It'd be good for me to keep a journal of sorts as I begin the next phase of my life. I'm in the midst of my Magnet orientation right now. I had homework for the first time in three months, and unbelievably, it felt kind of nice to be doing something productive for a change. However, the startling discovery of several summer assignments due in ten days did not feel so nice. I will admit, I broke down on the phone with my dad, who I know fully well is not very happy about handling these situations because I am never happy about having to handle emotional people. I don't know what to say or do, which would be normal, but when someone you know is sobbing over something, standing there awkwardly seems heartless. He managed to convince me that I'd be fine, I won't start freshman year on the wrong foot, and that we'd work through this together if necessary. I still have my doubts, but that's normal, too.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
O FATHER, MY FATHER.
Why must thou torment me so? You tell me of your grand plan to venture to England and Wales without a date. I do not even know how long jealousy shall gnaw at my soul. The only thing making me feel better is my impending fourteenth birthday and the completed Civil Wars album.
Ah, well. Life goes on, regardless. Take many photographs and eat bangers and mash at one of the pubs the greatest wordsmiths of all time frequented for me, please. And do enjoy the indecipherable Welsh while you tour there.
Ah, well. Life goes on, regardless. Take many photographs and eat bangers and mash at one of the pubs the greatest wordsmiths of all time frequented for me, please. And do enjoy the indecipherable Welsh while you tour there.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
The most depressing poem I've ever read
This poem was found in the program for Lost Mountain Middle School's Honors Celebration.
Anyway
By Unknown
People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway!
If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway!
If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway!
The good you do today, will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway!
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway!
The biggest person with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest people with the smallest minds;
Think big anyway!
People favor underdogs, but follow only top dogs.
Fight for underdogs anyway!
What you spend years building up may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway!
People really need help, but will attack you if you help them.
Help them anyway!
Give the world the best you have
and it may kick you in the teeth.
Give the world the best you've got anyway!
A woman seated in the center section of the school's auditorium on the left side was seen reading numerous lines of the poem aloud, laughing loudly, and giving her many opinions on the poem and who may or may not have put it in the program. Her daughter, who was seated beside her, has no comment. Her husband, seated beside his daughter, says that perhaps his daughter can use the situation in an essay someday. Let us now turn over the poem to our own lit critic, Darby Franks. Darby?
"This poem makes me want to crawl under a rock and shun daylight. I say 'poem' to be kind; this is no poem. What this pile of dung really exists as is a long series of commands to do illogical things with no reason offered as to why you should do all of these things anyway. The lack of syllabic structure and figurative language confirms it. And then there're the minor grammatical errors making my skin crawl: the comma in the middle of the fourth 'couplet,' the semicolon being horribly abused in the sixth, and the fractured final lines that switch the word 'have' for 'got.' But what really kills me is the fact that this trash was printed in a middle-school awards ceremony program. Many of the students there to collect their little standing trophies and certificates are already incredibly insecure and unsure of themselves. And now you tell them that what they 'spend years building up may be destroyed overnight?!' Some sadistic administrator must take some real pride in how frightened their little pupils are of failure, and slipped this little beauty into the program just to remind them of their own fragility."
Thank you for your input, Miss Franks. That is all for tonight's news report. Thank you, and goodnight.
Anyway
By Unknown
People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway!
If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Do good anyway!
If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway!
The good you do today, will be forgotten tomorrow.
Do good anyway!
Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway!
The biggest person with the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest people with the smallest minds;
Think big anyway!
People favor underdogs, but follow only top dogs.
Fight for underdogs anyway!
What you spend years building up may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway!
People really need help, but will attack you if you help them.
Help them anyway!
Give the world the best you have
and it may kick you in the teeth.
Give the world the best you've got anyway!
A woman seated in the center section of the school's auditorium on the left side was seen reading numerous lines of the poem aloud, laughing loudly, and giving her many opinions on the poem and who may or may not have put it in the program. Her daughter, who was seated beside her, has no comment. Her husband, seated beside his daughter, says that perhaps his daughter can use the situation in an essay someday. Let us now turn over the poem to our own lit critic, Darby Franks. Darby?
