List of Me: (Prompt 42)

Diagnoses don't define who I am.
I think, I think too much.
My bucket list is full of originality mixed with a tint of cliches.
I could stare at the stars for hours on end.
Movies and books are my form of teleportation.  An escape so to speak.
I knew what I my transferring major was going to be the first class of World History 111.
The level of frustration with myself grows for every point I am below 100.
I will live in a city before I die.
Being a perfectionist is my imperfection.
I believe social medias are going to ruin our generation... If they haven't already.
Politics make me livid.
One day I'll be fluent in at least Spanish, English, and German.
If I do one thing with the right side of my body, I like to do it with the left otherwise I feel uneven.
My little brother is the best unexpected present I have ever received.
I go out of my way to do things for others that I secretly wish people would do for me.
When I do something I think is clever, I don't shut up about it.
I have yet to need stitches. (Other than from wisdom teeth extractions, which I don't count).
There is nothing I am more afraid of than black wolves.  No wait, the eeriness of the deep blue sea.
I don't enjoy driving, I'd rather be a passenger.
European's accents (for the most part) are the most attractive.
I'm a loner.

I hate being alone.

Cracking knuckle's make me cringe.
My little sister is my best friend.
If people knew me before my junior year they'd think I was a completely different person.
I hate to say this, but I wish I was still that person.
Snow doesn't bother me.
I keep almost anything I am given and find it difficult to throw anything away.
People constantly whining about it does.
I've gone to church as far back as I can remember.
I've only had faith since last year.
My family is the most important feature of my life.
I was born in the wrong decade.
Knowing I can be hypocritical helps me think before I speak. (Sometimes).
My type is tall, blue-eyed, dark hair, with glasses.
I'm positive that there are hackers capable of watching people through their webcams.
Understanding people is my greatest defeat.
I feel awkward 80% of the time.
Disney movies will always be worthy of my time.

I observe and retain.  This either makes me creepy or the best gift giver, your choice.

At one point I  to be the next Mia Hamm.
Now I just want to be comfortable being me.

A Morning in Vignettes: (Theme 9)

A door creaks in the distance.  My bed trembles forcing me to shift positions.  The television turns on to block out the echoes of silence.  Mind racing, I remind myself how old I am as I roll over pillow covering my head.  Blanket, pillow, and television in hand I make way to my brother's room.

***

My eyes claim it's 7:35 but my body screams otherwise.  "We tried waking you multiple times."  Frustration. "Socks was sleeping on you?" No time for a shower.  Only the essentials before running out the door.

***

Ten minutes late requires an apology.  "Don't worry. We can fit you in."  I close the dressing room curtain.  I emerge with hospital pants, sneakers, and my long sleeve t-shirt.  Anxiety floods me over expectations involving the return of my cartilage piercing.  Key around my wrist, I wait to be called. 

***

"Claustrophobic?" No. "Pregnant?" No. "Implants?" No.  "Piercings?"  Taken out.  The door shuts.  I'm raised then slowly inserted.  I pray I pass test number two.

Suspension?: (Prompt 36)

A door shuts behind me with emphasis.  I do not sit until an indication has been made for me.  I land across from two men of two completely different proportions.  I saw my friend in the hallway. I know what's coming.  Without a pause I'm accused and guilty due to association.

The smaller one gives a sympathetic look as I try to find words.  Being glared at by the other elicits a stuttering response.  As if he were a machine gun he fires question after question at me.  When my story "doesn't add up."  I'm offered twice as many days of suspension.  I begin to cry.  When I timidly repeat I wasn't the fourth culprit, an awkward silence fills the room.

Staring at me does nothing for him and after what feels like an eternity, I'm demanded to go back to class.  I must wait there for my punishment if no one else comes forward.

A six hour bus drive. One boys varsity soccer game and my own. A meal with teammates I called friends.  Two weeks of ignorance later, an authority figure has lost my respect.

