"Red rover red rover, send Dardick two over!"

I roared those words to the drizzling sky, and on my cue, the thirty odd men and women of my floor rushed across the field, hand in hand, each with their own cry. Order soon broke down as one by one they tumbled and slid across the muddy field. Seconds later, we were all sprawled on the melange of grass and mud that was our playground.

Dardick two was going mud sliding.

Our floor had spent the last couple hours of the night in button downs and dresses, looking for a party and a good time, at the frats and drinking watered down vodka. It was inexplicably dull, people standing around in a stuffy room, hoping that their shot glasses had the elixir of fun that would let them ignore the slovenly guys and slurred gals. The only life in the party we had brought with us.

We dipped, a phrase that still has one of the guys on our floor confused. We walked, and it started to pour, completely drenching us. Then the collective realization hit: we were a troupe of freshmen, dressed up and soaked with nowhere to go. Well fuck you too thunderstorm, we're gonna have fun. The idea came up, and we spent the next hour in swimsuits tearing up the fields, ignoring friction, if only for a little while, getting absolutely filthy, and realizing that these people aren't so different from me after all, once their shells are down.

Let's talk about college, shall we? Yes we shall.

Well this is interesting. Finally on my own, away from the parents, the one thing that I've been saying I can't wait for for I don't know how long, and now it's finally here.

It's meh.

Don't get me wrong. Amazing opportunities, center of learning, chance to meet new people, a recently renovated South 40 residential area that has the upperclassmen bitter because the freshmen and sophomores are living in a "Disney theme park" as one of them put it. It's good.

I miss my friends, I miss her.

The people here are strange. We're all geeks, every one of us. But that fact means that people just fall back into the normal categories, we've got bros, we've got the preppy overenthusiastic blonde girls, we've got hypergeeks (since the normal kind aren't very obvious here). I'm still looking for my people. They've got to be around here somewhere.

Closing note: work hard play hard is not a motto here, it's a way of life.

Butterflies.

My heart feels uneasy. I have these butterflies in my tummy that feel like nerves, but they keep trying to flutter to my heart. I am trying to block them the best I can but it's becoming increasingly difficult.

Okay, I need to be honest with myself and watch these words solidify on the screen. I'm scared. Not just a little frightened, I'm fucking terrified. I don't want to meet new people... at least the stubborn, nervous girl that I am doesn't want to. I don't want my friend to meet new people, at least, that same part of me doesn't. What if they forget about me? What if I forget about them? I don't like either of those options.

I've already decided my next tattoo, next piercing, and next hair change for while I'm at school. What if I lose myself? What if I go to college and end up not doing anything I have planned? What if I never finish another story again? What if I decided.. hey.. I should be a.. gym teacher. Or a nutritionist. Or a principal. Or an actress. Or an underwater basket weaver. I don't know if I'm prepared to face the fact that... my future is completely undecided. I'm not prepared because this is when I'm supposed to begin taking the steps to decide it. That's a lot of pressure.

I hope all my friends have a great new adventure at the schools they are going to. I hope we all remember each other. I hope we all still have love for each other, and a place for at least what we did have, if not what we still have, in our hearts.

The Wonderful World of Walt Disney pt. 2

really, really big rice crispies of the mouse couple's heads. in retrospect, it seems kind of odd.

disney lollipops, of course. found in the sticky grasp of every child between the ages of three and nine.

dinosaur chicken nuggets at the t-rex restaurant!

curiously thin fries at the animal kingdom.

the perfect cure to an unbearably, swelteringly hot day at the animal kingdom-- pineapple popsicle :D

The Wonderful World of Walt Disney pt. 1

I took a quick jaunt down to Orlando with my family to celebrate my brother's fourteenth birthday. My mom booked several savory dinners at various restaurants at the Walt Disneyworld and I saved (photographic) samples of several dishes to share :D

three layers of fluffy but thin crêpe dividing a sweet house-made whipped cream, caramelized bananas and caramel pudding, garnished with a dark hazlenut chocolate accent.

haha barely edible but definitely food-related. mickey mouse popcorn hat, complete with scratch-n-sniff.

BUTTERBEER!

PUMPKIN JUICE!

honeyduke's sugarquills!

Lollapalooozahhh

Hole-eey-sheet.

Lollapalooza provided me with perhaps the best three consecutive days of my life.

