Life is hard. There's no easy way out. No matter where you're from or how you're raised I can guarantee that life will throw you lemons. But will you make lemonade?
I will admit that I have pessimistic tendencies. Instead of turning a sticky situation into a learning experience I usually whine and pout and make a scene, than I accept the consequences and learn something later on. That combined with my lack of decision-making skills has resulted in me learning an abundance of lessons in the last year. Nearly all of them the hard way.
I used to love being busy. Having something to do every night of the week made me feel kind of important. And I liked that. I did find it difficult to fit everything into my schedule though. There was a point in my life when I tried to balance High school (Aka Homework, friends, and sometimes studying a little bit) my boyfriend (A new development at the time, which is a story in itself) My best friend, work (Stressful at the best of times!) and an extensive role in a drama. I was busy every single day. At first I loved it, than it started to get a little bit stressful, and than just because handling stress is not a gift of mine I got more stressed, and more stressed and more stressed. Than I bought a car (With money I didn't have). Than I got mono...and everything stopped.
Life was throwing me lemons. So I had to make a choice, was I going to wallow at home in self-pity and milk this sickness for every drop it was worth or was I going to make lemonade? Well, I did neither. I didn't rest, I didn't stay home and I didn't make anything. I kept doing everything that I was doing before and didn't listen to the warnings from people who loved me an told me that I needed to take a break. They kept telling me that life would still go on if I missed a day of school or didn't go to work. Instead of trying to get better I kept feeding my illness all the stress and lack of sleep it needed and it nestled comfortably in my body.
After butchering my immune system, depleting my bank account, severely affecting my grades in school and overall hurting my pride mono finally picked up and left much later than necessary. I sat down one day and (like the pessimist I am) I wrote down everything in my life that was ruined by mono. I huffed. I puffed. I whined. I griped. And finally I looked back and realized how foolish I was being. Here I thought that my life was destined to be bitter all because I tried to make lemonade and forgot to add any sugar. Or water. In fact, all I really had in the end was the exact same lemons I was given 6 months earlier. Except now they were mouldy and wrinkly and not good to eat.
So yet again I had to make a decision. I could A) Put the lemons in a box and be forever reminded that mono ruined my life B) Throw out the lemons, purchase new ones, (Most likely at a high cost) look up a recipe online and never try to do learn anything on my own again because the consequences are to risky C) Move on. I chose C. Instead of calling the rotten lemons a loss, I decided to call them experience.
Perhaps next time I have an acidic fruit rudely thrown at my head I'll remember how sour things can be if key ingredients are forgotten (Aka Love, patience, and respect for my body) and I'll add some sugar to it. Heck maybe I'll even bake a cake!
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Pizza Pops and Best Friends
Today I filled in the last grade of my school memories book. I feel so old. But as I flipped through its pages I was reminded of the things about me that changed, and the things that stayed exactly the same. It was like taking a mini journey through some of the most important times of my life thus far. Each year has some good memories, and each year has some not so good memories. Let's take a look at where the journey begins.
Kindergarten: In a nutshell I was a nerd. Big round glasses and short statured, wearing a pair of super classy overalls. haha. I lived a pretty care-free life. I watched Arthur, Cut and Paste, and ate pizza pops (all of which I still occasionally do) We went on a field trip to the Besborough Hotel. Ironically, part of my graduation takes place in the exact same hotel.
Grade 1: I guess I was your average first grader. I still had the glasses, and was missing a front tooth. I had lots of friends and still loved Pizza Pops. What struck me the most when looking back on this page was how I viewed myself. I loved myself. I had no feelings of self-hatred and I had never struggled with the infamous body image that every teenage girl does. I was so innocent. I was learning, and I suppose you could say, preparing myself for the rest of my life.
Grade 4: This is the year when I begin to see my true character developing. I loved reading, writing and my precious piano. I excelled in english and loved laughing. I noted that my best friends in this grade are the same best friends that I have in the 12th grade, although we were hardly friends for the 8 years in between.
