islanded in a stream of stars

I used to write my life out in post-it notes. Nothing was too trivial to document: snippets of conversations, phrases that sounded good in my head, song parodies, extensive film score reviewing notes, silly messages to friends, even the occasional cartoon. I used up nearly an entire pad in recording the dreams of a talking sonnambulist. (Sadly, those records of Cathy have mysteriously disappeared.) I've gone through at least ten pads covering friends' lockers entirely in post-it notes partly as an artistic statement, as a challenge to authority (will the maintenance crew take it down?) and as a way of cheering someone up or at least amusing them and myself. I've discovered too many too count in the top of my desk; as of a few days ago I couldn't open up that desk drawer without five things falling out because there were so many pieces of paper stuffed in there.

It's just like me to measure things out in minute quantities. Perhaps it's my innate emotional parsimony; perhaps it's my unreliable memory; perhaps it's sheer apathy. It's funny-I never really pay too much attention to all of the typical milestones like the start of a new year, getting my driver's licence, graduation, those sorts of things (I didn't even try for parallel structure; deal with it). I guess I just don't find those personal enough. These little scraps, like the proverbial message in a bottle, trap emotion as we'd like to remember them. It's savoring every moment to the point where they almost lose significance because there are so many of them. They offer a false sense of permanence in the past; I cling to them because they allow me to slip back for a moment to revisit my old life. And only now have I begun to realize that my attachment to these little slips of paper, often crumpled and unreadably scrawled, borders on the pathological. I have sometimes suspected that my passion for history stems from this deep-seated need to freeze frame and capture all of the moments I'm so afraid of losing, to have something of worth for which to account my life.

As you can guess, I can't bring myself to take them to the rubbish bin yet.

I originally had some stuff bouncing around my head to say about turning 18 but then decided that it would be incredibly presumptuous to think that I know that much. I used to be strongly afflicted with nostalgia, or perhaps I'm in a bit of a relapse; right now I'm in a sort of temporally peaceful lull. I like to think that after each birthday you start with a clean slate-it's my version of New Year's. And it's nice that I have this summer to be refreshed and figure out what I want to do with my life. Now I have time to do all of the stuff that really brightened my day, get back into the loop of all of the places and lives I've disappeared from. I'm rediscovering that it's always nice to be missed; it's a little funny to see what rumors about me have grown in my absence, though I don't meant to mock those who have absentmindedly cultivated them.

Soon enough I'll probably be spamming with random soundtrack/TV/movie reviews again much to the chagrin of my real life friends and acquaintances. Michael Giacchino's Mission: Impossible III score is in the works.

I must say that the alumna panel + seeing my ringer Sara today has actually made me excited about college for what seems like the first time. I still have those awkward "Aren't you going to University Y?" "No, actually, I'm not..." encounters but they're much fewer now.

Good night, and good luck.

I saw this question on a community today: How do you forgive without giving in?

I'm curious as to how others would respond.

I'm not quite sure what "not giving in" means. I am very much of the forgive and forget school; we have all made mistakes, and who are we to say that someone else is in the wrong and we are totally absolved ourselves? There are many little things that I do that probably annoy/disappoint/frustrate others, but people don't hold those against me, or at least to my knowledge. So why should I begrudge others?

I don't see the point in wasting one's feelings on being angry and hurt; life is short enough, so why not spend as much of that time as possible being happy and making others happy? I think society spends too much time wondering where others went wrong; what I prefer to focus on is what I can do to avoid future situations that are harmful for everyone. To quote John F. Kennedy, "Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." In many cases I think it's very tempting for people to shove responsabilities for their own failures on others instead of finding ways to correct the root of the problem in their own behavior.

To be honest I am rather naive, and I'm sure there's great potential for people to take advantage of me in the future. I'm lucky that hasn't happened to me yet. I don't mean to present myself as a paragon of moral superiority, either; no one has ever caused me to truly suffer as a result of his/her actions. I have never been a victim of cruelty where forgiveness would be much more difficult to grant. I just try to avoid hurting others, and I like to think that I'm doing a decent job. I find it it extremely difficult to be angry at anyone for longer than ten minutes (and that's long at that; usually my threshold is two minutes) because most of the things that anger me are merely annoying as well as trivial. There's no point in wasting my thoughts and feelings on them; I've got better things to do with my time. Most things are not worth destroying a relationship for. We are all deserving of forgiveness, but self-absolution is not for granted.

It has been a long-standing realization of mine that most, if not all, of the most brilliant people I know don't really seem to recognize how wonderful they are. I personally know very few idiots; I don't take much of an interest in them, anyway. Certainly there are delusional fools, occasionally psychopathic, who are convinced that they are geniuses, but the vast majority of geniuses I have met (and I'd like to think I've met quite a few so far) are convinced that they are moronic dunderheads.

I don't really understand it. I do think that self-doubt does serve a useful purpose; it keeps you humble and willing to experiment. But in excess you are only cluttering your judgment and embroiling yourself needlessly in self-loathing. Let me assure you that your kindness and brainpower combined give me one hell of an inferiority complex on a regular basis. I refuse to believe that you have wasted your life on delusions of grandeur.

Because you're all brilliant, all of you.

