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Scooter Stars
I had a thought this morning, trying to further explain the concept that is Scooter. Getting a lot closer with this one.
So, y'know constellations, right? Vela, Cancer, Ursa Minor/Major, etc. You know that we group stars by the pictures that they seem to make - the cosmic connect-the-dots, as it were. You know that we look up at those giant balls of burning gas and lend some organization, because that's what we do. You know that our perspective is limited - from down here on this little breathing rock, the blue-black velvet sky appears two-dimensional. We have no way of seeing a z-axis - we can imagine it out, because we know it's there, but we'll decide that two stars are right next to each other, because they're at 4, 9 and 5, 7 on the x and y, and we just can't see that on the z they're at 12 and 130.
So, imagine that you took that star that's out on 5, 7, 30, seized on it as a focal point, and swung your perspective out 90 degrees. This is the Trell system. Six planets, two of which are colonized, and a third used for agriculture (because the atmosphere is crap but the photosynthesizers absolutely thrive in it). And from their focal points, having two different worlds, the Trellans are very aware of the stars, and the way things travel through space (they don't have fast enough craft to get themselves to anything out of their system before their lifetimes evaporate, so they travel between the two worlds about as casually as you might go to Italy). They're a little more advanced than we are - maybe they're smarter, maybe they've been around longer so they've just trained their kids to this advanced thinking pattern. Don't know.
Kicker on the constellations. Trellans have 'em, they just have way different ones. Not just because of the culture and location, but because for them, our x and y are their z and x. So, the two stars we were looking at really aren't anywhere close to each other from their perspective.
So, picture that some of these Trellans ended up over here. And everyone thinks they're kind of dumb, because they don't get the locations, and they don't recognize any of the stars. Or they do, but it takes them awhile, because they have to think of the stars from the sky they've memorized, and imagine swinging their perspective, do all the math for it, and THEN see the connections. So people say they're slow, because this takes them awhile, not realizing that they're taking the time to do math that most of us couldn't put together.
That's Scooter. Kind of. Scooter's brilliant at taking in information, keeping it accessible, and offering it when it's needed later - as long as it's phrased as information, like a class lecture or a textbook. She flies through tests. She nails the right answers in class. She tutors people in classes that she isn't even taking. But she doesn't look at the world from the same perspective that most people do, and so the connections that they take for granted or casually string together, she has to pause and think about, and imagine swinging out 90 degrees from where she normally hangs out to see what it might look like from there. And because she's pretty (different kind of pretty, too - she has this gorgeous smile and amazing eyes, and her whole facial structure is so cute, but you usually overlook it because she dresses LOUD), and over-the-top cheerful, and this process of perspective-adjusting takes a second, people write her off as a ditz.
I've told Didi that if she ever has a major puzzle to solve, or she has to pick five friends to survive in the jungle with her, whatever, to make sure that Scooter's on her team. Because yes, she can be a klutz, and she's in-your-face about God, and she's kind of confused a lot of the time - but she sees things that nobody else on the team will get, because of her perspective.
Of course, then you'll have quite the job of making everybody listen to her. This happened with one of our imaginary survival adventures at Camp - you have to plot out a way to keep your team alive, and what items are most important to keep, when you're lost. Everybody on the team plots out what they would individually do/keep, and then they share what they've got with each other and settle on a plan. Scooter's team pretty much went down in flames upon the later evaluation - but Scooter's own information sheet had the best survival plan in the room. But, since she's always apologizing and bubbly, no one in her team wanted to listen to her.
