Tag Archives: random

trying something new – infatuation

 

Infatuation is a dangerous game,

 

an emotional Russian roulette;

 

a dizzying,

 

crazy,

 

feeling

 

– emotion?

 

It’s walking on a tightrope,

 

the knots rough under your bare feet;

 

the air heavy.

 

Perfect balance is a must

 

or else

 

you’ll plummet to more disastrous

 

and complicated

 

emotions.

 

Coming in 11th in a 7 person race

A quote… from myself

I once got a 4th place ribbon in a 7 person 800-meter race, except all of the 6 other people in that race crossed the finish line before me…

A mentioned this on my About page, and now I will tell the story to go along with it. And no I did not attempt to cheat, fail, and get what I deserve

When I was in grade 7 all my friends and I decided to sign up for track and field events.

No, we were not, a few of us were a few of these things, but overall we were not the regular people to participate in s

  • sporty
  • active
  • school spirited
  • exercise loving

We did like tag though.

I really don’t know why we all decided to sign. I think it was just a “hey, it’s our last year of elementary, why the heck not?” This, I believe was my general mindset at the time: why the heck not. Like millennials are known for, I did it for the participation. Not so much the ribbon part though. I take no pride in holding up my pink or white (depending on if there were 6 or 7 people in a race) and saying: 

Mom, dad, look, I got a last place ribbon. Praise meeeee!!

Don’t get me wrong, they would still say a good job for trying and all that. But this is all beside the point

Back to the story

I usually did the 100-200 meter, and the 400-meter relay races. At the time I did soccer but was not much a runner. Be the goalie was more my thing. Who doesn’t like having the odds stacked against them and a ball flying at some part of their body? 

A large track and field sign up sheet was posted outside of my classroom, my teacher at the time was in charge of track and field for the upper grades. So picked up the blue felt pen, after debating what to sign up for with my friends, and put my name down for a few stuff I knew I wouldn’t be overly terrible in. When we all finished putting our names down in various spaces I noticed that no one had signed up for the 800 meter. So, I thought to my self, how hard could that be? Two laps, I can do that

When we got to the track on the day of the meet I decided to try and 800 meters before competing in one. Because it’s not like I should have maybe done this before signing up, or even before going to the meet. Nope, I was fine, it was fine. And it was fine. I took a leisurely jog around the track twice, didn’t have to walk, and barely broke a sweat.

My other races of the day, don’t even remember what they were but I know I got pink and white ribbons, aka last and second last. Oh well at least I tried

Then came the 800 meter…

My thoughts:

See the source image  Alright, I can do this, you’ve already done two laps and it was fine, it’s all good, you got this

My thoughts post the loud “BANG”

Oh my god, why the heck is everyone running so fast, I am so screwed

So I speed until I was close to the person currently in second last place. At this time I was basically sprinting. Quite a far cry from my leisurely warm-up jog. My main reason for speeding up to match their passe was not so that I wouldn’t lose, that was a given when I signed my self up. I speed up so that I wouldn’t look stupid. Ironically enough that is exactly how id use to describe my look, because 5 seconds after I speed up, aka sprinted, I came to the logical conclusion that I could not keep this pass for even a quarter of the way. This was made quite apparent by the fact that I was starting to slow down and everyone, was in fact, quite a ways ahead of me already.

For the most part, it was a blur.

During this “blurred” state I was in the race coordinator decided to start another race. Whether they same me a figured I wasn’t apart of it, or I was on my last lap (which it was) they started. If your wondering how on earth I didn’t manage to hear the sound “BANG” my answer is: I don’t know. My best guess would be I was too busy contemplating the notion of tripping my self. I know, a little drastic, but my only other idea at the time was to pretend I had to tie my shoe… which really would have made me look stupid…er.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, I decided neither option was very good. Mind you at this time I was about 200 meters away from the finish line. On my way to the finish line I saw one girl pass me, and then another, and another. 

Well fiddlesticks

I kept going, at a passe slower than walking but had the arm movements to make it look like a jog at the very least.

I made it! Thank god. All I want is water and to sit down.

But I had to get my ribbon first. 7th place here I come. Then an orange 3rd place ribbon was put into my hand…

This shoud be a 7th place one. Dont they know I was in the other race?

“Oh wait” Iheard they guy whio gave me my ribbon shout.

“Sorry, wrong one. Here you go,” he said as he exchanged ribbons with me

Okay good, they figured it out. Can I please just go sit down now?

As turn to walk away and look down at my ribbon I notice something wrong. A yellow ribbon… 4th place.

Well fluff me in the alpaka with a donky’s pineaple! Translation: At this point I really don’t care. This is not my problem.

And this is basically how the story ends. I just went to the nearest open bench, sat down, had some water, and tried not to barf, thinking

11th. I got 11th in a seven person race. How fluffin slow does one have to do something like this?

