Two years ago, I beat Kingdom Hearts II during Christmas break. It took me nearly thirty hours to hit and punch and magic my way through every world to defeat every boss on the the beginner level I’d selected in the very beginning.

I’m back, baby. And this time I’m playing on standard level.

This brings me to the FML moments I experienced this week. (If you’re not familiar the site I advise you to click that link I just typed and educate yourself on the hilarity that occurs in the lives of others.)
I re-borrowed the game from my boyfriend on Sunday but was not able to play it because I got home too late that night to even think about setting up our old PS2 that night. I went to bed, instead.
The next day, all I thought about was Kingdom Hearts. My fingers were itching to pick up a controller all day and start playing with Hayner, Pence and Olette by my side one minute and then Donald Duck and Goofy the next.
My Kingdom Hearts-obsessed friend drove me home on Monday and helped me set up my PS2 and hook it up to our giant TV in the Family Room. I turned on the TV, turned on the game console and then picked up a controller, eager to begin playing as Roxas. I looked down and realized that the controller I was holding was one that went into the first Play Station ever released; not our PS2.
After several frantic text messages were sent to my brothers and a quick search around my house was conducted, I admit defeat and we hopped in her car to go up to her house and retrieve a controller.
The spare one we brought back to my house didn’t work, but luckily she had brought one of her good ones. We played for three hours (well, I played and she sat in my fuzzy purple chair and watched) and then hopped back in her car to go to play rehearsal. She took the controller home with her that night.
I was left with useless PS1 controllers and a game I desperately wanted to continue.
For the next couple days, I didn’t play. Finally, my boyfriend came through and gave me one of his controllers.
That night, I rushed through my homework, excitedly set up the console in my room, then got out of the shower and hurried so I could play the game until midnight.
I turned on the TV and the PS2, but the video wasn’t displayed on the screen. Confused, I plugged the little colored things into the TV more securely, then tried again. I must have tried 5 times before I decided that my 4-year-old TV was crap. I texted my brother, asked him where his old little TV was, then headed out into the snow to go to my dad’s garage and retrieve it. I located it, knocked over a bag of cans and got caught on a lawn mower which I pulled out into his driveway with me and then had to push back in.
I got inside, made sure the TV worked, then went upstairs and set it up in my room and plugged everything in.
Once again, everything worked but the video. I unplugged everything and tried several times, but nothing worked. I decided to try it on my TV one more time before I tossed it into a spare room. It was then that I noticed something.
The cable that has the little colored things that hook up into the TV wasn’t fully plugged into the PS2. I pushed it in further and BAM!
It took me over half an hour, the exchanging of TVs and several text messages to figure out that all I had to do this whole time was reach over to the PS2 and push the cable in further from my comfy perch in my purple chair.

FML

On December 15^th, GCS held its first choral concert of the year featuring the 5/6 choir, 7/8 choir, high school Mixed Chorus and Chamber Choir. As members of the Chamber Choir, we enjoyed working toward our goal of putting on a successful concert for our community and put forth months of effort. Our concert turned out to be very successful. No mistakes were made on our part. You might say that our performance was flawless. However, the audience’s performance was far from flawless.

The audience was restless, it seemed. Instead of sitting and being respectful for our performance (and most likely for the other performances), its talking seemed to never cease. During our selection, there were outcries from children which should have been stifled by their parents by using the many exits the principals always point out to the audience before the concert even begins.  Overall, during our performance, it felt like the audience wasn’t even paying attention. Not only was this distracting to us, but it was also very rude.

As if that wasn’t enough, during our big (literally, big) finale, there were several shout-outs to individual members of the choirs from the audience. Following the rude shout-outs were heckles at the choirs as they assembled on and around the stage for the last number of the night. Finally, every choir was in its place, but the idea of performing the last number we had worked on seemed absurd if the audience wasn’t going to appreciate it.

We found it embarrassing to have some in our community that cannot even display proper and respectful concert etiquette for their own children who have worked hard. It was also embarrassing to us that our director made her debut to this audience.

We certainly appreciate those in the audience who displayed respect and appreciation for our music. This is a case of a few bad apples spoiling the whole bunch.

I don’t have a complete snowsuit anymore, so I had to hunt around for odds and ends. Keeping up with the staying-warm theme, I selected my items (St. Bonaventure hoodie, my hooker boots, warm PJ pants, track warm-up pants, fuzzy socks to keep my toosies warm, scarf, earmuffs and skeleton gloves) and headed out into the snow.

Despite the late hour, it was quite bright outside thanks to the lights coming from the prison miles away. The snow coated the sidewalk and the yards surrounding our snow-covered house. We frolicked and ran with an almost full-grown golden retriever trotting by our side.