(Love Like A Sunset Pt. I engulfing you while you stand, mesmerized, swallowed by the Chicago skyline/Red beams of light cloud your vision and white lines flicker off the set/Your heart is pounding in your chest/You feel like you're in love, but you're not worried about it going sour...)

I searched desperately for a photo, a video, anything that could translate that feeling to something understandable to another human being not present. This is what I found- ecstacy in Electric Feel.

In my mind, Lollapalooza is currently a jumble of words that hold no meaning to anyone other

than myself and two people I've practically known since birth- womping, New Zealand Cape flag men, speedo men, USA speedo men, baby gaga, tits on the megatron, "FUCK GRIZZLY BEAR!", "Do you guys know about sunscreen?", viking penguin, 6-ft. bong, unknown fireworks, hula hoops, boots and cats, "what's your sign?", ridiculously long makeouts, free swag tents, "DAAAAAAAAANNNNNN!", crab walks, scooby doo, horsehead, two mosh pits at once, start wearing purple, Oleeee Ole Ole Oleee...

So now I just need to try and make sense of it all. But how do you make sense of something so intangible, something pushed together by unknown forces of the universe? How do you make sense of THIS-

driving into Chicago, how about I text Mark?, Mark who I haven't talked to in a year- "when will you be in Virginia so we can hannggg?" "I get back august 9" "...are you going to Lollapalooza?..." waiting, waiting, waiting, waitingg, GOD WHEN WILL HE TEXT BACK- (holy shit, what if we freaking met up with MARK at Lollapalooza? Mark that we've known since third grade, Mark who lives in Virginia...this is fucking insane!) then finally: "yes. wanna meet up?"

what are the chances? and, most importantly- WHY?

then- Glorious, jumbled whirlwind. Seas of people. One thousand degrees, you emerge soaked to the bone with the sweat of others you've never met before in your life. Your makeup is smeared, face red, white t-shirt permanently stained yellow. You look like a deranged hipster. But you feel new, like anything is possible, like the summer will last forever and this moment will never end. A couple of minutes ago you could hardly breathe, were pushing people off the back of your neck like your life depended on it. A couple of minutes ago you were asking a stranger if they were okay, having been dropped on their head/pushed to the ground. A couple of minutes ago you were singing like it would be your last breath. A couple of minutes ago you thought that if this wasn't heaven, fuck it.

"HEY STUART! GUESS WHO I'M WITH RIGHT NOW? TAYLOR AND CATIE!"

or this- lying on the grass. Blue, blue sky. A woman on a blanket next to you thanks you for sitting down in the walkway so people would stop stepping on her shit. A couple of rasta-esque doods next to her smoking a joint. Yeasayer plays in the background. When Ambling Alp comes on you jump up and skip through clumps of concert-goers, dancing to your hearts content.

and this- sunsoaked, exhausted, and convinced you will feel this thirsty forever, you sit down on the grass. You've been alternately texting mark and your mother for the past twenty minutes about your exact location in relation to two light towers and are about ready to give up- SERIOUSLY, how many different ways can you be in between the ONLY TWO light towers- when you spot mark. Ole! Slightly more spirited, the three of you are off to find your mother. You begin the process of weaving through the crowd- Taylor in front, you in middle, Mark behind- alternately looking for the woman with the yellow backpack your mother claims to be behind and at your phone. You finally land ten feet to the right of the smaller camera on the right side when you can't push any farther. After a complicated game of "raise your water bottle so I can find you" your mother joins you, and now all that's left is to wait. To your right a woman is sitting on a blanket, futilely trying to fan a sleeping three-year-old girl with her shirt. What the f- "Excuse me?" A man to your left beckons to you. "Can you pass this fan to the mom down there?" "Sure!" You smile and pass the fan to the grateful mother. A couple of minutes later she's up, babygirl on her shoulders, explaining to you (and Mark, and Taylor, and your mother) that it's not actually her daughter, that the real mother is shipping off to Iraq in a couple of days and all her little girl wanted was to see Gaga with her mommy before she went bye-bye, and the mother left to use the bathroom forty-five minutes ago so now she's stuck with the girl. Whew. "We should get the girl to Gaga! If you get her onstage I'm positive you could find the mother." "That's what we're thinking!" The woman smiles at you. "GAGA TRAAAINNN!" Taylor puts her hands on your back as you stumble forward. "Err-" "Yeah, you're not going anywhere." The man who passed the fan to you smiles. He's wearing a cowboy hat. Gay? "But we'd totally help you if you'd like" says his female companion. You notice her bracelet says FREE BITCH- yep, a totally gaga fan. You eagerly show her yours- International Church of GaGa. "So I was thinking...fling this onstage for Gaga?" She wants your bracelet. Regret- Why didn't you bring a box of these and sell them? Cashh to da maxxxx. Whatever.

