As it turns out, the family from the U.S. (our friends) did not come today, and instead are coming on Saturday. Extra time for stuff, but sort of... unexpected.
I finally got fed up with avoiding the French school thing that I got out my planner and calendar stuff. Really, there's only like 11 weeks left and it doesn't look so daunting on the calendar, really- compared to the beginning of the year, I guess.
I still haven't done algebra or history, but it's sort of hard with a dad that comes home late with meetings almost everyday. Yeah, I sound like I'm blaming him. I'm just stressed I guess. Though not really. No. Procrastination just sort of grows on people, it seems.
Gosh. Today was just.... blegh. I stayed up till 3:33 AM, and woke up around 11 hours later. Lots of sleep, but I'm not sure I wanna do that again... eh. It's also weird, because after all this staring at screens and having stuff in pixels, it sort of screws up your view of the real things. At least, it does that for me.
I'm reading Life, The Universe and Everything by Douglas Adams and it's friggin' hilarious. It's one of those books that sort of really reaches out there. Like, literally. Half the time I don't know whether to just stare at the page, eyes blinking blankly and trying to figure out what the heck just happened, or to rush to the bathroom so as not to pee in my pants from laughing.
Okay, maybe that was slightly an exaggeration. But still. So I guess I am sort of recommending it to you guys, but really I'm not even a big book person. I want to be, though. The France Library doesn't really exist, though.
7/8/08:
Alex: Get a library card?
At the France Library? lulz france library
My favorite song on Songs for Silverman is Prison Food (by Ben Folds). I'm tired, but there's tomorrow. The walk with Pierre and his family was fun... I took some pictures, which I'll probably get up tomorrow or something. It was sort of... intimidating perhaps, to have this little girl talk to me and me not knowing what she was saying (she was speaking French). But I did my best not to seem so without understanding. Mostly I'd just stall or say a belated "quoi?" (what?). But yeah. Oh and I taught their second-oldest daughter how to play Smoke on the Water on the guitar. She didn't know much English, and I did it all in French. I mean, not to brag... I just sort of feel rather proud of myself to manage to somehow communicate. But then again, I feel like slapping myself because I had such a bad accent and probably sounded like a friggin' idiot and probably didn't understand her.
But that's life. In a different country, perhaps.
I'm hungry. Plans for books about. Oh yes. I... miss you guys.
Our friends are about to come really soon, so this'll probably be short. We're planning on a hike with them and then eating dinner. The friend is Pierre, who I have mentioned a few times, and he's coming with his family. Most of the kids don't really know English, so... might be sort of awkward. It tends to be awkward when we would visit their house. But anyway.
Then tomorrow or so we have another family coming from the states, my mom's old friend from like high school. So that'll be cool. Makes life hectic and busy, but I'll like actually get to be actually social.
It being extremely summer-like weather, the kind that makes you see and feel (thoughts of) lemonade when you're outside, we naturally want to get outside. The dandelions are also up, which are indeed actually French. They're so.. so.. yellow. There's this little field-place right across the street, and we often see the neighborhood kids playing soccer there. Problem is, it's surrounded by tan apartments which have these square windows for people on the lower level to gaze out of. It also has a parking lot next to it, and then cars parked on the streets. And that leaves little space for throwing things, and many break-a-window/irk-the-neighbor-type hazards.
But, being the active and disrupting Americans we are, we throw Frisbee anyway. I forgot to mention, but yesterday while throwing Frisbee with my mom at the original place across the street, she uh... well, the cars weren't totally safe. It was the kind of thing you expect to do with your fellow middle school friends, possibly while equipped with a video camera and a whole bucket of swear words. We, being the responsible and guilty Americans we are, naturally re-located.
As for today, I played catch with my dad so as to watch out for Pierre's car. No Swiss car passed with the right amount of people in it, and eventually we had to get kicked out.
We had been playing for a while, and then this guy and these little kids come out. The little kids would acknowledge us with slightly interested stares, and then move on to their little kid doings. The guy, who I had thought was with the little kids, walked around but then settled in this area to the side of us. He just sort of... stood there. After a while, my dad finally popped the question, or should I say- French phrase which probably causes French people to cringe inside. I mean, no offense to my dad or anything; he's pretty good at French, but I mean... there's just something about all of our accents that makes me think this. The guy said yeah he wanted to play (or at least communicated this to us) and thus we started an American pick-up game. Or whatever.
The guy reminded me sort of the Comic Book Guy from the Simpsons. He wore navy blue shorts, a slighty-unbuttoned striped blue dress-like shirt and a grey and white-camo cap. His build suggested something around the age of 20 or so, but his face made me think of a teenager. My dad, with slightly limited vocabulary, tried to help show him how to properly throw the Frisbee. He had his own Frisbee, so must of played before probably. His throw was slightly awkward, but I mean it was fine.
My throws had been wobbly at best, and eventually this got the better of us. This one guy whom I recognized from one of the surrounding apartments came out to sort of scrutinize us, even though it was going fine until this one throw. It curved too far to the right, and although my father sprinted to save it, it hit the side of the apartment with a slight book. I sucked in a "crap I'm dead" type of breath and awaited the glare, the fist shaking, the European anger-management (or lack thereof, really). The scrutinizing guy turned to me and said a bunch of French I sort of got the just of, but none of that severe yelling business. My dad picked up the Frisbee, and then this lady with a... a concerned face leaned out of her window, probably already knowing what happened. Dang. My dad said a bunch of French words and I didn't even try to say sorry or whatever. We explained to the guy that we were waiting for friends and had to go, and then said bye.
Then I blogged about it all, and we're still waiting for the friends.
...
