I remember a time when checking my friends' blogs was a long process, and how my folder of bookmarks of their blogs was rather large. Now, it only takes several seconds to glance through them. The latest peak was three blogs besides mine to check up on, but then one of my friends got so frustrated with his comments (or lack thereof) that he moved his blog to an unknown location. Then there were two. Then another one of my friends got so frustrated with her layout that she replaced her entire blog with the word "gah." (Not that gah is really a word. It's more of a sound, really.) Thus, being left to check a single blog that has not updated since February, I have resorted to posting my own entry.

In the good ol' days, blogs were popular to have in my group of friends. Everybody had one, everybody updated regularly. If you check out my links just below that nifty hit counter, those were all the blogs I checked up on in the prime of the blogs' lives. Now, two don't lead anywhere, one leads to an old blog (I could update that link to her new blog...but she doesn't update that one either), three lead to forgotten blogs that haven't been updated in so long they probably never will be, one leads to a different person's MySpace page, and the other...well, that one leads to Gah.

Sometime I might get around to fixing those links (basically getting rid of them) but I'm very out of practice with HTML and CSS. Not that I was ever extremely good with them...It was like being in a foreign country where the only words you know are "Hello," "My name is Carolyn," and "Will you please direct me to the nearest fish market." Some of my knowledge was useful, the rest was not, and I hardly ever got to where I really wanted to go. Which was why I always "travelled" with one of my friends who knew the language fluently. She'd step up and say, "No, what she really wants is to get to your nearest hotel. Isn't she silly?"

I think that that simile has gone far enough.

Anyway, the gist is that today I am feeling nostalgic for a time when the blog was king. Do any of you remember that month when I updated every single day just to see if I could? I believe it was October 2005, or maybe 2006. A lot of the entries, albeit, were "I'm tired. I'm going to bed now." Sometimes I even faked the dates when midnight passed and I had forgotten to update. Then again, it wasn't really faking. It was more like rounding down.

Speaking of math...I've been working on my math summer packets. I finished one for my upcoming Statistics class, and let me tell you, that packet is a travesty. Some of the answers given in the back are wrong, the directions are unclear, and some of the answers are missing. Basically a waste of time. My Calculus packet, though...that I can get into. I've finished most of it, and it's easy and gives me hope for the upcoming class. Hope for Mrs. L to viciously slaughter as she laughs giddily. Puts the laughter in slaughter...

Anyway, I hope you have enjoyed this refreshing dose of a new entry. Heaven knows I have. The only way I can get one nowadays is by writing it myself.

I have not updated for a long time, and just recently (like five seconds ago) I realized why this is. I always figured that I had to write something interesting, something that's more than just documenting my day-to-day life. Of course, nothing came to mind to me that seemed exciting enough to share with my beloved readers.

Slightly before this realization, I had discovered my aunt's blog (located here) and was reading about her prolonged vacation with her two-year-old and three-month old. Then I realized that my day-to-day life WAS interesting: to the right people. Then, BAM! the realization I initially told you about.

That's right, dear readers, I have rediscovered blogging.

So I'm going to summarize my day-to-day life so far this summer. Are you ready? It's pretty intense. I get up, sometimes go to work in the morning, play video games with my brothers and sister, swim a bit, eat s'mores. The last bit is my favourite. This summer I have discovered an addiction for s'mores. They're quite tasty (or, if you're Fergie, tastey).

I'm going to take a moment and discuss my job. I work at this place called Kumon Learning Centre. It is a place that Asian parents send their children to train them while they are still young to be smarter than everybody else. Just kidding. Mostly. There are also non-Asian children. Anyway, they go to the centre, and they do worksheets. These worksheets range in difficulty from counting objects to calculus, or from recognizing pictures to dissecting literary passages for relevant symbols and concepts. I grade these worksheets and occaisonally aid the students in their never-ending search for higher knowledge.