Boredom starts creeping in when you remember the box of face paint wedging a bulky mark into your thigh. As enticingly as you can, you pull the box out and play guinea pig as Taylor sets to work. Soon you have a crowd, twenty-somethings eagerly cheering you on, laughing and covering their eyes- OH GOD, what has she done to my face?- you hear the word "Starchild" and feel comforted, ideas of a female Ziggy Stardust floating through your mind. Next it's Mark, he puts up a fake fight while Taylor and yourself attack him with blue paint. Now the crowd wants you to write "Lady Gaga" on their faces? Their knuckles? Fine by me. You laugh and laugh and perch a fake hair-bow atop your head. Your face is green and pink and yellow and

innumerable other colors, Mark's is blue and he has a pink mustache, Taylor's is green when you notice another twenty-something carrying two cups of beer is trying to get on the shoulders of a new friend next to you. You take the beers, Mark eyeing them, you know exactly what he's thinking- "I would run with those if I were you"- but he's helping her onto the guy's shoulders. Her story comes to light; she was supposed to meet up with some friends but can't find them ANYWHERE, she's been calling them but they won't pick up the phone. You help as best as you can by- what else- holding the beers.

And so starts the show.

But- God- what else? I know I'm missing something. There has to be SOMETHING else that can help put Lollapalooza into words. Our decision to fuck Grizzly Bear?

We're crab walking, crouching down and making our hands into pinchers, weaving in between people in the old familiar way- Taylor in front, myself in the middle, Mark in back, because it WORKS. We're on our way to Grizzly Bear, because we've heard they put on a great live show, even though I personally think their music is akin to bullshit. Weave, weave, weave, we make our way to the front of the stage, right side, where some fans have camped out, sitting down. Goddd that burger looks good. It was ten dollars? But it's delicious. Is that a PRETZEL bun? Right on. Hmm. Pull out schedule... who else is playing now? Gogol Bordello. Didn't Taylor say

they were awesome? "I kinda wanna see Gogol Bordello." "Me too." "Yeah..." And we're off to the other side of Grant Park, disrupting every single person we pissed off on our way up to the front, holding hands in a line, first grade all over again. Gogol Bordello is already playing when we get there, but I know we've made the right decision. Halfway through the mass of people stretching out over half of the field we find a square of kids skanking on the grass, raging to the music. We make our way farther forward, using other people's motives as our leverage; when a group of people snake their way through the crowd, we follow. Our final destination is a happy-drunk slightly smooshed area of shirtless, sweaty dudes. The one next to me rams into me a couple of times before apologizing, then- taking my hand, "what's your naamee?" before continuing to sexydance to whomever is closest. He and his tribe of shirtless friends know every word to Bordello's songs and emit a vibe that says it's okay to rage out. We jump up and down, we fist pump, we push forward, we get shoved back. The lead singer, a charming handlebar mustache-touting unidentifiable ethnic origin of a man struts around the stage like Angus Young, playing his acoustic like he really wants to break it, yelling weird shit with a thick accent in between songs. They play like they're bringing back punk but they're not really trying to, there's a lot of shouting and rousing choruses and red pants and face paint? and a huge, imposing black banner with a slogan in Spanish. This is definitely the band I heard in Ragstock. What are the chances? All too soon, it's over. We emerge victorious, high, shouting "FUCCCCKK GRIZZLY BEAR!" over and over again, it could get obnoxious but it doesn't.

(The middle of a busy intersection buzzes with lights and swarms of people high off of the evening's performances/You hear screaming in the distance, like Lady Gaga made a guest appearance and your heart swells with the idea/Then you're running along with a thousand other people through the streets of Chicago while even more people come to meet you from the opposite direction/THE RUSH/A crossword puzzle book falls from a window overhead and Taylor catches it.)

