was raised different, and I want different things is scary,but it's also somehow beautiful. To think that I'm that special. No one on earth is the same as me. Not a single one. So from that angle, I guess that means there's less competition...

This is a world of "just do it" and "act first, think later" and "do what they're doing" and I just can't.

The fact that everyone that catches a glimpse of me immediately develops an opinion of me TERRIFIES ME.


I don't like feeling girly. I do enjoy feeling feminine from time to time.

I'm not pretty, but I think I can compensate for that by hiding in my hair and wearing the right jeans.

There's something really beautiful about swimming. It's not just 'fun'; it really is a spiritual experience for me. The act of dipping yourself into a body of water, putting yourself in an environment that completely defies the laws of gravity, and maneuvering your way through. You weave yourself in and out of the clear, sparkling liquid, and even though you have no air to sustain you, you're still alive and well, completely safe. I love observing things underwater. I love laying at the bottom of the pool and just watching the water swirl the sky. It's fantastic. But what's fantastic in another way is getting out, and comforting yourself with dry clothing. Drying off is one of the most comforting things in the world after a swim. I honestly don't know which part I enjoy the most. But when your clothing warms you up after a wonderful swim, it kind of cradles you into a sleepy state of being, and your body turns into jello.

'In the moment' lasts an eternity. But it's when you're pondering over your collections of memories and all the fantastic moments of your life that you realize that time goes by faster than any force in the universe. So, how can anyone possibly expect me to live in the thick, syrupy presence of the now when I have shattered pieces of time scattered precariously all over the floor around me? I must find where all these pieces connect! Really, where did all the time go?

I have a diamond sitting inside of me. It's brilliant and beautiful, but the longer it sits within me, the heavier it weighs, slowly ripping apart my insides. All I've ever wanted to do was to show it to somebody, but it's molded a home within me, a nest of its own, and if I were to rip it out, it would blind people to death, and I would bleed out more of my soul than I ever intended.

Portia Meets the Suitors

Sophomore year, we read The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare in English. It was a pretty good play from what I remembered, but there was one scene in particular that I was given a creative writing assignment for. In the play, Portia, a rich heiress, is bound by the lottery set forth in her father's will where potential suitors meet at her castle and choose items from a box, kind of like a game show. Depending on what box they choose from, they may win the opportunity to marry Portia. The details are a little fuzzy, but the guys that showed up for this little ritual were pretty bizarre, and our assignment was to choose two of those suitors and write out a blind date set in modern day. Rereading mine gave me a few nostalgic laughs, so I was thus inspired to share it with you strangers on the internet.

    "Honestly, Portia, you'll love him! He's so handsome... and really, Porsh, when was the last time you've been on a date, anyway?" Nerissa nagged me, caking on make-up in the bathroom.

    "Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't know, Maybe it is time to move on..."

    "You better believe it, sista! You're not getting any younger, girl- have you seen those wrinkles?!" I rolled my eyes, watching her eye-brow hairs fall into the sink as she plucked them. "Look, I know you miss David, but he was SO BORING! You really deserve a man. You know what I'm saying? You know, someone who's firm and smells like Old Spice...now THAT'S a man!"

    I really didn't understand Nerissa's taste in guys. I swear, she's been going out with the world's most demented guys since the 7th grade. I think watching her exchange saliva with a guy who thought shaving his pits was attractive was enough to make me a little more hesitant than her.

    "I guess..." I lamented my pathetic love life as my eyes sauntered through the room. Nerissa's place was always coated with some toxic chemical with a sissy name, like "Rosemary Indulgence." That and the constant presence of Rick Springfield themed throw pillows made me want to puke. "So, who are you going out with?" I honestly had no idea. It was someone new practically every week.

    "His name's Rupert Xavier! I met him on the way to Victoria's Secret! You know how the therapist office is in the same plaza? Well, I was walking up, and he was walking out, and he was crying! I mean, it isn't every day you get to see a hot guy get emotional!"

    "Right..."

    "So I thought I'd make him feel better and get him what he REALLY wants- and I kissed him!"

