Almost done!

Four more days left of high school. We're in the final stretch!

Visiting my (?) University

I went to visit (again) the university that I'm 99% positive I'm going to go to next year. I'm really excited, and a little nervous. I met some really cool kids today though; they're super funny, very welcoming, and very kind.

Objectivity

Why is it that sometimes I think I can objectively support a point using a personal example, when in all actuality, I can't separate emotions from rationality enough to argue my point?

How long does it take after someone dies before you can talk about it out loud again? (I think I've moved on alright, I really do. I just can't seem to actually say it out loud, straight forward, without skirting around it and saying something like "the time I sang that S McL piece" instead of "when T died." Which is silly, because really, I'm totally fine, and I've come to terms with T, and T's death, and myself. So, why is it that I can't use anything I've learned from that experience as objective fact? I am so frustrated with myself!)

In any case, I cried at school today at a meeting that supposed to be not about me at all, but I accidentally made it about me when I tried using this thing about T as an example supporting my argument... but I never got to deliver the argument because I wimped out because I started crying and got all embarrassed.

This sucks.

But on a brighter note, the meeting went well, as a whole! Next time I will remember to leave all personal examples out of the conversation. Clearly, they are not so helpful at this point in time!

per·func·to·ry

per·func·to·ry

[per-fuhngk-tuh-ree] 

adjective

1. performed merely as a routine duty; hasty and superficial: perfunctory courtesy.
2. lacking interest, care, or enthusiasm; indifferent or apathetic: In his lectures he reveals himself to be merely a perfunctory speaker.

I hope that everything I do in life will be so much more than simply perfunctory. 

Johnlock!

I just had the most amazing Johnlock Omegle roleplay in which Sherlock had just gotten stabbed by one of Moriarty's hitmen post-Reinbach (specifically three years) and texted John anonymously for medical advice, but John deduced that it was Sherlock and rushed over to Lauriston Gardens, where Sherlock was sitting barely conscious in a pool of his own blood, and then they went into an ambulance sent by Mycroft to a private hospital for injured spies, and Sherlock got taken into the ER just after almost confessing his love for John, and meanwhile John was tearing himself apart inside (with Mycroft watching) because of conflicting emotions mostly because he was married to this girl named Rachel whom he only married in a futile and unsuccessful attempt to forget Sherlock and he wasn't sure how to tell Sherlock about her once Sherlock woke up, but when Sherlock woke up, he was well enough to notice that there was a ring around John's finger, and Sherlock was very sad because John had gotten married, but also because Sherlock's re-appearance not only meant that John was now in danger (because everyone in Moriarty's web had been taken down except for Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's lover), but it also meant that Sherlock would have shattered John's marriage, so Sherlock tells John to go home, but John refuses, and tells Sherlock that he can either stay by Sherlock's side in the hospital recovery room quietly, or he'll stay by Sherlock's side after calling Rachel and attempting to salvage the remains of their breaking relationship (breaking because John spends more time thinking about a 'dead' man than thinking about anyone else), and Sherlock is sad, but he tells John that it's really John's choice. 

John leaves the room to make a phone call, and Sherlock assumes that John is going to leave him for Rachel, but when John re-enters the recovery room, his gold ring is no longer on his finger. As it turns out, Rachel broke off the marriage, although John tells Sherlock that he would've broken it off, but she got to it first. Sherlock asks about the two of them, and John describes the desperation he experienced when Sherlock 'died,' and how he married Rachel only because it seemed like he could pretend that he was a different John Watson with her, a John Watson who never knew a Sherlock Holmes, but then things started to fall apart when they married and he was obligated to act for more than hours at a time. Things started to fall apart on their honeymoon, when in the throes of passion, John accidentally slipped the name of someone other than his new wife. Rachel eventually became convinced that John was increasingly mentally unstable, and also possibly cheating on her, leading them to have frequent arguments, etc. Sherlock laughed, upon hearing this story, a bark of a laugh that hurt his injured body. He admitted to John that the men he slept with over the three years didn't appreciate being called 'John' in bed either. Eventually they made a semi-confession of love, all without saying the words 'I love you,' making them relatively not OOC in the typical Sherlokian fashion. 

I am too excited. I'm pretty sure there are countless tense errors in this blog post, but I don't care! I only wish that I saved a log of the conversation to read again and again in my own time! (If I ever get more spare time. Serves me right, I suppose, for indulging in the Sherlock fandom.)

Arguments

My folks are arguing again, and it's Mother's Day. They were so mad on Friday right before prom, and I suppose I was too much of a wimp so I just tried to forget about it and enjoy myself during the dinner, dance, and party. I hope it doesn't get that bad again.

What do I do?