We traveled down over the hill into the woods and ran with the puppy trailing along behind us, but more often was he in front of us waiting for us to catch up. All I could picture was myself running through the grass in shorts and a tee shirt back in the summer months. Things had changed completely and time had gone by far too fast.

We paused and admired a particularly beautiful bush dotted with layers of snow on its branches, then hiked our way up the hill. I lay down on the trampoline that had been plastered with snow and closed my eyes, letting the snow kiss my eyelids, cheeks, nose, mouth and forehead. It was complete deja vu of what we had done in the summer, only we had a much larger and far more golden puppy in our presence and the weather was entirely different.

There is one thing I know. I will miss our little adventures. When we’re together, we’re not 22 and 16 anymore. Suddenly we go back in time and are 13 and 7 again, wrestling on mom and dad’s bed.  As much as he bugs me and as much as his dog is a nuisance, saying goodbye on Saturday will seem wrong. Saying goodbye to him for the umpteenth time in my life will clue me in on what I’m missing out on due to my age. One day I’ll experience the same thing and get out on my own. Before I know it, that day will be here for me, like Saturday is for him.

29 years ago today, John Lennon said his last words “I’m shot!” and then fell to the ground. John Lennon has now been dead for 29 years. I obviously wasn’t living then, but my dad tells me that he remembers that day as if it were yesterday.

I totally forgot about this date. I read about it and told myself to remember it, but guess what? I didn’t. I never remember important things. So, this morning I pulled on my Beatles hoodie, totally oblivious to the significance of December 8th.

In AP U.S. History, I opted not to pay attention to a man that makes me feel small and stupid and instead opened my notebook and started to write (the green honesty notebook). I drew a few doodles, sure, but then I got a song stuck in my head.

Lucy was in the sky with diamonds in my head. I flipped my notebook over to a clean page and started writing.

I proceeded to write one of the most beautiful and thoughtful poems I have ever written. Despite the lack of inspiration in my location (a dull, plainly decorated classroom and a group of students that lacked the laughter I usually provided them with), I spit out my feelings. What blows my mind is that I had no idea about what was important about today at the time. When I got home and was able to check my facebook, my friend had posted “RIP John Lennon <3″ in her status. My heart skipped a beat when I realized how everything I had done fell into place. For some strange reason, I knew what the day was subconsciously, even though the perfectly conscious part of my brain couldn’t seem to see it.

I finished the poem I produced with my hands and a pen at exactly 9:00 AM. There may be a more significant meaning associated with that time, but right now all I can think of is that on this day 29 years ago, 9:00 was one of the last times John Lennon ever saw. And so, this is for you John. Even though I wasn’t thinking of you at all when I wrote it. No, I was thinking of myself. And Lucy.

Let Her Be

The girl with the sun in her eyes is surely gone
as is the sun from which it was drawn.
Send me love, you sunless dawn
but no, the sun in her eyes is now gone.

The diamonds have fallen from the sky
10,000 feet; plummeting to die.
Not able to wonder and question why;
she watches the diamonds fall from the sky.

The blackbird’s singing in the dead of night
a beautiful hour lacking light
a gunshot sounds and takes a flight
to the blackbird singing in the dead of night.

~EMS
12/8/09
9:00 AM

RIP John Lennon <3

I’m sure that most everyone learned the states and the capitals that reside in the United States of America when they were in, like, elementary school. Am I correct? I was not included in that common group. When I was in elementary school, I remember learning about Africa and Europe. Barely was the USA mentioned. This became a problem.

Because I was not familiar with the states or where they were (I couldn’t even name them all), being given a map for something in school was an advantage for some, and a deep disadvantage for me. I looked stupid when I couldn’t tell you that Oregon is below Washington, or that Rhode Island, New Hampshire, New Jersey, Connecticut and Vermont are all squished together above and around New York. All I knew was that Canada was directly above me, Pennsylvania below me, California was on the other coast, along with Washington, and Georgia and Florida were kind of near one another.

I got addicted to Sporcle. I clicked on the US States one and found that I could barely name half of the 50 states in our country. My brother creamed me, my mother wasn’t far behind him (they could both name every single one; in order) and then my boyfriend schooled me up at school on Friday after I had only been able to cough up 30 of the 50 states.

Friday, I got home, pulled out my pink netbook, logged onto the Sporcle website and then spent hours and hours quizzing myself on the United States of America. After a couple hours, I was able to name every single state in order of where they were and considered this a huge accomplishment. Now, when my friend tells me that he’s going to Utah for the summer, I can reply with “hey, maybe you should drive through and make a quick trip to Vegas!” having full knowledge of Nevada right next door.

