Yesterday was Courtney's 11th birthday. (She was almost a leap-year baby.) To celebrate, she invited half a dozen of her friends for a sleepover. Dear Lord. Luckily, I didn't have to be involved much. They asked me to help with one of the games while my mom was on the phone, but otherwise, I stayed back here on the computer. They did presents and the cake while I was at my piano lesson, though. That kinda hurts. It's not like I wanted to "go to the party", or that I didn't get any cake (didn't want any, got cupcakes instead, yum), but still. They were making way too much noise in the family room after midnight. I stayed up IMing Greg for a while, but they didn't go to sleep until after
I did (around 2 AM). I miss sleepovers. Food, friends, cute pajamas, Truth or Dare (which I know they were playing -- someone whispered "Hello, Clarisse," behind me, then ran away amid giggles) and staying up late. Ah, to be a pre-teen again, and have the most stressful thing in your life be, like, what to wear to school.
I tried to do the Ch. 19 physics homework today. So far, I've only done two problems, which sucks. The second one took a while, though, cause I had to remember how to calculate resistance in a circuit. (I wasn't at Oxon Hill last year, so I didn't have Mr. Frederick, like many of my OH readers did, but I can handle circuits calculations.) I hate physics. It's not really Dr. J's fault that they shoved us all in a class we are obviously unable to succeed in. He's more the professor type, anyway. I wouldn't be surprised if he quit teaching high school and went to College Park, or back to being a physicist. (What do physicists
do, anyway? Physicize is not a word.)
Speaking of Dr. J, he wrote me the most stellar recommendation! My mom insisted I apply for the Summer Internship Program at the National Institutes of Health, where she works. I'm not keen on science, but I really didn't feel like arguing with her about it. I don't think I'll get it, anyway, despite my application package. They accept college students, too, and the NIH scientists actually pick their own interns, and I made it clear that
if I study anything science-related, it will probably be engineering. But back to Dr. J: I sent him a copy of my resume, and he wrote a two-page letter for me. Oh. My. Gosh. It almost made me (and my mom, and my aunt, and my grandma) cry! I can tell that he pretty much wrote my resume in paragraphs, but still. I knew he liked me, but I didn't know that he thought so highly of me. And -- I only found one part that probably isn't true. (I stopped playing the flute two years ago, and he mentioned that he'd heard me. Should have said piano.) He also told me that he'll change the details, so I can use the same recommendation to apply for other things. That's the best part, cause I might find some program I actually
want to participate in, and that might cinch it. My mom took it, though -- she wants to make copies to distribute. ::sighs::
The parental units are back to bothering me about college. Mom made me show my grandma the Big Stack of College Mail this afternoon. For reasons that not even I know, I have kept it all. Every letter, every brochure, every magazine, and the odd CD. I still remember the first one: the University of Chicago, back in January of sophomore year. (They held the PSAT results, so all the mailings started later than usual, remember?) Lately I've been wondering about what to study in college. Depending on what I ultimately decide, all my college research could be worthless. I mean, even Undeclareds have to pick sometime. Then I realize that I could choose a broad major (like English or Business) and wind up in a really awesome career. I read somewhere that, like, 10% of students will end up in careers that don't even exist yet (i.e., the first computer programmers probably
didn't major in computer science). This is so stressful. How do people make it through this? (That is a rhetorical question, Mark, even though you could probably give a sketchy answer to it.)
After I gave up on physics (a common practice nowadays), I decided to organize my organized clutter, also known as cleaning my room. I moved the Big Stack of College Mail off the floor and out of the magazine rack, and into some shirt boxes. Seriously, I have 4 inches of it -- what's up with that? I tried to organize some of it. I need new files. (Yes, I keep files. All labeled and everything: I'm Proud of This, 8th Grade English Portfolio, Algebra Notes, Science Fair 2001, etc. It's the controlled result of my pack rat-ness.) I also need to sort out the stuff under my bed (I found a hat today, and I don't even
wear hats) and in my closet (I own
way too many clothes).
During my organizing quest (which I postponed until I get new files), I found the flyer for the
ASYMCA Essay Contest. 500 words about reading, due by March 17. If I manage to come up with a topic, I am
so entering. I've never really entered an essay contest before. I tried a few showcase-y things in middle school (like
"Smarter Than Your Average Kitty", but nothing in a long time. I really want to start writing again. Beta-reading and Mrs. Anderson have forced me to look into the more technical side of writing, the stuff that comes after "hey, that might make a neat story". I know much more about literary techniques now than I did back when I
really wrote. I don't have most of that stuff, anyway. I got into a bad habit of deleting my less than perfect work. Sufficing to say, I have some crappy stories lying around, but writing them helped me learn. They also taught me the value of having a plot. I came up with my own term for them: "wandering around without a plot". The story has a great beginning, moves smoothly into action, continues... and then either doesn't end (WIP just means "running out of ideas") or has a terrible ending. The story has no closure, it just stops. You make the reader
feel that you couldn't think of any more story, rather than feeling closure. Loose ends are no one's friend.
This is a very long blog entry. You are probably tired of reading by now, so I'll stop and write more later (or tomorrow, whatever). Just one thing: David, Mark, and to a lesser extent, Greg -- Please, please,
please do not use my guestbook to insult and/or converse with each other. You have email, IM, and your own guestbooks. And you see each other in person as well. It is not a slambook or a tagboard; it is a guestbook. Comments, questions, and compliments, boys. (My intuition tells me that as soon as you all read this, you are going to go spam my guestbook. That's fine. I've never deleted an entry before, but I am willing to start.)
Ttfn.