Nothing much else to say, really. I'll probably have plenty to blog about after the people come, so expect a second post today or something. Yeah.
A rustle of grass, a pump of the arm, a woosh of air, a sharp intake of breath, and then-
"Ow."
My finger felt red. There was good reason to think it was indeed red, too. A pulsing, annoying and maddening wound to my nerves, I glared at nothing in particular. D*mn frisbee.
I got essentially nothing done today. Just.. nothing. Another day with my dad at work, waking up at nearly noon and staring at a computer missing my friends. An English and quaker friend of my mom's did come for breakfast with her dog, which made for somewhat of an episode. Her dog, Sally, likes to bark. The woman had just such a perfect English accent, and had never heard of pancakes, that some of her simple sentences nearly made my arm hair tingle.
Uh. Visitors tomorrow, and sort of everyday after that, until we eventually turn into old, psychedelic carpets selling jam to local newspaper typewriters.
In otherly news, there are book ideas about. Like, friends-inspired. Oh yes. Not but so yeah. Tiredddddd.... inside jokes never get old, though.
Ohhh past elementary school self... we never knew what hit us. No one does. I realized I used one person then a plural, yes.
Isn't it just so amazing how you can find someone that has very much in common with you? That's one of the best feelings ever, I think. 87. Gah, I want to get home. Surprisingly, one of the main things I'm looking forward to is church...
"It's not about my joy, the relief of burden. I like to see people reunited, maybe that's a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone."
- Jonathan Safran Foer, "Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close" (found from this blog, which is also awesome.)
{Picture: taken in the tunnel with the fireworks/light setting on the way back from the skiing trip.} I'm pretty bad about this blog everyday thing. But my mom's a writer, and my dad has complicated formulas and other jumble to make us squint our eyes at, so computers (laptops) can be hard to find in this house. I got very much nothing done today really. And to pretty much completely contradict what I just said before, I spent pretty much the whole day staring at a screen being "social". I actually wouldn't have done that, if not for lovely Michigan weather coming in and being itself. And you might wonder, how does something in Michigan affect, well, someone in France? That is pretty much the easiest question to answer. But that isn't the right answer. Basically, a snow day in April. Meanwhile, I ate mushy strawberries decadently sprinkled with sugar on the deck, admiring the yellow and blue sky, while trying not to be stung by French bees. Conclusion: the world is big.
Claire (French friend) is in Turkey with her Latin class till Wednesday. There was an earthquake in this Italian town my parents stayed in for like a year after like college or something.
You know who's cool? Jack Johnson. Sort of like a... matured? Jason Mraz. Or something. And Supertramp is/was cool as well. You should check them out!
What else to say... well the post just before this was supposed to be for yesterday, and I only forestalled the publishing of such post was because my dad was in possession of the computer and I needed to put on the pictures. I know. I live such a hard and strifefull life. Strifefull should so totally be a word.
Maybe we should all just make our own dictionaries. I mean, not like invent a whole new language, but just put together a combination (what the? apparently that word can't be plural) or something of different cool words. Or we could just not do that and wait for other people to do that. The English language now has like.. several more words than in Shakespeare's time, or so I've heard. I believe it. Conclusion: the world is big.
I wonder if France does lemonade stands. I haven't seen any, but I think I might have seen an ice cream truck pass once. I probably mentioned this before. Anyway, maybe it'd be... interesting to do a lemonade stand, and then completely embarrass myself by not understanding what the people say to me. And probably get ripped off and laughed at. But that'd be okay, since it'd make for a good story I bet.
Ahhhh procrastination.
Oh wait! Yes! Salmonella (whoa! I actually spelled that right on my first attempt!!!) scare with peanut butter apparently in the US. That was such an incomplete sentence. I had some peanut butter today, but I lived. The brand name was Mississippi Belle and had "peanut butter" written on the front in 6 languages, was a product of I.A.S. Corp. Piscataway in New Jersey but was imported by Bur Dist., Maisons Lafitte, France Gray's American Stores, Stockholm, Sweden. And yet, it did not taste like cooked regurgitated blue kiwi. On the side it says Product of U.S.A. and expires in 12/2009.
Gah! That Italy post never happened, did it? I thoroughly apologize. Though really, something tells me I'm sort of just apologizing to myself. But whatever. That's one of my top reactions/answers to pretty much everything, it seems.
Tomorrow, then. Hopefully I won't wake up at noon again. 88.
The different words for peanut butter on the container:
well why don't we sleep all we sleep all day sleep all day over and over over and over again
Well, we're back on the road again. Just passed a field of cows. They had, you know, their heads down, chewing in that mystical way of theirs. We're skiing in Champery, the place that was so hopelessly clouded over, so it was basically terrible. But my dad claims it won't be like that today. We're only going till around 1. I'm tired. We've passed the main side bump of the Jura on the left, so now it's sort of just farm/golf-like fields that are slightly slanted. Boring.
In case you didn't notice, I'm listening to Jason Mraz. Obviously I'm not tired of him.
Well, not much to write about. That seems o be quite a reoccurring theme. I really should be indenting these "paragraphs."
You know, (dang- I missed the indent again) I don't think I'll ever get tired of chocolate croissants. There's just something about them that always manages nostalgia, and at the same time, scrumtuous taste.
I could choose something to describe, like something I see out the window. Because then that "paints a picture" for readers. And "makes you feel like you're there". If only I had a metaphor! Then it'd just slide right in and understanding would flow to/from behind the retinas like water and grass on a non-slanting waterslide. It'd be magical. I'll make a note: metaphors=magic. So that means that people with good metaphors (*cough* like all my friends *cough*) are magical. And their readers just have to deal with it.
