Parks and Recreation-Season 6
New Girl-Season 3
About A Boy-Season 1
COURTESY OF… Netflix my friends.
Boom BOOM BOOM.
Sure, it started out humbly, almost quietly, perhaps deceivingly quietly, but after the first week, it’s just been a-bomb after a-bomb.
(deep inhale…followed by slow and extended sigh)
Um, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to take all AP core classes, but apparently I like to challenge myself?
Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.
It’s funny how a person can ruin their own life.
Perhaps I’m exaggerating, but at the same time, it makes me a bit sentimentally lost that I can’t enjoy time writing anymore. I can’t think of weird, funny ideas, or write stories, not that I ever really did that, due to the procrastinating fact I came up with a story idea, but never followed through.
Still, I want to do write my stories now. I want to become my characters and put on paper, or rather digital paper, a character version of myself.
I miss writing weird. AP Lang has gotten me focused on stupid fucking grammar, and it is absolutely killing me. Like, cue to slow and painful knife death across my neck, and lean back.
I’m kidding. Sometimes I feel bad making suicide jokes, I used to hate it when my terrible friends would put a hand gun to their head and shoot themselves, I still do, but then Key and Peele came up with this concept:
Make Fun of Everything…Just don’t be literal with it. That’s what a joke is, isn’t it? Not being literal.
I think I could offend and anger a lot of people with some of the things I say, but when you write you’re supposed to be able to say anything. It’s your space of thought and imagination, but sometimes, especially writing on a blog, I fear judgement, but that’s not how it should. Overall though, I could say I’m pretty open; I just think I could be more open.
Anyways, back to the bombardment that is school. I’m writing this with drooping eyes, murmuring every word aloud for some reason. Just noticed that about myself…
All AP classes, Physics included, yet it seems my worse grades are in AP Lang and AP Gov. (gasp) what???
Yeah, I may want to be a writer, but as most of the world may not know, I’m pretty bad at it, I guess with the exceptions of a few okay essays/stories. Of course, I’ll always say I’m a bad writer, but at the same time I’ll always say that I love writing, more than anything.
The sad thing is, I can’t really write anymore. I have to study for a grammar test this Friday. I have to study for Physics overall, because I do not understand anything in that class man.
I wish I had time to waste time again.
That’s kind of a joke, but at the same time, it’s not.
I’m excited for the future. I plan to write, a lot. Sure, plans don’t always work out, and that might be the case, but at the same time, it might not. That’s basically what the word “might” implies… I hope I get to publish more short stories, and movie reviews, and write scripts for TV/movie ideas that I have, because I love television and I am determined to have my own television or web series one day…or Netflix original.
Yep. I think that’s it for now. Soooooo, bye.
Debo practicar hablar en espanol. Tal ves me ayude en mi carrera, pero depende lo que quiero hacer con mi vida.
Mi mama haveces me presiona, por que quiere que tenga, o escoje un trabajo que me da plata.
Pero en verdad, quiero ser una escritora, pero ganar plata como escritora es dificil.
Mami, me ensenas mas espanol?
This was my attempt at writing in spanish. I’ve been starting to forget, which is not good, because I love the fact that I can speak spanish, even though it’s not very good, I can consider myself fluent in Spanish. I don’t want to forget. Big no-no for the future, so I’m trying to practice it. Yeah.
So, I wanted to write an article in August for Rookie’s September theme, which was of course, work (I never sent it in though.) A spectrum of daily life, at least professional, I’m completely inexperienced at. Never been paid five dollars for anything I’ve done. Maybe one dollar, but that’s the limit my friends. Okay, to back to the point. I was in my T.V Broadcast class one day, and since it was the beginning of school, we weren’t doing anything, so I decided to write about work. Anything that came into my mind on a separate sheet of paper that I now need to throw away because I’m trying to clean out the excess papers laying around aimlessly in my room. As a result, I stopped cleaning, and will now type up my thoughts on work, because I want to, even though it’s not that good. Maybe bad. Anyways, here it is:
The Should-Be Phrase of Work
I think we can all learn from Michael Scott.
A former office paper salesman turned manager of paper salesman who goes to work everyday.
But you see, Michael Scott…
Michael Scott loves to go to work. Michael Scott wants to go to work.
Well, with some exceptions. (You know what…Dwight Schrute would have been a better example for this… Oh well.)