First Step Into Adulthood: (In Class)

Dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans, I was wearing my common attire.  Other girls I presumed to be here for the same reason were all dressed up, drenched in make-up wearing their finest clothes.  Now I laugh at their appearance, "It's a head shot, they're not going to be looking at your white, highly-priced, Abercrombie jeans."  But at that moment I felt underdressed.  Fidgeting in my seat waiting for my turn, I took out my poinytail.  Having my hairdown might cover my middle-school sweatshirt and hopefully make me more presentable.  Sneeking a peek in a questioning room like mirror, this is not the case. I'm overcome with a sense of annoyance forcing me to put it back up.   It isn't long before my winning number is called.  Not on purpose, I have forgotten about my appearance.  I'm commanded to smile and with a flash, my picture is taken.  I'm offered a glance at what will identify me for the next five years of my life.  I walk out more satisfied than 'Abercrombie' arguing with her mom.  I snicker as her fading words resemble a sentence much like, "you should be allowed more than two shots. I mean no one gets a good picture on their first try."

I did.

Down in (what we call) the Boondocks: (Prompt 37)

"I'm sooooooooo bored," Nicole and I dramatize simultaneously.  

"I have an idea," Nic smirks slyly as we loop around a houseless street at the end of her subdivision.  

Slowing down I say, "K. Let's hear it."

"Wait. Stop.  Let me get out of the car and I'll show you," she demands unbuckling and opening the door before I even have time to put the Impala in park. "Okay.  Roll my window down. Yep, that's good."

"What are you doing?!" I question sharply as she grabs the handle inside the roof of my car.  She then lifts herself up until she doesn't touch the ground looking as if she's is part of the white paint of my car.  

I more than chuckle to myself as Nic yells, "drive!"

I don't exceed ten miles per hour but I'm requested to stop before she falls off due to a loose grip.  

The Canadian Five Dollar Bill

Trying to find something to do other than twiddle my thumbs I begin to listen to the words vibrating from the speakers behind me.  When shotgun blasts them to an unbearable volume, all of my physical features squint in agony.  My backseat companion coerces her into lowering the dial.  I thank her with a nod. 

Three quietly jamming are content.  I reach for my bag, avoiding a toilet water drenched cellphone.  I snag my wallet deciding to study newly exchanged Canadian money.  For a few moments I attempt to grasp the concept of one and two-dollar coins.   I would think it would be more expensive to produce coins versus paper money.  When unable to figure out my curiosity, I put away the Loonies and Toonies and replace them with a five.

I wish American's weren't so cheap. Instead of adding drops of color and shiny fake gold, we should transform them into pieces of paper drenched in exotic color.  I guess I'll have to find some other source of entertainment as I go cross-country this coming summer.

Should I know who this man is?  He has a face much like one you would expect to see from paintings of another era.  The 1800's I suppose.  I enjoy reading French words in my head mistakingly with a Spanish accent.  Still in my own mind with a rampage of one thought after another, I begin to examine what I believe to be the front.  Can't our country put our national sport on our money?  Just look at those kids playing hockey.  Wait a minute...  I never played hockey.

Through A Little Sister's Eyes: (Theme 7)

For being a perfectionist, I would think her room would maintain better organization.  I mean, she will write and re-write her notes during school until she has reached what she considers acceptable.  Don't think twice about asking her to borrow one of her books.  It doesn't matter if it's a second-hand (which she has few of) or first copy.  She has trust issues.  Past traumas of friends crinkling the pages or tearing a cover, I don't know.  The other day she pulled her current free read out of her bag and it had a crease on the front cover.  I stifled a giggle when she ran off to the other room because I knew she was tearing up.  She tried to laugh at herself, but I could tell it was a struggle as she kept peaking at the book while attempting homework.  Her mind was definitely preoccupied for the day.

This brings me to her attention, or lack there of.  I swear if she was in a padded room with no doors or windows, give her a book, a piece of paper, and a pen to do an assignment with, she'd find some interesting thing to distract her from the task at hand.  Her mind is full of wonder and amazement with the objects that surround her which all require her attention.  She also is too antsy to sit for more than five minutes.  It's as if her legs need to be constantly moving.

