A Little Longer

I don't know why I'm writing a blog. I have tons of homework and studying I could be doing at 11:28 p.m. So why am I wasting my time writing a blog? 

Because it keeps me sane, that's why. 

Classes are hard. My AP classes are about to overtake me. Especially US History and Stats. Both of my teachers told the class we were going to fail straight up. How encouraging. I am scared of the history exam. I really think this might be the first time in my life where I will fail a major test. 

Work has improved, I am happy to say. I wish I did not work this weekend, because I am losing valuable, precious study time, but I can't change it, so I just have to find the time to study around it. That's what everything is all about anyways. Working around things; climbing over, skirting, digging beneath, flying through. What gets you around, right? 

The fast is good for me. I rely on God heavily. I am building trust. 

It's hard to believe school is almost over and I'll be a senior. A senior? Give me kindergarten or give me college. Not another year of high school, please. I sound like that stupid Thomas man from colonial history, foolishly yelling "Give me liberty or give me death!" The Federalist's didn't like him anyways. Isn't it funny how that's a famous quote now? And the guy who said it was considered a lunatic at the time. 

It's grueling, it is. But I'm thankful for it. How will I be refined without going through the fire? 

My friends-- I pray for you. I love you. Truly and honestly. You are important to me. Please don't be alone in yourselves, some of you. Others, I pray for your joy. All of you, I thank God for. These are difficult times in our lives, that's an obvious duh statement. So let's come together. 

Today I got up at 12:30. I sat in the sun for a long time. Then, I went to work and got home at 11:30. 

Beautiful, I'll never leave your side.

Let me take you by the hand,

Wipe away the tears you cry.

The growing ocean shares so many colours

Of these brilliant shades,

Just close your eyes and let

These waters take you out, Sweep you away.

I watch you rise up every morning,

See you pray and humbly seek

My strength, my solace in the sunlight

Let me fill you when you're weak.

Each starry sky, each crystal light

Cannot describe my shining love

For you, my daughter, let me hold you,

Until the end, the end of

Time. 

Time is a washing machine. You throw in everything you have to get done, all the dirt, all the mess, and all the stains. The dirt of the drudgery of every-day living, the mess that you've made of it that can only possibly be made clean, and the stains of things that you're heart has held onto when the machine has failed to do it's job properly. Then the washer does its work, by soaking things through, agitating with suds, and sucking out the filthy remains to leave everything not a little damp. And when it's damp, it's useless. 

Today begins the fast.

But I just want everything to be slow.

Fading Away (Picture Frame)

(Sassy. Jazzy.)

There's a lake by the house from a summer ago,

It's white-washed walls are dazzling with a radiant glow

Our faces are so brown they called you Indian child,

We were laughing, it was hot, and everything grew so wild.

Now that photo is aging

In this silver picture frame.

Though that house is still standing

I can see you're not the same.

You're fading away like the stars in the morning

Fading away like sun when it storming

You're drifting away like the leaves in the fall

I can hear you in the whisper of the winds quiet call.

You're fading away like the blush of a new dawn

Fading away like the last line of this song

Drifting away like the tides of the sea

You came crashing in 

And now you've slipped out of my reach. 

Yeah, you're fading. 

If my voice made an echo it would be black and white

And you're eyes would be enlightened by these small words tonight.

But when I think about the ways I thought this world could satisfy

I watch you slowly growing fainter in the whirl of desire. 

Now this hope of mine's dimming.

It's the end of this spinning.

When the call finally came

I watched you walk out of this frame.

You're fading away like the life from an old man

Fading like the time in an hourglass full of sand

You're drifting away like watercolor in a jar

It doesn't matter where you go cuz I can't see where you are.

You're fading away like the spark of a candle

Fading like a dying fire's glow on the mantle.

You're drifting away like a thief in the night

You stole away my soul

I guess that was my sacrifice.

Yeah, you're fading. 

Hey Jude

I love this song. The movie was good, too. Cuz sometimes, you just need to go out and get it. And make it better. 

