Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Fleeting Glances

          "So are you doing anything fun after school today?"
          "Yeah! I'm going to volunteer at a place called Hospice. I think I'm doing some gardening for them."
          "Hospice...the place where people go to...die?!" 
           This is what I've heard week after week since I've started volunteering at my local Hospice community center. It's true what my friends say though. Hospice is an organization that builds different centers in communities in which patients who have been declared terminal can go to die. I have such incredible respect for what this organization does, that I was eager to volunteer. Not only is it a place to die, but it's a place to die in comfort and with dignity. A place where someone who has accepted the fact that they're going to die can tie up all of their loose ends. With the help of Hospice, none of their patients will go out of this world with unfinished business. Their legal and family matters will be taken care of. Last requests can be fulfilled.
          I knew that I would be volunteering in a place where almost everyone in the building is going to die before I graduate high school, but I didn't care. I started volunteering, and everything was fine. Apart from finding some pamphlets titled "When Death Is On Your Doorstep" in a closet, I haven't been around death at all since I started; just clerical work. Sorting, inventory, that kind of thing. I never even saw a patient with my own eyes. Up until yesterday.
          I'm just working in the garden, discussing food options for an upcoming party with my friend when I see her. Her room's window is open, that's the only reason I can see her, although I'm not sure she sees me. Her dark glasses shielding her eyes. She's propped up in her bed, facing the window. No hum of a TV in the background; instead the soft sounds of a beautiful orchestra. Her skin is withered and has lost all elasticity. It's simple to tell that she's as frail as can be; ninety pounds at the most. She's all alone, and completely silent. I give a sweet smile, trying to hide any trace of sympathy in case she can see me, along with a friendly wave. The wave wasn't returned, nor the smile. All that comes is a nurse with pills that are put into the woman's hand.
        Of course I don't know this woman. I don't know the nurse. I have no connection to her family or her past, but I can't help feeling sad. Reminded that yes, this is a place where people come to die. Hospice makes is a comfortable and simple process, but nonetheless, that woman will die. When I'm sorting pamphlets, I'm sorting the pieces of paper that will be in the hands of a distraught sister, a weeping granddaughter, the list goes on and on. All I can do is put on a brave face, and make their garden beautiful. Remind them how beautiful the world is. The glance at the woman silenced me. I'm not sure if my friend even saw her, focused on the weeds she was pulling. She asked why I stopped talking and I just said I was spacing out. I had already over analyzed the situation enough for both of us.
         

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Three Girls and a Father

        "Ugh, I ate so much, I am stuffed!"
        "Hi Stuffed, nice to meet you."
         This is one of the thousands upon thousands of jokes that my dad will repeat over and over and over again, thus painting a picture of my childhood. Never will I ever be able to overstate how much I adore my father. He would have been the best father to a boy. Teaching him how to play catch in the back yard, taking him to ball games. Talking about cars and fishing for hours. Having someone to watch the racing network with who won't be cringing the whole time. Yet somehow, he ended up with three daughters. When his airport buddies (my dad is a pilot) hear that he has three girls, the reaction is always the same: "My condolences!" with a big roar of laughter. But looking back on my Dad, and how he has raised my sisters and I, I can't imagine him being happier with a son instead of one of his daughters.
         I'm sure it's not always easy for my Dad, being in a house in which he is a minority. He is outnumbered in everything. What to watch, where to go, what movie to see. We have made him stand there and hold our bags while we try on dress after dress. We have made him sit through more Sandra Bullock movies than is probably healthy for a male. For these things, I know being the only boy in the house has been difficult. But he somehow manages with a smile on his face. I will also never cease to believe that my Dad is an absolute genius. Getting hired for his first big time job by putting his resume on a cake. Helping my sisters and I make some of the most impressive school projects in all of school project history. For finding a way to allow his three daughters to visit all fifty states within eleven years. For making all of my friends feel like they're a part of our family when they come over to my house. For knowing what to say to his daughters to make them feel better. For refusing to give up until we have reached perfection. For marrying one of the most amazing women I can think of. My Dad is a genius, and I will cherish so many countless memories with my Dad from since I can barely remember.
          Today is Father's Day. Not every girl is as close to their dads as I am. But in most cases, I have no doubt that he has worked his hardest to be a part of your life in the best way he can. Go now and give him a hug. Thank him for the little things. Maybe it refusing to let you give up when you were first trying to ride a bike. Maybe it's for stepping away from the office to watch a movie with you when you were sick when he had a lot of work he really should have been doing instead. Every mom can relate to her daughter without a problem. For dads, it can be a struggle at first. What to talk about? What's to boyishly immature and gross for girls to handle? My Dad is someone I've always been able to relate to. His quirky jokes. His undeniable intelligence. I will never stop being grateful of how wonderful of a person my Dad really is.

