Peanut butter & jelly

I always try to do what makes sense.

Take bread, peanut butter and jelly from the hotel continental breakfast in the morning to have for lunch. (Don’t forget the banana and yogurt.)

10397226_10203581310885364_8723498419017002550_oIf it’s a beautiful day, go outside instead of staying in staring at a rectangle.

Ride your bike to the gym instead of driving. It’s only three miles away.

Getting a master’s in business administration makes sense. Right?

I have seven credits to take before graduation knocks on my door and force-feeds me a diploma. So let’s take a foundations accounting course, get a little math in there, get a taste of what an MBA would be all about. Be one of those few woman CEOs and run an entire company. Make a shitload of money.

…there goes my right brain.

I want to be successful, but maybe there’s another way. Another master’s program to enroll in, another path that is math free and more Emily-esque.

When I hung up from a phone call with the director of the MBA program at my school on Tuesday, I almost cried. Partly because of PMS, but also because I’m scared. College has basically been a walk in the park for me. The mistakes I’ve made have helped me learn and I’ve become a better writer, a better listener and a better intellectual. The idea of buying more textbooks, studying business strategies, solving math problems, stumbling over statistics… well, it scares me. Even though it makes sense. Even though I like the idea of being a boss to many.

For now I’ll save money by making a PB&J sandwich for my lunches with supplies taken from my hotel’s lobby. I’m a “poor” college student who can’t figure out if she wants to pursue what she loves or what makes sense.

Help?

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Oh, the thinks you can think (in 2009)

6/23/2009 –– I know that with every mistake I make comes a lesson to learn, but that doesn’t relieve the sick feeling in my stomach whenever I make one. I don’t like messing up. I am not very partial to making someone disappointed in me; especially someone I care about.

I’ve learned to think before I speak, now I just have to learn how to think before I act. I think I can, I think I can. I will. I am going to. When the next chance arises to act, I am going to think first. It’s time to let that common sense that I claim to possess shine through and help me make important decisions. Wish me luck for my future full of decision-making.

_________________________________________________

Without even meaning to, a friend of mine inspired me to browse through posts I’ve saved as drafts over the years. Again, without even meaning to, he inspired me to read through them and try to piece together what was going on when I wrote the drafts. So here goes nothing.

Adam had just graduated from high school. Here I am with my three older brothers:

My dress was rather revealing and I've always suspected Trevor purposely held his program like that over my chest.
My dress was rather revealing and I’ve always suspected Trevor purposely held his program like that over my chest.

I looked back into my archives and found this post, but I don’t know what half the shit I listed even means now.

2009 was also the year Jordan graduated from St. Bonaventure:

We look thrilled.
We look thrilled.

And Grady, Jordy’s Golden Retriever, looked like this:

Baby Grady.
Baby Grady.

And I even have a screenshot of the music I listened to as I wrote that draft on my mom’s iMac:

Screenshot 2014-01-14 14.49.24

As for the content of the post, it’s still pretty accurate. I hate the thought of disappointing people, especially those of whom I feel immense respect for. Like my 15-year-old self, I don’t believe half of the compliments people give me. I’ll always feel like there’s more I can do, more I can be. I didn’t spend much time on the work I produced for my current internship and cringed every time I saw my boss’s name pop up in my inbox. I thought she’d be disappointed with my work. On the contrary, she was thrilled and even invited me back for a second internship this semester.

Thinking before speaking is definitely a newly acquired skill of mine. Who knew it would take me five years to really follow through on those claims I made in that draft? I also think more about what company I’m in and try to tailor what I want to say. There are so many ways one can offend another person without even realizing it. “It’s my mouth I can say what I want to,” Miley sings. Yeah. But sometimes you really really can’t. Sometimes it’s better to say nothing at all. You may not believe me, but I can be quiet. Except when my mom and I are in a silent church and she makes me laugh. But that’s another story.

I don’t know what was going on in my teenage-girl brain in that draft, but at least I know that my age and my life may change, but my values don’t have to.

 

Draft 1 of 97 complete.

I’m So Sick

I can’t think of anything to write… and this inability to think of anything is giving me something to write and think about. I like this… I’m going to keep going.

Last night was the “farewell seniors” chorus concert. To be perfectly honest, I cannot wait until they are all gone. Sure, I’ll miss a few, but I feel absolutely no remorse for the majority of them. Most of them are off to some community college somewhere where they can embark on thirteenth grade. Whooo. Congratulations. Some people were crying while we were singing the farewell song. I was rolling my eyes. It’s not like they’re dying. C’mon – give it a rest. I hope we don’t do the farewell thing for my last chorus concert. That’s just overrated.

My head has been pounding lately with meaningless knowledge. I don’t care about the sediments that make a rock. All I need to know is that rocks exist – I’m not going to ask why or how they got here. I don’t think New York State should ask me this question. I don’t think New York State should ask me many things. Like how to find the measure of segment AC after giving me only the measure of AB and DB. Where is this going to take me in my aspiration to become a well-known journalist? Nowhere. Exactly. As for Global history – it’s in the past. Let’s just forget about it, shall we? If New York State can’t even spell Touissant L’Ouverture’s name the same way on every exam they pass out, why should I even have to learn about him? Sounds pointless to me. If the people that make me take these pointless examinations can’t even spell his name right then he must not have been worth learning about, correct? Ugh…it’s frustrating.

I’m sick of school. I’m sick of people. I’m sick of the people in school. I’m sick of the way people act in school. I’m sick of improper etiquette at chorus concerts and bad manners. I just want summer to come so that I can remain in my own little bubble for three months. I can choose who I want to see and avoid future annoyances. Only 8 more full days of school left!

