Just a Reminder of Whose Blog You're Reading

     Today is going to be a little bit of a rant.  Just so you know.  It's more cathartic than anything--I'm not actually angry.

     Let's get something straight: this is my blog.  The name was Odessa's Blog before I came up with something more "interesting."  (I'll be switching it back to Odessa's Blog as soon as I'm done with this AP English class, just so you know.)  Odessa Taylor is the creator of this blog, and the sole author.  The things I write are about--guess who--Odessa Taylor.

     Forgive me if that sounds way conceited, but I'm getting to the point, where I hope I'll sound a little less so.

     This is not a blog written by my followers, even if they are the ones who read it.  This is not the official United States of America blog, even if that's where I live.  And this is certainly not my English teacher's blog, even if he was the one that made me start it.

     If you came here and thought that I would be writing about current events, you are so severely wrong.  I am not going to be writing about that, and I don't care if that's what you want to read or not because that's not what I want to write--and this is my blog.

     So, if you don't mind, I'm going to be writing about things I like, stories that have happened to me, and things that I find enjoyable.

     Don't get me wrong: current events are important.  But everyone else is fully aware of that, and you can find an update on current events anywhere.  You can also find people's opinions on current events everywhere.  You don't need mine added to the mix.

     My blog is a place where I can write what I want without feeling pressured--or, at least, it should be.  And I want my blog to be sarcastic and funny (like me) even while being about serious stuff on occasion (like me).

     I am so sick of seeing current events plastered all over the place.  They're informative up to a point, and then they just start causing problems because they elicit all these negative feelings towards people with different opinions and just cause controversy that doesn't need to be there.  People need to chill.

     And that's part of the reason why I want to write.

     I don't want to help contribute to the angry, hateful world that's out there.  There's plenty of that already.  What there isn't enough of are places where you can read something just to read something--something that will help you realize that there's still normal people leading normal lives in this world.

     And that's what I want my blog to be: a safe haven for people who don't want to be constantly reminded of everything that's going on in this messed up world.  I want people's weary, red eyes to brighten up when they see that Odessa Taylor has a new blog post.  I want people to find some sort of odd solace in my blog.  I don't want people to be afraid to read my blog in case I start talking about something terrible.  I mean, what's the most controversial thing I'll write about?  I don't even know.

     "But Odessa, don't you want to look back and see how you lived through certain events and how you felt about them?"  Right.  'Cause I want to remember all the terrible things that have been happening the past few years.  Like I need or want a reminder of how I felt about them.  Wow, you've got me there.

     I don't want to remember the political debates and the attacks that happen on a daily basis.  I want to remember what I did in Spanish, or the things I did with my friends, or the songs I sang in choir, or the normal and boring things I did on a daily basis because it was those things that kept me sane and gave me hope that there is a light at the end of the dark tunnel that this world is becoming, and there's nothing I can do to stop the darkness or the light.  I'm moving forward, and I honestly have given up trying to care about whether or not the world follows me.  All I know is, I'm not following the world down whatever path it's currently traveling.

     My point is, I'm not going to write about world events.  If you care about my opinion on something, find a way to ask me.  I'm not going to tell you how I feel about current events, except that I hate talking about current events, especially through such a medium as my own blog.

     Maybe you've forgotten that.  This is my blog.  This is my territory.  And I'll chase away anyone who threatens that.  You want me to write a blog?  Then let me write the blog.
     You're in my world now.

