What does a road know
of those who travel it?
Could a country path
Tell of the folk who walk it?
If they could know,
And if they could speak,
Would they reflect their travelers?
Or the places they touch and the patterns they form?
Would the road less travelled
Be mysterious and adventurous?
Would the road not taken
Be lonely?
Would the streets of Manhattan
Be harried, irritable, and loud?
Or instead, would they be regimented,
organized?
Would they be goal driven,
Single minded?
Or richly cultured
And in touch with the future.
Would Provinctown’s roads be
Colorful, artsy, flamboyant... like its people?
Or bipolar like its landscape,
Or perhaps a combination of the two?
Would the cramped, narrow, Bostonian roads
Display a cold indifference to comfort,
Or would they shout heartfelt greetings,
Take in the lonely and give them a home?
If a sidewalk could speak!
Oh The stories it could tell!
Though perhaps its best that it can’t
for the sake of skirted women,
In the end though, I think
That roads may be at home,
as silent constant companions,
guarding the secrets of those who travel them.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Spirals of Steam
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
Swirling, moving, twisting, with the air entwined.
Unseeing, unhearing, uncaring,
Dancing with the wind as it’s curls unwind.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
Leaving the putrid darkness behind,
Moving towards their brethren clouds,
Joining forms of similar kind.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
Silently moving, completely unconfined.
Mixing with the cold breath of strangers,
Singularly unmaligned.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
I watch and wonder what’s on your mind.
Perhaps if I could escape corporeal form,
I’d go with if you if you didn’t mind.
Swirling, moving, twisting, with the air entwined.
Unseeing, unhearing, uncaring,
Dancing with the wind as it’s curls unwind.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
Leaving the putrid darkness behind,
Moving towards their brethren clouds,
Joining forms of similar kind.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
Silently moving, completely unconfined.
Mixing with the cold breath of strangers,
Singularly unmaligned.
Spirals of steam rising from the grates,
I watch and wonder what’s on your mind.
Perhaps if I could escape corporeal form,
I’d go with if you if you didn’t mind.
On a Pale Horse
Smoke spirals away,
peace settles on a long day.
blame,
anger,
shame.
Disappear with an intake of breath,
with lungs full of Smoke.
greetings!
a kiss from death.
peace settles on a long day.
blame,
anger,
shame.
Disappear with an intake of breath,
with lungs full of Smoke.
greetings!
a kiss from death.
My Name Is Shane
Dear Jen,
I never cared about what they used to say. With the semi butch hair and the less than feminine clothing style, I never was surprised. To be honest I didn’t even know if I was gay or not, so other people speculating didn’t bother me. I wanted to know just as badly as any of those gossip feeders that ran the “socially acceptable” club. No one gave me shit, but that was a product of a small school, and they all knew how much the soccer team needed me. Sweeper isn’t the most glamorous of positions, but, “Offense sells tickets, defense wins games” as my old coach used to say. And they all knew better than to mess with my game. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but there’s a reason why our team has won states every year since Steph and I joined the team. Except for the whispering, I was one of the most well-liked people in the school, but nobody ever had the guts to just ask me, so they got their kicks talking about me.
I needed to figure it out just as badly as them. Jesus, I was a senior in high school, I didn’t even know what I wanted to do when I grew up or if I would pull a peter pan and never grow up, but I already had to deal with/figure out my stance on the most complex of human emotions before I even got to college. For most people, at least the initial phases of the process known as love are instinctual, darwinistic, find a member of the opposite sex with decent genes and that can stand you, and mate with it. I know that obviously a long term relationship of any sort is much more complicated than that, but at least for straight people, there’s an obvious biological goal.
See here I’m talking like I’m gay. I don’t know maybe I am, but here’s the kicker; I like guys too, physically at least. I haven’t felt really connected to a guy since before the whole puberty thing. Does that sound backwards to you? It does to me. I don’t know, maybe guys are just assholes in high school.