Although her mind seems to be in a more rapid motion than others, she doesn't say much except when home.  She's quiet.  A thinker at their best.  She observes and remembers things that most people don't.  Not only is she very good at remember birthdays, but names as well.  Unlike others in college who seem to make habit of forgetting names, she had to pretend she forgot names of classmates because that was what was common amongst her peers.

Some might categorize her as awkward, but I think there's much more to her than that. She has a hard time conversing with others in everyday conversation, but like I said, there is so much going on in her mind.  I think this gives her difficulty in processing her thoughts like you and I.  This leads to her frequent stuttering and blushing in her daily interactions.

She's in a much better place when we sit on her roof and look at the stars.  She likes to try and grasp the reality of how large the universe is.  She has a deep appreciation for these balls of gas burning billions of miles away.  Other than star gazing she loves nothing more than to watch movies, listen to music, and read books.  All common traits that most of the human population seems to possess, but like stars, she appreciates it.

We don't seem to always agree on movies because of course mine are bad choices.  But her Oscar winning, mood-disorder containing, Holocaust deep, "films" are amazing.  Reluctantly I must agree she has a pretty good sense of what a good movie is.  The history one's especially.  She is thrilled with anything, and I truly mean ANYTHING, that involves any type of history.  Trust me, I get a new random fact in tremendous detail every day.  I'm always learning something new.

Music is no different than movies.  She's been going on lately, ever since she was introduced to "good music" from The Perks of Being a Wallflower, about how the Top 40 is ridiculous. She let's some songs slide, but she's a real lyrical type of person.  She brings meaning to every song she hears, and if she can't it's most likely not "good music."  She's not the kind of person you'd like to argue with.  If she knows you and is comfortable with you, there's just no winning.  She's always right.  So I don't bicker with her anymore about Lil' Wayne being the best current artist because obviously she's correct with it being fun. or Of Monsters and Men.  Her and her Indie playlist.

Other than when she's right, she is wrong.  And I think she's wrong about a lot of things.  Most of the things I think she's wrong about aren't superficial materialistic items or media involved topics.  She's mostly wrong about the opinion she holds about herself.  Without going into detail, it's not positive.  She feels her problems don't need a voice.  She has a pride that is like no other and thinks she can do it all on her own.  This makes her a great listener, but I have to watch her actions and mannerisms to notice when she's not doing well.  I know she is a lonely person, she always has been.  I wish there was a light-switch I could turn on to make her see herself how I see her.

But she is stronger than any person I know.  She loves her family and friends.  She also tries to give people the benefit of the doubt.  Whenever I feel the need to go on a rant about someone I don't like she always insists I see it from their point of view and there is more to the situation than meets the eye. This is why I love my big sister.

Zac at Four: (Prompt 30)

"No girls allowed." I wonder if he'll feel this way ten years from when this photograph was taken, 2009.  We'll see.  The little hands he used to hold the wooden sign are bigger today.  Then he used them for finger painting, bubble blowing, and holding mommy's hand.  Now he uses them for other things.  'Big boy' activities.  Throwing a baseball, playing video games, writing stories, but NOT to hold little girls hands.  Those hands are still reserved for mom.

 

Prompt 34: Part II

I want you to know that my following question for you is encompassed with respect.  How old are you?  I've known you my entire life, but I swear you have not aged a day.  I'm not trying to be nice in a cliche way, I'm being completely serious.  That day Cisco bit your hand, I mustn't have been five, you looked almost identical to the last time I ventured into kitchen to catch up with you and Eddie.  I know you've aged since then, and not just spiritually.  I do want you to know I think of you often.  Our neighbors now aren't as kind.  They don't have an enormous garden with tomatoes I can eat like a apples.  Oh, and apparently we need to "put a muzzle" on our dog because it "shouldn't be barking so much"... I'm sorry I didn't visit you after you broke your arm.  I get so caught up in the here and now and there is always an excuse as to why I don't have time to make it over.  To be honest, my excuses are just for my justification as to why I need to do whatever I feel to be more important than visiting the kindest woman I know.  Before it's too late, I'd like to thank you.  Not just for the book on life you gave me, but for everything.


