I want to fly off to Neverland...
And I know what you perverts are thinking..NO not Michael Jackson's Neverland...the Peter Pan version.
At the moment I never want to grow up. I don't want to do another homework assignment, I don't want to go to college, I don't want to sit at a desk all day and get paid, only to have to pay bills...I want to be a free-spirited flower child who runs in the field with no shoes...okay...maybe with shoes because of stupid sticker/thorn thingies..
Mr. Standly actually told me and Kaitlin that if we were at Woodstock, we'd be the two swaying back and fourth like everyone else, only...we wouldn't need the drugs. lmao. Mwaaah.
This was originally going to be a depressing post, but then I found out that Kit's not yet a ditch-dweller, so yaaay! Welcome back Ki-ee! We missed you!!
Okay..anyways..I have to go to sleep. Early day tomorrow.
wove to all!
Oh! P.S. I'm posting the two pieces I performed for the UIL tournament last Saturday, in case anyone wants to know..or cares. "Bald in the Land of Big hair" was what I got 2nd and 1st place on in rounds 1 and 3, and I got 4th place in round 2 with "Speak"
"Bald in the Land of Big Hair"
A True Story
by: Joni Rodgers
(Intro:) Faith is as individual as each soul that walks among us everyday. But finding what it means to you and how it is important can be a difficult journey.
Cancer was not the first time I went to war with myself. Every fitting room session was a battle, as was every crampy-menstral period, every saggy eyed morning in the mirror.
From the time I was sixteen, I was in conflict with my body. I apologized for it, jokingly at auditions, earnestly at photo sessions, shyly as I gave it to a slightly geeky boy. As if a flat chest and broad thighs weren't bad enough. I never liked my nose, my hair, my....*glances at butt*....let's not go there.
But I never actually used the word gargoyle until I stared into the mirror at my blotchy post-surgery complexion, bloating above the gruesome biopsy scar. A four inch chain of black stitches secured angry red edges, underscoring a misshapen gullet and giving the impression of a detachable head.
O faced my fate with an unwavering courage and...well, okay--with a relatively small amount of cowardice and...it seemed that in the days following the diagnosis, the noise of every day began to fall quiet around me. Momentum that had always carried me like a freight train rolled to a halt. What had seemed the most pressing obligations were now the least significant. Now, for the first time, my life was at the top of my agenda.
"I have cancer," I told the mirror, "and every thing's going to be alright."
Now my oncologist, Dr. Ro, projected intelligence, professionalism, and very little else. Her concern reflected dedication without a hint of pity. Her questions and answers dealt with that part of me which was affected by cancer and nothing else. And I find Dr. Ro's lack of panic very reassuring.
"I don't want chemotherapy. I want to investigate my alternatives."
"Your alternatives are chemotherapy or death."
When I was diagnosed with cancer, Malachi was a savvy second grader, enrolled in a program for gifted children at his school. He was old enough to struggle with implications and smart enough that there was no keeping the truth from him.
When a classmate's father was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, it was good for both of them to have a friend whom they could talk about cancer and chemo, but when the other boy's father died just before Christmas, Ike suddenly realized what was at stake.
"Are you going to die, Mom?" he asked me almost nightly after that.
"I'm trying not to," I told him truthfully. "I promise I'll do everything possible to stay here with you as long as I can."
Later, when I wasn't too sure, I started adding something about how he was a part of me and I was a part of him because he grew right out of my own body, so no matter what, I would always be with him.
"Please help me...God, please help..."
Perhaps my inability to pray for myself during those months of chemo stemmed from my early relationship with God being based primarily on fear. From the time I was a tyke in a succession of fundamentalist religious schools, I was indoctrinated with The Lord thy God is a jealous God. I had a child's complete faith in this God and in the notion that he could, and probably should destroy me should I fail in the total renunication of "the devil, the world, and my sinful flesh."
For years, I tried not to think about religion in general, but I wanted to give my children the good things a church environment has to offer, so after they were born, we came and went for a while, practicing a religion that was roughly 70 percent social, 20 percent spiritual, and 10 percent force of habit. We prayed with our children at bedtime, said grace with them at the supper table, and told them that when you pray for someone, an angel comes to sit on their shoulder.
I never once asked why me......but why my family? My parents did not deserve to be put through this. My children did not deserve to witness this. My husband did not deserve to share in this. "Instrument of your peace? You've made me a source of pain to everyone I care about!"
