People Blog Still?

I mean, of course they do.

How else would we learn about women's opinions on leggings or the right way to handle vaccinations or the ten best ways to keep the spark in your relationship?

But in my world, for the most part, blogging has disintegrated slightly. I've been mildly distracted. Let me give you a rundown.

I student taught in Tonga.
I student taught in the states.
I started dating the greatest human ever.
I turned in my senior portfolio (twice).
I graduated/earned my teaching license.
I got a job teaching photography at the very same high school I attended a few years back.
I got engaged to the greatest human ever. 

Now I'm swamped with lesson plans, grading, stress headaches, wedding plans, and a really messy desk.

Tomorrow we're taking engagement pictures. Stay tuned, because we're really in love and we'll probably look pretty cute.

Good News

My heart feels like it evaporated because sometimes things just work out beautifully in unexpected ways.

Cheers to stress relief.

Shipped My Soul to Ireland

I haven't posted on my poetry blog since November 24, 2012.  And I haven't written any deliberate type of poetry since within a month's time of that date. Not in doodles, not in notebooks, and not really in any blog drafts.

People say "Do what makes you happy" because we only have a few minutes here to make our mark. At this exact moment in my life I am doing everything opposite from that advice. If I decided right at this moment to do exactly what would make me happy, I would save every penny toward a plane ticket, fly to Ireland, find a job, and live off of every penny I could collect, and rampage around with my camera, breathing in every second of the bliss. I know you're thinking at least one of the following things:

i. That's unrealistic.
ii. I don't think that would be as blissful as you think it would be.
iii. Hahahahahahalfd kllkfja e;l.  Cute
iv. You're in school, in endless debt, and you need to have realistic goals that involve swallowing everything you don't want and look toward a career, a family, and a budget that doesn't even make sense to you.
v. Then do it Bethany, nobody is stopping you. Go risk it all and we'll be here for you with a tissue and "I told you so" smiles when you figure out it's not as easy as you'd like it to be out there.

But guess what, children. My invincibility complex, my romantic mindset, and my passport will make it happen. No attempts at giving me a reality check, please, because those are already my life's only constant.

[But just give me a minute to get this all figured.]

I've been in my own head thinking about mostly nothing

Thoughts on my mind today:

I. This picture we discussed in Art History today by Caspar David Friedrich, Der Mönch am Meer. I find it absolutely breathtaking and calming.

II. I took my first art history test of the year. I woke up this morning with all of what I studied swimming all over in my brain. My ability to recall minute details was unordinary and I'm blessed for it. I feel great about the test. My hand is still exhausted from writing.

III. I think we've gone over this one before.

IV. Aside from getting my degree faster, I think why I keep insisting on taking 17/18 credit semesters is because it's my own way of making up all the ambition I went without for so long. I've never strived for anything exceptional, and I have never been driven to do anything exceptionally brilliant or amazing. I just have always had a comfort zone that I work within. But with taking so many classes in a semester: I'm proving someone wrong. Myself? Who knows. But it's the one thing I can take and run with enough risk involved to keep me on my toes.

V. Waking up is sometimes the most challenging part of the day.

VI. Last, This music video:

Wrapping

Twitter stole my blogging career. We just need to accept this fact and move on. Also, if you don't use Twitter, use it. If you don't understand Twitter, you're doing it wrong. Feel free to follow anyone I follow, then you'll probably feel a little more confident with things.

I am taking two art history classes taught by the most fascinating professors. No, really. They are brilliant and I spend most of the class time drooling over their intelligence, wondering what it is like knowing so much information. And not just knowing the information, but having the knowledge just wrapping itself around their souls.

I want soul-wrapping knowledge.

Maybe even soul-rapping knowledge. I don't know how that would be, but I imagine it would be very gangster.

This week I made groundbreaking records of passivity and motivation-plummets. I'm not sure how to fix it, but I am sure donuts are in the solution someplace. I will keep you posted on the number of hours I spend lying on my bed, donutless, writhing in agony as I keep a fair distance from anything with a deadline.

On Fear

Today in my printmaking class, I learned that our first print will be due next Thursday, when we will have a critique on everyone's work. I nodded internally, realizing that this is just a start to my typical routine of running behind everyone else. The assignment is to create a "self portrait" print using anything else besides our faces. Just things that describe us.

I pulled out my sketchbook as everyone got out their supplies to carve out their images into linoleum sheets. I resisted sinking down in my chair; some of my supplies--the ones that I needed today--were yet to arrive, and I wasn't even sure my sketchbook idea was adequate for the assignment.

