Retrospection: Looking Back, Life is a Novel

Do you know what the problem is with journals and writing things down? Sometimes they simply don't do any good.

Hello older, wiser me who is reading this and grimacing. Whatever has happened, I'm sorry you have to recall all this. I know it's not fun; I've been in your shoes.

Because sometimes writing is therapy and I can write and write and write and all of a sudden I feel better inside. And sometimes writing is work, like the writing I seriously need to get done tomorrow. Sometimes it's fun, like the start of a story. And sometimes it's necessity.

This is necessity writing. It's not work writing because it is (a) effortless and (b) without final, productive results. It is simply something I feel compelled to do. Write, or forever worry about what writing might have accomplished.

At the very least this is a pretty page to write on. Palm trees. Very Californian.

And if Steve Martin is so convinced that nothing depressing can be written in California, then a Californian theme is a very god thought indeed.

It's a pity, of course, that Steve Martin was wrong. Jack London and John Steinbeck both lived in California, and their books make me want to kill myself because it would probably be less distressing.

I hope you know I'm kidding. I really enjoy life and sincerely hope it doesn't end any time soon.

Life is beautiful.

So things have taken an interesting turn since I last wrote. Spring break has come and gone, and while it wasn't necessarily the week of rest and relaxation (not to mention hard-core studying) I could've used, it has certainly been the source of this rather rapid turn in events.

In the past two weeks (two weeks ago being the start of Spring Break), I have built a house in Mexico for a family desperately poor. I have given up on several recent crushes and come back to one enduring one. I have gained and subsequently lost a prom date. I have had two legitimate and remarkably romantic dates. I have been mortally embarassed. I have laughed for thirty-six hours straight. I have stayed up late on school nights talking. I have failed a test and stumped my math teacher.

Mexico was really worthwhile. It was different certainly. Not so much team unity, but we actually really and truly finished the house this year, with the second layer of stucco. I was dumb enough to volunteer to give a sermon on how Mexico affected me in church tomorrow so...I have yet to write that out. I think I know what I'm going to say though. Life changing experience? Perhaps, but not in the way anyone would expect. And not in the way I want to talk about to the whole congregation anyway.

The smell of books.

I've been told it's a wonderful scent, but I've never really thought it was that fantastic. It's a combination of things, really. Firstly, I've never been one to rely to much on smell; more often than not I'll only notice the scent of something if it's of utmost importance that I do, and even then, my recollection of it is shaky at best. Moreover, I think I'm actually allergic to book dust, but if I avoid smelling them, maybe I can avoid sneezing to stay around the books a little longer.

Aside from the smell, I am completely in love with everything about the written word: The way it feels, solid bindings covered with textured cloth, sleek protective slips, the cling of thin pages to my fingers, and the weight of an entire story, just a few comforting pounds in my hands.

The sight of it, an entire history reduced to a rectangle, enticing cover art. Even black font or nearly illegible penmanship, the very image of all the jumbled thoughts of the author put together into so many thin lines. And -oh!- the things you see when you read!

The sound, pages turning. Conversations in my head. Total silence from the world around me amidst a bustling household, just to listen to the voice of the book.

Taste, I suppose. I don't think I could convince anyone that I've ever really physically eaten a novel, but believe you me, I have devoured as many words, stories, essays even as well-prepared meals. It is a nourishment I cannot live without.

I never cease to be amazed at just how much can be enclosed in so few pages. So many voices, ideas, dreams, pasts, futures, places, elsewheres, and somewhere-in-betweens. I want to be there, be one of them. I want to spend every waking minute speaking with the characters of fantasy, with the heros of the past, with the inventors of such novel proposals.

Still breaking my own rules, but Putnam keeps turning up everywhere.

fluffypuppy1987: Putnam will enter Swarthmore College in the fall, probably as a history or philosophy major. He plans to obtain a master's degree at Oxford or Cambridge after his undergraduate studies are complete and then go on to law school.

