"October is crisp days and cool nights, a time to curl up around the dancing flames and sink into a good book." -Author Unknown

As I sat reading the updating blogs of my friends tonight, I wondered what I was going to talk about. We have the common stressors such as homework, Capstones, and college, then we have the creative writing folk, the classmates who haven't written yet, and the "I don't know what to write about so be happy if you get something coherent" population. Tonight, I haven't yet decided where I should fall. Oh I know...the quiet observation.

It is nearly October now, ok maybe October begins tomorrow, but it is still an exciting month. Unlike December, or January it is not a month full of vacation and birthdays in my family. It is not distinctly hot like August, or cold like November. It is the middle sibling, a warning, the forgotten one. Mostly forgotten about, it comes up slowly, yet surprisingly. The human eye cannot notice when a leaf is changing, only after it has changed. A brisk wind returns only to remind one that it is October and not to be mistaken.

This month has always been one of my favorites. (Ok, who am I to say that? I enjoy almost every season and month in their own time with the exception of spring, and February, those are just not for me.) Football games with your family, wearing sweatshirts and jeans, noticing the change in the leaves, the atmosphere, the anticipation...It is the calm before the storm. Before the hustle and bustle of the holidays begin, October is there to slowly but surely get us up to par with the months to come. It is the prequel to the holiday story that many choose not to read. I am not among them.

The Many Faces of Hamlet.

We've been reading Hamlet in English class for the past two weeks. We just finished with Act 1, the exposition of the play. Although it's the beginning with a lot of background and lacking in action, I already find this play very interesting. I like the circumstance that Hamlet finds himself in and I love his reaction to everything. Every word that comes out of his mouth has multiple meanings. If you really enjoy or understand Hamlet you could look at the same passage and see many layers or possible meanings that one passage could have. It's a never ending line of knowledge and revelation for the English nerds of the room, and a horrific task to be completed by those with the opposite opinion. I think ones perspective on Hamlet has to do with many factors, some of which we control and others we do not.

This idea of control can also represent the theme of the passage of Hamlet. We just learned in Act 1, Scene 5, that Hamlet's father in ghost form desires Hamlet to kill Claudius his uncle/dad who killed his father. (Talk about a soap opera Shakespeare style.) Hamlet agrees without hesitation and vows to avenge his father. Whether or not he will has yet to be seen, and yet begs another question. Is our destiny in our control or has it been predetermined before our time? 

Many would argue this is a religious question, and although they are right, religion is not a necessary part in order to understand the argument. 

I personally believe that a "golden path" is designed before your birth. This path is the path one could walk on if they make all the right choices and were able to reach their "full potential." Now I also believe that we have the opportunity to choose to walk this path or not. We can return and leave our golden path, but the most important things are: one such golden path exists, and we had the option to choose to walk on it or go against it. I only wonder if this is Hamlets golden path. Is his destiny to kill his uncle and restore balance to the kingdom, or will he choose a less sinful path? 

The Past...The Present...The Future

I saw you yesterday at the place where it all started. The place where our two souls connected. I am uncertain as to how our two separate beings met and ultimately became one, but amazed that they did. You were my first, my only, the one I had wanted unlike anything else before, and finally had. The excitement you gave me was unlike anything else I had ever experienced. I was yours and you were mine, amid all of your friends and mine. Time passed and things were great. Everything we had, came crashing down with the words: I'm sorry. What were you sorry for? You refused to tell me, so I assumed the worst. We were together.

Mr. President, you are smart. Your brain is hardwired for academics. You are the go to person when I need help. With your work ethic, you not only push yourself, you push me to do better and be better. Words are sacred to you and no tainted language flows from your lips. Your kin requests my presence but the mere mention of it brings red into your cheeks. This makes me question your wants, and needs. What are we? Friends or more... We aren't together.

We argue. A lot. You represent everything I was taught. Strong, opinionated, and passionate reflect your personality. I see so much talent in you that you deny. How can you do such a thing? I wonder if you notice me staring at the back of your head imaging how good we could be together. I have seen you in many others, but most importantly in the mold of a man I was taught to love. You are a challenge I would like to embrace. Are you willing? I wonder if you even know about this. We aren't together.

