Okay, not everything. I stil haven't picked out a roomate and bought all the neessary items to live on my own, but I have at least chosen to attend and made a deposit to Hanover College. I've earned as much money as I could up to this point for scholarships, and it's only a matter of time before I sign up for classes.
While I may be more than ready to leave high school, I'm terrified of the thought of being on my own. I can remember being a kindergartner like it was only a couple days ago. In a few months, I'll be two hours away from my family, friends and everything that I've grown up around. The weather is probably going to be cooler, and I can't rely on my mom to help me if I don't understand my chemistry homework.
I don't like the idea of just up and leaving home as if it were no big deal. I wish students had the choice of staying for another year to prepare themselves to leave. I mean, I'm sure that is an option, but it's frowned upon in my family. Plus, you would get a late start in college and might not be eligible for some money towards higher education down the road.
My dad tells me that no matter what, I'm going to be sad for at least the first month. I know I'm moving back to Lexington the first chance I get after college, but I also know I probably won't want to live in my parent's house again. It's all just very confusing and frustrating trying to figure out a plan for the rest of your life.
And I haven't even thought about marriage or kids. Ugh.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Pet Peeve About This Year
I don't much care about the rest of these 24 days or so of my highschool career. I feel a little sad, but mostly empty. Usually, I don't feel anything at all. These last four years haven't been awful, but they could've been better. I wish I had been graduating with the Class of 2009. For one, the students, in my opinion, were less uptight about everything, and the faculty (specifically the principals), were more easygoing. I mean, if you think about it, the principals took away everything this year.
For good reason, the Dawg Pound was taken away, but now we can't even eat breakfast the day of graduation, which has been tradition to eat breakfast before graduation at Dunbar since it opened. I wouldn't even have been angry about that if I hadn't known. But all I understand is that there is NO senior prank, NO breakfast, NO Dawg Pound, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. Why should I have the right to have fun my last year at Dunbar? Like I said, I wouldn't even have been upset had I not known about this, but it's all just so negative.
It irks me when people think they can control my life because they thinks that's what's best for me. I'm not a child. I know that a senior prank shouldn't be something like spreading shaving cream all over the hallways and having a massive slip-n-slide, and it won't be (if there is one). I know it's expensive to clean up and stupid and irresponsible. I know that. Seriously, I'm not seven.
Also, if I wear a completely appropriate dress for my Senior Volleyball Day, don't make me change into jeans and a t-shirt because the lace part shows an inch of my knees. I know you probably thought my knees were just too sexy for that dress, but I cried for an hour when I got home. A friend who was my exact height got away with wearing that dress a week later.
Anyway, I'm not too sad about my highschool career ending, mostly because of all this authority being shoved down my throat. Of course, I'll miss my family and friends when I go off to college, but I will definitely not miss Dunbar.
For good reason, the Dawg Pound was taken away, but now we can't even eat breakfast the day of graduation, which has been tradition to eat breakfast before graduation at Dunbar since it opened. I wouldn't even have been angry about that if I hadn't known. But all I understand is that there is NO senior prank, NO breakfast, NO Dawg Pound, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO. Why should I have the right to have fun my last year at Dunbar? Like I said, I wouldn't even have been upset had I not known about this, but it's all just so negative.
It irks me when people think they can control my life because they thinks that's what's best for me. I'm not a child. I know that a senior prank shouldn't be something like spreading shaving cream all over the hallways and having a massive slip-n-slide, and it won't be (if there is one). I know it's expensive to clean up and stupid and irresponsible. I know that. Seriously, I'm not seven.
Also, if I wear a completely appropriate dress for my Senior Volleyball Day, don't make me change into jeans and a t-shirt because the lace part shows an inch of my knees. I know you probably thought my knees were just too sexy for that dress, but I cried for an hour when I got home. A friend who was my exact height got away with wearing that dress a week later.
Anyway, I'm not too sad about my highschool career ending, mostly because of all this authority being shoved down my throat. Of course, I'll miss my family and friends when I go off to college, but I will definitely not miss Dunbar.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Finger Hurts
Is my finger broken? I doubt it. But it is so swollen that I can't put my ring on it nor can I bend it. It just kind of sits there.
This happened during volleyball, obviously. I go up to block a ball and, being lazy (and very stupid), just point my hand towards the player. This is dangerous because if she hits into your hand, you can break some fingers. Which is what happened to me. It felt like I had held my hand out and rammed it up full force against a wall, it hurt so bad. After cursing and putting on a show in front of the sixteen year olds and their parents we were scrimmaging against, I had to go back and keep playing.
I'm not too thrilled with the idea of having a broken finger and only having two weeks left of the last season of volleyball before college. I suppose I had been asking for it, since I had been complaining about burn-out for the past month or so. Yes, I had been complaining (as I always do) about playing volleyball and just wanting to give up because it's frustrating playing with the same people for ten years. Burn out is the last thing I want in my career. I don't want to go out remembering how much I hated playing in tournaments and the spectacular lack of effort I gave, despite having natural talent. To me, burn out is one of the saddest occurences in sports. It may not top getting a career-ending injury, but it's up there.
