Week 13: Don't Label Me

You look at me and see glasses, jeans, and sneakers. Brown hair.
I look at you and judge your hair, jacket, shoes.... I hate that I have to use the word 'judge.'
But it's true, that's what I'm doing.
I can't help it. Most the time it's subconscious.
It's human nature to compare the materialistic aspects of other humans, and even non-humans around us.
Think about it.
 I judge dogs on how clean they are, what breed they are, and although I give them more of a chance than I might give a human that's too dirty, I still base an opinion on them in the first moments of meeting them.
And horses are even worse. I wouldn't consider buying a horse of a breed different than Arabian.
It would be absolute blasphemy.
And even in breed standards, they need to be virtually flawless to make it today's show ring. Halter-wise, they need a dished face, correct legs, a short back, long, thin neck, and obviously perfect symmetry and proportions throughout.
Sounds a bit like what we might expect out of a human body today, eh?
We live in a society so deeply based in the idea of perfection, outside appearance, materialistic tendencies and a stigma for anything less than "cookie-cutter" beautiful.
It's sickening, and yet, there is nothing I can do.
I will never fit any mold of "perfection"
I get in too much trouble, I say and do the wrong things, I lead a life split right down the middle, I am not independent enough, I don't remember to do the important stuff, I don't really feel like being in a relationship right now, I want to tell you to leave me alone, but don't exactly know how.

These are the things that are wrong with me.
I don't hate these things.
I am what I am.
My views change so very often.
I see myself in a different light every few minutes or so. Oh, that's another thing. I am, without shadow of a doubt, the most flighty, capricious human in North America.
But one thing will always remain.
I will never evade reality, and I will not let a soul change who I am.

Week 13: Koala Pageant Princess

If I had a Koala bear, I'd name it Grizzly.
I'd pierce its ears and paint its toenails and put it in Koala beauty contests.
Grizzly would love it.
He would get to spend time with me, and dance, and wear cute outfits.
I wish my mom would have done that much for me.
I wanted to be a pageant princess.
But nooo. She always said, "you can't have a frilly dress, tap shoes, or fake teeth, Richard. Plus, you know boys can't win beauty contests!"
Mother. I did the right thing putting rat poison in her oatmeal.
Now I am older and stronger. I look in the mirror proud of myself. 
"A boy can wear a dress and be pretty and win a crown," I said as I spun around in my mother's wedding dress in front of the big mirror. "I look pretty as a pageant princess."

Week 13: Starshine Surprise

I've been pondering words that begin with 'S'

Slippery slapping slimy, blueberry muffin

I've been considering words that begin with 'R'

Ravenous raging ripping, kitten party

I've been wondering about words that begin with 'P'

Piping preposterous pious, marshmallow fluff

I see that I use sharp words that dagger the air around me

But then, in an enlightened epiphany,

I find myself sliding down a rainbow,

In a land of cotton candy and rain made of sprinkles

Yes, I remembered to take my drugs today.

That's the reason for the gumdrop insanity.

Week 12: Memoir

My first kiss. Man, I haven't thought about this in a long while. And on good premise. It was one of the most awkward moments of my high school experience. I was a freshman and he was my first actual 'boyfriend.' We'd been dating for a few weeks and he was starting to drop hints about engaging in a real deal, yet seemingly terrifying *kiss*. One day, in the comfort of my family's basement, I caved in.

In the movies, it always seems like this grand ordeal, so I half expected the song "This Magic Moment" to start playing the instant the lip-lock occurred. However, the kiss proved to be a surprisingly lackluster affair in the end.  He sat on the arm of the dark blue couch, pulling me closer to him slowly, yet with purpose. My heart was in my throat and I could feel my mouth drying in anticipation. Our young faces were as close as possible without actually touching; I could feel his eyes on me. I avoided eye contact, looking down, mostly at his lips. I had to examine what I was about to venture into, after all. This short distance also brought attention to his less-than-appealing adolescent, unshaved, spotty mini-stache. The small hairs, few and far between, instantly began to ward me off, urging me to beware of what lie just below their boundary. He did have nice lips though. Big and pale pink--they looked soft enough. He dipped his face around mine from every angle while I matched every move with a contrary one. What was I so afraid of? I was acting as if that one kiss would melt our lips together for eternity, when in reality, I can't imagine a kiss lasting a shorter amount of time. So finally, I realized I wasn't getting out of this one. I raised my eyes to his, and in a moment of complete vulnerability, I allowed him to press his lips onto mine. And that's all it was. Honestly, I hardly consider it much of a kiss at all. It was more like a lip to lip connection for a few unimpressive seconds. And that was my first measly kiss. Romantic? No. Necessary? I suppose. At least it's over and I made it out alive.

