Eh.

I just deleted what used to be this post.

The reason?

It was my essay I wrote for English next year. I’m really super proud of it, but… it’s long. Like over 1000 words.

INSTEAD.

I have musings. Actually, phrases. Clippings. Sentences I wrote that I absolutely adore (does that sound weird?).

You see, when I write, I start in the middle. From the moment I get an idea, or hear my subject, my brain starts combining words into phrases, phrases into sentences. Soon I have a collection of semi-related thoughts to work with, building blocks for the meat of whatever it is that I’m writing. Of course, this strategy is thrown out the window for AP essays, Direct Writing Assesments, and ACT Prompts, but why should I care about those?

Anyway.

(The rest of this post will be random thoughts and sentences. I give you permission to stop reading it, if you want to. I won’t be offended.)

1. Coming from nearly eleven years of schooling, I’ve found that questions that start with “why” always have more than one answer. Maybe it is because they’re somewhat general, a number of perspectives to be taken implied in the “why.” But really, I think it is because we are all human, and humans don’t accept facts even when they’re in front of our faces.

2. There is nothing worse than walking into a classroom with low expectations of those admitted, for I would rather be outrageously overestimated than slightly underestimated. Then, at least, I would have something to work towards and aspire to.

3. I want a nice, fat, folder to be proud of—and I don’t care how many trees I chop down in the process.

4. Call it “great expectations,” if you must. But in my world, I use the word “because.”

5. Sometimes I think it is the picture frame that holds us all together.

6. In the front garden of the place I call home, there grows a certain Butterfly Tree. It grows green leaves, but by summer it is red. I don’t know why I take pictures of that tree, I just do. I can’t remember when I started, either. But it was winter. I watched it grow, bloom, change, then shed its colors and start over. I know I shouldn’t be so fascinated, because my tree, like everything else, cycles through seasons. But going back, looking at my pictures, laying them side by side… I think it reminds me of myself.

7. I come from perfect circumstances with a perfectly normal family. I don’t even have a psycho great aunt. Well, maybe my Uncle Bob counts, but he’s not technically related to me.

8. I entertain an audience of ideas.

9. The idea is profound. Its gift-wrap is inherently more interesting.

10. The individual is equally as important as the group itself. Our minds are unique, and it is our uniqueness which helps us not only to survive, but flourish and have joy. This is what makes our species superior and divine.

11. Tears running up my forehead.

12. My fingers race each other to the top of the keyboard

13. One of them picked his nose then asked for my pencil. If he would’ve asked for my number, I think I would have slapped him.

14. Over and over again, that simple stalky misfit of a word clogged my rods and cones and made me want to hit the screen.

15. Realization #1: I hate the word “I”. If it didn’t sound creepy, I would speak in third person for the rest of my life.

16. Some days I wish I could shed my skin. Cast off those insecurities and sorrows that weigh me down, become a new person with a clean personality and no regrets—not a single one. It’s hard. To come to terms with being so quiet and in the background, being worrisome and uptight under a mask of conformity.Buckle, my pet frog, shed his skin this morning. For days I watched him wiggle and squirm, swimming incessantly to loosen the skin, and then slowly, over the next couple of days it broke free. I know it sounds silly, impersonating a frog, but maybe if I wiggle enough, my skin will come loose, too.

17. Those feelings were stapled to it

18. Writing doesn’t take place on paper. Instead, it comes about deep within the contours of one’s own mind, with a brilliance so stunning, and a perfection so elite, it should flood the imagination with light and inspiration. A writer’s only job is to extract that same brilliance, and recompose it in such a way that it would justify the original.

19. To come out. It almost suggests the book has been hidden thus far, and is now emerging from its inky home.

20. Brianna is four years younger than me, and four inches taller. We look absolutely nothing alike, although that’s what amazes me about my family, that even though we’re different on the outside, people can sense that we’re family. We’ve never been taken for anything other than sisters.

21. If writing is defined as “thinking on paper,” then I prefer to keep my thoughts inside my head, thanks.