I have serious issues with having crushes on people. I do! Most of my girlfriends have heard me digress about my guy problems, but my friends of the male persuasion have not. Me and guys, we're kind of weird. I am the oldest child in my family, and I was forced by my parents to grow up a little bit faster than all the other older children that I knew. I started having adult conversations when I was 7 and I had a college reading level by the time I was in second grade. So, I've always connected with people that are somewhat older than me, or possessing knowledge or wisdom far greater than mine. This inevitably leads to a major fault when finding a guy to crush on. I had my first boyfriend when I was 12 and he 16. The fact that my body matured faster than all the other girls my age may have had something to do with that one, but we lasted for 3 years, off and on. Sean was kind of weird - he's younger than me, but in the 8th grade he had seen so much more of the world than I had - I was still innocent and naive, stuck in the candy-coated shell of childhood. Casey was also interesting, he was a year older than me, slightly goofy, but in his eyes and his letters, he still held so much more in him than I could know. His mysteriousness (is that a word?) made me cling to him. I got my first job at Music and Arts when I was 15, and this is where the whole falling-for-guys-older-than-me problem comes in. I started work at the end of July, and by mid-August I had developed a major crush on my 23 year old coworker. He was awesome, and he called me love, and helped calm me down when asshole customers ragged on the newbie. He was also the one to hold me in the back room of our store after I saw a book of music from West Side Story and started bawling, right after we found out about my uncle. It was not a good idea to crush on him, but I did anyway. At a New Year's party at my district managers house, I met a guy named Preston. I would not see Preston again until Valentine's Day, when we would both be stuck working, his first day at the North Fulton store. We became awesome, awesome friends, and I developed (duh) a major, major crush on him, which he later confronted me about. Dude, it's not good to have a 25 year old girlfriend of the guy you like stare daggers at you. It's scary. After the whole incident with Preston, I tried to crush on guys my own age, and it worked for a while, as I was constantly around band boys, who, as we all know, can be very sexually oriented. Then a minor incident with Ass-Boy happened in March (I swear he was different) and Prom, and then life calmed down. And now there is a new full-timer at my store, a 20 year old male named Nigel (but he looks like a Ben) who is by far the funnest, nicest, awesomest guy I've ever met. He believes in chivalry, which is so cool in my book. So here, a problem. Current crush: Nigel. When will I ever learn?
I have to take the SAT's tomorrow at Gainesville High School, which I am not looking forward to. Monday is my last day of summer vacation, which sucks major ass because I have to work that night. Not too much else interesting here, except for the fact that I would like to kill Laura Murphy for thinking she's fat. Leave that to the fat people, darlin. Calm down. I want to hear about the misadventures Ashleigh, Amy, and Garrett had today. Do inform me. Bonne nuit, mes anges. Et bon chance en le SAT.

Tear drop 10:30 PM of Sarah

I used to think that Ms. Durden was an awful, awful counselor. I changed my mind. So I got up at 6:15 this morning (blech) and went to work with my dad, which was a very cool experience. I got to speed (with my dad's permission, awesome) down 400 at 7:30 in the morning, and ride MARTA and a scary guy got in our car and asked for money. Actually he demanded it, yelling and screaming. And then we walked to Follet, which is pretty cool. I could definately see myself spending time in one of those, say, in New York or something. But I was upset because they didn't have a single book that I needed for my AP classes. And then the fun part happened - I rode MARTA back to the North Springs station all by my onesies (woohoo!) and then drove home on 400 without getting killed. I am very, very proud of myself. Then I decided I needed to copy the 40 page AP Biology packet that I'd stolen from Starla two weeks ago, and take her copy to her work. So I did that, jumping around the study to VH1 Divas Live, which was currently showcasing Cher, Ellen Degeneres, and Celine Dion. Interesting combination, as I don't particularily care for any of them. Well, maybe Ellen. She's funny. And then I went to the school, and spent a good half-hour to 45 minutes discussing next year's schedule, college, etc. etc. with Ms. Durden, who proved to be kind of funny, and actually helpful. And then I watched the Mexican, which was amusing, as Brad Pitt is totally and completely gorgeous and sexy and etc. etc. etc. (all words lead to salivation) ahhh..... I get to go to Barnes and Noble tonight, and my daddy will buy me all the books I want.... oooh I cannot wait to have more reading material. Mr. Wade gave me a copy of Tuesdays with Morrie that he found in the hall at school, but I also need non school oriented books. La-la. This has been a happy day. But my mother and littlest sister are coming home tonight, so we'll see how well that goes....

Tear drop 3:58 PM of Sarah

I love my father, I really do. Normally he is my best pal. Today I was actually going around thinking, "I miss hanging out with my father." Not too many people I know do that. But after watching Letterman with him, and coming upstairs and talking with him for a moment, we got on the subject of college, which is, all in all, a bad idea. Most parents look at their little darlings and say, "try really hard, so that you can get into a really good school." My father says to me, "try really hard, so that you ca go to UGA." UG-FREAKING-A! I have never, ever, EVER wanted to go to a Georgia school. EVER. Granted, the honors program does look kind of cool, but UGA is not my type of school. I'm in for the small, liberal arts COLLEGE type of school. Not a university. And my father starts in with the guilt trip - well why did we move here? We didn't have to move to Georgia and totally upset our lives, we could have stayed in Greenville, freaking South Carolina. The Hope Scholarship this, the Hope Scholarship that, blah blah blah. What he doesn't understand that I would freak out going to a large college. I practically freak out at Milton! He doesn't understand that UGA doesn't offer the type of experience that I am looking for. He doesn't understand that UGA does not offer the type of courses I would like to take. But I'm the one he harps on, his angel, his princess, his favorite child. I bear the brunt of it, while my sisters, who will be going to Georgia schools, let me assure you, sit and laugh at me. Look at the smarter one, how she is ridiculed for wanting to leave Georgia. Ha ha ha. It never changes. I tried to show him the 8 schools that I'm planning on applying to, and he flipped out. Not a good sign, when it comes down to the fact that HE'S paying for my entire college experience. Ack. I think I'll go read some more of my Tamora Pierce book. They're actually quite entertaining...

Tear drop 1:04 AM of Sarah

Apparently I haven't updated my blog in a year, which is quite an exaggeration, thank-you Amy, because it's only been 3 days. I just haven't felt like blogging. I've been having a really good time hanging out with my dad this week. We go out to dinner every night (Razzoo's last night - LOVE the crawfish etouffee) and we watch movies. Yay. Hanging out with my dad is fun, I haven't been able to do it all year. Last night we rented Election, which neither of us had seen. It was amusing at parts, but I was left with an overall feeling of disatisfaction. The movie didn't come together enough for me to think of it with the esteem that my friends seem to. Oh well, tonight we watch a classic - Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Got to love Cameron Crowe man, and 80's movies? Those are so fun. The Brat Pack man, I wish I could have been around for that. Maybe not, the 80's clothing and hairstyles were kind of scary. It was after we finished watching election that I came upstairs and freaked out about colleges because I read Drew's blog about Northwestern's writing program (!!!!!) and then proceded to realize that we only have 6 months left to decide where to apply! Agh! But I promised I wouldn't talk about it anymore, so...
I went by the school today to talk to my counselor (Ms. Durden, the bane of my existence) but of course she was not there. So I visited Ms. Hammack, and helped her put the futon cushion on top of some filing cabinets, and we talked for a while. And she told me something really nifty about me that she had wanted to write in my yearbook, but I had forgotten to bring it. It really made me want to cry. And then I went to see Mr. Paris, because Mr. Paris is just the coolest guy ever, I swear. I'm thinking about changing my elective next year from Film Appreciation to Sculpture 2. Fun stuff. I picked up my last remaining pieces of artwork (I love them I love them I love them), and put them in the car, and went to go see Serkie. Serkie's room looked like it had been hit by a tornado - after all of her students had dropped off their end of the year projects. It was nuts. I found out my grade (85! 85!) and talked to her about London, and she laughed and told me to wake her when it was over. I had to take my dog to the vet today, it was kind of scary because he whimpered and shrieked the whole way there and most of the way back. Not too much else happening on the home front, going to work in an hour or so. Sounds great... See this is why I didn't feel like blogging - NOTHING INTERESTING HAS HAPPENED! Oh well. Good-bye.

