“No pressure” she says; *cocks pistol to the back of my skull*

you could say that the pistol, with its cool metallic tip resting against the back of my skull is my Writing 12 assignment. Fully loaded, cold, unforgiving, and oh so threatening. My Ebus teacher, an educated well achieving stranger is unknowingly pressing this pistol further deeper into the back of my head. Not because she enjoys it, it is simply my imagination having a hay day in the horror movie department and decided that yes, she is would make a good  assassin. my eyebrows knit together as I try not to think of the pain flooding all  my senses; yes I can smell the pain. It smells like a cold sweat, shortness of breath, fingers  losing their warmth, blood pounding in my ears. Yes THAT’s what I taste.  Pretty soon that delicate finger, who takes part in writing helpful emails with smiley faces, will pull the trigger back, releasing my greatest fear.

“Not meeting expectations”.

That is what pressure feels like for me. A lethal weapon, just waiting to go off.

being a perfectionist, is well, a daunting daily routine. I am not your average teenager or maybe I am?, most of my friends don’t understand this undying need for everything to be ‘perfect’, sometimes its freakishly compulsive. I have anxiety issues over whether “my homework is good enough”, “have I studied the right things?”, “I am writing this essay correct?”, “Do you think  my boyfriend would still like me if he knew of my anxious habits of perfectionism?” Hah. got to smirk there, there is no boyfriend to worry about, but i thought might as well mention it for future anxiety attacks. (You never know right?) Some guy might actually be fooled by my face and weird charm. Is there such a thing as weird charm? or is that just awkwardness?

this lack of concentration and confidence could also be a side effect from the concussion i got last week.

which seriously freaked the honey out of the freaking vending machine.

Brain injuries kind of throw you off ‘your game’. They give you this insecure feeling inside your own head. You don’t know whats happening to your precious brain cells up there.

So trying to force myself to come up with brilliant poetry that ‘exceeds expectations’ seems quite difficult for me at the moment.

 

Im not as bad as I used to be, thank god for that. But there is still this element, that sometimes, I must say I am grateful for, for when I’m shredding, hell the work is impressive. But other times, it gets in the way of completing the tasks at hand. Its like an illusion. the work you thought was decent now looks like well.. some three year old barfed cheerios and crinkled the Monday newspaper and handed that in.

I wouldn’t call it a ‘writer’s block’, more like a ‘writer’s insecurity’. Confidence is lacking in my poetry department, nobody usually sees my work and now I am all of the sudden being marked on it.

Scary?

I think yes.

Can I blame my procrastination on my insecurity?

not entirely, because sometimes… I really just don’t want to do it.

But the frustrating thing is when you DO want to complete it, but you just, you can’t, you can’t fathom handing in this “dirt” because you’re teacher is expecting a live iguana. Something that croaks- “I’ve got personality”

Dirt does not croak. nor does it speak.

it might hum,

like when your walking through a farmers field and its windy, you hear the dry crackling grain and you can feel the grit cover your eyelashes, cover your mouth. You can taste dirt.

You can taste success,

but unlike dirt, it is not so easily found.

xx

 

 

 

 

 

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Soon I will become the adult version of me… “Hmm maybe prostitute isn’t the right word. Somehow I sense grandma would not like that.”

Just to let all my relatives know I have no intentions on becoming a prostitute.

It is simply a metaphor.

🙂

So I got a blackberry, and you know what happens when you give a human something that vibrates,flashes pretty colours when you get a message, something well…

awesome, shiny, and new. You become a savage cell-phone user…

You get into the habit of procrastination, oh trust me I was pretty good at procrastinating before I got this beast of a phone. But I can’t blame this phone for me being lazy enough to screw over the blogging world.

So I decided to blame it on being a grade 12 student.

This whole grade 12 thing?

Tis a wee bit nerve-racking, all this pressure to become something,

all this pressure to not end up sleeping outside Tim Horton’s in a cardboard box having entertaining conversations with a tomcat who could less if you were dead or alive.

My older brother got it easy! Ever since he was what like a preteen he knew what his career would be.

Me? I am not so lucky, my mind was like a prostitute to careers, it would change its fancy everyday. Hmm maybe prostitute isn’t  the right word. Somehow I sense grandma would not like that.

Maybe sleaze is better since I didn’t make a profit for changing my mind so many friggin’ times??

Hah.

It seemed everyday something new and exciting interested me, and I set my sights on being that certain amazing person when I grow up.

“I”M GOING TO BE AN ARTIST!, AN ACROBAT!, PROFESSIONAL SOCCER PLAYER!, TEACHER! BIOLOGIST! JOURNALIST! PALIENTOLOGIST! CORONER! NEUROLIGIST! PSYCHOLOGIST! ARCHIOLOGIST! PHOTOGRAPHER! EDITOR! ILLUSTRATOR! SINGER! DANCER! CHOREOGRAPHER! AND THE LIST GOES ON!

