This Is For Caleb Tucker.

---

I wrote a letter to myself around this time last year. From the way I wrote it, I guess my past self thought I wouldn't find this until my sophomore year of college. But my past self asked my future self what she had accomplished, so far.

And the weird thing is...I had accomplished a lot of those things, in just a year.

I've applied to colleges. And I have a pretty good idea where I'm headed.
Those that I thought would still be in my life...are still in my life. Hell and high water came, but those people managed to stay.
I met new people that have come to play such vital roles in my life...roles that I never thought existed.
I have made myself a new kind of musician. I have played at venues that I never thought I'd ever perform at before college.

It's pretty cool, when I think about it.

--

The other day, Mr Potter was talking about how we write and how we percieve things. He said that when we look back at something we wrote in the fifth grade, we notice that we wrote in short, simple sentences back then.

He said that was because a part of our brain was not yet developed.
A part of the brain (frontal cortex, I think...I don't remember) does not fully develop until about the age we are sophomores in high school.
That part of the brain...the part that concocts deep, meaningful thoughts and allows us to see the world in a way that we've never seen it before and helps us to express it...does not develop until we are roughly sixteen years old.

When he said that...God, it was like everything clicked.
When I was sixteen, I remember feeling like I was changing, in the sense of expression. I felt like my very innermost thoughts could somehow be penned to my notebook paper.
The first time I ever did that...writing without really editing my thoughts...I lost someone that I believed to be my best friend. After what happened when I wrote it, and the wordless fight it ensued, I remember how I felt like I had been blinded before by something I could not pinpoint.

There was something new within me, and I had no idea what it was.

I was viewing the world in a different way.
I was meeting people I never thought I'd ever become close to.
I was doing things that would make my younger self be appalled.
I was putting myself beyond myself in ways that I never imagined.
I began to not really care if I wasn't as cool or as well-liked as other people I knew...as long as I liked myself and I was doing what I innately felt was good for me, then the rest would just come as it may.

...and it does.

I have a lot of positivity in my life.
The only negativity most of the time is the way I punch myself in the balls every time I slip up...even when it's a common mistake that anyone could make.
I put up VERY high standards for myself. A lot of times, I have let myself down and I've taken the blame for other peoples' actions.

I'm working on NOT doing that anymore.

My brain has opened up in a HUGE way. My writing has gotten to a level that inspires people (a result that I feel is often misplaced).

I have surrounded myself with amazing people. They are not perfect, nor are they ne'er-do-wells. Some have hurt me, but one thing's for sure: they all give something, and they all take something from being in my life. I make sure I let them know how much they mean to me, and to not let life get them down.

I love in a way that is beyond me. Therefore, it's not understood and has the potential to be feared. But it's the only way I can love. I can only hope that my future boyfriend or future husband can tolerate that...or want it in the first place.

I want to always write like this. I want to always live life differently with each decade, with each year, with each day...while still retaining that bit of me that is always definable and recognized by those that know me best and love me for it.

I never want to fully grow up. I hope to have that hint of Peter Pan in me. I want to keep life an adventure. I want to keep making music. I want to keep making people happy in a childlike sort of way.

--

Every time I'm on the field for band, I see a butterfly. I remember hearing that butterflies meant good luck.

If that's the case, then our band has a lot of goodness in it this season.
Whenever I see a butterfly, I think to myself: "I can do this."

--

Well, Caleb Tucker, I hope this suffices.
I love you so much.

No! No Digital Books!!

At first I wasn't going to do this, since I have the feeling I'll have to do it again for a grade. But we discussed this today and it got me thinking. It reminded me of the first time I ever read this book.

I'll give it to you straight: I loved Brave New World. I don't know why, but i have this thing for novels that focus on utopian societies. I remember reading The Giver in fifth grade, and how I was just so into it...that really kickstarted my fascination with what our society could potentially be if we let it.

But anyway. Back to Brave New World.