Tear drop 3:44 PM of Sarah

Like Laura Murphy, I have rules about summer. One must wear tank tops and sundresses and floaty skirts. Sandals are the only form of footwear acceptable during the summer, and bare feet are preferred. Tans are a must, but they should not come from just "laying out" - one must be doing something while getting the tan, be it practicing guard stuff, reading and annotating for AP Lit, or playing in the waves at the beach. One must make a conscious effort to become more physically fit during the summer because during the school year, we all sit around on our butts in front of our computers typing out paper after paper, and doing countless research projects - for visitors, roller coasters, etc. One must go to the beach. This is where my irritability stems from, this notion of the beach. I love the beach. I absolutely love the beach. I am not one to go to the neighborhood pool and swim in chlorine for hour upon hour (though I do enjoy swimming) and be content with my life. Water and sunshine only perfectly combine when the water is crashing in waves upon a white-hot sandy shore, the sun is beating down so hot and so ruthlessly that you can't feel your shoulders turn red with blister, there is sand in your bathing suit, because, as Anakin Skywalker notes "it gets everywhere", you taste of salt, salt, and more salt, fried clams are the meal of the week, virgin Daquiri's and margaritas abound, and Blistex with sunscreen is the only makeup one needs. In other words, a trip to the beach is my favorite summer excursion. And my mother is taking my two sisters to the beach tomorrow, and leaving me behind. This pisses me off, as one would imagine. My summer is so filled that this is practically the only time when I can go beaching, even though I can't really, and I don't get to go. I have had daydreams in the middle of classes about searching for shells, swimming in the ocean, getting sand stuck to my face, wearing flip flops grayed and smudged with wet sand, going to dinner at the Crazy Crab (my favorite) and the Salty Dog Cafe at Hilton Head Island. I first went to Hilton Head in February of last year for my uncles quasi-funeral. My mom, dad, two sisters, grandmother, and step-grandfather drove down (from Alpharetta and Virginia) to a house my grandparents had rented for three months, and spent the weekend pacing slowly up and down the cold shores of the beach, dipping our feet in the ice cold seawater puddles and digging for shells. At the end of our stay we released his ashes, and said good-bye, amidst the sobs of my mother and my grandmother. I returned to the island last June, with my mom and 2 sisters, and the Morrises. Hm. We had a great time, for the most part, and it was on that trip that I fell in love with the beach all over again.
When I was a child I lived in Orlando, Florida, and every October my family and I (including my father, which was a big deal) would pack up our things and head up to Tampa Bay for a two-week excursion at the beach with my grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and other extended family members. We were on year-round school in Florida, so this always worked out for us. We would spend a glorious two weeks crammed into two or three hotel rooms, or even a rather large beach house,and spend our days on the sand, our nights on the Boardwalk. When I moved to Connecticut these trips to the beach ended, and I have missed them, as I would not go to the beach again for 6 or 7 years.
So, to cut things short, I am pissed at my mother for taking away the enjoyment of a beaching summer. But I suppose that I will get to go to Hilton Head later on, and I will look at this blog and say what a whiny bitch. I feel much better now because Marcus called. Things are better, he's in Houston, and all is quiet on the homefront. Until my mother and my sister start arguing again...

Tear drop 2:29 PM of Sarah

I never knew that it would be so hard to say good-bye to someone. Tonight I went to my friend Taylor's graduation party - I picked up my friends Paul and Marcus at the Residence Inn, where Marcus is staying, and we drove to Taylor's dad's house, and partied for a few hours. Around 8:30, we decided to leave - we had things to take care of before we returned Marcus to his hotel around 9:30. We drove through Crooked Creek, where Marcus once lived. We drove by his house, and we drove to a vacant home near his, and we sat inside on the hardwood floor that had yet to be polished, and talked. At 10, we realized that we were late, and Marcus called his mom - and all of the sudden, our mood changed, and our outlook became "to hell with it" and we stayed out past his curfew, anyway. We drove to the MHS track, where I parked the car, and we strolled down the concrete to the newly "rubberized" track that has felt so much pain, glory, and nostalgia over the past year. And we walked around the track together, side by side, marching in step with each other, to the beat of life that pulsed through the three of our bodies. As we rounded a curve, Marcus sprinted in front of us, and set up his position for his relay. He ran through the whole sequence of events - from the jump of the gun with Lance Turner, to the high-stepping speed of Sean Bailey. And then to Marcus, who flew on the night's wings down his arc of the relay, and handed off the baton to the finisher, Mr. Wendell Beason. At the end of his arc, he collapsed to the ground, and kissed the track, holding on to the memories he has had running between those painted white lines. He leapt up off the ground, and hurled himself over the fence on the football field, to participate in the long jump events, and then he stopped. And a calm came over him, and there was a silence. And then his voice boomed out over the night, and he gave a speech that rivaled each and every one of the speeches he had heard at his high school graduation the night before. And in the end, he quoted Matt Bonds - "Every man dies, but not every man truly lives." With this he walked back to the end of the football field in shadows, and I heard his sniffles before I saw him step into the light. He came over the fence, and I approached him, and he collapsed on me, bawling, and I the same. We walked back to my car, but we didn't get in. Instead we boarded the open track bus, and sat in the very back, while Marcus cried with his head against a seatback, repeating the fall-out cheer of the Marching Eagles. And when he finished, when his sobs became more vicious, more pleading, we repeated it with him - "Feet - together. Stomach - in. Shoulders - up, back, down. Eyes - with pride. Eyes - with PRIDE. EYES - WITH PRIDE." And together we cried some more. We left the bus and got into the car - but Marcus wasn't ready to leave. He took off at full speed towards the track, where he put all of his energy into running one final lap - his victory lap. And he returned to the car, and we drove to the hotel. Saying good-bye at the hotel was one of the most saddening experiences of my life. We weren't able to do it! The three of us were so close - we had been through so many exploits and so many stress-induced moments that we knew each other well - even if we'd only been friends for a year. And we said good-bye 10, 12 times. All the while crying - 2 guys and a girl bawling in the middle of a hotel parking lot in the middle of the night. We must have stayed in that parking lot for hours - just standing there crying, remembering the victories, the losses, the laughter, and the tears. Our final good-bye was in a walk to the door. Paul and I stood there, arms around each other's waists, one hand raised in a good-bye to our friend. And we cried again, and he ran back to us, and we walked into the hotel. We spent another 10 minutes saying good-bye in the hotel, and then Marcus got us "commemorative" roomkeys to his hotel room. And we said our final good-byes. He walked off through another door, towards his room, and Paul and I walked out into the night, and we each drove our cars to our respective houses, crying all the way. Marcus is moving to Houston, TX today. He leaves at 5:00 this morning for the airport. I think. He may be driving. He has meant so much to me over the past year - I don't know what I would do without him. This was the boy who showed up an hour late for Sadie Hawkins, the boy who cried at the band banquet in April, the boy I stayed up all night with after prom. This was the boy who threw down his prized trombone to be trampled when my shin splints were smacked with my flagpole, and I couldn't move myself off the field, so that he could pick me up and move me out of harms way. This was the boy I have loved and I have hugged and danced with and smiled with for the past year. And next year it will be this all over again - at different intervals, multiple times, for my friends whom I hold so close to my heart. This year has been amazing. It was not with the closure of graduation that the school year ended for me. When I said good-bye to my friend at 11:50 this evening was when the door closed on my junior year of high school. I drove home and I was screaming and crying, and speeding my ass off down Kimball Bridhe Rd. so as to make curfew. I walked into my house a different person than I had left it. I had mascara streaks dripping down my face, my eyes are red and swollen still. And I am ready for Tuesday, when Paul and I will go to the track and release Marcus' graduation balloons, and give our final good-bye to the " ' 02 " floating in the wind, and our friend in Houston, Texas.