    "What?! Nerissa, this is some depressed guy you met downtown! Coming out from his appointment with his therapist!!"

    "Yeah, I know! And he really enjoyed it- I have that affect on people... So I said to come pick me up at 8!"

    "When was this?!"

    "This afternoon!" I watched as she applied thick false lashes. I was mesmerized, really, by the appalling facial expressions that were required to do something that was supposedly cosmetic.

    "Okay...um...so where did you meet MY date?" I asked, getting increasingly concerned.

    "Oh, Brock? I met him inside Victoria's Secret! He was in the underwear section. He's such a beef-cake, I swear... In fact, I almost kept him for myself, but I couldn't. I'm a woman of my word! Besides, he seemed like a few steps up compared to your last boyfriend, so I did you a solid and asked him out for you!"

*DING DONG*

    My heart began to race. I had no idea what to expect. Could I be appealing at all tonight? Could HE?

    "Oh, that's them!" Nerissa tripped on her pumps waddling to the front door. She poofed her hair before opening it for them. I stood up hesitantly. "Hey, sexy!" she exclaimed at Rupert. His facial expression could make a baby consider committing suicide.

    "I brought you some flowers." they wagged by his wrist as he handed them to her. They looked like they were picked about a week ago, and that they were meant to go on someone's grave.

    "Oh, how thoughtful!" Nerissa took what was left of the flowers and flung them on the table.

    "Well I actually brought flowers for ALL of you, so..." Brock had 3 vases cradled in his arms, stuffed with a vast variety of colorful flowers.

    "Wow, Brock! That's very kind of you! Wow, vases and everything!" she took them all into the kitchen.

    "Oh, my aching life..." Rupert lamented.

    "So, Brock," Nerissa stumbled back into the front room. "This is Portia! She's pretty, isn't she?"

    "She's BEAUTIFUL, actually. GORGEOUS. I've never seen anyone more astonishing!! So, yeah..."

    "Wow, thanks..." I said, having trouble believing him.

    "NO! Thank YOU for being so attractive!"

    "Um, no problem..."

    "I sense chemistry!" Nerissa blurted. "Well, come on, boys! Where are you taking us?"

    "What's the point of going anywhere when one day we're all going to stop?" Rupert moaned staring at the floor.

    "Oh, isn't he MYSTERIOUS?" Nerissa said to me, gazing into his bloodshot eyes.

    "Actually, I invented mysteries. I'm the missing link, so..." Brock wrapped his artificial arm around me, and yes, he smelled like Old Spice.

    "Hahahaha! Oh, Brock, you're so funny! Isn't he something, Porsh?"

    "He sure is...something..." I was mildly disgusted by his presence, but I was probably just missing David. I needed to be open-minded. "But in all seriousness, where WERE you intending on taking us?"

    "We were thinking of going bowling, although it sounds like a tremendous waste of time..." Rupert groaned.

    "Well, actually, I was the one who thought of that. I came up with the whole idea for it. Rupert didn't like it. He had no other ideas. So...." Brock hopped on.

    "Hey, I had some-"

    "No, you didn't Rupy. No, you didn't." Rupert proceeded to bawl in the corner.

    "Okay, so bowling it is?" I asked, a touch sarcastically.

    "Yeah! Let's do it!" Nerissa chimed in, simultaneously consoling Rupert.

    We walked out of her stuffy lavender indulgence scented apartment and into the cold night air. Nerissa glared at me for not being more of a flirt, so I thought I'd make some small-talk.

    "So, you look nice."

    "I know I do. You look amazing, actually. AND you smell like cinnamon! BOOM, baby!" he gestured in a manner that suggested that our exchange of complimenting one another wasn't simply an act of kindness and common sense, it was, in fact, a duel, and apparently, I lost.

    "Yeah, um... is that your car?" No joke, he owned a Ferrari. It wasn't a cheap knock-off like I assumed, it was a real, legit Ferrari. Normally, this would be impressive, but once you see the hillbilly monster-truck tires, the horrible second paint-job done to it, and the disco age dice, it was quite a turn-off.

