Of Red Scarves and Time Moves Slowly

Back again, and feeling in quite the poetic mood. Phrases for poems have been entering my realm of consciousness for several days now. Since Saturday night, I believe, when I looked at the maraschino cherry in my Shirley Temple and thought about how red it was, and how most people don't actually ever eat them, but I like them.
What I want to know is: Does anyone actually agree with me?
In fact, here's the poem that stemmed from that thought. It doesn't have much to do with maraschino cherries, but that's to be expected.
A bright red scarf,
Wrapped boldly around her neck on even a
Not-so-cold winter day
A difference.
As red as...
Those maraschino cherries no one actually eats
But I like them
Stands out
A dove among pigeons
Pushing and scwabbling for scattered seeds
But the dove knows better
Flies
Waits
Like a boldly printed durag in an
Office Building (with a capital B)
Merits skeptical eyes from suit-wearing businesswomen
Chattering on silver phones
While the durag covers
Hamburger headphones
Silver cellphones
Hamburger headphones
The difference among them
"People fascinate me"
-(Andy) (Warhol)
People incapable of BEING fascinated
Strut down streets
They are baggy-jeaned teenagers
And
They are sweater-setted soccermoms
They
Don't
They don't stand out
It's you,
Red scarf, durag, dove
Who fascinates
And is fascinated
You are The Difference

There. I love these poetry-inspiring thoughts going through my head. I'd always been bad at coming up for the initial ideas for poetry. Once I had an idea, the words and phrases were easy, but I could never come up with an idea. Now it's just coming naturally.
I hope this lasts.
People say that a lot, though, don't they? They hope that lots of things last. They hope that their youth lasts. They hope that beauty lasts.
Less dramatically, they hope that this day with their long-distance boyfriend lasts. They hope that this last spoonful of chocolate pudding lasts. They hope that the last two minutes of sleep before their alarm goes off lasts.
It's all about the good things lasting and the bad things going away as fast as we can manage.
See! That's what I mean by poetic thoughts. I could write a poem on that.
I'm also having thoughts that are phrases I could use, such as the one I just had, "Eating ice cream in the moonlight was the only joy he had in moonlight." I could write a poem on this.
This is making me euphoric.

Of Soap Opera Confessions and Twinkling Eyes

Okay, I'm back (she said sheepishly). I've started up a new regime. Since friends seem hard to come by at this school (it's appallingly cliquish-- private school kids) and I only have a few, I've started to observe the people around me. It's surprisingly engaging, and I've decided that Raspberry Beret (and I now realize I will have to change the title or it will be plagiarism) will be about human dynamics, so I have to know everything about people. Most people are easy enough to figure out, but there are a few I just don't get. There's this boy in my English class who makes faces at me when he catches me staring at him, trying to figure him out. I wish I knew what was going through his mind just then. There's another one, though, that I wish I could figure out even more. Let's just call him Ba. He's extremely smart. Sometimes he doesn't even take notes, and I'm beginning to wonder if he has a photographic memory. Anyway, he actually doesn't speak until spoken to, or, occasionally to ask questions in class. He seems to really care about his education, but he doesn't always pay attention. I've seen him walking down the halls in a daze a few times, with a dreamy expression on his face. It's all very baffling. He's definitely not snobby or shy, though. When you talk to him, he's very friendly. He laughs just as much as any other person, and smiles quite a bit. It's infuriating: I just can't figure out what makes him tick. I've also been forming storylines, not just figuring people out. There's this punky junior couple. I've been watching them for ages. They used to be just good friends, but he liked her. You could tell by the way he looked at her. His eyes twinkled. Then, one day, they walked into school in front of me holding hands. I guess he drives her to school. I wished bitterly I could have known exactly how that had come about. I wished I could have witnessed that conversation, but, of course, I couldn't, so I just made it up. Easy enough to visualize. I bet they had been on the edge of romance for a few weeks. And then someone said something that set it off. Or there was a big, dramatic soap opera-confession scene! Or maybe just a kiss. I really hope it was the dramatic soap opera-confession scene. I think I'm enjoying this much too much, though. I walk down the halls, see something that I think is funny, or imagine what someone must be thinking, and start laughing like a madman all the way down the hall. They must all think I'm a freak now, but I don't much care. I'm having way too much fun. Unfortunately, though, it does come with a price. I'm beginning to think of these people as my characters, which is kind of a bad thing to think with real people.
The only bad thing right now is that I am definitely phase-twoing again. Of course, right when I'm phase-twoing, P and I become closer as friends. I know it's my fault and all, but it does kind of suck. I definitely don't mind being friends with him, though, of course. He said this thing last night, when we were IMing, about how he would be happy as long as I was alive and well. I was, frankly, shocked, and couldn't help blurting out (or as much as you can blurt on IM), "No! I'm not that important!" Because, I mean, I shouldn't be. Anyway, I won't bore you any longer with tales of my trivial trials, so this is me, signing off!

Watching all of you,
Rosie L.

Updates!

I believe that an updated friends list is in order.

L= bestie
Z= bestie guy friend
Ly= bestie
T= a friend
Ny= bestie
L-L= a friend
Au= a friend, I guess, although I kinda get the feeling she's not too fond of me.
N= my bestest bestie and former roommate
Na= bestie
M= bestie
Me= bestie
C= bestie
A= bestie
F= bestie
O= my cat
B= bestie guy friend
I= bestie guy friend
S= bestie guy friend
D= bestie guy friend
P= my ex
No= besite guy friend
Sh=Shayna

Of The Kingdom of Media and Zombies

I haven't written in almost a month. I have got a good excuse this time, though. I started school a few weeks ago, and they really do give you a lot of homework. I've been much to busy.
Speaking of school, in my history textbook, they say that the empire ruled by the Medes was called the Kingdom of Media. This made me laugh like a madman, because aren't we just the same?
The Kingdom of Media, that's 21st Century US, isn't it?

