Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fantasy. Show all posts

Monday, March 7, 2011

A few goals for the listless

I am a senior in high school, and I have gotten lazy. Isn't this expected? That's what I assumed so I lavished in Sex and the City reruns and going out for good coffee with my boyfriend. The other day my mother said to me, "You have no more ambition." A few days later my brother told me, "You seem half yourself these days." And I knew something was wrong when my friend admitted, "Carmella, I just don't want you to settle."
Thus, a revamped life perspective has been furnished.
And this is what made my mind boil:
So, on Sunday morning I was lying in bed with my ipad reading a local newspaper. This one isn’t about snow day festivities or repaving roads, it’s the counterculture counterpart of my city—rock bands, indie movies, environmental activists, and vegan recipes. I read an interesting review on a documentary and at the bottom of the page was the journalist biography. To my horror it was a high school intern, and she was the editor of an award-winning student magazine. That leads to my first resolution.
 
1. Rekindle my jealousy
​That girl, that high school intern, has sniffed out and taken the opportunities I have been too lazy to look for. I am editor of my school’s literary magazine, but have we won awards? No…I mean, not yet. Am I an intern for the coolest publication in a fifty mile radius? No.
​My jealousy does not spawn stalker tactics, self-loathing, or denial of meaning in the world. My jealousy ignites the fire for my own progress. I have already compiled the phone numbers of all the publications in my city, and I am actually writing for my blog. So, for all those high school literary laureates, I’m gonna catch up.
 
2. Stop worrying about my reputation
​I went to a writer’s conference and an author said, “My first book was co-written by my mother. That is, her voice was always nagging in my head. Whenever I tried to write a sex scene it felt like my mother was in the story, sitting on the edge of bed glaring. Eventually, I had to flick her off my shoulder and write honestly. Now I write sex scenes so honestly I need a cold shower afterwards.” I have a pseudonym to protect my reputation, but I still carefully toe the line because most of my readers know me personally. Right now all of you are loitering on my shoulder. Saying, “that’s mean”, “that’s too sentimental”, “you did that?”, “does your mom know about that?”.  You have invaded, interrupted, and deleted my words too many times. As of 2011, you are being kicked out.
 
3. Embrace the present
​I spent over an hour today imagining my future life. Today I was leading an anti-corruption media campaign in Burma. I was investigating military leaders and heads of state, and I discovered they are buying nuclear warheads from North Korea. In one scenario, there is an assassination attempt against me. The bullet grazes my shoulder, but the friend,I was having dinner with, Aung san suu Kyi was shot in the stomach. Somehow we flee the scene and I administer care to Aunng and I. I call a doctor I can trust (what if the assasins find me at the hospital?), the doctor arranges for us to be flown out of the country. I carry Aun< g into a deserted field were we are picked up by a helicopter, and flown into Thailand. Scenerio number two, is that I am kidnapped and held hostage by Burma military when they discover that I know about their nuclear warhead trading. While I am in prison, NATO arranges for a covert band of spies to free me. I successfully escape prison and flee the country. In both scenarios, I am flown to Washington D.C and inform the president about the Burma and North Korea alliance. (I imagine and plot multiple future escapades a day.) ​This took up half my morning. My resolution is to live in the present, and embrace my reality. Make more friends, have adventures, and reach for those opportunities.

 
Aung San Suu Kyi: Nobel prize winner, political prisoner, symbol of peace, my BFF!!!

Monday, October 11, 2010

Cowboys can do calculus

Blogger tip numero uno, before being an attention whore, is posting regularly with good content. Right now I am trying to catch up with real life, and then focus on being a blogging drone.

Real life is calculus.
Calculus makes me want to light a cigarette in the middle of class, and say, "Fuck it. I'll just be a writer."
I don't actually smoke, but I think it makes a statement. Like when I fantasize of casually smoking a cigarette halfway through the SAT and saying to the classroom, "I've already got a publishing deal, and I don't give a shit about cancelling all of your test scores." I'm not that mean actually; that's why I fantasize. I am so polite that I will finish the SAT with a dull pencil, save standing up and loudly sharpening it.
But calculus is nearing my breaking point.
I'm already sassy enough to take daily naps, and loudly ask for the time every four minutes. When class will be over in twenty minutes, I begin a countdown. Right now I am blogging, watching the first season of Modern Family, and facebook chatting--not doing my calculus homework due tomorrow.

How beatnik of me!

This is fantasy me.

I enter the calculus classroom like a cowboy, ruthless without a care in the world. I pull the gum out of my mouth and stick the slimy wad under my desk, with everyone watching. The teacher begins the lesson, while I stretch my legs over my desk, pull my cowboy hat down over my face, and take a mid-morning nap. As the teacher lectures about derivatives, asymptotes, and limits my brain magically absorbs it all--like one of those retarded sevants. When the teacher lifts my cowboy hat to ask me the answer to a calculus question, I politely take my hat back and answer, "the limit does not exist." The teacher gasps and mutters, "damn geniuses." The classroom stares in awe. I have a solid poker face; I can't even grin after my victory. Deciding it's time for lunch, I reach under my desk and pull out a sizzling steak. You guessed it--right off the grill. For the rest of class I chomp unabashedly on my Texas beef.
This is real me.
Staring at my homework and getting a panicky feeling--which means clutching my chest, hyperventilating, and pacing my room.