lastly- before I bore you to death- Slightly Stoopid and the tale of how I became entangled in not one, but two mosh pits at the same time. Stoners stoners everywhere and who came up with the fabulous idea to crowd surf with a bunch of stoners? It's completely relentless and I feel lucky to have Mark behind me, watching out for us. One guy, a total champ, passes overhead thrice, falling in the same spot every time. Dude, you gotta give it a break. This girl behind me is fucking insane, totally smashed or something, she tells me she's got my back, she complains about all the people crowd surfing, alrightalrightalright. Now focus your attention on the stage. They're going to play a Nirvana song. Breed. Cool, a song I know. All too quickly a mosh pit erupts a few feet in front of us and we instinctively move backwards, away from the crazy people punching each other. A second later and there's another mosh pit on our other side/don't look now but YOU, yes YOU are part of the singular row of people dividing the two mosh pits. Taylor and I look at each other, the exact same mixture of fear and excitement coursing through our veins. How the fuck are we going to get out of this without being pushed in or punched in the face? I don't know where to look, there's chaos all around me, oh fuckfuckFUCK! Mark's behind us, a little more safely out of the way. He looks slightly afraid but he's reaching for me and I'm reaching for Taylor. He swiftly pulls us out of harms way and the two pits collapse in on themselves.

last day, 9 PM. Arcade Fire. Gaahhd you've wanted to see them so badly for so long, but reality creeps in. You can't stay for the entire set. You've got to leave in fifteen minutes. Mark's texting his girlfriend. He has a girlfriend. He wanted to see Soundgarden, but instead he's sitting here with Taylor and yourself on the grass. You're pulling out clumps of grass with your hands. It's wet. In your heart, you know this moment will live on forever, but right now you feel like you're suffocating. The idea of reality- of wake up, of get dressed in something other than a bandeau top and short-shorts, of do productive things- makes you feel sick. You want to cry. You want to die, because you want this moment to last forever. You know you're being ridiculously immature but you can't help it.

You hug goodbye and in the car ride home, pretend crossword puzzle books are falling from the sky.

And so ended the three most glorious days of my life.

Spring Forward, Fall Back

Spring is the time for new growth and flowers and dew and all of that fun stuff we didn't see during winter. Personally, growth doesn't interest me. Not really. I'm impatient. I don't like to see the maturing, the turmoil leading to character built. I like to see how things end because it often reveals more than when those very things begin. I want the full story, not the blank slate, not the rough draft. I much prefer vibrant, intriguing, loud red to an innocent, modest, common light green. Autumn is the season that captivates me each time. Every aspect of life gets progressively colder until it dies or hibernates. I like to see that. I like to see the limit. How cold before the migratory birds take their leave? How much snow before the badger is on lock-down? How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? Essentially, how much is too much? I like to think that the most revealing stage in the life of anything is right before death. It is truly the most eye-opening, awe-inspiring thing to witness. Of the few things I believe with conviction, this must be the most prominent. What happens at rock bottom, what happens when the levy breaks, that's when there are no more secrets. That's when you finally can begin to understand.

Leaves become most beautiful when they're about to die--Regina Spektor

Adrenaline

"do you wanna do some downward dog with me?" - Anonymous

I have never felt so amazingly brilliant, and so unproductively stupid. 

 This is fun. Bimpe is craZY. I can't type fo shit yoz. 

Harry Potter is the most fucking badass awesome thing in the world. I love vanillllla coke!!!
and water wasn't so awful.

I feel like I need more attention. I feel like I'm sooo not in the same place as everyone else. Msxaybe. I think... I love Harry Potter. I think a sleepover was the best idea ever and this needs to happen all the time. I need this feeling. Even though I'm positive I was not part of this. Yeup. I'm innocent

"what? sur-prise!"

EHHH tricked me. Kevin sounded like a God a minute or so ago. Katie and my noses Itch. Katie wants purple and Bimpe wants purple. Fuckin shit stuff. My eyes are itchy. I'm not paranoid and I'm not incompetent. I L OVEEEEEEEEEE Katie. Kisses. Okay, oh Hi. Stuff is cool. I like the word blaze and I'm making the keyboard feel weird. Katie's nose is drippin. I feel good.

My nose is itchy! (now that word...itchy...i learned something right now...did you know that something can only itch, it can't scratch...like you can't feel a scratch, but you can itch...poor scratch, always coming short to itch...g'night e'rbody.

So all in all, I'm pretty stoked. I like the word stoked!!

"I should be on Saturday Night Live. That was funny!!"

"Everything's like... soo slowing down and ... what? what?"

 "Our breaths collided and they smelled horrible" 

"I just wanna call someone!"

 "Your leg is salty"

"Teach me how to do that?