    "You know it is! I bought it, too. This isn't even a rental. I've had it since sophomore year in high school. I had the money because I get a lot of money, so... you know..." Nerissa leaped for joy. I bent down to gag.

    "It's amazing! OMG, you're hotter than I thought!" Nerissa said supposedly playfully, until she pulled her bedroom face to him. Oh, great.

    "I know, I am, aren't I?"

    "I think I have a new brand of depression." Rupert stood even more hunched over than before.

    "So, you guys get in first. I'm a gentleman, I know..." I reluctantly got into the front seat next to him.

    "So, I see you replaced the leather with cheetah print fur." I commented, not as a compliment, but merely as an obnoxious observation.

    "I chose it. I have great taste, you know. I'm sure far better than you in the print department." I rolled my eyes. Was I supposed to be turned on by this?

    "I'm sure." I stared out the window and ignored him the rest of the drive there.

    "You know, I'm a great driver. I passed the driver's test right away. I never got a ticket or nothing."

    "You mean 'or anything.'" I just had to correct him.

    "I said that. Weren't you listening? I think you need a hearing aid. I aced English all four years of high school. That's my best subject. I think you would've flunked the listening class if they had that."

    "Whatever."

    "We're here. You guys can get out first because I'm a gentleman." we got out, despite the fact that us getting out first didn't determine anyone being better than the other.

    "I despise bowling. Who would pay to fail a sport publicly?" this was the first thing Rupert has said since taking his depression medication. I don't think it was working.

    We all ignored him.

    We walked into the bowling alley, and I observed how brown it was. It looked like it hasn't been remodeled since the early 70's, nor has it been washed.

    "Welcome! Can I get you folks some shoes?" the man behind the counter greeted us.

    "Here, I'll pay, I guess." Rupert pulled out his wallet. Suddenly, I was beginning to respect him. Sort of.

    "No, that won't be necessary. After all, I have WAY more money on me to spare. I wouldn't want you to give up your lunch money for tomorrow, Rupy." Brock flexed his muscles as he reached into his wallet, and no joke, it has a picture of his face on it. With his own autograph. "I'll cover this one. I'm a gentleman."

    "I can see that, sir. Shoe sizes?"

    "Hm...they look like 8's. 8's all around."

    "Um... alright, here you go, sir."

    "'Sir?' You know it." he grabbed the shoes and dumped them on the floor. "You know, I don't need bowling shoes. I wore bowling shoes when I got here. And these ones were signed by Shaquille O'Neill." and sure enough, they were.

    "What?! Shaquille O'Neill doesn't bowl!" I defended, despite the fact I knew zilch about any sport.

    "Not with YOU he doesn't!" sigh...

    We put on our size 8 shoes by force, even though they were about 2 sizes too small for me.

    "Okay! I'm on Rupert's team!" Nerissa announced excitedly.

    "This is the first time I've been chosen first on any team. This has gotta be a jinx." he seeped into his seat.

    "Well, I'm on my team for sure, because I always win these things. It's a curse, I guess!" Brock smirked.

    "Um... okay... who's team am I going to be on?" I asked, peeved.

    "Okay, since you begged... You can be on my team, Portia. But don't take all the credit when we win- it's not all about you!" ........really.......?

    Rupert went up first, despite it all. He actually got a spare, which wasn't too bad. I decided to root for their team.

    "Woo! Good job, Rupert!" I complimented him.

    "I wasn't that good." he said humbly.

    "You better believe it! I can do WAY better than that by a long shot! But that's an adorable first attempt, Rupy. Cute." Brock got up and hit only 4 pins both tries.

    "Hahaha! Not as good as you thought, huh, Brock? Haha!" Nerissa cackled.

    "What do you mean? I got a strike! Didn't you see that? What, are you blind?"

    "Huh? Dude, you didn't even come close to a strike! The pins are still standing! Look!" I pointed. I couldn't believe how ridiculous he was being.

    "Well, someone must have put those back up, because as far as I'm aware, I got a strike. I don't know what YOU guys are smoking..."

    "Oh, cut the crap, Brock. It says on the board we didn't get a strike. Let's just move on." I tried with all my energy not to slap him.

