Sorry, sorry, you guys!

I said that I would start posting here more often a few days ago, but it is currently right in the middle of finals brouhaha and so I haven't had much time. After finals, though, I will try to post more often.

Three days until I am officially a senior.

*looks around*

Does anyone even remember me?

Is anyone willing to read an essay of mine and offer constructive criticism? I am writing a personal essay for a summer program that I desperately want to get into. The competition is tight (only 64 out of 1,000 applicants get in), so I want my essays to be as good as possible.

This time, I want people who are willing to absolutely tear my essay apart in pursuit of making it better.

Message me with your emails, please, if you'd like to take a look. I would ask my teachers to read it, but I am worried that it is too intensely personal -- so for this, strangers who barely know me would definitely be best. :D

Thanks so much.

She stands in front of the mirror, stares at her reflection. She runs a hand through her hair, tries to fix the way the ends curl inward, no matter how hard she tries to stop it. She smiles, focusing on the way her teeth are slightly crooked. They aren't quite white enough, even though she brushes them obsessively, once in the morning, once in the afternoon after lunch, and once at the end of the day before crawling into bed. Her smile is lopsided, one side of her face crinkling more than other.

Her height begins to bother her. Why is she so short? She gets lost in the crowd sometimes, bumps into people in the halls because they don't see her, constantly gets asked about her height.

She lets out a sigh and continues her survey. Her breasts are too small, not even a B cup, and she can't help wishing that they were slightly bigger. That way maybe she'd be more attractive. But then again... maybe the reason she's not attractive is because she's not the skinniest one in the bunch. Her stomach is not flat, nothing like those pictures she sees in the magazines.

And God, that's just her physical features.

When she thinks about what's inside...

She's greedy and covetous. She sees the new clothes everyone wears into school and she wants them. She wants the money to go out and get them, she wants her license so she's not stuck in her house all the time. She wants everything and more—but she's fine the way she is. She knows that—so why does it feel like a punch to her gut whenever she gets denied the things she wants?

She's envious. During the holidays, all she sees are happy couples, kissing, arms around each other, exchanging gifts, hugging... and she just wants that. For a year and a half, she's been alone, but she knows what a relationship is like. She just wants someone to want her, to feel wanted, but it never happens. While everyone else is off getting together, she's resigned to being the friend that is “really nice and really awesome,” but not girlfriend potential.

She's mean. She's angry. She's awkward in social situations, falling all over herself and being too blunt, maybe, or too shy, depending on whether she's online or in person. She doesn't know what to say. She's a procrastinator. She never knows what she wants: “I don't know” is her catchphrase. She probably makes everyone feel awkward. That's why she doesn't have too many friends; all of these reasons are why she only has one “best” friend.

She sighs. She wishes that she could actually crawl under a rock and never come out when she gets in these moods.

But mostly, she just wishes that someone would tell her—

Bring.

Her phone. She turns away from the mirror and grabs it from the stand next to her, flipping it open to the text message.

It's her best friend.

Listen. It doesn't matter. You're beautiful.

Love you.

She lets a smile stretch across her face. In a second, she feels like her best friend is right, that it was an apt person who said that all you need is one person among the six billion people in the world. That one person can pick you up no matter what. If there's one person she can always count on, it's her best friend. With just eight words, it is like a flip switched in her brain.

Of course she's beautiful.

Of course she is.

Isn't everyone?

(She sends two words back:

Thank you.)

--

This has been my entry for week 7 of therealljidol's seventh season. If you liked, please considering commenting and/or voting for me? Thank you. I appreciate all comments, even though I might not necessarily have the opportunity to respond personally to everyone. Blame my Anatomy teacher for that!

In fourth grade, my life was irrevocably changed. I can still remember the exact moment I put fingers to the keyboard and began to write. And even more, the moment I finished the story, it was like a switch was flicked in my brain and I couldn't help it. Never again, I told myself, would I forget who I was.

I was a writer. That fact was unalterable.

More than anything, I thank one person for this realization—someone who inspired me, made me reach for more, opened me up to a whole new universe full of friends and love and fun and joy. Even though I haven't actually met her in person—or even on the Internet, to tell the truth—there is no doubt in my mind that I would not be here at this moment, writing this, with the goals of being published, without her.

Who is this person, you might ask?

It's simple, really, when you contemplate what generation I am a part of: the Harry Potter generation. The era of waiting up until midnight for those books, dressing up in robes, waiting anxiously for your Hogwarts letter, wishing you could just Accio the remote instead of getting up to get it yourself.

She's J. K. Rowling, of course. Who else?

I grew up in one of those families, the ones that seemed to decry Harry Potter as evil just because it included magic. They seemed to disregard the fact that they wholeheartedly approved of Lord of the Rings and The Chronicles of Narnia, both of which included magic. But apparently, since the Christian connotations were more apparent in those novels, they were okay, but Harry Potter wasn't.

For a while, I felt the same way because they were my parents and I thought they knew best. It changed when I watched the second movie and figured that maybe there was more to the story, that maybe I should dig out my battered copy of Chamber of Secrets that my grandmother had given me a couple of years ago and figure out what the big fuss was about.

So I decided to crack the book open and, sure enough: I fell completely and utterly in love, forcing my dad to buy me the entire series. I tore right through it, even finishing the fifth book in eight hours (including the time I was in school!). And it was one of the best books I had ever read.

It's such a cliché to say it changed my life. Millions of people all over the world have said it before me, and millions will probably say it after me, but that doesn't make it any less true. The story, from beginning to end, was captivating. Harry Potter lived in a world so similar to our own mundane Muggle world, and yet, with aerial sports, chocolate frogs, and giant three-headed dogs, it formed its own universe, and I fell into it, head over heels, unable to disentangle myself from my love of the series and its characters.