"I don't believe in love but if I did, that was cute"

"Brilliant and Delicious--two words used to describe me!"

MM, I looooove observing! and they said I wouldn't have fun :P

"Hermione's a babe!"

We're recording stuff.

"I think Sohrab would be mad if I licked a guy's leg but I licked your leg, so it's okay"

"She's got the heart of a Devil-witch-bitch"

 "I'm NOT teeching her that. I will teach her that at an APPROPRIATE time!"

"I'm just saying hi"

"I love this bag, it's awesome! It's shiny and purple and snakeskin"
"Harry Potter is the most...Bimpe. It's the most complicated thing in life."

"RON WEASLEY! I love Ron Weasley!!"

More entertainment than most times. No regrets. Let's see what we'll think about this post tomorrow. Signing off-ffff=f-! :D BAAIIII

Iresshaimase!

so I went to japan for a week and these are just some pictures of the food that I took with my iphone (sorry for the shitty quality).

oh and yeah I've decided to do a food journal! enjoy :)

cakes at the department store!

turtle pastries!

edamame!

seaweed!

toro (fatty tuna) at a revolving sushi bar restaurant!

Braaiiiiii....fuck it.

Let’s talk about zombies, shall we?

Yes we shall.

The fascination with these shambling shenanigan chauffeurs has been around for a while. It’s a great device, really. So many possibilities for the budding writer/director/video game designer. Morbid fascination with death. The moral dilemma of seeing a former friend become a monster. Is your old pal really in there? Is he locked in that skull somewhere?

Nah, who’re you kidding. He (it’s almost always a he) isn’t in there anymore. Blast the punk. Take that contrived moral tension and splatter it all over the wall in a pattern that would make Rorschach proud.

Zombies do not quality creative content make. They’re a mindless mass of minions that only exist to provide the protagonists with the opportunity to indulge in massive amounts of violence that doesn’t come with any of the ethical baggage that comes with killing a human being, even if it’s a faceless, redshirted mook.

Zombies are not the product of some dark voodoo or a cracked up rabies virus. They’re the product of two of humanity’s more primitive instincts. The first is a passion for violence for its own sake. This doesn’t always manifest, sometimes the creative work featuring the brain thirsty undead is more about survival. But the attentions visited upon the hapless evil minions are far worse than what standard issue evil henchmen get. Zombies get shot, set on fire, decapitated with a chainsaw, bludgeoned to redeath with a baseball bat, run over with cars, killed with doors, blown up. Take your pick, or come up with a new way! It’s an arena in which human creativity is for once given free license in coming up with bloody painful ways to end a life. Of sorts.

The other one is a desire for the apocalypse. It might be more prevalent among me and mine, but this one’s been around for a while. I would love (in a hypothetical sort of way) to watch everything I know burn to a cinder. Let the tall buildings fall, let the contrived societal rules just disappear. I think that we might have made a few mistakes while building our respective cultures. Waste it all and start again? Awesome. Can’t have order from above if your president is enjoying and aide’s…intestines. Can’t impose order when the citizens are either bunkered up or playing their very own interactive video game, complete with M-rated gore. It’d be fun!

Notorious Mass-Murderer Sirius Black

What's life without a little risk?

Bo-ring. So I did a significantly risqué thing. You would think it ridiculous. I don't give a damn what you think. At first I felt weird, not exactly remorseful, but like I couldn't tell anyone because it was THAT stupid. And yeah, it was up there on the stupid scale, but I'm not sorry. It was... intriguing... different... exhilarating... fucking hilarious, really.

I wasn't lonely. I wasn't begging for attention. It wasn't a cry for help. I was literally just bored. Bored with life. Bored with the people around me. Bored of mundane activities... so I found another one. I didn't do anything too crazy, but it was different enough that you'd never guess. Unorthodox? Yeah.. that was the point. An activity of which mother would not approve.

I encourage everyone to do the same. Find something completely idiotic. Stupid. Pointless. Lame. Find a waste of time, then do it. You don't have to waste your life on it, but why not dance outside in the rain during a tornado warning? Just tryyy it! You'll liiiike it!

Because really? It's not about the act itself, it's about how you feel while doing it. Not everything in life will be amusing, arousing, astounding or incredibly awkward and therefore hilarious. I think it's best to take the random opportunities to do silly, potentially embarrassing, potentially dangerous things.

But to clarify, I don't think it's smart to do something unless you can stop it at any moment that you get too uncomfortable. But then, sometimes being a little uncomfortable is good. It can be eye-opening.