We are opposite sides of the spectrum. If I'm quiet, you are loud. The things I talk about you've never heard of before. When we talk it is as if we speak different languages. Is it enough? They say opposites attract but can that work if there is nothing in common. You're too brave for me. You stand out in a crowd and I blend in. I'm glad that you talked to me and got me out of my shell but am I too much of a hassle for you? I feel dragged along and sometimes disappear and feel that you won't and don't notice. You know how I feel about you but I only have an inkling of how you feel. Do you want to be together? If you'd please tell me, it would make me feel secure at least. We aren't together.

There he stands at the end of the aisle. Him in black, me in white. Both of us meeting here for different but similar reasons. His friends sit on the right, mine on the left. All he is waiting for is a promise from me to be his forever. The life after this moment I have imagined for quite a long time, but this moment is terrifying. No longer me but we. Life is a novel with the end ripped out and I'm still reading. I'm not sure when I will get to this point or if you will be the man waiting for me; I only hope that it happens one day. The question is: who are you, and when will we meet? One fact I know for certain. We will be together forever.

Sinspiration:
Was I the Only One?

Because You Live

Invisible

Quit Playing Games With My Heart

I Swear

Quite the Opposite

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow is white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires do grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is their more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go-
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

This is Sonnet 130 by William Shakespeare. In it he implies that falsely comparing one's love is absurd, but by telling the truth against cliche comparisons one affirms their love is real. This idea is completely contradictory to my original reading of the poem. At first read, it appeared that he was belittling his mistress, but I dove deeper into it I read it in a new light. With a little help from websites and a dictionary I determined that he wasn't belittling his mistress but was belittling the cliches people use to describe the person they are in love with. It sounds confusing, but once you dive into the sonnet, I am sure it will make more sense to you.

As I was doing my homework with this sonnet last night, I came to a realization. This idea of presenting information contradictory to common beliefs has been almost a recurring theme in my life. Take my homework for example. My mother has stood over me since practically kindgergarten making sure I got my homework done to her standards. The older I get the more I ask for freedom from her strict ways. It has now become my responsibility to do my homework, but I find no motivation to do it. I look for outside factors to motivate me to get it done rather than motivate myself. The common belief would be that with a mother standing over you for years, it would just be natural to get it done, but with me that isn't the case.

Another place where the opposite of expectations idea has been found is in my writing. It's no secret to anyone who knows me that I like to write. I have several stories in my head just waiting to find their way onto the page. Each and every time I attempt to get one down, I stick with it for nearly a week, but then find a reason to stop. The words don't make sense, they are going in the wrong direction, I have changed my mind about the characters, or even outside factors such as movies or other books can make me doubt what I have done. One this doubtful stage hits, I can't continue. I question every move, every line drawn on the page, until writing becomes a chore rather than a favored hobby. This time when I started I could've sworn that this was the draft. This was the attempt that would actually get me to the end. Unfortunately exactly the opposite happened. I wrote each night for a week straight but then watching a movie forced me to question my characters and my story in general.

With the analysis of this poem, and my past experiences I think that Shakespeare was trying to prepare us for an undeniable fact of life; just when you expect something to go one way, it indeed will go in the opposite direction.

When In Doubt...Write It Out

Today writer's block hit like a dodge ball to the face. I would start to write this post but would only get a paragraph into it before I had to trash it. It just didn't have the right feel. With nothing else to write about, I'm back to square one. Luckily I have learned many ways to avoid being stuck. When in doubt:
        1. Right Click (No Mrs. Vallerie)
        2. Calc it out (Sorry Mr. Burrill, no)
        3. Write it out (actually that one may not be too bad, sounds like a great idea)

So with nothing better to write about, I am going to give you a sneak peak of a fictional piece of writing I'm working on...Please don't judge it too harshly there is a long story behind this.

Chapter 1: Beauty and the Beast

Names are powerful things. In ancient times they believed that names determined the destiny of the person.

His was Griffin. Meaning mythological beast, he had a lot to live up to. It also meant that he had a predisposition for independence, drive, leadership, and selfishness. Quite an honorable path to attempt to follow. Mine was a little different.

Audrey means noble strength. My predestined traits included being social, playful, creative, a great communicator, positive, superficial, unfocused, and bad with money.

In some areas we were very similar, but in others we were so different that the only option left was to hate each other.

I wasn't impressed with his too good for you attitude, even if half of the school was. I had a tendency to do the unexpected and not liking Griffin Monroe was certainly unexpected in our high school.

If you hadn't slept with him than you were expected to worship the ground he walked on and pine after him as if that was your purpose for being on this earth. If you had slept with him it was understandable if you hated him. After the chase of three days to a week, he got you into bed and didn't talk to you the next day or the week after that or the month after that. You were lucky if he acknowledged your existence for the rest of the year.