That’s a really rare feeling to encounter nowadays. A study done in Gallup’s 2013 State of American Workplace Study showed that only 30% of people legitimately enjoyed their job, and the sad, sad sack of 70% of people, as the study states, were “disengaged” from their work. In other words, freaking hated getting up in the morning, cursing the shining sun, plopping down on the driver’s seat of their car, and steeping foot inside the place they were forced to call, “their office.”
Sometimes, I look at people, or rather working adults in my life, whether they are teachers, dentists, doctors, engineers, stay at home parents, and I take a quick moment to look into their eyes, look at the way they walk or smile, and sense the hoax of it all. I think some of the hardest gestures to listen to are the sighs of ignorance, followed by a pattern of limp shrugs of regret.
And I wonder for a second if they are happy doing what they get up every morning to do. I mean, it’s a genuine fear of mine, realizing that I there’s a big chance that I won’t like what I’m spending my life on, 20 some years from now. A time where I don’t appreciate or pay gratitude to the earth for giving me the place that my life is in. This “work” thing is unfortunately in my very near freaking future. How can I keep myself from thinking about it?
So recently, to avoid thinking of a future I don’t want, I started imagining another future. Both possibilities, different probabilities…
Anyways, there’s this really famous common phrase among all working adults:
“Sorry, I have to go to work. See you later.”
Maybe, “See you later,” is not always mentioned, but that’s besides the point. But it does usually have the infamous term “Sorry,” mentioned in the phrase somewhere, adding in an “I can’t.”
But there is this other phrase, one that I know has to exist somewhere out there in the world.
“Umm, I want to go to work…not sorry.”
I WANT TO GO TO WORK MAN. Want to. I want to be able to say that. Everyone should be able to say that. But people don’t say that. It’s not the norm, you know? Even if they do like working, it’s not usually spoken.
Going to work because it’s your desire rather than a force. Sure, maybe some people love going to work so much it’s a compulsive obsession and they really do HAVE to go to work to breathe…but that’s a special case.
As needy as it may sound to say it, work should be a want. It should make the deepest chambers of your heart tingle, cause your lips to unknowingly and naturally smile, your eyes to glisten, your self to feel proud of your part in the world.
I mean, can you imagine it? Doing something that you love, that you feel makes a difference not only in your life, but in the life of others.
To love work so much that you use it as an excuse to escape angst-y social situations/settings.
I mean, that, is the dream.
“Cause they’re just spies…(Guitar strum)”
I wonder what the song means.
Most of the time, when I hear a song, I don’t really listen to the lyrics, or allow myself to take them in as much as I wish I could.
What I listen for is the feeling behind each pitch, or tune, beat, the resonance of the voice.
I’m currently trying to decipher Coldplay’s “Spies”. I thinks it’s beautiful. For the past two hours, I’ve been trying to figure out a song, or something to coincide with how I was feeling, because I didn’t know what what I was feeling, and that’s scary.
Sometimes a feeling comes to you like a stupid blow in the face when you least expect it while doing Calculus homework and it just destroys your brain, which is of course connected to your heart, which is supposedly the place where you feel (but I think it’s the brain that really feels. Heart vs. Brain: worthy of discussion.) So sometimes I have to forcibly mask my face with a sort of cloudy expression of nothing. Unfortunately, my parents can see right through me most of the time so it doesn’t exactly work, but at least they don’t confront me about it right away and give me some time.
It sucks when you’re sad and you have a lot of other things on your plate that you have to finish, but the thing is, I’m full. And I only just started eating little bitty crumbs of the plate (metaphor for completed 2 problems from my homework).
So now I’m pooping, metaphorically speaking. Writing is like pooping, you know what I mean? At least in this case. It replenishes all the bad stuff/waste and makes you feel fresh again. You can stand up straighter now, you can stop feeling that tight bloated uncomfortable hit in your gut, because the poop is all out. Ah, starting anew.
That’s why I like pooping. That’s why I love writing.
I need to finish Calc. Homework, which is making me sad because I just want to write, forever and ever and ever. I want to sing Coldplay forever and ever and ever. I want to make music and tell stories and feel forever and ever and ever.
I want to be weird forever and ever and ever.
Hey, I just figured out something really cool:
I’m serious, every song on this album has forced me to fall in love with them, all over again.
“Find the strength, to find the strength…to FIND ANOTHER WAY.”
There are so many bits and pieces of tunes in each of their songs that can ring in your head for daaaaays. It’s awesome.