I'm quite tired this evening, but I am sure to be up for at least another hour and a half.  By my teachers request we need to put together binders for leadership.  In these binders you must have items such as Meeting Minutes, ASB budget, Dance Protocal, Committee Work, and a bunch of other papers that sound important, when really their destiny is to light the fires around Christmas time. 

I am literally printing out twenty plus pages of paper right now so that my teacher can check that, yes I have them.  After tomorrow, they will go straight into the bin of future fire starters. 

It's moments like these when I really want to cringe at the thought of Homestead.  I am wasting a lot of resources and time so that I can get a check mark and a certain amount of points. 

But what prevents me from saying 'screw it'?  We have been influenced all our lives to realize how important grades are.  Grades depend on the allocated points given which in turn affects what college we go to and thus that supposedly affects our future and who we become.

It's like too many teachers I know.  Do teachers thrive upon their students jumping through hoop after hoop?  Does it make them feel better if we pretend to do something, as long as there are points awarded and dilligent students who are afraid of 'failure'?  It's absolutely ridiculous.  I am tired of Homestead and waiting for life to happen.  In two months I shall embark on the adventure of a lifetime at boarding school.  Midland here I come!  Please leave these pointless assignments behind.

Urgh.  My apologies for the sloppiness of this entry, as I said, it has been a long day and I am agitated at the moment.

Peaceout.

Part of an essay from Literature. Mhm. Just thoughts - Hidden Identities.

It’s midnight of a clear spring evening.  Darkness encompasses my vision and the only source of light is the moon.  There are a few visible stars in the sky, but not many.  I long to be somewhere in the mountains where I can see millions of stars and feel like I’m the only one for miles.  There is something about an evening in which the naked skin on your arms finds a state of comfort in the cool air and the only noise that can be heard is the rustling of dirt and leaves as animals settle themselves into their homes.  Evenings like these are when I am at my best.  I love to think.  While some humans add beauty to world by creating pictures, stories, statues, music, etc., I create thoughts.  Looking up at the pale black sky I feel insignificantly powerful, confused but all-knowing, disturbed but in a state of tranquil peace.  I feel that my existence is outrageously insignificant in the universe, but strong because I have the power to do anything I choose.  I don’t have an answer for the concept of infinity or the purpose of human lives and all animals.  I do however, understand these unanswerable questions and feel the strength and capacity of my own mind.  The actions of greed in human beings upset me and make me disapprove of life, yet I feel serenity with the earth and the things that all life is composed of.  I am a philosopher who contemplates concepts of time, space, reality, the unreal, and the minds and actions of others.  I would love to share everything I feel, sense, and think, with every individual I meet, but I cannot.  My fellow peers, adults, and society unknowingly constrict this part of who I am.


People tend to criticize what they don’t understand, which is what one of my ‘friends’ did on the ride home from a community snowboard trip.  I was talking with my friend Rachel, whom I knew from softball.  I had known her for about a year and we had shared a connection when we played similar positions in the field and had to endure a harsh coach together.  I knew she had brown hair, a brother who went to Creighton, and two big snow dogs, but I didn’t really know her hopes and dreams. We began to talk and were excited to find each one as excited as the other about truth and the reality that we faced each day.  The charter bus hummed steadily along the road and the highway glowed orange from the headlights in the darkness.  It was raining so the bus was taking its time getting back.  I was in no hurry though; I wanted the bus to take a long time coming back so that I could continue to hear about how Rachel realized how trivial certain people and practices were in her life.  I was relieved to find Rachel to be a person with good ethics and a unique opinion of her own.  I was talking in a hushed whisper with her, because I didn’t want my other friends on the bus to hear what we were saying.  I too was complaining about how asleep society was and how my friends and their families were no different.  I questioned the intention of my friends’ goals in life.  I also told Rachel just how nice it was to finally be able to have a meaningful discussion without constantly being judged or to see who had the wittier comeback.  I must’ve gotten too excited and raised my voice, because from the seat in front of me came a voice.  It said, “Oh, there’s Mariah talking about life… AGAIN.”  A giggle came from the girl sitting next to him and my confidence shot down.  My point had just been proven to Rachel within an hour, of how much my friends really didn’t understand.  My ‘friend’ probably only said those words as a joke, and chances are he doesn’t even remember saying it.  However, I remembered, because it really affected me.  It felt like he was saying that everyone was sick of hearing what I had to say and if I could please shut up, that would be lovely.  His voice made me cringe in the darkness and I flexed my body to keep myself calm.  I discontinued what had the potential to be a conversation of a lifetime due to the actions of a boy with quick words.  I didn’t talk normally talk about life a lot, but when the time was right I would offer my observations and thoughts.  Unfortunately, this experience with my friend closed my personality up more and I ceased to tell all the amazing things I wanted to.