Grade 5: This year is this year when I began to conform to the world. I think that it's something every child does at some point, but I find that it seems hardly worth it. If only I had spent those precious middle school years concentrating on becoming who I want to be, and not who everyone else wanted me to be.
Grade 6: This was my gymnastics year. I can remember having so much self-confidence in myself. I never more beautiful than when I was spinning, flipping or balancing. It was my passion and it made me happy. I didn't care if I didn't achieve perfection, I simply desired to make myself happy.
Grade 7: The year where everything changed. This was the year when I had to start fresh. Not because I changed schools or moved, but because I realized that my childhood was slipping away from me, faster than I wanted it to. Part of me wanted to grow up, to date, to graduate, to work. But I still wanted to run home to my mom and give her a big hug. Finding true friends was overwhelming and painful. But looking back I realize that despite how painful this year was, it developed so much character and emotions that have carried me through much harder times.
Grade 8: This is the year when I had a best friend again. After a difficult year I loved having someone to have sleepovers with, to talk to and to laugh with. I found joy in the smallest of things. I was so happy. With this joy came boldness. I began to shed my shell and open up to people. It was a good year.
Grade 9: This year can be grouped with the 7th grade as my best friend moved half way across the world I had never had to say good-bye to anyone before she left and it was so hard for me. I remember the last time I saw her and hugged her. I said good-bye and was forced to go back to school without a best friend. She's moving back here in a month. I wonder if our friendship will pick up where it left off, or if we've both changed too much to rekindle a relationship on the same level it used to be at.
Grade 12: Here I am. This is me. I've developed a feisty character, but I'm still quiet. I'm still shorter than most people in my class and I still eat pizza pops. I've got best friends, favourite teachers and very special people in my life. My life goals continue to change because I"m still indecisive. I've loved. I've laughed. I've lived. I've learned. And as I'm on the verge of jumping from the safety of my childhood nest look back at all that school has taught me. It has been so much more than adding and dividing or reading and writing. It's the other bits and pieces that have moulded me and shaped me into a character that will carry me beyond my childhood and into the rest of my life.
Kindergarten: In a nutshell I was a nerd. Big round glasses and short statured, wearing a pair of super classy overalls. haha. I lived a pretty care-free life. I watched Arthur, Cut and Paste, and ate pizza pops (all of which I still occasionally do) We went on a field trip to the Besborough Hotel. Ironically, part of my graduation takes place in the exact same hotel.
Grade 1: I guess I was your average first grader. I still had the glasses, and was missing a front tooth. I had lots of friends and still loved Pizza Pops. What struck me the most when looking back on this page was how I viewed myself. I loved myself. I had no feelings of self-hatred and I had never struggled with the infamous body image that every teenage girl does. I was so innocent. I was learning, and I suppose you could say, preparing myself for the rest of my life.
Grade 4: This is the year when I begin to see my true character developing. I loved reading, writing and my precious piano. I excelled in english and loved laughing. I noted that my best friends in this grade are the same best friends that I have in the 12th grade, although we were hardly friends for the 8 years in between.
Grade 5: This year is this year when I began to conform to the world. I think that it's something every child does at some point, but I find that it seems hardly worth it. If only I had spent those precious middle school years concentrating on becoming who I want to be, and not who everyone else wanted me to be.
Grade 6: This was my gymnastics year. I can remember having so much self-confidence in myself. I never more beautiful than when I was spinning, flipping or balancing. It was my passion and it made me happy. I didn't care if I didn't achieve perfection, I simply desired to make myself happy.
Grade 7: The year where everything changed. This was the year when I had to start fresh. Not because I changed schools or moved, but because I realized that my childhood was slipping away from me, faster than I wanted it to. Part of me wanted to grow up, to date, to graduate, to work. But I still wanted to run home to my mom and give her a big hug. Finding true friends was overwhelming and painful. But looking back I realize that despite how painful this year was, it developed so much character and emotions that have carried me through much harder times.