     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

The Sad Tale of Odess Taylors

     Towards the end of eighth grade, I received a rather official letter in the mail, which was exciting enough as it was.  It was a very formal letter, informing me that my U.S. history teacher had nominated me to do this six-day summer program where I would go to one of the colleges listed and do some academically-driven stuff (I forget the details).  I wasn't interested.
     But you know what bothered me most?
     It wasn't that it was mostly math and science stuff, which doesn't thrill me in any way.  It wasn't that it had been my history teacher nominating me (I hadn't been terribly fond of him).  It wasn't even that the closest college was California (I don't like being away from family/home like that).
     It was that they spelled my name "Odess Taylors."
     In what universe is that a name?
     I don't know where it went wrong.  Was my history teacher under the impression that that was my name?  I'm 99.9 percent sure he knew I was Odessa Taylor.  Did he say it over the phone and it got kind of garbled?  Somehow, I don't think that's it.  Maybe he had really weird handwriting?  I don't think anyone has handwriting that bad.
     I'm sure many of you are thinking, "Oh my word, Odessa, it's not even that big of a deal.  So what if your name got butchered?  You gave up an excellent academic opportunity over something that trivial?"  Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.
     There were other factors, of course (see above).  And my name has been messed up plenty of times (see previous blog posts).  But this one really grated me the wrong way.
     Odess Taylors.  Seventeen years of being Odessa Taylor, I've gotten pretty used to the words.  (I am fully aware I was fourteen at the time.  Chill.)  I know how they feel in my mouth.  The way my lips open and the way my tongue moves when I say it.  I didn't realize how familiar it was until I saw it completely demolished before my eyes.  My mouth doesn't open enough.  My teeth touch too much.  It's wrong.  So let's make that crystal clear: I hate the name Odess Taylors.  Hate it, hate it, hate it.  Keep that in mind.
     And the entire letter was like that.  Whenever they felt the need to address me directly, it was something along the lines of, "We hope you're considering this excellent opportunity, Odess."  It didn't even feel directed to me.
     I'm rather protective of my name, in case you couldn't tell.
     So, now I'm a junior, and colleges are showing interest in me.  I've gotten so many brochures and pamphlets and enthusiastic "Come to our school!" things in the mail, it's crazy.  And I have to admit, I rather like seeing "Odessa Taylor" all official on an envelope and everything.
     Except that I'm not looking forward to college at all.
     Don't get me wrong, I'm excited for the opportunities that college offers.  But I'm fine with how my life is now.  I like independence up to a point, and college doesn't give me the safe wall I like building around me.  I don't like being away from home for extended periods of time (unless it's something really exciting or interesting).  I'll probably never see my closest friends.  Depending on where I go, I might have to get a second job or quit my current one altogether--which I do not want to do.  Not in the slightest.
     So, I sit at the kitchen table, looking at the unopened envelopes from the University of Denver and Southern Utah University and Brandeis University and all the others that suddenly are interested in what my plans for the future are, despite never knowing who I am.  They all say "Odessa Taylor" on the front, perfectly typed out, but they don't even know what that means.
     As foreign as Odess Taylors looked to me, I knew that it came from someone who knew me--even if it wasn't well and even if it was someone I really did not like.  My eighth grade U.S. history teacher knew who I was and he knew who he was talking about when he nominated me.  These universities?  What do they know about me?  My grades?  The classes I've taken?  Probably more, but I doubt they even really know what I look like.  And why do they want me?  Because they believe that I can be an advantage to their school?
     Don't get me wrong: I love that there are colleges interested in me because it's been such a big fear that I'll never get into college.  This calms those fears.  Also, don't think I'm saying something praiseworthy of my eighth grade U.S. history teacher (I'm looking at you, Alida Nesbitt).
     So it's a torn decision.  Would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in disgust at Odess Taylors being invited to a six-day summer program, or would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in shock at Odessa Taylor being invited to attend colleges?
     I remember pacing the kitchen with that letter, exclaiming "Odess Taylors?!" to anyone who'd listen.  It really bothered me.  It's fun to joke about now (I'm looking at you, Bailey Donaldson), but at the time, it was a very touchy subject.
     But the biggest thing is, for the couple months that there was at least one person in the world who believed I was named Odess Taylors, I was in eighth grade.  Back in junior high.  Back where I felt like I belonged.  Back to the place where I actually felt like I could make a difference in the world and where I was genuinely happy.
     Now, there are people all over the country interested in Odessa Taylor.  But it's because she's moving on.  She's almost finished with high school.  She's going to be going on to college.  To many people, this means that she's truly starting her life.  She does not feel the way about high school that she felt about junior high.
     Is high school fun?  Sure.  But not like junior high was.  Is high school exciting?  I guess so.  But so was junior high.  So many people hate junior high, but I would give just about anything to go back.  I'd change my name to Odess Taylors in a heartbeat if I could stay in junior high for the rest of my life.
     But I am Odessa Taylor.  Odess Taylors does not exist.  The colleges got it right, not my eighth grade U.S. history teacher.  And as much as a small part of me wishes it was different, I am not Odess Taylors.  Odess Taylors only lived for a short time, and she technically never even lived.
     So, this is Odessa Taylor, bidding farewell.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

