Fridays

I am excessively thankful for Fridays. So much that sometimes my thankfulness for Friday spills over into Saturday, and overflows my thankfulness for Saturday, which somewhat lessens the harshness of my Sundays.

The weekend is a wonderful time.

These past two weeks have been somewhat stressful, albeit manageable. Papers and projects--two magic words that share a first letter with "pain." Last weekend was a whirlwind of violin followed immediately by a test-filled week.

And now, my life is almost silent.

I am having a great time with this arrangement. It's like a painting with pitches and beats for brushes and colors.

We're anticipating an ice storm for next week, which is finals. I don't have to attend most of them, but I might take Calculus and Physics and the other two from which I'm not exempt.

I have a list of thoughts to put into writing soon. Not college essays, for once! Just things I'd like to discuss.

Monday evening is when I find out.
I'm not really thinking about it now.

Perhaps the nervousness comes five minutes before?
Right now it doesn't seem to matter that much.

In the face of a silent weekend, what else could I want?

I am poetic

I feel everything.
But it's not supposed to be everything all at once.

Even writing does not help.


I am taking another SAT Physics Subject test tomorrow.
I am practicing for a concert, playing a fundraising concert.
I'm ready.

The weekend will be over.
I will have other things to think about.

I haven't exactly thought about myself.
I didn't realize how sad I was until today.
It's okay to be sad. It seems to go this way for everyone.

Is it really December?
What did I do in 2008?

A lot of things that matter.
But not the one that matters most.

I'm going to write a message.
I'm going to write a song.
Not at the same time.

I'm going to go to college.
I'm going to draw myself in the big picture.

pre-admissions decision get-together support group thingy.

I am excited for December 15. Why? Because I am going to have an amazing time with my friends in the hours from 2-4PM central time.

The plan?
We are writing rejection letters to each other. Everyone will get a piece of paper to put their name on, and everyone else will write notes to them saying what they would say if they were there when the person gets the admissions decision.

The letters are then sealed, labeled, and ready for the day. Oh gosh.

Maybe we'll do it before December 15, because decisions apparently mail before then.

I thought of this because it was too necessary. I don't have a dog. I don't have parents who will be home. I have siblings, but they don't get it.

And then I thought of other people who would be the same boat. And shit. It's a life-changing decision, no matter how thin you slice it (I usually think of the slice as Swiss cheese, actually).

I began my UChicago essays last night. I have half of one written and another one brainstormed out. They're fun, but it's not the same type of passion I had for my First Choice essays. Ahwell.

I dislike complaining, but I'm doing an awful lot of it since I've gotten back from break. I wish I had better things to say. I wish I had better things to think.

I am going to ban "no time" from my phrasebook of life.

I am going to work out between study sessions of homework.
I am going to write in my blog, write poetry, write words without feeling guilty.
I am going to get six fucking hours of sleep no matter how the cookie crumbles,
no matter where the cookie crumbles.
I am going to watch the intriguing Italian film I am 90% on the way of acquiring.
I am going to read the news, damn it.
I am going to get my fucking driving license!

why

I just wrote one of the most sincere letters of my life. It was superficially a why letter, a little bit of a lust letter, but mostly a love letter.

I am starting to ask my teachers for recommendations again. I started compiling an email for them and ended up spending half an hour learning about the University of Chicago. It's a great school. It has most of what I'm looking for. It's missing some things that I could remedy. I can see myself there, at least content, probably happy.

And so in the midst of that delight I wondered, "Would I choose this over the First Choice?"
My best friend would be less than an hour away from me, finally. I already have good friends at the school, and I would be near people who I've made close connections with in these past few years. It has the Core. It has majors like "Big Problems" and "Human Rights." And to be disillusioning, the First Choice has its own share of real issues.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I thought, "No."

There is something about the people at the First Choice that is different, refreshing, and nonnegotiable. I want sketchy. I want things that are not a-okay all the time. Because I want to know the world, and the First Choice is the only place I can see myself knowing it fully.

The regrets I have would be minimal.

In other news, I have to start my Calculus homework.

things to let go, things to now know

I crossed three colleges off my to-apply list just now.

I almost feel like someone going through a midlife crisis. I've had this years for ages now, so what prompted me to alter it now?

I've been really contemplating what schools are right for me, not my parents' egos or mine.
Even though it didn't feel like that at the time I put them down, I realize now that it was. Prestige.
I got infected, and I'm a little ashamed, but hey, at least now I can say I'm human.

Admittance and rejection. I am trying to imagine the latter more often, just to be mentally prepared (so if it's an admittance instead I will simply explode), but that doesn't stop the occasional admittance daydream to creep into my skull. Alas.

I had an argument with my mother last night. For the third time since I've asked her specifically not to, she told yet another person what my First Choice is.

And it's not the shame of rejection. It's because it's personal to me, and no one else's business, especially not something for the "Compare Our Children" game Asian parents play. I don't want something so important to be reduced to a name like that, and the fact that she couldn't respect my wishes on that count was kind of upsetting.

I cry over everything now. I'm pretty sure if I saw roadkill I would burst into tears like I used to in elementary school (and only the elementary school part is exaggerating). It's not as though I'm having a nervous breakdown or anything. In fact, I'm no longer self-conscious about it. For seniors, it seems to be as fashionable as bug-eyed glasses. And like bug-eyed glasses, I hope it becomes less common by the end of semester.

So, the bright side. I am rereading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, which I read more than a year ago before adding it to my favorite books list.

I don't like it as much, which is disappointing, but not the end of the world. Some of the lines still ring with me, but not the same novelty as before. I'm marking the best of them with a light blue Prismacolour pencil. When I get to it, I'll buy and reread Everything Is Illuminated as well. And all the other books on my favorites list.

It's getting easier to tell how much I've changed on an intellectual level in the past six months alone. I reread the Handmaid's Tale for AP English and had an entirely new perspective on it because of Anytown and learning more about sexism. The presidential election got me more into politics (though I'd hardly call myself a junkie). I read commentaries without being entirely persuaded and watch reports without entirely believing.

And the things that once held immense sentimental value to me are less so epic, so to speak, because I have experienced even more profound messages in the past few months.

If my viewpoints were marble, I'd be sculpting them.