Shoe Carnival is Basically My After School High School

I was at work tonight, organizing boxes for minimum wage, and I found myself struck with a thought: I really do not want to be the Shoe Carnival kid's department girl for the rest of my life. Not as though this is super surprising, I'm not sure many people aspire to work their days at a shoe store (especially one as drama-ridden as this one), but there are people I work with who have been with the company for longer than I've been alive. I don't put myself on a pedestal in comparison to them, they've made a good life out of their job, but I really do not want that. At all.

But anyway, I added this into my imaginary jar of thoughts I keep stored in my brain that gives my reasons of wanting to go to college. I don't want my life to become a shoe store and petty drama with nineteen year-olds when I'm thirty-five. Hell, I don't want my life to be a shoe store and petty drama with nineteen year-olds now (fortunately it's just the former). The amount of talking about people behind their backs, then talking about how people are talking behind their backs reminds me of... High school. Except rather than 2000 students, there are fifteen employees, plus a GM who plays the role of a dad who attempts at disciplining his kids, but falls flat when it comes to actual punishments. Nice guy, though. I really don't want to be in high school for the rest of my life. Because, as good as high school can sometimes be, I am so ready to move on to greener pastures with tons of individualistic cows.

So as I find my time with high school ending in the next few weeks, I also see that my time with Shoe Carnival is not permanent. I'll work this summer and get some cash, but the shoe industry is not for me. Too damn backstabby and gossipy. Granted, I've heard every place is like that.

Maybe that's why I don't want a real job.

Last Make-Up Blog

This photo is a metaphor for my make-up work: it's over the top, interesting to stare at, but requires too much to actually consider doing myself. Also, first image to come up when typing "make-up work" into Google.

I was on the phone with my friend Rachel earlier, and we were talking about our procrastination woes (we were those girls in Algebra II who talked about making t-shirts with the legend "Procrastination Club", but never actually got around to it). We both find that we get home and realize, hey, there's a good eight hours before we need to go to bed, no reason to start homework now. We do other things, listen to music or watch TV or something, saying it will last only half an hour or so, and then we'll tackle that make-up work.

Four hours later, these things are still happening.

I don't even like TV, to be perfectly honest. I like some TV shows, and Netflix is incredible, but sitting down and channel surfing, watching snippets of random episodes of some rerun doesn't entertain me in the slightest (okay, if it's Maury, I may watch...). I actually like to DO things. So why do I find myself tempted to turn on the TV, rather than type this blog?

Self-sabotage.

But I made some coffee, got off the phone, and began working at my make-up blogs. And, hey, this is my last one! Maybe after a run and a shower I'll feel even more motivated to finish up my poetry responses. Hopefully, I'd love to get all my make-up work out of the way before I have to start working this week...

Poet Laureate Stuff

So, you all know how there's a Poet Laureate at graduation each year?

I'M ONE OF THE TOP FOUR IN THE COMPETITION!!!

I debated posting this, because people who are all like, "look how cool I am, I did this, compliment me," are borderline tacky, but I'm pretty damn stoked. Especially considering the fact I wrote my poem two hours before the official deadline...

Two of my creative writing buddies are also in the top four, and weirdly enough I'd be happy to lose to either of them because they're both so talented. I don't know, this post is really having no purpose, I'm just excited and happy, and all of those other emotions with words.

So maybe I'll read a poem at graduation. Maybe I won't. Who knows, I'm just happy!

Sestina

Even though it was rushed through lunch/in between presentations, I had a lot of fun writing my extra credit sestina today (also, the internet is telling me that's not a real word). Maybe it had to do with the challenge I had created for myself to finish it during third block, or perhaps the subject matter (gender, with a hint of Morrissey), but I think I may have found a structure of poetry I actually enjoy creating. The majority of the time when I write poems they tend to be free verse because:
1. They're easier
2. More freedom
3. I like the flow sooooooo much better
But sestinas aren't too murderous of the creative process that is writing a poem. Granted, I wouldn't say what I wrote was good by any means; I mention an eighties singer like seven times. But it was fun, and I may try out writing a sestina again.