Isn't it amazing how someone could just move their pencil after perhaps pausing to look out the window and manage to write a whole bunch about pretty much nothing? I guess it's sort of like the writer just scraping off their dirty sole of their shoe. And I'm not trying to brag. I'm as befuddled at this phenomenon as you.
Hand aching- too many chocolate croissants. LATER, fellow April dwellers.
6 hours later:
Listening to Leddy Z while my mom tells us how they'll want to go to France again after we're "safe" in college. I laughed.
Gah, finally done. That was.. wonderful view but I got in a rotten mood. Seriously hungry and tired and "skiing" on a very very un-sloping trail. Probably the best part was the pictures- TREMENDOUS view. I'm tired, but had a thick sandwich and chocolate for lunch. The snow was mushy and rather annoying. We met up with the Pegs and my dad is going to whole day with them.
Getting on the bus was hard- imagine holding a half-eaten sandwich while holding a pair of skis and a backpack all jumbled up your arms. All I wanted to do was finish the darn sandwich, but no- the other skiers had to just stare and... stare. My mom is seriously talking a lot.
Pictures! Yes yes. So, I also took a bike ride today and was surprised to see a sort of French version of Suburbia. The first thing I said was, "Hey! It looks like America! What's wrong with it?" in a very annoyed tone. I mean, the houses were big, big cars in the big paved driveways next to big garages, birds chirping, a stop sign identical to one in the US (yeah I dunno- they have adopted the word "stop" in the French vocabulary) and the whole thing just sort of blew my mind. Oh and by the way, the title of this post is reference to something that occurred to me on that bike ride. I saw one of those painted white figures on the road trying to signify like "look out for kids" or whatever. And it was just thin and small and yeah. I don't know.
I'd really like to live on a steady diet of a camera and iPod in the early morning, BBC news with the dishes, lemonade at noon, Ben Folds and Jason Mraz sometime in the day, bike ride in the afternoon and then some nice socializing. And get some solid jamming done somewhere in there. Pictures here and there as necessary. I also want to subscribe to National Geographic magazine and possibly even Rolling Stone. Money is money though, but life is life.
I seriously need more books to read though, seriously. I'd like to order John Green's books, and read that Uglies/Pretties/Specials/whatever series, and yeah. Need to keep up with the trends!!! I must read whatever everyone else in America is!!!! It's essential!!! Well, actually, I mean sometimes the fad can be trustworthy. But Twilight... just.... no. "No" is all I'm going to say for that one at the moment.
Maximum Ride! I keep finding mistakes in books, though. It's weird. I think I once found a mistake in Inkheart or something. I mean, not to brag. I just feel like venting to annoyance at finding "if I was" instead of "if I were" all the time. Correct English grammar is pretty hot in my book.
Oh ha ha- that saying doesn't really work with that. And yet it works perfectly. Ha ha! Anyway.
Nothing better than those 10-year old classic groups that fill you up with nostalgia even though you don't have the rights or necessary childhood memories. I mean, you can just feel the orange, worn piano notes being thrust into your skull. Ah. This one reminded me of Simon and Garfunkel/Crosby Stills Nash (and Young). We're down to the 80's, in terms of days between me and an Ann Arbor ice cream cone. It's actually looking really American and English-speaking, so far. This break I mean.
Well, instead of sneezing up gosh's and omg's and dude's and all that bligadesh, I'll blog. Because that's what the youth today does; listen to mostly crapful music while typing up stuff on the internet which periodically includes improper grammar and/or spelling while pretending that the rest of us care while annoyingly chewing gum, wearing clothes that everyone else wears and yet complaining about the fact that their shirt is blue. And yes, I am a hypocrit. And aware that that was so stereotypical that I think a certain Mr. Pudhif's briefcase exploded into a million orange peels.
For those of you not entirely scarred (as in, familiar) with the many internet doings, April has quite a "Do such and such every day in this month!" theme. For instance, my mom first notified me of the Write a Poem Everyday in April (not sure if that's the exact name, but I think it's close- I mean, how many different variations could there be?) thing. Which I believe she is participating in. I, however, might put a poem in here and there, but I think I've made my readers suffer enough.
YouTube ----> Vlog Every Day in April (VEDA). They made "everyday" two words, as you can see. I know one guy who's doing it. However, the original was to blog everyday in this fine month of lions and lambs, so I think that is more appropriate. And I believe, but correct me if I am wrong, that Maureen Johnson started this whole obsessive everyday thing, so all credit goes to that fine lady. YOU SHOULD check out her blog. She's an actual author (though I confess I actually haven't read any of her books), so that means her blog is actually worth... worth. As opposed to *cough* someone's *cough*. Note: I'm referring to mine, if you didn't catch that. Yeah, I'm a pretty dedicated supporter of my internet life.
So anyway! I suppose I'll unformally and partially-undetectedly sort of participate in that. And it shouldn't be so hard, because about half of this month is break.
OH OH OH!
And guess what TODAY is, you guys. That's right- another important notch in my continuing (and seemingly endless) year in France.
Nine twelfths. Five sixths. Not sure if there should be one of those - things. I decided to do it (write down the numbers) English to challenge myself sort of. Well, I mean think about it- when do you, fellow English speaker, ever actually write down the numbers out? We learn it like once and then hardly deal with it ever again, save for maybe the pursusing of an English-Foreign (second?) Language teacher guy person, I guess. Ok enough.