My advice? Don't ever take life so seriously that you can't loosen up and do something wild.

And THAT's my new philosphy!


I want to live by this

"The day you realize there's not enough time because you want to live forever"

Think of the biggest day of your life. Did you plan it or did this day find you?

The biggest day of my life. Honestly, I don’t think I could declare such a day. But I know that when I experienced it, I didn’t know it until I was surrounded by it. First kisses, laughs, dreams coming true, and heartbreaks... aren’t planned. They happen by chance. And whether it was fate or our own choices that led to that moment, they still caught us by surprise.

We were receiving cat calls when I realized everything would be okay as long as I had my sister. I was doing a lab on mitosis when I first fell in love. I was heartbroken when I found a diary and pen. I was playing basketball when my observable world fell apart. I was finding props for a school play when I received a kiss that turned my life upside down. I was cursing circumstances when I met my best friend. I was playing rock band when I first heard that a completely closed-off person loved me back. I was watching a ridiculous movie when I made a horrible decision. I was dancing with him when I discovered he meant more to me than I could possibly say.

And through a series of unexpected events, I've learned my biggest lessons, recovered from my biggest mistakes, and discovered my biggest loves. No, I can't tell you the biggest day of my life. It may have happened yesterday, it could still happen today, and it just might happen tomorrow.

Deus Ex Machina

Zombie no go think unless you tell am to think.

So THINK goddamnit! I go along on the prescribed path and try to achieve within the bounds that I am given. I'm just setting myself up to be average, forgotten, irrelevant. Listen to others, sure, but I'll make up my own mind. Won't follow advice, I'll decide what's right for me. There will always be a traveled path with least resistance and better general outcome, but I should really just wander around the forest however my heart leads me. At least I'll know that I chose, that I won't regret not doing what I wanted to do. Being myself, listening to myself, finding strength in myself: that's the secret to success, not attitude. I define my own success when I stop trying to impress or please others.

Attention! Quick march! Slow march! Left turn! Right turn! About turn! Double up! Salute! Open your hat! Stand at ease! Fall in! Fall out! Fall down! Get ready--

Apply it to every bloody aspect of your life, and you'll find that I'm not lying. You've been told about the norms for relationships and desires and ways of life. These are such lies! The truth is that you don't have to go out with anyone to legitimize how you feel (after all, it's not about how others feel, it's about how the persons involved feel.) The truth is that you don't have to go to college to live a full life (after all, monetary success doesn't automatically breed whole-ness.) The truth is that nothing that happens in life can be taboo (after all, it happens, it's real, and there is no line of propriety.) The truth is that the lines that were set up for you when you were a child no longer need to exist as an adult. After all, an adult has the right to choose and, more importantly, has the knowledge to back up a decision.

Halt!

Well, we've been well trained. Brainwashed from birth. But when will we open our eyes? What does it take for us to realize that we don't live, and have never lived, in any real confines?

Order!

They don't need to graduate to realize it. Today is just another day. They can do anything they want on any given day. They accept the consequences and feel contented in the fact that it was their desire. They shouldn't have to feel as if they're stuck by consequence or by expectation.

Dismiss!

But the point isn't to listen. The point is for her to figure it out herself. Duh.

*saxaphone solo*

This world is flawed, this world is broken

The times march on but the problems stay

Little demons of our own doing

Mischievous, morphing pranksters

Without a conscience, without a care

They’re here to stay

And I was presented unto the world

In all its imperfect, marred glory

I am one of the lucky

Touched but lightly by the flaws of the world

Content to rant and rave on other’s failure

And so, the problems are mine

I will save it. Not as a big damn hero

Just one person fulfilling a self appointed purpose

Because I can

And failing that, I will find a way to burn it all

Turn the world to ash, and watch the buildings fall

Complete the break, and build anew.

Hi. I'm Sohrab.

Dread.

I've dreaded documenting my "transition" (or as I like to call it, upheaval) from the moment I set foot on Wisconsin turf. But after reading "Running With Scissors" I found that sticky situations can make excellent reads. So here goes...

My first day of school was faced with far too much optimism, even for an optimistic girl. I had put on glasses so tinted that they had ceased to be rose-colored and had begun to obscure my vision. I had spent the entire summer convincing myself that moving to Wisconsin would be the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Repeat after me: You WILL like Wisconsin. Repeat twice a day until the first day of school comes. Swallow with Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'."