All the kids hate Kumon. And who can blame them? It's school outside of school. There's homework, grades, instructors. Hell, the GRADERS hate Kumon. Today, there was a call from a woman asking at what age the Kumon program began, because her son was turning three in November and she was thinking of enrolling him. That's right, there are kids as young as three at this centre. They will never know anything EXCEPT Kumon. I can't imagine how depressing that would be: never remembering a time when you weren't enrolled at Kumon. As a grader, I am not technically "enrolled" in Kumon (since Kumon pays me and not vice versa) but I am still required to complete levels of worksheets. For instance, I am working on level H in math. There are two-hundred sheets per level, and the levels gradually get more difficult (math goes from 7A through O). I have completed a little more than half of the level since I received it in April. When one of my co-workers noticed this the other day, and was told that my sister has already completed a level, she said, "Wow, no offense, but you guys have no life."

Gee, thanks. I definitely take no offense to that. It's not like I sit at home all day and do work. And since when was it a bad thing to do work? I don't really understand that. Besides, I do most of the worksheets while I'm at Kumon, when I'm not helping a student or grading their work. I can usually get about ten pages done per day that I work. And when I don't work? Let's see, I've seen three movies in as many weeks, gone out to lunch at the same place so many times that I think the staff will soon know me by name, gone to a few parties...and that's all in the time I've been back from vacation, a little over a week. I so have a life.

Haha irony. I'm defending my life on my blog.

Last year at this time, I was probably thinking, "Next year is going to be so fantastic! I'm taking classes with my friends and the courses will be a good challenge blah blah blah..."

I think that it's good that people don't have precognitive abilities. It's nice that I was so blissfully ignorant back then. If I had known how hellish this year was going to turn out to be I probably would have killed myself. See, I think that the thing is that I have a tendency, when I'm happy and having a good time, to be under the impression that it can go nowhere but up. In reality, though, when you're at the zenith of your school career, you can't really do anything but drop.

It's like climbing a mountain and believing that it goes on forever. Eventually you're in for a nasty surprise.

The thing with this school year is that it's so much work and stress that I did not see coming. I guess I should have, but I really wouldn't call myself particularly bright when it comes to expectations. I'm really much too optimistic for reality. See the following chart.

Class/Activity	Initial Expectation	Reality
Chemistry	I'm good at chemistry! With my friends there, it will be a blast!	Brutal and horrifying mind-rape. With chemicals.
Math	I'm good at math! This will be a good time!	I'm good at math! This is a good time!
French	I'm good at French! It will be great to not have Ms. D!	Altercations with an evil French woman who enjoys torturing students...and getting paid for it.
History	...Well, at least I won't have to deal with a really strange teacher in AmThought.	Involuntary mental nap-time! This might sound pleasant. It's really not.
English	My English class this year was awesome! There's nowhere to go but up!	Oh no! I seem to have fallen off the peak of the mountain and am now crashing on the pointy rocks of death!
Drama	I got a role in Shakespeare and worked hard stage-managing for the One Acts! I'm a good actor, I'm sure I'll get a part next year too!	Stage managing for Shax + acting for One Acts = ehhhhhhhhhh.

As you can clearly see, this year so far has been beating the crap out of me. More emotionally and mentally than physically, but I have been having some problems with spontaneous bruising. My big problem is that I no longer have any control over my emotions. There was a time back in like...grade eight and nine when I was basically extremely stoic, mostly because I didn't really have that many emotions. Now they're all over the place and very intense. I've cried during chemistry tests. I'm not ashamed to admit it.

If I'm lucky, I'll last the rest of the year without being towed away giggling by the men in white coats. Depending, of course, on your definition of lucky.

I am so frustrated with life right now. It's pretty ridiculous. There are so many things that just aren't going my way and it makes me angry.

I'm really bad at chemistry all of the sudden and it feels like it's impossible for me to get good grades. I've done extraordinarily badly on tests and quizzes that most of my other classmates considered easy and "a joke." They look down at their seventeen out of twenty quizzes and think, "Man, I must be slipping," at the same time I'll look down at my own thirteen out of twenty and think, "Awesome, I passed this one!" A twenty out of twenty is pretty much beyond even my wildest dreams. This is the second year that chemistry has been messing with my GPA. Why did I ever choose to do AP Chem????

