..the man in the mirror

I haven't written any blogs in a while because I've been pretty busy with memorizing my lines, studying for exams, and hanging out with friends. But I also haven't been that inspired. But after rehearsal I was sitting on the bench outside of the school thinking about all the major maladies our school is diseased with, and I noticed the school's name on the brick wall, but some parts of the name were hidden behind columns to me so I only saw one word. And then the words "high school" took on a whole new meaning to me. I had just gotten out of a conversation from some students in the auditorium about all the drug use that goes on within our student body. According to one student, "I'll bet 95% of the student population smokes pot. Everybody smokes pot. There are only a select few who don't." I am one of those people. And as such, this claim was a bit discomforting to me, as I know this student as being a generally honest person. I never would imagine that the numbers were so high. It just never occurred to me, because this area of student activity has never been very apparent to me. None of my close friends smoke pot, and none of my friends that I know of. I started to wonder if my friends and I were part of a tiny little percentage. It can be scary to know that you're almost alone. Another student (who smokes) said, "It's not just stoners. There's the stoners, and then there's people who smoke pot. There's a big difference. I just don't see myself within that group. Because all they talk about is how high they got the last time." I explained my situation to my dad as being in a clean air bubble with my friends, but all around the bubble is smoke. And my suspiscion is that there are other bubbles out there, but I can't really tell who's in them through the smokeyness. And if there becomes a leak in our bubble, the smoke will affect everyone in it. Odd and slightly stupid, but that's how I thought of it. And then I got to thinking of why everyone felt such a pull towards smoking pot and other negative behaviors. I found that it reverts back to my old theory, that one of the deepest and utmost beliefs or values of humans is to Find the High. Whether it be drugs, alcohol, shoplifting, snowboarding, or rock climbing. And the more lows people encounter in their lives, the stronger the subconscious or conscious feeling to find their high. Whatever makes people feel good enough will be the escape from whatever is going wrong in their lives. And it only makes it more tempting when everyone else is doing it. I thought that was just a phrase that parents and teachers said, just to say it. But really, everyone is doing it. And there aren't any instructions on how to keep your resolve. Somehow you have to find it inside yourself. And until you do, you'll find yourself struggling through life's stages. Like the pressure is building outside your bubble threatening to pop it and you feel like you are exerting lots of effort to keep it safe. As we were picking up the boys from day care, I watched as a little boy laughed and ran out the door, thinking to myself, "Is this boy destined to succumb to the evilities in high school that are certain to pop up? And then I looked at my smiling four-year old brother and asked myslef the same thing. I (hopefully) won't be living at home for him when he enters this critical stage. So then I asked myself what could possibly be done to fix our society so that he doesn't ever have to encounter the bad stuff? And my answer was this: I really don't know. That's it. I have no idea. I don't even know how to protect my boyfriend. I don't even know how to protect myself. I don't even know how long my resolve will hold up. To everything that I have always been taught were evils. I no longer have a clear black and white view of right and wrong. As a human I am wired so that I want some direction for my life. Is that so wrong to ask? I don't know anymore. I used to be so sure of myself and what I believed. And now I don't know anything. I'm just so sad for it all. This is the end of my dramatic monologue. Goodnight all.

Stories

The best kinds of books are the books that make you think. And change. The kind that drag you out of your comfortable life and lead you to make a new decision, lead you to a string of new thoughts and ideas. The worst kind of struggles are struggles with identity. How are we supposed to know who we are? So many questions with no many answers. My one problem is the lack of large, tangibly real problems. My problems can never be solved because they are never acknowledged, and therefore, never understood. So they stack up; questions that aren’t answered and conflicts never resolved. What I strive for is wisdom; understanding. But these are futile, foolish dreams that can never be accomplished. The choice between blissful ignorance and a yearning curiosity has already been decided; there is no option. The rest of my days must be spent blindly seeking sight, poring over the mysteries without attaining resolution. It has already become my life’s work; a work with no end, a job never done. But my path is chosen, and no matter how hard I know I will try, it will never be finished. That is the center of all human acts and beliefs; that no matter how how we try, we will never be satisfied, that there is no end to time or space. Small satisfactions never last, our journey doesn’t end. We aren’t able, as humans, to perceive and end to our lives, an end to our world. We create in our minds a prolonged journey, an eternal afterlife with eternal beings. We ask ourselves, when the universe ends, what comes beyond? What is next? You see, we cannot see, nor understand the concept of an end. We turn inside ourselves to find the truth. We create the truth for ourselves, and in that, we become the truth. Our stories become our truth.

It's a Birthday!

It's Robert's first birthday today! My mom got him a rocking horse. But once we put it together, we realized it was much to big. And then we saw on the box that it said in huge, bold print, AGES 3 TO 8. Robert fell off of it when we sat him on it and started crying... It's okay, mom. You tried. I attempted to make a safety seat to put on it out of an old baby carrier and a cardboard box, and it almost worked, but Carter tried to use it unsuccessfully and everything went downhill from there. No one appreciated my efforts anyway. I swear, Carter is the epitome of bipolar attitudes. This morning we were snuggling peacefully on the sofa and the next thing I knew, he was chucking hard plastic horses at my chin. And boy does he have an arm. He never misses the opportunity to use it, either. And he never misses. Also, he likes to express his male dominance by wrestling with Robert, who, as I mentioned, is only one and just starting to crawl. So you can imagine how that turns out. Happy Birthday, Robs. Love you.

A Need to Change

After a few hours of romping in the snow, my four year old brother Carter comes in with a wet snowpants, jacket, hat, boots and gloves. The bottom of his pants were also wet and when I came in from hauling wood he was stripping by the fire. Then he started to take off his underwear and my dad said, "Carter, your underwear isn't wet. You don't need to change them." His reply, "Well I have to because--well, well sometimes I have to go to the bathroom a little outside and I-I need to change my underwear because they're wet. I just peed just a little--just a little bit, so I need to change them."