Magician, High School, Mrs. Falls, Thoughts, and Breakfast Ramble

"Wow. I just reached a whole new level of screwed."

That's something I said today, somewhat cheerily.

As one might expect, perhaps should expect, I didn't get much done yesterday. I hardly ever do get much done. I'm just still not much of a doer.

So, late last night, when I finally got in bed, I was very tired and fully ready to embrace one of my dear friends that I've fallen into a sad habit of neglecting these days, the fair Sleep... but the magician in my head kept me up for a while and wouldn't let me visit my dear friend until I wrote down all his newest revelations.

What's really driving me crazy is that I don't know his name. I had a dream recently in which Sir (Des) had a really exciting magician's name that was written on the wall in beautiful, swirling, sprawling, light green letters. (Sorry for the slew of adjectives; imagery and assumed knowledge seem so fundamental to dreams to me that I feel the need to use lots and lots of adjectives...) I couldn't pronounce the name at first, so she said it for me, and I tried it again, and again. I think the name might have changed with each attempt. Finally, I got it right. I feel that it would have translated from Dream to English, but... incredibly sadly, however I tried, I couldn't remember it when I woke.

I could easily, very easily, ramble on and on about this for pages... but I shouldn't even be blogging right now, I should be sleeping. But I powerfully want to blog.

So. As a final word regarding the mysterious magician whom I've been referring to as Magi for want of a name, I'll say this... well, two things, actually.

First, does anyone have any thoughts on magicians' names? Or thoughts on magicians? I am very interested in your thoughts. My thoughts assail me at all turns and keep me awake at night, but your thoughts are a rare and unique commodity that I would very much like to hear if you wouldn't mind sharing.

And second... One of Magi's revelations to me was sort of an image. He stood on a stage, all bold presence and masculine stance, and squared his shoulders. He wore a sly grin on his face and said in a voice as steady as his deft hands, "Fire at will."

Not so powerfully said as it could be... but the image and idea affected me powerfully. This is partly what enabled me to face the world today with cheerful bravado. I thought last night of the vast amount of things that would soon happen, that I wasn't prepared for, of all the things I haven't done... and as today went on, I continually achieved new levels of 'screwed'. And in the back of my mind, each time I faced a new squad, I heard the words, Fire at will, and they brought a smile to my face.

You know what's interesting? This attitude affected the firing squads. I don't think I was held as culpable as I could have been because I didn't appear so culpable. I didn't lie at all. I just squared my shoulders and thought Fire at will because I know I've made a mess of everything and I'm prepared to take it for it will pass. The smoke will clear and another scene will follow. In fact, this will happen even if I'm not in it. But that wasn't the point so much.

The firing squads gave off their initial shots, and that was that. No reload.

Today was saturated in quotes. 10 little pages of them. Yes, they're very little pages, but this is quite a number of quotes for a single day.

For whatever reason, the word "riot" stuck with me today, too. I felt very edgy today... very... something. Very hard-core. That's an absolutely ridiculous thing for me of all people to feel, but it was fun.

We had an assembly today, which caused us to miss economics class. That was such a lovely surprise. The assembly featured a film about trust. It was pretty good as far as high school out-reach assemblies go. I kept laughing throughout it, which may have appeared to the teachers to be disrespect for the film, but I actually got a lot out of it. I laughed somewhat often at serious things, but I got more out of it because of that. I don't know if I could explain that to the teachers. Maybe a few of them.

Someone in the video said something I really liked, a high school kid named Joey: "There's one thing you have to change. And that's everything."

Watching that video made me realize that I am absolutely amazed by, in love with, disgusted with, and terrified of humanity. The MCR song Teenagers came to mind. I realized that I'm getting old. Over the last few days I've been celebrating that I only have about 10 more weeks until I'm free of the high school prison. I still see that as something to celebrate, and I'm not getting nostalgic for any fanciful high school memories, but I did realize something important: this is the last time I'll see high school from the inside. One day I'll probably see it as a teacher, but that is a different world entirely. I realized that I have a whole lot of observing to do in the next ten weeks, a whole lot of writing; I need to know what high school is like on the inside for my writing...

I've got to make sure to sit down and write a little high school synopsis after I graduate so that I don't forget what it felt like to be an angsty teenager. I'm sure I'll have plenty of angst for years to come, but still...