Tear drop 12:32 AM of Sarah

I am a night owl. I thrive on darkness, because it means that I am secluded in my room with the soothing sound of my humming computer, my music, and the ever present tap-ta-tap-tap of my keyboard. At night, I am inevitably on the computer, for various reasons. Tonight, as with many other nights, I have been working on a school project. History is, alas, almost over. In this, I dread putting the finishing touches on my timeline of music in the 60's, because that means that I have completed my final assignment for Serkie, that my last burst of academic energy has been put forth and laid out on the table, to be chopped to bits, I'm sure, as the timeline does not look quite as nifty as I had imagined in my head. I have a Sculpture final tomorrow, 6th period, but it's not really a final. Because I have learned so much in that class that is nonacademic, non factual material that it is actually impossible to judge exactly what I have learned from Mr. Paris this semester. I did not learn to do things with my brain - I learned to make my ideas. I learned to do so many different things with my hands that I've never been able to do before - mold clay, gesso a random combination of blocks of wood, make paper and mount the paper creatively, create a hanging, free-spinning wire figure, and so many other projects that I would have never imagined would be borne from my fingertips. Art this year has definately let out some of my steam, helped me control my energy. Without Ben, Alex, Tami, Nick, Jamie, Ms. Painter, and Mr. Paris, I would not have been able to calm myself down, and pour all of my emotions into whatever I was working on. Of course, there was that week when I was stuck in Drawing and Painting 1, absolutely terrified out of my mind because I can't DRAW or PAINT, and wanting to take all of my frustration out on Ms. Jackson's throat, that art was not so good. But then it got better. And I was happy. Tomorrow I'll be the only person in my class at my table. I'll have to spend a whole two hours alone in the back corner of the room, fighting the urge to scream out for my senior friends to come back, to not graduate. Jamie might not graduate, but we've been expecting that. I'll come in tomorrow afternoon, after gorging myself for two hours on random delicacies donated by various members of my APUSH class, and set my backpack down quietly, and sit down, hands in my lap, my body hunched over, trying to hide inside of myself, which, we all know, is not possible. And I'll take a final that does not really quantify what I've learned this semester, and I'll grab my last few remaining projects - my clay "gateway" into the sun, my paper mirror of two faces, my freshly painted fantasy creature, and I'll shuffle down the crowded streets to city hall, where I'll race my sister home, and then go to work, then the bank, then Superior Wok, and then Star Wars (again!). And when I finally sit down at the table with my friends for lunch, is when I'll finally realize that it truly is over. That Daniel's birthday has passed, that my last art project has been graded, that I'll never get to hear Caswell say "Was?" or some equally delightful German phrase ever again. I'll go by and visit the teachers that really meant something to me, and had a positive impact on my life - Jones, Serkie, Ms. Hammack, Mr. Paris. Maybe Dr. Bell, maybe not. She scares me when she yells. But in the end, it won't be like being in their class again. I've seen Mr. Wade every day for the past school year, because he's like a second father to me, because I enjoyed his class so much, and yet, it's so different from being in his class, because even though we're discussing fine books or interesting music, he's not my teacher anymore - he's transitioned into a friend. I could probably continue writing forever, I won't get tired until I wake up in the morning. But I don't want to spend all of Graduation asleep on the concrete or on a friends shoulder. So I'll go put the finishing touches on my APUSH project and pack up for the night, sending all my future travails down the road to wait for me.

Tear drop 12:58 AM of Sarah

Ok. So, I'm back. But I've gotten over the whiny, pity-me blahness of my previous blog. Sorry about that! I regained my love for life as I helped my sister get ready for her 8th grade dance. I remember my 8th grade dance, I had so much fun. I had the biggest crush on my best friend, Sean, and I was so looking forward to dressing up in this beautiful blue dress my mom had bought me, and putting flowers in my hair in total Heidi braids. My friends and I took tons of pictures - I have two rolls of film for that night - it was so special. Because we all forgot about our trials and tribulations, forgot the fact that we would soon be split up into Chattahoochians and Miltonites, and we just partied hard, dancing, sweating, and laughing. I felt so beautiful and so glamorous that night - it was before I gained all the weight, right after I'd gotten my braces off for the first time. Everything was perfect and shiny, a total glittering moment in time. One of my favorite pictures of myself is from that night, hanging all over Sean, both of us smiling at the camera, in complete and utter best friend laughter, no confusion about romance or dating. It was great. I watched one of my sisters get ready for the dance the year after I did, and she looked gorgeous - my sister actually cleaned up nice! She got her hair and nails done, and she had the coolest shoes - they were fruit punchy in color, but they went with her dress beautifully, and she looked magnificent. And now my baby sister is going to her dance, in a dress that is similar to my blue one - but longer, skimpier, more stylish. I did her makeup, made her glitter and shine. As she walked out the door, she was smiling, which is such a nice contrast to the normal PMS-ing attitude she lays down on my entire family day by day. I smiled back at her, and drank my raspberry milkshake.

Tear drop 6:58 PM of Sarah

I used to be afraid of Drew Dir. Now Drew, if you ever read this, though I have no idea why you would, please do not take offense. I'm not sure why I was afraid of him, I just was. Whenever he would be anywhere remotely near me, my stomach would start doing flips, my palms would sweat, and I would get a headache. And it wasn't because I had a crush on him, and it wasn't because he smelled bad or anything, it was just BECAUSE. Maybe it was because I felt inferior. But I still do, especially after reading all of his archives for his blogs. Wow. I can't even get my archives to work properly, so he's already a step ahead. But his entries were so out of my frame of mind - I could never write anything the way that he writes. His writing is just so true - it's not full of detail upon detail, like I write, or full of humor and sarcasm, like Daniels, or amusing like Amy's or Ashleigh's, or even full of descriptions about the day, like Laura. It's just amazing - capturing all of the emotions and ideas and expressions all in one blog. I want to go cry now. I am such a little girl about things like that - if things don't go my way, if I'm not better than someone, anyone, I get upset, my self esteem turns to dust, and my stomach aches for hours. I lose all interest in doing things academic, which is bad, because I have to do my APUSH project tonight. I am such a liar. I used to be intelligent, you know, I was a creative child. I learned to read at 2, started school at 3, and was in the gifted program from day one. And I progressed through childhood - bubbly, bright, happy in the sunny state of Florida. And then something changed, and I lost some of my drive to be brilliant. I began to concede to other people - oh no, I'm not as smart, I'm not as creative. And my intelligence level, my creativity has been on a downward slide since then. I used to want to be a child prodigy, a genius - an amazing piano player, a writer at age 8, graduating from college at 18, like my mother. My mom was a pretty smart chick - she finished high school in two years, finished college in another 2. I've been told I got her brains, but I left them behind somewhere. Maybe they're sitting on the bookshelf in my bedroom in Connecticut, in a little town called Monroe, a beautiful, clean place. Almost like Drew's Maine. Until I was 14 I wanted to go to Harvard. It was my life's ambition, to go to Harvard, be a doctor. Now I want to be an English teacher, a writer. I want to go to college at Sarah Lawrence, Macalester, Hobart and William Smith, Amherst, or Mt. Holyoke. My mother was accepted to Stanford. I don't think I'll ever live up to my parents expectations, not really. My mom has expressed many times her distaste at the fact that I am not as brilliant as she was, as I should be. She and my father pretend to be excited for me when I bring home grades that I struggled to get, but later, I can hear them talking about how I'm just not living up to my potential, how I lost my drive so long ago. Nothing is ever good enough - no matter how hard I tried, I could not get a B in AP Physics. And I tried so hard - I studied for all the formula quizzes, did the labbook, did all of my homework - and bombed the tests. I got tutors, I came in for extra help, I had emergency study sessions with friends, but nothing changed the fact that I just didn't get it. I was interested in it, too! And my parents applauded me last night for telling them I would be getting a 74 in physics. My first C, letting me know that I really am average. I lie to myself - telling myself that I'm smarter than I actually am, so I can take AP course upon AP course, and justify the stress. I try to hang out with the elite members of our class, but it doesn't work because they all smell my lie. They can read the discomfort it etches across my face. I will never be smart, I will never be good enough for my parents, or my colleges of choice. That's all there fucking is to it.