Grade 8: This is the year when I had a best friend again. After a difficult year I loved having someone to have sleepovers with, to talk to and to laugh with. I found joy in the smallest of things. I was so happy. With this joy came boldness. I began to shed my shell and open up to people. It was a good year.
Grade 9: This year can be grouped with the 7th grade as my best friend moved half way across the world I had never had to say good-bye to anyone before she left and it was so hard for me. I remember the last time I saw her and hugged her. I said good-bye and was forced to go back to school without a best friend. She's moving back here in a month. I wonder if our friendship will pick up where it left off, or if we've both changed too much to rekindle a relationship on the same level it used to be at.
Grade 12: Here I am. This is me. I've developed a feisty character, but I'm still quiet. I'm still shorter than most people in my class and I still eat pizza pops. I've got best friends, favourite teachers and very special people in my life. My life goals continue to change because I"m still indecisive. I've loved. I've laughed. I've lived. I've learned. And as I'm on the verge of jumping from the safety of my childhood nest look back at all that school has taught me. It has been so much more than adding and dividing or reading and writing. It's the other bits and pieces that have moulded me and shaped me into a character that will carry me beyond my childhood and into the rest of my life.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Honey, Please Don't Grow
When I was a baby, just learning to walk, I clung desperately to my mothers arms, too afraid to let go. In her arm's I was safe, I could not fall and hurt myself, I could not fail, I could not disappoint her by toppling over into a heap of baby on the carpet. But there came a point when I had to depend on my own two feet and let go.
Going to school was an adventure. Everything began to change. I thought kindergarten was excellent because I got to paint, draw, play on the playground and invite lots of friends over to birthday parties. I remember eagerly running down the street to the school bus while holding my best friends hand. (Except of course on those early summer days when the ground was dry as a bone and my mother would make me wear rubber boots and finger mittens...than i wasn't so happy). But I was growing up. I spent 5 days a week at school, away from my family. I started to become independent and feisty, even at a young age. But my mom and dad were always there to keep me grounded. And by grounded I mean those long summer evenings spent in my bedroom sulking whilst I heard my friends playing outside. It was those days when I craved the most to be an adult. To listen to no one, to have no one hold me back and tell me what was best. I just wanted to Grow Up.
And grow up I did. As painfully slow as it often seemed, over the years I began to gain the independence I so greatly desired. Cooking Kraft Dinner without an adult present in the kitchen, going for bike rides without telling anyone (which always ended up getting me in trouble by the way), or shopping for my own clothes. I was determined to grow up. At first my endeavours ended up in failure. Messy kitchens that resulted in punishments, the shameful ride home from the park in the family car because you stayed out too late and weren't allowed to bike back home in the dark, and those darn extra-large shirts that you 'forgot' to try on in the store. I remember how frustrating it was. How stuck I felt. I thought I was ready to let go of my dependance on my family. But I wasn't. Not yet.
I remember when suddenly life became real. Almost a little too real. The realization that I was finally becoming an adult wasn't nearly as pleasant as I had hoped. I thought that growing up meant I could stay up late and eat at McDonalds everyday for lunch. It didn't take me long to realize that no bedtime meant no sleep. I began to regret those nights when I was young and would keep my parents up all night because I wasn't tired and could sleep all morning. Because now I was on the other end of things. Now I was the one slowly drifting off to sleep at 1 am, only to be awoken 5 hours later to an alarm that did not sound like mom's voice and did not tickle my feet or find me clothes to wear or brush my hair for me. If I'm tired, I wake up anyways, if I don't feel like going to work, I get dressed and drag my butt over there anyways and earn the money that I need to pay for all of the things that my parents used to buy for me. Back when my only concern was the boys at school chasing me with earthworms. Now I have to concern myself with phone bills, car payments, buying deoderant BEFORE I run out of it completely, finishing my homework without being prompted, keeping track of curfews, going to the doctor alone, making appointments, remembering appointments, feeding the cat, feeding myself.