I believe faith is the essence, a simple solution, yet too hard for most people to practice.
Dr. Ro once said to me, "Believing that you are going to live may not guarantee that you are going to live, but believing that you are going to die will most certainly reduce your chances of survival."
My type of cancer is swift, fatal in six to twelve months. I was diagnosed four months, after I first felt the lump, which had been growing quite some time before I felt it.
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
If I die......
"Speak"
by: Laurie Halse Anderson
(Intro:) For most people high school is full of embarassing moments and fond memories, but for Faith, one memory is definately not a fond one.
I can't sleep after the game again. I crawl out of my window onto the porch roof and wrap myself in all my blankets.
A fat white seed sleeps in the sky.
People say that winter lasts forever, but it's because they obsess over the thermometer. North in the mountains, the maple syrup is trickling. Brave geese punch through the thin ice left on the lake. Underground, pale seeds roll over in their sleep. Starting to get restless. Starting to dream green. The moon looked closer back in August.
Rachel got us to the end of the summer party, a cheerleader party, with beer and seniors and music. She blackmailed her brother, Jimmy, to drive us. We were all sleeping over at Rachel's house. Her mother thought Jimmy was taking us rollerskating. It was at a farm a couple of miles from our development. The kegs were in the barn where the speakers were set up. Most people hung out at the edge of the lights. They looked like models in a blue jeans ad, thin thin thin, big lips, big earrings, white smiles. I felt like such a little kid.
Rachel found a way to fit in, of course. She knew a lot of people. I tasted a beer. It was worse than cough medicine. I gulped it down. Another beer, and one more, then I worried I would throw up. I walked out of the crowd, toward the woods. The moon shown on the leaves. Somebody giggled, hidden beyond the dark, quiet boy girl whispers. I couldn't see them.
A step behind me. A senior. Then he was talking to me, flirting with me. This gorgeous cover-model guy, his every inch a tanned muuscle, and he was flirting with me! Where was Rachel-she had to see this!
He took my hand and pulled me close to him. I breathed in cologne and bear and something I couldn't identify. I fit in against his body perfectly, my head level with his shoulder. I was a litle dizzy- I laid my cheek on his chest. He wrapped one arm around my back. His other hand slid down to my butt. I thought that was a little rude, but my tongue was thick with beer and I couldn't figure out how to tell him to slow down. The music was sweet. This was what high school was supposed to feel like. Where was Rachel? She had to see this?
He tilted my face up to his. He kissed me, man kiss, hard, sweet and deep. Nearly knocked me off my feet, that kiss. And I thought for just a minute that I would start high school with a boyfriend, older and stronger and ready to watch out for me. He kissed me again. His teeth ground hard against my lips. It was hard to breathe.
A cloud cloaked the moon. Shadows like photo negatives.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
What did he say? I didn't answer. I didn't know. I didn't speak.
We were on the ground. When did that happen? "No." No I did not like this. I was on the ground and he was on top of me. My lips mumble somehting about leaving, about a friend who needs me, about my parents worrying. I can hear myself-I'm mumbling like a deranged drunk. His lips lock on mine and I can't say anything. I twist my head away. He is so heavy. There is a boulder on top of me. I open my mouth to breathe, to scream, and his hand covers it. In my head, my voice is as clear as a bell: "NO I DON'T WANT TO!" But I can't spit it our. I'm trying to remember how we got on the ground and where the moon went and WHAM! Shirt up, shorts down, and the ground smells wet and dark and he hurts me............................hurts me.
Then he gets up, zips his jeans and smiles.
The next thing I saw was the telephone. I stood in the middle of a drunken crowd and called 911 because I needed help. All those visists from Officer Friendly in second grade paid off. I saw my face in the window over the kitchen sink and no words came out of my mouth. Who was that girl? I had never seen her before. Tears oozed down my face, over my bruised lips, pooling on the handset. "It's okay," said the nice lady on the phone. Someone grabbed the phone from my hands and listened. A scream-the cops were coming! Blue and cherry lights were flashing in the kitchen sink window. Rachel's face-so angry-in mine. Someone slapped me. I crawled out of the room through a force of legs. Outside, the moon smiled goodbye and slipped away.
And that's it...my "Speak" piece was crap..I sucked at it, but meh..I liked "Bald in the Land of Big Hair"!
Quoteage:
Billy: Well I have to pay the bills AND buy food so I can actually live to pay said bills.
Me: Pfft! You don't need food! Just live off of sunshine and water!