What to do with a doodle

So I don’t. I haven’t for years. Since grade eight to be exact. At the end of each semester I would go through all my work book and note pages, and rip (not cut- ripping adds to the effect for later) all my doodles out. From elaborate “I spent so much of my class time working on this instead of my assignment” to 3 second “ooooh pretty” heart and stars. I saved ’em all! I layered all my grade 8 semester 1 doodles on the bottom of one of those cute dollar store gift boxes I have in my closet. Then I wrote Gr8 Sem1 on a piece of paper, fitted it to my box, and lay it over top. I did this for the next 4 years, hoping to one day use it in a art project.

(This being said I also collected “5” gum wrappers for a good two years thinking that one day I will also do an art project out of that. One day, one day I will.)

 

This project doesn’t have to be on such a large scale. You could collect all you doodles for a year, month, week, even a day if you are that much of a prolific doodler.

 

The Process

  1. Here I’ve got my dollar stor box of doodles all sectioned off by semester. The starting off paper, scissors, and glue. (two cats are quite optional. In fact i would advise against having them as “supplies” as they infact encourage counter productivity. That being said getting cats to leave when you are trying to work is no easy feat, especially when there are two)

2. To start out I lay out all my doodles in their respective piles, ontop of the sections markers. Obviously some piles will have more or less doodles than the others, but this is also apart of the project. It represents your doodling at the times, just as your doodles represent you at that time

 

 

 

3. Now it is pretty straightforeward from here. Start glueing down the doodles. If you have any straight edge pieces use those at the far left of the paper first.

4. After you have glued down, slightly overlapping when necessary, all your semester or year 1 doodles it is time to create a separation. I am sure there are a bunch of different ways this can be done, however here is the way I did it. I used one of those $5 Walmart paint sets and a paint brush. I followed the edge of the doodle line making sure to get the paint on the background paper and the doodles themselves. Then i started layer the next set of doodles on. Repeat this step until your done.

 

*will update with final once I actually finish it myself

a blue heartbreak

Was it possible to break your own heart?

Did heartbreak only occur when a second party was involved? Did it have to be inflicted by a lover? A family member?

Or, could your own thoughts and made-up fantasies cause the same terrible damage?

It was these questions that had puzzled her for days. She laid in bed and felt them float above her head. She could almost see the curve of each individual letter pertaining to the dreadful problems.

They demanded answers. Yet, she was unable to grasp an intellectual answer.

She could only answer with emotion.

But, how could she find the words to explain that she felt her heart drop to her stomach so often, that she wasn’t even sure if her heart was in its proper place anymore? Her chest was left hollow. A deep blue substance of melancholy and dissatisfaction had filled the empty cavity.

She walked through the day in a daze, with the constant feeling of blue.

She wanted to bury herself in it and hideaway.

She wanted to force her heart back together and return it to its rightful home.

But, the blue was always stronger than her pathetic thoughts. She couldn’t conquer the blue. Instead, she remained in bed, staring at the letters belonging to her emotional questions.

The blue nestled deeper into her chest.

blank

She stared at her phone, eyes tracing over the letters that spelt out his name.

There was a war going on inside her head – should she call him? Should she even bother anymore?

The fight between the couple had taken place a few days prior, and now she laid in her bed, her heart heavy.

They had barely communicated since the argument, and it was beginning to take a toll on the girl.

She hated the entire situation.

More so, she hated how the situation made her feel.

Since when had she become so dependent on another individual?

She had always forced herself to see the downfall of every relationship – that way when they ultimately ended, her heart wouldn’t hurt so much. Yet, here she was, completely infatuated with a boy who refused to open up to anyone.

The most recent text messages between the couple glared at the girl. She couldn’t bring herself to contact him in any sort of way. She didn’t want to bother him.

So instead, she tortured herself by rereading the same stupid argument, in hopes that he would contact her first.

Her chest swelled from anxiety, she couldn’t stand conflicts.

The girl’s over controlling nature was fighting its way out – telling her to text him, to pour her heart out and cause a scene. But her rational side was telling her otherwise. She had already said what she needed too, it was up to him now.

She tossed her phone onto the empty side of her bed. She couldn’t look at that stupid conversation anymore, nor could she bring herself to delete the messages.

Her emotions were a complete mess. Caught between being angry, upset, and disappointed, she couldn’t focus on anything other than the lump in her throat, and the pain in her head from lack of sleep.

She sighed.

Was he as bothered as her about the situation? Could he sleep, or was he tossing and turning as she had been every night since the argument?

The questions burned into her brain, repeating over and over. But, she wouldn’t dare ask him.

Perhaps she should just let the situation be, and allow the relationship to fizzle out. After all, what was the point in blowing on an already dying fire?

Her thoughts were then interrupted by the obnoxious ding of her phone. She rolled over in bed, towards where the discarded technology was.