Let me explain my predicament fully. Besides rocking the, fit, flat chested, sporty look, which always seems to make people think about the topic at least once, there was also the fact that the simple, not to flashy, nice jeans and a tee-shirt chic appealed to me. I was in no way fashion illiterate; I knew what looked good on other people. I taught my brother how to dress, since my parents never seemed to feel the need to, and he’s widely considered the best dressed guy in his grade. I liked my tomboy look, even if it put off the straightedge and the sporty people a little bit. The art and theater people loved my look, but as much as I love art, I was never an good at creating it, and I loved sports, so I wasn’t about to throw away soccer just because some twit didn’t like my clothing choices. So people got the impression that I was butch. There was no cut-off plaid or men’s pants, but it was high school, people read waaay too far into stuff like that anyways.
But if any of their assumptions were even a little bit less true, it would have really helped with the whole not caring thing. I know I said before that didn’t care about the whispering, and I honestly really didn’t until senior year, but after that I swung back and forth between intense, “Fuck you all and up yours,” angry attitude stemming from an insecurity of mine that I will discuss in further detail later, and a Zen calm during which I really honestly didn’t care what they said. The worst part of the whole deal was that they were right, and they didn’t even know it.
They couldn’t even really understand what was actually was going on with me. They loved their gossip but if they had known they right, their whispers would have moved to a new and undiscovered level of insanity. There are people who went to that school who really did think that they truly cared about the person who they thought I was, and I loved them for that. I really did. It’s definitely no fault of theirs that I am the way I am, and it also isn’t their fault that I hid it after I figured out what was going on. So far you are the only one who I have had the guts to explain what’s going on with me to. I have no idea how you’ll take it, but I feel like it would be incredibly disrespectful of me to not tell you, considering all of the personal stuff that you have entrusted to with.
So, if you haven’t picked up on the topic, there was a girl, and her name was Ashley Lauren Greene. She played on my soccer team the past two years. Last year she was a sophomore, I was a junior. She wasn’t particularly good, but she understood the fundamentals quickly. She was a solidly middle of the pack kind of player. But even then, when I didn’t know her, I was never under the impression that she was average. We hung out that first year, we had our inside jokes and we sat next to each other on bus rides, but we weren’t really close.
So then soccer season ended and basketball season rolled around, and Ashley and I stopped talking much because I was busy and she was busy. Before I knew it, the year was over, and preseason for the next soccer season started shortly thereafter. For some reason, Ashley and I hit it off with an explosive bang that year. Maybe it was because we had both grown up a bit, I don’t know, but we clicked. We were both sarcastic, cynical, and more than willing to call the other out when they had gone too far, which I think was what we really liked about each other and why we bonded so quickly.
But about halfway through the season, I noticed her for the first time, and that’s when shit went downhill. It was after a soccer game; we were dirty, tired, and pissed off that we had lost. But I managed to make her laugh. She turned towards me with that smile on her face and I swear to God it felt like she had reached into my chest and tied a noose around my heart. She had me. More fully and with a feeling stronger than what I had felt for anyone in my life up to that point.
From then on school, soccer, my cell phone, everything was about Ashley, and it sucked on several levels, first of which was that she was straight as a fuckin arrow, second was that I had no one that I could talk to about it, and third not only was I unable to talk to anyone about it, I suddenly had to be very careful when I was around her. When she hugged me there could be no lingering, even though gathering her into my arms and never letting go was the only thing I wanted to do. When I spoke to her I couldn’t look into her eyes too long, even though I thought they were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Most of all, I could never, ever let my tongue slip while talking to her or anyone else. Talking to you, or to my teammates, or even the people from school or friends I had from other schools became a chore, because she was on my mind a lot, and if I said anything I would be royally fucked. I had to make sure I didn’t bring her up to often in conversation. I had to make sure my expression didn’t change when I or someone else said her name. Keeping the secret my own took every ounce of concentration and determination I had.