Mrs. Broocks:...spoken like a true hippie child.
At the moment I never want to grow up. I don't want to do another homework assignment, I don't want to go to college, I don't want to sit at a desk all day and get paid, only to have to pay bills...I want to be a free-spirited flower child who runs in the field with no shoes...okay...maybe with shoes because of stupid sticker/thorn thingies..
Mr. Standly actually told me and Kaitlin that if we were at Woodstock, we'd be the two swaying back and fourth like everyone else, only...we wouldn't need the drugs. lmao. Mwaaah.
This was originally going to be a depressing post, but then I found out that Kit's not yet a ditch-dweller, so yaaay! Welcome back Ki-ee! We missed you!!
Okay..anyways..I have to go to sleep. Early day tomorrow.
wove to all!
Oh! P.S. I'm posting the two pieces I performed for the UIL tournament last Saturday, in case anyone wants to know..or cares. "Bald in the Land of Big hair" was what I got 2nd and 1st place on in rounds 1 and 3, and I got 4th place in round 2 with "Speak"
"Bald in the Land of Big Hair"
A True Story
by: Joni Rodgers
(Intro:) Faith is as individual as each soul that walks among us everyday. But finding what it means to you and how it is important can be a difficult journey.
Cancer was not the first time I went to war with myself. Every fitting room session was a battle, as was every crampy-menstral period, every saggy eyed morning in the mirror.
From the time I was sixteen, I was in conflict with my body. I apologized for it, jokingly at auditions, earnestly at photo sessions, shyly as I gave it to a slightly geeky boy. As if a flat chest and broad thighs weren't bad enough. I never liked my nose, my hair, my....*glances at butt*....let's not go there.
But I never actually used the word gargoyle until I stared into the mirror at my blotchy post-surgery complexion, bloating above the gruesome biopsy scar. A four inch chain of black stitches secured angry red edges, underscoring a misshapen gullet and giving the impression of a detachable head.
O faced my fate with an unwavering courage and...well, okay--with a relatively small amount of cowardice and...it seemed that in the days following the diagnosis, the noise of every day began to fall quiet around me. Momentum that had always carried me like a freight train rolled to a halt. What had seemed the most pressing obligations were now the least significant. Now, for the first time, my life was at the top of my agenda.
"I have cancer," I told the mirror, "and every thing's going to be alright."
Now my oncologist, Dr. Ro, projected intelligence, professionalism, and very little else. Her concern reflected dedication without a hint of pity. Her questions and answers dealt with that part of me which was affected by cancer and nothing else. And I find Dr. Ro's lack of panic very reassuring.
"I don't want chemotherapy. I want to investigate my alternatives."
"Your alternatives are chemotherapy or death."
When I was diagnosed with cancer, Malachi was a savvy second grader, enrolled in a program for gifted children at his school. He was old enough to struggle with implications and smart enough that there was no keeping the truth from him.
When a classmate's father was diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor, it was good for both of them to have a friend whom they could talk about cancer and chemo, but when the other boy's father died just before Christmas, Ike suddenly realized what was at stake.
"Are you going to die, Mom?" he asked me almost nightly after that.
"I'm trying not to," I told him truthfully. "I promise I'll do everything possible to stay here with you as long as I can."
Later, when I wasn't too sure, I started adding something about how he was a part of me and I was a part of him because he grew right out of my own body, so no matter what, I would always be with him.
"Please help me...God, please help..."
Perhaps my inability to pray for myself during those months of chemo stemmed from my early relationship with God being based primarily on fear. From the time I was a tyke in a succession of fundamentalist religious schools, I was indoctrinated with The Lord thy God is a jealous God. I had a child's complete faith in this God and in the notion that he could, and probably should destroy me should I fail in the total renunication of "the devil, the world, and my sinful flesh."
For years, I tried not to think about religion in general, but I wanted to give my children the good things a church environment has to offer, so after they were born, we came and went for a while, practicing a religion that was roughly 70 percent social, 20 percent spiritual, and 10 percent force of habit. We prayed with our children at bedtime, said grace with them at the supper table, and told them that when you pray for someone, an angel comes to sit on their shoulder.
I never once asked why me......but why my family? My parents did not deserve to be put through this. My children did not deserve to witness this. My husband did not deserve to share in this. "Instrument of your peace? You've made me a source of pain to everyone I care about!"
I believe faith is the essence, a simple solution, yet too hard for most people to practice.