Christine, I love you!

Oh, and Debbie Li (female asian counterpart to Putnam) wound up at Yale. Surprise of the century: both want to be lawyers. I NEVER saw that one coming...

Speaking of Putnam, and I know I'm breaking my own rules a little here because I'm writing this all on the spot, but I figure it fits here.

Speaking of Putnam, apparently the guy wrote for the ACLU of Northern California when he was a freshman at Piedmont High. (I discovered this while trying to figure out what college he went to so I can go take out my anger constructively, by yelling. Seriously. Still irritated about this.) Anyway, so the snot-face wrote for the ACLU, a fact I am totally envious of no matter how much I hate him. The funny thing is, he wrote an article about condom distribution in high schools. As a "cute" little freshman.

I'm sure he never got a chance to use any of them either. I mean...he's Putnam. Who sleeps with Putnam? (Except for the girls who are paid to seduce him so he'll forget how to be a good lawyer, but I don't think any of them ever came through.)

Anyway, check it out:
http://www.aclunc.org/aclunews/news52000/condoms.html

Hate hate hate hate hate! Gosh darnit!

Went to a mock trial awards banquet thing and tied for "honorable mention" in the category of "best defense attorney" with 15 other lawyers. Such distinction. And who won? Putnam. Daniel Putnam. Showed up in his full court suit. Stupid idiot. Won in three categories. Has parents for lawyers. Twists the rules to suit his pleasure. Must die.

December 27, 2003
9:47 pm
Went for coffee with an ex-boyfriend today. Amazing. I spent seven months carefully avoiding having to deal with him on a one-on-one basis, at least three of them without saying more than five words to him total, and then there I found myself, sitting in a coffee shop, drinking spiced cider and telling him things I hadn't even told my best friend.

So I just started talking. Really it was his fault; he asked about my church. I just feel bad nonetheless spilling all this on him the first real conversation we've had since May, maybe since April.

It wasn't awkward most of the time to talk to him, just to drive away and realize what had just happened. That I'd managed to single-handedly, in a time span of thirty minutes do away with seven months of caution. So where does that leave me?

March 25, 2004
8:48 pm
There's [name has been removed to protect the ignorance of those not in the know, but it's the same person as above], as always, who's really quite thoroughly attractive, nice, smart, etc.

I am very much single, very much hating it, and very much alone.

This whole gay marriage debate is irritating me to no end. Not that I think the controversy should just go away; I understand that people easily disagree on this subject and I respect your opinion, whatever it may be.

But please, if you're going to make an argument, make it an intelligent one.

For example, I was driving with my dad and he was listening to a conservative Christian radio station. Not my personal fave to begin with, but whatever. Anyway, they had some guy with some long, fancy title talking about why he opposes gay marriage. He was supposed to be giving an argument that was as intelligent as his "status" merited. The guy was treating him like he was giving said "intelligent" argument. But what was he really doing?

First he ranted about how NPR wouldn't let him go on their radio broadcast to give a one minute thirty second commentary against gay marriage (they simply picked someone else's conservative view point over his) and how this shows how much NPR must be distinctly anti-Christian or whatever.

Then he went into this spiel about how homosexuals only want to be married to destroy the institution. *blink* Well, maybe a very small minority, but it's not a valid argument! And how did he back up this claim? By citing a gay author who wrote in his book that he wanted gay marriage not necessarily so that he could marry, but so that he would receive equal treatment by society. Equal treatment by society does not equal destroying the institution of marriage. Equal treatment is not a bad thing!

God, this is pissing me off.

I know it's been a while since I updated, my apologies. Also, this "entry" was really two written within four hours of each other so I just tacked them together since they kind of make sense as a whole. And the one was really really short...