"This poem makes me want to crawl under a rock and shun daylight. I say 'poem' to be kind; this is no poem. What this pile of dung really exists as is a long series of commands to do illogical things with no reason offered as to why you should do all of these things anyway. The lack of syllabic structure and figurative language confirms it. And then there're the minor grammatical errors making my skin crawl: the comma in the middle of the fourth 'couplet,' the semicolon being horribly abused in the sixth, and the fractured final lines that switch the word 'have' for 'got.' But what really kills me is the fact that this trash was printed in a middle-school awards ceremony program. Many of the students there to collect their little standing trophies and certificates are already incredibly insecure and unsure of themselves. And now you tell them that what they 'spend years building up may be destroyed overnight?!' Some sadistic administrator must take some real pride in how frightened their little pupils are of failure, and slipped this little beauty into the program just to remind them of their own fragility."
Thank you for your input, Miss Franks. That is all for tonight's news report. Thank you, and goodnight.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
I really am too analytical, aren't I?
I've found myself really over-thinking everything lately. Take my second viewing of The Hunger Games with my dad. I'd lean over sporadically throughout the movie and explain what was happening or how it differed from the novel in a whisper. And after the movie, since he most likely would not read the books or see the next three movies, he asked for a summary. I jumped right in, of course. And along with the plot, I described the characters' thoughts and how they affected their actions, and the way they viewed the world, as well as their general personalities. Characters are so important to me. If you have flat, bland characters that never seem to change or grow, then I don't like the book half as much as I would when you feel involved. And along with the "charries," I also explained the setting and the general layout of Panem, where we would live inside of it, and where other landmarks that exist today would be. This dragged into about half an hour, and Dad had already finished his sandwich and sees no point in sitting inside of Chik-Fil-A any longer than necessary. But Roxy and Mom jumped in and saved him from my obsessive, calculating, fangirl-y rant.
And it's not just THG. I do this with absolutely everything now, fiction or reality. I'm starting to see my family, friends, and myself as charries in one humongous story, all interacting with each other, growing up, falling in love. We are all drawn to each other because we complement each other, I've realized. The talkative ones (like many of my friends) like quieter ones who will listen; the more reserved ones (like me) enjoy never having to start the conversation or run out of things to talk about. But we also share common ground in a few areas, and that helps us trust and open up to each other.
It's just a wonderful thing when you can see how the world works at last.
And it's not just THG. I do this with absolutely everything now, fiction or reality. I'm starting to see my family, friends, and myself as charries in one humongous story, all interacting with each other, growing up, falling in love. We are all drawn to each other because we complement each other, I've realized. The talkative ones (like many of my friends) like quieter ones who will listen; the more reserved ones (like me) enjoy never having to start the conversation or run out of things to talk about. But we also share common ground in a few areas, and that helps us trust and open up to each other.
It's just a wonderful thing when you can see how the world works at last.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
*RANT ALERT* I don't have a 4.0. Sue me.
Dear Parents (and all the rest of you),
Let's talk. Or rather, let me talk to you from the comfort of my computer. I know full well I am not perfect. I would be more than happy to declare myself "imperfect" and go and live in Imperfectland with the rest of humanity. But you're saying I can't go there. I'm not allowed to go and live in the Land of Human Beings Who Are Not Gods because I'm too good for that, and I need to prove that to you. I need to show the rest of the world how well I can comprehend things by making good grades.
First of all, do the ratings on that stupid blue paper measure who I am as a person? Do those numbers and letters spell out the value of my character? You insist no, no, of course not, but they still need to be better. If you love me as unconditionally as you say you do, you would still love me the same way you do now if I dropped out of school and went off to follow an insane dream I had after a really bad drug trip. But I have this strange feeling you wouldn't. Those numbers are too important.
Second, you still comment on my brain at times. If I'm as stupid as those pointless ratings make me out to be, why do you still bother to say anything?
Third, one of you has said to me, quote, "A C for you is like an F for anybody else." What makes me so special? There are probably thousands of kids much smarter than me out in the world that don't have these special exceptions. I don't see that much value in me, and I have no idea where you're getting it from.
In conclusion, I would like to say that when I'm buried, nobody is going to care how well I did in one particular class, or how low you had to stoop because of my inability to turn things in on time. I would love to just enjoy life while it lasts and not get hung up on stupid stuff like this. I mean, I have problems as it is. Not to be too whiney, but I have five friends at school. Total. And even then, some of them are only halfway friends. People walk all over me, too, because I don't like saying no and I don't change for them because it feels like I'm lying. There is so much I need to figure out about my faith, my relationships, and myself, and as soon as I feel like I can stand up and breathe fully, then everything will fall into place. You can take IMPACT away from me, my iPod, my freedom, but maturity comes by God, not by choice.