Prom photos

Just saw a photo of my friends and I at prom. My date had just snuck his arm really lightly around my waist, and I'm positively beaming.

Also, our heels have punctured holes into the yard and all the girls are sinking.

Prom

We had our prom last night. I heard from some of the other students that they thought it was rather disappointing... but I had lots of fun. How couldn't you enjoy a nice dinner and evening with your closet friends from school, and a boy who you like but you haven't really seen in a while? Plus, there's the dancing, and the saying hello to your teachers, and it's all good fun.

My friends and I had our own little 'after party.' It was a girls-only slumber party, so we had to send our dates off on their merry way. Super fun! Good munchies, good drinks (in moderation, of course), good friends. Loved it.

Parents and Children

Sometimes, I think they are just afraid that I'll become just like them.

Other times, it seems more like they are afraid that I won't be like them, at all.

Normality

Sometimes I don't understand.

How can someone say such horrible things to someone else and not feel any sort of need to apologize? How can he do that? How can he just walk around like it is normal? Can't he see how hurt she is?

And when I hear about it, why is it that it feels practically normal, too?

I feel so guilty. I don't know what to do.

Sherlock meets Tangled

I watched this amazing video today. It is too good not to share. 

Sherlock is stuck in 221b. He's bored. Of course. 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9CbS6gaO9g&feature=related

The video uses footage from the BBC Sherlock Series and music from Tangled (specifically "When Will My Life Begin.")

I love him 'painting' the walls. I love him reading the books. I love him taking a climb.

I think I'm becoming obsessed with Benedict Cumberbatch's character.

However, I don't think Sherlock would ever be that interested in anything vaguely related to the solar system.

Antagonizing others

On that day that I almost told my teacher a secret that wasn't mine to tell, I think I antagonized someone whom I should love and probably do love very much. I feel very guilty about it now, but I don't want to bring it up with the teacher and blabber about how great this person is because then I might come close to telling the secret again, which would antagonize him even further. I wonder if I'd have acted differently if I were braver.

Being myself

I am really enjoying trolling on Omegle. All I have to do is be myself and add a pinch more sass. It is surprisingly quite fun.

Conflicts between Colleges

As stated in this wonderful article from The New Yorker, there seems to be two major types of college education.

The first is the small, liberal-arts college in which students learn for the sake of learning. They develop a broad foundation in a variety of mostly humanities-based subjects, and they graduate with changed minds and changed viewpoints about the world around them and themselves.

The second is the more utilitarian college degree. I include the word 'degree' in this second description and not in the first because I want to emphasize that the learning that goes on in this second college is learning towards a product: a degree, a job, and success. Of course, I don't mean to say that the learning in this second college is less valuable or less sincere than the learning of the first college. I only mean to say that the second college is more practical, more rational.

I don't know which one is more worthwhile.

For the actual article, please follow the link below!
http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2012/04/30/120430fa_fact_auletta

Another strange dream

Since I shared one of my strange dreams, I thought I would share another one, here.

Last Wednesday night, I had an odd nightmare. I believe I was in fifth grade, so that would mean I was probably about nine or ten years old. I was at some sort of camp, but it wasn't summer, and it wasn't winter, either. It reminded me of a place where we took a grade five trip, once. It was a sort of leadership camp. I remember it being a strange combination of that leadership camp and this other camp that we go to for our music retreats in high school and the basement of the music department building at Dalhousie University. A bunch of stuff happened that I can't really remember, but I know that the dream ended with me in a wooden cabin of sorts. It wasn't the basement of the Dalhousie music building. I was playing an upright black piano. Probably a Petrof, like the one we have at school where I have my lessons. And then I stopped playing. There was an oil lamp attached to the wall. I don't remember if my friends lit it up, or if I did, but for some reason or another I somehow managed to set the building on fire, and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I tried. I swear, I tried, but the fire spread so quickly. I remember trying to get out, but struggling. My friends were in there too, I think. I'm not sure if they got out alright.

I think I woke up before I managed to get out. I think I remember seeing a gravely road ahead of me, with fire along the curbs, but I don't think I ever managed to make it out of the cabin into the road. I'm not sure.

What a strange dream. I didn't like it. I woke up feeling an awful lot like the opposite of a hero.

Almost telling

Yesterday, I came ridiculously close to telling a teacher a secret that I've never told to anyone (other than  anonymously to KHP, but I don't think that really counts). I was very upset about something that is probably stupid. She was very kind, as she always is. The words were in my head. They were on my lips. The opportunity to speak was right there. I'm pretty sure I opened my mouth to say them, but instead I said something like "I suppose so" or "I guess you're right" or some other noncommittal response like "Hmm."

That was terrifying. I have to be more careful.
It's not really my secret to tell, anyways.

Should a post-secondary decision be

rational or emotional?