Athletes who have an innocent love for the game are being turned against their sports by years of overuse and emotional stress. Sometimes, there's a good practice, or game, but it isn't enough. It's all just disappointing after awhile. When you really know you should take off next season in order to gain back some appreciation for the sport, but you can't because a season is ten months, and that's too long. I get it.
So, yes, my finger hurts, but, no, I won't be skipping any practices. I have to finish this miserable season out, and then I'll be home free. I just hate the mentality that I've developed from this experience.
This happened during volleyball, obviously. I go up to block a ball and, being lazy (and very stupid), just point my hand towards the player. This is dangerous because if she hits into your hand, you can break some fingers. Which is what happened to me. It felt like I had held my hand out and rammed it up full force against a wall, it hurt so bad. After cursing and putting on a show in front of the sixteen year olds and their parents we were scrimmaging against, I had to go back and keep playing.
I'm not too thrilled with the idea of having a broken finger and only having two weeks left of the last season of volleyball before college. I suppose I had been asking for it, since I had been complaining about burn-out for the past month or so. Yes, I had been complaining (as I always do) about playing volleyball and just wanting to give up because it's frustrating playing with the same people for ten years. Burn out is the last thing I want in my career. I don't want to go out remembering how much I hated playing in tournaments and the spectacular lack of effort I gave, despite having natural talent. To me, burn out is one of the saddest occurences in sports. It may not top getting a career-ending injury, but it's up there.
Athletes who have an innocent love for the game are being turned against their sports by years of overuse and emotional stress. Sometimes, there's a good practice, or game, but it isn't enough. It's all just disappointing after awhile. When you really know you should take off next season in order to gain back some appreciation for the sport, but you can't because a season is ten months, and that's too long. I get it.
So, yes, my finger hurts, but, no, I won't be skipping any practices. I have to finish this miserable season out, and then I'll be home free. I just hate the mentality that I've developed from this experience.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Emily Dickinson
She was crazy. There isn't any other way about describing her. Looking at her work and trying to puzzle over something as confusing as The Bell Jar could make even the most decorated English scholar grimace. I tried to read that book when I was a sophomore. It didn't work out. Her poems are just as equally ambiguous. Sometimes, when I'm done with my English homework and just so happen to have the book flipped open to a page with an Emily Dickinson poem on it, I'll read it. And then I'll kind of sit there in my bed, stare at the wall, and wonder what in the world it was, exactly, that I had just read.
What happened in her life? I tried looking up the answer, but was slightly disappointed. As expected, some of her friends and family members died when she was younger. That happened a lot in the 1800's. And, as it turns out, she had a fear of death as an adolescent. I suppose it was the overwhelming depression of loss and lack of a social life that did her in.
Turns out, she didn't intentionally stick her head in an oven in order to commit suicide. She passed out in the same room an oven was on, but she died several months later after the incident due to heart failure induced by severe hypertension.
I still don't like reading her poems.
What happened in her life? I tried looking up the answer, but was slightly disappointed. As expected, some of her friends and family members died when she was younger. That happened a lot in the 1800's. And, as it turns out, she had a fear of death as an adolescent. I suppose it was the overwhelming depression of loss and lack of a social life that did her in.
Turns out, she didn't intentionally stick her head in an oven in order to commit suicide. She passed out in the same room an oven was on, but she died several months later after the incident due to heart failure induced by severe hypertension.
I still don't like reading her poems.
Vero Beach: Makeup 3/28
Oops, I completely forgot to make a blog for the week before spring break. My bad on that one.
I'm going to miss Vero Beach; my and my friend's Spring Break destination for 2013. We had had this vacation planned out since the beginning of last summer, and I suppose the excitement went to my head. Vero Beach is a small city on Florida's east coast, about 135 miles north of Miami. We were blessed with good weather for most of the week, only encountering rain once, and thankfully on a day where we could have used a break from the sun.
The first day we arrived at Vero Beach, we unpacked and did what mostly every tourist does- went to the beach. The family that I stayed in their own condo inside what's called "The Kentucky Club," (condominiums filled with Kenucky residents on their vacation) that was within walking distance of a private beach. I was the only one who put on sunscreen, yet I still managed to get burnt behind my ears. Although unbelievably painful, I've learned my lesson. And, even though I'm not much of a pizza fan, the family forced me to try a piece from a local pizzeria. I remember those eight slices fondly.
The week consisted of sleeping, eating and sleeping some more. I also cut my foot open trying my hand at skimboarding, but I did manage to stay on successfully for about four seconds before faceplanting in the sand. I miss Vero so much, and I'm definitely going back next year.
I'm going to miss Vero Beach; my and my friend's Spring Break destination for 2013. We had had this vacation planned out since the beginning of last summer, and I suppose the excitement went to my head. Vero Beach is a small city on Florida's east coast, about 135 miles north of Miami. We were blessed with good weather for most of the week, only encountering rain once, and thankfully on a day where we could have used a break from the sun.