I remember lying in bed at night so many years ago—just like I still do today—listening to my sister cry over her boyfriend and thinking about Harry Potter. About the universe. I wanted it to be my life, I wanted it to be real so badly. I wanted to wake up on my 11th birthday with a letter from Hogwarts. The way the world was crafted, it just seemed real, like it actually existed and I could find it if I just waited a little while longer. Maybe my Hogwarts letter was just late. I knew that the book included magic, but to tell the truth, the series itself was magic.

Capturing that magic was one of my goals ever since I read the books for the first time and got taken aback by everything about the series. My first story—a Harry/Ginny story that took place between Order of the Phoenix and Half-Blood Prince—wasn't even close to capturing the magic, but since then...

I have never stopped trying.

J. K. Rowling achieved magic in her stories, giving me hope that I can do the same. Reading her books opened up doors, numerous doors, that led down corridors: first, there was the fanfiction, posting my first story on FF.net and reading all of the feedback. Then years passed and I read and wrote fanfiction. I met people from all over the world through my love of Harry Potter. That was our common thread: we loved Harry Potter with a passion that some might even call religious. Through her stories, I read and I wrote and I understood more about the act of writing than I would have otherwise.

Before Harry Potter, writing was just a hobby, something that I had stopped doing after a while, but the series propelled me right back into the art. It nearly singlehandedly formed my world of words and sentences and paragraphs and stories, gave me the push to start writing, and provided me the resources to develop and hone my talents.

I might have a long way to go but, then again, all writers do. I wouldn't be a writer if I didn't think there was more out there to discover and uncover.

All J. K. Rowling did so many years ago was open up a door and reveal a world at once new and utterly familiar. Since then, I have only had one goal that has remained in my head for seven, eight, years—

—and that goal is simple:

I just want to write—hopefully getting better and better as the years wear on and the wrinkles accumulate and I can barely see, but I never stop because I just love it so much. And I want to make sure my writing is a part of me that will never disappear.

--

This has been my entry for week 6 of therealljidol's seventh season. If you liked, please considering commenting and/or voting for me? Thank you. I appreciate all comments, even though I might not necessarily have the opportunity to respond personally to everyone. Blame my Anatomy teacher for that!

I stare up at the ceiling as car lights flash across it. Music swirls through my mind, a perfect background to my thoughts. It's a strange thing, being a teenage girl. But it's even stranger to be this teenage girl. Teachers often say that they don't want to know what's going on in a teenager's head and I see why: it's a chaotic mess of gah, I really don't want to write notes for Anatomy and I can't believe that I did that, what did he think?! More recently, it's been about the tension.

You know that feeling? That feeling you get when you look at the person you like? It's a universal feeling: the tension that fills the air between the two of you. It overtakes you, especially in the darkness of a movie theater as you watch Deathly Hallows for the first time. It feels so obvious to you, except you try so hard to make it seem not obvious. But then. Guys happen to be dumb. And what if he has a girlfriend? To be more subtle or to be less subtle, that is the question.

Ah, the perils of being a teenage girl.

Sure. It might seem so all encompassing in that moment. It seemed like I might explode that night in the theater. Even now, as I prepare to pick my best friend's brain about him—does he have a girlfriend? Did he like me? Did he hate me? Has he talked about me at all?—it strikes me as absolutely ridiculous, how people can put the utmost importance on meetings, on situations, that won't even matter ten, thirty, fifty years from now. And yet the things that matter... don't.

My problems are one of many. I am one girl among many who have had the same problem.

One girl among seven billion people. Seven billion people on one planet among eight. Eight planets in one solar system. One solar system among billions in our galaxy.

It makes problems seem sort of small thinking about it like that.

Even a year from now, it won't matter if I date the guy or not. It won't matter if I look like a fool asking my friend about him. The feelings toward him swell inside my chest, but they make me realize that, yes, it's true, the most important word is the English word is also the smallest:

I.

It's all about me.

I would be the first to say that the person that I look out for the most is me. My problems seem so huge, overtaking everything else. I can't deny that I try as hard as I can to bring the conversation around to myself. It's a character flaw of mine: being self-centered, thinking my problems have to be the center of everything. When in reality, there's more important things than getting a boyfriend or getting into the National Honor Society or finishing National Novel Writing Month.

Each elephant might stampede across my consciousness, obscuring all of the more important parts of my life: the things in my life that might not necessarily revolve around me, me, me.

As I lay in bed, I think about all of this. The constant fixation on the self. It might seem like heavy thoughts to have just before bed, but it's one of the only times I do think about it. It's when I can just lay under my blankets, shivering, and stare up at the ceiling, thinking about my day and all of the things that I would change. All of the things that would make me better equipped to help out other people. As I listen to The Fray and Sleeperstar and Regina Spektor and all the other artists on my MP3 player, I promise:

Tomorrow, I'll get up and I'll put aside all of the problems that seem so huge. I will focus on others.

It is a promise made in the dark of night, but it slips away into nothingness the morning after. And I suppose that my goal, my mission, is to make sure that it doesn't slip away, that it remains and grows into the most all-encompassing part of my life. Put others before yourself seems like such a simple statement and it is, but it's hard to achieve. Especially when you're a typical teenage girl who wants a boyfriend more than a lot of other things at the moment, let's put it that way.

--

This has been my entry for week 4 of therealljidol's seventh season. If you liked, please considering commenting and/or voting for me? Thank you. I appreciate all comments, even though I might not necessarily have the opportunity to respond personally to everyone. Blame my Anatomy teacher for that!

This week, it was sonnets. Last week, it was villanelles, and the week before that, it was sestinas. The assignments became progressively more difficult as the weeks wore on. First, it was simply six words repeated in a certain order at the end of each line of a sextet. Then there were repeating lines with rhyme. Two sets of rhyme, actually, in a certain formation.

And finally, the sonnets arrived.