I still have absolutely no sense of direction, but this is improving my outlook on life. Now I can picture where the first ever National Road was laid down on the Earth from Ohio to Maryland.

Thanks to all of my elementary school teachers that didn’t find the states important enough to drill me on. Thanks to myself for having the ambition to learn them all by myself.

Now, challenge me to the Sporcle game of naming all of the states, and I can whoop your arse.

Oh my goodness, thank you Flyleaf. You failed to disappoint me, and I am super grateful.

Your new CD (which I didn’t know about until YESTERDAY – if I hadn’t have purchased the December issue of AP yesterday, I never would have known!) has been blowing me away for almost twenty-four hours.

I can’t get over the tracks “Again,” “Beautiful Bride,” “Swept Away” and “In The Dark.” I have listened to “Again” 3 times, “Beautiful Bride” 5 times, “Swept Away” twice and “In The Dark” four times. All within the past twenty-four hours.

The vocals are beautiful, Lacey. On Memento Mori I can understand what you’re singing! With your older material, the instrumentals were catchy and were what pulled me in, but this time, it’s not only the instrumentals anchoring me down for a listen. The lyrics are beautifully crafted and sing of religion (which I’m not too keen on), but I don’t care because they’re amazing and I can understand them on this CD.

For awhile there, I was scared because I liked Fireflight a little more than I did you, Flyleaf. But now, Memento Mori has convinced me otherwise. That is, until Fireflight releases their new CD.

My Trendy Wendy notebook that I did my math homework this year and last year is no more. The spirals got all messed up and made it nearly impossible to turn the page of the notebook without ripping the page out. I retired Trendy Wendy and her brother Todd and dug through our school supplies basket for a new Algebra II/Trigonometry notebook to do my homework in. I unearthed a green College Ruled spiral notebook and packed it in my bag to take to school the next morning.

Yes, I did homework in it, but I noticed that the closely spaced lines made writing between them more inviting for me. Smaller print means more words can fit on the page – it’s a no-brainer. So, for the past couple weeks or so, I haven’t been paying attention in Trig (and I’m sure that my average has suffered a little if not immensely). Instead, I’ve been picking up my pen and getting lost in words I have written. Poetry’s always been my forte, but until a couple of weeks ago, I hadn’t been writing any new material. Now, thanks to this green notebook, I haven’t been using my laptop in school as much. Instead, I’ve been distracted by the beauty a clean, white page can provide. Just knowing I can fill that blankness with words makes me want to write all over on every page. So, that’s what I’ve been doing.

The green notebook isn’t for Trig anymore. No, I unearthed a new notebook for that subject (this time it’s red!) and have been using that instead. I’m letting this plain old green notebook help me stretch my writing abilities. I’m writing everything I can (it’s all poetry, mind you) even if it ends up sucking. At least I’m getting everything out of my head.

Lately I have been trying to write beyond my comfort zone. I’ve always kind of written G-rated poetry subconsciously. Now, my most recent works hold a new, deep and hidden meaning that it will take a reader several read-throughs to figure out what it’s truly about. Some of my recent poetry could be rated R or PG-13 at least. I used to be cautious about what I wrote. Now I find myself wanting to write about everything that I hold in my mind, no matter how vulgar or inappropriate my thoughts are (and let’s face it, every mind thinks vulgar and inappropriate thoughts sometimes). One of my most favorite poems is by this poet called C.B. Trail. He obviously didn’t care what the reader thought when he wrote “Sonnet”:

This is for the afternoon we lay in the leaves
After it had been winter for half a year,
And I kissed you and unbuttoned your jeans
And touched you and made you smile, my dear.
And of all the good things that love means,
One of them is to touch you there
And make you smile, among the leaves,
And feel your wetness and your sweet short hair,
And kiss your breasts and put my tongue
Into the delirium between your soft pale thighs,
Because the winter has been much too long
And soon will come again, when this love dies.
I will hear sermons preached, and some of them be true,
But I will not regret that afternoon with you.

I love his honesty and just the truth behind this sonnet. I have had some of my friends read this poem, and their first reaction is “ew! That’s disgusting!” but me? I think it’s beautiful. I think the way it was written is beautiful. I don’t necessarily think that the act displayed in the poem is beautiful (though, what in love isn’t beautiful?), but the way it was written is just phenomenal. Total honesty. Total fearlessness. I want to write like that. I don’t want to be reserved with my writing just because I’m afraid of being obscene or inappropriate. Marilyn Manson’s song “mOBSCENE” has a line that goes “Be! Obscene! Be be obscene!” I’m going to be totally honest with everything I write to get my point across, and if it means being obscene in the process, so be it. I’m willing to take the risk. This green notebook is helping me stretch that ability and is nursing it to reach its full potential. I write how I feel instead of how I pretend I feel. I make up stories in my head and then write them down in poetic form. I create magic with my poetry.