A part of me wishes we still stayed in touch.  Actually, that part of me attempted to stay in contact with you.  Throughout my entire high school years I admired you.  From that first day of Spanish followed directly by German, you had my full attention.  Your ability and knowledge of four languages intrigued me and inspired me to lead the path I'm leading today.  I know you were aware I frequently did most of the class' homework, but I enjoyed doing it.  I always participated, payed attention, volunteered for anything, got the highest grade each term.  But you never seemed to be satisfied.  I don't know what I did to make you despise me the way you seem to.  Even though everyone disliked you, to this day I still stick up for you.

Prompt 34: Part I

We were so little, yet I still manage to have an abundance of memories full of our adventures.  I enjoyed the ones involving travel soccer the most.  Even though you weren't MVP like me, we both managed to make it the greatest hour of our school-packed day. You were my best friend for four years.  I was positive we had a friendship headed for lasting a lifetime.  People change though, and that's exactly what we did.  We changed.  I sometimes think of my school time in Bangor.  And each year on October 27, I mentally wish you a happy birthday.


You wouldn't even be two.  I'm aware animals have short lives, but one year is too short.  You weren't even a full grown cat.  I only have myself to blame.  Demi, it was I who saw you last.  I brought you inside because the basement gave me the creeps and I needed company.  I was ignorant of an open trapdoor until I saw you prance up the wooden steps like the little princess you were.  I swore under my breath, but I was under the impression I'd be seeing you for supper.  I still look hoping to see you run out from behind the bushes each morning to greet me before I rush off to school.

Attempt at minimum usage of adjectives (Theme 6)

Here words strung together so cleverly by author's of today and yesterday can become your reality.  That is if there is time to do more than stare longingly at the books that occupy an abundance of shelves.  It is highly unlikely this is the case.  College consumes a majority of the waking hours belonging to a day.  There is no time to open a typewritten masterpiece, let alone actually be capable of reading one.

So many other distractions are calling in a place that is supposed to be an easy place of concentration.  Can't you read, NO CELLPHONES ALLOWED.  Girls gossip in the corner with backpacks looking rather light to actually be carrying homework.  A man with headphones blaring what can only be caused by the newest computer game initiating his fingers fluid movements.

Where are the librarians at?  The media impression implies they are supposed to be mean old ladies with wire-rimmed frames who bustle around the place spitting "shhhhhhhh," in noisemakers faces.  The closest person to a librarian visible behind the desk is a college student too absorbed in the brilliant technology that is a cellphone to even pay attention to the couple fondling each other while giggling as if they are home alone on the couch.

This isn't a space for those with short attention spans to work in peace.  But this shall have to suffice for no place like mentioned actually exists.

It was nothing like I imagined, it was worse: (Prompt 29)

"You seriously don't have a Twitter account, what is wrong with you?" I know her question is rhetorical, but I have a tendency of thinking into things more than the average person.  So in my eyes, she aggressively seems to be implying I must be mental all because I don't want to follow my generations need to burry their faces into technology 24/7.  

But, I am also too polite (and timid) to explain to her my reasoning for not following the crowd.  "Uh, no.  I don't," is instead what I hear exit my mouth.

"Yeah. You are crazy.  It's so cool. You can like see other people's posts without all the annoying things Facebook uses.  Like you don't have to follow people you don't want to and it's not like collecting friends on Facebook.  I mean you can pretty much start all over.  Oh and if you don't want someone to follow you, you can like make your thing private.  See these hashtags?" She doesn't even wait for my affirmation to the new term this social media has created for the pound sign, "yeah they let you put words together so you can like see other people that have said the same things.  OMG I haven't even told you that you can follow celebrities!!! I'm following JB. That's like Justin Bieber if you didn't know.  But like you need to be careful because they are only the actual famous person if you see this little blue circle with a check mark in it.  Isn't this awesome?"  

Focusing on how many times she said like, I was unaware she even asked me a question until she anxiously repeated it once more.  "Uhhh.. Sure?" I answer questioningly.