Pretending like I had a lot of important things to work on in my sketchbook, I began drawing out my idea for the third time. My professor talked with different students as they worked on their projects. I had my nose in my sketchbook, occasionally looking up and listening to the conversation, pretending like I found it interesting enough to distract me from my work.

Finally, I finished the sketch and I ran out of an excuse to stall. I forced myself to ask the professor to look at my idea so he could tell me if it would work for the assignment.

I glanced around at everyone else's progress and my thoughts raced through its normal routine. Is my idea good enough?

Maybe it's too simple.

What if people question how this relates to me? What if they think I am weird or depressed?

But it's a good idea, right? It tells a story.

Is he going to tell me to find a better idea? 

All of a sudden my sketchbook was in front of the professor, and I was asking him if the sketch was adequate. His face went from his usually unamused expression to an encouraging enthusiasm, and his normally monotone voice sounded excited. "Yeah, it will turn out great! This will be perfect."

What a reassuring thing to know that I am in a class where I am trusted to use my creativity and to be genuinely encouraged by a knowledgable source while doing so.

Nun or None

After meeting with a skeptical academic advisor who was not well informed of the details of my program or of my level of pride, I am sticking to the 18 credit semester I registered for. It is the last thing I have with which I can prove her wrong. She half-jokingly told me that I'll just be a nun this semester with my workload, and I gave a polite laugh through lips that should have either been unamusedly pursed or blatantly demanding that she just answer my questions I came to her with.

After discovering that Italy is not a likelihood next May and everything that I thought was falling right into place was only a "Just kidding!" in a pretty mask, I am trying to find a way to make my schedule work out according to Plan G. Mulling through options is not my favorite pastime, but it is how I have been figuring out how paying for housing, tuition, and lipstick is going to be a possibility. On top of that, my beautiful lack of finances is deciding once more to hop onto the stage to sing an ugly song about how taking classes next summer is likely not a possibility, either, pushing back my possible graduation to the Spring of 2015.

2015 represents the beginning of unknown. I have only planned out my life to the end of 2014. After that is a stark emptiness that scares and repulses me and makes my stomach tie into confusing knots that I don't want to think about. But 2013 is churning on, almost as frightening as its younger sister of two years. I am working on daunting plans, like getting back into my photography business and getting all of my homework turned in on time. But between walking between 3 and 34 miles every day and climbing a ridiculous number of stairs to get from this class to that class, coming home completely exhausted with little to no motivation, and being ready to turn in for the night at 6PM, I am going to do it. All 18 credits will total a beaming 4.0 at the end of the semester, and my computer speed will slow down 89% from all of the photos I take by the end of my second-to-last planned year. I demand it. And I will anxiously pull up my grades in December, remember the confidence my academic advisor graced my time with, and say, "Well, I guess nuns get pretty good grades."

Relevance

GPAs

and schools and

jobs and setting alarms

all seem irrelevant

when looking at 

how much of earth

there is still yet to meet.

Discovery

Current pressings upon my mind:

School. I have two classes I thought I'd have to take, but I don't. Then I found out I have to take another art class, though. That means I have to add three credits to semesters that are already packed full of credits.

So. This also nudges one door a little wider: Study abroad in the good land of Italy. It would potentially cover 6 Art History credits that I need to take, knocking off three credits from the next two semesters, each.

You follow?

AKA, if I don't take Art History during my next two semesters (if I do study abroad instead), then I have room for that art class I have to take, and all is well and good.

Potentially.


Another thing on my mind. The Scarlet Letter. I was assigned to read it during the summer before my junior year of high school for honors English. It didn't work out. I read Cliffs Notes. I took the tests. I listened to the class discussions. I was immersed in the plot from discussions as much as I could be and subsequently was surprised when I learned the plot twists by ear.

Ever since then I was curious as to how it all turned out in the end.

I wanted to read a book the other night. I browsed through Google Books' free books. The Scarlet Letter was there. And so began my journey into reading a book.

A BOOK.

I think the last book I read was the seventh Harry Potter a couple years ago. Tragic, I know.


I just deleted the final thing on my mind from this post and put it into my drafts. It is a discussion for another day. Just a string of thoughts from my brain that is unimportant and will not change your life, most likely. I have spoken too much on this post already, and maybe you didn't even make it through to where I am typing, now.