The Worth of a Thousand Words

     You know what one of my biggest pet peeves is?  The phrase "A picture is worth a thousand words."  I get it, you want to give recognition to the beauty of a picture, but don't degrade words in the process.
     "But Odessa, have you ever seen a beautiful picture before, such as a sunset or a field of flowers?  Can you even find the words to express it?"
     This is true.  There are some scenes of beauty that surpass even the most eloquent description, and it's difficult to fully formulate cohesive sentences to help express how beautiful the said picture is.  For example...

     Of course, I'm sure there is someone out there who could do these pictures at least a bit of justice with their words, but it's true: some pictures simply can't be expressed with words.
     But to say that, in general, pictures are worth a thousand words just isn't true.  For example, say you're reading a book, and you come across this line: "Even just looking at the forest gave off an air of the whole thing being alive.  The branches and trunks stood solid, gleaming with their chestnut colors in the light of the rising sun.  The leaves, with their healthy deep green, were tinged with gold as the morning sunlight was filtered through them to cast dancing shadows upon the earthy ground that was strewn with stray leaves and small fruits that hadn't clung to their branches long enough."
     Whether you think it's beautiful or not, do you need a picture to see that forest?  Does there need to be a picture for you to visualize this scene?  If so, then that's an entirely different issue.  Of course, it's highly unlikely you'll visualize the same forest that I did, but that doesn't matter.  That's the point.  You and I can see the same winter scene and sunset above.  Certainly they mean something different to each of us, but we both see the same picture.  With the words above, neither of us see the same thing.
     Also, pictures can only appeal to one of your five senses.  Can you take a picture of sounds (and not sound waves, jerk), or smells, or tastes, or textures?
     What if I were to say, "Her voice, though soft, carried smoothly to all within its reach, as clear and lovely as a silver bell.  The gentle music of her voice was enough to make even the deafest man perk up."  You can show me a picture of the girl talking/singing, and the people lifting their heads, but you can't take a picture of her voice.
     Or what if I were to say, "The stink of the dungeon made him cringe in disgust.  The musty odor of mold, the acrid smell of unwashed bodies, and the distinctive stink of rats all combined together in an unpleasant jumble, nearly making him vomit up the small lunch he'd eaten earlier."
     Or, "The small berries burst in their mouths, their juicy middles permeating with a sweet taste and soothing flavor, calming the burning from the earlier meat."
     Or even, "The water flowed over my fingertips, chilling them.  It was smooth and quick, and the feeling of it running through my fingertips was like liquid silk flowing as a stream."
     You see?  Just because there are pictures words can't describe doesn't mean that words have no ability to describe.  Words wield more power than we give them credit, and the people who use them are the ones who've truly mastered it--and they're the ones who take a little bit of offense when informed that a picture is worth one thousand of their words.
     In truth, a picture will never achieve the same effect that a thousand words will.  Not to degrade pictures at all, but a thousand words, when placed in such a way, can cause anyone to see something, or hear something, or feel something.  Pictures can only give you so much.
     I mean, isn't it usually a little disappointing when you go see a movie based on a book you love?  Characters and places you imagined as you read are so different on the screen.  And while sometimes you appreciate the fact that it's been brought to life and in front of your eyes, it often destroys what you first imagined it to be.  You very rarely remember those characters and places the way you did when you read the book.
     So really, pictures and words shouldn't even be compared.  Pictures appeal to the eyes, but words appeal more to the soul.  And both have their place in the world in helping us capture the beauty of each precious moment.
     A picture worth a thousand words is an extraordinary value indeed.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Certainty and Doubt