That's another piece about Scooter. Because everyone tells her that she's not very smart, she believes it. Her bio dad didn't want her, and wanted her bio mom to get rid of her before she was born, and she still holds it in her head that she's not worth very much. It's not like she's any kind of special-needs. She's just really special, and can't see it because she's pinning so much on wanting to have a boyfriend. Scooter sparkles from the inside, just sparkles out her eyes, and her amazing smile. She's silly, and super-random, and sings and plays guitar, and...this is going to sound odd, but Scooter isn't afraid of anything except when she's scared. It's goofy to explain. She'll go out the door in the weirdest color combinations, take on high challenges on the ropes course, sing loud just because she feels like it, tell people what's awesome about them even though they weren't talking to her, listen and guess what's really hurting inside a little girl, and put her trust completely in God and know that he's going to work it out. But there are times when something gets her, and I haven't figured out what it is - I just pull her off to the side in a closet or something, and she snuffles and cries, and I wish so hard that I could cry on cue because then I'd cry with her and we'd be closer together and I might be able to help more.
I think she's afraid that no one will ever want her. It's deeper than the boyfriend thing. It's that for some reason, she's afraid that everyone's just humoring her, and no one really wants her around, wants her close, wants to take her with them on the next adventure. I used to feel that. It didn't match reality, but it matched my perceptions. I used to think that I was supposed to be in with the other special-ed kids and nobody had told me because they didn't know what to say - or they didn't care.
Okay, seriously, if you're a guy, and there's any chance WHATsoever that you're going to someday be a dad, you have to hear this. Okay? Dads are really important. Are you listening? This is important. I'm not sure what it is that boys need from their dad - probably lots of time outside climbing trees and nearly killing themselves in high adventure as they experience the natural world (don't ask me - I like outdoorsy guys). I do know what little girls need. And you're not going to accept it right away, because it sounds so superficial. Little girls need to know that you think they're pretty. And it's gotta be you who tells them. It's nice and fun to hear it from Mom, but there's a need to hear it from Dad. They need to know that you think they're special and pretty and worth cherishing. I don't know why - I don't know why Dads have that kind of strength, or what it is in us that needs it. I just know that it is. If you think she's pretty, tell her. If you don't, look at her closer - pretty goes a lot deeper than what she's wearing. She needs to know how much she means to you, and for some reason, saying she's pretty is a big part of it.
I'm twenty-two and I still need to hear it.
So, y'know constellations, right? Vela, Cancer, Ursa Minor/Major, etc. You know that we group stars by the pictures that they seem to make - the cosmic connect-the-dots, as it were. You know that we look up at those giant balls of burning gas and lend some organization, because that's what we do. You know that our perspective is limited - from down here on this little breathing rock, the blue-black velvet sky appears two-dimensional. We have no way of seeing a z-axis - we can imagine it out, because we know it's there, but we'll decide that two stars are right next to each other, because they're at 4, 9 and 5, 7 on the x and y, and we just can't see that on the z they're at 12 and 130.
So, imagine that you took that star that's out on 5, 7, 30, seized on it as a focal point, and swung your perspective out 90 degrees. This is the Trell system. Six planets, two of which are colonized, and a third used for agriculture (because the atmosphere is crap but the photosynthesizers absolutely thrive in it). And from their focal points, having two different worlds, the Trellans are very aware of the stars, and the way things travel through space (they don't have fast enough craft to get themselves to anything out of their system before their lifetimes evaporate, so they travel between the two worlds about as casually as you might go to Italy). They're a little more advanced than we are - maybe they're smarter, maybe they've been around longer so they've just trained their kids to this advanced thinking pattern. Don't know.
Kicker on the constellations. Trellans have 'em, they just have way different ones. Not just because of the culture and location, but because for them, our x and y are their z and x. So, the two stars we were looking at really aren't anywhere close to each other from their perspective.
So, picture that some of these Trellans ended up over here. And everyone thinks they're kind of dumb, because they don't get the locations, and they don't recognize any of the stars. Or they do, but it takes them awhile, because they have to think of the stars from the sky they've memorized, and imagine swinging their perspective, do all the math for it, and THEN see the connections. So people say they're slow, because this takes them awhile, not realizing that they're taking the time to do math that most of us couldn't put together.