Pity that our modern society thrives on instant entertainment and instant gratification. Gone is the savoring of words and thought, and withering is the patience to sift through others' thoughts in order to discover our own.

Shirts and School

There are some truths I just don't deal well with.

For instance, I have many winter shirts. And
I may have to transfer schools so I can be in a better Art Education program.

Neither of those things are things I particularly want to think about.


But I'd gladly go shopping for some new shirts.

I Made A Little Chapbook

We made chapbooks in my poetry class. Mine is a tiny 4x4. I like it and I'm a kind of sad we can't keep them. Because I don't often compile anything of mine into a little book.

William Shakespeare

Today was Poem Memorization day. It was a joyous occasion. "Joyous" here meaning "I don't recite poetry in front of people unless it's in my small workshopping group in class because I need the grade, or in front of select family members because I'm trying to find a poem to memorize. So please don't make me speak this language of poetry in front of my class' entirety."

Needless to say, butterflies were occupying my stomach every moment I thought about this day in all its poetic glory.

I chose to memorize two of my poems. This one and this one. Since they were my own poems, I memorized them relatively easily. The key word being "relatively". Because in the first part of the test (writing the poem from memory) I nearly forgot an entire line. Luckily it came to my brain at the end. And then came the reciting part. The part where we can have the poem(s) in front of us, but we can "only look at it three times". I was one of the last to recite. I thought to myself as people recited, "If I forget a line, I'm not going to say 'sorry' like many of these people are doing. I will simply look down at the stinking poem and move on.'"

Then I got up to the front of the class. Blessed day. My face turned red. My stomach churned. I blinked. I began. My mind went blank a jumble of times and I said "sorry" to the scoffing students. I also looked at my paper about seventeen times. "Seventeen" here meaning "more than three".

But, nevertheless, I finished my poems. I sat down. And William Shakespeare took his turn and cleaned up my poetry mess. He acted out his monologues. There was shouting involved. 

If I didn't pass, I'll know it was because I didn't have props or anger to help me out.

Lady and the Bee

So here's my life today.

I read to the blind student and received a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

In the library, I sat next to a man who thought his headphones were plugged into the computer. They weren't plugged into the computer. I finally notified him of this. I guess he had an interesting taste in music.

As I waited for the shuttle, I sat on the grass next to a cement square. The campus is full of cement squares lodged in the middle of the lawns. I sat and watched a bee that was on the cement square. I think it was dying. I watched its wings go up and down with each of its breaths. Then I noticed a ladybug just a few inches away from the bee. After a few minutes, the bee started stumbling over to the ladybug. I panicked and picked up a piece of bark to scoot the ladybug away, but it didn't help with any scooting. So the bee kept limping over, and I thought it would maul the ladybug. (Do bees maul ladybugs?) But after crawling over it, the bee lay down next to the ladybug, both insects seeming to be breathing their last breaths as their wings lightly lifted up and down with each exhale. I guess everyone needs a friend when faced with defeat.

I went to poetry and discovered that the 'best' Found Poem from the class was one student's poem that was taken from a baseball rule book. You know you're not in high school when the world's most offensive poem is read in front of the class. I was mildly appalled.

After poetry a boy in the hall asked for my number. I have nothing else to say except that there will likely not be a sequel to that story.

Now off to clean my room. I think I'll work without any music playing. My head has felt a little jumbled, lately with so much noise.

Mond'y

Last week my alarm decided not to wake me up. Instead of learning my lesson and setting an alarm on a normal clock, last night I just set two alarms on my phone. 6:34 and 6:35 were the designated times so I could get to the bus by 7:46 so I could meet with a blind student to go over some reading.

7:47 an internal alarm rings. I throw my phone at the wall, cursing all electronics for not cooperating.

Actually, I just sat straight up and said something like, "Oh. My. Gosh." And I quickly went over my options. And then I remembered that I had no options. The bus is 97% of the time five minutes late. So I jumped up, threw on some jeans and a hoodie. Deodorant? No time. Bathroom? That can wait. Mascara? Day old. Breakfast? Don't make me laugh like a crazed hyena. Brush teeth? That will never be out of the question.

So I grabbed my keys, my bag, and jumbled out the door. My hair looked like a chimpanzee's, and I didn't even want to imagine what the back of it looked like. And I bit my lip as I processed the fact that I was heading into public looking like a baboon.

I made it right on time for the last bus that would get me to campus 'on time'. And by 'on time,' I mean three to four minutes late. I call that a partial success. A full success would be if I made it in that much time looking like a human being.