     Can you tell which blogs are the ones where I decide what to write and what my AP English teacher decides what I write?  If not, you're not paying much attention.
     William Lyon Phelps said, "If you develop the absolute sense of certainty that powerful beliefs provide, then you can get yourself to accomplish virtually anything, including those things that other people are certain are impossible."  Basically, if you believe it enough, you can do it.
     Bertrand Russell also said, "I think we ought always to entertain our opinions with some measure of doubt.  I shouldn't wish people dogmatically to believe any philosophy, not even mine."  Basically, don't be afraid to admit you could be wrong.
     Here we have two quotes, both by rather intelligent writers and social critics, which state the most basic examples of what is certainty and what is doubt.  What is the difference?  More importantly, what is their relationship?  Can you have certainty but also doubt at the same time?
     You know what I think?  Whether you care or not, I'm going to tell you.
     I think that both have their place in the world and in our lives, but their extremes are very different.  I also don't think that doubt should always be regarded as negative (though it should usually be), nor do I think that certainty should always be regarded as positive (though it should usually be).  Confused yet?  Excellent.
     Certainty is feeling so strongly about something being true (or not true) that it's nearly impossible to dissuade you.  It would take a great amount of reasoning and logic to even begin to wear down on that certainty.  But is certainty the same thing as knowledge?  Well, according to the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, "certainty is either the highest form of knowledge or is the only epistemic property superior to knowledge."
     Doubt is wondering whether something is true or not--it is not knowing for sure that something isn't true.  Doubt can often be compared to a seed, which starts out small and seemingly insignificant but can steadily grow into something much bigger.  Doubt can often be extinguished if led to the right sources and with earnest desire to find out the truth, but if left to itself, can become suffocating.
     So what did I mean by the extremes are different?  Well, the most negative part of certainty is having a lot, and the negative part of doubt is a little.  How does that work, you ask?
     Mind you, I'm not a philosopher, and I'm not full-on studying certainty and doubt.  That's my disclaimer for today.
     See, too much certainty can lead to stubbornness, when the real result of certainty should be passion.  One girl in my eighth grade history class once said, "I don't see what the problem with being stubborn is.  Isn't being stubborn about something and being passionate about something the same thing?"  No.  As another girl replied to this one, "The difference between being stubborn and being passionate is that when you're passionate about something, you're willing to listen to other people's views and contribute them to your own, but when you're stubborn, you refuse to listen to what other people have to say and you're very set in believing that you are right."   And too much doubt makes you unable to make decisions and consistently skeptical.
     Just some food for thought.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Cornell Notes

     There are few things in life that drive me absolutely crazy.  I'm not saying that things don't annoy me, but there's a significant difference between something being annoying and something driving you crazy.  Annoying things put you in a bad mood and steadily fade into the background.  When something drives you crazy, it's a nettling, persistent feeling that won't go away until the thing driving you crazy goes away.

     I'm sure you must be thinking, "Oh, Odessa, you're such a lovely person though.  What could there possibly be that drives you crazy?"  You're about to find out one of them.  (This is probably the first in a series of rants, just so you're aware.)

     Cornell notes are flipping awful.  If you don't know what Cornell notes are, enjoy the blissful peace bestowed upon you.  Look them up yourself because I don't want to explain them.

     Now, Cornell notes in and of themselves aren't necessarily evil.  I certainly wish they'd never been created, but the idea isn't bad.  One of my biggest problems with them is that they have too much.  You have an essential question, you have the notes, you have the cues/questions, you have a reflection.  I'm sorry, but when did taking notes turn into brainstorming an essay?

     And the teachers who want us to use Cornell notes are somehow under the impression that by writing all this stuff, we'll somehow magically remember everything about the subject.  To those teachers who praise Cornell notes: If and when we study our Cornell notes, we do not study the essential question or the reflection, and we only pay attention to the cues when it's a vocabulary list.  We do not pay attention to questions.

     I suppose the point of them is that they're a better studying tool, or they help you focus while you're reading, or something of the like.  Maybe that works for some people, but for most of us, we don't care.  If we aren't paying close attention to what we're reading, we'll acknowledge that.  Taking Cornell notes doesn't automatically make us pay closer attention to whatever we're reading.