I've been unofficially converted to Simon and Garfunkel fandom, thanks to Z's open music library. Baah. I need to get the Graduate soundtrack sometime.

I'm a big fan of "The Sound of Silence" in particular:

Hello darkness my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping
Left it's seed while I was sleeping,
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains within the sounds of silence.
In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobble stone.
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp,
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sounds of silence.
And in the naked light
I saw Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening,
People writing songs that voices never shared,
And no one dared Disturb the sounds of silence.
"Fools!" said I, "you do not know,
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you,
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell...
And echoed in the wells of silence.
And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon gods they made.
And the sign flashed out its warning,
In the words that it was forming,
And the sign said,
"The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
and tenement halls."
And whispered in the sounds of silence.

It reminds me of several people.

"Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space..."

Summer is strange like that; time remains a mystery as a day drags out to months or hours are condensed into seeming seconds. I was rereading a conversation I had with Shirin about time and organized religion, and I miss talking about those things with her even though I'm incredibly stupid about such matters. It doesn't feel to me that two months have passed; I wish that they could continue. The past week has been mysteriously wonderful in a quiet fashion. I was over at Sophia's, and we got to talk about people, and I haven't been able to do that with anyone with whom I feel comfortable enough for ages. And we did all sorts of crazy things like play Simpsons monopoly twice, and sneak out of the house at 3:10 in the morning to go to Safeway to see what it was like, and that walk at twilight. It wasn't as magical as the first spotaneous one by my house, but there still was that element of fanastical dizzying dreaming that was worth every moment. And I got to to go 7-11 and get my first package of chewing gum in literally years. I've been craving it for so long, yet I'm too scared to open the shiny freshly minted pristine package. Rather pathetic, but I don't mind. I think I'll have some on the first day of school and see what happens.

I want to start school again in another month, but I don't really feel prepared at all for being a junior. I'm too irresponsible and small and nowhere near being what I picture a junior or a senior to be. I have to start thinking seriously about what I'll be doing in the future and where I'll be going. I'm still really tempted to go to university...well, I won't say where for now, as I talk about that too much. Well, I don't, but I'm afraid that I'll turn into one of those annoying geeks who are obsessed about being accepted into places with pretentious reputations. And there's so much that I want to do this year without talking to people I'd like to talk to, but I also don't want to disappoint the parents with grades. Eeek. And there's ringer-ringee stuff. I've schemed about what I'm going to do, and I've worked out some of the details. I'm just afraid that no seniors know me well enough or will know me well enough to figure it out, and that they're not going to really like me. I don't know of anyone who probably would want to be rung (ringed?) by me. Funnily enough I think it's going to be easier for me to find someone who will ring me when I'm a senior than the other way around. Baaah. The freshmen are really amusing when they want to be. Overall, I guess that at this point I'm most looking forward to my schedule, music history, and the Return of the Moose movie. I'm pretty sure about what piece of music I'm using, but that's top secret for now unless you ask :P

And then I look at people younger than me and feel old. How is it that I can be sixteen already? I'm positively ancient, even if most of the people I know and talk to are older. I don't really know people who are pretty much the same age as me. Funnily enough I tend to give recommendations and advice to people slightly (or not so slightly in some cases, depending on your conceptions of age) older than me, as if I knew more than them! But they're all lovely.

Today was the last day of my internship, and I want to go back already to the CHC. I really love my co-workers; I honestly can't imagine any other office where I'd like to work. We had a Summer Symphony wrap-up meeting/goodbye me breakfast in the conference room, and they gave me stuff other than my paycheck. Literally, I couldn't speak for about ten seconds. Chocolates, some wilted sweet peas bought at the Farmer's Market last Sunday, three bucks from Linda for each swear word I heard her say (actually, she shorted me a dollar, but I don't really care), a SS tote bag, and the best thing of all: a posterboard. The posterboard has a SS promo poster autographed by Kenny Loggins, yearbook-type messages from each person in the office, a Kenny Loggins onstage photo, two promo postcards, a mini-bio of Kenny Loggins, and two candid pictures of me. In the top one I'm putting on a pair of sunglasses at Command Central, and it's probably the best picture of me taken at least within the last four years, seriously. The expression on my face is rather amusing as I look rather confused. And the bottom one I'm talking to Amber and Hillary, and we're all staring at the back of a golf cart containing staff dinners the night of th concert. Hee hee. I was afraid that someone got a picture of me nearly falling off of the golf cart with Todd driving, but apparently nobody did.

Even Christina was more cordial than her usual icy self. I've learned to multitask better; I've discovered that I'm capable of tying ribbons, filing away papers in a binder, using a hole puncher, laminating things, entering information into a spreadsheet, answering a phone, and flirting in French pretty much at the same time. I can file 200 pieces of paper alphabetically in about twenty minutes max. And this Friday is my last internship meeting, and then it's officially all over. If I'm lucky the office will use me as a volunteer throughout the school year, but it doesn't look like that it will be very often.

If I didn't know any better I'd say people make some of the best decisions when tired. That way they'd have energy for only important things and would only dwell on those. In a lot of respects it'd be much more practical.

Alas, decision making is rarely at its peak when the person making the decisions is tired because they forget a lot of little details which would end up being rather important.