When I was helping my mom put away some stuff from a garage sale on Sunday or Monday, I found a pair of size nine rollerblades. My mom thought they were size nine for men, but they fit me fine. The thing is, the only place I had to practice them was in the kitchen and dining room, and that isn't very big. Not to mention she didn't want me sliding around the house with them. So, today I tried the driveway. I forgot that the reason I didn't learn how to ride a bike in the driveway was because it had a big slant in it. So, I tried to go uphill and barely got anywhere. Then, when I got to the top and went down, I was scared half to death, so I turned early and went on the walk to the porch, but I was tripping on the bricks and stones. Maybe if Mom was feeling better I could go rollerblading and try to balance on her arm. I am such a wimp.
In Theatre class, we were working on our monologues. We chose a monologue to perform, and we're working on it to perform it on the cafeteria stage. I was stuck with a monologue about white crayons. It's called Common Ground by Brenden Votipka. It's a teenager explaining his current state of mind. We have to rewrite it onto some paper. Here's all I have written so far:
TEENAGER. I've been trying very hard to put into words the way I'm feeling right now. But I'm drawing a blank. "Blank" is almost something, but I fear it may be nothing. Nothing is is an awful feeling. It's the absence of feeling. I don't feel nothing. Nothing is not what I feel. I feel something. Definitely something. I don't feel the absence of feeling, but I think I may feel the absence of color. Until I got out my art supplies from kindergarten, I couldn't decide what it was. Then, it hit me.
I feel like a white crayon. No, I don't. I am a white crayon. Exactly. I am completely and totally a white crayon. I guess I always identified with the white crayon. The thing is, the white crayon just sits in the box. You following me? I mean, I know that all the colors sit in the same box. Back in grade school, when you bought your school supplies at the beginning of a school year you could be sure that every color would be present. But while you can be sure they're all there, does it matter that every color is in the box? Does it matter if you have a white crayon? No.
The other colors get so much more action. Of course they get more action.
That's all I have written down. Why we have to rewrite it I have no idea. Either way, the dude who sits next to me, Cordell (well, I call him Coffee), he thinks it's rascist. But what else was I supposed to do? There were five packets with the same color paper and the same scripts. They have humorous and non-humorous ones, and highest-grade-you-can-get-is-an-A ones and highest-grade-you-can-get-is-a-C ones. I wanted to do a humorous A one.
The first one was a maniac teacher. I can't do mad scientists laughs. That's out.
Next was a popular, senior, student body president nominee who had been turned into a freshmen. Wasn't that funny.
The others were non-humorous. Like the Frankenstein one. It was Frankenstein mourning over his wife, who had been killed by his creation. No.
The other ones were all C's. I had to battle another dude in rock-paper-scissors to get the part. How challenging is that? No one beats me! I figured out how to win most of the time! It's all a matter of thinking!
So, yeah. I'm stuck with a boring, rascist monologue.
I woke up with a sore throat. And I have to sing this song in choir that's mainly high notes. And we were finally sight-reading it today. She let me go an octave lower. And whenever I drink something, the itchiness just spreads. This sucks.
I came up with a logo for our band. It uses a lightning-ish, Harry Potter font in dark blue, on either sides of the letters are lightning bolts in yellow, and it's surrounded by a cloud of grey with two lightning bolts sprouting from it in yellow. Underneath it is:
Strenghth. Determination. Merciless. Forever.
That's the name of our band. SDMF. Although, Cheyenne thinks that it's too much like ACDC. The logo, I mean. I gotta admit, I couldn't stop thinking about lightning, though. I mean, I've been watching Harry Potter, laughing at Harry Potter, listening to Harry Potter, and lightning stands out now.
Anyway, I'm gonna get some water. My throat is KILLING me!
In Theatre class, we were working on our monologues. We chose a monologue to perform, and we're working on it to perform it on the cafeteria stage. I was stuck with a monologue about white crayons. It's called Common Ground by Brenden Votipka. It's a teenager explaining his current state of mind. We have to rewrite it onto some paper. Here's all I have written so far:
TEENAGER. I've been trying very hard to put into words the way I'm feeling right now. But I'm drawing a blank. "Blank" is almost something, but I fear it may be nothing. Nothing is is an awful feeling. It's the absence of feeling. I don't feel nothing. Nothing is not what I feel. I feel something. Definitely something. I don't feel the absence of feeling, but I think I may feel the absence of color. Until I got out my art supplies from kindergarten, I couldn't decide what it was. Then, it hit me.
I feel like a white crayon. No, I don't. I am a white crayon. Exactly. I am completely and totally a white crayon. I guess I always identified with the white crayon. The thing is, the white crayon just sits in the box. You following me? I mean, I know that all the colors sit in the same box. Back in grade school, when you bought your school supplies at the beginning of a school year you could be sure that every color would be present. But while you can be sure they're all there, does it matter that every color is in the box? Does it matter if you have a white crayon? No.
The other colors get so much more action. Of course they get more action.
That's all I have written down. Why we have to rewrite it I have no idea. Either way, the dude who sits next to me, Cordell (well, I call him Coffee), he thinks it's rascist. But what else was I supposed to do? There were five packets with the same color paper and the same scripts. They have humorous and non-humorous ones, and highest-grade-you-can-get-is-an-A ones and highest-grade-you-can-get-is-a-C ones. I wanted to do a humorous A one.
The first one was a maniac teacher. I can't do mad scientists laughs. That's out.
Next was a popular, senior, student body president nominee who had been turned into a freshmen. Wasn't that funny.
The others were non-humorous. Like the Frankenstein one. It was Frankenstein mourning over his wife, who had been killed by his creation. No.
The other ones were all C's. I had to battle another dude in rock-paper-scissors to get the part. How challenging is that? No one beats me! I figured out how to win most of the time! It's all a matter of thinking!
So, yeah. I'm stuck with a boring, rascist monologue.
I woke up with a sore throat. And I have to sing this song in choir that's mainly high notes. And we were finally sight-reading it today. She let me go an octave lower. And whenever I drink something, the itchiness just spreads. This sucks.
I came up with a logo for our band. It uses a lightning-ish, Harry Potter font in dark blue, on either sides of the letters are lightning bolts in yellow, and it's surrounded by a cloud of grey with two lightning bolts sprouting from it in yellow. Underneath it is:
Strenghth. Determination. Merciless. Forever.
That's the name of our band. SDMF. Although, Cheyenne thinks that it's too much like ACDC. The logo, I mean. I gotta admit, I couldn't stop thinking about lightning, though. I mean, I've been watching Harry Potter, laughing at Harry Potter, listening to Harry Potter, and lightning stands out now.
Anyway, I'm gonna get some water. My throat is KILLING me!
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