While he aimed for sexual pleasure, I went explicitly the other way. Being a teenager with religious morals wasn't exactly the easiest path to choose. It wasn't that there were irresistible boys in my school; in fact it was almost the opposite. If they were physically attractive, their personality was atrocious, and if they had a decent personality they weren't exactly Greek gods. The few that didn't meet these criteria were either my close friends or so far unreachable that it wasn't even worth trying. Needless to say I wasn't really yearning to be intimate with anyone from my school. Add my religion, and a stubborn personality into the mix and it's easy to see that I wasn't going to give my virginity to anyone short of my husband on our wedding night.

Now that wasn't the most popular idea for a student to have in high school. Many times I was scoffed at, and laughed at for my strong Catholic morals. I mean I didn't go around preaching celibacy or anything like that, but some people still felt the need to tell me my opinion was stupid. There were the occasional people who agreed with me and had pledged to be pure, and the idea that I wasn't alone was some relief from the modernist world. The world that Griffin and his friends thrived in constantly.

My values and I, contradicted Griffin and the world he lived in. Everything that was him went against every part of me. He frustrated me in ways I had never imagined. I tried to stay away from him as much as I could, but it seemed that the man upstairs was trying to push us together for some unknown reason.

As much as I believe in waiting until marriage, I believe that God puts people in each other's lives for a reason. If only I had known the large impact he would have in mine.

View From the Shadows

Last year I ran for Senior Class President. I have always been a people person, I enjoy talking to people and I like fulfilling their needs. Most of my high school career involved a leadership role and with that and my strong connections with people I felt a shoo-in for class president. Many of you know the story, but when the votes were all counted, not only was I not Senior Class President, but I wasn't invited to be a part of the Senior Student Council. The day that two of my closest friends received their invitation to the council without me was one of the hardest days of my life. I'm well aware that this is not a life or death, live or starve situation, but for me it was hard. For most of my life things have come easy for me, and if they didn't, I chose not to like them or participate. I was selfish, and wanted to be the best of the best without putting any work in. This exclusion from something I felt entitled to was a harsh wake-up call for me. I had never felt the heavy blow of rejection hit me so hard before. For a few weeks, I tried not to mention it. In the following weeks I learned to be happy for my friends, and attempted to hide my hurt by asking about the meetings and the activities they were doing. By that time, I was able to see that my exclusion could be a blessing in disguise.

Last year, I was a HOSA officer. I got to wear the blue jacket, sit at the table during the academy meetings and even have bragging rights. To the outside world, I looked like a great officer, but inside to the officers, I was one of the worst. Part of my responsibility was to publish a newsletter every month. There are twelve months in a year, nine in a school year, and I published two. I always tried to be involved, but when I volunteered to head a committee, either my approach did not meet someone's standards, or it was done too late. A successful leader does not possess these qualities. They follow through with their goals, and do as much or more work than their subordinates. I didn't. Based on my performance last year, I don't deserve to be in Senior Student Council.

For those of you that know me, you are all aware that time is my vice. My time management skills are so horrendous that if left up to me things would never get done. The simple fact is, I am involved in too many things, and cannot balance them. Now, I am too stubborn and prideful to limit myself to a few things. I like to be involved in everything, and often that is detrimental. Being involved in everything leaves you time for nothing. I believe people know this about me, and in an attempt to help, kept me out of Senior Student Council. This year to put it bluntly my Capstone project is to be the student manager of the SCOPE project. This means that I will be spending the majority of my time giving presentations to middle school students, and I will train students about how to present on the signature academies at their school.This is going to take a lot of work and I need to focus on this project. Not participating in the Senior Student Council would enable me to do just that. So I have made a decision.

I will not be a major part of the Council. I haven't decided whether I should remain outside of it or appoint myself to the council and show up to the meetings, but one thing I have decided is to sit in the background. I know that there are some of you out there who shuddered at the thought of me being a part of something that's "yours." You were chosen by the people and teachers to help govern the senior class, and I was not. I can see the look of annoyance on some of your faces even now when I told you about joining the council. Now on the other hand, there were many of you who thought it was a great idea and wanted me to join. The jury is still out as to whether or not I will be joining, but what has been decided is my spot in the shadows.