Emily’s poetry, a history

I’ve been writing poetry for years. My mother named me after her favorite poet, so why not carry it on? I started out with a composition notebook that I decorated with stickers. Everyone just assumed it was my diary, as if it couldn’t be anything but a shallow notebook with all of my deepest secrets and fears hidden inside. Nobody gave me enough credit. Boys would steal it from me, but I managed to get it back without any harm done. They were only teasing. Teasing is harmless, right?

After that was filled, I moved onto a pink camouflage notebook that had pens attached to the front of it. It was nifty because if I had an idea I didn’t have to hunt for a pen before being able to write it down. The pens were just there. That notebook was also known as my “diary” and even a teacher asked: “why do you bring your diary to school?” To which I simply replied: “it’s not a diary.”

I poured random thoughts and whimsical dreams into those notebooks. Within about a month, the pages started ripping out of the pink camo notebook, so I saved the paper, but threw the rest of the notebook in the garbage. It was time to move on again.

I found a regular old yellow spiral notebook and plastered it with quotes, stickers, drawings, and pop-up sunflowers that I ripped off a thing I had at home. Poetry was transferred from my head onto the pages of that thing for about a year. I entered the seventh grade with the same notebook, and only showed the ones I was proud of to my then English teacher (who is now a teacher in the high school). The boys in my grade grew up a little and stopped calling it my diary, and I continued writing.

For my birthday that year, one of my best friends (we barely speak anymore…) bought me a hardcover spiral notebook with puppies on the front. Said notebook lasted me for nearly two years. That notebook taught me something important. Because I wanted the notebook to last, I only wrote poetry when I really really felt like it and had a good feeling about an idea. I decided that I didn’t have to write about everything – but there are some things that I will always wish to remember. I still have one page left in that notebook that remains empty. If I fill it in, the notebook is done forever. I always want to have the option of being able to fill it up totally. It’s amazing to go from the earlier poems in that book to the last few. It’s like traveling through two years of my life in thirty minutes.

Eventually, I took a little notebook that was a party favor at some birthday party I went to (I think it was Carin’s) and ripped out the used pages. I then covered it with duct tape, and voila! New notebook.

Using the duct tape notebook, I rewrote some of the ones I am really proud of, but I also wrote a year’s worth of new material. I am still busy filling it up with my life, so it’s a work in progress. It’s crazy to see how much I have grown in the past year. There are some poems in said book that are extremely naive and young-sounding. I know I will say the same thing in the future when I look back at what I wrote when I was fifteen (the present… for now), but I like what is exploding out of my pen at the moment. Maybe I will post some examples in the near future (which is defined as: later today).

What gives you the right?

I’ve been thinking quite a bit lately. Mostly about life, death, murder, killing… etc…

Where am I going with this? Well…

I have been thinking about people that have taken another person’s life. Murderers, crazy people, people that should call a jail cell home as punishment for what they’ve done… What gives those people the right to take someone’s life away? Do they think that they are important enough to do something as horrible as that? How can someone stand up, point a gun at someone, shoot, and then still be able to live with themselves afterward?  I have future spreading out in front of me, or so it seems. What if I don’t? What if someone suddenly decides that they are good enough to take my life because they are not happy with their own? Yes, I am full of “what ifs,” but that’s just how I am.

I think guns should be illegal. Yes, they’re useful for hunting and whatnot, but these instruments can end someone’s life with the pull of the trigger – what gives a person the right to do that?

Goodbye, relaxation

You know what? Forget the play progress crap. It’s not like any of you even care. Well, for those who do (which I doubt) just know that I am almost done with three pages and finally getting to the juicy part of the whole play. It’s due on Wednesday. Can I do it? I procrastinate handing things in. Don’t ask why; you won’t like my reason, though I enjoy it very much.

I don’t want to go back to school. Today was the last day of Christmas break. The thrill and joy of Christmas is over, my gifts have been moved into my bedroom, Christmas music is no longer playing on the radio stations (though I cannot say I miss that very much), and it’s time to go back to the books. Umm, no thank you. I liked being stress-free this week. I sat at  my computer this week and wrote my play. I have gotten so used to doing that that I can’t see how any other way of life could be possible. This week I did what I want to do in the future: I sat around and wrote. Now tomorrow I must endure pointless classes that I probably will not use later in life.

So though I enjoyed this past week, I know that I have to return to Hell. Goodbye, relaxation.

School

It seems to me like summer never even happened. Now that I am in the day-to-day “school” routine, everything is back to normal. My iPod (PANDORA!!!) sings me the song I picked out the night before at around 5:45 every morning, and then I wait for the playlist to run out before I get up (usually around 6:20). I get up, take a shower, eat breakfast (well, drink some coffee to prevent future headaches), and wash my face before I let my hair down and mess around with it. I walk out the door wearing some crazy outfit (today it is a pair of crazy colored Bermuda shorts, brown high top Chucks with pink shoelaces, a red Hollister 3/4 polo and a white tank top underneath – I know! Hollister! *gasp!*).

School is just okay. Being a sophomore is definitely different. I open up the day with band, then either English or Earth Science for eighty minutes, lunch (yes, at ten o’clock in the morning), Spanish (which has been simple so far because the regular teacher is out sick and our substitute does not know a single word of the language), Global (my teacher is hilarious!) and then Chamber Choir. After Chamber Choir comes either a study hall (where I am right now) or PE. Then, the dreaded Geometry. I have found it easier to focus this year in math. I already got a 100% on our first test, and was the only student to receive said grade (YES! I put it on the fridge! xD).