Tear drop 5:23 PM of Sarah

Oh wow, I feel ill. Remind me never to eat what I ate at Friday's today ever again. Gross. Reading blogs is a favorite pastime for me - I go in order that I have them linked on my page, then over to a few others I can't decide whether or not to link. And then I sign in to blogger.com, and open up my blog page and sit here. And I stare at the illuminated blankness on my screen, a blank text box ready for me to fill it with words of depression, happiness, nostalgia, remorse, and love. I always wonder what to write, because there are so many things to say. So I emailed someone with a response to their blog, because some of the stuff that I needed to say I couldn't put out here in my forum. It was just meant for that one person. So go check your mail, maybe it was you. Ashleigh wrote a beautiful blog tonight - her humor usually masks all of her personal feelings, from stress to sadness. But tonight she wrote and it was personal, and it made me cry. Because it's so true, everything she said. I've wondered for hours, days, weeks, whole months out of my lifetime about whether or not I was doing the right thing. I know I'll be taking classes next year that I enjoy - I picked them with the intent of not stressing out too much over the things that I would never understand, like AP Calc. I'm not taking it, I'm maybe one out of three people who took Precal this year that's not taking it next year. And it's not because I had a crappy grade, and Jones was telling me I would fail out miserably in the first week, because I have a B in the class. It was because I stress out way too much over math related subjects. I don't comprehend math as well as I should - I used to do pretty well at it. And then I moved to South Carolina, and my math skills slipped away because they were a year behind, and wouldn't let me take a math course for 8th grade when I was in 7th. So when I moved here, I was unprepared. Algebra I in middle school was a bad idea - I dropped out. But I took it in summer school, which was probably not the best idea, because that's where my whole issue with math began. You can't learn as much as you need to learn in 6 weeks, it's impossible. Especially for a math class. And so my foundation in math wasn't stable, and I've just been bumped along for the past three years because I do all of my homework and try really hard. Some people even take pity on me and try to tutor me from time to time. So, no stressful math classes next year. I'll be taking AP Stats and Bio, while my friends are taking AP Calc, and Physics BC. Not my cup of tea.
But the classes I'm taking are HARD. Lots of writing. 4 AP classes - I thought I was going to die this year with just two! But I can handle it, I know I'm capable of it. But I have so many extracurriculars next year, so many other things I spend time on. Drama, Habitat, NHS, French Club, Colorguard, working, etc. etc. etc. And I want to join more clubs, do more things! Make sure that I have a well rounded application, while doing the things I enjoy. Where is the time for hanging out with my friends? I love my friends, we only have a year left in high school to spend together. But we're all going to be so busy, going 95 mph, stressing and pulling our hair out to SUCCEED. When are we going to have time to just call each other up and say, hey, I need to go to Eckards in Winward, and I'm lost. Want me to come pick you up and we can go out driving for a while? Or to concerts, or the movies, or to the ice cream place, or just out? When does that happen?
So I'm looking forward to next year. I'm trying to prepare myself as much as I can this summer - reading things I should have read years ago, doing research, expanding my vocabulary. It'll be like I never left school - but in addition to expanding my mind academically, I'm going to expand my mind culturally. I have a list of over 100 books I want to read this summer, just because they sound interesting. I have a list of movies that I have to see, because I'll be considered socially uncouth if I don't. And I'll be taking summer school, and working, and doing my AP prework. And I'llbe hanging out with my friends. I'll converse through postcards with Ashleigh, who will be in New Hampshire. Daniel and I will talk on the net, I'll write him emails. Laura and Amy and Sara and I will be around all summer - driving in the heat that steams up from the asphalt with the windows rolled down and the music blasting, on the way to nowhere and everywhere. And Bethany is apparently off to a thousand exotic locations. Everyone is rolling in so many different directions, it's going to be hard to keep up. I'm going to miss everyone.
I've lost track of where I was going with this blog. I think I was trying to respond to Ashleigh's, because I haven't done that yet. But I think that I was trying to respond to some fear that has been hiding inside my heart and at the back of my brain for weeks.Yesterday I released some of the tension, and I realized that I was ready to be a senior. Today I realized that it was good to drive calmly down Northpoint and Kimball Bridge, while laughing with my sister and listening to the Something For Everyone mix with the windows down. And that 6 hour naps were good. And Precal - I either know it or I don't. No more inbetweens. I think I've pushed it out of my hands now, and left everything to fate. Yes, I studied, yes I freaked out (thank you Daniel, for calming me down), and tomorrow before I race out of my house (late once again) I will rub my lucky Buddha that Bethany bought me in New York. And after that there is no more studying, just racing to get my APUSH project done (oops) and gazing over notes from my Sculpture class that make no sense. So it's over, more or less. Already. Wow.
I think I've written way too much, and made no sense at all. But I feel calmer now, which is good. I think I'll go to sleep.
P.S. - HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASEY!