     And Cornell notes are not singular in their ability to help people study, if they help at all.  They certainly don't work for me.  My best way of taking notes is just to write down what I think is important.  It's as simple as that.  But no, apparently it's not good enough for me to take notes my way, I have to take them in a way that helps some people study.  In reality, I think teachers like it because it's more organized--not necessarily because they supposedly help people study.

     Some teachers will whine that if I'm not writing down questions while I read, I'm obviously not using my full thinking process.  Thing is, just because I'm not writing down questions doesn't mean I'm not asking them.  "Don't write down the whole thing word for word!  There's no point!  But there's apparently some really great reason for you to write down the questions you're asking yourself while reading."

     When I'm studying my notes, I don't look back at my questions for an answer.  I'll look at the answer.  If I wrote down that so-and-so's aggressive manner comes from a background of neglect, do you really think I care about the question I asked that was eventually answered?  No!  I only care about the answer!  And even if I did care about the question, how will my deep, pensive thoughts put into physical words help me at all on a test?  They won't, unless the test is entitled "Questions You Had While Reading This Book."

     When you're writing notes, you don't have to write down everything--or, at least, you shouldn't have to write down everything.  But, with Cornell notes, if you're not writing down cues for the answers or questions that you have while reading or a reflection on what you've learned, you apparently didn't learn anything and won't be able to study the correct information.

     Gosh flippin' dang it, it's the notes that matter!  And once you've drawn all the lines and you look at your box left for notes, it's not a terribly large box.  So then, you have to go to another page, and draw the exact same thing.  It's flipping ridiculous.

      If teachers realized that some people do fine taking notes my way, life would be easier.  I don't have to sift through what I've written to find out what I really wanted to write down.  I don't have to waste time making up questions that fit the "levels of questions" I've only heard talked about in regards to Cornell notes.  I don't have to feel forced into taking notes in a way that just does not work for me.  Not like the teachers care.

     Cornell notes have a place in this world, I'm sure...but it's not certainly not my notebook.  Some people love Cornell notes and are able to study their little hearts out with them.  I'm not one of them, and I know plenty of other people who agree.

     And I'm not saying that Cornell notes have been nothing but disadvantageous to me.  In my chemistry class last year, the teacher expected Cornell notes, but she didn't have a strict way of setting them up.  Questions weren't necessarily expected, and we didn't have to do a reflection.

     My English teacher from last year also expected us to do Cornell notes, and she had a very rigid way of setting them up.  But even that didn't bother me because the notes we took didn't have anything to do with testing material.  We didn't even really take tests in that class, and when we did, it was the basics of what we read.  We weren't depending on our Cornell notes for studying.

     It's the teachers who force us to take rigid Cornell notes and expect us to get wonderful grades from studying them who are the real problem.  I do not study well with Cornell notes.  I don't know if I can say that any louder.  But it doesn't matter, because I could flat-out scream in those teachers' faces about how useless they are to me, and they'd simply spit out their usual worship of the dead-awful notes.

     I know that some teachers think that the cookie-cutter way is the best way, but come on--even cookie cutters have different shapes.  It's fine if we're expected to take notes, it's fine if we're even graded on whether we took notes or not.  But I could never fully put into words the negative feelings I have towards teachers who inform us on the first day of school that "We're going to be using Cornell notes in this class."

     Well, that rant's over.  That was kind of fun, actually.

     I hope your day is as awesome as you.

Play Review of the School Musical

Look, I have to do this for my AP English class. Don't be too mad at me for letting your hopes down. I'm also fully aware of the extreme indents at the beginning of each paragraph. That's what happens when you copy and paste from a Google Doc.

Last year, Taylorsville High School’s musical was Once on This Island.  While impressively put on and talently performed, it could really be described in one word: depressing.  So this year, upon preparing to see this year’s production of Kiss Me, Kate (written by Samuel and Bella Spewack with lyrics and music by Cole Porter), I unconsciously prepared myself for another downer, albeit a well-performed one.  Imagine my surprise when I actually laughed for quite a bit of the show.