But, really- 9/12 of the way done. I commonly associate 12 with 9, at least in math class- like with changing the common denominators in fractions, and common... factor... ness. You know? So 9 is a bigee. THREE FOURTHS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Wait. Yes! It's true. I mean, it's like actually April. I consider(ed) April to be one of those... sort of.. magical and rare and precious and amazing and fantastical months when I started this year. 'Cause I mean, really, it's like.... and I know I've repeated this several times, but really- the home stretch. Not the real one, but we're allowed false hope that is indeed not even false, but merely perhaps an overreaction, or stretching of terms, or enlarged optimism, but which of course turns out to become just plain hope and then sore mouths from smiling and then ending this sentence.
I feel like I've been neglecting this blog for a while. So it feels really nice to start writing in it again. I mean, there's never going to be another March 2009 ever again! It's gone! Done! I never have to stumble upon it again, and try to prevent myself from doing one of those horrid depressed, over-written blog posts.
And yet, I feel almost as though trapped in this never-ending circle of thinking I had something to say, procrastinate, somehow feel worse, never write, or if I do, it just sounds like everything else I've been saying and it's terrible and I regret it but then I describe the whole cycle in a later post and just
Yeah. But I hope, that by the end of this year, that at least some of you will sort of get to grasp why I was/am like that. Like, understand me and not just wave me off as some crazed teenager and pretend not to be related to me.
My back itches. It was seriously warm today, and we're going skiing tomorrow. Which is... eh. I mean, skiing is awesome and all, but at a certain point even a winter enthusiast like me wants to fully acknowledge the smell of fresh, bright green grass. But anyway, we got to watch this rather interesting film in French class. And I mean French French class, not FLE. It was one of those films that you often see at film festivals (here I go stereotyping again), but like... those.. I mean, yes, most would call them "weird", but of course it's art. It's not "usual" and often has those imaginative themes. Gee, what a horrible, strange addition to culture- imaginative art. I tend to not understand why some people don't like this stuff. Or at least appreciate. How judgemental of me.
But anyway, it's called "L'Homme Aux Bras Ballants", which basically means the man with dangling arms. And, by the way, the title of this post is the name of the composer/player of the music in the video. I actually really dig this kind of stuff; it really makes you think about stuff, and since they're short, it kinda fills me with this woody, nostalgic and gnawing feeling that makes me wish I could stay in that world longer. Kind of like when you finish a book like Harry Potter or something. Watch it. You'll be culturally enhanced. I mean, I guess we have this stuff in America, but I dunno it seemed more French. Reminded me of Tim Burton's stuff. I think it was inspired by a poem.
It'd be interesting to see what you guys think of it, you know. I thought it was pretty creative meself.
Um. Yeah. I was going to say something. Burnt out. I've probably already written too darn much. Tomorrow?
April?!??! No, I don't feel like doing an April Fool's Day thing. Instead, I decided to blog (obviously) after I had so rudely left my readers with... not. And I'm going to type up the about a page and a half of stuff I felt like writing in one of my journals. The very same as the one I wrote the airplane flight in. Because yeah.
I just kind of felt like writing. I mean, you've got all these thoughts and ideas floating around all the time, sort of like dogs in cages. Some of them are loud and annoying, just barking away at you. You might grimace when you remember them, but think about how each deserve at least a sentence or two. Some of them are quiet and this can make them easy to forget. Then a pool of regret follows. Most of them aren't the big bad dog type ones, but they DEMAND attention. If you don't get a leash to let them out (pencil/paper) quick, they'll just... yeah.
I can't help but feeling all of these, or at least some, will somehow add up to something. Like building a ladder to paint in the sky. Wishful thinking perhaps, but we all got our dreams.
Ha, using English is rather fun. It just... sort of comes. I can just drag my tired hand over this clean sheet without bothering myself with genders, complicated verb conjugaisons or accents. But enough about French.
Egregious. I'm supposed to use that word.
You know what's great? Getting high on inspiration. I know I'm jumping around topics, but I'm slightly concerned for my left ear. I think it's been affected. Not infected. I played drums last night, but I think it's my iPod headphone. It's not that I have the music really loud, but that the cover on the left piece is missing, so I get these small like electrical shock-type things when it "overheats". Painful. It also might be the earwax. I hope I don't lose my hearing or anything.
Do you think it's... ok/good to sort of just... push of force out lyrics or a poem or something even if you don't necessarily have an idea or inspiration? I mean, they always talk about the importance of just trying and all, but maybe that only applies for certain things.
On the other hand, though, you might get something flowing after you've started, and it's just more words on paper. I kind of do that though, like I am now. But whatever. Just loosening the dog cages.
Good metaphors are hard to come by. Thought, really, I'm not sure I fully agree with that statement. And I probably meant similes instead of metaphors.
After reading that, maybe the dog cage thing is a bad metaphor/simile. And good metaphors are so hard to come by (at least to me) that I couldn't find one to express the difficulty. I could have tried, but yeah. Ah well. Sometimes you just gotta go with stuff. I've got a writer's license. I'm not for dogs in cages, by the way.
The horizon is literally just April, May and June. And just a wee wee bit of July. April is about half break, and then it'll probably just be smoke.
So yeah. We're doing Shakespeare in English, which is actually really awesome.
Um... not much else to say really. I missed an awesome band thing, which makes me annoyed. But really, there was nothing I could do about it. 93 days left.
It's day 260, and a lot has happened since day 1. I apologize for the lack of importance and oozing of already-been-repeatedness in that sentence, but I just felt like starting this out like that.
So I had decided to stay home from school today because I got sick. Sore throat, runny nose, that crap. It really is crap, though. I've drunk a few gallons of tea (not literally) though and re-read some of the Deathly Hallows. That was the only Harry Potter book I brought over; the whole series would probably be 50 pounds by itself. It's rather blustery today, too. This French wind is pretty violent towards our front door and balcony chairs. It's like... violent.