It was a week ago. The thin sheet of paper arrived in my hands like a kiss of death. I stared at it, all of the restrictions sneering at me, taunting me.

Fourteen lines. Iambic pentameter. Ten-syllable meter. Specific rhyme scheme (oh, God. Please no). A volta.

Five restrictions. Granted the iambic pentameter was optional—our teacher didn't want to make it too hard to write—but the thought of having to restrict my work caused a constriction in my gut. I had enough issues with the sestina—rather hilariously, one of my six words had been “prick,” as in a prick of light—and don't even get me started on the atrocity that was my villanelle.

Structure in poems is not my forte, to put it as lightly as possible. I prefer my poems to flow. I hate using capital letters in poetry, because it makes it seem more like prose. When I have to rhyme, I feel boxed in, like there's a specific format my poem has to fall into or it is not good enough. I prefer just letting the words fall from my fingertips, appearing in whatever structure seems best. I like to see the words tumble out as they will, transforming from joy to angst in a moment's notice. Nothing is set in stone when I write poetry in my free time.

It's not like this when I write poetry for school.

The words do not flow. Line by line, the words come slowly. I write a line of the poem, reading it over, making sure it sounds right. I stare up at the TV. I look over at my friends sitting beside me and have a huge conversation with them about The Vampire Diaries and Cat's obsession with Flynn, her karate instructor when she was younger. I turn away and try to focus on the line in front of me, finally etching out another line that sort of, maybe, kind of goes with the one above it. Repeat this process ad nauseum.

And all I want is to tear this structured poem down and build up a poem that is all rooms and doors and chimneys in the wrong places. I don't want a mansion. I want a tumbled down house that leads you into rooms you never expected. A house should not come with a set of instructions so you can find whatever you need, so you know exactly where to go if you are looking for something. It should be constant surprises, full of weird nooks and crannies, homey and comfortable. It should reflect its owner.

Poetry is a form of art. Beautiful poems have been structured. Shakespeare alone wrote hundreds of them. He wrote gorgeous sonnets, full of meaning and power and beauty that did not once feel forced. Do I think that Shakespeare penned his poems, line after painful line, wondering why he invented his particular sonnet form? No, I think that he might have struggled, but the poems reflected his way of thinking and to some extent probably came naturally to him. The people who invented sestinas and villanelles? Perhaps they thought that way. It might have been easier for them.

But for me: I am unstructured and I like it that way. Just like other people who have written sonnets, villanelles, sestinas, I can stick myself in that little box of aba aba aba aba aba abaa. Fourteen lines with a repeating rhyme scheme and a volta at the end? I can do it. I have done it.

Given a choice, I will always choose to let myself fly with the wind. And I will always prefer letting the words fall as they may over fitting my thoughts into a perfect structure.

But I have to admit.

This sonnet ain't bad.

Assume that the world will end tomorrow.
Will it end in fire, will it end in ice?
Either ending might be full of sorrow;
each ending contains a spatter of vice.
If it ends in fire: burnt trees everywhere,
smoke plumes rising above my head.
Heat rises on my face through this affair.
The world is covered, overwhelmed by red.
If it ends in ice: the frigid wind blows
over the frozen earth, gnarled trees bowing
to cold earth. Teeth chatter, ice freezes toes.
All is cold, full of snow, with dark unknowing.
    But this is false. The world is fierce and strong
    and endures for centuries with its song.

It might not be Shakespeare, but it's me. And I have to say that I am proud of this first sonnet—but I'll go back to my tumbled down houses now.

--

This has been my entry for week 2 of therealljidol's seventh season. If you liked, please considering commenting and/or voting for me? Thank you. I appreciate all comments, even though I might not necessarily have the opportunity to respond personally to everyone. Blame my Anatomy teacher for that!

“Are you serious?”

Three words, five syllables. They didn't seem like they would make much of an impact on anything. They were just three tiny words that I say several times on a normal day. I didn't mean anything by it: I was just a quiet teenage girl who didn't want two obnoxious little boys rampaging through the house, being loud and annoying when I expected to be able to relax.

Everything was already stressed enough. I had moved away from my father for the first time in my life, living with my sister and her husband, with whom I often didn't get along. I felt cold and alone, lost and confused, and I just wanted some semblance of normality, some peace and quiet.

That was all I meant.

But apparently they took it differently—as they always do. God, I loved them, but sometimes they made me just want to run and never look back. But then again, my family's always like that, so I've gotten used to it after awhile.

They ranted to me about respect, about helping out family, about not complaining when my sister was doing something to help her mother-in-law, about the lack of quiet that would be in the house after my newest nephew arrived. My sister started with the rants, but then my brother-in-law came into it—and I was completely outnumbered.

Every muscle fiber in my body stretched taut. Frustration burned behind my eyes. I tried to stare down at my computer screen, tried to calm myself down, but it didn't work. There was a spring inside me, compressing, winding tightly. I feel it inside me, aching for a way out, but I held it in.

I won't get angry, I won't get angry, I won't get angry, I told myself.

But then I exploded.

So I liked to be in a quiet environment. How was that so bad? It wasn't as if I had anywhere else to go, because my brother still bothered me if I was around him for too long. It was awkward in my house and I felt a small measure of comfort at their house, even though they bothered and pestered me and otherwise made me want to pull my hair out. Tensions were already running high with my schoolwork and my family life, and God damn it, they weren't making it any better.

I asked them:

Can't I get some quiet?

(No, it's never going to be quiet in this house with a nearly two-year-old and a nephew in a few months.)

Can you tell me when B and L are coming over, at least?

(Sometimes we don't even know until the morning before.)

Why do you have to watch them?

(Because their mother watches my daughter. It's just right that I return the favor when she asks us to. You're being very disrespectful right now.)

How?

(You're asking us to tell my mother that we can't watch B and L because you'd rather have peace and quiet. That won't go over well.