In futuristic England, the best way to describe the world and its people is...lifeless. Nobody is an individual, everyone is created in a genetic lab, made a certain way to live a certain way of life. Everyone's in one caste or the other, they ignore all other castes but their own, and they believe their caste is perfectly fine...because they've had it whispered in their ear while they slept as young children, all through the night for years until it's been engraved in their minds.

These night-whispers rule their life, and give them no freedom of thought. If anyone dares to think beyond what's in front of them (...if anyone who dares to think at all, really), they are frowned upon.
One of their virtues is "Everyone belongs to everyone else." Therefore, everyone thinks the same and offers themselves up to everyone else because that's what is supposed to be.

They go throughout their lives doing whatever duties they have, and continuously engage in sexual activity with numerous people. It's considered odd to stick with only one person.
Women are perfumed, polished, nipped and tucked into these doll-like specimens of supposedly-perfect beauty.

There are no parents ("Father" and "Mother" are considered bad words). There are no diverse languages. People that do not fit into this society are sentenced to live in a reservation, where they live - literally - like savages.

Everyone was happy. Everyone was happy because they were blind...unliving. They did not experience pain (they literally had a happy pill called soma), sadness, discomfort, filth, or any emotion other than happiness. As long as everyone was happy, everything was stable.

And this world lived for stability.

When I was reading this book, I was always rereading certain lines or paragraphs.

There's a part when Bernard takes Lenina (and sexually has her for a week) out to Arizona to see a savage reservation, and while they're settling in, he suggests they go for a walk outside around their hotel, so they could be alone. Lenina points out that they WILL be alone, later. Bernard clarifies that he's not talking about being alone for sex, but being alone so they could talk.

"Talk? But about what?" Lenina asks. As the book says further, "walking and talking seemed an odd way to spend an afternoon."

People have sex without getting to truly know the person, just to be satisfied and in a happily-sexual stupor, instead of going on a walk and having an in-depth conversation face-to-face that really grabs at the cold truths of life...or maybe even a conversation that's lively and full of jokes.

When I read that, all I could think was "...is that true or is that true?"
So sad.

We have drugs so people can be dumbly happy.
We have digital books.
We are losing the arts community because people are not patient enough to take in the emotion that goes into art.
Girls are sucking up, poofing up, and revealing more and more.
People would rather be on Facebook than go out with friends and talk in person.

It's scary, you know?
Really scary.

Go read Brave New World. Or Fahrenheit 451. Or The Giver.
And wake up from your stupor.

I'm Getting Sick.

Every fall and every spring, my nose acts up. It's annoying...distorts my voice. But then I realize that people have to go their entire life with that nasally tone, like Alie Hansen.

And my relatives in Wisconsin. Hell, everyone in Wisconsin and Minnesota, really.

--

Well, last week was my first week of my senior year of high school. It was more awkward than most first weeks, because we had to adjust to an eight-period schedule. No more hour and a half block schedule, with four classes a day. No more extra days to do homework. No more "Ugh, it's Monday...at least it's a Blue Day!" No more seven minutes to get to class (five minutes sure will keep us awake).

In all honesty, I don't dislike the new schedule plan as much as the teachers do...they HATE it.
It could be that I don't dislike it that much because I'll only have to do this for a year, but I don't know...

What strikes me the most is the atmosphere that my class has - and the attitude my TEACHERS have towards my class. Like it was spoken at the senior class meeting: "You made it! You're seniors! You know what we expect of you, help us out with the underclassmen. Now, get back to class."

When I was getting gas on Friday after school, I just leaned against my mini-van and thought...
When will the pride begin?
When will we start to BEGIN things, get everyone pumped up?
When will the epic-ness of the Class of 2008, 2009, and 2010 fade to our own epic-ness?