Well anyway, I decided to listen to my iPod just now, and you know how your brain has photographic memory and a bunch of other stuff like that, like sound memory. Not sure what they call it really.
So it occurred to me that whenever I listened to Ben Folds (Five), Jason Mraz and maybe like Panic at the Disco, and other bands I got into this year, I would think of France. Little images and events popping up, and just the general feeling of the place.
Take, for instance, the current song. Zak and Sara by Ben Folds. Great song. I first heard about it from one of my best friends, probably at least 5 months ago. My brain is conjuring up images of.. images of... well mostly me chatting with the friend on the computer, and also when I got the CD for Christmas.
As pathetic as that first image may be, you gotta give me some slack here. The Atlantic Ocean is large. And I have a Gmail. And a whole year to be separated by that ocean.
Another one by Ben Folds Five also has that hidden edge to it when listened to; driving back from this one skiing trip that I don't think I even blogged about, the current song was something like Don't Change Your Plans. And then my mom said something like, "...And you know, they say this is the best way to remember things- when you hear this song you'll think of this trip, and even me saying this." And obviously, I do.
Probably the most nostalgic song, however, is Jupiter (Gustav Holst). I used to listen to it pretty much every night before I went to bed back in late June or so, when we had to go soon. I had to sleep on the living room couch because my room is being used as the storage room. So I get that image. But I also get memories of band, which was the best thing ever. We played it in the winter concert in 7th grade. Good times.
So anyway. I just felt like sharing. I just feel so.... "yayfull" when I listen to music; almost like I can "do anything". Well not really that. More that life is just awesome, and just... you exist, you're alive. It sort of grabs you into this other perspective, or maybe several. And like it sets your priorities for you. Probably the same for you guys pretty much. Yup.
Whoa. Seriously only 105 days left. I asked my English friend at school what they did on the last day, and she said they had fun and shot at each other with water pistols (for some reason I found it somewhat amusing at her use of "pistol" as opposed to "gun"). I guess I shan't miss that.
I think when I get home I'm going to delete my facebook. Or something. Sigh.
Well, what. I decided to use prose (well, not poetry) today... sometimes it's just more effective. And mine tends to get raw. That could be said for not poetry I suppose as well, but we all have to get it out someway.
Ever since the first day, I've been thinking about going home and all that. It's gotten pretty exciting lately, with the numbers really waining down to those hopeful 2-digits. I've sort of let go on some of my grip on France, but am still sort of blinded. You know it's kinda funny; in the beginning, the end seems like the greatest fantasy- it's what you want. But you have to wait a while. So it moves on, the days pass, you learn some stuff, you breathe in oxygen again and again. Then, yeah, you blink, and you're where you are, which just so happens to be very close to the end. But suddenly, you're almost confused. I mean, all this time- "I want to go home I want to go home home home home yes I'm going home going home" and then you almost don't notice but you are going home, and while clinging on to that going home state, you most likely don't take so much stuff in, and maybe you don't.... want to go home. Well, you want to go home, but the numbers are just sort of misleading.
So the other day it occurred to me that, yeah, I really was going home, but was it too fast? I've taken tons of pictures; I've written tons of blog posts; I've learned a ton; I've met new people; learned (still am) a new language or two; had (and am in the process of having) a "once in a lifetime experience" and all that.. but to actually say goodbye to it?
But then I thought, you know what, I've got a lot. I honestly think I'm ready to go, but then again, still glad for the last "few" days. I'm happy where I am, but still have this inspirational gnawing to get back to where I was, to live with myself after and with all these new thoughts and ideas. I'm inspired; I can see where I (think I) want to go, who to be, what to do. Perspective.
But why even bother? World troubles. We've all just got our own ideas. Why should one person matter? Who cares. It's just all big, too everything.
But normally that feeling, that perspective, only really lasts a few hours or so. As you probably know from a few of my other posts. But it's worth it, and I know (I think) that someday, approximately 107 days from now, it'll become the only perspective, and I can just soak it in, soak in what I've been pondering about for all these months, from writing those little snippets in my cahier des textes (planner) and observing the 5iemes and 6iemes playing ping-pong and just strumming that acoustic guitar during lunch time.
Oh. I think I just lost the perspective. Not necessarily.
"Expression is when you're at one with nothingness and you just breathe with your playing." - John Frusciante (who is, by the way, frickin' awesome {and pictured up there}).
Friday, March 13, 2009
This is soo ending.
{another "impulse" poem- probably going to be revised...}
I guess I just need to say it to your face because you obviously don't get it but I don't have that luxury you don't know what you do not even I know that but at least acknowledge at least say hi what's up with this? I'm too needy I've asked so much Living on lyrics to find the answer but why bother do you even care anymore? Drifting our different ways never on the same page except way back when It's my feelings getting to me; I have a hunch Keeps coming back at me like a punch So I can't ignore it Maybe I'm too attached Maybe I'm a creep Dying from lack of sleep Everyday, every chat, every pixel eating inside but healing the apparent This is soo ending.
Just Yesterday
{I'd categorize this one as one of those "sort of just acting on impulse"; the thoughts were coming, so I thought I'd just jump on the computer and spew it out. I mean, revision is free. I just got ideas. (hint hint- I am also very open to [constructive] criticism.) So yeah... Debussy also had a part in this.}
{Another note on (my) poetry: I guess I just tend to write phrases/words down that may or may not rhyme or even get anywhere. It doesn't seem to flow so great, and probably doesn't make any sense, but sometimes I like reading and hearing those vague, open stuff. You just sort of wrap your mind around it and lather on your own perspective. I don't normally listen or read something and let the artist's own... background or intention get involved. I like to just interpret stuff as I like. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. You can probably figure out what I'm talking about here, but then again, you can (no duh) interpret it as you like.}
Just yesterday
The paving and beeping and backpacks laden my way
with memories
to the place that started after
just yesterday
The new, the wet
the tall, the met
And then just yesterday
it is of a great rumbling that I came here
only to leave in a blink, as if you fear
Just yesterday
The highest form of entertainment being those silly rhymes
to fool short ones that think this is it, the time
It's always it; it's always
just yesterday
And then a passage, a yell
an awkward, a hell
That started just yesterday
Because before that
was before that; the past
but the present
Just yesterday
The unknown face, unfamiliar existence
Becoming what you knew. Then you miss it.
