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Serving of random thoughts
Hmm. Today was a fairly good day. I've had no contact with people in-person besides my family, which kind of gets to you after a while, but I just got back from Ashton's, so it's not terrible. Yet. I'm sure Quinn will drive me insane soon. I'm about ten pages from finishing my book. Gossip Girl. Not surprising, I wouldn't find a book with underdeveloped characters very good even if it is a quick read; plot is the only thing going for it. But it's the first book I've read since taking The Dead Zone out of my backpack when it started deteriorating in early September, so for that, I'm glad. I'm trying to figure out, and can't seem to, if it's entirely fiction or drawn from real life, as in the characters are real and Cecily von Ziegesar is a penname. I feel bad for the people it's trying to portray, if it is drawn from events that actually occurred and people that actually live. They're as flat as cardboard. Yes, I do love a good, round character. A batch of them does nicely. Anyway. We started clearing out the red room (what we tend to call our guest bedroom... it probably used to be a really pretty room before the wallpaper faded and was shredded by cats, and the carpet was lost in junk. I could write a story about it. I could write a story about anything. Fear me, mortals!) today, it's going to be a Christmas gift for my dad when he gets home. Tuesday or Wednesday, mum says. It's going to be his "hobby room", a place for him to keep all of his things from his new and old hobbies, so that their parts are accessible but not too accessible. The two scuba tanks that sat in the kitchen for three and a half years, unmoved and never used? Going in there. The over-two-thousand cards from that Wizards card game that he collected and sorted through and bought in lots of a hundred or more on ebay? Going in there. The countless plastic soap molds that are being squashed by their own weight? Going in there. The wooden soap spoon which we almost used while making cookies because the word 'soap' has worn off the handle? Going in there. The years old candle wax in every color imaginable? Going in there. The countless milk cartons and pringles cans he's saved over the years for candlemaking and never used? Going in there, baby. We might actually see the corners of the living room again. And the wall beneath the window. Man, I don't even remember what the wall beneath the window in the living room looks like. The candlemaking chest has always been in front of it. We all pitched together to clean the red room, too. Mum did most of it [as expected]: throwing stuff away, sorting it into respective boxes for attic, garage sale, trash, and Salvation Army. ("Be ruthless!") In the process she found a million and three craft supplies that Aunt Carole had continued to give me even though I insisted that I didn't need anymore; one of my jobs was testing paint and markers to see if they worked. I must've gone through at least 700 of the things. @_@ Washed my hands a million and seven times, and kept getting dust in my eyes. But I felt useful. Then I put dishes away and put newly dirtied dishes back into the dishwasher. Hey, it wasn't much, but it's better than nothing. Cleaning that out makes me want to clean my room. It's a pigsty, in no literal sense of the word. I need to fold stuff and put stuff away and just make it perdy. I can't wait until the vastness of summer again, I'll clean my whole room. The closet, under the bed, the shelves, everything. I'll throw everything I'm never going to use again away. I'll put old stuff in the attic. I'll regain some wallspace and hang the pretty pictures Cera sent me for Christmas. I'll clear off my corkboard and put all the letters from Ara and Eloria and Shauna in a scrapbook. I like the idea of scrapbooking. (It's not really a little-old-lady type thing when you think about it. It's just like having a journal, only this journal is organized and in color and full of pictures. Mmmm. I like journals. I also like memories. Something tells me that that should be something very good, the fact that I can look back and not really have any big regrets about major things in my life.) I'll buy a poster or two and sticky-tack them onto my walls next to my calendar. Yes, singular. I asked three people for calendars and got one, one that mum was planning to throw away because it was a promotional mail thing. Heh. I probably have more somewhere. I'll probably buy myself another calendar or two if I get a Walmart gift card from grandpa like I do every year. What else will I get at Walmart? Heh, scrapbook paper maybe. Or clothing, if I find anything interesting. Maybe a blazer. I don't know, I prefer Wears Like New clothing to Walmart's any day. I found some poetry from October the other day. One was unfinished, so I finished it, and I liked the end result. I may as well post them. I think I started all of the October 19th, and the last one I finished yesterday. .-.-. Childhood toy .-.-. Marbles. As a child you never It's supposed to represent change, but interpret it how you like. I imagined it here as a bittersweet thing; you learned the real way to do it, but wasn't the old way more fun? Who knows. .-.-. Of my summers spent I wasn't there very long In the house I was often alone I also remember that And in the corners of hallways One day I decided I would Out of my small, child's arms And no matter how hard I scrubbed And I bruised my knees And I remember how ashamed It has a weird rhythm, and it's really hard to read out loud, if you've noticed. You probably didn't, but I did; I read some of my poems aloud when I'm checking for rhythm. I like it, though. I think it's a really good poem. I like this new style of poetry I tried, though I think I'd really need to be inspired to do it again. .-.-. Yes. While over at Ashton's I read some of the stories and poetry in last year's copy of Pandora's Box, this booklet thing that CHS publishes 750 of each year and gives out to students for free. I want to be involved in it. I know I couldn't draw anything for it, but perhaps I could contribute a short story (ha, as if mine are publishable... they're just not that good) or a poem. That'd be kinda cool. I could go to one of the meetings with Ashton or someone, I don't really know anyone else who's in it, or at least that they are in it. She said I can be involved after the fact, though, which is nice, and they aren't on Thursdays, according to her. Because if it meant missing Writers' Workshops, I dunno, I don't think I'd do it. I was making some Valentine's Day cards the other day with Ashton, too. Heh. I remember in 4th and 5th grade I made all of mine, too, because I couldn't find anything commercial those years that I liked. It just seems so childish now, to give someone a construction paper heart and wish them happy Valentine's Day. Fold the red piece of paper in half, cut out the top of a two, voilą, a heart. Drop it into the paper box on top of their desk and onto the next box, never to see it again. Everyone knows that they were only looking for candy, so any cards without candy were ignored. I don't know about you, but I read every one, even if the only thing written on it besides the printed stuff (a big picture, a maze, some text) was who it was from. And I did the mazes too, even if some were identical. I mean, what else was I to do? We didn't get homework then. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I hadn't discovered the internet, not really. I was one sad little 12-year-old when I was nine. A teenager's maturity stuck in a little elementary schooler's body. At recess I sat on the grass in the shade of the only tree and read or wrote dumb little mystery stories about Amy and... damn, forget the other girl's name... that made no sense whatsoever. And I loved it. I was the girl who finally got the chunky rings when no one else was wearing them anymore, and wore costumes no one understood for the Halloween parade. And who had a squishy Toy Story 2 lunchbox that had been bought from a garage sale even when I hadn't seen Toy Story 2 yet. I did logic puzzles and knew how to make the color brown with only primary colors in art class. I was bored in math because I knew everything about the times table and wanted to go to long division already. I was the loser. I did nothing on weekends except build thriving multi-million dollar empires out of stacks of wood on rollercoaster tycoon. I knew that people talked about me behind my back because my clothing was all stupid and my shoes were strap-up (because not wearing laces must mean I can't tie a bow) and I didn't believe in god. And you know, the difference between the loser me in elementary and the loser me in middle was that, in elementary school, I just didn't care. And it's hard to believe that that was only four years ago. And you know, I don't miss any of that. But I don't regret having lived it. I've learned from it, learned practical things that my peers won't learn for years. From years of simply watching people I've been able to guess, fairly accurately, what they're thinking. I'm living for today and tomorrow, and even though I may reflect on the past more than my average 9th grade peer, I don't live there. Just today's serving of random thoughts. -Adrienne
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