Happy Father's Day.

Saturday, June 18, 2011

We Try, We Fail, We Try Again, We Fail Again

      Every day we are forced to try new things. If I go though an entire day without doing a single thing that's new, different, or a challenge, the day in itself should be considered a failure. In one day, I probably encounter an average of thirty times the amount of failures than I do successes. After a day like this, I feel extremely accomplished. If I didn't try these things, I wouldn't have failed at them, and I wouldn't have known the outcome of doing these new things. This is what pushed me to dye my hair. If I never dyed it, I would have never known what it would look like, and I would go through my entire life just wondering how I would look with black hair, but never brave enough to actually find out. Even if it ended up as a mistake, I would learn from it and move on, instead of just sticking to the status quo, never changing anything because I'm too afraid of the outcome. And guess what? I ended up loving my black hair.
        One of my favorite quotes of all time: "We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things because we're curious, and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths." -Walt Disney. Everyone who have read this blog knows that Walt Disney has had a huge influence over my life. His work, dreams, and aspirations have inspired me since I was a little girl. This quote is not only what has inspired the entire philosophy of the Disney company, but particularly the movie Meet The Robinsons. First of all, I love the movie. Second, the entire motto of the movie, featuring an orphaned genius boy aspiring to be an inventor, is "keep moving forward". He grows up failing dozens of times trying to perfect his inventions, but every failure he encounters, he ends up getting yelled at for by adults. His failures were suppressed by everyone around him. When this boy travels to the future, a time with flying cars and time machines, he is applauded for his suprme and utter failure, with hopes that it will lead towards success in the future. This is how life should be.
        If we keep living in a world where we look down upon one another's failures, it will just discourage people to try again. Suppressing anything new, suppressing innovation, suppressing the future. Yes, the failure of others may be inconvenient and maybe a little unpleasant at times, but we must just learn to look towards the future. Somehow, our society is forgetting how to do this. When a colleague or friend fails at something, we will huff in annoyance and say "Ugh! Just let me do it!". We will discourage them ever getting a retry.
       Today I tried making jam all by myself for the first time. I had only made it once before, but this was with the guidance and help of my grandma every step of the way. She spent years perfecting her recipe for homemade jam. We always get all of our jam from her, my entire family is addicted to it! So, I thought it was time I learned the tricks of the trade. I mashed the raspberries together with the other ingredients, trying to do it exactly as my grandma had shown me. Did it turn out perfectly? No. It was much to thin of a consistency. We now have six jars of too-thin raspberry jam. Is that annoying? Yes. Did my parents yell at me for wasting ten cartons of raspberries? No. Of course not. They smiled and said "Well, we'll just have to give the peach jam a try tomorrow."We'll perfect the raspberry another day. Now I know that I have to dry the raspberries more. I now know I have to boil the pectin for longer. Next time I try will it be perfect? No. But one of these days, after trying, innovating, and trying again, I am going to get it right. I just know it.

"We keep moving forward, opening new doors, and doing new things because we're curious, and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
-Walt Disney

Be proud of your supreme and utter failures.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011

A Spot Of Tea For You?