And—and of course this was all my brother-in-law—why are you getting angry?)

The cycle continued, ad nauseum. Eventually I snapped, yelling about how they made me feel so inferior, like I was this antisocial freak of nature. And then they asked me why I wasn't just saying what bothered me about their treatment of me, instead of yelling about it, and I told them, trying to keep my voice down.

And their response?

“We didn't mean it that way.”

Of course they didn't. I know that. It's hard not to know that. They're my sister and brother-in-law. I love them and they love me and they only want the best for me, but their methods make me feel like I can't do anything right. And that's why I snap, why my nerves wind up tight, ready to explode.

In this infamous case, tears sprang up behind my eyes. But then I heard B and L pull into the driveway, I hurried to remove everything from the futon, and the conversation was dropped.

I still remember.

I always remember.

And it sticks with me.

That niggle of thought appears in the back of the mind. I do what they want—but they still want me to change. Am I not good enough?

For them, maybe not.

But for me?

Yes, most of the time, I am good enough. And my sister and brother-in-law will just have to accept that I refuse to change to make them happy, that I will continue to stretch taut if they want me to change, that I don't feel as though it's necessary to fit their ideal.

Because I know that they cannot change who I am.

I am my own ideal and no one can take that from me unless I let them.

--

This has been my entry for week 1 of the seventh season of therealljidol. If you liked this entry, please consider dropping a vote for me? Thanks!

A year ago, I sat at this very same desk, littered with pencils and papers and snacks, and penned my first post in this competition. I was fifteen then, a sophomore in high school, with only the slightest hint of who I was, even though I thought I knew so much more at the time. Doesn't age always turn out that way, though? You think you know who you are at that moment in time, but then you look back and you wonder exactly why you thought you were like that, or like that other thing, because you're really this. But then again, one can't be bogged down with stereotypes, because people are more than they appear—always.

There are basics that everyone knows within a few minutes of meeting me.

I am a sixteen year old girl living in a tiny town nestled on the curvy coast of Maine. I'm a junior in high school, currently holding the number two score ranking in my grade. Short, blonde, with blue eyes, I am shy. Awkward. Uncomfortable. These are all things that people probably see when they look at me. Looking over a crowd, you would miss me and my four feet, ten inches. Sometimes you would find me curled up with a book in the corner of the room. If I'm in school, I'd be either buried in reading about something on the Internet or talking to the smartest person in my grade about homework. Maybe, on the right day, I'd be doing homework so it wouldn't be necessary to do it at home.

At home, I'm just the same. When I'm not doing homework (which I am doing 75-80% of the time I'm home), I'm browsing LiveJournal, listening to music, and writing. My older sister, mother of two, thinks I'm withdrawn, hidden in my own shell, unwilling to go out and do “normal” teenage activities. My brother-in-law feels the same way; we've had many fights about the topic. But I don't mind. I am the girl who sits in her room and writes and reads and listens to music and rarely goes out.

What people can't see is that I'm so much more than those facts. People deserve second looks because what's under the surface is different than that which is revealed through mere observation alone.

I want people to take a second look at me.

If they did, they would see more. They would see the way I work as hard as I can. They'd see the way my face twists up in disappointment when I get a bad grade and figure out that grades are important to me. If someone walked away from me and went to join their friends, then looked back, they'd see the disappointedcrushedhurt expression on my face. They'd wonder: maybe there's something beneath the surface of this girl. She's more than four feet, ten inches. She's not just a bookaholic. She's more than that weird awkward girl who leans heavily to the right because her schoolbag is weighing her down.

They'd think to themselves: hey, maybe I should get to know this girl.

If they did, they'd hear me say:

I want to be an author. For so long, ever since I could write, ever since I could read, writing has been my passion. Nothing can compare to the feeling of those words flying from my fingers, flowing across the page. It's the best form of catharsis there is, because—

(I'd hesitate, but—)

—paper can't judge you.

And if I was an author, people would hear me. They might not know me, but they would listen to me. They'd read my stories—of love, pain, hurt, comfort, hope—and smile to themselves, because they saw parts of themselves in my writing. They would think that my characters are them. That I wrote the book for them. That is what I wish for.

(Please appreciate me, even if it's only from a distance.)

But there's more to me than just wanting to be an author.

“Easy” is not the word to describe my life. My eldest sister left when I was three, four? And I never got the opportunity to really know her. My mother and father battled cancer before I was even born. Their relationship suffered cancer of a sort and they didn't recover. They got divorced when I thought that my family would forever be together.

No. “Hard” is how my life would best be described. But life is always like that, one constant struggle after another, and I try not to let it bog me down.

Goals. Dreams. Aspirations.

I have them all.

My goal? To be an English teacher. To go to Bowdoin.

My dream? To be an author. To have some modicum of recognition.

My aspiration? To be known. To grow out of my shell and just be.

I have moments of depression, but a moment later, I can be on top of the world, walking on sunshine, on cloud nine, all of those cliches. I have moments of almost five-year-old stubbornness. My preferred method of letting people know I'm mad at them is silence: I'm a pro at the silent treatment. I am still a teenager in so many ways—stupid B, why'd you have to break up with me when I still like you? Why do you have to be happy with someone else with my same stupid name?—but I know where I'm going. I might act like a teenager sometimes, but I have never been a typical teenager.

I often find myself thinking: faith. Love. God. What do they all mean? Do I know? I think about politics, the stupid back-and-forth rhetoric between Republicans and Democrats, and I am glad to say I'm an Independent. I go to youth group, help with the trick or treat party, and help with VBS. But this is yet another reason why I'm different—because I am a Christian, but I wore purple on that day commemorating those poor souls lost by gay bullying, bashing, hatred. I support gay marriage—with my entire soul—but looking at me, you would never guess.

So many things about me you would never guess just by a cursory glance.