Wide space of constant sides
Now knowing how to read the lines
Colors; brown, a hazing green
Behind where you see, what you've seen
No one else with that vision
Memory; with language it's a given
Oh, but language, language language...
Just yesterday had seen not knowing how to conjugate
Or really knowing what to hate
And how did that soft artificial yellow and red
become a crackling piece of French bread?
Just yesterday, it was not a problem.
Just yesterday, no courage to call them.
Just yesterday-
Ignorance and not alive
Misunderstanding the joy of a high five
Tiring of now, which was the past
"it went by fast"
It's still going, it always does.
Forceful exhale of bottled-up fuss.
Just yesterday, we was talkin like dis
With size 4 and undersized hips
We were friends
oh- we are friends.
But remember the absence?
Getting over the fence?
Let's just go
what will happen is in the air, we hope
what has happened is behind,
now for our heads and making ropes
to tie us down and help us find
what we have thought always
just yesterday
-----
I'll get goin' with a real blog post one of these days.. busy... needing poetry to express... tiring.... annoyances of course... perspective... words.... wanting to just get done.... you know.... thanks.
The keys were jingling. Dangling on her right, a mesh of silver bells. The almost-cheerful sound didn't quite fit the gray pavement we were standing on, much less her. Not very tall, waring a somewhat dull overcoat and other dark-colored garments which were almost too dull to remember. Which is why I don't. Black curly hair tightened back into a greasy pony tail, though her hair wasn't actually that shiny.
And then her face. Perhaps the most animated part of her, being able to sometimes make various facial expressions, though somehow still with an intense and severe air. I watched a few feet away as another teacher came up to ask her something, and she nearly bugged her eyes out, pulling them tight and wide and exaggerating her mouth, as though it were a daily exercise. This only lasted a few seconds and then she barked a few French words out in her constant melancholy tone. I got the feeling she didn't really like her job.
Turning back to us, she lifted up her left hand and with a bored expression, glared at her nails briefly and returned them to her pocket. Her face looked almost like a toad, actually. Or maybe some water creature. Dark skin, grave expression. I noticed a slight glint in her eyes as she then drew in a breath and parted the thin lips of her mouth.
She yelled a firm French sentence to the lot of us. Drew in another breath and yelled further orders. It wasn't such an aggressive yell; there weren't many of us. But then she inhaled again, still with that dark look and then my ears seemed to already ache as though knowing she would now unleash her fiery French dragon shout. But no, it was a false alarm and she remained at the same volume.
We then hesitantly lumbered up to etude, where most of us had 3 straight hours. Which actually I don't really mind, except that I'm missing an English class. And I was rather looking forward to it.
Man, time goes by fast. It's already Friday. And then it'll be Monday and I'll have to start the grueling week all over again. Sigh. But then it'll be Friday again. And this'll continue for only 15 more weeks. Or so.
I can remember back in those late 2008 months and looking at a calendar thinking I'll never get to "Mars" (French for March). I mean, it was like another planet. But then here we are.
You know, everyone keeps saying (talking) about how I'll remember this in college and later and life and all that, which is true of course unless I get memory loss or something. But then it occurred to me that, like, I had a lot of "power" right now. Well, you guys do too. Because it's like.. I'm living in the present, naturally, but knowing it'll be the past. But think about it. So, I'll look back on this year especially (probably) and I know it'll pass, so..
I mean I guess it's hard to explain. But it's almost like... controlling your memories. Controlling your past. But because of the present. Uh oh though... this is sort of sounding like 1984. But not really because I'm not changing the past. I'm not deleting it. I'm just sort of living in the present, future and past at the same time.
Take, for instance, me writing this blue ink. I'm imagining myself blogging about it in the future, knowing I probably will. I am still writing it though. I still am. But it'll pass; it'll become a memory. I know, I am aware and conscious that what I'm doing RIGHT NOW is actually the past. But also the future because you will probably read it. You're not reading it RIGHT NOW. But, ha ha, you are if you are, and right now is now. But when you read it, it'll be... then. I will have written it. It will have passed. But I'm still the only one reading it right now.
So, maybe it's bad to live life knowing things will just end, but it's easier to go through hard times like that I think. And it works everytime.
Lift up your hand or something. If you're reading this, and decided you would in fact lift up your hand, then you know it'll be next; the future. So, (if) you're doing it- the present. Then you put your hand back down and it's the past- seemingly at the same time as the present. Impossible.
And then of course, even as you read this you know it'll end and then it does and it's almost like you didn't. Those next sentences are memories.
Yup. "Once"-in-a-lifetime-experiences, for ya, eh?
(See? You finished reading. This is the past.)
--------------- Turns out I accidentally skipped English class; the teacher was there. Woops. But it was a complete misunderstanding and only like 8 people showed up. Whatever. It passed.
Guess what guys. Decision time. Which means, of course, me continuing my rants on why I hate the school here/etc, and more of my "depression", worrying and annoying whining.