Tear drop 1:02 AM of Sarah

I always check my friends blogs before I sign in to update mine. And I always try to reply to at least one of them. But there are so many things that I wish to respond to, so many things that need to be said, and taken back. And all these actions, and all these phrases, will shift silently through the distance that ultimately sits between two friends, and then it's up to the friends to decide what is voiced, and what remains a secret. And I can't decide! I have proclaimed over and over again that I don't make decisions anymore, but that's always a bad idea, because then people will walk all over me, and ruin my life, like they did in South Carolina. When I lived in South Carolina, I was one of the smartest people there (shocker, because I am soooo not up to parr here), I was a member of the "popular" crowd, and I hung out with my friends all the time. And then a girl named Stacy began to realize that I was just pretending - I was not strong, I was weak, I had been through too much, and I was trying to conform to everyone's ideals so that they would like me. Which is all popularity was, maybe it still is, I gave up caring a long time ago. And then I moved here, and I created this shell for myself, and no one was allowed in. No one talked to me for the first two months that I lived here. Not a single student. Only my teachers noticed me. I was trying to pretend to be bright, so they gave me nods of encouragement, and a pat on the back. And I remained in my shell, until I had observed everyone and everythign to the point where I could begin to live again. And I met this girl, and this girl and I had so much fun together - she was loud and outgoing, and she taught me not to care about what other people think, as long as it's good for you and doesn't hurt other people in the process. She made me remember how to laugh and how to smile. And so I moved on, and I've gradually become reaqquainted with the world. And I have become the wonderful, self-assured person that I am today.
No, seriously. And so, to each and every one of my blogging friends - I have so many things I need to say to you that I could probably never type out, never voice, and never let you know about, to the full extent of their meanings to me. You would all think I was nuts, too sentimental, and that I was reading things into paragraphs that aren't there. I probably am. But you all mean so much to me.
Enough with the cheese, I know, I know, you're all begging me to stop, but I can't... maybe I'll transition to something else. I'll try.
Today was our last full day of school as juniors. I was going through each and every one of my classes getting people to sign that god awful weight of a yearbook, and trying to pay attention and my teachers tried to teach us the most important things at the very last minute. It was so weird. I looked at Mr. Caswell this morning, and saw not a man whose class I feared based solely on the fact that my GPA dropped into the danger zone, but a man whose class I enjoyed shuffling to each morning, and laughing with my friends in, and actually learning something and being interested in the subject - even though I would never, ever understand the material. And in French, I watched Dr. Bell struggle to keep order with the rowdiest sophomores I've ever been around. And she was smiling, and she was comfortable, and it was fun, because she wasn't having a mood swing, and we were all signing yearbooks, and I suddenly found my love for the French language again. And in Lit, Ms. Hammack made me cry. I cry way, way too much for a normal 17 year old girl. Somehow, I always connect with my Literature teachers, you know? Perhaps it's because I want to be one when I grow up, and that a woman as sweet as she is has had to endure so much this year, and she's only cried in front of us about 1/16th of the times I would have imagined myself breaking down in tears , that I know that I will miss her. I will miss everything about her class, because she tried to make the Scarlet Letter come alive, and because Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois have lived in her room these past weeks. I'm about to cry some more... god. Mr. Jones is such a good teacher. I bitch and I moan about how much I don't understand, and about how it's so hard, blah blah blah. But it was so much fun. And it was so worth all of the stress, and the sweat, and the tears, and the number of dents in the wall behind my door. But he's such a great guy - sure, he may try to instill fear in our hearts, and make our palms sweat, and make us pull our hair out in that which is Precal agony, but he's not a bad guy. He listens to you when you break down suddenly at 7:30 in the morning, project in tow, homework ripped to shreds in your hands, after not having slept in 3 days, and having showered in 2, and he just lets you freak out on him. And when you're done, there are tissues. And coffee. God love the coffee. And whenever you need help with anything math related, or anything anything related, he's there. And he gives pity points, and he lets you retry if you totally froze on a trig quiz and couldn't remember a single thing, and therefore didn't answer a single thing. And we laugh, SO MUCH in that class. And we make fun of him, and we make fun of Puyaun. And the ever present squirt bottle, it's just great. Because he's witty, and he's British, which gives him extra points. And Serkie, well Serkie is nuts. She's high on tea and fromage. Wow, what a lady. So much energy packed into so short of a human being - I wonder why she hasn't exploded yet. But she tries so hard to make an interesting subject even more interesting. And she laughs, and she's nuts, and we are cows watching a passing train, carrying Henry Clay's big package, right after the "era" of good feelings. Such laughter. And my art classes have been fun - much better than last year's Intro, with Nick Ciarochi. We had good times. And all of a sudden, my last full day as a junior was over. And driving home, I rolled my windows down, and I turned on the music, and then somethign strange happened. Everything collapsed on top of me, with a finality, and I didn't want my music on, at all, and I didn't want my sister next to me, I didn't want to be driving, and I didn't want to be going home. So I came home and slept it all away. And when I woke up, I furiously avoided studying for my french exam. Which may or may not be a bad thing, one never can tell. But I feel better now, more resolved. Because I think this afternoon was a transition that I needed to make. No matter how long I wish that this year would go on, I'm ready to become a senior now. I'm ready for my next great adventure, my next great year. And with luck, I'll have all of you alongside me to complete the adventure with.

Tear drop 11:16 PM of Sarah

Oh wow. For the guys, and for the faint of heart, I suggest you just immediately skip over this post in my blog. This is my disclaimer. If you proceed, it's not my fault...
So I watched Life as a House today, yet again. Well not the whole thing - I started to watch the whole thing while cleaning up my room, but then I got bored with cleaning my room, and I decided I wanted to watch Hayden, only. Not the dustbunnies underneath my bed. So, I fast forward to one of my favorite scenes in the movie. And for all of you hormonally charged females who have seen Life as a House, you know EXACTLY to which scene I am referring. The infamous shower scene. Oh wow. Oh man, I am enthralled. I have watched it at least 7 times over. The scene is totally contrived, I know, who would actually do that, but still... there's this thing that happens when he looks at her. It's electric. And when he kisses her, he hesitates, because he's not sure of himself, not how to go on, not sure if he can actually do that. And then, it;s there...warm and sweet, and wet (shower water, shower water!!!!!) and all of a sudden he has this animalistic craving for her, and wow. That boy can kiss. I mean just to observe it gives some kind of chill, you know what I mean? I want to be kissed like that someday - unsure, then sweet, then urgent. All the while soft, and then the edges of the frame will get hazy, and I can no longer tell fact from fiction, and I begin to think that this is the only person that I'm supposed to kiss - forever. And that instant will be perfect and amazing, because, for once, all the trials are over, and the whole image is sharp and detailed, though everything outside of the frame of me and my kisser will be faded and hazy - not existing to the moment. Wow. I really, really need to get off this Hayden Christensen jag fast, or I may start making out with my computer screen. Sigh... aren't obsessions grand? I mean, I'm not totally obsessed, more like deranged (for analyzing his kissing style), but did you notice he did that in Episode II, as well?!?! Yeah, hello! He looked like he wanted to devour her. Pretty intense. Does anyone else ever think the way that I do, about things like this? Does anyone ever dream of the perfect kiss? The one that makes your lips tingle, and little bubbles of pink elation run rampant throughout the skin, and your head get dizzy, and your eyes slide into stars, and your ears hear the whoosh of the perfection passing by? Or am I the only hopeless romantic like that? I don't know...I'm so weird.

Tear drop 12:07 AM of Sarah

My sister has issues. Seriously. I have said it before, and I will say it again. She needs anger management programs. And she's a pathological liar, I'm quite sure. Because we know when she's lying about something, yet she maintains (loudly) that she's telling the truth. And tonight, I got home from Ashleigh's softball game (yay Ashleigh) and was immediately attacked by the fact that my sister was accusing me of demanding 20 bucks per week in gas money from her. Not true at all, since I don't use 20 bucks worth of gas money a week, and I haven't EVER asked her for gas money. When she gave me that 20 dollars, she put it in the car. Said, "this is for gas money". And so, I used it for gas money. And I bought her things when we went out after school - food, drinks, whatever she wanted. But she still accuses me of demanding money from her. And my parents totally ate it up. I swear, they are LOOKING for a reason to take this car away from me. Poor Layla. Speaking of reasons to take my car away, I do need to clean my room. Probably a good idea... but my sister has these issues, and my parents won't listen to me, because apparently they believe that I'm extortioning 20 dollars a week from my "poor little sister". Poor little sister my ass. She's not poor, she's bitchier than I am, and she's got an attitude the size of the United States. And there are some points in life, when I'm not sure if I can stand another second of her presence, when I might have to kill her. I hope that she gets over this whole PMS I'm going to blame all my problems on you type of crap SOON, because it's NOT becoming at all. She needs to grow up, and stop lying. Goddamn.

Tear drop 10:01 PM of Sarah

Ok, so it's 2:30 in the morning, and I still haven't gone to sleep yet. And one would think that I, being that I always complain about being tired, would seize an opportunity to sleep more. However, I'm not bogged down by school projects (because I accidentally left my physics binder at school, and ran out of money for history projects...) and I'm not doing anything else special. I did rent Life As A House, one of my favorite movies, even though it does touch on cheese at the end, it has Hayden in it. And God knows I have a Hayden obsession. Oh man. Wow... so I rented it, and watched it, and of course it made me sad, and depressed, and made me want to cry for YEARS. And when I feel that way, I can't go to sleep, because then the bad feelings will all surround me at once, and I'll be lost to the nightmares, one more time. So, I got online, and clicked on the EW window on my welcome screen from AOL, and got linked to Star Wars information. And from there I linked to more Star Wars information, and then the official Star Wars site, where I clicked on the character database, and spent a good hour or so trying to figure out what the hell would be going on in the next one. I also discovered that Luke gets married later on to someone named Mara Jade, and they have a kid named Ben (after Obi-Wan, duh) and Leia and Han have 3 kids, two of whom are twins (Jacen and Jaina) and Anakin is their youngest child. And there are all these story lines that I never heard of. Weird, huh. So I've been online for a while, and I'm still not really really tired, which is what I need to be in order to fall asleep in my state, without my demons chasing me through the dream world. Fun. You all must think I'm nuts, I'm sure. So does my therapist, but then again, I haven't seen her in months, so maybe she thinks I finally killed myself. Interesting. This blog is taking a turn for the worse, and I'm sure I'm scaring everyone. No, I am not going to kill myself. I promise. I'm going to go to sleep. All of a sudden my eyes are feeling like they need to slam shut, and dream for a little while. Maybe I'll dream sweet dreams of Hayden... sounds fun to me. OH MY GOD, I forgot to clean up my room. My parents are going to kill me, and then take away my car. I'm so dead... oh well, I wasn't going to be able to drive it tomorrow, anyway, because it has to go into the shop, AGAIN. It's not even a month old. And it's been in TWICE to the repair place. Stupid rear windshield wiper won't work. Goddamn. So much for a good Monday.