I am messy and complicated. I am kind and mean. I snap and I yell and then I shut the door behind me and I cry. I let my emotions run my mind sometimes. I write to let out my feelings. I squeal about The Vampire Diaries all the livelong day. I talk to my ex and wonder why the hell I'm so dumb and sing along to Taylor Swift at the top of my lungs. I read Allen Ginsberg's “Howl.” I read Twilight. I want to be loved for who I am, but I try to change myself so that people will like me.

People are balls of contradictions and I am no exception.

No one can say that I am just a shy awkward girl. That is just a snapshot. But look at me, really look at me, and talk to me, and you will see more. Read my writing and see me grow. See me flourish.

The journey of life takes me places I don't want to go—

—but the person I will become at the end of the road is what keeps me going on.

So here I am. At the beginning of a journey, both in this competition and in reality. I'm hovering between my teenage years and my adult years, posed for the life ahead of me. Who knows where I will be at the end of this journey?

Because I certainly don't have an inkling.

--

This has been my introduction post for the seventh season of therealljidol. Please tell me what you think? Feel free to follow me if you are interested in my journey this year.

I am clinically insane, but:

I am officially participating in LJ Idol for the second time. 

Not sure how I am going to juggle everything, but I am not going to pass up an opportunity to do this again. Last year I had to drop out, but this year I am determined not to let that happen. I'm not sure if I will get as far as I did last year, because of my teeny F-list, but I'll try. I can't wait for the experience to begin again!

Woo!

*dances*

I am so sorry that I haven't been updating very much. The only excuse that I have is that school has started and I have been bombarded with homework, but that's not really a good excuse because there were weekends. However, I am definitely going to try to update more often.

NaNoWriMo is starting up soon, though, so that might put a monkey wrench into my plans. With homework and writing a 50,000-word novel, I might not be able to update as quickly as I would like. But maybe once a week? That seems doable.

Unless LJ Idol starts up soon -- in which case, I might update more than once a week, depending. A teaser came out Thursday night (?) and I am going to do it again, determined not to drop out, so we'll see how things go. I have a feeling it could start from as early as tomorrow or as late as  a month from now. You never really know. Hee.

Anyway, in celebration of getting 1,000 songs on my MP3 player, let's do that music meme. Maybe I'll actually remember to post the answers!

Simple rules, as usual.

Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line(s) from the first 30 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing. Skip the instrumental-only pieces (non-English too if you want, or the songs with the title in the first line).
Step 3: Strike through the songs when someone guesses both artist and title correctly. (If it's a cover, the original artist is okay, and vice-versa.)
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like this game, post your own!

1. Every night, I remember that evening, the way you looked when you said you were leaving.
2. I don't need no license to sign on no line, and I don't need no preacher to tell me you're mine.
3. I was writing, thinking with my long hand, put pen to paper; everything was sinking.
4. We were both young and when I first saw you, I close my eyes and the flashback starts, I'm standing there on a balcony in summer air.
5. Two jumps in a week, I bet you think that's pretty clever, don't you, boy?
6. Breaking your heart was never my intention, playing with parts too fragile in the ending.
7. She's looking right at me and I'm just waiting for the moment to say hello.
8. She's going out to forget they were together, all that time he was taking her for granted.
9. Everyone's around, no words are coming now and I can't find my breath. Can we just say the rest with no sound?
10. You say the sky is green, I don't know what you mean. Your lies were always clear but I don't mind.
11. I thought I knew you well, but all this time I could never tell.
12. He is sensible and so incredible and all my single friends are jealous, he says everything I need to hear.
13. Why don't you come home, it's not very far, I'll wait up each night for the sound of your car.
14. All those arrows you threw, you threw them away. You kept falling in love and then one day...
15. Welcome home, while away they have tampered with the locks and your things they rearranged.
16. I have built a city here, half with pride and half with fear. I just wanted a safer place to hide.
17. My friends wonder why I call you all the time; what can I say? I don't feel the need to give such secrets away.
18. We're both looking for something we've been afraid to find. It's easier to be broken, it's easier to hide.
19. As I sit in this smoky room, the night about to end, I pass my time with strangers but this bottle's my only friend.
20. Come on, girl, I've been waiting for somebody to pick up my stroll, pick up my stroll.
21. You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged, oh I realize it's hard to take courage.
22. Used to come around here everyday, now you're breaking, used to be the one that's not ashamed, now you're shaming.
23. Emily will find a better place to fall asleep, she belongs to fairy tales that I could never be.
24. I wake up every evening with a big smile on my face and it never feels out of place.
25. Little boy of thirteen is on his way to school, he heard a crowd of people laughing and he went to take a look.
26. I'm holding on your rope, got me ten feet off the ground, and I'm hearing what you say but I just can't make a sound.
27. We've got one chance to break out, we need it now, 'cause I'm sick and tired of waiting.
28. Throw away the radio suitcase that keeps you awake, hide the telephone in case.
29. One boy, one girl, two hearts, their world, time goes by, secrets rise.
30. I have nothing left to give, I have felt the perfect end, you were made to make it hurt, disappear into the dirt.

Not as much variety as I hoped... but oh well. Guess away.

Dumb, dumb question.

It would look and work exactly like the TARDIS.

Duh.

I am in a predicament, everyone.

I set up an appointment at Bowdoin College for Monday. I was going to go last month sometime, but because of money issues, I wasn't able to go. However, if the van holds up, the appointment on Monday looks like it is going to happen.

However, I am visiting College Board and Princeton Review and other sites of that nature and they all say that you should go to visit a college about a week or two after the students have returned to the school in order to get a view of what campus life is like as an outsider. They recommend going at that time or after, but not before school starts.

Normally this wouldn't be a problem for colleges that start mid-way through August, but Bowdoin students arrive on the 28th. My tour is scheduled for this Monday.