Life is getting so real for me now and some days I can't help but imagine that I'm three years old again.That I don't have any stress or worries. That I'm safe in my mommy's arms and that I don't have to pretend to be brave. I used to want nothing more than to grow up, but now that it's happening I'm beginning to realize that with greater independence comes greater responsibility. Even though sometimes I just want to hide in the clothing racks at work until all of the people leave and when I have those mornings when I want to lie in my bed all day instead of waking up for school, I have to remind myself that this is what I wanted. This is what I asked for. So ready or not, here I grow.
Going to school was an adventure. Everything began to change. I thought kindergarten was excellent because I got to paint, draw, play on the playground and invite lots of friends over to birthday parties. I remember eagerly running down the street to the school bus while holding my best friends hand. (Except of course on those early summer days when the ground was dry as a bone and my mother would make me wear rubber boots and finger mittens...than i wasn't so happy). But I was growing up. I spent 5 days a week at school, away from my family. I started to become independent and feisty, even at a young age. But my mom and dad were always there to keep me grounded. And by grounded I mean those long summer evenings spent in my bedroom sulking whilst I heard my friends playing outside. It was those days when I craved the most to be an adult. To listen to no one, to have no one hold me back and tell me what was best. I just wanted to Grow Up.
And grow up I did. As painfully slow as it often seemed, over the years I began to gain the independence I so greatly desired. Cooking Kraft Dinner without an adult present in the kitchen, going for bike rides without telling anyone (which always ended up getting me in trouble by the way), or shopping for my own clothes. I was determined to grow up. At first my endeavours ended up in failure. Messy kitchens that resulted in punishments, the shameful ride home from the park in the family car because you stayed out too late and weren't allowed to bike back home in the dark, and those darn extra-large shirts that you 'forgot' to try on in the store. I remember how frustrating it was. How stuck I felt. I thought I was ready to let go of my dependance on my family. But I wasn't. Not yet.
I remember when suddenly life became real. Almost a little too real. The realization that I was finally becoming an adult wasn't nearly as pleasant as I had hoped. I thought that growing up meant I could stay up late and eat at McDonalds everyday for lunch. It didn't take me long to realize that no bedtime meant no sleep. I began to regret those nights when I was young and would keep my parents up all night because I wasn't tired and could sleep all morning. Because now I was on the other end of things. Now I was the one slowly drifting off to sleep at 1 am, only to be awoken 5 hours later to an alarm that did not sound like mom's voice and did not tickle my feet or find me clothes to wear or brush my hair for me. If I'm tired, I wake up anyways, if I don't feel like going to work, I get dressed and drag my butt over there anyways and earn the money that I need to pay for all of the things that my parents used to buy for me. Back when my only concern was the boys at school chasing me with earthworms. Now I have to concern myself with phone bills, car payments, buying deoderant BEFORE I run out of it completely, finishing my homework without being prompted, keeping track of curfews, going to the doctor alone, making appointments, remembering appointments, feeding the cat, feeding myself.
Life is getting so real for me now and some days I can't help but imagine that I'm three years old again.That I don't have any stress or worries. That I'm safe in my mommy's arms and that I don't have to pretend to be brave. I used to want nothing more than to grow up, but now that it's happening I'm beginning to realize that with greater independence comes greater responsibility. Even though sometimes I just want to hide in the clothing racks at work until all of the people leave and when I have those mornings when I want to lie in my bed all day instead of waking up for school, I have to remind myself that this is what I wanted. This is what I asked for. So ready or not, here I grow.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Letting Go
Holding Hands. We all do it, and I find that people tend to think that holding hands is just holding hands, but it's not. Holding hands can have so many different meanings.
The first thing that comes to mind when pondering hand holding is the basic relationship clasp. This is when a boy and a girl (or a man and a woman) hold hands. It is a form of affection or romance. Did you know that without realizing it, when this group of people hold hands, the males hand usually crosses in front of the females as a way of showing protection? That's just a lil' something that I learned in psychology class.