Well, all cinical thoughts aside, it was N's birthday last night, and we had quite a blast, let me tell you. We drank spiritless cocktails and watched all of our cult classics (The Breakfast Club, Breakfast at Tiffany's-- anyone see a recurring theme here?--, Ferris Bueller's Day Off, etc. We even watched the new Nancy Drew, only to be ever-so-disgusted by the prep school freak, and ever-so-infatuated with her boyfriend. We heard all about Na's adventures in Sandwich Country, and played Zombie Fluxx well into the wee hours of the morning.
I haven't had that much fun in weeks.

Of Desires and Old Receipts

Writers are power-hungry.
They control their own world. They control the lives of countless characters. The control the emotions and inspire the actions of people they don't even know.
Writers have more power than the U.S. President, and it's all in their head.
I want to be one. I want to be able to make people laugh, cry, and dream. I want to be able to make people fall in love. I want to inspire them. I want to give them something to live through when they have nothing else. And all without knowing them.
It's amazing.
What could be better?
Aside from that, I just want to be that entity, the mysterious one who's imagination is a thing you can pick up and sink into. I want to be an entity from my house, sitting on a pillow in my pajamas, ignoring the telephone with a laptop on my lap, and typing madly to finish a chapter before my deadline. I want my editor to knock on the door, but I won't hear, because I'll be too absorbed in what I'm writing. She will have to pick the lock with the bobby pin hidden deep in her purse underneath all the manuscripts and old receipts. When she bursts through the door, she will stand in front of me until I look up, and I will jump five feet back on my cushion. My editor will laugh, and then she will be all business.
I want to dream about my characters, and wake up inspired.
I want to see a published copy of my book.
I want to stand around the set, insisting on what has to be while they make a movie out of my book. I want to see the actors, talk to them, and transform them into my characters in my head. I want to sign books, see all the people, and realized how many lives I have touched.
More than anything, I want to write something that I would like to read.

Eagerly,
Rosie L.

Of Breaking Dawn and Nothing Else

I am being driven nearly mad by excitement at the release of Breaking Dawn. I know it's not the most tasteful book to be driven mad by, but I can't help it: from the moment C loaned me Twilight, I was engrossed. Obsessed. For a while, I was dangerously close from actually falling in love with Edward Cullen. I dreamed about the characters. I thought about the characters. I read constantly.
Even now, I can't help myself picking up the books when I see them (almost every day, as they are on my bookshelf). They are my go-to distraction when I'm stressed or upset or worried, or even just bored. You could say I couldn't live without them. They amount of truth I would allow this statement would depend on the day.
Today, it would probably be pretty true.
Now that I've started on the Twilight Series, I might as well finish. I am severely disappointed by the movie. Robert Pattinson, the same actor who played Cedric Diggory in the fourth Harry Potter movie (shudder). You really should know, I did not like Cedric Diggory. He was not hot, which is the entire point of him, really, isn't it? In any case, it kind of ruined the movie Edward for me. The book Edward remains (thankfully) untainted.
Also, they made Laurent African-American. I believe he's described in the book as being white, but I can't be sure. They probably did it for political correctness. Actually, when I think about it, what happens with black vampires? One of the things that is supposed to happen when you become a vampire is that you become really pale, because all of your blood is gone. So I guess, if you were black, you wouldn't get really pale, because only your blood is gone, not your pigment. You would probably just look very devoid of color and sort of gaunt.
In any case, I must go anticipate Breaking Dawn. (I haven't gotten it yet, or I would not be blogging right now. I would be reading, for sure. But I reserved it at the Borders near my house, and they agreed to hold it until the twelfth, when I can pick it up. They better have agreed to hold it for me, after playing bad college rock in my ear for twenty minutes while I was on hold.)

Waiting,
Rosie L.

Of Electricity and Horrid Mature Answers

Power Outages...
I probably don't hate 'em as much as I should. It's only when they leave me without a light to read by before I go to bed that I start to feel the inconvenience. Or if I reallllly need to use the computer. Being without light can be a little disconcerting, though, especially in your grandma's house in rural North Carolina where there aren't even streetlights. Imagine not having streetlights. It seems very, very wrong, although it must save quite a lot of electricity.
As to the rest of my life, I had my first locking-my-self-out-of-the-house episode today. I went outside to spray paint one of Granny's many garden statues for her. She was out taking Jordan to be groomed (Now he looks like a freaking rat-- I hate it. When I look at him I don't see Jordan anymore.), and I didn't realize that the door was set so that it locked when you closed it. I was just wondering what I was going to do outside without my book, when my grandma pulled up, thank goodness. I suppose I could have just asked one of the neighbors for a key, but I hadn't quite gotten there yet.
After this episode, and when the power came back on, I checked my email and found a reply from S to my rejection. It was very mature, which made me feel worse. I wish he would have yelled at me, as much as you can yell over email.
Instead he said, "Yeah, sure, let's just be friends. When I said all that I didn't think I would get the answer I wanted, anyway."
It was the "When I said all that I didn't think I would get the answer I wanted, anyway" bit that really got me. I had to apologize again.
My last and final point is that I am just beginning to realize how wrong I feel without my laptop. I'm used to opening it before I go to bed and dashing out a few paragraphs on all my stories. I keep finding myself thinking about them, but I can't remember where I left off. I guess I could write entirely separate scenes, farther along in the story than I really am. The trouble is that I'm not really sure where most of them are going. I know that's not the best way to write, but I'm much better at going with the flow than trying to force a storyline out. Oh well.

Resignedly,
Rosie L.