My question: Is it worth going even though no students will be there? Everyone says you should go when college is in session, but it won't be when I arrive. 

So. Should I reschedule or just go anyway to get a look at the campus and the buildings and such, then set up another appointment later on to see the actual campus life?

Because I really want to go, but I'm not entirely sure how useful the trip might turn out to be.

Oh, oh!

I almost forgot.

I have 7 codes for Dreamwidth accounts. If anyone wants 'em, come get 'em!

God, I'm bored but I also don't feel like thinking enough to do the Five Things meme, so have that lyrics meme. I recently revamped my entire library, so the songs are bound to be fairly different than they were the last time I did this.

Step 1: Put your music player on shuffle.
Step 2: Post the first line(s) from the first 30 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing. Skip the instrumental-only pieces (non-English too if you want, or the songs with the title in the first line).
Step 3: Strike through the songs when someone guesses both artist and title correctly. (If it's a cover, the original artist is okay, and vice-versa.)
Step 4: Looking them up on Google or any other search engine is CHEATING!
Step 5: If you like this game, post your own!

1. My tears run down like razor blades, and no, I'm not the one to blame, it's you or is it me?
2. Someone tell me what to do, I feel like I must be a fool for ending up right back at the start
3. If I could give you the world on a silver platter, would it even matter?
4. Steve walks warily down the street with the brim pulled way down low
5. I don't know what I've done or if I like what I've begun
6. Some boys kiss me, some boys hug me, I think they're okay
7. I left a piece of my heart at your apartment on a cold dark night when I gave myself to you
8. If you just walked away, what could I really say? Would it matter anyway?
9. Don't talk, don't say a thing, 'cause your eyes, they tell me more than your words
10. Hold on, what's the rush? What's the rush? We're not done, are we?
11. Watching myself when I'm taking strides but here comes the moon
12. If I was strong enough, if I were wrong enough, to be someone like you, would you have let me come to be with you?
13. Seems like just yesterday you were a part of me, I used to stand so tall, I used to be so strong
14. You and me, we used to be together, everyday, together, always
15. I've heard talk of blind devotion, lovers through thick and thin, lives touched with real emotion
16. I can't remember when it was good, moments of happiness elude
17. I wish that life was like it is in the movies 'cause the hero always gets his way
18. Spend all your time waiting for that second chance, for a break that would make it okay
19. Unexpected, understatement of the year, that's for sure
20. There's a calm surrender to the rush of day when the heat of a rolling world can be turned away
21. I see you there, don't know where you come from, unaware of a stare from someone
22. Was it that hard to give me away? Are you that easily persuaded by a memory that's faded?
23. This here's a tale for all the fellas, try to do what those ladies tell us
24. I first saw you at the video exchange, I know my heart and it will never change
25. You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged, oh I realize it's hard to take courage
26. Staying in again on a Saturday night, I'm gonna settle on the sofa and turn down the lights
27. Well, isn't it like you to have 'em all fooled, stand tall, walking proud, now you're breaking the rules
28. I recall a long farewell and a time to choose, so we part like rivers, baby, yeah, like rivers do
29. Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy, she wants him so badly, knows what she wants to be
30. We've got one chance to break out, we need it now, 'cause I'm sick and tired of waiting

Wow... my music taste is... varied, to say the least.

So go ahead, guess! Results will be posted on Sunday.

Thanks to miriammoules and wheatear for responding to my meme. I'll hopefully get around to posting the answers to the questions before... school starts? Which, in case you were wondering, is in two weeks.

*gulp*

*

I am currently obsessed with this song.



I especially love this part:

I will sing, nobody will break you
Trust in me, trust in me, don't pull away
Just trust in me, trust me 'cause I'm just trying to keep it together
'Cause I could do worse and you could do better

I just love how the instrumental just swells and the words are just sung with so much passion and everything just coalesces and gives me goosebumps. *shiver*

And I love the "oh wai oh wai oh ooo" segment. It just adds so much to the song and it's just awesome.

Some other songs I love at the moment:

You're the One
It's Not Over
Perfect
A Drop in the Ocean

I know, my tastes are hideously mainstream. I can't help it!

YES.

The ban on same-sex marriage in California was just overturned, everyone!

*throws confetti*

It's about time justice was served. I was absolutely disgusted, to my intense surprise, when Maine voters decided to overturn the right of same-sex couples to marry, so this is a huge victory for same-sex couples in California, at least. The fight isn't over, but it's turning back in the favor of what I now finally feel is right.

Equality is important. And I will always, no matter what, stand on the side of equality.

Just... YES. FINALLY.

Okay, there's just going to be something in this space because I've updated every day for the past... five days and I don't want to break my streak.

Going to a friend's house for a sleepover tonight and then tomorrow I'm starting a mural.

Will tell more about this tomorrow.

Goodness, is there anything I don't worry about every day?

I am a compulsive worrier. I worry about everything and there's not even a reason to worry about it half the time.

The thing I worry about everyday, though?

My behavior.

I know, it's strange, considering that I have never done anything bad in my entire life. The worst my behavior has ever gotten recently was when I blew up at my sister and brother-in-law, and those occasions are not all that common (although they would beg to differ). I don't rebel against my parents, although I do beg my dad for several things so that he'll actually do them and not procrastinate and leave me with nothing. I have a 98.352 GPA in school (and that will never stop sounding cool). And I am a good Christian girl -- no drugs, no sex, no alcohol. I go to youth group and helped out with VBS. I am the quintessential "good girl" and nothing is ever going to change that.

And yet... and yet...

I worry about my behavior all the time. This stems from my self-consciousness. I always worry that I'm doing something wrong, saying something wrong. It's constant for me, which is why I'm so shy. I never know if what I'm doing fits in the "norm" of human behavior and, whenever I do something I consider weird... well, you know that time right before you sleep where you go over everything that went on that day? I beat myself up for it that night or... well, I don't beat myself up, in that I verbally abuse myself, but I just wonder what the heck I was thinking at that time and I never have a clue why I did what I did.