    "Liers and cheaters are often the most successful." Rupert muttered as a single tear rested on his eye-lid. Wee. Everyone's having a blast, huh?

    "Look, never mind. This is just insanity. I'm hungry, okay? Maybe we should just go to the cafe here and get something to eat." I offered.

    "I was going to offer that. I thought of that the moment we got in here, I just was too much of a gentleman to interrupt the fun. So..."

    "Congratulations." we walked over to the cafe and sat down. "Jessie's Girl" by Rick Springfield came on.

    "Oh, I love this song!" Nerissa blurted. She started singing like a doofus. "I wish I had JESSIE'S GIRL!!!"

    "I came up with the idea for that song, actually. I actually know that guy who did that song, so..."

    "*GASP*!!!!!!!" Oh, here we go. "You know RICK SPRINGFIELD?!?!?!?"

    "You know it. I know it. Him, I mean. We're buds. He calls me all the time; he's kind of clingy, to be honest. He learned everything he knows from me!"

    "You're kidding!" the waitress came over.

    "Hi! Are you guys ready to order?"

    "They'll have burgers and fries all around. Thanks." Brock 'so kindly' gestured. He turned to us. "It's okay, guys, I got you covered!" I glared at him.

    "I'm a vegan, but nobody knew that, nor did they care." Rupert mentioned.

    "Okay, um, I'll be back with the burgers, then." the clueless waitress walked away.

    "Listen, buddy, I wanted a salad!!" I steamed. "All I wanted was a salad! You have no right to take that away from me!!" I took a deep breath. "You know what? Fine. I'm sorry, I get a little cheesed off when I'm hungry."

    "I get WAY more cheesed than you do. But I do it with class. I could probably get a gun and shoot it directly at a guy's eyebrow, and I'd get it, because I always have great aim. True story." he sipped at his water nonchalantly. I'm pretty sure I was twitching.

    "My dad was diagnosed with eyebrow cancer! AND HE DIED!!" Rupert bolted out of the restaurant in tears.

    "Um, I think I should go talk to him... I'll be right back." Nerissa ran after him, tripping on her pumps.

    "Look what you did! I didn't even know eyebrow cancer was an actual thing, but honestly that was a little insensitive of you!" his eyes darted around the room. Clearly he couldn't hear me because he was distracted by how attractive his voice sounded in his head.

    "Hey, Portia, I have something I need to tell you now that I'm alone with you..." he took my hands and turned completely in my direction, giving me the most undivided attention all night.

    "Yes...?"

    "Portia, look into my eyes."

    "Uh-huh?" I did as he said. For the first time all night, his eyes almost looked like there was meaning behind them. They were intense and vulnerable, which shocked me. I almost even respected him. His lips parted.

    "...They're beautiful, huh?" he said in hushed tones.

    "Um... yes?" I was confused. This was leading up to something, right?

    "I swear, they're gorgeous! I could look at them all day, if I didn't have to use them to see everything else!" Nope. Still an idiot.

    "Is that all you had to say to me?! Really?!"

    "Yup, that's about it!" he sipped at his water some more as Rupert came in with Nerissa wiping his tears and keeping his mind off of eyebrows.

    "Sorry, we're all good, now! He was just a little emotional, is all!" Nerissa excused him.

    "You know, I've gotta go. I have a...something better...to do." I got up from the booth. Brock got up after me.

    "You know what? I have something MUCH better to do than you! And I need to get to it IMMEDIATELY, so I have to say goodbye to you all because I have a life FAR more important than yours! Good day! Night! Whatever!" and he stormed out of the restaurant. I reluctantly wandered back to the booth with a sigh.

    "He was our ride home."

    "I suppose we can just sit here the rest of our lives. Life has no purpose, anyhow." Rupert continued to depress us.

    "Hey, he left his cell phone!" Nerissa noticed.

    "Oh, yeah!" I picked it up and looked through his contacts.

    "Who are you calling?" Nerissa asked.

    "You'll see..."

    After a half hour, Rick Springfield pulled up at the bowling alley.
   "Hi, I'm here for Portia?" Rick pulled up in his sleek new Lamborghini.