8/14/01

I've been worrying more about the start of school and have decided that a new school year is time for new year's resolutions. Except it's imperative that I hold myself to these. My homework load will be far greater than I'm accustomed to, more difficult than ever, and I'll have less time after school. Especially on m. band days when I won't get home until 8:30 pm. And now my grades really start to matter. For college and stuff like that. So, for that cause, these resolutions:
*Do all homework while eating after school snack immediately upon arrival at house
*Stay off internet and computer for all non-school-oriented reasons until all homework is complete.
*Keep track of all assignments in some variety of organizer/calendar/date book
I'm also very fed up with my room, thus the following:
*Rid self of all trash items
*Put things must keep but not have always out in boxes
*Clean and reorganize remainder
*Redecorate walls (posters) and window!!!!!!
Also, I need to start working out every Saturday morning. Maybe Monday afternoons as well. I'm going to need to work to stay looking good. And limit candy intake. All this begins when we get back to California (Vacation is the time to slack off)-

Whene Jonny was 18 he set of on his own. All the way planting appleseeds. Tender loveing Jonny was he. He nevr hurt a liveing thing. Friend to red and white. Makeing friends allong the way. We will nevr forget him. His birthday is 9-26. He was born in 1776. He diyd whene he was only 71.

Hi, my name is Allie
Some people call me Sally,
Some people call me Kally,
Call me any one of them.
Just don't call me Tally,
Most definitely not Bally.
I am a girl who's nice
And I realy don't eat lice.
If you come to my house,
I will show you my mouse.
If you bump your head,
You will roll right out of bed.
Then you'll roll right out of town,
And end up at bad bad Glightown.
In Glightown you might get ate,
Or made into fish bait.
You might get bin bosed,
Or you might get just bosed.
So don't bump your head,
And roll out of bed.
Then roll out of town,
Most surely into Glightown.
Still that's alright,
You still might.
And I don't lie.
"Goodbye!"

By Allie, inspired by Dr. Seuss

I get to (probably) see her tomorrow! She's been spending so much time at her friend's house. I really want to see her again.

Well, I didn't get my ear double-pierced. Instead, I went downtown with Virginia and I bought the coolest shirt! It's teal with a sparkly palm tree. And it looks awesome on me!

You know what sux? The beach is closed for swimming. NO FAIR! There's some sort of bacteria in the water. *grumble grumble*

The relative invasion wuz today. We saw Larry, Marti, Grandma, Laurie, and Laurie's new boyfriend. I don't remember his name. I doubt I'll need to. I wonder how Alan's doing? He was really cool. I haven't seen him in a long time.

I'm keeping up the hope that I'll run into someone hated and they'll think I'm pretty and wonder who I was. That'd be hysterical. *hehe*

Allie, you don't want a boyfriend. A very close friend-boy, that's all. *wink wink*

This is a new beginning in a way. Does that mean I can start a new tradition, or fix some bad habit now? So technically, I can do that whenever I want, but it's the sticking with it that's the problem. If today and tomorrow I do things in this way, it may be different again next week. But, assume for a minute that I can change a habit or two, what would I change about what I write? I really like the habit of nightly entries. I sort of keep track of my life, although full accounts are just boring. And I do need to write down all my shallow, "secret" thoughts, but those needn't be so lengthy, because two months from now I won't want to go back and read them; I'll be too embarrassed. Philosophies and such are good, so long as I avoid the ones I don't fuly back, or that are (again) embarrassing. Why am I so embarrassed by my own thoughts? It makes no sense to me! I mean, once it was my opinion, my passion, and it's only me reading it! Oh well....I've decided that passion and life are synonymous. Even if you breathe, you do not live unless you are passionate about something, be it God, love, or books. Likewise, even if you are legally deceased, your life in a way continues through the passions you pass onto others. To be passionless is to live a dead life.

My name is Allie, and I am a hopeless romantic.

My problem began well back in elementary school, when I first saw the movie "Ever After". You know, the Cinderella story with Leonardo DaVinci? That movie made a huge impact on my life. Unfortunately, I have a mild tendency to judge all romances against it (except for some which are above and beyond for reasons that go beyond mere romance...see "When Harry Met Sally") I also have a copy of the picture that's supposedly of Danielle in the movie, but actually just of some other random girl in real life, hanging on my wall. It's very comforting. Reminds me of my romantic roots.