When will I feel like I have earned the right to be principle violist in the best orchestra in the school?
When will I feel like I can carry this "I'm a good student, I can do this" vibe up until the day I recieve my diploma?
When will I come home from Marching Band and feel like I have a place in the drumline...the drumline that I love, and the drumline I love being in?
When will I finally feel like a senior?

Yesterday...Saturday, August 14th...I applied to two of my four schools that I want to go to. I applied to Marian and DePauw.
Just doing that was very interesting. I found myself NOT being nervous or unsure, but rather excited and sort of stoked, really.

My mother was the one that was nervous. Thankfully she didn't hover over my shoulder while I applied online, but she was framing two posters nearby, ready to answer questions ("DePauw wants to know when you and Dad divorced...")(yeah, that was very strange)

And today was...ew. That sums it up. I felt my nose tingle and my throat was sore, meaning tomorrow my throat will be normal and my nose will be stuffed up. Probably for a week, if I take Benadryl.

I spent most of the morning/afternoon curled up on the sofa with a comforter, thinking about things.
I had a dream on Friday night that was vivid. And when my dreams are vivid, that means they mean something. This dream made me think, but I don't know the meaning behind it.
I wish my subconscious would tap into other issues in my life that need to be reinvestigated.

It's hard to describe, but I just had the feeling like I had to define myself and stand up for the way that I live my life, the way I love people, and the way that I want to live my life when I'm out of college and on my own with a real job and wanting to settle down with someone that actually wants to be with me forever, you know?

It felt like I needed to make decisions, and make statements, take a stand.

But instead of feeling full and triumphant, I felt feverish, sore, and like I needed to do grown-up tasks.
So I finished my AP Psychology notes for this week, and tried to not focus on how I felt whiny and half-assed.

It must be PMS. I think it is. So it's a good thing I disregarded all of that.

But I managed to NOT whine about it upon feeling it, so I guess that's an accomplishment. I talked with Andy for a couple of hours on Facebook, and that cheered me up a little. It always makes me feel good when he get ahold of me first.

Sometimes I feel like I interfere with his life when he doesn't need me, and that I'm just that odd 18-year-old that tells him the things that I think about late at night, that I am here for him, and exactly how I feel about whatever may be going on in either of our lives. Sometimes I wonder why he would want someone like me still around...when I am where I am in life. Will it be different next year, when I'm in college as well? Will we even talk to each other in a year, or three?

I wonder that for ALL of my friends.

I think I'm going to go have a psychic reading sometime soon, when I can go to the North Side. It's not like I'm really expecting them to give me all answers, but it'll give me some new insight. And there's nothing wrong with that.

I like looking at myself from the outside...from other people's voices. Whenever people randomly tell me exactly what they think of me, what they see in me or hear in my voice... I love it. Nothing like it in the world.

No, sir.

My Heart's Cheesin'.

Seriously. My heart cannot stop smiling.

Today was such a day. I don't know why I'm making such a big deal out of it, but it's like my soul is aflame with intense happiness and positivity that it can't be contained or secret.

The day started off kind of rough. It was a hot morning to be outside. But when I went to b-dubs with roughly ten of my friends with endless glasses of water, energy began to build. We quoted Monty Python and played trivia. And for some reason, my wings were orgasmically delicious.

Is "orgasmically" a word?
Oh well, it is now.

So I went home after b-dubs, showered and all that, when I double-check with Andy to see if he was still wanting to watch Southport's Marching Band practice this afternoon.
In his text, he replied, "Hey, would you maybe want to go bowling tonight?"

I spent the next three-ish hours with him and his friends from Center Grove. During our four games, we laughed and joked around (pissing off surrounding hardcore, 70-year-old bowlers), playing pranks on each other, having great TWSS and bow chicka bow wow moments, and I told stories about New Orleans.
I had never known anybody that goes to Center Grove, but the minute I joined the group, I was immediately in the fold.
I had roughly three strikes total today, which made me take second place only to Andy. It got to the point where I would do a happy dance, then skip back to the group and be ambushed by hands prepped for high-fives.