Week 12: Reading Response

Through the voice of my character, I contemplate consciousness and awareness of oneself in terms of true self-realization.

"I'm so distracted, but everything's fine. I speak shine and I read signs.
Appreciate your opinion, but this dream's mine." -Atmosphere
I find myself looking for an answer, a sort of tangible entity, a concrete something... however, I am coming to realize that life is not so simple. I am surrounded by dream clouds and lightbulbs flashing above my head, but these hold little promise for the here and now. Absolute answers and future plans are just out of my reach. So I remain an unfinished puzzle, a thought bubble filled with unanswerable questions, fighting to break free from the image of life being purely destiny. The minute I am able to consider my spiraling journey into the unknown as the blossoming antithesis of a humdrum programmed life, I will begin to appreciate the chaos that occupies my mind. A great band, 311, once said "from chaos comes clarity," and this is what keeps me optimistic.

The battle, the fight, the tears, the confusion,

 All forging together, creating a future nothing more than allusion.

 But soon I hope to see the storm clouds clear,

 witness the heavens open as God hands me my future, saying "here."

The fight will be over, my dreams realized,

 I will be free to live on and love my life; I will reach the prize.

Week 11: Reading Response

In the first chapter of Writing Fiction, which is titled "Whatever Works: The Writing Process," I really learned a lot about the sort of things that might help me get started on a writing project. I, like most people who enjoy to write, have kept a journal for most of my life. It was especially refreshing to chronicle my feelings and just put a pen to paper while I was stuck in a Biology major. Day after day, I filled pipets and memorized things about plants, animals and everything in between that I'll never again need to know. At the end of the day, I would open my journal and release a year's worth of pent-up words that made me feel free for a minute. And then I would remember what I was going to school for. But now, I have moved on from the major from the underworld to English, a major that employs classes I actually enjoy. What an odd concept.

I also really enjoyed the Free Writing part of the chapter. I have been practicing this to get my short story rolling, and it's definitely helping to push along the slow-moving process. Today, I had a bit of time in between classes, so I sat in the library with my headphones in and just wrote. I thought about the mind of one of my characters and went with it. I wrote a letter in her voice, attempting to really get a feel for what kind of person she is. I really hope I can develop my characters into palpable, seemingly real beings. I guess it's all on me from here. Wish me luck!

Week 11: Best Friends

At the ripe age of seven, I would have told you, without question, that my best friend was Darcy. We grew up together in Tea, SD, and gave each other the sought-after title of 'best friend' very early in our relationship. We did EVERYTHING together. Sleepovers, basketball tournaments, Mario Kart on N64, Barbie play dates... It's weird thinking back how our parents were our sole mode of transportation, poor old folks. But me and Darcy always said that we were surely "long lost sisters" even though we looked nothing like one another. Darcy was long and skinny, wore glasses, and had big feet, while I was a compact and pudgy with chicken legs holding up the 'baby fat.' Nonetheless, we had the best of times together. She was the loud one, while I was more shy, making us the perfect combination. Through middle school, our activities departed from "childish things," and we started making full choreographed dances to our favorite songs of the time. Man, we were into some cool stuff. We did everything from Britney, to N'Sync, and that weird 'Blue' song too. She was still my best friend in high school, and although her discovery of boys didn't exactly give us much time to hang out anymore, we remained close through basketball and class. We now go to different colleges, but we still talk and get together on occasion. I know that I will always consider Darcy one of my best friends.

Since Darcy, I've come across a few more best friends. Freshman year at Mount Marty, I met a Yankton girl named Kylie. She is one of the genuine people I'll ever meet, yet so different from me. It's crazy. My current bestie is my roommate Amanda. We are both so easy-going that it's really just an easy living environment. We bond through music, and I tell her things I trust in literally no one else.

One of the most special things about really growing close to someone is what you come to realize about both yourself and this person. I love trying to figure what someone is about, reading their aura, prying into their mind when they talk, just to get in touch with who they are. It always amazes me finding all the similarities and dissimilarities between various people I have met through the years. It takes me a long time to let someone in and I can honestly say that most people I "know" have no idea what kind of stuff is actually floating around in this mess of a mind. Really, I don't know if I'll ever let anyone know me to my core... Yeah, that sounds terrifying.

