obscure post

What should I write about?

The lights are reflecting off the screen in a way that makes my whole life look surreal. A white screen with blurry yellow lights greets me. It's blank. No matter how hard I try I cannot think of words to fill it with. My view of the world is a conglomerate of verbs and adjectives and nouns, but none of them seem to fit. There's something in my mind that demands perfection, but I can't provide it. In the living room there's another world-—of football and television and getting excited about men in tights running an oddly shaped brown ball across a field of unnatural grass. Somehow I've managed to escape that. Now I'm trapped in a different sort of prison—one of words, all longing to escape, to find their place on this impossibly blank white and yellow-lit screen. I find myself chained with the knowledge that I simply cannot do them justice, no matter how hard I try. Instead, they will be forced to join the infinite expanse of Lost Words, words that I was too weak to make a place for. They deserve better than me.

Estación Inmóvil -- Pablo Neruda

Quiero no saber ni soñar.
Quién puede enseñarme a no ser,
a vivir sin seguir viviendo?

Cómo continúa el agua?
Cuál es el cielo de las piedras?

Inmóvil, hasta que detengan
las migraciones su apogeo
y luego vuelen con sus flechas
hacia el archipiélago frío.

Inmóvil, con secreta vida
como una ciudad subterránea
para que resbalen los días
como gotas inabarcables:
nada se gasta ni se muere
hasta nuestra resurrección,
hasta regresar con los pasos
de la primavera enterrada,
de lo que yacía perdido,
inacabablemente inmóvil
y que ahora sube desde no ser
a ser una rama florida.

What actually happens in public schools...

(with apologies to Katricia, who did a project on Homeschooling, and talked a bit about Socialization)
(over text message, over the course of my school day, transcribed exactly)

• Aimée: Socialization, eh?
• Katricia: Yeah, the weird thing that public schoolers supposedly do more of :P
• A: I would like to hear that XD to be honest I'm not entirely convinced :p
• K: How much socialization can u gt in a classroom?
• A: Loads, surprisingly. The fun never ends xD You should see my speech class
• K: Haha, i'm sure... :P
• A: I don't think I ever stop talking haha except for those ten minutes when the teacher is
• K: Haha, that's cool
• A: Then we steal each other's cameras and take pictures of projectors, and get offered cookies by the people around us.
• K: I see...
• A: We're like one big happy classroom family, complete with inside jokes and everything :P
• K: Sounds like fun!
• A: It really is. I've made some of my best friends in class.

Teachers are surprisingly relaxed about what they let you do in class. The most shocking thing is that we still learn. We still get our education (straight A's and off to college, baby!).

I don't understand how Public School manages to work the way it does. I really don't.

Note that I was texting Katricia (known to you as Katy) during class. Not lunch. Class. 

This blog makes me feel like telling a story.

Next short story soon to come? We shall see.

Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.

Howard Thurman

Day 10- A letter to something that has changed your life forever

My letters are getting too serious XD

Dear Milk,

    Leche, dearie, you know how much I love you. You do! But here's the thing. This isn't working out. I mean, come on! One sip of you and I get sick? How is that beneficial to anyone? Think about your actions, Lait. That is not cool, in any way. 

    So here's the thing. I'm breaking up with you. NO! Don't give me that look! You knew this was coming! You knew the day you decided to hurt me! Stop your blubbering. It's pathetic. You wonder why I'm leaving you? Here's the thing.

    There's someone else. 

    No!! NO! Don't flip out on me, Leche. You knew when Almond Milk moved into the fridge that he'd eventually take your place. Sure, he's way too sweet, but that's better than being hurt. Even you have to admit that. It's not you, it's--wait, it is you. 

    Goodbye forever.

Aimée