A form of hand holding that we've all experienced before is the death grip between a mother and her child while shopping at Wal-mart. This form of touch is used soley as a defense mechanism. I don't know about you, but if I was ever a child abductor, I would definitely stay away from and never come between the hands of a mother and her baby.
The best friend clutch is a very sweet but sort of controversial public display of affection. To me it says that they are best friends forever, but to some it's a matter of them being just friends or...a few bends short of a straight ruler. This is for the brave of heart only.
The hand to tail. Only the cat lovers will understand the power of this display of affection between a human and their furry friend. Since their four paws are usually planted firmly on the ground, the tail is a convienient replacement when showing your kitty some lovin'. Those who are more comfortable with their precious may even use the tail as a common site for planting little kisses when the face is just to yucky.
So as you can see, holding hands is so important. It connects two bodies in a way that is not intrusive or inappropriate, but instead is able to send subtle messages to one another. "I love you" or "I missed you" or "Don't go". But as important as holding hands is, there will always come a time when you have to let go. By letting go, I don't believe that you are really leaving them behind. Instead, by letting go you are saying, "I trust you".
When a boy lets go of a girls hand, he is trusting that she will come back to him. When a mother lets go of her child, she gives them the ultimate gift of freedom by trusting them to move on with their life. When an owner lets go of their cat's tail...well it's probably because the cat bit and scratched their way to freedom...but I think you get the point. There will always be a time to hold on, but make sure that, when the time is right, you let go.
The first thing that comes to mind when pondering hand holding is the basic relationship clasp. This is when a boy and a girl (or a man and a woman) hold hands. It is a form of affection or romance. Did you know that without realizing it, when this group of people hold hands, the males hand usually crosses in front of the females as a way of showing protection? That's just a lil' something that I learned in psychology class.
A form of hand holding that we've all experienced before is the death grip between a mother and her child while shopping at Wal-mart. This form of touch is used soley as a defense mechanism. I don't know about you, but if I was ever a child abductor, I would definitely stay away from and never come between the hands of a mother and her baby.
The best friend clutch is a very sweet but sort of controversial public display of affection. To me it says that they are best friends forever, but to some it's a matter of them being just friends or...a few bends short of a straight ruler. This is for the brave of heart only.
The hand to tail. Only the cat lovers will understand the power of this display of affection between a human and their furry friend. Since their four paws are usually planted firmly on the ground, the tail is a convienient replacement when showing your kitty some lovin'. Those who are more comfortable with their precious may even use the tail as a common site for planting little kisses when the face is just to yucky.
So as you can see, holding hands is so important. It connects two bodies in a way that is not intrusive or inappropriate, but instead is able to send subtle messages to one another. "I love you" or "I missed you" or "Don't go". But as important as holding hands is, there will always come a time when you have to let go. By letting go, I don't believe that you are really leaving them behind. Instead, by letting go you are saying, "I trust you".
When a boy lets go of a girls hand, he is trusting that she will come back to him. When a mother lets go of her child, she gives them the ultimate gift of freedom by trusting them to move on with their life. When an owner lets go of their cat's tail...well it's probably because the cat bit and scratched their way to freedom...but I think you get the point. There will always be a time to hold on, but make sure that, when the time is right, you let go.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Finishing What You Start
I am a procrastinator. Some people might call me lazy, and occasionally that is true, but the difference between procrastinating and being lazy is that procrastinators have good intentions. I have so many things that I want to do, but when it comes down to it, I just don't feel like finishing the particular project.
For example, I received, for my tenth birthday a latch hook kit. It has this adorable picture of Winnie The Pooh on it and the box said that it was a "quick and easy kids project". Ha! I spent 5 years trying to finish that thing. I put blood sweat and tears into that little picture, and it is half finished. In fact, last year I put it into a box and tried to forget about it completely because, even if I did finish it, I would have no use for it because, as a 16 year old, I feel that having a picture of Winnie The Pooh on my wall might attract the wrong crowd to my bedroom. But, if I had finished the picture back when I was ten, than I could have spent a couple years displaying Mr. Pooh and it would have been completely appropriate and I would have felt utterly satisfied.