Then, in addition to the stress of keeping how I felt a secret and out of the high school gossip mill, there was also the guilt, the shame, and the completely and utter loneliness I was now subject to. Suddenly I wasn’t just the quiet, talented girl who might be a little strange, now I was the school dyke. Just because no one knew didn’t change how wrong it felt to me then. It was even more than the moral code of my peers and teachers, which even before Ashley I wasn’t sure I believed in, that condemned it. The idea of falling in love with a girl just seemed fundamentally wrong to me. Call it brainwashing, call in evolutionary instinct, all I know and knew then was how I felt, and none of it made any sense.
Realizing what I felt for Ashley and trying to learn how to deal with it was the hardest think I have ever had to do in my pampered little life. I never really got over her, and if she miraculously showed up at my door and told me that at some point, she had felt even something similar for me. It would still, and probably would be for many years to come, be the happiest day of my life. I fell so very, very hard for that girl, and I dealt with the indescribable joy she made me feel as well as the gut wrenching, heart crushing, lung filling pain that knowing that not only could I never have her, but that also that if she knew how much I cared for her, she wouldn’t even be comfortable being near me. If she had known that I loved her, she would have hated me. I dealt with that knowledge completely and entirely alone. There was no one to help me, and for that I blame no one more than myself. I never even let on that I was struggling with something because I was so scared and so angry. Scared both because of what I could lose and also what I could gain if the actual true story about my romantic preference got out. Because even though intellectually I knew exactly what the odds were of a gay fairytale ending happening if she found out. I knew the chances were around 10 trillion to one. But I couldn’t help nursing a small, tiny; barely there flicker of mad, insane, hope. And even though I knew it was insane, even thought I knew it was totally off-the-wall nuts, that tiny bit of a spark of a hope was what kept me alive those 9 months. It was what made me come back time and time again when I told myself I wouldn’t and couldn’t subject myself to that pain again. That and the mad, obsessive love for her that no matter how I tried to think, no matter what mantra I said over and over to clear my mind, forced me to notice the brilliant blue of her eyes in the sun, which was the only times one could see the gold in them. It made me notice her style, her grace even in stumbling. They say love is blind. I would say that it is those who aren’t in love, who never have been, who are blind. Love, or what I have felt that I assume is what people refer to when they say the word, is the most freeing shackle I will ever wear. It rubs, and it is heavy, and its damn near impossible to hide. At the time, all I saw was the pain of it, but now that I have some objectivity, now that I have really thought about it, and most significantly, now that she’s gone, I can see that underneath the pain of unrequited love with all the normal cliché hurts and grievances and even a few that were unique to my situation, there was an undercurrent of profound peace. I knew my place in the world. I knew what bound me to this life on earth, and it wasn’t my soccer prowess, my relationships with my peers, parents, teachers, coaches, siblings or even the God I had been taught all my life to revere and who was supposedly the one responsible for my existence. No. my purpose was to ensure Ashley’s health and happiness as best as I could.
I understand how really, really stalkerish and slightly insane that sounds. Even writing it out makes me cringe when I try to predict what you’ll think of me after you read this. But I promised you years ago that I would be honest to you always, and although this may be a little late coming, I hope that eventually you might be able to understand what I mean without judging me for something that I did not chose anymore than I chose my height or eye color.
Perhaps I do myself a disservice writing this so honestly, perhaps it sounds worse than it actually was, or perhaps the cynics are right and love is in fact blind. But I was never, ever untoward with Ashley. I may have let slip an awkward compliment a few times, but they were heartfelt and there was nothing crude or perverted in my words. I know with absolute certainty that I loved her with a pure and simple affection. I am human though. I slipped occasionally and would get angry with her, which even in the moment I knew was dreadfully unfair. I also cannot say that I never thought about her in a purely physical sense. But over the course of two years, I got to know her well enough for her to call me her best friend. I cared more for her than any single person or group of people on this planet. A purely sacrificial, selfless love that gave me the most certainty and the most pain that I can imagine existing.