I think to some extent we all go through that sort of "what did I just do? Why can't I just be normal?" phase. For me, it's just more pronounced. Deep down, I know that no one pays more attention to me than I do (thanks, favorite English teacher!) and they don't even notice half the stuff I do in regards to my own behavior, but I am just way self-conscious. And I worry about my behavior because of that.

I am trying to overcome it, though. Being confident in myself is normally not something I'm good at, so it's going to take a lot of doing to truly overcome it as best as I can. I'd like to think I'm getting better at it.

When I got on Facebook just a few minutes ago, I found out that one of my classmates had died.

Apparently he was swimming in the lake with three of his friends. They were trying to reach a camp across the lake but halfway there, he said that he was going to return to shore. The other boys didn't want to turn back, so when they came back to where they thought he was, he wasn't there. That was yesterday. They just found his body a few hours ago.

No one is really sure what happened. 

But it doesn't really matter what happened.

This is just terrible. Terrible. I am having trouble fathoming this. I never knew him personally, although we talked a few times and he seemed rather nice. I just don't see how something like this could have happened to someone like him. I know from secondhand experience that he was fun and kind and a good friend. No one deserves to die as young as he did. He was only sixteen.

I don't even know what to say.

I didn't even know him and yet I feel like I'm near tears. I can't even imagine how this is affecting people who knew him. I don't know how his parents are handling the news.

I just... don't even know what to say. It makes me think about life and how fragile it really is. We never know when our time is up. And sometimes life isn't fair. Sometimes the good die before their time and sometimes the bad stick around for a long time. Somehow death always takes us by surprise and we never know how to handle it. Even when it's not personal, it still hits you, because that means that a life is over. 

It makes me wish I could remember a time with him -- so that I could keep his memory alive.

No one deserves to die at sixteen.

It's times like this that I wonder what God's plan is. It makes me wonder why things like this have to happen. I know that I might never know the answer to any of those questions. 

I will pray for the boy who died and his family. Goodness knows that they need it.

My mind is still reeling, though. I can't believe this...

So my classes are all sorted out now, thankfully.

It turns out that I only had two missing classes. I ended up taking French 4 in that one block. I originally wasn't planning on taking the class, just because it wasn't all that fun last year, but it was a choice between that, another science class, or Theatre, and I really didn't want to take theatre and I already am taking two science classes. So I figured that hey, four years of a language would look exceptionally good on my college applications. So I decided to take the class; I know my teacher is going to be ecstatic when she finds out.

For my other missing block, I decided to put in two half-year classes: Poetry and Science Fiction/Fantasy. It turns out that I'm taking three classes dealing with English next year, which makes me happy, considering I absolutely love English (I know, such a shocker!). That also means that I'm going to be taught by every single English teacher currently in the building -- my favorite is taking a one-year sabbatical -- so I'll get lots of variety in regards to teaching style, what works, what doesn't, stuff like that, and not to mention, this will come in handy when it comes time for teacher recommendations.

My schedule is entirely full, though. Next year, I'm taking the following classes:

Photography I (1st semester)/Photography II (2nd semester)
Physics
America in the World
AP Literature
Poetry (1st semester)/Science Fiction (2nd semester)
Anatomy and Physiology
Algebra II
French IV

I am going to be so busy next year. But I know that the full workload will end up being a great thing for me. It'll get me to stop procrastinating and do all my homework as soon as possible. 

I'm sort of interested to see how my classes go next year, but I'm trying not to think about it too much. It is 39 days away, after all.

*

I'm going out for Chinese food tonight and I can already taste it on my tongue. I am so excited!

I know, I'm easily pleased.

*

Am thinking of writing an epic Finn/Rachel (Glee) fic, detailing their relationship from Regionals on, through the summer and their junior year of high school. I'm hesitant to start it, though, because it requires a bit of planning and, besides, it will be very long -- not to mention, I'm not a huge fan of Finn/Rachel. I don't know, I might end up writing it straight through and then splitting it into sections, once I'm done with my Make It or Break It fic.

*

It's really starting to hit home for me that summer is already half over. It surprises me, how quickly summer has passed me by, and it's just going to go by faster. This week, I haven't had that much going on, but next week or the week after, I'm going to start a painting project with my best friend. Then it's going to be the yearly festival in my town and my cousins are coming up. And then my sister's going to have her baby.

I'm kind of conflicted when I think about this.

In some ways, I kind of want summer to be over. You know, I'm halfway through high school and I just want to get through my junior year so that I'm a senior and I can apply to Bowdoin and get out of this bottomless pit of despair (just kidding, it's not that bad, honest, just boring). I really think that college is going to be this whole new world for me and I can finally find a place I belong. I can't wait, I really can't.

But on the other hand, I don't want summer to be over. I don't want to be propelled into all the homework I'm going to have -- two science courses, what the hell was I thinking? -- and I'm gonna miss having all the time to do whatever I want. I'm going to miss the warm weather and hanging out with friends.

I suppose I just can't dwell on it, y'know? There's still six weeks left of summer, might as well take advantage of them! 

*

Those thoughts were prompted by (what else?) the letter from the school I got today.

My junior year starts August 31. And we have to be there by 7:25 in the morning. I know, it's ridiculous, but apparently they're doing it because of transportation issues. And, well, I don't much feel like getting up at 6:30 in the morning, even earlier if I have to catch the bus. And I hate having to go to school so soon. August 31! That's... forty days away!