After the last game, we all headed to Panda Express and continued the laughter and story telling.
It's hard to describe. It was just...such a fun, good group of people.

Only a few hours, but it really made my day all the more amazing.

After we left Panda Express, I headed for Southport to watch their practice. At the five minute break, I saw Seth (the head drum major and one of my best friends) start to head straight for me. I stood up, met him halfway, and he gave me a tight hug.

We would've talked a little longer, I'm sure, but it started to rain and so they headed inside while I drove back home.

Today, for some reason, had a magic to it. I don't know what, exactly, but it was just so wonderful.

And that's when I realized that I had the concert on Friday to look forward to. And many more days in the upcoming future, I'm sure.

Bring it on, God. Bring on the happiness.

1 August, 2010

Well, we left New Orleans at about 7.
At first, I just wanted to get home at a decent hour so I could go to sleep.
But as we crossed the bridge to get to the other part of Louisiana, I found myself wanting to go back. I really loved New Orleans.

As I typically do when I return home from trips, I was remembered of old ghosts that would return.
I need to re-investigate certain parts of my life. I guess I always do, but I won't have construction work to distract me for a long while.

When I look back on this weeklong adventure, it's almost...weird.
I wasn't close to anybody on this trip again, but like the year before, I could sit down with any of them and have a conversation. New friends were formed.
I remembered what I was missing back in Indy, and who I was leaving behind, but I realized today that I was meant to be somewhere else this week, and that was New Orleans.

We are never placed in places we are not meant to be, in life.

The hilights of the week bring it all together.

The Best Flea Market in the WORLD.
The guy with the glass harmonica.
Walking the streets of New Orleans on a Sunday night.
Bourbon Street.
Seeing the French Quarter the very next day in the still of broad daylight.
That first bite of a beignet.
The story game: "I looked down and saw my wang!", Kelsey and "The War".
The little worksite dog that had more than five names before we settled on OmNom.
Being reminded that it was my birthday ALL DAY.
Taco Night. And my cupcake with the cool candles.
Building the staircase.
Going to the dedication of the completed home two blocks away.
Working with the future owners of the homes we were building.
Patrick. 'Nuff said.
Will Schnabel daring me to drink red gravy.
Seeing all of the Saints gear. (boo!!)
Finding the scariest laundromat in the world. And having fun.
Snoballs at the end of every day.
Holding Aubry up to put in styrofoam and insulation above the bathroom.
Spindles (we that worked on them know that was our undiscovered calling in life).
Line dancing.
Going into the city for the last time.
Dancing in the car.
Daniel Schoch rapping, and his Z-formation.

All those things make the not-so-great moments (like Sheehan's Risky Business moment, falling down, and breaking her camera lens) not seem too bad, you know?

The life I have to return to will work out in its own way and in its own time. It will be a challenge, but I can't run away from everyone forever. And I don't really want to.

People I know need me, not just the people I don't know.
But I realized something I already knew: while a fair few people mean a lot to me, I might not mean a lot to some people. And I can't get upset over that.
People say they love, and people say they need. But do people love because they need, or do they need because they love?

I will no longer let myself cry over broken promises. The broken promises I've cried over are petty and selfish compared to other broken promises that exist in people's lives.
Even if promises will never be totally rock solid, I can always hope for the ones that just might be.

Such strange epiphanies that I make on these trips. Such lessons I learn about myself, all while doing work for someone else.

I said that I was going to return from this trip, 18 years old and a better human being.

I am 18 years old.
And I can only hope that I am a better human being. And I think I am.

Rowdy 5000...
Keep it sleazy.

30 July, 2010

Today stupendously picked up from yesterday's slowness and foul stench of the port-o-let being sucked out and cleaned.
While today started out slow (sweeping), it got interesting once Aubry and I were both jobless.