"You absolutely have to get one.  I can be your first follower!!!!!!"  

This over excitement makes me feel sorry for her ignorance of quality-filled pastimes available to us.  But, she is my friend and I have a guilty conscience about the oddest situations.  This unfortunately qualifies as potentially turning into guilt. "Okay, I guess I'll get one. I'm going to make at home. Later though." 

Later that night:

Studying my new Twitter page, I begin to follow people I know and as suggested a few celebrities.  One who is definitely NOT desirable and I intentionally skip over, is Justin Bieber.   People such as Jim Sturgess, Emma Watson, Ben Affleck, Matthew Perry, and David Spade make the cut before I get bored.  

I scroll past classmates' pages and read some of their tweets.  Some are funny, some are re-tweeted (when you click a button to post what another person has said so they still get credit for it), some are happy, some are quotes, some are lame, etcetera, etcetera.  Boredom consumes me once again prompting me to sign out.  As I shut my laptop I think to myself, "ah whatever. This isn't going to consume my life. I guess it's not so bad."  

A year or so later (today):

"Not so bad," what was I thinking?  It's terrible.  It's humiliating, embarrassing, deceiving, attention-seeking, annoying, time-consuming.  There aren't enough words in the dictionary to symbolize what Twitter is.  I will reluctantly admit there are some good qualities it possesses, but far more evil ones.  Never have I heard so much whining or complaining.  I'm aware I complain more than need be, but NO. BODY. WANTS. TO. HEAR. IT.  So why post it for hundreds of acquaintances (even millions of strangers) to see?  I look down upon those who actually give the attention to toothpick sized girls who say they're fat.  Or the gorgeous ones who ask why they're so ugly.  UGH.  Next time you say something witty or song lyrics and try to play them off as your own words, please, just don't.  You seriously have 9,000 tweets and you've only been using this for a year and a half?!?!  And I'm told I need to get a life instead of wanting to spend my hours reading books that actually require intelligence.  #Andwhatsupwiththis? #or #doing #this #every #tweet?  For your information, it is a pound sign.  NOT a 'hashtag'.  I am positive I have found one of the culprits of today's horrid grammar.  Social media.  Texting.  Like our speech is also so awful cuz of this, u kno?  Oh, and thank you for notifying us all you are eating toast, now working out, now with your bff, now life is awesome, now you hate people that can't speak English well.  Half of the people who make use of Twitter would never say the things they tweet to someone's face.  NEVER!  I'm also positive if you want to talk smack about someone and quote almost word for word what they said or did, they're going to know you're talking about them.  When you rant about people who speak meanly about others it makes you look hypocritical. And it kind of makes you look like a bitch.  

Though I am annoyed beyond belief, I have yet to delete my account.

Elementary School: (Prompt 26)

Why I'm participating in Track and Field, I'm uncertain.  It's my senior year, peer pressure, lack of an interesting life.  I'm just glad it's almost over.  I wouldn't say I'm ending on a strong note.  After all, this is a Junior Varsity meet and I am the only senior participant.  Oh, and the best I could do was place second... In shot put.  I would like to say this season has been good for one thing, but it hasn't.  Blistered toes, calloused heels, sore muscles, lame Saturdays, pure exhaustion.  It even brought me here.

The question asked by friends of mine continues to be, "Why don't you want to talk about what it was like to go to school here?"  To this I don't have a good answer.  If I wasn't playing mute, they might here something to the likes of, "You can't see it, but in the front I met my best friend of elementary school after getting off the bus for the first time.  One day of kindergarden I ran form that small playground back to the bathroom unable to make it in time.  In that hallway I found out about September 11 and never looked at the world the same.  The bigger playground on the far side of the school is where my best friend and I had our first kisses at the same time.  Cassie and Josh, Kyle and I.  This track is where we used to walk twice a week in third grade.  I would often walk alone because Allison, a new girl who pulled her hair out a lot, wanted to be Cassie's best friend one day and mine the next."

As the bus pulls away I take another look at the warn down brick building I use to call my school and think to myself, I had it made.