I also had an idea to interview some kids here before I leave. From freshmen to seniors, people I know and people I've barely met... I'm not sure if I can pull it off. I think I can. I just have to ask the right questions. Once I get a good list... I don't know. I'm going to think about it for a couple of weeks, as the immediate future is entirely to full for interviews...

And, if you have the time, please tell me your thoughts. What questions would you ask?

I really like the idea of these interviews because... it's exactly like the thought thing. I know my own high school experience. But I'm not high school. I know the system. But the system isn't high school, either. I need to know other people's experiences, too... because high school is collectively a prison, a system, my experiences, other students experiences... and in fact, now that I think of it, the teachers' experiences, too. I could try to interview them, too... though that may be a little more daunting. Or maybe less. I would need separate questions for them...

One of Mrs. Falls's favorite phrases: "He calls a spade a spade."

I've found it hard to appreciate her this year; she's always angry. It almost always feels like she's burying us under governmental stones. But tonight at OAP practice, I saw a window.

Mrs. Falls was very upset about OAP, specifically about people bailing out on her when she made arrangements to oversee hairstyles for the play. She gave us a speech about her efforts, about what she does and why, about how long she's been doing these things... She said that she felt she was wasting her time. She said that she was so upset that she might not even affiliate herself with OAP next year.

Even the teachers seem to have senioritis.

Maybe it's like this every year, but it doesn't feel like it. It feels like this year is building to the culmination of a grand disappointment.

I'm sorry; that's a terribly depressing thing to say.

That isn't the point, anyway. I wanted to look up at Mrs. Falls and give her body language cues to show that I was listening, very closely, as I was, but I was too terrified; I could only look down and wear a poker face. I think if I had looked at her she would have thought I was challenging her. Yet I could tell she wanted some response. We're typically very unresponsive.

In the beginning, her speech featured nothing more than her increasingly characteristic anger and well-used phrases (such as the ironic, "Does that make sense?"). But... I don't even know how to describe it. At some point, in the middle perhaps, she seemed real. I've noticed these windows of realness... no... genuinness, lately. For a few moments, between phrases, Mrs. Falls was genuine, and I could see the edges of the truth that she was trying to convey to us. I have no idea what that truth is. But I could see that it existed.

I could see that there was a lot I didn't know.

I feel the nigglings of a kind of respect for Mrs. Falls, a kind of appreciation... and it wasn't even anything specific that she said. I don't know how to explain it.

As I was sitting in the hall, being late to lunch, either Mrs. Kennemer or Mrs. Vaughn said "Okay, when you come in, you have to be careful not to pick up anything that ya don't know what it is so you don't spill it all over yourself and get it everywhere." I have no idea what this means and it was extremely hilarious to me when I first heard it.

Tons of things are about to happen in English class. Three essays this week. I must resign myself to write quickly, simply, and the opposite of thoroughly, though it pains me. Mrs. Thornton gave us today to start writing on two of the essays. I can't imagine how anyone starts writing immediately.
Everytime this happens, I know I don't have much time. I know I need to think. But I always end up staring at the wall. Too many thoughts keep bouncing in my brain and the ticking of the clock on the wall is a tennis racket, wacking them off the walls in my head. Some of them get tangled in the net. Tick, tick, tick, wack, wack, wack...

That's what I was thinking about today in class instead of writing. One of the things I was thinking about, anyway; over the last few days I have been overwhelmed with ideas. Maybe it's just been today and last night. I can't keep up with time... but that's okay. I think maybe time has a fondness for late people, as such a vast populace insists on being 'on time.' I imagine time might get tired of people being on him constantly. I imagine he likes it when people are early or late, which is more like strolling up to him and offering a polite hello. That's just silly speculation, though; being on time surely has its own lovely metaphoric benefits as well.

Sir's van battery gave out on us today after school, so Mr. Knutson jump-started it for us. I imagined several cool scenarios in which he employed his Marine/Calculus/Physics powers to help us had he not had the cables handy. He's so cool. He would be very high up on my interview list.

It is ridiculously late. I don't know if I even said anything important... but I wanted to remember this day, and I think all this rambling will offer me a memory window later. I'm going to be tired this week, anyway.

Oh. How could I forget? This morning, I woke up to that Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin song, "What Will We Do", I think. It was lovely for my mood today. Somehow, I was able to get up at 6:30 even though I got to sleep late. This afforded me time to have a lovely breakfast and do a little singing. I had Earl Grey tea and thought of you, Laura, and your amazing powers of waking. It was a lovely breakfast.

I'm off now to pay Sleep a visit.