That's Scooter. Kind of. Scooter's brilliant at taking in information, keeping it accessible, and offering it when it's needed later - as long as it's phrased as information, like a class lecture or a textbook. She flies through tests. She nails the right answers in class. She tutors people in classes that she isn't even taking. But she doesn't look at the world from the same perspective that most people do, and so the connections that they take for granted or casually string together, she has to pause and think about, and imagine swinging out 90 degrees from where she normally hangs out to see what it might look like from there. And because she's pretty (different kind of pretty, too - she has this gorgeous smile and amazing eyes, and her whole facial structure is so cute, but you usually overlook it because she dresses LOUD), and over-the-top cheerful, and this process of perspective-adjusting takes a second, people write her off as a ditz.
I've told Didi that if she ever has a major puzzle to solve, or she has to pick five friends to survive in the jungle with her, whatever, to make sure that Scooter's on her team. Because yes, she can be a klutz, and she's in-your-face about God, and she's kind of confused a lot of the time - but she sees things that nobody else on the team will get, because of her perspective.
Of course, then you'll have quite the job of making everybody listen to her. This happened with one of our imaginary survival adventures at Camp - you have to plot out a way to keep your team alive, and what items are most important to keep, when you're lost. Everybody on the team plots out what they would individually do/keep, and then they share what they've got with each other and settle on a plan. Scooter's team pretty much went down in flames upon the later evaluation - but Scooter's own information sheet had the best survival plan in the room. But, since she's always apologizing and bubbly, no one in her team wanted to listen to her.
That's another piece about Scooter. Because everyone tells her that she's not very smart, she believes it. Her bio dad didn't want her, and wanted her bio mom to get rid of her before she was born, and she still holds it in her head that she's not worth very much. It's not like she's any kind of special-needs. She's just really special, and can't see it because she's pinning so much on wanting to have a boyfriend. Scooter sparkles from the inside, just sparkles out her eyes, and her amazing smile. She's silly, and super-random, and sings and plays guitar, and...this is going to sound odd, but Scooter isn't afraid of anything except when she's scared. It's goofy to explain. She'll go out the door in the weirdest color combinations, take on high challenges on the ropes course, sing loud just because she feels like it, tell people what's awesome about them even though they weren't talking to her, listen and guess what's really hurting inside a little girl, and put her trust completely in God and know that he's going to work it out. But there are times when something gets her, and I haven't figured out what it is - I just pull her off to the side in a closet or something, and she snuffles and cries, and I wish so hard that I could cry on cue because then I'd cry with her and we'd be closer together and I might be able to help more.
I think she's afraid that no one will ever want her. It's deeper than the boyfriend thing. It's that for some reason, she's afraid that everyone's just humoring her, and no one really wants her around, wants her close, wants to take her with them on the next adventure. I used to feel that. It didn't match reality, but it matched my perceptions. I used to think that I was supposed to be in with the other special-ed kids and nobody had told me because they didn't know what to say - or they didn't care.
Okay, seriously, if you're a guy, and there's any chance WHATsoever that you're going to someday be a dad, you have to hear this. Okay? Dads are really important. Are you listening? This is important. I'm not sure what it is that boys need from their dad - probably lots of time outside climbing trees and nearly killing themselves in high adventure as they experience the natural world (don't ask me - I like outdoorsy guys). I do know what little girls need. And you're not going to accept it right away, because it sounds so superficial. Little girls need to know that you think they're pretty. And it's gotta be you who tells them. It's nice and fun to hear it from Mom, but there's a need to hear it from Dad. They need to know that you think they're special and pretty and worth cherishing. I don't know why - I don't know why Dads have that kind of strength, or what it is in us that needs it. I just know that it is. If you think she's pretty, tell her. If you don't, look at her closer - pretty goes a lot deeper than what she's wearing. She needs to know how much she means to you, and for some reason, saying she's pretty is a big part of it.
I'm twenty-two and I still need to hear it.
Unexpected Reunion
So, I was thinking, planning, expecting that the first time I'd see K (Doc) after the breakup would be Saturday night. I was planning on going to a show that night, and knew he'd be there. Signscout's had an influence on me that says that I have to dress up at least a little for shows. So, I knew I'd be acceptably pretty.