Tear drop 2:35 AM of Sarah

Oh my goodness. Oh wow. Oh man. Oh wow, again. Star Wars rocks my soul off. Dig that clonage, Mr. George. Attack of the Clones sooooooooooooooooo made up for the Phantom Menace, and THEN some was left over to add to the ultimate greatness factor of the movie. Every single actor did an amazing job, except for the young Boba Fett. No charisma WHATSOEVER. But I chose to momentarily forget about him, as I gazed adoringly at the screen that United Artists built. Amy may think that Ewan is quadruple hotter than Hayden Christensen, but I beg to differ. Hayden has Ewan about 8 times over, especially because Ewan was FURRY in this one. I think I've regressed to like, 12 years old, when I was like, "oh my god the backstreet boys are so hot...." except that instead of the backstreet boys, I'm in obsession with Hayden Christensen and Star Wars. Again. Oh man, I remember in 8th grade, how everyone was so upset and disappointed by Phantom Menace. But Lucas listened to our cries, and totally nixed JarJar Binks. Halleluja. So I'm thinking we should go see it again, you know, 3 or 4 more times. Just to soak it up before it disappears on its way to becoming a DVD. Wow.... I think I've gone into a state of shock. I might have to go rent Phantom Menace, or Life As A House in order to get all this Star Wars envy out of my head..... Yum.

Tear drop 8:00 PM of Sarah

Yeah, so that was fun. My front doorbell rings, and who walks in but Mrs. Morris. And so I come back here because I'm reading blogs, but AFTER I have noticed something strange dart into my house along with Mrs. Morris. And I pay it no mind, of course, because nobody ELSE saw anything. And a minute or so later I hear, "Oh my god there's a bird in the house!" Yes, ladies and gents, I had my very own wild bird hunt today, but it had a unique spin - it was inside my dwelling. So my family and I are searching for this thing, and it's flying high and low, darting over our heads and underneath hard to read dressers. And we do this for a few minutes chasing it from room to room, and then - it darts. And it goes into a death flight straight towards the door - and me. So I open the door and it zooms out of my house, and is shut out, permanently (we hope). Kinda weird. Mrs. Morris made a reference to The Birds, and that was a freaky movie. Not something I'd like to have happen in real life. No sir. And then the action subsided and the lights were turned back off, and I came back upstairs to post on my blog. Fun stuff. Grrr on parents. Apparently if my room is not clean by the time I go to bed tomorrow evening, I'm not allowed to drive my car. Nazis. I hate it when they try to act all official and arrogant - not becoming at all.

Tear drop 8:55 PM of Sarah

In life, there are some people who need to be hugged, and then there are those who need to be smacked. I feel the need to backhand someone, and, based on our APUSH screaming discussions, etc. I'm pretty sure you all know whom I need to backhand. Because someone feels the need to diss a group of people on someone's blog, this has upset the majority of the blog community. So, SMACK, you have just been backhanded. And while it has come to someone's attention that a group of people writes "elegantly" or "pompously" at least this group writes with good form, and make their blogs entertaining. And, normally we don't go around trying to piss off our friends by talking about them in our blog. So. Just a warning. Pull this kind of thing again, and I really am going to smack you. In fact, we may all jump on you.
I woke up soooo late this morning - I got out of bed at 8 am - when I was supposed to be breezing through the door of Music and Arts Center for a company meeting. Oops. So I rushed around and proceeded to go into hysterics, and arrived at the meeting with mascara tear streaked cheeks, a runny nose, a cough, and a slight fever. So, I was basically in the same physical state that I've been in for the past month. Fun. And now, now I'm going to go have more laughs with Amy, and do my history/physics crap, and celebrate my dad's birthday. With lots of tissues.

Tear drop 3:16 PM of Sarah

Ah. So if anyone ever pays attention to the time of the post, you will know that I did not succeed in going to sleep early, like I needed/wanted to. No, instead, I finished the Last Battle, by Ralph Wetterhahn, which is, all in all, a pretty cool book. I mean, I've always been interested in Vietnam, because in the backwaters of South Carolina, where I spent 5th - 7th grade, you don't go over things like Vietnam, you go over other, obscure things. So I never actually understood Vietnam (to the extent that one actually CAN understand that awful, terrible, pointless war) and always wanted to know more about it. So I read the book. I was going to read the Palace Guard, but someone whom I refer to WAY too much in my blogs convinced me not to. Yay. I have a feeling I was much more entertained and impacted by my book, than he was by his. So....pfbt on you. I tried to write my paper, too. But my brain is not working very well in the whole history paper department now, and apparently not in the whole typing department, either, as I just typed "parents" for the word "brain" earlier in this sentence. My parents are not what I would normally cognotate with brains, even though my mom is practically a dictionary, so I'm not sure what exactly is wrong with me. But my daddy's birthday is today. Yay for my daddy. My dad and I are really good friends - we do the whole watching movies thing. We have since I was a kid - when he and I watched Star Wars for my first time when we lived in Orlando. Just the two of us, my sisters weren't allowed. I think my mom was at work. It was soooo fun. And we've been doing it ever since - plus he's a lot more laid back than my mom, and likes vulgar jokes just about as much as I do: especially the one on Ms. Hammack's board so long ago, the one about masturbation. He got a kick out of that. I fially got my GHSGT scores - I was actually worried that I had failed something and that's why they came days after everyone else I know got their's.... but no matter, I did perfectly well, getting pass pluses in everything, and a perfect in writing. Am I bragging? I hope not. I hate people who brag. You know who was really, really, sexy, and an incredible actor? Marlon Brando. Never thought about it before tonight, when I was thinking about Streetcar, and then Apocalypse Now (Redux... which I got for my dad for his birthday. Neither of us had seen it prior to my summer project for APUSH. We do the whole quote thing.... you know "Never get off the boat. - Kurtz got off the boat. - He got off the whole fucking program." Good line. Seriously. Brando - amazing actor. I might actually have to watch the Godfather series now, which I've managed to successfully avoid up to this point, just based on principle. BUT am going to sleep now, as am SERIOUSLY tired, and have to work 8 -2 today at Music and Arts. 'Night all.

Tear drop 1:55 AM of Sarah

I should come up with something highly amusing and/or witty to say. Or maybe something profound, or sad, or even melodramatic. But I don't have enough energy in me to do either. I wanted to update the blog, so I came. But now I'm going to go read The Last Battle, by Frank Wetterhahn, and go to sleep. Peachy.