The acting was really impressive.  The two leads were especially good at some of the quick or extreme moods their characters (or even their characters’ characters) were feeling.  They also played very well off each other, fitting perfectly into their roles.  The other leads were obviously having a lot of fun with their parts and exhibited that well through their spot-on acting.  They weren’t over-the-top but weren’t too subtle either, seamlessly becoming their characters.  The ensemble wasn’t silly (as many ensembles tend to be) and filled their parts with the quiet acting needed for such a role (for it truly is a role).

The sets were colorful (again a contrast to last year) and helped bring the audience into the story instead of the other way around.  However, there were a couple that were on the border of being distracting.  It was nothing too serious, but there were a few that were just a little much.  They seemed very well put-together and obviously had effort put into them.

The music was by far my favorite part.  The songs were either fun and catchy or emotionally stirring, and either was pleasing.  All of the actors had wonderful voices and there were hardly any times when one person would stick out.  The orchestra did an excellent job.  Live music is difficult, especially when you’ve only been practicing together for a few of the rehearsals--but you wouldn’t have guessed that just by listening.  One complaint about the music is that some of the songs were way long, which in and of itself wouldn’t bother me, but it was the slightly annoying songs that didn’t have anything to do with the story that were dragged on.  There were multiple songs that would “end,” the audience would applaud, and then it would start up again and play for just as long as before.  Besides that, the music was great.  Of course, if you had asked me what the lyrics were, I would only be able to respond with a blank look.

The microphones were awful.  When they weren’t cutting out, they sounded extremely muffled or even had that horrible screechy feedback (although the latter was considerably more scarce).  It was very hard to understand what was being said, especially during the songs.  The dialogue was a little bit better, but only because you could hear every one in three words instead of every one in five.

If you’re one of those people that’s sitting on the edge of your seat, pleading with me to talk about the lights, you are about to be severely disappointed because I do not pay attention to lights whatsoever.  I could see the actors.  There were spotlights sometimes and it went dark sometimes.  That’s all I can tell you.  I’m fully aware that lighting is important, but I don’t care enough to take notes.

The costumes were...realistic?  I don’t know what you expect me to say.  The actors were fully clothed (hey, some characters last year were only half so).  Their outfits seemed to fit well with the time periods being portrayed.  The end.

Now, the basic storyline of Kiss Me, Kate.  Two actors, Fred Graham and Lilli Vanessi, were once married (and now no longer are) but are performing Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew.  Lilli is engaged to some general, but she and Fred kind of start falling for each other again until Fred sends the--What’s a good word?--tramp of the story, Lois Lane, a tender note of affection and Lilli’s wedding bouquet, both of which Lilli thinks are hers until she reads the note.  They eventually realize that the play is a lot like their current life.  At least, that’s the important storyline.  (Remember the microphone issue?)  Then there were gangsters showing up for some reason (don’t worry, they were my favorites), the tramp looks like she’s going to play a big part and then doesn’t, her boyfriend wants to marry despite knowing she’s a tramp, and Lilli’s general boyfriend comes out of nowhere and does absolutely nothing.  As far as I can tell, that is all that happened.

So, what makes a good theater production?  According to me, at least, a good theater production needs good talent but also good attitudes.  There ought to be minimal technical difficulties, memorization problems, and otherwise other bloopers.  The time and effort put in should be impressive, not distracting.  It should be fun (notice I didn’t say funny) and interesting to watch.  It shouldn’t be too overly dramatic.  Really, I just want everyone involved to look like they’re enjoying it.  All of the above applied to Kiss Me, Kate, even with the annoying sound problems.  I would give it at least four stars.  It was definitely worth seeing.

Well, I hope that was informative.

I hope your day is as awesome as you.