The Twenty-First Time

"Devastation and Reform"

Relient K has been playing on my mindPod. I can't get it to stop because the pause/play button is stuck behind my forehead and the speakers are still on the inside playing out of my ears. This is probably why people cast funny sideways glances at me-- they can hear lyrics coming out of my head. I'm sure it's strange to be sitting next to me in class and hear

"I feel like I was born

For devastation and reform..."

I know I thought it was strange the first time I sat next to someone and heard it. I mean, it's not extremely audible by any means. It's one of those things you really have to listen to in order to hear it clearly. Everyone has one playing at some point, and most of the time if you listen really close and pay good attention, you'll be able to hear it whenever you like. It really tells a lot about them-- everyone has a song. 

Another thing I've noticed is that besides listening, if you look at someone for a really long time, you start to see these little strings shoot out and connect you to them. They thicken if you start talking or interacting to the person. Sort of interesting. 

Mr. Orr won't give me my paper back. I'm not sure why. It wasn't for class, it wasn't an assignment. He just walked over to my notebook and ripped it out after I read it. And now he won't give it back but I want it. Oh well. He probably couldn't hear me ask over his mindPod. It was too loud in the classroom for me to hear his song. 

This weekend is the Caswell Leadership Retreat. Ms Pearce wants me to go because I was invited and she thinks it would benefit me, but I don't think I'll be able to because of work. I'd have to find someone to cover for me tomorrow and Monday, and the chances of that are pretty slim. So I will probably stay home and work and do homework and church and maybe go to the movies with my brother on Saturday and spend the night with some friends on Sunday. I'm not sure yet. I am really tired. I wish I could spend at whole day hibernating without worry and stress, but even if that happened, I would have a ten times more stressful day once I woke up. Whatever. 

I need to turn off my mindPod. Oh, I remember how! See the button is behind my forehead... so all I need to do is slam my head against the wall until it shuts off....

When It's All You Can Do

"No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart." --The Great Gatsby 

"He smiled understandingly— much more than understandingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced— or seemed to face— the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresistible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just as far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey." --The Great Gatsby

You give me your pieces

And I'll give you my time.

I'll put you together

And fit you to rhyme. 

The truth is, none of us are so much the liars we may see ourselves or others to be. None of us are so much the concealers, the hidden clues, the closed books, the drawn blinds that we may sometimes feel we are. You give a different part of yourself away to each person you come into contact with. Upon each collision between you and a singular other being, you analyze their intent, allow them to impress a different mark upon your conscious, determine their worth and significance, and with that information, decide how to best present yourself to them on their occasion and thereon out. Yet we wonder why people do not see us "as we are." We marvel at the fact that she does not think of us as he does, wonder at the difference of opinions that two people can have of us, and yet we stop ourselves short of realizing what we allow, perhaps subconsciously and perhaps consciously, to be seen and to whom makes us "different" to each person. 

We present ourselves brokenly. But it is not our faults; that is all we can give. Only a whole person can give themselves wholly away, and who fully knows himself or herself, or has complete control and understands what they think and do? And we realize that when we only give ourselves away in part, we only have to trust in part; therefore, if mishandled, we are only liable to lose part. 

What I know in part I may comprehend, but give me the entire pie and I am sure to become ill.

Now, what you receive in parts, don't hold for unchangeable truth, for people are malleable by circumstance and numerous encounters; therefore, their pieces are apt to change and the hand which you use to hold them so tightly must be loose enough to let them shift in your grasp. Do not be surprised, nay, even disappointed, when you find what you are holding wasn't what you'd originally bought in faith that it would remain the same. 

My thoughts are in utter chaos. They spread out like ink from the nub of a pen and run across each other in rivulets of theory and splattered text. They are in want of a period to end their sentences but I find it impossible to stop the flow, and so they drip and smudge and smear and leave you and I hoping for a clear and concise ending but it drops off so suddenly