Week 11: Michael the Horse Trainer

This is the in-class exercise where we thought of a particular career person and what how their actions might give way to what they are like as a human being. I made up 'Michael the horse trainer.'

When Michael comes into the arena, I can't help but drown out all other distractions and lock my attention on him and his horse. He is different from the other trainers. Some of these men intimidate their horses in every sense of the word. I shudder to think what they might do to their horses behind closed doors. But Michael is not like these trainers. He treats his horses with respect and knows their limits, something that shows when he gets in the arena. His quiet presence, yet dominance over his horse is palpable. In order to show off the animal's best  features, while making it appear to be an effortless task, Michael keeps the perfect distance and reacts to anything, even unexpected things at precisely the right moment. His face is stoic--what might be going through his mind? I see no anxiety or pressure in his countenance, even though we all know it's an inevitable part of the job. I only see ease, concentration, and confidence. As he sternly sets up his horse for the judges, his movements are quiet, yet strong. Slow, yet not hesitant. His horse looks perfect-- its silky gray coat shines from oil and care in the bright lights of the coliseum as sloping neck stretches out towards Michael. The horse's perfectly chiseled features exhibit the beautiful care that he receives under Michael's watchful and caring eye.

Week 10: Free at Last

 Summer Fun at the Beach

The sun is extra happy today,

heat permeates every inch of my body.

Sweat squeaks in every crevasse,

the beach bag strap digs hard into my shoulder.

What a beach.

Sand burns the balls of my feet.

 the fiery grains slip between my toes with stealth.

Something angry slaps the side of my face,

a football. A measly, fake leather football.

My eyes pierce into his dumb look,

He is sorry, blah, blah, blah.

It's beach day, I don't speak.

My lips are glued together from melted sunscreen.

What a fucking great beach.

Week 10: Freefallin'

THESE ARE LIES. Interesting exercise overall.

I look forward to a life in the suburbs, complete with marriage and a baby. Nothing about that seems beyond ordinary and wrong for me.

I enjoy dishonesty in all facets of life; "Better to not know than be hurt with the truth" I always say. Living life with blinders might just be the best policy after all.

Taste in music really has no major weight in whether or not I might consider someone in a romantic way. I mean it's not like it says anything about them as person or anything.
 
I really enjoy it when boys flood me with attention, flowers, and gentlemanly servitude. Their lack of consideration for my personal space isn't annoying at all.

People who don't accept those with different lifestyle choices are not ignorant or wrong in their close-mindedness in the least. When someone believes in opposing ideas from your own, you should be able to attack and ridicule them for these differences alone.

Week 10: Free for All

Here's one of the poetry exercises:

Now I find comfort in what I'm doing;

With purpose comes ease and motivation, right?

Now I see my future unraveling before me like a scroll;

But do I like what I see or will boredom ensue?

Now I have compliments clouding my psyche;

Are they genuine enough to believe wholeheartedly?

Now I feel that I shouldn't be reading into this so much;

Maybe I'll put away the magnifying glass.

I've examined and analyzed enough for now. 

I've stumbled upon the thing it took me 21 years to find,

All I can do is drink it in.

Enjoy what has appeared out of a small opportunity.

Yes, that's what I'll do.

Week 9: Memoir

I think I am in the midst of a religious epiphany. I was born and raised Catholic. I have a HUGE Catholic family with an incredibly religious grandma, the mother of 6 boys, one of which is my dad. I was brought up pretty religious, but not like "hey, we're gonna shove this religion down your throat." Although, my grandma might have done that. We were the type of family that did the program with: mass every Sunday and religious holiday, casual confession attendance, CCD every Wednesday for the kids, ya know, the typical American Catholic family stuff.

As a kid, I never knew how to question the practices and beliefs of the Catholic religion, however, now, with some age and bit more knowledge of Catholicism, I find myself struggling with it. One example is with the practice of confession. Why do I need to go through a priest to have my sins absolved? Seems extraneous that my personal relationship with God would need a mediator to validate my own purity.

Honestly, I think one of the biggest reasons that I struggle with the Catholic faith is based in the fact that I didn't make the conscious choice to join it. I didn't agree with the beliefs or commit to its practices based on my own will, which really bothers me. Just because I was raised Catholic doesn't mean I shouldn't question what its about, or if it's the right religion for me. Questioning what you're about is key to building the person you aspire to be. Hmm I like that. I'll be sure to report back with my findings in my future novel... "Lifting the Veil of Catholicism, Once and for All."