I know that example might be a little trivial because, not everyone is crafty and a lot of people wouldn't even start something along the lines of that, and it makes sense. Why should I even start a project if I know I won't finish it? You see, if I had never started that cross-stitch table runner two years ago I could have saved myself 15 bucks, 25 hours and 3 drops of blood and it sometimes makes me wish I hadn't started a lot of things...Sewing that purse, crocheting that scarf, organizing my sock drawer, listening to all of the songs on my i-pod in one go, reading all of Shakespeares work, painting a bag of seashells, filling a doodle pad completely with drawings of people, making a scrapbook. These are all things that I "wasted" my time on. I mean, If I had never began to crochet that scarf I could have checked my facebook...or watched 4 episodes of CSI, or...something. But...I guess I know how to crochet...and I know how to embroider, and I guess I understand a little bit of Shakespeare, and I found a match for one of my lonely socks.
So...did I really waste my time? I mean, yeah I didn't finish any of those projects, but I still enjoyed them while they lasted. They weren't really pointless because while I was doing those things i was learning, and having fun and being productive. Of course finishing what you start is a good thing to do, but if you are a procrastinator, don't let not finishing stop you from starting.
For example, I received, for my tenth birthday a latch hook kit. It has this adorable picture of Winnie The Pooh on it and the box said that it was a "quick and easy kids project". Ha! I spent 5 years trying to finish that thing. I put blood sweat and tears into that little picture, and it is half finished. In fact, last year I put it into a box and tried to forget about it completely because, even if I did finish it, I would have no use for it because, as a 16 year old, I feel that having a picture of Winnie The Pooh on my wall might attract the wrong crowd to my bedroom. But, if I had finished the picture back when I was ten, than I could have spent a couple years displaying Mr. Pooh and it would have been completely appropriate and I would have felt utterly satisfied.
I know that example might be a little trivial because, not everyone is crafty and a lot of people wouldn't even start something along the lines of that, and it makes sense. Why should I even start a project if I know I won't finish it? You see, if I had never started that cross-stitch table runner two years ago I could have saved myself 15 bucks, 25 hours and 3 drops of blood and it sometimes makes me wish I hadn't started a lot of things...Sewing that purse, crocheting that scarf, organizing my sock drawer, listening to all of the songs on my i-pod in one go, reading all of Shakespeares work, painting a bag of seashells, filling a doodle pad completely with drawings of people, making a scrapbook. These are all things that I "wasted" my time on. I mean, If I had never began to crochet that scarf I could have checked my facebook...or watched 4 episodes of CSI, or...something. But...I guess I know how to crochet...and I know how to embroider, and I guess I understand a little bit of Shakespeare, and I found a match for one of my lonely socks.
So...did I really waste my time? I mean, yeah I didn't finish any of those projects, but I still enjoyed them while they lasted. They weren't really pointless because while I was doing those things i was learning, and having fun and being productive. Of course finishing what you start is a good thing to do, but if you are a procrastinator, don't let not finishing stop you from starting.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Flaws and Quirks
Flaws and Quirks. Everyone has them, but because we live in such a judgemental world everyone tries to hide them and become "Plastic". I will though admit that I have done my fair share of plasticizing. I find it hard to embrace the things that make me unique and different. But at the same time, I realize that everyone has things that might be kind of weird because, after all, normal is simply the average of weird. Another thing that I have learned in all of the 16 years of my life is that, especially if you are me, sometimes the best way to handle something that makes you uncomfortable is to risk embarrassing yourself and just tell the truth. Here are my flaws and quirks.
-I have a stutter. It's just a little one, but I am constantly tripping over my words, and I do a lot of t-time or th-there or s-stop. It drives me nuts, but it's kind of a part of me.