This is in sharp contrast to what I wear at Camp. I'm doing maintenance work, mostly. So, I have these terribly grungy (yet surprisingly sturdy and comfortable) ex-running shoes that have seen maybe three years of mowing lawns, staining wood, and who knows what else. They've possibly served as my river shoes a time or six when I couldn't find my real ones. And most of the time, I'm wearing jeans, because we're working in the woods or with materials that I don't want on my skin. Beat-up jeans, that fit terribly, have splashes of wood-stain on them, very unflattering, but again, very sturdy. During the school year, these jeans are set aside for when I'm working at the animal shelter, and nowhere else. They have outlasted all but one other pair of jeans I own.
For a change of pace, I know I'll be spending the day working in the store with London and her helpers. So, I have elected to wear shorts. I am of course blazingly tanless on my legs (in contrast to my face and arms), because I am of European descent, and we're definitely talking about the northwestern part of Europe. Also, I keep finding myself lacking time or energy to shave [1], so it's obvious that I haven't done THAT for about a week.
Discretion forbids a complete description of what I'm wearing, but suffice it to say, it is very clear that I am there to work, and maybe run, but not to flirt. I am also sunburned, my hair's doing craziness [2] so I'm keeping it together under my hat [3], and thanks to that splendid combination of sunscreen and sweat all week, I have a nice little breakout going on down one side of my face.
The guys at Camp don't care. For the most part, the personality seems to hit way before the appearance does. I'm another pair of hands, and it's just kind of a side note that I'm female. A few of the main staff guys are kind of fatherly towards me, as they have daughters of their own [4]. But I dress to work at Camp.
About a week ago, I'd had a chat with Muskie and Carebear about what happened with me and Doc. Everyone's usually both disappointed and baffled to hear that we broke up. Usually, it's enough for me to say, flippantly, "He decided that he didn't want to be a Christian anymore, so that pretty much put the kibosh on that relationship." From there, we can gauge the reactions of what needs explaining. Either people want to know, "What? What changed? Why wouldn't he.." etc., or "So? Why's that matter?"
So, I'm working in the store, London's out getting stock, I'm labeling DVD's and singing along with gospel penguins, and Muskie comes in. I didn't really think anything of the look on his face, but he says in a lower voice, "I just wanted to let you know, K's here, and he'll probably be staying for lunch."
If he had used K's camp name, this would have been fine. But I actually hadn't been thinking about my ex at all. I've been doing Camp work. Yesterday, in fact, this work involved clearing out some junk from one of the former Head Counselors offices, who coincidentally has the same first name as K. So, I lit up. "Seriously? Is [his wife] here?" And then it occurs to me, "Waiiit...did you mean, K as in Coach K, or K my ex." "Doc."
"Oh." *shrug* "Okay."
Muskie, I think, is very slightly protective of me. I do mean slightly - on the other end of the spectrum entirely from Rogue. But, no worries. We did see each other over lunch, and he admired the floor Skippy and I had laid earlier that week in the Craft Hall, and that was about it. Doc had a building project left over from last summer, and I think my big hope for the day was that he would finish it. It's taking up a lot of space in the old shop. It looks cool and all, and it's a good idea, but come on, let's get it done and get it out of there so we can use the space again. :P
But, yes, I am wearing the grunge shoes, the shorts that aren't particularly feminine but still reveal a complete absence of tan and razor for the last week, work clothes, and my hair's a mess. Not pretty. Hopefully my sparkling personality was enough to redeem that encounter. :)
[1]Really, most nights it's a huge effort just to take the time to shower at all before going to bed.
[2]See, when my hair's short, I have to shower in the morning to tame it down. If I shower at night, I get mad-crazy bedhead. It's probably very cute in its own disheveled way, but the hat is pretty much a constant.