Tear drop 10:25 PM of Sarah

All these sad posts are depressing me! Some of us ARE actually manic depressive with an anxiety disorder, and it's really not doing us too well.The last line of Amy's blog was an allusion to the Perks of Being a Wallflower, which I feel to be one of the greatest books ever written. It goes up there with Catcher in the Rye, and a Separate Peace. And quite a few others, because I am the child of a bookseller. But no matter. Taste of Alpharetta was tonight, and it was my first time attending, though I have lived here since 8th grade. And I must say, it was fun. Sure on the walk from school to the drink booth (where I iced my hands in near frozen water to remove beverages from 4 pm until 10 pm to benefit my SPA in band) there were the folky carnival-y boths that had wooden trinkets and homemade condiments, etc., but where I was... there was a party. Drinks, sun, shouting, music, tons of food, Mardi Gras beads and fun boys. And at the end of the night I drove home one of my best friends, and I partied with him and my sisters in the car, and we had a blast singing along to oldies and rap music for some reason (though I am definately NOT a fan). In all, it was a really good day. It was so hot that my skin was sticky, and my shirt was clinging to my skin, and I could feel my melanin being activated in my very, very pale skin. And my sunglasses were on, and I was so happy each time I dunked my hands into the tubs of ice and beverage, just for the touch of coolness, the sudden soothing sensation of hydration, that it reminded me of midtown last year. When we stood for hours in the sun right up at the bar at the 99X stage for hours upon hours; a sea of sweaty bodies sizzling under the glare of an opressive sun. And yet, we didn't care. Because we were having fun... laughing, singing along with the music, dancing, enjoying the confetti, the Bohemian Rhapsody, the Butch, the Bob Dylan, the Live...threading our group of 10 or 12 through the massive crowds in a chain up to the front, stepping on people, falling down, and being stepped on, and taken care of by men triple my size. And all the discomfort, and the bruises, and the scars, and the sweat, and the ever penetrating parfum of sweat, beer, and pot smoke all mixed together into a wonderful, exhilerating experience. Like Taste, because I didn't mind that I was sweating, and that my hands were frozen and turning purple, and that I could not find Ashleigh or Amy, or that I couldn't move through the crowd fast enough to get food and get back to the drink stand. I had fun. And I'll remember tonight forever, because I had so much fun. And tomorrow I'll come to school and regret that I haven't touched my homework, and I'll complain about being stressed out and not sleeping, and being sick for over a month. And at lunch my friends and I will sit on our Beatles blanket and eat the chickens that died in a mass execution the nights before, and some of us will complain about how we're frying, and some of us will remember the day before, when it didn't really seem to matter.

Tear drop 11:28 PM of Sarah

Oh dude, Daniel Glenn is a profound man. And I don't mean that in an idolistic manner. He just IS. I just read his last three posts at least 4 times over. And I had read them all last night. And Daniel makes even more sense than Steve at Walgreen's, so I'm thinking I should try to follow his philosophy, instead of the mopey one I tried to imbue in the previous blog. God that was emo-y and depressing. Definately not the goods for de-stressing the mind and smoothing out the kinks in my shoulders that turn into rock solid muscles by the end of each day, hardened by the weight of my backpack, and the other "burdens" I carry. So, (in yet another Daniel reference - maybe I am idolizing him...) I raided my parents CD collection and came up with the soundtrack for the Big Chill. If you've never seen the Big Chill, you should. Amazing movie. Amazing soundtrack, as well. The soundtrack is pure Motown - Marvin, Aretha, Three Dog Night... all the ingredients for uplifting my mood, and keeping me from driving, in tears, to Amy's, as I have been very tempted to do for the past half hour. Motown is magic in fixing the soul. Until it killed Marvin Gaye, but that's another subject all-together. And so, I have been forced to reevaluate my dreary post, and it smacks me in the face that what I was really tying to say, goes something like this:
Dude. We rock. We made it through our junior year of HIGH SCHOOL which, by far, has been the most challenging yet. But, it has also been the most fun year of my entire life. Never before have I participated in Colorguard, and then become the captain for the JV Winterguard team. Never before have I participated in quite so many clubs and extracurricular activities. Never before have I helped to "assistant-direct" a student production that was successful in not only running smoothly, but creating new friendships with the "Backstagers" (I think) and their tag-alongs that will stand over the course of the next year or two or ten. Whatever we decide. And then there's prom, which may or may not have been a good experience had by all, but it was an interesting and an exhilerating experience nonetheless. And AP exams, etc. Never has being so stressed out actually been quite this fun. Ashleigh, freaking out with you at Starbucks, over the phone, in Mr. Wades room, at my house, and online, has been a truly hilarious experience, and it's one I'm not likely to forget, especially next year, when I have to find a new stress-out buddy with 4 of my same classes. And going to all the shows with Amy, and the Star Wars parties (which I have never attended, but heard much about), the Oscar party, the Moulin Rouge party, my birthday party, driving around the day before New Years Eve to deliver invitations and getting lost a zillion times over, and so many other fun experiences have truly made this year special and unique. Of course we get bored, Daniel, we are all bound to get bored. But I must ask, in the sake of preserving what little is left of my sanity, when did you EVER have time to get bored? Somewhere in January or February? That's the only time I can fathom having what is known as "free-time". I put that in quotes because I'm not actually sure it exists anymore. I suppose this post is just turning into a Daniel rebuttal, so if you haven't read his posts, you should. Wow. But anyway... it doesn't matter if a rousing portrayal of Henry Clay helped Serkie's class. We had fun with it, and now that everything is nearly over, that's the only thing that matters. Next year in Euro, you'll be assigned some visitor that never dies, like Clay, and we'll all laugh about it and say "remember when..." because that's all that is really important anymore. Those of us who take Euro. I've lost track of where I was going with this, but it doesn't matter. We just need to remember the fun we had, and all the laughs we've shared. And all the laughs I've had that make you want to hit me with a shoe or something. I don't know. Go turn on some motown, watch the Big Chill, take a shower, relax, and remember to breathe. And then proceed to stress out more over Precal, History, French, and Physics (if you're doing the labbook). Yay!

Tear drop 6:53 PM of Sarah

So I'm driving down Old Milton and blasting Celebrity Skin at top volume, furiously pissed off at a Pakistani man, named Steve, who works at Walgreens. Why a Pakistani man named Steve, and why Walgreens? Well, Walgreens because it's the closer to my house than Eckard, and a Pakistani man named Steve because he refused to acknowledge the worth of my infinite intelligence when it comes to photo developing. Grr! He tried to tell me that what I've had done to my photos many times before is not possible in the state of Georgia (like some sexual acts) even though I have had it done just recently. The photo thing, not the sexual acts. And then I get stuck in traffic, and I'm thinking, concentrating on controlling my road rage (I have a very bad case of it) and screaming along to my music when it dawns on me: Steve wasn't trying to piss me off, or ignore me. Or maybe he was, and I'm just choosing the sugar coated way out of the situation. He just didn't understand. And all of a sudden, wham-bam, the whole of our high school lives has made sense. Well, not really the whole thing, but a good portion, because we will never understand things such as why Ms. Quentin is the way she is, and what exactly possesses the school board to try and poison students not so secretly through the creation of the substances known as cafeteria food. But this idea dawned on me. When we got here, we didn't understand.
Sure, we know that our resident geniuses (Daniel, Ian, Kris, etc.) all understood the actual material (for the most part) and would do fine academically, but we didn't actually understand what we were getting into. When we walked through those imposing blue steel doors that fine August morning so many years ago, we didn't know where we were, we didn't know where to go, we didn't know what to do, and we did not have a clue as to who we actually were. I entered high school as a skater groupie - I ate lunch with them, hung out with them after school, stuck up for them in all the stupid things they did, got messed up with them, etc. etc. And throughout the past three years I have "transitioned" to the point where I am today - a floater. I float between the drama freaks, the band geeks, the intelligentsia, and I cling to one or two members of my old "group." And, as all experiences will shove in your face, I have begun to realize who I am. I don't mean to get out there in an astrology/karma type of way, or a guidance counselor-y type of way, but I have begun to realize that a.) I am not as smart as I have always pretended to be, b.) your friends to influence other's opinions of you, and c.) other peoples opinions shouldn't mean shit to you, unless you're doing something dangerous. Wait, I've totally gotten off subject. Let me do it again.
So in the car, ruminating about Steve, and singing along to Hole, I realized that the year was almost actually over. In 7 school days, we will be seniors. The elite class. And only 180 school days after that - we will be graduating from high school, an event 18 years in the making. (Give or take a few years for some of us "special" kids.) That's a shock if you think about it. My mom always preaches to me about how teenagers think that they're immortal, that they're invincible, but I always wrote her off as trying to relive her life through me. But, you know, my mom is right. I never thought that I would actually make it through high school. I thought I could go out and party and attend high school until I died - seeing masses of friends each day, having fun, and occasionally stressing out. But I can't. Soon, I'm going to have to give up, and move on. And then I'll have to give up and move on after that. And we all will. And 15 years from now, only 3 of us will still have relationships with each other. How sad is that? That the best friends we've ever had will be lost to us? Too depressing. No more.