A Note to My Readers

     Hello, everyone--you know what, can I just say how annoying it is that I can't greet you by time of day?  I can't say "Morning, everybody," or "Afternoon, my friends," or "Evening, good people."  None of that!
     And you know why?
     Because you could possibly read this at a different time of day than I'm writing, and if the first thing you read on my blog is "Evening, good people," but it's 9:00am for you, that will send a subliminal message that I care more about my time than yours, not to mention send another subliminal message that if you're not reading this in the evening, you do not fall under the category of "good people."  So, I have to pander to you--you, who has a far too sensitive mind that can make up intentions of other people based on the words they use.  What a mess.
     Don't get me wrong: I think you're great.  But there are certain words and phrases that I like to use, and when I can't use them because it won't work with someone, it's annoying.  But hey, at least I can use words like "chill" and "dang it."  Because if those were scratched off my list, I'd be a very boring and angry person.
     I mean, it's especially frustrating because I don't even know some of the people who read my blog.  I have to bend down to the perceptive minds of people I probably will never meet.  (Seriously, the amount of pageviews I get from France is astonishing.)
     That's my biggest problem with a blog.  It's public, so I have to keep that in mind as I'm writing.  I would never write down anything even remotely private about myself on here.  And that's annoying because I need to put my thoughts where I can see them.  Don't get me wrong: I write down my private thoughts.  But quite honestly, I feel that this blog is more for me than anyone else.  It doesn't make much sense, I know: Why would I want to write my private thoughts on a blog, regardless of privacy?  How is it different from writing it anywhere else?
     I guess it has more to do with my philosophy that a blog is a place where you can do more than just write out your thoughts; you can put them on display with glowing lights and draped with curtains.  A blog, let's face it, is a little more open to creativity than a Word document, no matter what borders and ClipArt you use.
     So, if there was a way for me to publish my blog but not really publish it, it would be ideal.  If there was absolutely no way that anyone could ever read my blog, I'd jump for the opportunity.  I don't like feeling vulnerable.  (Note to my AP English teacher who I am sure is reading this: I understand that that is your point, but I certainly don't like it.)
     But, my blog is not private.  I am not assigned to post weekly to myself.  I have to put myself (and my blog) out there to be published.  I need my name to become something more official than just the words that mean me.  And how do I do that?
     You.
     You, who I've actually kind of done a lot of complaining about, I just realized.  Ouch.  Feel free to take it personally.
     You, who may not even know who I am.  You, who could be a psycho--whether it be in serial killer form or chocolate-hater form.  You, who might not even understand a word I write (I know I'm crazy and that my writing is sporadic as heck--I have come to terms with my spastic writing nature).
     Thanks.
     I know, that was terribly touching and you've been moved to tears.  Stop it.  That's not a good reason to have water leaking out of your face.
     Anyway...I think this is a lot of fun.  I like having a blog.  I like being able to write random stuff in a place where random writings are expected.  I like that I can write out my sarcastic things instead of just letting them stew inside my mind (or popping out at bad moments).  I like that I can sit comfortably and type out my thoughts (not the private ones) and throw them onto a blank white sheet like an organized mess of paint splatters.  (See, that doesn't make any sense.  I'm telling you I'm insane.)
     Heavens.  Look at me.  I'm actually trying to convince you that my mental state is far more removed than a normal human being's.  There's something wrong with me.
     But you know, I'm cool with that.  I have no problem with being seen as weird or crazy.  In fact, I take it as a high compliment indeed.  Because if I'm being so different that people actually take notice, then I'm doing something right.  Because life isn't about how well you can hide.  Hide-and-seek is only fun because you have a seeker.
     Flying under the radar isn't a problem until there is nothing else you focus on.  If you're so obsessed with going with the flow that thinking of breaking out is immense stress, you are doing something wrong.  I'm an introvert (and proud of it), but even I can recognize the importance of stepping out of the comfort zone for an evening stroll once in a while.
     After all, if I decided to never let my introvert nature drop, I wouldn't be writing this blog.  I wouldn't be able to grace your--gosh flippin' dang it, I can't use time again.  Fine...I wouldn't be able to grace any generic time of your day with my words of wisdom and fun personality.  (Come on, you know full well that it's true.)
     Well, fun as this was, I think it's gone on long enough.  I think it's about time you returned to more immediate and pressing matters, correct?  Do your homework, eat something, use the bathroom, call a friend, take a walk, hang out with your family--because as much as I think both of us would like to deny it, we do have lives outside of this blog, and they're a little less permanent.
     I hope your day is as awesome as you.