Anyway, in my alternative universe (the one created by me for my mind to occupy during otherwise boring periods of time - ie. physics class) I'm constantly thinking through romantic sorts of situations. Not just love type romance, but just the really ideal, cliched (sadly), optimistic, sappy way things can go. Alright, admittedly, given my current lack of love life, a lot of them are related to inventing perfect love lives for me (or at least my mind). Mentally, at least, I am dating the leading men from several of my favorite books. (Bibliophile, I know. That's another mental disorder, which has been addressed previously, I think.)

But I've also come up with some things which are much more practical! After all, nearly everything is more practical than dating a fictional character from a book. Guys these days just don't seem to get it. I haven't ever received a single anonymous love letter. However cliched (I told you, I'm totally a walking cliche in my ideal world) it may be to receive these sort of "secret admirer" things, I think it'd be so sweet! Alright, slightly frightening. But this is an ideal world we're talking about!

January 4
My favrite hat is a fawrd hat i LiKe it bcus i wer it with pritee dreses and fansee shoos and i Go to chrche!

January 5
I wood poot on my eestr hat and a prity dres o dans or i wood poot on one of my indin hed dreses to playe indins with Sophia.

January 6
I hav not dusideid yet. But i no i will put on ribin!

Indecision is loud; if I knew what I wanted, I wouldn't be nearly so vocal about it.

So perhaps this means absolutely nothing to anyone else in the entire world, but this is one of those bizarre things I've started noticing about me: when I want something really badly, I won't tell a soul.


This isn't just one sort of thing or the other. If there's a CD I really want for my birthday, or Christmas, I'll be afraid someone I tell with think that CD is horrible, so I won't tell anyone and just buy it for myself. If there's some guy I think is positively dreamy, sure, I'll bring him up a few times in conversation, maybe tell my best friend, but will anyone else know? Will he know? I think not.


Contrarily, indecision is what keeps me talkative, seeing as I'm indecisive most of the time. If I don't know who I'm longing after at the moment, I ramble on end about every guy who seems possible, then intersperse these ramblings with rants about how there are no good guys left, even though there really are. I just can't decide who they are. And then there's the loud indecision which drives everyone nearby absolutely insane.


"Well, the salad looks good, and I really should think about cutting back on fats, but on the other hand I really like eating ribs. Out of curiousity, how does the soup taste today? Really good? Alright, then I'll go with the chicken sandwich."


Talking to myself, too, is a sign of this odd habit. When I know what I want, I smile to myself, and daydream about it. When I don't, I talk to myself. I argue one point, then the other, then make a case for some other option which wasn't even on my mind to begin with. Talk to my reflection in the mirror, talk to my toes, talk to my cat and answer for her, ask my friend rhetorical questions so they don't look at me strangely...


At other times, when in my mind I know I can't decide, I just randomly select one. "Eenie, meenie, minnie, moe!" Then, I'll proclaim to the world my final decision, and IMMEDIATELY have second, third, fourth, fifth thoughts and so on, while sticking by my original choice loud and proud because it's what my friends think they're going to here from me.


Why?


Why aren't thought processes normal? Why don't people make sense? Why can't I speak telepathically with people so they can stop guessing and I can be rid of ridiculous habits? Why do I ramble?


Well?

My name is Alexandra Marie, but I've gone by the nickname Allie as long as I can remember. Currently, I am 16 years old (17 in a month and one day) and a senior in high school. I'm single, an over-acheiver, and most definitely not depressed. I say all this to make one thing very clear: the journal entries published here, though all my writing, do not express my current situation. They are all at least 6 months old. Some date back as far as 1st grade. They aren't in chronological order, or anything else like that. The order they are published is entirely arbitrary. This is a retrospective view of my life.