[3]The hat is from Signscout. My hat is made of Awesome. I tell people this.
[4]Usually, it becomes very apparent when a guy has daughters. There's something different in his personality.
This is in sharp contrast to what I wear at Camp. I'm doing maintenance work, mostly. So, I have these terribly grungy (yet surprisingly sturdy and comfortable) ex-running shoes that have seen maybe three years of mowing lawns, staining wood, and who knows what else. They've possibly served as my river shoes a time or six when I couldn't find my real ones. And most of the time, I'm wearing jeans, because we're working in the woods or with materials that I don't want on my skin. Beat-up jeans, that fit terribly, have splashes of wood-stain on them, very unflattering, but again, very sturdy. During the school year, these jeans are set aside for when I'm working at the animal shelter, and nowhere else. They have outlasted all but one other pair of jeans I own.
For a change of pace, I know I'll be spending the day working in the store with London and her helpers. So, I have elected to wear shorts. I am of course blazingly tanless on my legs (in contrast to my face and arms), because I am of European descent, and we're definitely talking about the northwestern part of Europe. Also, I keep finding myself lacking time or energy to shave [1], so it's obvious that I haven't done THAT for about a week.
Discretion forbids a complete description of what I'm wearing, but suffice it to say, it is very clear that I am there to work, and maybe run, but not to flirt. I am also sunburned, my hair's doing craziness [2] so I'm keeping it together under my hat [3], and thanks to that splendid combination of sunscreen and sweat all week, I have a nice little breakout going on down one side of my face.
The guys at Camp don't care. For the most part, the personality seems to hit way before the appearance does. I'm another pair of hands, and it's just kind of a side note that I'm female. A few of the main staff guys are kind of fatherly towards me, as they have daughters of their own [4]. But I dress to work at Camp.
About a week ago, I'd had a chat with Muskie and Carebear about what happened with me and Doc. Everyone's usually both disappointed and baffled to hear that we broke up. Usually, it's enough for me to say, flippantly, "He decided that he didn't want to be a Christian anymore, so that pretty much put the kibosh on that relationship." From there, we can gauge the reactions of what needs explaining. Either people want to know, "What? What changed? Why wouldn't he.." etc., or "So? Why's that matter?"
So, I'm working in the store, London's out getting stock, I'm labeling DVD's and singing along with gospel penguins, and Muskie comes in. I didn't really think anything of the look on his face, but he says in a lower voice, "I just wanted to let you know, K's here, and he'll probably be staying for lunch."
If he had used K's camp name, this would have been fine. But I actually hadn't been thinking about my ex at all. I've been doing Camp work. Yesterday, in fact, this work involved clearing out some junk from one of the former Head Counselors offices, who coincidentally has the same first name as K. So, I lit up. "Seriously? Is [his wife] here?" And then it occurs to me, "Waiiit...did you mean, K as in Coach K, or K my ex." "Doc."
"Oh." *shrug* "Okay."
Muskie, I think, is very slightly protective of me. I do mean slightly - on the other end of the spectrum entirely from Rogue. But, no worries. We did see each other over lunch, and he admired the floor Skippy and I had laid earlier that week in the Craft Hall, and that was about it. Doc had a building project left over from last summer, and I think my big hope for the day was that he would finish it. It's taking up a lot of space in the old shop. It looks cool and all, and it's a good idea, but come on, let's get it done and get it out of there so we can use the space again. :P
But, yes, I am wearing the grunge shoes, the shorts that aren't particularly feminine but still reveal a complete absence of tan and razor for the last week, work clothes, and my hair's a mess. Not pretty. Hopefully my sparkling personality was enough to redeem that encounter. :)
[1]Really, most nights it's a huge effort just to take the time to shower at all before going to bed.
[2]See, when my hair's short, I have to shower in the morning to tame it down. If I shower at night, I get mad-crazy bedhead. It's probably very cute in its own disheveled way, but the hat is pretty much a constant.
[3]The hat is from Signscout. My hat is made of Awesome. I tell people this.
