Wednesday, May 28, 2003
I Dreamt
I dreamt I was reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix last night. I had somehow gotten it before the release date. While reading it my mind wandered from boredom and I began to wonder if it were a fake. I reread chapter one, trying to immerse myself because I knew something big happened in chapter two. I woke up before I got to the second chapter (entitled something like ‘Stations 100-200’). I really wonder sometimes…
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
Mr. Homebound
I am beginning to like the morning more and more. Perhaps it has something to do with summer on its way, but I would rather rise with the sun than lie down to it.
I hung a Gryffindor chain in my window yesterday. I saw it this morning when I woke up, illuminated by the sun and excitement for Harry Potter gripped my heart hard. I think that waiting for something is often more fun than the thing itself. I don’t believe I can apply that theory here: the entire package is wonderful. The waiting is full of excitement, reading is full of the unexpected and afterwards there are all the wonderful discussions. I cannot wait for another damn minute. But I will.
Writing has been going well, though I would not blame people who think that I have given up on another story due to lack of momentum and plot. I believe in taking my time with writing. Now that I have an audience I am writing a bit more carefully. The parts that are done I am happy with.
I have decided to dedicate ‘Alice’ to Michael. He was one of the inspirations for it. He is also a big part of my life and I felt that I wanted to write something for him. The book I am now writing I am writing for myself, but it started out for him.
I think I would be right in saying that there is some skepticism among people I know as to whether Michael and I are just friends. I don’t blame them. I talk about Michael an awful lot.
I question myself often. Do I like him as a friend or more? Truthfully, honestly, the answer would be more, but not by much. If we really were to get into a relationship I think there would be problems. First of all, we live on opposite sides of the country. Second of all, I am having a lot of fun just being his friend, without having to worry about a relationship. So really, I just like things the way they are. For the record, if anyone is reading this, that is true.
Later…
Mom often talks dirty about dad. When I say, ‘talks dirty’ I mean that she says bad things about him. She has just done this. Why? Because my dad accidentally left his wedding ring here and now we are sending it back to him. She just went off talking about how careless he is. I didn’t like it so I said, “You know that anything bad you say about dad I am immune to because he’s my dad, right?”
“Yes, but you know he’s scatter-brained. You know he takes off that ring and plays with it.”
Well, sure. I’d play with it, too. And all the insults were making me mad. All I could say was,
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Be quiet.”
Later…
I hung a Gryffindor chain in my window yesterday. I saw it this morning when I woke up, illuminated by the sun and excitement for Harry Potter gripped my heart hard. I think that waiting for something is often more fun than the thing itself. I don’t believe I can apply that theory here: the entire package is wonderful. The waiting is full of excitement, reading is full of the unexpected and afterwards there are all the wonderful discussions. I cannot wait for another damn minute. But I will.
Writing has been going well, though I would not blame people who think that I have given up on another story due to lack of momentum and plot. I believe in taking my time with writing. Now that I have an audience I am writing a bit more carefully. The parts that are done I am happy with.
I have decided to dedicate ‘Alice’ to Michael. He was one of the inspirations for it. He is also a big part of my life and I felt that I wanted to write something for him. The book I am now writing I am writing for myself, but it started out for him.
I think I would be right in saying that there is some skepticism among people I know as to whether Michael and I are just friends. I don’t blame them. I talk about Michael an awful lot.
I question myself often. Do I like him as a friend or more? Truthfully, honestly, the answer would be more, but not by much. If we really were to get into a relationship I think there would be problems. First of all, we live on opposite sides of the country. Second of all, I am having a lot of fun just being his friend, without having to worry about a relationship. So really, I just like things the way they are. For the record, if anyone is reading this, that is true.
Later…
Mom often talks dirty about dad. When I say, ‘talks dirty’ I mean that she says bad things about him. She has just done this. Why? Because my dad accidentally left his wedding ring here and now we are sending it back to him. She just went off talking about how careless he is. I didn’t like it so I said, “You know that anything bad you say about dad I am immune to because he’s my dad, right?”
“Yes, but you know he’s scatter-brained. You know he takes off that ring and plays with it.”
Well, sure. I’d play with it, too. And all the insults were making me mad. All I could say was,
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Be quiet.”
Later…
Mr. Homebound
1. “Its not like reading an Encyclopedia”
2. “Doesn’t look like Career, uh, Hel’ is gonna work out”
2. “Doesn’t look like Career, uh, Hel’ is gonna work out”
Listed above are some of the idiotic things said by my homebound teacher. I don’t think I’ve met a homebound teacher in Nebraska who has any brains. Now he his telling my mom the story about the leukemia girl…AGAIN! Hello! We know!
1. Encyclopedias are easy to read. First graders do it.
2. Career hell? Oh yeah. NO! It’s Career ED! Jeez, he has REALLY bad diction and so when he says ‘health’ it comes out ‘hel’.
2. Career hell? Oh yeah. NO! It’s Career ED! Jeez, he has REALLY bad diction and so when he says ‘health’ it comes out ‘hel’.
Time for more idiotic things said by Mr.Homebound (Steve).
“Use an umbrella when you go outside, those are my words of wisdom” Um, yeah. Before he said that he said:
“Any questions? Any words of wisdom you have for me before I leave?”
What I would like to say:
“Yeah, why are you such a moron?”
“Yeah, why are you such a moron?”
