Physics

Dear Physics,

I hope you're satisfied that you are the lowest overall grade I have ever received throughout my high school career.
Does this make me feel a bit like a failure? Perhaps.
Does this do wonders to my self confidence? In the wrong direction, yes.
I experienced nothing but frustration throughout my acquaintance with yourself, and I do not regret that this class will be ending soon.
It's not you, it's the class itself. The teacher, the lack of organization, the typos that caused me to feel confusion and vexation. I'm sorry I can't help but associate you with the class; do forgive me.
I wish future students a better experience than my own.

Yours etc.,

Me

Spiraling Downward

Have you ever felt like you were losing grip, not with life or reality or sanity, but with someone close to you? Sometimes I don't know what to say, and then I worry too much about what I should say, and pretty soon having a conversation with someone becomes a nightmare, this frightening task I dread and avoid.

Lately I don't know what to say to this one person. I try to say things, but I get the feeling they're not entirely....there. Most of the time my life isn't wildly exciting, hence I don't have anything outrageous to tell. I know that they have a life and they don't always have time to sit down and just talk to me. I'm sure they're busy with important things, I can take that. But at the same time, I'm saddened that it's been too long: too long since I saw you, too long since I actually talked to you.

Slowly, despite my feeble attempts, I feel as if I'm drifting away in a lonely raft built for one, and I can't seem to prevent it.

The Battle in My Head

I've been thinking a lot lately about anthropology. Once upon a time, when I was younger, I wanted to be an anthropologist. An even longer time ago, during my brief stint as a child, I wanted to be a horse trainer. Well, I grew up and realized that I had other interests than simply horses, and discovered anthropology. Actually I'm pretty sure quiz bowl came first, but anyway.

What happened? When did I decide anthropology wasn't the right field for me? When did I set that aside and let this concept of curatorial work consume my future career goals?

...I don't know.

It seems as if moving back to the South has sparked this inner anthropologist within. I frequently note trends that differ from the North and I'm constantly thinking "why?" (Mrs. APEuro would be proud.)
Why does school seem to not be as big a factor?
Why do so many people love football?
Why are boyfriend/girlfriend relationships so rampant down here, like the plague in Florence during the fourteenth century?
Why are there so many churches?
Why does there seem to be almost no separation between church and state?
Why does my school tell me to stand and say the pledge of allegiance every morning?
Why is everything so laid back? 

Most of these questions are easily answered. (Such as, you're in the Bible Belt, Emmeline, of course the boundary between church and state is hazy.) But I keep asking why, why, why. I can't seem to trace the genesis of many of my questions; the list of whys seem to continue infinitely.

And then I start thinking. Do I really want to major in art history? Why not anthropology?
And then I shove that creeping whisper of doubt into the back of my mind, hoping I'll just forget about it.

"Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them, too--even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling."

--Mitch Albom

Saywhaaaaaa?

Sitting in APUSH, working on a worksheet that deals with John Adams' presidency.....note: Adams was president from 1796-1800.

This kid sitting next to me asks me, "Would this be under economic?" Looking over at his page, I see he has written: Stamp Act of 1765. Confused, I mumble, "yeah." He then asks, "what about the Declaration of Independence, Boston Massacre, that stuff?"

Honestly, I don't know what to say other than, "this is John Adams' presidency we're talking about, not the American Revolution and the events that led up to it." Does he realize there's a difference? Does he realize there's more to the early history of America other than the Revolution?
I actually did say that to him...and glancing over at his paper, he still has the Stamp Act written down. Siiiiiiiggghhhh.

And then this girl is saying how she got out of her detention. Why did she get the detention? She was texting her father. She claims to have "3 Cards" she could pull to get out of the detention: she's a new student, she's an excellent student, and ...crying.
She's serious.
First of all: it's December. Surely, SURELY, you've noticed that no one is blatantly texting in school. This should hint at the fact it's against the rules. It's something called "common sense." Ever heard of it? Also, no texting in school is pretty universal.... Secondly, wow, so you have good grades. Your point? That exempts you from the policies of the school, receiving the consequence for your actions? No, it doesn't. Who are you to think you're above the rules? Thirdly, really? You're willing to cry to get out of picking up trash for an hour after school?
Calm. Down.