So, I’m trying to be open-minded with everything I write. Even if I think it’s horrible, I keep it. Even if I think a subject is a little iffy to write about, I do it anyway. I’m broadening my horizons. I’m making way for the new – so, out with my old ways and techniques!

Here are samples of my random thoughts in poems from school days (I’m keeping this G-rated here):

You Don’t Know Me

I appear miserable all the time
angry, sad, never happy
to you, this appears to be quite the crime.
Oh, how you don’t know me.
I’m filled with laughter and smiles
and I know, laughter you can’t see
but even though I run miles and miles
I don’t think you know me.
You think you know all my quirks
and what I like to be
the truth is, I’m not the queen of jerks
which shows that you don’t know me.
For as long as there is air to breathe
nobody – nobody – will ever know me.

I would tell you how the sun rose
but I’ve never seen its birth.
I know that the light slowly grows
and gradually heats the Earth.

All I know is when I wake
her silky rays reach my eyes
I know there is no mistake -
I’m in the right place when I rise.

I would tell you how the sun rose
but you’re asking the wrong girl.
This secret, nobody but her knows.
We’re both little girls in a big world.

Alone,
hated,
discombobulated.
She’s alone,
hated
and discombobulated.
I…
I’m alone,
hated
and discombobulated.

Surrounded by millions, thousands, billions
she smiles for the camera constantly.
She’s mocked and her popularity’s docked
all around her, bodies are flocked.
She looks in the mirror, but cannot see.
The flashes blind her temporarily.

She faults in her footing, cameras still shooting
capturing a moment that lives on forever.
She’s harassed and so embarrassed…
never did she ask for this.
She looks for her shoe, but cannot see
the flashes blind her temporarily.

She never has that moment, the missing component
to calm herself down completely.
Not missing a beat, she’s again up and on her feet.
She struggles, but won’t admit defeat.
She walks on, but cannot see…
the flashes blind her permanently.

It’s Friday.

Normally I would be heaving a sigh of relief out of my lungs with the completion of another week of school successfully under my belt, but I’m living in pool of dread. Because, come Monday, I’m back to the daily grind. My brief respite is almost over.

On Wednesday, I traveled to Katie’s house. I drove partway there, finally getting a taste of what it’s like to be behind the wheel of a car (did I mention that we finally got me my permit? It was a battle, I assure you). We toured her farm, made cookies that resembled pancakes and then ate them like they were (forks and melted milk chocolate “syrup”). Katie had accidentally melted the butter for the cookies completely, so we popped popcorn and dipped individual kernels into a deliciously golden pool of oil.

Up in her room, it was like we were five years old again. We paraded around in dresses and danced in front of the mirror to “She Wolf” and “Outside My Window.” I let my maturity go for a couple hours and found it could be fun to let it slip sometimes.

That night, I returned home and finished The Hunger Games; staying up until well past two AM in the process. All together, it proved to be a wildly successful day.

And, now, I’m in that mood where nothing I write seems to matter, no matter what it is I’m writing about. I’m going to leave this entry at that. Nobody reading this cares about what’s going on my life; they’re too busy worrying about their own. I just came to that realization.

I’m sorry for wasting your time.

When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me. (Literally: ass-u-me.) I have always greatly appreciated this little saying. It’s perfectly witty and clever, and as an extra bonus, it’s perfectly true.

These days, I’m sick of people assuming when it concerns me. Not only are they making an ass out of themselves, but they’re dragging me along with them into the ass-y pool.

Over the past couple of weeks, I have received so many comments from people I love about how I “must hate the world.” I like to share my opinions, and though they aren’t always positive, I like to throw them out there. The problem is, nobody ever bites my bait. Everyone just seems to think that I abhor the world. Everything I say and everything I do supports this theory, apparently.  I will admit that I’m a little cynical and extremely critical, but that doesn’t mean I hate everything. People should just stop assuming that hating is all I do. I’m very opinionated and I can’t help but express those opinions, no matter how negative they may be.

I guess it just goes to show who knows me and who really a

I love life, I just don’t always like the people involved in mine. So, sometimes people should just stop assuming, because when they do about me, they are almost always wrong. They just make asses out of themselves and me when I sputter and try to defend my poor, “negative” little self. The people that assume are the people that only see me as the Emily I portray in school. Of course she’s going to be miserable; it’s school.

I guess this just goes to show who knows me and who really and truly does not.