             Tea and crumpets? The cliche British stereotype. Really just hot water and leaves is all it boils down to. Yet however, tea has such a connotation to it. When my parents have had a hard day, all they want is a nice steaming cup of hot tea. Half of the cup filled with hot water, and the other half with steamed skim milk. Foam on top, or sometimes whipped cream, with two sweeteners. "Awake" decaf tea most of the time, but sometimes my Mom can have a caffeinated chai tea in the morning. It's so incredibly customary to invite a new friend or colleague to get a cup of tea or coffee. For some reason, over the years, these hot beverages have become a part of our culture. What we use to introduce ourselves. We drink our tea over getting to know someone better. We may offer tea to a friend who needs to be comforted. "Maybe we should grab a cup of coffee sometime." It's such a natural thing to say "coffee" or "tea", even while, as my favorite movie Good Will Hunting tells us:
           Girl: "Well maybe we could grab a cup of coffee then."
           Boy: "Great, or maybe we could go out and eat a bunch of caramels."
           Girl: "What?"
           Boy: "Well when you think about it, it's just as arbitrary as drinking coffee."
           The girl asked the boy to drink a hot beverage with him, very customary and therefore, socially acceptable. Then the boy suggests that they go out and eat some caramels. Caramels aren't unusual. Just a very ordinary of an item as coffee really; yet somehow, it appears as weird and socially bizarre to offer to take a girl on a date to eat caramels. Tea and coffee have a comforting demeanor to them. A drink that can bring people together.
           Tea has always been a part of my life. My parents usually don't go more than a few waking hours without  having their warm and comforting beverage. It wakes them up in the morning when the drowsiness of the previous night is still waiting to wear off so they can start the day. My parents insist it can help any head or throat ache. Something wrong? Have a cup of tea. So what is it about this very unsubstantial beverage that makes it such a staple in our daily life?
            Is it the fact that tea has been proven to contain extreme health benefits as small as losing weight and as extreme as preventing tumors? Maybe it's the small amount of caffeine that is just enough to put a spring in one's step in the early morning hours No, none of this quite fits the reason that I have begun to share my parents' love for tea. I am one to always, and I mean always be cold. If anyone brushes my fingers throughout the day, they can't help but comment on how they feel less like fingers and more like blocks of ice. So even on a warm summer day, when I'm shivering from the air conditioning, I'll make myself a cup of tea. When I snap the cup's lid in place, I take it in my hands, the heat radiating through the thick plastic. I raise the cup to my lips for a first sips. It's one of those drinks that you can feel as it goes all the way down. The warmth that spreads throughout my entire body. That's what makes tea so great.
            So now, as I sit here, sipping at my cup of "English Breakfast" tea; nuzzled between the folds of a nice warm blanket and watching a movie with the family and hearing the patter of rain on the window, I can't imagine anything better.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

One Is The Loneliest Number...Right?

       I am a teenager. By definition, all I should desire as an angsty teen is independence. I should want nothing more than to be with my friends and get away from my family. That's what young adulthood is all about, right? Finally we can get our licenses to drive. No longer do we have to depend on our parents to get us from point A to point B. Maybe our parents are trusting us to stay home alone all night instead of taking you to your grandma's. We should want more than anything to just be able to do what we want, when we want. Not factoring in what is important to our families. My friends will all tell me horror stories about their parents. How they yell and scream at one another. They'll do anything to just get out of the house so that they don't have to be around their mothers and fathers. I believe myself to be the complete and total opposite.
       These last couple of days, I have had as much time to do exactly what I want when I want, all by myself...and all I can think is...I cannot wait until my parents get home. I do not want to have another meal by myself. I do not want to sit around watching movies by myself. Thinking how my sister would have laughed so much at that one line that we've had an inside joke about for years. Thinking how even though my dad would complain about having to watch this "chick movie", he would actually have really enjoyed some of the stupid romantic comedy movie humor. When my friends invite me to sleepover or see a movie, sometimes I really would rather to just have a relaxing night at home. I detest coming home to an empty house. When I make cookies, there's no one to offer dough to. No one to come galloping down the stairs at the scent of dinner being almost ready.
       Maybe it's not what a characteristic teenager should think, but I miss my family. 
       