-I daydream. Without warning. I constantly am missing assignments and important lessons in class because without realizing it I will daydream for 5-10 minutes. It can put me in a bit of a rough spot sometimes, but that is where a lot of my creativity comes from.
-I have an insatiable desire to wear clothes that my grandma wore when she was my age (You know, those homemade dresses and skirts that make everyone look like they have the same body type?) Well I am privileged enough to own a couple of said garments and I often wish that the fashion industry was not so advanced and that everyone still wore those clothes. :D
-My favorite music comes from the 90's. ABBA, Beach Boys, Taco etc. Hey! They're classics!
-I love teddy bears. I always have. There is something about a soft plush animal that you can squeeze to death that appeals to me.
-I have an unexplainable need to explain myself everytime I say something. This results in me talking...a lot.
-I have worn glasses since I was four and until grade 9 my mother helped me pick out my glasses. Mommy, I love you, but those round as a circle glasses pain me.
-I have a mental music video for almost every song on my i-pod because I can't just listen to music, I have to do something...So I choereograph.
Since I think you get the point I will wrap this up. In short, everyone has flaws and everyone is weird, but we should learn to embrace them. I wouldn't be myself if I didn't listen to ABBA or if I didn't stutter or daydream. Those are things that I have learned or have to learn to embrace. So next time you find yourself critisizing yourself, immediately think of how that fault has shaped you, and how it makes you special. :D
-I have a stutter. It's just a little one, but I am constantly tripping over my words, and I do a lot of t-time or th-there or s-stop. It drives me nuts, but it's kind of a part of me.
-I daydream. Without warning. I constantly am missing assignments and important lessons in class because without realizing it I will daydream for 5-10 minutes. It can put me in a bit of a rough spot sometimes, but that is where a lot of my creativity comes from.
-I have an insatiable desire to wear clothes that my grandma wore when she was my age (You know, those homemade dresses and skirts that make everyone look like they have the same body type?) Well I am privileged enough to own a couple of said garments and I often wish that the fashion industry was not so advanced and that everyone still wore those clothes. :D
-My favorite music comes from the 90's. ABBA, Beach Boys, Taco etc. Hey! They're classics!
-I love teddy bears. I always have. There is something about a soft plush animal that you can squeeze to death that appeals to me.
-I have an unexplainable need to explain myself everytime I say something. This results in me talking...a lot.
-I have worn glasses since I was four and until grade 9 my mother helped me pick out my glasses. Mommy, I love you, but those round as a circle glasses pain me.
-I have a mental music video for almost every song on my i-pod because I can't just listen to music, I have to do something...So I choereograph.
Since I think you get the point I will wrap this up. In short, everyone has flaws and everyone is weird, but we should learn to embrace them. I wouldn't be myself if I didn't listen to ABBA or if I didn't stutter or daydream. Those are things that I have learned or have to learn to embrace. So next time you find yourself critisizing yourself, immediately think of how that fault has shaped you, and how it makes you special. :D
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Cupcakes For My Soul
I have decided that this coming week will be very stressful. Among other things I am performing a drama called "What A Character" which is actually a series of skits that my school drama class is putting on. I am definitely a drama queen and I love acting, but there is something about performances that make me just a little bit stressed. Our first of three performances was this morning and it went...okay. You can never predict how a drama will turn out. Sometimes people forget their lines, other times your props just won't cooperate and other times yet you stumble over your own feet, nearly causing a catastrophe (believe me, I speak from experience). Today's mistake involved a cupcake, a spotlight and one unsuspecting victim.(Okay, so she was totally expecting it...but it was still surprising).
