A Manifesto Against Sunglasses

I hate sunglasses.
Proportions of emotion,
disgust lies joy sadness
surprise
hidden
secret
behind the lenses you wear
so casually,
in which I can see my reflection-
another reason, by the way,
that they should be abolished.
Humans weren't meant to see
the expressions they make as they're talking.
You're wearing sunglasses,
and all of the feelings
spattered onto my face
are overbearing,
my expressions a parade of facades.
Thanks to you.

But most importantly,
I squint when I look up
into the sun
while I'm talking to you
because I can't convincingly
avoid your eyes
while you're wearing sunglasses,
and I'm telling you
I'm sorry.

Brain Spit

There are new computers in our library, and they're pretty sweet. The only problem is that the screens are enormous. I hate the feeling that someone can read exactly what I'm typing without my knowing it. It's probably why they got the larger screens, actually. That way they know when kids aren't working. Yesterday's barefoot day was a success. I only got reprimanded once, by a very sweet hall monitor, who told me that the school could get charged a massive fine. I just told her I'd put my shoes on in my next class, and I never saw her again. I understand why OSHEA would have an issue with it. But I honestly don't think anyone would go and rat me out to the officials. Recently overheard from a level two science class doing research in the library: "Know what's sad? I don't even know how to look up a book." "These pants are like, size ones. I'm a nine." (whyyyy?) "Umm, way to work with me." "Umm, way to be a Taylor." "Umm, way to copy my hair color." "I'm not going blonde." I'm pretty sure one of the girls over at the other computer table is high. It's not an attractive look for her. My mind is everywhere this morning. But I'm feeling so fly, like a G6, probably because I biked to school this morning. Excercise in the morning is supposed to be really good for you.

Barefoot- One Day Without Shoes 2011

I never liked wearing shoes very much. I have a clear memory of one instance, actually, when I threw a temper-tantrum when forced to wear sneakers to go to the folk festival. "But summer's not over yet!" I had explained, tears streaming down my face. We play disc barefoot. I hike barefoot (sometimes. My podiatrist doesn't like this so much). Anything I can do in shoes, I believe I can do barefoot. Which is why I love today. Today, TOMS Shoes puts on a day for global poverty awareness, called One Day Without Shoes. It's exactly what it sounds like. The idea is that by going one day without shoes, you create enough hubub to tell people about the point of it all- thousands, maybe millions of people around the world go every single day without shoes. And while I fully support the barefoot lifestyle, that's just not alright. In many of the countries where this is a prevalent issue, not having shoes may lead to things like soil-transmitted infections, serious cuts, sores, and abrasions, and could also impact a child's education. You can read more about it on the TOMS website. So I've gone shoeless today, and I feel like I'm living on the edge. I wore flipflops this morning, just to get to our car, and to bring to school. I took them off before I got to the door of the school, and the water from the rain and the snow chilled the bottoms of my ankle braces (I'm now wearing both of them). I planned my outfit to most subtly allow me to go barefoot. This includes long pants and a more attractive top, the idea being that people will look UP instead of DOWN. Why all of this disgression? It's against our school dress code, apparently, to go barefoot (Which, by the way, is why so many kids in these countries need shoes. So they can go to school.), and I can see why. It's cold up here. People need shoes. And you don't relaly want 2,000 teenagers bouncing around barefoot all the time. Not that 2,000 of us would. I don't think that too many of my teachers will care today, and some of them might even get behind the idea. But I brought those flipflops just in case some one especially stuffy comes by and insists that I'm committing some travesty by not wearing shoes. If I could do this (almost) every day, I would. What I really should invest in is a pair of these. At first glance, it almost looks like you're wearing shoes. On the note of being barefoot, I'm going to campaign a little bit. The idea of going barefoot is gross to some, and there IS a reason why TOMS sends shoes to people in third world countries. There are times when you should wear shoes. There are gross things you can get. But what about barefoot running? It's pretty darn good for you. Also, if you've never tried walking around barefoot somewhere, I'd recommend it. There's this serious satisfaction when people ask, "Are you...barefoot?", and you can just smile and say, "Yes...yes I am".