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Four Days Of Freedom

         We as teenagers work around seven hour days, five days a week. Add in projects, homework, essays, and the fact that we have to get up at six in the morning, and we get pretty worn down. So it goes without saying that by the time June rolls around, every student is about ready to tear their hair out, they're so ready for a break from school. Those few months of the year when there is just nothing to worry about. No restless sleep just waiting for the dreaded alarm clock to start your morning. No guilt for doing anything but studying or doing homework. No anxiety over how you did on your last test and how that score will impact your grade. Teachers, deadlines, papers, and stress are a thing of the past. It's time to kick back and relax. A time of late nights with friends, lazy days by the pool, feeling the sun on your face, and not having another care in the world.
        Well for the past two summers (since I've been in high school), there's been a little thing called "summer school" that gets in the way. School was let out on Wednesday June 8th for the summer. So my summer consisted of Thursday: heavy and severe thunderstorms all day and night, I went shopping and dyed my hair black. Friday: Overcast day. I went shopping for my sister's dorm room, made banana bread, and played tennis. Saturday: Cloudy with light misty rain. I did errands like crazy in preparation for my sister leaving for a seven week internship. Sunday: The sun somewhat poked out of the clouds. I finished reading "Jurassic Park", worked on some projects I've been meaning to get to, and made dinner for my family. I don't mind about the weather at all, I love the clouds and overcast days. But it hasn't been much of a partying kind of summer, seeing as today was my last day of my break. That's right, four days of freedom, and I'm right back in school.
         The summer before freshman year, my sister was taking physics over the summer to get ahead for the next year. So I figured: "Hey, if my sister's doing summer school, I may as well.", so I took Intro To Business. Last year, I figured: "Well, I want to have time to take photography class during the year", so I took Health. This year I figured: "Well, my sister's doing an internship during the time of summer school, I may as well take a class and do something  productive." And that's how I got into taking physics honors this summer.
        Six weeks jam packed full of five hours a day of physics. I know it was my choice to take this class, and it's not even that I'm dreading it. It's just...six o'clock is very early! My summer was four days long. It started with the completion of my last final, and it's ending with the start of summer school. Will it be worth giving up my summer? That's what people keep asking me. Every time, it's the same answer. If I didn't take physics, I just know I would spend the seven weeks my sister is in the lab looking at stem-cells, stuck at home, bored, with nothing to do. Being bored and unproductive is pretty much my biggest pet-peeve. Yes, I will be giving up my summer. Yes, I will probably complain about it a lot. But no, I will not regret it. My friends will spend their summers sleeping in until noon. By noon everyday I will have finished the equivalence of a week of physics (each day of summer school equals a week during the year). 

Friday, June 10, 2011

A World Without Mood Swings

          The man is dressed in all white. Draped in the most secure of radiation suits. He is to be faced with an extremely gruesome massacre murder scene. All in a normal day's work for him. He reaches for the door knob. Out of all of the dozens of murder scenes this blood spatter analyst, this one feels different. It's not often he's forced to wear a full fledged protective suit. He reaches for the door knob; slowly at first, feeling the sweat drip down his face from behind his plastic mask. The door creaks open; before him is a very generic hotel room. Double bed with cheap pastel sheets. Mass produced watercolor paintings of sail boats hang from the walls. Dark scratchy carpet. All drenched in dark crimson blood. The blood of at least five victims. Maybe more. All over the walls; the pastel comforter; the watercolor sail boat. All stained red with murder. Any normal person would be mortified. Ready to vomit, pass out, maybe both. He is no normal person. What does he feel? Shock? Disgust? A sick kind of pleasure? No. Just nothing. He feels nothing.
         I am writing this blog from the comfort of my family room. Wedged between my mother reading People Magazine, and my father eating a pretzel rod while checking the weather on his phone. We are plowing our way through the first season of the show "Dexter". Possibly one of the most disturbing and gruesome shows I've ever encountered. But what really interests me is not the man character's uncanny ability to identify blood spatter patterns, but the fact that the main character, from birth, has not encountered one emotion. It is not yet clear why he doesn't feel, but he's had to live his whole life learning how to function like a normal person, while inside he just feels nothing. This leaves me wondering whether it would be easier. Easier to just not feel. To not be afraid of anything. No fear. No crushing disappointment when your relationship crashes and burns. No sting of abandonment. No mistakes made due to a hormone driven action. All of what we do is ruled by emotion. The need to feel loved, cared for, paid attention to. All gone. Could it just be easier?
         Then I think....emotion is the reason we live. Without the need for love, attention, accomplishment, or  happiness, what's left to live for? Yes, it would be easier to be rid of emotion. To never feel hurt. To never get mad. So much easier to do things for others and not for ourselves. However hard these emotions can be to deal with, life just wouldn't seem worth it without these feelings inside of each and every one of us. While the hurt of a breakup is excruciating, it can't compare to the pure joy one will feel when they marry the love of their lives. The anger one feels when they are betrayed is difficult to deal with; but all of the happiness brought by friends and family between arguments is so worth it.
           While we must take the good emotions with the bad, I can't imagine a life without them. I believe that we are all born a blank sheet. As we mature and grow, it begins to fill up with color and shape. Without the beautiful emotions and the unpleasant emotions, you're just a blank page. Forever a blank page that no one can ever color on. While mood swings in anyone aren't fun to deal with. I'd rather feel something than not feeling anything. Dexter may have a hard life in front of him, always having to pretend to be normal. Faking to feel love in front of his girl friend. Faking shock, devotion, love. He'll never feel any of it.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