Mr. Sullivan told us at the end of last year to make this year special. Well as I've said earlier, I have been in a leadership position most of my high school career. I have stolen the spotlight too many times and haven't done it justice. Now it's time for you to take the spotlight back. Based on the circumstances this is my attempt at making the year special. Sitting in the shadows for once. Let's see how it looks.

Naming of Parts, Oh I've Got a Name Alright, and This Part Is Called Annoying

Naming of Parts is a poem in my poetry book written by Henry Reed. In this chapter we are learning about connotation and denotation. I have a simple definition for those words. Basically this entire chapter is trying to say that everything is not what it seems when it comes to poetry. At times, that is exciting; in fact that's one of my favorite things. But today I am not in the mood to read about poems that say one thing and mean another. It's a Saturday and all I really want to do is watch a football game and relax. But I am stuck reading about this irritating poem that sounds like a manager training a new employee. Apparently, according to the questions it is supposed to be about men and war. Even in my wildest dreams I couldn't make a connection like that. I am not in the mood right now to deal with this dumb poem.

Naming of Parts

Today we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And tomorrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But today,
Today we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
          And today we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the
         piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
         Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always  released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
           Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
          They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like a bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point
           of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards
           and forwards,
              For today we have naming of parts.

Ok, does anyone see a connection to war here? I certainly do not. I just really don't like this poem. Yes, I'm sure with a little adjusting my receiver may enable me to understand and I may learn to like this poem, but at this moment, it doesn't bother me in the slightest that I do not understand the poem.  The only thing I want to do with this poem is name its parts. In this case, at this time the sum of the parts is called annoying.

The Circle of Addiction

 My entire life, I've been surrounded by addiction. Addiction to alcohol, drugs, television, procrastination, neglect, selfishness, so many others, and not all of them have been mine. With this history it's clear to see that I have a predisposition for it. It runs in the family. Most everyone has heard about addicts. You can't trust them. They only want their next fix. From the time of our birth, from many different directions, we have had addiction stories thrust at us which have forced most of us to be desensitized to the problem of addiction. It doesn't matter if it isn't us. Yeah, we've heard that too, or more that has become our mantra when addiction comes into play. But what if it is you?

This is the life you've grown up with. This is what you know. You're stubborn and you don't want to change. Your independence and strong headedness that tells you to rebel against what everyone says. They say stop your head says keep going. You want help, but don't know who to ask. You don't want help; you can do it on your own. The pill that is called pride is dry and hurts to swallow. Should you change who you are?

I've been here; in fact I'm there now. Part of me will deny ever typing this, while another part wants to put it on a banner for others to see.

Absolutes are one of the worst things ever created in life. I will never fall into temptation again. Oh really? You're not a strong person. I'm tired of my addiction, and want to get rid of it.  Sure, you say that just after the temptation is over with, but you won't change and you know it. It is too hard.

We've all heard words like that from addicts. But everyone knows that their word is hollow, untrustworthy, and repetitive. Unfortunately I have an alcoholic's word.

Petrified About Poetry

Today I was asked the question, "What is poetry?" Dictionary.com defines it as "the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure by beautiful, imaginative, or elevated thoughts." That's quite a mouthful. To me poetry is more than a definition. It's a feeling, a tone, the type of writing that moves you in a way nothing else can. Of course prose has its moments of poetry where words can sound beautiful and amazing, the way an author fuses words together can stir the soul and bring about much pleasure. But poetry invokes that feeling all the time. Those are the extremes it lives in.  Now, I'm not an avid poetry reader, in fact I hated poetry for the longest time. It never told you exactly what the author meant, but that is the very reason I find it compelling. Each person can interpret a poem in a completely different way and most of them can be right. Poetry opens your eyes to a world of the unexpected where there may or may not be a right answer. Now some people may hate that, in fact, I used to. But what I didn't realize was that poetry is a channel through which we can learn more about each other. There are endless possibilities that can be reached through poetry. Dreams can come true and the world can be a beautiful place. Sounds to me like a great place to live.

Adore
I'm abused quite a bit. On one side I'm thrown into a jam, on the other against a wall. I know my job is to provide a way for these people, but at times it's the hardest thing in the world. Some want me to shut up and others want me to open up and reveal what's inside. I put up a fight for the latter, complaining loud enough for everyone to hear. I want to do things my way, but no one listens to what I want, they just use me. I see a lot on both sides, but tell no one. It isn't my job to talk. I guess in a sense, I want things to change, but not too much. My life is kinda fun as it is. It's tough to be.