Dr. Ro once said to me, "Believing that you are going to live may not guarantee that you are going to live, but believing that you are going to die will most certainly reduce your chances of survival."
My type of cancer is swift, fatal in six to twelve months. I was diagnosed four months, after I first felt the lump, which had been growing quite some time before I felt it.
Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep
If I die......
"Speak"
by: Laurie Halse Anderson
(Intro:) For most people high school is full of embarassing moments and fond memories, but for Faith, one memory is definately not a fond one.
I can't sleep after the game again. I crawl out of my window onto the porch roof and wrap myself in all my blankets.
A fat white seed sleeps in the sky.
People say that winter lasts forever, but it's because they obsess over the thermometer. North in the mountains, the maple syrup is trickling. Brave geese punch through the thin ice left on the lake. Underground, pale seeds roll over in their sleep. Starting to get restless. Starting to dream green. The moon looked closer back in August.
Rachel got us to the end of the summer party, a cheerleader party, with beer and seniors and music. She blackmailed her brother, Jimmy, to drive us. We were all sleeping over at Rachel's house. Her mother thought Jimmy was taking us rollerskating. It was at a farm a couple of miles from our development. The kegs were in the barn where the speakers were set up. Most people hung out at the edge of the lights. They looked like models in a blue jeans ad, thin thin thin, big lips, big earrings, white smiles. I felt like such a little kid.
Rachel found a way to fit in, of course. She knew a lot of people. I tasted a beer. It was worse than cough medicine. I gulped it down. Another beer, and one more, then I worried I would throw up. I walked out of the crowd, toward the woods. The moon shown on the leaves. Somebody giggled, hidden beyond the dark, quiet boy girl whispers. I couldn't see them.
A step behind me. A senior. Then he was talking to me, flirting with me. This gorgeous cover-model guy, his every inch a tanned muuscle, and he was flirting with me! Where was Rachel-she had to see this!
He took my hand and pulled me close to him. I breathed in cologne and bear and something I couldn't identify. I fit in against his body perfectly, my head level with his shoulder. I was a litle dizzy- I laid my cheek on his chest. He wrapped one arm around my back. His other hand slid down to my butt. I thought that was a little rude, but my tongue was thick with beer and I couldn't figure out how to tell him to slow down. The music was sweet. This was what high school was supposed to feel like. Where was Rachel? She had to see this?
He tilted my face up to his. He kissed me, man kiss, hard, sweet and deep. Nearly knocked me off my feet, that kiss. And I thought for just a minute that I would start high school with a boyfriend, older and stronger and ready to watch out for me. He kissed me again. His teeth ground hard against my lips. It was hard to breathe.
A cloud cloaked the moon. Shadows like photo negatives.
"Do you want to?" he asked.
What did he say? I didn't answer. I didn't know. I didn't speak.
We were on the ground. When did that happen? "No." No I did not like this. I was on the ground and he was on top of me. My lips mumble somehting about leaving, about a friend who needs me, about my parents worrying. I can hear myself-I'm mumbling like a deranged drunk. His lips lock on mine and I can't say anything. I twist my head away. He is so heavy. There is a boulder on top of me. I open my mouth to breathe, to scream, and his hand covers it. In my head, my voice is as clear as a bell: "NO I DON'T WANT TO!" But I can't spit it our. I'm trying to remember how we got on the ground and where the moon went and WHAM! Shirt up, shorts down, and the ground smells wet and dark and he hurts me............................hurts me.
Then he gets up, zips his jeans and smiles.
The next thing I saw was the telephone. I stood in the middle of a drunken crowd and called 911 because I needed help. All those visists from Officer Friendly in second grade paid off. I saw my face in the window over the kitchen sink and no words came out of my mouth. Who was that girl? I had never seen her before. Tears oozed down my face, over my bruised lips, pooling on the handset. "It's okay," said the nice lady on the phone. Someone grabbed the phone from my hands and listened. A scream-the cops were coming! Blue and cherry lights were flashing in the kitchen sink window. Rachel's face-so angry-in mine. Someone slapped me. I crawled out of the room through a force of legs. Outside, the moon smiled goodbye and slipped away.
And that's it...my "Speak" piece was crap..I sucked at it, but meh..I liked "Bald in the Land of Big Hair"!
Quoteage:
Billy: Well I have to pay the bills AND buy food so I can actually live to pay said bills.
Me: Pfft! You don't need food! Just live off of sunshine and water!
Mrs. Broocks:...spoken like a true hippie child.