To Dye, Or Not To Dye: That Is The Question

            Should I leave my hair down or put it up? Straightened or curly? Maybe I should braid it so it will be wavy in the morning. Would I look good with bangs? Or maybe side swept bangs are the way to go. I could cut my hair all together. Layers could look cute...they would frame my face. Then again, I love my long hair, there's just so much I can do with it. Maybe I should get highlights. It would bring out my features; maybe make my eyes pop. Or I could always go darker in color. But then again, I would have to worry about my eyebrow shade not matching. 
            Hair. Up, down, all around; regardless of all of the products one can put in it, all of the different styles, cuts, and shapes, it's all just the same thing. Hair. Dead skin cells. This is what my friend has been telling me all of this time while I've been toiling over the possibility of dying my hair. Over the past couple of years, I've used my hair as a way of change. When I wanted to get over something in my life, and move on to something new, I would start with my hair. My hair is something easily changed, that I can be in control of. If I needed a means of getting over something and moving on, with each snip of my hair was just another way of washing whatever I want to move on from right out of my system.
           As 500 Days of Summer said: "Since the disintegration of her parent's marriage, she'd only love two things. The first was her long dark hair. The second was easily she could cut it off and not feel a thing." Hair is something much more than dead skin cells laying upon one's head. It's more than just another way to "express" ourselves as well. I see it as something I can control. When I can't control something happening in my life - which is one of the things I just hate - I can just mess with my hair for hours. Manipulate the strands between my fingers until there wasn't a hair out of place. If something went really wrong in my life or I was really upset about something, I could just get out my scissors and snip away the pain and grief. Now I am considering doing something to this mane of hair that I won't be able to control the outcome of. Changing the color of the hair that has been my natural color of light brown all of my life. For some reason at the end of this school year that hasn't been the easiest, I just feel the need for a change. However, this is not a change I will be able to control, which scares me. I'm not sure if the risk will be one that will end with a "why didn't I do this sooner" or with a starting of the countdown of days until I can dye it back.
            Hair is not just vanity. For me anyways, it's a part of who I am. With a change in my hair comes a change in myself. If you cannot relate to my words, try the words of 500 Days of Summer, Hair, Hairspray, even Lady Gaga's song "Hair". "I just wanna be myself, and I want you to love me for who I am. I just wanna be myself, and I want you to know, I am my hair. I've had enough, this is my prayer. That I'll die living just as free as my hair."