   "That's me!" I hopped into his car. "HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, BROCK?!" Rick and I rode off into the sunset, "Jessie's Girl" blasting on the radio.
    And kids, that's how I met your father.

She

She couldn't have children, but the sight of them filled her heart with passion and streaked her cheeks with tears.

She lived alone, but her soul longed for a partner, a sense of togetherness that was unlike any mere friendship.

She was not beautiful by any means, but everything was art to her, and she found beauty in the dirt beneath her feet.

She was not one to interact, but she had a deep fascination for people; their interests, their back-stories, their secret desires.

Her soul never slept, but when the moon was out was when she was most herself, and truly alive.

Depths lie beneath her skin, but all that displayed to the world was a shallow, expressionless mask, and this was what bothered her most.

Team Amelia

There are times when I feel so out of touch with the social realm that I want to crawl in a ball within the dark enclosed depths of my own self. I don't want  to be an individual. There's too much power, too much responsibility. Can't someone else lead my life? Someone bold, someone who knows what they're doing. It's too frightening doing it by myself. I wish my being was a team. We could rely on each other for everything. There would be just enough people within me for each unique skill necessary for life. There could be an Amelia for socializing. She could resist awkwardness like a pro, and have the power to not take anything personally. A logical Amelia to get everything done- get the homework done, get the bills paid, blah blah blah. Then, there would be the real Amelia. Now, she couldn't really get anything practical done, but she could write like a machine, she loved good music, and she thrived on her own. Her good qualities would be enhanced, while the not so good ones would be countered out by the other Amelia's. Yeah. That's who it should be.

Journal Entry #3: Daydreaming in History

 5/14/14

In history as Mr. Frediani babbled on about war and everything, with the lights burnt out in a shadow, my mind drifted off to places far beyond my seat. I imagined someone poking a finger decisively on my forehead, as if there was a red button fixed there, causing me to melt. My inner self drained out of my body's form, and spilled onto the tiled floor. It oozed over to the seat diagonal to me, climbing up the metal bars that held the desk together, colorful and liquid-like, and formed itself back together into a curly haired brunette boy about my age. He had a very Arabic look about him- an oblong nose and thick bushy eyebrows. He wore a plain gray shirt, jeans, and black tennis shoes. He flipped around, hazy, and looked at me with a smile. We communicated telepathically. I asked him why he was there, who he was. He responded by saying he represented my imagination, my subconscious, and everything I ever wanted. I looked at him admirally, and he melted away, returning to my own form. Everything I ever wanted, huh? I suppose that makes sense.

A Glimpse Into My Childhood

One lazy afternoon, my mom took me out to run errands, just like we did every week. I sat snugly in the back, strapped into my car-seat gazing out the window, watching the cars and houses as we zipped past them. We were listening to KFOG as mom rambled on about things I didn't understand, like taxes and dad's job. Still, though, she was lighthearted, and it was comforting to listen to her voice. We stopped at a stop sign somewhere in Pleasant Hill, and mom directed my attention out the other window.

"You see that building over there?" she pointed giddily. "That's where you're going to preschool!"

I froze. Oh, God, no... I had seen school on TV, and it looked awful. I just figured that since I had already gone 5 years without it, I would never have to go. But no. I was wrong.

We continued to drive, still listening to corny pop music, like we always did. I pretended I was fine, but on the inside, I was panicking. I would have evil teachers. I would have the frightening potential of getting F's. I would have to actually be by myself for the first time in my life. Of course, in retrospect, it was just preschool, and it wasn't nearly as bad as I had imagined it to be. But I did leave the golden era of being a toddler. I could no longer hang around the house all day eating popsicles, getting intentionally dizzy in the entrance way (there was always plenty of space for that), watching pointless TV, or teasing my cat. Suddenly, I had responsibilities to attend to. I had places I needed to be, and I would for the rest of my life.