[4]Usually, it becomes very apparent when a guy has daughters. There's something different in his personality.
Mother
Create Your Own charset=utf-8">
Create Your Own charset=utf-8"> Musica llena de tunas suena en tu casa
Canciones se van al cielo
Las nubes
Se pelean entre ellas
Para traer la lluvia
A la tierra de ensueños
Donde las palmas se mecen fuera de la ventana
Trayendo Memorias de tu vida
Mientras que el eco de tus pasos suena por tu morada
Y tu foto cuida
A alguien que dejaste
Perdida en el tiempo
Music full of tunes echoes in your home
Chimeras flow towards the sky
Where the clouds fight with each other
To bring the rain to the land of dreams
As your memories float in the
Morning dew
And the palm trees sway in the breeze
Your footsteps resound throughout your home
Telling me what to do
Guiding me through the path of life
Every moment I breathe
In the house
Where your picture looks
After the affairs
Of someone lost in time
Left on this earth after your departure
Happy Birthday, Grampy! ^^ -- Is it all really worth it?
Well, I don't actually call my grandfather 'grampy'. But today's his 80th birthday, so my family and I went out to dinner with them and a few other relatives. It was alright, but I got bored sometimes - hey, most of the people at the table were seniors, so they didn't really talk to me much. I was talking with my cousin, though, who has two kids of her own - 6, Olivia, and Brody, who's 4. They're both very cute. =) I've been babysitting them with my younger brother tagging along. They really like us. My cousion, Lisa, has a very good feeling she'll be in need of a babysitter soon, which is good. I don't really care about the money, really. I do it for the kids. ^^ (Ain't I nice? XD)
She was also offering to colour my hair. She told me she thought that a really dark, brownish-reddish colour would look nice on me - since I have really dark, deep eyes. I told her it sounded like fun, and I really wouldn't mind trying it out... But I'm second guessing a bit. I'm unsure of what to do.
I was also talking with my mom. I told her I didn't mind having my hair short, but what I DID mind was the reactions I got from passerbys because of it. (Y'see, no average girl at my school has short hair. Most of them have it long, so most of the people in my school look at me kinda weird...)
I also told her that because of that, I thought having really short hair made my self-esteem lower. (It already is kinda low, but I`m trying to work on it...) I confessed to her why I wanted to grow my hair out. I told her I thought it would make me look pretty. As I said that, I was on the verge of tears.
I have a real problem with accepting who I am. I know, from reading my past blog entries, that that probably shocks you a little - with my talk of how I'll one day do something with my life and somehow impact others.
It's not like I totally hate myself, I do like some parts of me - but most of that is within my personality. I like the fact that I'm a geek, and that I "stand out". I like the fact that I'm a unqiue individual, and I like school subjects that most students don`t.
The problem is that I feel very self-conscious with my physical attributes. The only thing that I do like about myself physically is my eyes. Some girls come up to me and say that I have very pretty eyes, and I say the same back. Many girls even tell me that they wish they had my eyes, or my eyelashes. (I don't even need to wear mascara, because it looks like I already have it on! Pretty handy, eh?)
But, other than that - I find I have a lot of faults with my body image. I wish my hair would grow quicker, so that it could be longer - and other students in the hallway would stop having to guess what my gender is. It really doesn't help that I`m so flat-chested, either. I'm pretty much the smallest size that there is, and I found out a month or two ago that I shrunk from a 34 A to a 32 A. And just when I thought that I was gaining my way to a B...
I don`t have a bum, either. Well, I do - but I don't have one that sticks out, like I notice with other girls that flaunt what they have. I feel ashamed because I don't have anything to flaunt.
My skin isn't great. Acne invades my face, and I have my dad's eyebrows - which are really thick and bushy. I also have the odd hairs that grow in-between them, but it's nothing noticeable.
I must admit, I have decent legs, though - and a few of my family members say that I have a "model figure". I brush that off. I don't want to be a model, anyway - not even if I had the looks for it.