And I will not condemn myself for that.
Others may. How people who once thought they knew me react is not something that I can control or even affect. I cannot pretend that the biting, hateful words of people who have not even the slightest idea of what my life has been like thus far won’t hurt, but I have two points; how can I demand that people who have no experience, either personal or by proxy, with people like me accept me immediately because I want them too? It would be selfish and wrong of me to demand their love before they really know me, and if anyone decides that they cannot stomach who I actually am, I am the one who changed the game. It is my responsibility to look to the welfare and comfort of the people around me, and in order to do so I would remove myself from the situation. But on the other hand, though by no means will I demand that they see this, the God the majority of these people claim to serve is one of love and acceptance, it seems as though it would be a tad bit hypocritical of them to toss me out on the street.
Ashley died two weeks after my high school graduation. I went to the funeral, and as I watched them lower her into the ground, all the reasons that I kept how much she mattered to me a secret puffed away on the brisk summer wind. It seems so incredibly silly now that I kept how much I loved someone a secret. But the only thing I can do about it now is not hide.
I have no desire to be offensive. I will never push who I am and what believe in someone’s face, but I will not conceal a part of myself that is pure, and innocent a yes a bit dramatic, but also beautiful. I will not be ashamed of something that no part of my shattered and reassembled heart can even begin to truly believe is wrong. I love Ashley Lauren Greene. I loved her, never told her, and then she died. Those I care about will always know, whether that love I have is platonic or romantic. They will know regardless of gender or aesthetic preference and I will do my best to hold my head high and remain proud of the person I am. I will falter, I will misstep, but I will never allow what people who don’t and can’t understand my experiences think control how I live my life.
I will recover from Ashley dying. I will always miss her. I will always love her, and I hope she is in better place. I know that I am, and even after all the pain, I am so glad she lived, and that I got to know her, and love her. Because even though she never knew it, and for all intents and purposes, never will, she taught me the most important lesson I think I will ever learn:
Love, let Love, and share love, because one never knows when love will be gone.
And now, like before, but with a new strength of purpose, what they say does not and will not ever bother me.
-Shane Carlson
I never cared about what they used to say. With the semi butch hair and the less than feminine clothing style, I never was surprised. To be honest I didn’t even know if I was gay or not, so other people speculating didn’t bother me. I wanted to know just as badly as any of those gossip feeders that ran the “socially acceptable” club. No one gave me shit, but that was a product of a small school, and they all knew how much the soccer team needed me. Sweeper isn’t the most glamorous of positions, but, “Offense sells tickets, defense wins games” as my old coach used to say. And they all knew better than to mess with my game. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but there’s a reason why our team has won states every year since Steph and I joined the team. Except for the whispering, I was one of the most well-liked people in the school, but nobody ever had the guts to just ask me, so they got their kicks talking about me.
I needed to figure it out just as badly as them. Jesus, I was a senior in high school, I didn’t even know what I wanted to do when I grew up or if I would pull a peter pan and never grow up, but I already had to deal with/figure out my stance on the most complex of human emotions before I even got to college. For most people, at least the initial phases of the process known as love are instinctual, darwinistic, find a member of the opposite sex with decent genes and that can stand you, and mate with it. I know that obviously a long term relationship of any sort is much more complicated than that, but at least for straight people, there’s an obvious biological goal.
See here I’m talking like I’m gay. I don’t know maybe I am, but here’s the kicker; I like guys too, physically at least. I haven’t felt really connected to a guy since before the whole puberty thing. Does that sound backwards to you? It does to me. I don’t know, maybe guys are just assholes in high school.