Preschool, contrary to prior belief, was actually quite fun. We were separated into groups- yellow, red, blue, and green. I was in the green group, however, I remember wanting so badly to be in the yellow group. I'm not sure what it was, but it seemed established that the yellow group was the cool group. Anyone who was anyone was in the yellow group. But no. I was in boring old green. I think this dawned a series of events that would define me as not ever being in the "cool" group. I used to be really upset about it, but I've grown comfortable in my "green group". That's where my home is. I was never "yellow" material, anyway.

There was nothing particularly special that defined what group you were in. They all just had different rooms and had things to do at different times. My favorite room was the singing room, which is strange, because I don't have any special talent for singing now. In fact, I'm certifiably terrible. But I remember loving how it felt to make music together. It was the only room that every group went to at the same time, so no matter how cool you were, you sat side by side on the parallel strips of tape on the carpet. We would sit down, antsy like children, while one of the teachers played the piano, and we'd sing public domain songs. Every little voice in the room burst out into song, totally vulnerable, and equal to their preschool brethren. I just found it empowering somehow. It's funny how little we change as we get older. You know? We may change in some things, like how we look, and what we want, but in the end, when you look deep inside yourself, you haven't changed at all. You're still affected by your innocent memories. And back then, there in that music room, I was beginning to discover my deep passion for making music, being apart of something, and being creative. Those things would never change. I'm still that little girl.

I also learned about the concepts I hated. When we were done singing, our group would go into this game room with all these puzzles and little science experiments displayed on tables; mind-trick kind of things. Sure, it was fun playing with some of the things they had out, but I remember losing interest quickly. I would look out the window and watch the swaying trees outside. I have the distinct memory of observing a girl with a pony-tail tied straight up, vertical to her head, sprouting outward like a fountain. I found her hair more fascinating than the experiments. I think it was there that I realized that logic was not my strong suit, nor did it grasp my interest. It's not that I was stupid or naive to the mechanics of how physical things worked, (although you can't ask much from a 5 year old) it's just that I preferred the arts. I never liked things having  just one right answer. I liked how when you were singing, you weren't commended for being right, but you were commended for participating. For being yourself. That idea always appealed to me.

When we weren't in a room "learning", we were outside having recess. They had a little playground with things to climb on and whatnot, and they would take out various toys to play with. Although I loved to run around and be outside just like any other kid, my absolute favorite pass-time during recess was to play My Little Pony. I had two friends in preschool; Olivia, and another girl who I can't for the life of me remember the name of. I always felt terrible about that, but I believe it started with a C, and in my defense, it wasn't a typical name like Olivia, it was a name with a lot of syllables and consonants. But regardless of their names, we would take the plastic ponies into the singing room (it just had such a friendly air to it- the sun streaming through the windows and onto the carpet, smiley faces on the walls) and we would pour them all out to play with. We'd give them all ridiculous and frankly unoriginal names, like "Pinky" and "Yellowy", but we made up for it by giving them interesting personalities and families. That was what I loved so much about playing with them; I loved the stories. I loved making up the details of their lives. I loved making one in love with another. They weren't just ponies, they were people. It was the thing I looked forward to doing every day.

Not a day passes that I don't linger on my childhood for a moment. I'm constantly reminded of it whenever I pass by that building, the one that mom told me so excitedly I would be going to school at. And now I'm almost finished with high school. I may have gotten taller, less cute, and more cynical, but I truly am still in that green group, longing for the next song to sing.

Ode to Courtney

She stands an inch and a half taller than me, and always has. She has thick, dark brown hair that curtains beyond her shoulders. She has icy blue eyes that stab you like knives, and she frames them with hipstery 60's librarian glasses she gets complimented on often. She has very pale skin that burns very easily, but it almost gives her a pure look to her, like a statue. She's partial to retro clothing, which works well for her because she does a majority of her shopping in thrift stores. She has modelesque teeth because of the crap-load of work that was done to them when she was younger. She has trouble understanding emotions, but is shockingly a stickler for giving advice. She has a sarcastic, offbeat sense of humor that meshes quite well with mine, which is yet another reason we're best friends. Like me, she's constantly contemplating the deep, unasked questions of life, and we can therefore go on for hours philosophizing about the world. She's my best friend because we're two estranged souls in a sea of normal, and the light of our worlds will eternally shine off-center.