The first day we arrived at Vero Beach, we unpacked and did what mostly every tourist does- went to the beach. The family that I stayed in their own condo inside what's called "The Kentucky Club," (condominiums filled with Kenucky residents on their vacation) that was within walking distance of a private beach. I was the only one who put on sunscreen, yet I still managed to get burnt behind my ears. Although unbelievably painful, I've learned my lesson. And, even though I'm not much of a pizza fan, the family forced me to try a piece from a local pizzeria. I remember those eight slices fondly.
The week consisted of sleeping, eating and sleeping some more. I also cut my foot open trying my hand at skimboarding, but I did manage to stay on successfully for about four seconds before faceplanting in the sand. I miss Vero so much, and I'm definitely going back next year.
Thursday, March 21, 2013
Hey Guys!
I'm going to be a mom! Well, not exactly. See, my horse is pregnant with her first foal and I'm terribly excited. I just like to say that so people give me a flabbergasted look and then continue to tell me my life is over until I correct them.
So around March 1st, my siblings and I were pulled out of school to witness this creation of life. My horse, tiny and easily-intimidated, would soon be paired up with the mighty Albertus Maximus, winner of the 2008 Breeder's Cup Dirt Mile, the mother of all races (beside the Ketucky Derby). Not only did he have an impressive reputation, but seeing him prance into the breeding shed was also quite impressive. He was much bigger than any horse I've ever had to take of, and was almost too much muscle for his handler- who was also much bigger than me. While I won't go into the obvious details of what breeding is, I will say that my horse was perfectly fine- for a first-timer- while Albertus was the one with the...performance issues. We'll say it took eight tries.
Anyway, my mare expects her little bundle of joy come late February of next year; horses have the long incubation period of 11 months, 11 days. Perfect timing, considering by the time the horse turns one, it will have a leg up on its competitors for being older. While I will be in college by that time, I expect to be there for the birth of her first foal. My horse is very special to me, and I already know her baby is going to be a great racer.
So around March 1st, my siblings and I were pulled out of school to witness this creation of life. My horse, tiny and easily-intimidated, would soon be paired up with the mighty Albertus Maximus, winner of the 2008 Breeder's Cup Dirt Mile, the mother of all races (beside the Ketucky Derby). Not only did he have an impressive reputation, but seeing him prance into the breeding shed was also quite impressive. He was much bigger than any horse I've ever had to take of, and was almost too much muscle for his handler- who was also much bigger than me. While I won't go into the obvious details of what breeding is, I will say that my horse was perfectly fine- for a first-timer- while Albertus was the one with the...performance issues. We'll say it took eight tries.
Anyway, my mare expects her little bundle of joy come late February of next year; horses have the long incubation period of 11 months, 11 days. Perfect timing, considering by the time the horse turns one, it will have a leg up on its competitors for being older. While I will be in college by that time, I expect to be there for the birth of her first foal. My horse is very special to me, and I already know her baby is going to be a great racer.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Poetry and the Beach
I hate poetry. Poetry hates me.
There are so many events coming up that I could spend my energy on; like prom, or getting tan enough to be able to live in Florida for a week. I knew this poetry unit was going to sneak up on me. I remember the exact day Mullins told us we were going to do poetry at the beginning of the year. And now that it's here and time to start reading and dissecting poems, I realize how fast this year went by. I remember sitting in my chair smirking, thinking Spring was too far off for me to worry about it. But now it's here and I'm buried up to my neck in work; physical, tough, time-wasting work. I feel awful for not being able to sit back and enjoy reading poetry in the middle of the day; instead, I'm cursing the homework I'm forced to do at midnight because my manager wouldn't cut me early enough. Although, tomorrow is a good opportunity to catch up on homework, before I leave for a volleyball tournament in Muncie, Indiana.
While I would love to spend my time worrying about Spring Break and Prom and all that, I have to prioritize my life. Perhaps, I should instead focus on actually passing English in time to graduate, and make a final decision about college. The beach will have to wait, I have poetry to read.
There are so many events coming up that I could spend my energy on; like prom, or getting tan enough to be able to live in Florida for a week. I knew this poetry unit was going to sneak up on me. I remember the exact day Mullins told us we were going to do poetry at the beginning of the year. And now that it's here and time to start reading and dissecting poems, I realize how fast this year went by. I remember sitting in my chair smirking, thinking Spring was too far off for me to worry about it. But now it's here and I'm buried up to my neck in work; physical, tough, time-wasting work. I feel awful for not being able to sit back and enjoy reading poetry in the middle of the day; instead, I'm cursing the homework I'm forced to do at midnight because my manager wouldn't cut me early enough. Although, tomorrow is a good opportunity to catch up on homework, before I leave for a volleyball tournament in Muncie, Indiana.
While I would love to spend my time worrying about Spring Break and Prom and all that, I have to prioritize my life. Perhaps, I should instead focus on actually passing English in time to graduate, and make a final decision about college. The beach will have to wait, I have poetry to read.
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