Dear Blog,

I made this catalogue of things I want to tell a person/people...but I haven't really had the chance lately to sit down and talk to someone, as in have a legit conversation that's not about college, where do I want to go, what do I want to study, and "Emaline, make sure you apply to BYU." So here's some things I wanted to tell someone(s):

I kinda sorta got a nine on my AP lit essay. My first. We had to write an essay about a character in fiction that's portrayed in such a way that we see them as evil or immoral, and yet the author somehow still manages to make their reader feel sympathetic towards their character. I wrote mine on Heathcliff, and my teacher said she felt more sympathy for him than she had ever felt in her life. This makes me feel very accomplished.

I'm writing a literary analysis on Alexander Pope's The Rape of the Lock. Is it terribly nerdy that I'm enjoying it? Because I am. Immensely. It's an awesome poem. I love satire/mock epics.

I spent two nights my Thanksgiving break reading in Barnes and Noble. One night I read all of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets from the Portuguese. It makes me want some guy to write me poetry like that. But seriously, I love them.

Speaking of EB Browning, I'm on a poetry kick right now. Like I'm reading it quite often. As in, I bought Immortal Poems of the English Language last night and have not stopped reading it ever since. I never really thought of myself as a poetry kind of girl until recently.

Swimming. Swimming, swimming, swimming. Why did I do this again? Oh, yeah, to stay in shape. Is it worth it? ....That last question has yet to be answered. I'm just so frustrated with the people on my team. It's ridiculously easy and yet they still manage to constantly complain. Seriously, stop talking and swim. I'm really close to saying this to certain people on my team.

Why am I having feelings of doubt about college? Where do I want to go again? Should I apply to UT Knoxville or the U of U? How the heck am I going to pay for this? Why did I have a moment where I forgot I wanted to major in art history? I have no back-up plan. I wrote an essay, pg 87 of my autobiography, and told the readers at VCU I wanted to be a curator in Germany at that point in my life. Truthfully, I have no idea where I'll be in one year, five years, or ten years.

I kinda sorta...entered in a wrong digit for my SSN on my college apps. How does this make me feel? Horribly stupid? Spacey? Embarrassed? Discouraged? All of the above.

I just finished Madame Bovary. I think it's terrible that for the first section of that novel, I kept thinking to myself, "yeah, I can relate to that." I mean, it's about this married woman who regrets her marriage and out of boredom and dissatisfaction with her life commits adultery with two different men. In the end she commits suicide by eating arsenic. What could I possibly relate to in such a story? Her feelings of disappointed hopes, things not turning out how I pictured them or how I wanted them to turn out. Never being satisfied, always wanting more. Being bored with monotony, feeling as if my life would be a straight, dead line on an EKG screen. But then I see Flaubert's masterful skill in which he subtly reminds the reader that she had a lot to be thankful for. Her daughter, her home, a husband who simply adored her. And then I hate Madame Bovary, and I hate myself for sympathizing with her, for being discontent with a life that is so abundant. I didn't expect this novel to impact me like this.

Luke comes home in April. Gosh, I miss that kid. The older I get, the more I see myself doing things he did. I wish I was more like him though.

We're going to Utah for Christmas. I'm kinda disappointed about this, kinda excited though. I'll get to see all my family, which will be nice. I have a very large extended family, and as a result they're fun to be with. I'm not anticipating the 27 hour car-ride however. That. Will. Suck. Somehow I've done this before....maybe I'll just have to take some Benedryl before I leave so I can sleep for most the way.

For some, weird, unknown reason, I keep referring to people in my mind as "darling." Why? This reminds me of Humphrey Bogart or some black-and-white film character. I sincerely hope I never accidentally say it out loud. That would be odd.

Pinano

Lately I've been thinking about getting back into piano.

I played for eight years, the longest I've yet to stick with anything, and I kinda/sorta miss it.

(Not all of it though--just the playing part.)

Not the practicing and stumbling through notes/playing the wrong notes/not playing up to tempo part.

But hey--practice makes perfect, right?

I wish I were better at piano, more driven and motivated to perfect my skills.
Piano represents another area of my life in which I am solidly mediocre.

I'm not great, I'm not terrible. 

Just OK. 

I can read notes easily, I can reach my fingers more than an octave.

But it's still average. 

My life is stuck in this mire of mediocrity.

Maybe instead of blogging, I should do something about it.