The screen lit up a second time, signifying there was, in fact, a message waiting for her.

Yet, the contact name was not from the individual she was hoping. Instead, it was her mom, telling her to come down for dinner.

The girl sighed for the second time. Maybe she really should let it go…

deadly mistake

He stared at the woman with wide eyes.

Her words repeated like a broken record:

“That door you just kicked down was for your protection, not mine.’

He looked back at the door – it reminded him of a wide monstrous mouth.

The woman laughed softly, rocking back and forth in her cross-legged position. She had a gleam in her eyes he found unsettling.

The man took a step away from the door, only to be knocked on to his back.

A decaying hand wrapped around his ankle.

He screamed.

The woman laughed.

His finger nails ripped and cracked as he tried to claw his way out of the room. Yet, there was no use. The hand dragged him into the awaiting door, a trail of blood following behind.

The door slammed closed, drowning out his screams.

The woman was quick to rise from her spot on the floor.

She picked up a cloth and bucket of water and began to clean the blood from the hardwood.

the door

Bright sunlight streamed through the crack of the open door.

Tentatively, I took a step forward, pushing the door to open wider. A long white hallway stretched forward, it seemed to stretch on forever.

I walked down, my bare feet slapped the cold floor.

The door slammed behind me – hinges screeching.

I walked for what felt like hours, passing by the same white walls, until finally, I came to another door.

It resembled the same one I entered through – blue wood, gold accents, and a decorative knob.

Slowly, I knocked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And just as expected, the door swung open.

Immediately I bolted up right, gasping for air.

The familiar beeping of the monitor welcoming me home.

“Well done Kate.”

I looked up, meeting eyes with the professor. His green eyes sparkled, his blond hair standing up wildly.

He was impressed. I sighed, thank god.

“Take her back to her room please.” The professor muttered to his assistant. “She’s done well today.”

formula

I bit my lip, my eyes frantically gazing over the equation.

What if I couldn’t figure it out? What if I wasn’t ‘gifted’ like They said I was?

They would be disappointed if I couldn’t do it. No one ever wanted to disappoint them.

Would I get punished?

Would I get put back into the white room?

A chill shook my body. I hated the white room.

Sighed, I ran my hands through my hair, tugging on my scalp. “Just focus. It’s simple, you’re over thinking it.”

I took another look at the equation:

H+2W = L

Was it a code? What was I solving for?

Perhaps if they have given me more information I wouldn’t fail so miserably every time!

I stood up, my frustration getting the better of me. Hot anger pulsed through my body, my hands shook. I saw red, the blood roared in my ears. I was sick of this, of not knowing what was going on.

I was tired of staring at stupid, meaningless numbers and letters.

I swiped the papers and pencils off of the desk, they clattered to the ground, sounding like gun shots in the dead quiet room.

Suddenly, a group of people rushed in.

Men grabbed on to my arms, their grip tight enough to leave bruises as I struggled to break away.

the key

They found the key at the bottom of the well, just like the treasure map showed.

Although, it was not the key they had been envisioning; when first coming across the map, Hunter and his friend’s pictured something old and rustic. They had always imagined a delicate key, with an intricate design – just like in the movies.

This key… was plain.

It had some curves to it, but the design was simple.

“What do we do now?” Holland asked. Her brows were pulled together, her nose scrunched up; it was a typical look she gave when she was confused.

“Does the map say anything else, Hunter?” Jack held the key in his hand, gazing at it intently as if the key would shout out answers to him if he stared hard enough.

“Um,” Hunter pulled the map out of his back pocket, unfolding it and looking carefully. “No, nothing else.”

“Maybe we’re missing a piece of the map?” Holland began to pace.

Jack shook his head, his lips pressed into a flat line. “This is useless, we travelled all this way, left our homes, for a plain key? Where’s all the treasure you promised us, Hunter?”

“Jack calm down,” Holland hissed.

“No!” Jack waved her off. “I was promised treasure that would allow me to help my aunt. A key,” he held it in the air, “is not going to help me pay for her medication. This key is useless! This whole trip is useless!”

In his anger, Jack threw the key. It flew across the yard of the abandoned farmhouse, landing with a clatter on the gravel driveway.

“Jack!” Holland shouted. “We get it, we’re disappointed too, but you don’t have to throw a fit. I mean… Hunter? What are you doing?”

While Holland had been trying to reason with Jack, Hunter had made his way to the discarded key.

He couldn’t believe this was the end of the search.

He wouldn’t believe it.

Hunter crouched down, a grin plastered on his face as he gazed at the now-broken key.

The two rushed over, taking in what was before them.

“Oh my god,” Holland whispered.

They key laid in a small pile of metal.

However, sticking out of the top of the key was a small slip of paper.

Another map.

The search was back on.