Senioritis Does Exist, Mr. Mullins

And to prove that, let's take into account the fact this is a make-up blog.

To be honest, I never really bought senioritis as a realistic mental state until I actually became a senior. Something about being free in only a month combined with going out into the world in the fall makes for an incredibly lazy Monty. There is so much I want to do right now, but high school strangles that. I'm still here, but I want to be there.

On a personal note, I've always had an "anywhere but here" complex to some degree. I guess that could be blamed on moving at awkward ages as a kid so I've never really felt truly at home, or my lack of satisfaction teenage angst , but whatever reason, it's present, especially this past month or so. I'm doing my best to combat it, but, like many of my fellow peers, I would rather stare at a wall for several hours than actually do homework.

Last semester of high school just makes for an awkward limbo phase. Most everyone knows their status on whether they will graduate or not, as well as what college/where they will be in the fall. It's just playing the waiting game for the diploma. I'm not sure if I've actually been taught anything in any of my classes recently, either. Well, maybe if I paid attention in math...

So yes, it's a thing.

Emily Dickinson: A Blog Post

So, I'm going to share I secret: I really cannot stand Emily Dickinson. What? You all knew?! I made that perfectly clear in class?!

Perhaps I should explain.

(LOOK DEEP INTO MY EYES...)

I'd heard Emily Dickinson's name before, but hadn't ever read a word of her work until last year in English. This may be due to the fact that I didn't care for poetry too much until my Sophomore year, and I'm not the type to go looking for poet's works (except Allen Ginsberg--he's a cool dude). So my class got a brief synopsis on Emily, and then we were thrown to her works! Oh, the sing-song horror of it all! So many damn words arranged in the whiniest and bounciest rhythm possible. I really couldn't look past that.

AND THEN. Her poems had deeper meaning. She takes this nursery-rhyme tune and makes poetry that on the surface seems obnoxious, but beneath has a ton of messages. Don't get me wrong, that's really cool. But it makes me enraged! I can't figure out why, but it really gets to me... I guess it stems from NOT UNDERSTANDING WHAT THE @#$% THIS GIRL IS SAYING. And then when I figure out it's really interesting, it's annoying. Any other poet, I don't really care if it's a hunt to find out what they are trying to say. But hiding something incredibly fabulous under a ton of rhymes (I don't dig on rhyme schemes--far too forced) and occasional whiny gibberish is cruel. I don't like the way her writing sounds.

Okay, that's basically the gist of it. Perhaps I just don't appreciate "great poetry".

In Defense of My 72% in AP English

Yes, I'm admitting it: I have a D in this class. But it's super close to a C. And some missing work/essays haven't even been put in yet. So it really isn't the end of the world.

Why is it I have a D? Well, the short answer could be that I haven't done my work on time. But I'll just give the long answer because, you know, why not?

English is absolutely my favorite subject, because it takes all the nerdy, questioning philosophical stuff and shoves it into novels and writing. THREE THINGS I CANNOT HAVE ENOUGH OF. But it's also a lot of work. And if I didn't have a manager and a teacher conspiring together to make sure I don't have an inch of time to do work, then maybe I'd get it done in a timely manor and not spend my nights off doing a major works data sheet, three Beloved reading journals, a AP-style quiz on Beloved, and a blog. But all in all, I can be exceptionally lazy. As much as I'd love to be a seventh grader and blame everything on anyone who isn't me, I've got to own up to it and accept my grade as my own doing. And you know what? I love my grade. I'm going to keep working at it, and maybe my grade will become a little prettier, therefore more accepting by society. Then I may have something that won't make colleges ask why they accepted me as an English major in the first place.

But if I resent my grade, I know I won't make it any better. So why not love it and own up to it? I HAVE A D.

Hey, at least I'm not failing. (This post was incredibly useless)