-

I walked downstairs to recover that sinking feeling I get whenever I see the piles of empty boxes. Boxes, filled with Hemingway to "How to Raise Your Child from Birth to Five" swell and multiply like cancerous tumors. I ambled across the living room with the idea that my headphones were in my backpack; headphones needed to silence a quiet chorus of "Say whaaa?" 's being repeated in my head. I wondered if I would leave Virginia triumphant or with my tail between my legs. Collecting a pair of headphones, not of my own possession, I headed back upstairs before the thought that there was an unnamed person in the house could take my mind and run with it. Back upstairs, I realized that what I had picked up was not a pair of headphones, but a strange headpiece of sorts. I realized that I did not need music to sing me to sleep. Knowing that ignorance is bliss, I turn on my phone to face the tribunal. Nothing. I feel empty and plan to go back downstairs and find a pair of headphones as the screen on the phone turns off. I stare at its blank face and think "Give me truth."

-

I had created a fantastic outfit the night before; it was my armor, so to speak. An embroidered skirt paired with a red studded belt, a white tank top and red Vans. My mother made her suggestion under veils of fitting in. The outfit was no more.

The halls were bustling, the awful artificial school light shining, and I was smiling. Smiling with the promise of new friends and a second chance at anything I had ever wanted.

Wisconsin was all I had ever wanted: everyone was friendly, I was positive that half of the population were descended from hippies, the drama club put on five shows a year and people knew who Chris McCandless was.

Well, what better to do when skipping class than write a blog?

Perhaps it’s the thrill of skipping yet another pointless day of AP literature, or the erratic, thriving atmosphere that is the Middleton High School library, but I just can’t seem to settle down. I feel serrations in my spine, attacking my usually carefree disposition and shooking me into lucid frenzy.

Ow. Mrow. In short, my arm hurts and my back hurts. The state of my being is less than captivating but I tell you, the tale of how it came to be this way is much more engaging. I was eight years old, playing around with my adorable little brother, Sonny, outside. We wandered into the garage. At this time, as it always was when we were young, we were unsupervised. Lying against the back wall was a bright red structure reminiscent of a ladder. This was the piece to a bunk bed my parents had taken apart a few days earlier. Such a grand use of time and play, that bunk bed was. I felt drawn to it; I needed to amuse myself on it still. I climbed up said structure, Sonny urging me to come back down or else we’ll get in trouble. I didn’t listen, and…… I was fine. I climbed up and fooled around, headed back down. Easy enough.

Later that day I was playing with a neighborhood friend, Marie, and I felt compelled to climb the structure once more. I told her how cool and impressive it was, and she just had to see my climbing skills for herself. This time, as Marie urged me to discontinue, I grew cocky. As my hand reached for the highest bar, I lost my footing and fell on my shoulder. The pain… was indescribable (yet I’ll continue to describe it because every time anyone says something is indescribable they contradict that statement by supplying adjectives for that very thing a sentence later). It was the most severe feeling I’ve ever experienced, every nociceptor in that region of my body fully engaged. It felt like many blunt metal objects were consistently pounding into my arm. Mrow. Ow. Marie ran off, afraid of getting in trouble (pussy), and I was left lying in agony alone. I didn’t want my parents to find me for fear of being grounded. I walked out of my garage into sunlight and gazed upon my purple and yellow swollen upper arm. It was inflamed and sore, and I couldn’t fully lift my arm.

That whole summer, I wore long sleeves everyday. I never ever told my parents what I had done, and waiting for the bruising go away on its own. Unfortunately, the healing process didn’t go the way it should have. For two and a half months I had a severely swollen arm, for two and a half months more my parents didn’t pay enough attention to notice, and for two and a half months I let my body heal irregularly. Now, I’m dealing with that scar trauma and emotional trauma associated with my arm, and the connection that had with my back when I fell. Add some years of dance to that and you have a pretty dysfunctional body.

The moral of this tale should be to tell people when you need help, even if you’re afraid. However, I think it’s more along the lines of… people suck, do whatever the hell you want to do, but be ready to accept the consequences for it. I know that I should be developing as a person and growing from this experience, however, I don’t accept that my parents didn’t notice I couldn’t move my arm for so long. I don’t accept that my friend ran away from me instead of helping me when I needed her. And now I’m having a difficult time accepting that the only way to really survive in this world is to always think of you first. But was this climbing experience worth it? Oh fuck yeah, I had fun.