But! Good news, folks. Only 120 days left, which probably means that maybe, just maybe, the posts might get slightly, maybe just slightly, more optimistic. Or maybe more cheerful/interesting/readable. But then again, should a writer assume things with their own writing...? Well I was just thinking.
And now, watch/read (with your pink eyes..), as I, your *cough* distinguished writer, attempt to run through the problem through blogging, perhaps in a pixeled trial to solve/organize the many thoughts circulating. But for some reason, I shall be writing it as if I was talking to someone. Maybe that way it won't seem like I'm a crazy hallucinatory that talks to herself, and that doesn't have readers.
So, as you probably know, I have to decide what courses I'll be taking next year and stuff. And stuff. Stuff, in this case, includes, but is not limited to, things I feel are necessary to worry about.
Take for example, the fact that I have not been learning history or geography pretty much at all this entire school year.
A product, no doubt, of the (*#%*!#*&$%^@##$&ing stupid French system. See, with the French school system, they don't even try to pretend to give that whole, "we want to provide the best learning environment for each individual" thing. Or any variation. Rather, it's quite the opposite; they make the students (and there are many) fit into their system, which is just the worst thing ever.
Of course, this is the slightly skeptical opinion from an annoyed teenager who was abruptly and without choice or interest thrust into the #*%&# system, so I dunno.
Let's take a look at my schedule, shall we?
I have a total of about 35 hours of actual school classes per week, and about 7 hours for lunch. These include:
On week A: -7 hours of French math (including math speciales) -5 hours of FLE -4 hours of French -4 hours of Spanish -3 hours of English (I woud have 4, but a new FLE schedule changed that...) -2 hours of sport (gym) -2 hours of English math -1 and a half hours of life and earth science -1 hour of physical sciences -1 hour of etude -1 hour music -1 hour art
On week B: Same thing, except5 hours of French and only 1 hour of sport (gym).
I used to have 2 hours of French history/geo but because of FLE and Math Speciales (Which I shall refer to as MS), that is now completely removed. But that's just as well, because I didn't learn hardly anything, much less understand.
I used to have 2 hours of sport, but because I had MS the second hour, I could skip it.
I also, long long ago, had technologie for an hour and a half, but that also got removed by MS.
So, even though we are learning algebra in French math and trigonometry in English math, I'm not feeling all that confident going back to the old US system, my career of which (which) has been so rudely interupted.
I almost already feel like a "high school dropout"; I keep telling my parents that the school system back there won't really care about "once in a life-time experiences" and "scenic views"; they want me to be passing their tests, taking AP classes or whatever they're called and just fitting into their system.
So, ugh, I somehow have to learn a whole year's worth of American history/geography and possibly algebra. My dad says it's possible.
I want to learn algebra. I want to learn American history/geography.
I wish I could just ask the school over here to cut me some slack.. I mean, I dunno... MS is pretty unnecessary, and I don't like or really need Spanish (I'm already learning 2 languages- gimme a break), I also don't really need life and earth science (I learned the stuff last year and stuff), or French class (not FLE- the French French class).
I mean, come on. I want an education here. And yeah yeah you adult types (and maybe kids) will just say, "if you want an education, you have to put in the effort, make wise choices" and blah blah. Which I don't disagree with, but... attempting to learn in sort of 2 different school systems at the same time, one being incredibly stressful, does not really work with me.
I try over here. It's not like I don't want to learn. Sometimes I'm disappointed with myself with not trying as hard as I thought I would, but you just... ugh.
Looking at this with an optimistic attitude- is algebra really that important? The first year to finish this year, I mean. I mean, I'll be in different classes than most of my friends, but I think I can take geometry and algebra in the same year sometime... as for history/geography, I think I should probably do something about that though. Because, really, there has been no learning involved. Unless you take in account my picturesque travels to different European countries, and seeing different places such as England, Italy and not to mention France. But still. None of that "capital of such-and-such country" and the governments and listening to those taped dialogues in the city stuff.
Do I regret these past 8 months? No. Do I think it's worth it? I admitted I thought it was a few months ago. It'll look great on my college application and all that jibb-kaj (new word), but the problem now is actually getting to college....
But, in other news, it's actually really seriously March.
8 months down.
4 is not such a big number. I mean, I've almost dreamed of being here. And here I am! Actually really seriously going to go home.
Ergh. Italy post probably going to be posted soon. Sorry about delay. And pictures. Tons of pictures.
I know I haven't blogged in a while. I'll try posting the Italy post soon, but the Internet's been screwy.
We went skiing yesterday at the 3rd place in the Jura, where we hadn't gone before. At first we had planned to go to the Alps, but there was tons of traffic. I didn't actually really want to go. But it was fun I guess.
The subject of high school was brought up, and Zach told me it would be best to pass out of Algebra 1 this year, because otherwise I'll be behind the rest of the 4 years.
Behind.
Isn't this just wonderful? I highly doubt I can test out of Algebra 1 this year. We haven't even started really. I don't even care if that sounds pathetic because I don't think it is. My school sucks.
Isn't this so wonderful. ISN'T IT? IS IT NOT? IT IS JUST SO WONDERFUL. SO INCREDIBLY WONDERFUL. ISN'T IT??? IS NOT IT?????!?
Nah. I'm ok. I think. I just have to get some things out like that.
So, my choices are:
a) panic.
b) not worry, try to be optimistic.
c) somehow magically complete a whole year's worth of algebra into 4-6 months.
d) just do some algebra.
e) b and d.
The optimistic point of view:
Well, I mean, hey, you're spending a year in FRANCE and school is already really stressful. So I think you should just sort of chill. I mean, just think, years from now you'll look back, know you graduated from high school anyway. It'll be alright.