Patrick, our leader who's sinfully easy on the eyes in a Robert Downey Jr/Bradley Cooper kind of way (and his suspenders with his tool belt...), paired us together to nail some wood in a few odd places, then nail styrofoam-like material to the interior of the roof above the bathroom as well as adding insulation.

We got the wood all right, but once we got to the styrofoam, we were immediately in trouble.
We had to reach the slope of the roof in order to nail the styrofoam.
We are both NOT blessed, concerning height.

We were about to ask Pat what we should do, when I saw him giving similar instructions to the group next door. I saw him standing on the soap ledge of the bathtub.
"Let's try that," I said to Aubry.

And so Aubry had to rely on my hands to support her while she hammered as lightly as she could while still being productive (and not fall off the soap ledge). I hoped I wouldn't fall, either, considering that I was standing on the railing of the bathtub.
"I've never felt so close to you before, Chloe," she joked.

Then Alex Carlisle walked in...
"SHEEHAN! CHLOE'S HOLDING AUBRY'S BUTT!"

Like I was. Oh, Alex.

26 July, 2010

6:15 pm (New Orleans time)

Apparently there was a nasty storm last night. But because I am my mother's daughter, I slept deeply through it all and awoke, ready to explore the city in daylight.
Last night was crazy. Even on a Sunday night, the streets were hopping.

We walked around for a few hours - me and four others - and perused the shops. So few were open before 10. I bet a lot of people call in on Monday morning, from what I saw last night.
New Orleans is different on Monday mornings. The party-feeling from last night was gone, and replaced with quiet stillness in the narrow streets, the air thick from last night's storm.

We stopped at Cafe Du Monde, and I ate a beignet for the first time in my life. For those that don't know, they're "French donuts", kind of like smaller, fluffier elephant ears with powdered sugar. Very messy for the floor, but it melts in your mouth when it's warm.

We walked down Bourbon Street. Apparently it's famous, for some reason or another. It was...interesting, to say the least.
The best part was when a small troupe of kids ages 8 and younger walked by "Sex Acts by Men and Women", and they laughed while the owner tried to cover up the photos posted on the windows. "Don't look - keep walking!"

(Taylor Peters...I still want that pecker that hops around when you wind it up!)

We went into another shop and looked at mardi gras masks. I got myself a voodoo doll that came with instructions and needles already pinned in. I almost wish I had gotten a real mask, but oh well.

The parish we are staying in for the week was not anything like I was expecting. It's ten tines nicer than Camp Victor was. But I guess I can deal with that.

At Walmart, Sheehan ruined the surprise.
"What kind of cake do you like?"
Looks like my birthday will be recognized, after all. And it looks like my birthday is going to fall on TACO NIGHT! Cha cha cha!!

Oh, and Sheehan had a meltdown when she realized she forgot journals for everyone. Such a funny meltdown, too.

Quote of the day was when we played this game in which people write stories, and four people go to the front of the group...the story being told is one of the four's, but all of them have to act like it's they're story.
Brandon Walsh was asked how he knew that there was a hole in the crotch of his pants, and he nonchalantly replied "I looked down and saw my wang."

25 July, 2010

10 pm (New Orleans time)

We crossed a bridge and descended into what appeared to be the French Quarter.
Tight streets, gas lamps, and Christmas lights were everywhere in sight.
We settled into out hotel - small but cool all the same - and set out to explore the streets.
Mom told me that New Orleans was a filthy, dirty town - but that I would love it. Having grown up watching Interview With The Vampire, I wondered if this town had changed much since the time period portrayed in the film.

It didn't. It looked just the same, even in the aftermath of Katrina.
It was dirty, it had little shops that sold voodoo dolls and mardi gras masks, psychics and gypsies were on every corner.
Even at this late hour, our only light being the gas lamps, this city was magical. There truly are no other words for it.

It's times like this that I'm happy my phone's off. I wanted to share this with everyone back at home, but I remembered the feeling from last year - that this was my trip, my time, meant only for me.