Either way,

Happy Monday, people. Happy Monday.

Something Lost

Today

I rebelled against myself rebelling against society. And I matched my socks. Second time doing so within a week.

I helped a blind man put a resume together.

My To Do list ('Today's Necessary' version) was completed a lot sooner than I expected.

I listened to Jaymay (Sycamore Down is my song of choice for the day . . . "What might you say if you could tell me anything?"). I always listen to the Jaymay station on Pandora, lately. Except it's mixed with Band of Horses and stuff because of my 'likes', so it is definitely an enjoyable source of sanity.

I cried.

My poetry class went mostly as I'd planned. I got docked a whole lot of points. I mostly deserved it. But I partially didn't.

Matching socks.

My window mobile.

Significance of the above picture? That's the top of what is apparently called "my closet". See that space between the wall and the closet? The other day I had a lot of homework, so naturally I cleaned my room. I had just finished a picture of some ballerinas with a lot of shading and plenty of time put into the project. I didn't really have a place to put it where it wouldn't get ruined, so I put it on top of my closet where it fit and it would be out of the way. As soon as I let go of the drawing, my heart plummeted down, down to my feet. Sliiip. The drawing slid right down the wall to the ground, down a gap I hadn't realized even existed. Lost forever in oblivion down a gaping hole where people bury their futures.

Yes. A pen now supports my amaryllis. 

The poor plant now has a certain air of rabbit.

Back to July & Back

 

First and only time I've gone to the cabin this year, due to employment, hospitals, and such.
The mountains are turning red now, and I'm wondering if I will be able to go up again before snow ruins everything, as it most of the time does.

This week has consisted of: surprise visits, yogurt, bagels, walking, developing artistry, poetry stubbornness, home-comings, contained thought, walking, walking, and stairs.

Results

The vent is loud and droning. Welcome to the next nine months of life. The doughnut holes on the desk should be satisfying my boredom, but I feel like they are only making me fat. I'd eat a bagel, but then I would have to stand up and go to the kitchen. AKA the place I normally spend the majority of the time because I have no willpower and no portion control.

I read my writing textbooks because I have nothing better to do. Suddenly I feel more poetic and I decide to get off my lard for less than two seconds as I cross my closet-sized bedroom and pull up the computer chair. Much better. I want to write something appealing and appropriate to today. But nothing has really happened besides putting money into my account and trying to look friendly to the other victims on campus.

I eat another doughnut hole and regret not getting myself a bagel. I have met all of my roommates. They are all nice. I mostly haven't said much to most of them, only because they all like spending their time with people or their rooms, probably not eating doughnut holes. I went against my resistance to watching television and watched a fashion show with one of the roommates. Then I came back into my room. The t.v. is on again and I am glad I'm not watching. I'd rather eat a doughnut.

My folder of art is amusing. I hope this semester brings better artistic results than from high school.

I am lazy and I should be socializing.

But I read more pages of a textbook and listen to music, instead.

Glitter

This is my facebook status:

Never make a big change to your already perfect schedule. Because:
-There will be an error you didn't previously catch.
-You will die.
-You will try to fix the error and end up with a really, really stupid schedule. And you'll be on fourteen million waitlists.
Here's to Fall semester.


I still can't recover. I want to post this as my status every day until the end of infinity.
On a brighter note,

I went country dancing last night. I use the term "country dancing" loosely and the term "flailing about" very strongly. But it was a splendid time with many friends. I came home, talked to one of the most hilarious people over facebook, and then fell asleep with glitter in my hair, my sequin shirt and sweatpants on, unbrushed teeth, and my bedroom light still on.

Good morning, Friday.

I'm going to go brush my teeth.

Hypervent

I've been having some serious hyperventilation sessions regarding my major.

Art is hard.
Photography is potentially harder.

I'm moving next week.

I'll be stranded & without a car.

I'm directionally and decisionally challenged. 

I'll be in a new place with new results generated from

New decisions.

Right

I'm  [  t h i s  ]  close to being a student again.

Meeting Monday.

Registration soon after.

I need to find an dwelling-place.

Lately, but mostly last night, things felt so strange. It was a distantly familiar feeling. I mulled the feeling over in my brain.

I think it was that feeling that maybe things are in place. 

I've been putting school off for a while, now. 

I have been really indecisive.

Then I jumped into the decision of being a photography major.

Because I needed to just choose something.

And so far,

That jump seems like

Maybe it will lead to where it needs to.