Your daughter,
Darby Kate
P.S: When I handed my teacher the recommendation you made for Honors Lit, she laughed. Laughed.
Let's talk. Or rather, let me talk to you from the comfort of my computer. I know full well I am not perfect. I would be more than happy to declare myself "imperfect" and go and live in Imperfectland with the rest of humanity. But you're saying I can't go there. I'm not allowed to go and live in the Land of Human Beings Who Are Not Gods because I'm too good for that, and I need to prove that to you. I need to show the rest of the world how well I can comprehend things by making good grades.
First of all, do the ratings on that stupid blue paper measure who I am as a person? Do those numbers and letters spell out the value of my character? You insist no, no, of course not, but they still need to be better. If you love me as unconditionally as you say you do, you would still love me the same way you do now if I dropped out of school and went off to follow an insane dream I had after a really bad drug trip. But I have this strange feeling you wouldn't. Those numbers are too important.
Second, you still comment on my brain at times. If I'm as stupid as those pointless ratings make me out to be, why do you still bother to say anything?
Third, one of you has said to me, quote, "A C for you is like an F for anybody else." What makes me so special? There are probably thousands of kids much smarter than me out in the world that don't have these special exceptions. I don't see that much value in me, and I have no idea where you're getting it from.
In conclusion, I would like to say that when I'm buried, nobody is going to care how well I did in one particular class, or how low you had to stoop because of my inability to turn things in on time. I would love to just enjoy life while it lasts and not get hung up on stupid stuff like this. I mean, I have problems as it is. Not to be too whiney, but I have five friends at school. Total. And even then, some of them are only halfway friends. People walk all over me, too, because I don't like saying no and I don't change for them because it feels like I'm lying. There is so much I need to figure out about my faith, my relationships, and myself, and as soon as I feel like I can stand up and breathe fully, then everything will fall into place. You can take IMPACT away from me, my iPod, my freedom, but maturity comes by God, not by choice.
Your daughter,
Darby Kate
P.S: When I handed my teacher the recommendation you made for Honors Lit, she laughed. Laughed.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
The Blogging Hiatus
I'm not even going to bother apologizing for being offline for so long. Too much time is wasted apologizing for not writing sooner. I will simply cut to the chase and update any readers I have left, or am making up, and update you all on the last few months.
Since September, I have made almost no considerable accomplishments, save pulling my grade up in Language Arts from an F to a C. With my teacher, this is a considerable accomplishment. She is retiring, at least for a month. If she decides to return in February as a half-day Advanced Content teacher, at least ninth grade honors literature will seem easy. Whoopee.
But I've had an enjoyable holiday thus far. I didn't receive the "big" present I'd been hoping for, a camera, but I got a camera pencil sharpener instead. I also obtained a Jane Austen-themed diary which should do me for five years, a button maker, rhubarb-flavored lip gloss, and over 50 paint chips. Eclectic, I know. But the paint chips are the promise of a new tomorrow, of a new bedroom, of a new life. They are the best present I have ever acquired from the old fat man. Literally. THE best. Ever.
I will now depart to watch Harry Potter. Hasta luego, imaginary readers.
Since September, I have made almost no considerable accomplishments, save pulling my grade up in Language Arts from an F to a C. With my teacher, this is a considerable accomplishment. She is retiring, at least for a month. If she decides to return in February as a half-day Advanced Content teacher, at least ninth grade honors literature will seem easy. Whoopee.
But I've had an enjoyable holiday thus far. I didn't receive the "big" present I'd been hoping for, a camera, but I got a camera pencil sharpener instead. I also obtained a Jane Austen-themed diary which should do me for five years, a button maker, rhubarb-flavored lip gloss, and over 50 paint chips. Eclectic, I know. But the paint chips are the promise of a new tomorrow, of a new bedroom, of a new life. They are the best present I have ever acquired from the old fat man. Literally. THE best. Ever.
I will now depart to watch Harry Potter. Hasta luego, imaginary readers.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)