*huddles*

The letter I received also included a transcript of my grades. And woo, I am fourth in my class! My cumulative GPA (weighted) of the past two years is 98.352. Considering this, I have a feeling I am well on my way to moving my way up and maybe becoming second in my class this year. Also, Bowdoin College primarily goes by grades and extracurriculars (SAT scores are optional, thank goodness), so I'm pretty sure that I won't have too much of an issue getting into the school. Which makes me so ecstatic. It's my dream school, and if I could attend it, there would probably not be anything better than that.

And of course the school screwed up my schedule. I have all of my core classes -- Physics, America in the World, Anatomy and Physiology, Algebra II, and AP Lit -- and my photography classes, but everything else? French Culture, Global Week in the Review, Tech Theatre? They're not there. It just says "EMPTY."

This frustrates me, because the blocks that are empty don't mesh with the classes that I want to take. I can fill one block up easy (although I'd hate having to choose between French Culture and Tech Theatre), but I don't want to take any of the other classes in the two blocks. In one, it's a choice between theatre and study hall, pretty much, and I am seriously scared of speaking in front of people, so theatre? No. And study hall? No. I can't take another study hall, I refuse. And then in my other block, it's basically a choice between taking French 4 or a science class. And I kind of didn't want to take French 4, but I don't really see an option.

Sigh.

School, why can't you cooperate and schedule the classes so that they align with my every whim? Hmph.

Last.fm is quite possibly the best site in the entire world.

If you know anything about me -- either in real life or through LJ -- you should know that I love music. Music is like crack to me. I can't get enough of it and I physically can't go a day without it. I listen to it every night before I go to sleep. I use it to inspire my stories. I listen to it while I'm writing. My obsession with music, of all different types, is all-encompassing. There are only a few things I love more than music.

One of my favorite things about music is the fact that there is so much of it. I like to think I know a lot about music (tooting my own horn here; mostly I just know about mainstream stuff), but still, there are so many artists out there that I haven't even heard of.

That's where my love of last.fm comes in.

I have hopelessly mainstream tastes, but at the same time, I love all sorts of music: alternative, indie, 80s, 90s, pop, rock, Broadway, Christian... The only genre of music I don't like is hip-hop and rap and, even then, there are a few songs in that genre that I like. But if you give me a song, any song, your favorite song, I'm most likely guaranteed to like it. 

But I am trying to broaden my horizons beyond just the normal. I like obscure singers -- or singers that aren't obscure, per se, but just a little outside the normal. Stuff that doesn't necessarily get a lot of airplay. Last.fm recommends a lot of music that I never would have listened to if it wasn't for them, which is why last.fm's recommended-for-you music station is just wonderful. 

I particularly love just playing last.fm's recommended station and closing my eyes and just listening to whatever song comes on the radio. Because there's so much beautiful music out there, full of meaning and passion and strength and love, and it deserves recognition. It's heartwrenching and achy and full of life and the past and it just makes my heart ache. And some of it is fun and makes me want to dance. Or it's light and airy and fresh and sweet and makes me just want to float away (particularly with some of the indie female singers).

I just love music so much. I really don't think I could live without music. Going a day without music would make me very, very cranky, let's just leave it at that.

And, since I love getting into new music... What's your favorite band? Singer? Song? I'd love to hear!

* 

On another note, I've been feeling very happy lately, primarily because I've been writing. I've forgotten just how happy writing makes me, and then I start writing and I just get ideas and I just want to write all the time and it makes me so happy.

I really need to make sure I write every day, because it puts me in such a happier mood.

*

* subject title from Absolute by the Fray (one of my favorite songs of theirs)

I just looked at my FF.net profile.

I have been pretty much involved in fandom for five years now. I got my first FF.net account five years ago on July 13, 2005. I was young, just barely turned eleven years old, and by all rights, I wasn't allowed to even get an account. Of course, rules about ages never deterred me, so I got an account anyway. I wanted to post my very first bit of fanfiction, a Harry/Ginny story called -- how original -- Harry's Love.

I remember not even knowing what fanfiction was back then. I had written the story for a competition the local coffee shop in my area was putting on in celebration of the sixth Harry Potter book, I think, and it was the catalyst into my getting back into writing again. (That's why Harry Potter has such a special spot in my heart: not only is it going to be a long-enduring classic, but it got me back into writing again and made me a better writer, and for that, I will always be grateful.)

Ah, so much has changed in five years. Back then, I was young and carefree. And I'm still young, I suppose, only sixteen, but I'm definitely not carefree. Sometimes I can just let go for a while and have huge amounts of immature fun, but I'm never going to be a normal teenager. I'm stuck inside my own head a lot of the time and, although fanfiction has contributed to that, it's not the major factor. (There are lots of major factors as to why I'm shy and not very outgoing, but I digress.)

My first fandom was Harry Potter, of course, and I suppose I've never really grown out of it. Harry Potter was where I found my first online friend (which lasted about a year, give or take, and we had so much fun together it was nuts). I also found my own online community there, based on a fanfic series that I absolutely adored. That was when I was about twelve or thirteen and it really helped me become a better writer. I thank the author of that particular group of stories for making me the writer I am today, but really, everyone in that community made me a better writer.

We grew apart, because that happens, but I still talk to some members of the group. We're not as close as we used to be, but that's only to be expected.

So... um, where was I going with this? :D

I guess I didn't really have a point to this post. I just want to start posting more often and maybe more about fannish stuff, because I want to get more involved in fandom somehow. Specifically Glee fanfiction, I suppose, since that's my largest fandom, but I want more people to get involved in the fandoms I am currently obsessing over (Make It or Break It, Greek). And I want to try my hand at Doctor Who fanfiction, but I honestly don't think I could do justice to any of the characters. Am not brave enough for that.

Oh yeah. And my fannish interests are growing. I'm getting involved in making icons, which I find so much fun, and I want to make videos, but I don't want to download Sony Vegas on my computer.

So. TL;DR: Callista wants to get more involved in fandom and can't believe she's been in some sort of fandom for five years, even if she's only been on the outskirts. *grin*