I Hate College Mail

I'm never giving my email address to a college again. And if I could go back in time, I would probably not give my address to CollegeBoard, either. I keep getting all of these mass emails from colleges in like, North Dakota that I've never even heard of and certainly am not interested in. They say things like, "Rebecca, you are important to Fordham University", or "Three reasons why Northeastern is a good match for you" (one of which is that they feel that they are a good match for me. Yeah, that sounds plausible and well-researched). Probably my favorite so far is from Emmanuel College, an email with the subject, "I've chosen you". Firstly, since when does a college assume a first person pronoun? Secondly, I wasn't aware that colleges were around in the Pokemon realm, or that Emmanuel was a cult. Pick your choice, because it's got to be one of the two. Awful, creepy email subjects aside, the content of these emails (which I rarely open anymore) is almost richer. They usually contain offers for pamphlets (*More on this later) or quizzes that I can receive or take that will presumably show me a good match for my college choice, or tell me what major I should look into. Always claimed easy, personalized, and time-efficient, these quizzes will supposedly show me "more about myself and why ____(insert college name here)___ is a good fit for me!" Woohoo. As if the entire forest chopped down and shoved into my mailbox from these schools wasn't enough. (This is the *). I started receiving college mail as soon as I finished my first round of PSATs last year. It's not even like I'm that good of a student. In fact, my GPA is sort of crummy, probably because I write on here during my study hall instead of doing real work. But I test well, so if that's what they're looking at, well of COURSE they want me to go to their school. If I'm to be honest, some of the school mail has been helpful. I like getting stuff from Colby. But I've never gotten anything in the mail from the colleges I'd really like to go to, like Carlton or St. Anselms. And I certainly get enough from dumb All-Girls colleges. Simmons once sent me three envelopes in one week. The mail that really catches my attention though, are the student-involved ones. So there you have it, collegeboard. If you want my application, universities, send me a newsletter. Not "5 reasons you'll love Catholic University of America". In other, more exciting news (and less grumpy), I finally applied for a job. Just one. I should probably be applying for lots more, but I really want this job. It's at a local plant nursery, and it's Perfect. Capital P. It's closed in the winter, my busy season, and it smells like mulch. Can you say BestJobEver? It sounds really promising. I've been told to call in a few weeks just to remind them I exist, because that's when they'll be hiring.

Six-Word Memoirs

"For Sale: Baby shoes. Never worn"

Six word stories are tricky to master, but as soon as you get into a rhythm, I think they're pretty wonderful and fun to write! I could write them for hours, I think. Or at least one hour, before I got distracted.

Six Word Memoirs:

I'm a bit long winded, so...

Pardon me, pass the parmesan cheese.

I make up words. They understand.

I nan cever weep kords straight.

Ummmm, I, um, don't, um, know.

It is always the right time.

Can't I have five more minutes?

IsmushwordstogethertogetineverythingIneedtosay. It's kindof hard to read.

Everyone wipes tears. But not blush?

I think it'll take more time and brewing to actually come up with anything profound.

The Question

The Question

"Have you ever been in love?"
he asks me.
I am seventeen,
and to myself I think,
softly,
that each one of us
trips into love
over and over and
over
again in our lifetimes,
until,
just once,
the universe grants us the magic
to make it work.
Aloud
I reply, softly,
"I don't know."
When he presses,
I explain
that one may never know
if they have been in love
until the end of one's lifetime,
in the same way
that one cannot say which
flower smells the sweetest
until they have sniffed a good many.
I think the elderly much wiser
and glad, even,
to know whether or not
they have ever been in love.
Perhaps it's why old,
wrinkle-etched faces
always look so decidedly happy
or so decidedly
sad.

Privelege and Bragging.

I have a permanent library pass during my study hall, thanks to my membership on the debate team. I think the general idea is that the debate kids will use this to their researching advantage, and use their time to better their cases, but this rarely happens. But that doesn't mean time is entirely wasted. Oh, no. Once in awhile I even crack open a book and do my homework.
There are a good number of perks that go along with this pass. Firstly, that the librarians do particularly like all of us, and so they feed us regularly. But secondly, and perhaps sweeter, is seeing the privelege in action. That is, watching all of the annoying, make-out-in-the-hallway type kids get refused entry.
It's satisfying, and probably inflates my ego more than is necessary.