Tear drop 5:56 PM of Sarah

It's over! Completely done, finito, 100% past tense. Physics is gone from the stressful part of my life! The AP test is over. And it was bad, yeah, but not as bad as I expected, and afterwards I got to watch Ferris Bueller and have fun with my drama buddies. And then I proceeded to get stressed out because no one in my family ever tells me when I have to be somewhere, until like half an hour beforehand, and then it's my responsibility to drop what I'm doing, and get to that location. God! I swear I made a record today - my house to Northpoint Mall to Webb Bridge MS in just under 15 minutes, in bad rush hour traffic. I rock. Of course I think I scared quite a few motorists, but hey, who cares. I didn't let anyone who matters to me down. Yay. Casey's visiting, and so I'm not going to type too much more. I get to skip 1st and 2nd tomorrow. Yay. Thanks to my parents. Woohoo. And then I get to read more of Blanche in Streetcar. So it goes...

Tear drop 11:59 PM of Sarah

Dude, I love having a BLOG. Seriously. It's the coolest thing, because I can go and just type and type and type, and whatever comes out is automatically published, copyrighted by the fact that anything set down in a medium is copyrighted, and it is all mine. And I can come home and talk on the net to my friends and type out my thoughts to my blog and be happy. I got my first B on a Physics test (ever) today. It brought my grade up 2 points. Which makes me think that I should actually care. So... I'm going to do the lab book (eek) and study for the formula quiz. But I'm not going to take the final. Because my average will be up, up, up and there will be no way that I will actually score higher on the final than my average, which means it will do me no good. Maybe extra credit. Hmm...Dude it rained on the way to the car this afternoon and it was so gross because I got soaked to the core. It went THROUGH my outer layers and soaked everything underneath. Yuck. My hair is still wet, but the rest of me is dry because I changed into comfy pajamas. Mr. Poulos came into Lit class today and I had to read Streetcar with him in there. Way weird because that's one of his favorite plays, and he did an amazing production of it, and he told us all about it, and my confidence in the fact that I was reading Blanche DuBois decently plummeted to sub-mantle levels. He makes me nervous. So does Drew Dir. Wow. His exhibit at the AP art show the other day was absolutely amazing. Wow. I'm going to get over my fear of him though, because we're in a play next year. Oh! Poulos said he might not run the Film class next year, and just turn it over to Ms. Nicholson, and she's cool, but it won't be half as fun as doing it with Poulos. Hmm... I hope that doesn't work out. But now I must go study because unfortunately the AP exam is tomorrow, and I have to go to school tomorrow, which I wasn't planning on doing (darn you Mr. Caswell) before the test. So... I'll probably write more later. If anyone cares.

Tear drop 4:40 PM of Sarah

Since I'm really tired, with a lot of pent up frustrations, etc., and I just finished reading the WEIRDEST book in the entire world, I think I just might share with you. Dude, Under the Skin by Michael Faber is by far the strangest book I have ever read. Maybe it's because I don't normally dig things like that - I mean, I have never once had the urge to pick up Animal Farm or anything like that. Seriously! Animal Farm has never piqued my interest at the bookstore. It also helps that I was never forced to read it in class. But the reviews say it's very Animal Farm-esque, which makes me wonder if I actually ever want to read it, because this book has seriously distrubed me. I'm not sure, but my computer is really pissing me off because it won't open the CD drive, and I haven't done anything to it to give it cause for complaint. And my CD is stuck in there, and I really want that CD back! I'm not sure if I feel like sleeping right now, I should probably be studying for the formula quiz I have tomorrow in Physics, but I'm not sure if I really care enough anymore. Because, see, now I'm passing. And passing is what I have been aspiring to achieve for the past school year. And now that I've done it - who cares? Because there's no Earthly way that I could ever make it up to a B in that class, I'm simply not wired to do math and science WELL and understand it. So what's there to achieve? I've secured my C and that's all I can hope for, because a C is a C in the eyes of all those nifty colleges I want to get accepted to, but WON'T (let me assure you) no matter how high or low it is. Or maybe I'm just retarded. I think I'll go with the latter. Maybe I should care... I do, I think, in some weird way. I'll probably study after I sign off. But signing off means sleep, and sleep is so weird after falling asleep in a recliner with someone's warm body half on top of you, half next to you. It's kind of like you're missing something. It was strange when I slept this afternoon. I'm big into naps. But I didn't nap long because it was Mother's Day, and I like my mom, so I spent time with her. I think I might actually leave now, because following my stream of consciousness is NOT GOOD when it comes to these things. It becomes tedious and boring, and who really wants to figure out what I think about? Only a therapist, I'm sure.

Tear drop 12:43 AM of Sarah

Oh wow - I can't believe it's over. Seriously, I mean, since we were children we have heard about the one night when everything is supposed to be magical, full of love, glitter, and disco lights. I know I speak mainly for girls when I say this, but we have planned, since childhood, what it will be like - we describe our dress, our hair, our date, and all events possible. And then we reach high school, and we anticipate it more because we hear the real stories, we see the pictures that describe this one perfect night - and then, craziest of all things - it's finally our junior year, and we get that nifty, corny invitation in homeroom that says "please come to prom" and we realize that the moment that we've dreamed of is FINALLY occuring. And then we chicks go into overdrive, and we plan and we primp, and we stress and pull all of our 50 dollar hairdo out of our deep conditioned and hair spray cemented head. We spend way too much money on things like fake nails, spiraling up-do's, the perfect dress, the matching shoes and handbag, the corsage/butonniere (sp?), makeup, jewelry, etc. etc. And we agonize for the months before prom to decide with whom we will attend prom, in what group, in what size limo, at what dinner location we will dine, and the always important question of pictures or no? Sometimes things go right, and you get a wonderful, gorgeous, sweet, charming, absolute wonder of a prom date who likes to dance, and is happy to be there WITH YOU, and other times you get a few weeks of stress after losing your first prom date, and your limo/dinner group in the same day, while trying to come up with SOMETHING, ANYTHING after every one else has selected their respective groups and dates. But then, if you're lucky, you've gone through the wrong one, to get to a good one. And things end up working out, so that you do have a good time, and you do dance, and you smile, and you sweat, and you sparkle, and you laugh like you haven't laughed in the past 3 weeks. And after the dance, when you've finally retrieved your coat and shoes, after wading through an angry mob 45 people thick converging on one poor woman behind a counter, you can hop into your limo and speed off into the night - to a horse-drawn carriage ride in Centennial Olympic Park, and then through downtown and off to the quiet safety of Alpharetta, to a basement where you stay up until 6:30 in the morning laughing and snuggling and having fun with some of the greatest people you've ever met - who will be gone in only a matter of months. And then the sun comes and all of a sudden a recliner chair is just the right size for two people, and your sweat and your sleep mix together to form a peaceful dream that ends when you shake awake at 9:30 in the morning to doughnuts and cinnabons. And then the laughter comes and the sticky sweet fingers are sucked clean and pronounced good for tickling, and then, in a flash, it's time to pack up and go home - in pajama pants, tank top, and heels, with your precious 50 dollar hairdo slipping slightly skewed out of the bobby pins and the shell of hairspray, and your carefully applied makeup smeared onto your cheeks and your dates shirt. And you come home and you talk, and then you sleep. And when you wake up, it's with a startling finality - this is over. There is no more prom, it has passed completely, slipped through my fingers no matter how hard I tried to keep it. And this is the sobering fact that ends your delirious night, and whisks you off on your way to AP tests, projects, and finals, with the promise of a sun filled summer and and crisp senior year that all cummulates into another magical prom.

Tear drop 6:09 PM of Sarah