Saturday, June 4, 2011

Here Comes The Rest Of Your Life

         The hum of the auditorium is all hushed as the lights come up, and the doors open. The graduates draped in bright red robes and white sashes begin to file in. "Pomp and Circumstance" swells from the orchestra. Cameras are flashing in every possible direction. Proud parents realizing that this is one of the proudest moments of their lives. Bored children donning headphones, watching Pixar movies hoping to make the ceremony pass quickly. (Yes, there was actually a child sitting in front of me watching Despicable Me and How To Train Your Dragon all through the ceremony). The girls are focusing all of their nervous energy on making sure they don't stumble in their high heels. The boys are constantly flicking the tassels out of their faces.
         The orchestra quiets, and the ceremony has begun. Speeches are given. All very inspiring; explaining that the light brought by the high school class of 2011 is brighter than a star in the night sky. That in their hands is a chisel and a hammer, and their rock is right in front of them, and they are to start chipping away the pieces to create their masterpiece. The vast achievements of the graduating class are read aloud. Two perfect ACT scores. Dozens of impressive championships won, scholarships earned, and futures ahead of the students soon to receive their diplomas. Names have begun to be read. My dad and I time that each column of names in the program takes almost five minutes. Seventeen columns of names. Only an hour and forty five minutes to go. As the names are read, I begin to realize all of the people I will be losing. I am aware that it's not my own class graduating, so I shouldn't really be that sad. However, I never realized how many people of the graduating class have touched my life in one way or another.
         The boy that helped me find my way the first day of my freshman year. The girl who made me feel welcome into marching band when I didn't know many people. That senior who explained to me what to do in photography class when I had never developed a roll of film in my life. That crazy girl who my sister would always share hilarious stories about at the dinner table. The brother and sister who were almost like a brother and another sister to myself since before I can remember who are at my house almost as much as I am. My sister who I've worshiped since we were young. The one whose room I always went to if there was a bad storm outside and I didn't want to be alone. The one I have pulled numerous all nighters with. The one I've looked up to as my biggest role model for so long that I don't even know what I'll do without her when she's gone.
         They say that graduating from high school is a life altering event. I had always thought against this. In today's world, not many people don't graduate from high school. My school's graduation rate is somewhere around 98%. Graduation was just a ceremony in which your name was read, you walk across a stage, get a piece of paper with your name on it, and that's it. It took until my sister's graduation last night to realize it's so much more. It's the last time a lot of these teenagers will ever see each other ever again. The end of the only life they have ever known, to begin an existence in which every thought isn't consumed by what will make your college application look best. Where you sit in the lunch room. Or what people will think of you as you walk down the hallway. Some say that they just can't wait to get out of high school. They're ready to move onto the next chapter of their lives without taking a moment to look back. However, we all know that there will come a day when all that walked across that stage last night will look back and miss the days of high school.
           It's necessary to move on, and after four years, most of these teenagers are more than willing to. But I can't help but feel sad and scared of all that will be lost after last night. The girls that have been best friends since preschool days that will never see each other again. The boys that played football together all the way from grade school through high school that will end up playing on rival teams and hating each other. The girlfriend and boyfriend who swore to each other that going to separate colleges won't shake their four year relationship that will realize that long distance doesn't work for anyone. Everyone's lives have been going in the same way for so long, and now all of a sudden it's time to shoot off into completely different directions. But then, when I look forward towards the future, thinking of what will become of this graduating class, all of that sadness goes away. All of the doctors that will come from this group. Maybe the one that will cure cancer. Maybe the one that will find an alternative energy source. Maybe an writer that will become the next J.K. Rowling. Maybe a marine who gives his life to his country. Maybe a nurse who loves what she does. Maybe a soccer mom that will make the best chocolate chip cookies in the world. The possibilities are endless. That's what there is to look forward to, because here comes the rest of your life.

Congratulations Olivia
We All Know You'll Do Great Things
But Don't Forget What You've Done

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Alright Time To Study...OOH SHINY!

           Oh that time that comes twice a year, when we are forced to actually apply all of what we were supposed to have learned throughout the past semester onto one monster test that counts for a whopping 20% of our final semester grade. Awesome. Especially for those of us (meaning me) who aren't good test takers whatsoever. In my opinion, I don't think that it's fair to have one test count for twenty percent of our grade. What if we're having a bad week that one week of finals? What if we're having family troubles that week. What if I just broke up with my boyfriend. Can what we learned all semester really be judged by which bubbles we fill in on a scantron test? That concludes my angsty rant: I needed to vent.
           The studying process of the average teenager:
            I'm feeling good about this. I've got a week until finals, I'm already cracking open the books and study guides. I'm going to do great on these finals! I need the points if I'm going to get the grades my parents won't yell at me for. Weekend. Well maybe I didn't study quite as much as I was planning to during the week, but hey, I've got all weekend to study and prepare for these tests, that's plenty of time! I'll be fine! Ooh...but wait...I did promise to go to my best friend's graduation party. Well...I'll just make an appearance, I won't have to be there for long. Plenty of time to study. Oh, but I did want to make all of my teachers cookies for the end of the year. That won't take long; plus I can study while they're in the oven! Ooh, but The Notebook is on TV...I can't pass up The Notebook! I'm too tired to study tonight, what use will it be to study tonight? 
           Repeat. And repeat again. That's roughly how my past few days have gone. However, The Notebook was never on, I made that up. Every time I promise myself I'm going to really sit down and study a bunch, I just seem to get distracted by something else. I think it has to do with the fact that my sister is graduating; she doesn't have finals to worry about, so she's just relaxing and having fun and keeps asking me to do fun things with her. Then my other sister's in middle school - also without finals to worry about. I keep thinking there will be more time, but the tests are closing in on me, and somehow I can't help but become distracted by things I feel "compelled" to do, but I really don't have to do. I've been using baking as an excuse not to study. I spent yesterday afternoon making my sister apple cake, then rice cream for my lunch table. Today I spent the evening making brownies for my sisters and applesauce cookies for my teachers.
           I will study....eventually.