Let me explain my predicament fully. Besides rocking the, fit, flat chested, sporty look, which always seems to make people think about the topic at least once, there was also the fact that the simple, not to flashy, nice jeans and a tee-shirt chic appealed to me. I was in no way fashion illiterate; I knew what looked good on other people. I taught my brother how to dress, since my parents never seemed to feel the need to, and he’s widely considered the best dressed guy in his grade. I liked my tomboy look, even if it put off the straightedge and the sporty people a little bit. The art and theater people loved my look, but as much as I love art, I was never an good at creating it, and I loved sports, so I wasn’t about to throw away soccer just because some twit didn’t like my clothing choices. So people got the impression that I was butch. There was no cut-off plaid or men’s pants, but it was high school, people read waaay too far into stuff like that anyways.
But if any of their assumptions were even a little bit less true, it would have really helped with the whole not caring thing. I know I said before that didn’t care about the whispering, and I honestly really didn’t until senior year, but after that I swung back and forth between intense, “Fuck you all and up yours,” angry attitude stemming from an insecurity of mine that I will discuss in further detail later, and a Zen calm during which I really honestly didn’t care what they said. The worst part of the whole deal was that they were right, and they didn’t even know it.
They couldn’t even really understand what was actually was going on with me. They loved their gossip but if they had known they right, their whispers would have moved to a new and undiscovered level of insanity. There are people who went to that school who really did think that they truly cared about the person who they thought I was, and I loved them for that. I really did. It’s definitely no fault of theirs that I am the way I am, and it also isn’t their fault that I hid it after I figured out what was going on. So far you are the only one who I have had the guts to explain what’s going on with me to. I have no idea how you’ll take it, but I feel like it would be incredibly disrespectful of me to not tell you, considering all of the personal stuff that you have entrusted to with.
So, if you haven’t picked up on the topic, there was a girl, and her name was Ashley Lauren Greene. She played on my soccer team the past two years. Last year she was a sophomore, I was a junior. She wasn’t particularly good, but she understood the fundamentals quickly. She was a solidly middle of the pack kind of player. But even then, when I didn’t know her, I was never under the impression that she was average. We hung out that first year, we had our inside jokes and we sat next to each other on bus rides, but we weren’t really close.
So then soccer season ended and basketball season rolled around, and Ashley and I stopped talking much because I was busy and she was busy. Before I knew it, the year was over, and preseason for the next soccer season started shortly thereafter. For some reason, Ashley and I hit it off with an explosive bang that year. Maybe it was because we had both grown up a bit, I don’t know, but we clicked. We were both sarcastic, cynical, and more than willing to call the other out when they had gone too far, which I think was what we really liked about each other and why we bonded so quickly.
But about halfway through the season, I noticed her for the first time, and that’s when shit went downhill. It was after a soccer game; we were dirty, tired, and pissed off that we had lost. But I managed to make her laugh. She turned towards me with that smile on her face and I swear to God it felt like she had reached into my chest and tied a noose around my heart. She had me. More fully and with a feeling stronger than what I had felt for anyone in my life up to that point.
From then on school, soccer, my cell phone, everything was about Ashley, and it sucked on several levels, first of which was that she was straight as a fuckin arrow, second was that I had no one that I could talk to about it, and third not only was I unable to talk to anyone about it, I suddenly had to be very careful when I was around her. When she hugged me there could be no lingering, even though gathering her into my arms and never letting go was the only thing I wanted to do. When I spoke to her I couldn’t look into her eyes too long, even though I thought they were the most beautiful things I had ever seen. Most of all, I could never, ever let my tongue slip while talking to her or anyone else. Talking to you, or to my teammates, or even the people from school or friends I had from other schools became a chore, because she was on my mind a lot, and if I said anything I would be royally fucked. I had to make sure I didn’t bring her up to often in conversation. I had to make sure my expression didn’t change when I or someone else said her name. Keeping the secret my own took every ounce of concentration and determination I had.
Then, in addition to the stress of keeping how I felt a secret and out of the high school gossip mill, there was also the guilt, the shame, and the completely and utter loneliness I was now subject to. Suddenly I wasn’t just the quiet, talented girl who might be a little strange, now I was the school dyke. Just because no one knew didn’t change how wrong it felt to me then. It was even more than the moral code of my peers and teachers, which even before Ashley I wasn’t sure I believed in, that condemned it. The idea of falling in love with a girl just seemed fundamentally wrong to me. Call it brainwashing, call in evolutionary instinct, all I know and knew then was how I felt, and none of it made any sense.