What I really said:
“Um, yeah. What should I do with my text books?”
“Um, yeah. What should I do with my text books?”
You know, I don’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and I give lots of fake smiles. I am always forced to say "sounds good” or “sounds like a plan” which I would never say in real life.
Nothing! Well, I suppose he got a kick out of getting a test with the answers on it. Idiot. He thought he made some funny jokes…but he didn’t. But that was it.
Wednesday, May 21, 2003
Morning: My dream
There was a lot that happened before this, but here is where I will start:
I have to go and see this guy who has made this new cartoon that is now in the papers about two genius babies (though they don’t look like babies). The style looks Simpson-like. I see that in one of the cartoons the babies are in straight jackets.
Anyway, I’m gonna go see the creator of this comic strip with mom so that I can get started on some art stuff (sort of like a lesson since I have nothing else to do). Looking back, I realize that the artist guy was pretty awesome. I’ll have to use him in a story sometime. He was about mom’s age, black hair, kinda shy, sometimes wearing glasses ( I think).
He had just moved into this new apartment. It was a large space with a modern look. It was sparse and all the walls where white. There were some abstract paintings on the wall, mostly in red, blue and yellow (primary colors).
There was a large set of glass cabinets set into the wall separating the kitchen from another room. You could see through the cabinets into the other room. It was like a really big version of grandma and grandpa’s house in Michigan. You could see dishes stacked by color in the cabinets. All very organized, very cool.
For minute I am the artist and I try to get something down from the last cupboard. I break a large glass wine glass in the process. This happens a few more times and I say, “Oh, I know this apartment looks cool, but I keep breaking things, so I don’t think its gonna work out.”
What the artist guy is trying to do is get art supplies from the glass cabinets. Mom and I help him get it all down and look at all the cool stuff in these bags and containers. Billons of brand-new, unsharpened pencils, watercolor sets, and so on.
Then we go into the kitchen and sit down at a long, white table by a floor-to-ceiling window. He starts drawing and telling me about the various art supplies that mom and I are still curiously inspecting. He gets out his watercolors and starts painting and mom says, “Hey, Becca, look! These are Tracy Sands’ watercolors! She makes these!” (Tracy Sands is my sister’s cello teacher. As far as I know she has no talent or history in the watercolor business.)
“Really?” said the artist. “You know the person who makes these watercolors? I love them! Never use anything else.”
They were your average watercolors. About seven colors in a plastic case. I said, “I don’t like to paint my sketches. I never did until last summer. It was okay, I guess. I prefer a pencil sketch, though. I notice you have smudgers! I am addicted to them!”
He gave me a look that plainly said that he didn’t like smudgers.
[The dream went on but I never recorded it. I remember that there was something about Michael and a few other kids walking on Irving Middle School’s roof. I don’t usually comment on my journal entries but I must comment on this one. Turned out a couple years later that I, like my grandmother, have a knack for watercolor. It is my favorite medium to use and is where I exceed.]
I have to go and see this guy who has made this new cartoon that is now in the papers about two genius babies (though they don’t look like babies). The style looks Simpson-like. I see that in one of the cartoons the babies are in straight jackets.
Anyway, I’m gonna go see the creator of this comic strip with mom so that I can get started on some art stuff (sort of like a lesson since I have nothing else to do). Looking back, I realize that the artist guy was pretty awesome. I’ll have to use him in a story sometime. He was about mom’s age, black hair, kinda shy, sometimes wearing glasses ( I think).
He had just moved into this new apartment. It was a large space with a modern look. It was sparse and all the walls where white. There were some abstract paintings on the wall, mostly in red, blue and yellow (primary colors).
There was a large set of glass cabinets set into the wall separating the kitchen from another room. You could see through the cabinets into the other room. It was like a really big version of grandma and grandpa’s house in Michigan. You could see dishes stacked by color in the cabinets. All very organized, very cool.
For minute I am the artist and I try to get something down from the last cupboard. I break a large glass wine glass in the process. This happens a few more times and I say, “Oh, I know this apartment looks cool, but I keep breaking things, so I don’t think its gonna work out.”
What the artist guy is trying to do is get art supplies from the glass cabinets. Mom and I help him get it all down and look at all the cool stuff in these bags and containers. Billons of brand-new, unsharpened pencils, watercolor sets, and so on.
Then we go into the kitchen and sit down at a long, white table by a floor-to-ceiling window. He starts drawing and telling me about the various art supplies that mom and I are still curiously inspecting. He gets out his watercolors and starts painting and mom says, “Hey, Becca, look! These are Tracy Sands’ watercolors! She makes these!” (Tracy Sands is my sister’s cello teacher. As far as I know she has no talent or history in the watercolor business.)
“Really?” said the artist. “You know the person who makes these watercolors? I love them! Never use anything else.”
They were your average watercolors. About seven colors in a plastic case. I said, “I don’t like to paint my sketches. I never did until last summer. It was okay, I guess. I prefer a pencil sketch, though. I notice you have smudgers! I am addicted to them!”
He gave me a look that plainly said that he didn’t like smudgers.
[The dream went on but I never recorded it. I remember that there was something about Michael and a few other kids walking on Irving Middle School’s roof. I don’t usually comment on my journal entries but I must comment on this one. Turned out a couple years later that I, like my grandmother, have a knack for watercolor. It is my favorite medium to use and is where I exceed.]
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