One of my skits is called 'Cupcake For Your Soul'. I won't go into any plot details, but I will tell you that one part requires me to throw chocolate cupcakes across the stage and up a ladder to a young lady who does not want them. The first problem is the "across the stage" part. I have awful aim, so while attempting to throw cupcakes I managed to hit everything except the target. I hit the wall behind her, I threw one backstage and I think I even hit the wrong actor! But the one moment that I remember most clearly is when I was most into my cupcake throwing. I need you to imagine this entire sequence in slow motion though, because that is exactly how I saw it. So I reach onto the tray, without really looking and feel my fingernails dig into a cupcake, and by dig I mean literally. I glanced down and saw that my fingers were buried in chocolatey cakiness. Now this wouldnt' be that bad...IF the rest of the throw had gone smoothly, but NO. I watched almost in horror as my hand extended behind my head. For those of you who have never participated in the art of cupcake throwing, it is commonly practiced, and just plain curteous to throw your cupcakes underhanded. And here I was, my hand OVER my head. It's at this point in time when I realize that there is no going back and I cross my fingers and hope for the best. I feel my fingers dislodge from the misshapen cupcake and I watch in silent horror as the cupcake whizzes past the targets head, scarecly missing it, and with the speed of a thousand cats, continues on to the wall behind her. I see the cupcake squish against the wall and fall to the floor......And then it was finished. I ended the sequence with an out of character gasp and wiping my greasy fingers on my pants and continuing on.
The stupid thing about this was, that while I was beating myself up for that ridiculus overhand throw, no one else really noticed. I found myself looking around self conciously while everyone else was chuckling and having a good time. And, like always, it got me thinking and I realized this. While everyone else was having fun acting and being a part of something that brought joy to others, I was meekly peering around, worried that I might have made a fool of myself and that people might think less highly of me because of it. I missed out on a good time because I was a little too concerned about myself. I later realized that no one even noticed my overhand throw, and no one thought any differently of me at all. So my challenge to you is this: The next time you make a fool of yourself, don't get too caught up in it. Relax and think rationally, because in the whole scheme of things, a poor arm and a flapjack cupcake should really be something that you should be able to laugh about.
One of my skits is called 'Cupcake For Your Soul'. I won't go into any plot details, but I will tell you that one part requires me to throw chocolate cupcakes across the stage and up a ladder to a young lady who does not want them. The first problem is the "across the stage" part. I have awful aim, so while attempting to throw cupcakes I managed to hit everything except the target. I hit the wall behind her, I threw one backstage and I think I even hit the wrong actor! But the one moment that I remember most clearly is when I was most into my cupcake throwing. I need you to imagine this entire sequence in slow motion though, because that is exactly how I saw it. So I reach onto the tray, without really looking and feel my fingernails dig into a cupcake, and by dig I mean literally. I glanced down and saw that my fingers were buried in chocolatey cakiness. Now this wouldnt' be that bad...IF the rest of the throw had gone smoothly, but NO. I watched almost in horror as my hand extended behind my head. For those of you who have never participated in the art of cupcake throwing, it is commonly practiced, and just plain curteous to throw your cupcakes underhanded. And here I was, my hand OVER my head. It's at this point in time when I realize that there is no going back and I cross my fingers and hope for the best. I feel my fingers dislodge from the misshapen cupcake and I watch in silent horror as the cupcake whizzes past the targets head, scarecly missing it, and with the speed of a thousand cats, continues on to the wall behind her. I see the cupcake squish against the wall and fall to the floor......And then it was finished. I ended the sequence with an out of character gasp and wiping my greasy fingers on my pants and continuing on.
The stupid thing about this was, that while I was beating myself up for that ridiculus overhand throw, no one else really noticed. I found myself looking around self conciously while everyone else was chuckling and having a good time. And, like always, it got me thinking and I realized this. While everyone else was having fun acting and being a part of something that brought joy to others, I was meekly peering around, worried that I might have made a fool of myself and that people might think less highly of me because of it. I missed out on a good time because I was a little too concerned about myself. I later realized that no one even noticed my overhand throw, and no one thought any differently of me at all. So my challenge to you is this: The next time you make a fool of yourself, don't get too caught up in it. Relax and think rationally, because in the whole scheme of things, a poor arm and a flapjack cupcake should really be something that you should be able to laugh about.
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