** I am just that brilliant that I can’t go find a dictionary and spell some of these words correctly, and the spell check can’t spell them either… ^

maybe I was one of those kids whose curiosity was on overdrive. Not like A.D.H.D though mind you…

It seemed spastic, my mind always is spastic, have you read my writing ?

It’s like a Pomeranian chasing a laser pointer,

on the couch,

attacking the curtains,

smashing into a wall,

jumping repeatedly on the spot,

drool flying everywhere,

I think you get it.

Anyways, do you understand what I just said?

Its okay if you don’t just smile and nod that’s what people usually do, well that’s what I do when I’m stuck in a situation where I have no clue what the hell is being said, (like in math class).

So I’m sure everybody realises that normal people need money to prosper, especially when your last name isn’t “Bieber” or “Sheen” or “Woods” they just need to show up, play a sport and shave on TV,say something or sleep with someone, sing a song that makes little girls wail asking their parents “why can’t I have that JB cutout cardboard that is  life-size  in the shoppers drug mart???”

Like I said, I need a job that can support my Pomeranian of a mind and well, I think being a Pomeranian wouldn’t make any money.

I have always had a knack for drawing and writing, making people laugh, and helping people when they are stuck in a tiffy.

I invented the word “tiffy” to describe that moment when you find yourself standing under a large industrial fan while someone is throwing shit at it. Maybe I didn’t invent the word tiffy but I’m sure that my definition of tiffy was never thought of before.Ive said tiffy to many times…

And now ladies and gentlemen we move on to the conclusion: precisely a more thought-provoking, delicate matter…

I’ve read in magazines that sometimes if you ask your friends what they could see you doing as a career it can be a good tip in helping you decide what you will be doing after the sweet/nasty life of highschool. More nasty than sweet to be honest, more like sitting in a hot tub of acid with frustrating passive aggressive hamsters. Anyways. I’ve got ten months to decides what my next step will be after the exams, after that hat with the annoying tassel, after I get prettied up to spend five hours in a prom dress, after I move onto the next step of my life. I will become an adult version of me.

Why do I find that mildly disturbing?

I’d jump from one scenario to the next: from highschool kid to “______”.
*okay not all the hamsters attending highschool with me are passive aggressive, nor are they hamsters…
How do you know what you want to do? Does it fall from the sky and smack you in the head? Do you have to go through a near death experience to know what you want to do? Or can you just wake up one day, and swing your feet outta your bed, sit up, yawn, and say ” I know what to do with my life now”
Well, if it was that easy, maybe there wouldn’t be anybody having deep conversations with an aloof cat beside the dumpster.

Hopefully the adult version of me will look back on this while I am sitting in a comfortably furnished loft, (the kind you see in CSI… You know the ones where they find the dead model in the bathtub, only mine would not have a dead model in the bath tub, only a rubber ducky…) then I would laugh at how pathetically stressed I was over something that somehow figured itself out, then go to the nearby Timmy’s and order two lemon and honey teas, tea bag left in, and nod kindly to the scruffy man and his cat sitting outside the door, sit beside him and indulge in conversations only cats could think of.

Ciao

xx

 

Quiet before the storm (via bang | Photography) *A Window Into My Thoughts*

This is how my mind felt today. As if all the answers got up and walked out of my brain leaving me… well empty and useless. Frustrating? Of course it is. I usually feel like a failure. But also dosn’t not having the answer give you and interestingly satisfying feeling? This is where my mother would sigh and look at me making a joke about a past concussion or something witty. She has a knack for dissing I would not lie about this. My old english teacher would throw a pen at someone and make us do an essay on procrastination ( which yes, I have had to do…) and where fellow students would agree with me. An excuse to sit in class and think about things that are not on the top of your priority list is a wonderful thing.Or maybe they are on top of your priority list. Just they are not exactly rational. But to be able to separate yourself from the daunting task in front of you and stare into oblivion is quite a welcomed gift in my mind. To think about things that are much more I don’t know, theorectical then Stoicheometry? Maybe theorectical isnt the right word, maybe… more colorful more tactile more, well more letting your mind wander and not forcing it to do something. ( Can you tell that I’d do anything to get myself out of my Chemistry 11 class??) Some call it procrastinating, day dreaming, being lazy. What ever. This photograph illustrates this perfectly. Double block of chemistry, and all I wanted to do was to join my answers and every other educated thought… and walk out the door.

Quiet before the storm Quiet before the storm, originally uploaded by bang*. 146 / 365 A little moment of calm and quiet, pools of warming sunlight break the cold darkness of shadow while we await the noise & colour of the crowd. Fuji X100 … Read More

via bang | Photography