My parents repeatedly crush my dreams of getting a car. It's been my dream for the longest time, and I thought that it was possible, but all of the sudden they're telling all of these ridiculous things like the insurance is too expensive and that it's never really significantly more convenient for me to have a car. I mean, I wrote them an e-mail a while ago about it, where I basically condensed all of my arguments for getting a car. I addressed the money situation by saying that, even though I only make minimum wage, I could help pay for the insurance or help pay for the car. I pointed out several instances in which it would be more convenient for me to have my own car, and continue to point these situations out when they arise. They keep telling me that they're listening to me, but I just don't feel like they are. It's sort of like they keep falling back on these same arguments even though I offered solutions to the problems and pointed out flaws in those arguments. I mean, I understand that a car and insurance for me would be ridiculously expensive, and they don't fail to tell me this (they even make up big numbers for the cost to discourage me). The thing is, they tell me this, then turn around and discuss hiring an interior designer to redo their bathroom. It simply makes me very frustrated and angry. I mean, if you had dreamed of something for years and years, would you be able to accept that it will never happen?

I am just so tired of life. It's too bad it's inescapable.

The Woman of the Winter Fields

NOTE: This story is fictional and told from the point of view of a man.

What is the most important thing in the world? Some people say love. Some people say money. Some people say sex. Others say different things still, but I feel like I am the only one around with the right idea in life. The most important thing in the world, obviously, is snowmen. Those rotund men who sit in yards until it comes time for the melting of their packed crystals in the springtime give me a reason to live. Never have I felt such joy as when I am poking a corn-cob pipe into the hard, dense snow of the man’s head, nor as when I locate the perfect arms for my new friend. There is no other perfection.

As any good things do, snowmen also come with their downfalls, of course. For instance, they can unfortunately only be seasonal friends; come springtime, all which is left of these loyal comrades is a puddle of cool water soaking in the grass. It is quite sad. That is the circle of life, however, and each and every season I must enjoy all the time I have with my snowmen until they perish in the unrelenting sunshine. As much as I attempt to prepare myself for the inevitable demise of my friends, it is always a new pain within my soul as I watch them slowly (and probably miserably) die.

During the short winter season, of course, I must build as many snowmen as I can, and shower affection upon them. I spend my entire year waiting for the moment enough snow falls to create new companions. I build plans in my mind. I decide the ratio of males to females. I decide how each one could look. I build rough outlines in my mind to create better friends than I had last year. I am always improving my technique. One thing that I have never planned beforehand, however, is how I will name each of my snowmen. They choose their own names, you see. What would I ever do with myself if I were to build a snowman, intending the entire time to name him Charlie, only to discover that once he is built he is an obvious Jerome? I do not think that I would be able to live with myself if such a thing occurred.

This past year, I built many friends. There had been many flurries and small blizzards, so there was plenty of snow to use for crafting. I spent hours meticulously molding the perfectly sized snow balls, but whenever I finished, there seemed to be something off or missing from the newly created man or woman. Unfortunately, I could never quite put my finger on what. Many of my comrades, therefore, lived and died incomplete. There was one, however, whom I seemed to complete more and better than I had ever completed a snowman before.

Her name was Flora, and she was lovely. I made her absolutely perfect. Whenever I glanced at her out my window, I smiled and sighed with contentment. There was nothing she needed added. I would not have changed her for the world. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever sculpted. I think that I fell in love with her. In fact, I know that I fell in love with her the moment I stood back to admire my work. Admire it I did. Possessing more beauty, purity, and poise than any human woman I had ever known, Flora stood approximately five feet tall. She wore a lovely flowery hat I had found at a garage sale that summer. Her carrot nose was the most perfect cone I had ever seen. I spent more time on Flora than any of my other snowmen. She was fantastic.

However, I had also crafted a husband for her. Eric was the jealous type, and seemed to always be glaring at me starting from when I had first finished Flora. He stood roughly two feet away from her on my front lawn facing my home, and I swear that his coal eyes could see right through me. I spent a large amount of time attempting to explain mine and Flora’s relationship, but to no avail. He suspected us, and he was not about to change his mind. Logic was no use. I would tell him that it was impossible for me to be having an affair with his wife because he was always standing next to her, watching intently. I would tell him that I spent all my time either at work or crafting more snowmen relatives. I could tell that he never believed me. He was a very cold person.