The pessimistic point of view:
OMG you are SUCH a FAILURE, Amelia!! This sucks! This really sucks! No! You're going to be BEHIND everyone in high school! Ugh! Failing. This sucks. Everything sucks. We're all going to die.
I guess I'll try to do e).
I started worrying again, for some strange reason. Things go ok, it's just slightly unpleasant. And often times the intimidation and missing and theoretical stress just gets to me. Maybe things got harder.
But I seriously just need to get this over with. I literally just have March, about half of April, May, June and a tad of July. And only 124 days. I remember when it was 150. And when it was Day 124. So, back to biting the bullet, finding that optimistic/perspective place again and ... talking to my friends I guess.
I might've said this a few times before, but my main strategy that worked for a while was just to say to myself, "This is all just going to be a memory." And it does work. Because, really, this is the life I get. This is it. Why let some stupid school that's really stupid get to and ruin me? And it didn't, really. It actually helped me. I guess. To a certain point.
I don't know what most of you guys think of my year in France. I mean, some of my friends have commented and stuff, saying encouraging things and stuff, but I don't really know. Probably the readers that thought I was so dang lucky to do this and then see my complain left by November or so. Maybe I haven't done a very good job of describing things. But the fact is, well, careful what you wish for, I guess. I never asked to do this thing. My parents told me other people would "beg" to do this. Several times. But obviously, not everyone likes this sort of thing.
I don't really know where I was trying to get to. More biting the bullet, more not talking to friends over the week (sigh), and more.. work I guess. It could be harder. It could be easier. It could be somewhat pleasant.
The thing with my school is, there's not really anyone you can go to (as in an adult) to just talk about your worries and stuff. Maybe in the English National Progamme, but not really. So basically you just go through the days complaining about how messed up the system is with your friends. The teachers aren't very helpful or encouraging, but some can be in the ENP. They normally are. The French ladies at the Vie Scolaire get majorly pissed at small things and vent their unneeded anger at random pupils.
Because of my new FLE schedule, I have to miss the first half-hour of my Sciences Physiques class. Which I hate. Sort of. Perhaps I'm making a lot of small things seem big in my mind. Still, this school can really... create.... annoyance.
And I just seriously get tired of changing perspectives. SERIOUSLY TIRED OF IT.
I just...
I'm tired of virtual hugs. I'm tired of Spanish class.
Well, we're off to Italy in the morning tomorrow. We'll come back on Sunday, and then the days really start to wane down. 6 hour car ride. This met cow-like groans from Zach and I. Julian's been cool, he skied for the first time today, and it was actually some of the worst conditions we've been in. Not saying much considering at least 90% of our skiing experiences here have been cloudy. My dad and I were actually sort of gettin' sick to our stomachs. Not... actually sick, but just... not... well.
Thank goodness they use Euros in Italy... I'm hoping to get a hat or something. I know pretty much zilch Italian, but hey, maybe I can use some Spanish or even French! And if I really want to go down the route of the pathetic, hopeless tourist, I can probably get my way around with English, since pretty much everyone will probably know it, even with their slightly annoying accents. But that's Europe for ya.
Pictures, of course. Might not get such a great blog post for a while though, since we get back the day before school, and I'll be tired and have to do last minute homework and all that. I've been wanting to write about certain things though, which I will probably be able to do one of these days.
Oh! Another thing I forgot to mention this one time. It actually happened a while ago (like a week maybe when we were skiing with Simon's dad Steve and it was terribly cloudy), but I feel like mentioning it. It won't quite have the affect (effect?) I was hoping for, though, because of a rushed, just-get-it-out-there tone. I guess. But anyway. So, we were going up this lift and of course it's all cloudy and you can't see really anything and it's terrible. But then we come up to the end of the lift where you have to get off and stuff, and turns out that lift is pretty hard to get out of. My dad jumps off first, but somehow I'm still attached. My ski poles hanging on to his coat or something. So all of a sudden, I'm just rising up- I'm still on the lift, it's still going. So somehow I hurl myself over the edge of the chair and fall, probably at least 5 feet. I hit the snowy ground with a whoof, and that familiar feeling of having the wind knocked out of you and this distinct pain sort of in your diaphragm, like a stale lump in your stomach. Similar to the kind you'd get while wrestling in the living room, or really anywhere. So anyway it was sort of exciting. I survived, the pain wore off, and I guess now I have a story to tell.
Last-minute trip things... so I have to make this quick. I guess there isn't really anything left to say... I'll leave that bunk of thoughts for that other post... "see" you "guys" on Sunday I guess.
Have you ever wondered what it'd be like to live in France for a year? Yeah me neither. But I write; it's just what I do. This blog (though some consider it to be a book...) isn't just about France though and all my ranting; it's pretty much my journal. My life. On the Internet. For all youse people to read. Indeed I am not a professional writer, but I never made you read it. Thanks for checking it out though, and I hope you like it. There's a poll once in a while, some pictures, writing stuff, and some other cool blogs you can check out.
So here it all is, me being inspired, me hating life, me loving life and just... writing. Telling you guys. Or maybe just myself.
NOTE: Most, if not all, of the pictures I put on here are taken by me, but if not I'll probably mention where I got them. Please don't take any of them without asking me, as well as the writing itself. 'Cause stealing isn't cool. ...thanks.
I'm a person, I'm a writer, nerdfighter, I'm a photographer and musician. I play trumpet and electric guitar and am a huge band geek. I like the rain, I try poetry and just lying in the grass. I'm big into classic rock and have had the Beatles' music sort of embedded into my brain at an early age. I try to be awesome, and just "be myself". It seems like we often tend to just think other people are boring or weird or something at first, but you just really got to get to know them. So.. here's my blog.