I continuously ask myself if being pretty is actually worth it. Go ahead, think I'm crazy. It would gain me attention from boys, and people wouldn't be afraid to approach me. But being pretty on the outside would mean I would have to sacrifice myself... I would have to sacrifice my geekiness that I like so much, and so many other things that I can't think of right now.
...If being "pretty" means having to be somebody that I'm not, is it really all that worth it? All I ever wanted to know throughout my life was the answer to the question I often asked myself... And still do...
"Am I... Pretty?" - I'm begginning to think no...
I've decided to combine the two monologues into one, and I'm gonna be doing some hardcore memorizing tonight, tomorrow, and on Monday. Since nothing out of the ordinary will be occuring, I might not be updating for the next day or so - but I'll still sign on every once in a while to check up on whatever.
Wish me luck!
She was also offering to colour my hair. She told me she thought that a really dark, brownish-reddish colour would look nice on me - since I have really dark, deep eyes. I told her it sounded like fun, and I really wouldn't mind trying it out... But I'm second guessing a bit. I'm unsure of what to do.
I was also talking with my mom. I told her I didn't mind having my hair short, but what I DID mind was the reactions I got from passerbys because of it. (Y'see, no average girl at my school has short hair. Most of them have it long, so most of the people in my school look at me kinda weird...)
I also told her that because of that, I thought having really short hair made my self-esteem lower. (It already is kinda low, but I`m trying to work on it...) I confessed to her why I wanted to grow my hair out. I told her I thought it would make me look pretty. As I said that, I was on the verge of tears.
I have a real problem with accepting who I am. I know, from reading my past blog entries, that that probably shocks you a little - with my talk of how I'll one day do something with my life and somehow impact others.
It's not like I totally hate myself, I do like some parts of me - but most of that is within my personality. I like the fact that I'm a geek, and that I "stand out". I like the fact that I'm a unqiue individual, and I like school subjects that most students don`t.
The problem is that I feel very self-conscious with my physical attributes. The only thing that I do like about myself physically is my eyes. Some girls come up to me and say that I have very pretty eyes, and I say the same back. Many girls even tell me that they wish they had my eyes, or my eyelashes. (I don't even need to wear mascara, because it looks like I already have it on! Pretty handy, eh?)
But, other than that - I find I have a lot of faults with my body image. I wish my hair would grow quicker, so that it could be longer - and other students in the hallway would stop having to guess what my gender is. It really doesn't help that I`m so flat-chested, either. I'm pretty much the smallest size that there is, and I found out a month or two ago that I shrunk from a 34 A to a 32 A. And just when I thought that I was gaining my way to a B...
I don`t have a bum, either. Well, I do - but I don't have one that sticks out, like I notice with other girls that flaunt what they have. I feel ashamed because I don't have anything to flaunt.
My skin isn't great. Acne invades my face, and I have my dad's eyebrows - which are really thick and bushy. I also have the odd hairs that grow in-between them, but it's nothing noticeable.
I must admit, I have decent legs, though - and a few of my family members say that I have a "model figure". I brush that off. I don't want to be a model, anyway - not even if I had the looks for it.
I continuously ask myself if being pretty is actually worth it. Go ahead, think I'm crazy. It would gain me attention from boys, and people wouldn't be afraid to approach me. But being pretty on the outside would mean I would have to sacrifice myself... I would have to sacrifice my geekiness that I like so much, and so many other things that I can't think of right now.
...If being "pretty" means having to be somebody that I'm not, is it really all that worth it? All I ever wanted to know throughout my life was the answer to the question I often asked myself... And still do...
"Am I... Pretty?" - I'm begginning to think no...
I've decided to combine the two monologues into one, and I'm gonna be doing some hardcore memorizing tonight, tomorrow, and on Monday. Since nothing out of the ordinary will be occuring, I might not be updating for the next day or so - but I'll still sign on every once in a while to check up on whatever.
Wish me luck!
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