The truth was, of course, that I was in love with Flora, and I am sure that she loved me back. She loved me more than she loved that jealous, untrusting husband of hers, anyway. Whenever we talked privately she would be very kind with me, and I with her. We did not get many chances to speak privately, though. Eric was always watching. Our relationship progressed no further for a very long time. Flora had been built in late December: it was not until three months later that our relationship had a chance to grow, but by that time it was coming to a close. March is a scary month for snowman building. There are very warm days and very cold days. All that one can do is hope that the warm days come at the end of the month where they belong and that the cold days stay at the beginning in order to preserve my companions for as long as possible.

One night, in early March, just as I was losing hope for Flora and me, a terrible thing happened. In the middle of the night, I heard a commotion outside of my window. I looked out, and there was a deer apparently attacking Eric! I ran outside to help him, but it was too late. His nose was eaten, his eyes had fallen out, and he had several gouges in his chest where the wretched animal’s hooves had torn. Seeing that he was already dead and nothing could be done for him, I returned to my bed. The next morning, I dissembled Eric’s remains and sent some of his remaining particles to fly with the wind to the four corners of the Earth, just as he would have wanted.

I gave Flora a day to mourn, but since our time was so limited, I approached her the second day after her husband had been brutally slaughtered. “Flora,” I said, “I love you. There, I said it. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and if it wasn’t for Eric, I’m sure that our love would have had time to blossom properly. As it is, however, we only have limited time until the defrosting time comes. Will you be with me?” Thankfully for me, she agreed. I was so nervous, putting myself out there like that, but I was sure that she loved me as I did her.

We had a wonderful relationship. We did everything we possibly could together, and I was there with her as she got old and her health deteriorated. I held her hand as she passed on to the next world, and I gave her a simple burial at sea, just as she had wanted. I do not think that I will ever forget Flora, and my love for her will be everlasting. Someday, I will return to her, and we will live in our love for the rest of time in the great snowfields in the sky.

So people blog about their lives, right? And teenagers blog about how emo and depressed they are, right? Okay, well, here goes.

Oh woe is me, blah blah blah DEATH blah blah blah DEPRESSED blah blah blah LIFE SUCKS blah blah blah NO ONE UNDERSTANDS ME blah blah blah.

*Whew* Thank goodness that's over with. Of all the times that I whine to people, I don't really like whining on my blog. No, I don't really know why, because you would think that it would be the best place to whine, no? But whatever. I don't actually enjoy whining, mostly because I think half the time people aren't listening to me. Not that they listen to me when I'm not whining. You're probably not even listening to me, right at this very moment. I bet you're just thinking, "Hm, I wonder if she's going to finish ranting about how people don't listen to her soon. I sort of hope that she does. It's getting rather tedious to read through this huge paragraph. Maybe she'll stop soon."

Before you know it, you're at the end of the paragraph and you have no clue what you've just read. If you're anything like me, you curse your ADD tendencies and go back and try to really read it. If you're not, you'll just shrug and continue pretending to read. I bet that if you do that long enough, you'll trick yourself into thinking that you actually read it. I do that all the time. Sort of. Not really. Oh well.

I realize I'm kind of rambling at the moment. It's just that I like the sound that this keyboard makes when I type. It makes me feel like I'm a fast typer. Really I am, but the noise makes it seem even more so.

Okay, I'm done now. Sorry for wasting your precious time.

What do people strive for through their lives? Wealth? Fame? Love? If I had to hazard a guess as to what weighs (unconsciously) on people's minds most of the time is being remembered, having a solid identity so that when meeting a new person, they can be like "Hello, my name is Bob, and I am a plumber" or whatever their name and desired identity happens to be. Perhaps, "Hello, my name is Glorkon the Third, and I am a bounty hunter, but you may call me Andy." Perhaps with a nametag resting contentedly on their chest, exclaiming "HELLO! My name is...ANDY!"

Which brings me, rather conveniently, to the subject of name tags. And how I don't have one. See, I've been working at this tutoring centre for a few weeks now, and the ever awe-inspiring name tag has become to me a symbol. It is a symbol of seniority, of authority, and of, you guessed it, an identity. You see, all of the people who have been working at this centre for longer than I have have a name tag. They are the ones that boss me around (although technically they have just as much authority as I do), they are the ones that correct my actions that need not be corrected, they are the ones that are younger than me yet feel that I am their underling.