Realizing what I felt for Ashley and trying to learn how to deal with it was the hardest think I have ever had to do in my pampered little life. I never really got over her, and if she miraculously showed up at my door and told me that at some point, she had felt even something similar for me. It would still, and probably would be for many years to come, be the happiest day of my life. I fell so very, very hard for that girl, and I dealt with the indescribable joy she made me feel as well as the gut wrenching, heart crushing, lung filling pain that knowing that not only could I never have her, but that also that if she knew how much I cared for her, she wouldn’t even be comfortable being near me. If she had known that I loved her, she would have hated me. I dealt with that knowledge completely and entirely alone. There was no one to help me, and for that I blame no one more than myself. I never even let on that I was struggling with something because I was so scared and so angry. Scared both because of what I could lose and also what I could gain if the actual true story about my romantic preference got out. Because even though intellectually I knew exactly what the odds were of a gay fairytale ending happening if she found out. I knew the chances were around 10 trillion to one. But I couldn’t help nursing a small, tiny; barely there flicker of mad, insane, hope. And even though I knew it was insane, even thought I knew it was totally off-the-wall nuts, that tiny bit of a spark of a hope was what kept me alive those 9 months. It was what made me come back time and time again when I told myself I wouldn’t and couldn’t subject myself to that pain again. That and the mad, obsessive love for her that no matter how I tried to think, no matter what mantra I said over and over to clear my mind, forced me to notice the brilliant blue of her eyes in the sun, which was the only times one could see the gold in them. It made me notice her style, her grace even in stumbling. They say love is blind. I would say that it is those who aren’t in love, who never have been, who are blind. Love, or what I have felt that I assume is what people refer to when they say the word, is the most freeing shackle I will ever wear. It rubs, and it is heavy, and its damn near impossible to hide. At the time, all I saw was the pain of it, but now that I have some objectivity, now that I have really thought about it, and most significantly, now that she’s gone, I can see that underneath the pain of unrequited love with all the normal cliché hurts and grievances and even a few that were unique to my situation, there was an undercurrent of profound peace. I knew my place in the world. I knew what bound me to this life on earth, and it wasn’t my soccer prowess, my relationships with my peers, parents, teachers, coaches, siblings or even the God I had been taught all my life to revere and who was supposedly the one responsible for my existence. No. my purpose was to ensure Ashley’s health and happiness as best as I could.
I understand how really, really stalkerish and slightly insane that sounds. Even writing it out makes me cringe when I try to predict what you’ll think of me after you read this. But I promised you years ago that I would be honest to you always, and although this may be a little late coming, I hope that eventually you might be able to understand what I mean without judging me for something that I did not chose anymore than I chose my height or eye color.
Perhaps I do myself a disservice writing this so honestly, perhaps it sounds worse than it actually was, or perhaps the cynics are right and love is in fact blind. But I was never, ever untoward with Ashley. I may have let slip an awkward compliment a few times, but they were heartfelt and there was nothing crude or perverted in my words. I know with absolute certainty that I loved her with a pure and simple affection. I am human though. I slipped occasionally and would get angry with her, which even in the moment I knew was dreadfully unfair. I also cannot say that I never thought about her in a purely physical sense. But over the course of two years, I got to know her well enough for her to call me her best friend. I cared more for her than any single person or group of people on this planet. A purely sacrificial, selfless love that gave me the most certainty and the most pain that I can imagine existing.
And I will not condemn myself for that.
Others may. How people who once thought they knew me react is not something that I can control or even affect. I cannot pretend that the biting, hateful words of people who have not even the slightest idea of what my life has been like thus far won’t hurt, but I have two points; how can I demand that people who have no experience, either personal or by proxy, with people like me accept me immediately because I want them too? It would be selfish and wrong of me to demand their love before they really know me, and if anyone decides that they cannot stomach who I actually am, I am the one who changed the game. It is my responsibility to look to the welfare and comfort of the people around me, and in order to do so I would remove myself from the situation. But on the other hand, though by no means will I demand that they see this, the God the majority of these people claim to serve is one of love and acceptance, it seems as though it would be a tad bit hypocritical of them to toss me out on the street.
Ashley died two weeks after my high school graduation. I went to the funeral, and as I watched them lower her into the ground, all the reasons that I kept how much she mattered to me a secret puffed away on the brisk summer wind. It seems so incredibly silly now that I kept how much I loved someone a secret. But the only thing I can do about it now is not hide.
I have no desire to be offensive. I will never push who I am and what believe in someone’s face, but I will not conceal a part of myself that is pure, and innocent a yes a bit dramatic, but also beautiful. I will not be ashamed of something that no part of my shattered and reassembled heart can even begin to truly believe is wrong. I love Ashley Lauren Greene. I loved her, never told her, and then she died. Those I care about will always know, whether that love I have is platonic or romantic. They will know regardless of gender or aesthetic preference and I will do my best to hold my head high and remain proud of the person I am. I will falter, I will misstep, but I will never allow what people who don’t and can’t understand my experiences think control how I live my life.
I will recover from Ashley dying. I will always miss her. I will always love her, and I hope she is in better place. I know that I am, and even after all the pain, I am so glad she lived, and that I got to know her, and love her. Because even though she never knew it, and for all intents and purposes, never will, she taught me the most important lesson I think I will ever learn:
Love, let Love, and share love, because one never knows when love will be gone.
And now, like before, but with a new strength of purpose, what they say does not and will not ever bother me.
-Shane Carlson
Sunday, April 5, 2009
new stuff
don't have a lot of time cause i have to leave for my riding lessons in about ten minutes.
but here's my life as of now:
-basketball is over, we only made it to the second round of sectionals, which is sad.
- i decided where I'm going to college, i put my deposit in at University of Buffalo two days ago and I'm so excited. I've never actually been to the campus, but i took the virtual tour online and i think I'll like it. and its big enough that i won't feel crowded, the tuition is great plus i got a scholarship, and they have a really spectacular pre-med program. and I'm just happy to have made my decision. now i don't have to worry about it.
- I've started riding lessons. like horses. and so far its a lot of fun. she still has me on the lead line so its getting kind of boring, but I'm glad she's being a stickler for form cause in the long run its better for me.
-I'm trying to find a job now the bball is over cause i have a sorts of time and no money.
-i got a anew laptop and its gorgeous and i love it. its a dell inspiron, black with a 500 gb hard drive, a ton of ram, with a backlighted keyboard and a fingerprint scanner. i loves it = ].
right now i have it running 64 bit with windows vista, idk if i like it yet, but we'll see.
anyways i got to go.
but here's my life as of now:
-basketball is over, we only made it to the second round of sectionals, which is sad.
- i decided where I'm going to college, i put my deposit in at University of Buffalo two days ago and I'm so excited. I've never actually been to the campus, but i took the virtual tour online and i think I'll like it. and its big enough that i won't feel crowded, the tuition is great plus i got a scholarship, and they have a really spectacular pre-med program. and I'm just happy to have made my decision. now i don't have to worry about it.
- I've started riding lessons. like horses. and so far its a lot of fun. she still has me on the lead line so its getting kind of boring, but I'm glad she's being a stickler for form cause in the long run its better for me.
-I'm trying to find a job now the bball is over cause i have a sorts of time and no money.
-i got a anew laptop and its gorgeous and i love it. its a dell inspiron, black with a 500 gb hard drive, a ton of ram, with a backlighted keyboard and a fingerprint scanner. i loves it = ].
right now i have it running 64 bit with windows vista, idk if i like it yet, but we'll see.
anyways i got to go.
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