But not for long! It is my goal to attain one of these identity-containing bits of plastic. To the kids that I help out, I am simply a plain blue vest. But if I were to obtain a name tag...I could be so much more. I could be...Carolyn. And not, simply, blue-vest lady. Not that any of them call me that. Maybe they do in their heads, I don't know. I could proudly pin my name tag to the front of my blue vest, hold my red correcting pen above my head in a Beowulf sort of fashion and announce to the world "Hello, my name is Carolyn and I am a grader!"

Yup. This is my life right now. One of the most intense things in my life that I have to look forward to and wonder about is when and if I will get a name tag. Well, I suppose that I have been learning a lesson, inadvertently. I will never take name tags for granted again! I will appreciate the convenience of people being able to stare at my chest to determine my name instead of having to inconveniently and possibly embarassingly inquire it. It is a luxury, kiddies. You should never assume that you will just have the ability to stick or pin a lovely bit of paper or plastic to your clothing or forehead or skin or hair to inform people of your identity.

You should heed my advice. I am very well versed in the pains of a lack of name tag.

Hi.

I've been told to update, but I'm not quite sure I really feel like it.

But since I don't expect to think of anything to write for a while, here we go.

Yup.

This is an update.

So very exciting.

...

I'm bored now.


Goodbye.

Why is it that throughout this country, this free country where people are, to reiterate, FREE, it's like your rights are revoked as soon as you enter your own household? There are completely different laws here, different leaders, different government. A totalitatian dictatorship takes over democracy here.

"She's stepped foot into her daily, safe shelter, Democracy, I'll take over from here."
"Thanks Totalitatian Dictatorship, sometimes keeping everyone free and equal is quite the burden. I'm always happy to unload a few."

Why can't they just accept that there are some things that I don't like to talk about, that no matter what anyone says, I find embarassing, that I'm not comfortable with certain things?

"It's not important. You said I was driving fine. So there's no problem."
"I just want to understand what happened from your point of view so that if another situation like that arises I can deal with it."
"So whose fault was it?"
"...I don't want to drive with her any more."
"Why?"
"She panics every time I do something remotely wrong. Makes me nervous."
"Well, is there anything we can do about it to fix it?"
"Not unless you're willing to change your wife's entire personality."
"You realize this gives you less opportunities to drive?"
"I don't want to drive with her any more."
"Fine. We'll start you on the manual car then, since I have to be the one driving in it with you."
"Okay."
"You realize that the way she reacts to things on the road and her personality are completely independant from each other? That she has a shit-load of driving experience compared to you? That no matter how you see it, she was probably right and you were probably wrong? She might have handled it wrong, she might have reacted wrong, but she was right and you were wrong. Do you understand?"
"We should start that movie soon, if we don't want to be up too late."
"Just tell me you understand."
"Actually, I think I'll go upstairs. I don't really feel like watching a movie tonight."
"If you can't tell me you understand I'm not taking you driving."
"Okay."
"So until you tell me you can understand, we're not driving."
"Okay."

I don't care. So what? If I wait until I'm eighteen I don't have to worry about the stupid JOL laws anyway. I don't need to drive. They're going to need me to drive eventually. Then they'll regret doing this. They're just hurting themselves.

You're not the only one refusing to back down
You're not the only one, so stand up
Let's start a riot, a riot, let's start a riot
If you feel so filthy, so dirty, so fucked up
If you feel so walked on, so painful, so pissed off
You're not the only one refusing to go down
You're not the only one, so get up
Let's start a riot, a riot, let's start a riot
If you feel so empty, so used up, so let down
If you feel so angry, just get up
Let's start a riot, a riot, let's start a riot
~Riot, Three Days Grace

Oh man, I am so going to miss this year when it's over. I mean, there's less than 2 weeks left. Insane. It passed by so quickly...it's actually kind of depressing. This has definitely, so far, been the best year ever. Heartbreak, awkwardness, friends, everything. Everything has been fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.

I mean, there were bad times, there were good times, there were all the times in between. The bad times added drama, the good times added greatness. So amazing.

Math team...Macbeth...English class...Math class...Typing class...Chem class...Art class...One Acts...Birthday parties...Broken hearts...Happiness...Snow day...Snowball fight in the hot tub...Best friends...Stressing projects...Inside jokes...Insanity...Turning 16...Best days ever...The auditorium...Walking to lunch...Honours level competition...The semi...Drama...Bitterness...Love.

Anything to add?