This is only day one and I'm already loosing my mind.

We are terrified. We are terrified and we are running amongst these stars are if they are nothing. The snow will stumble through us like we're transparent. Like we're ghosts. We are stuck between heaven and hell because we never did anything with ourselves and no one who is still alive seems to care. Doesn't that bother anyone? We're terrified and positively overflowing with words, but when they come out, they fall in all the wrong places and we end up doing nothing. Not even when we're trapped with nothing but words to save us.


We have a thousand better things to do with ourselves, but we don't do them. We sing and read and watch television, but we don't whip out our pens and give the world something to talk about.


My mother can be made happy by a newer, quieter dishwasher, so shouldn't we be happier with newer, quieter appliances? Why aren't we our own newer, quieter appliances?


Hiss.
All my love,
Addy

Mince pies and what it's like to fall in love.

Read what's down there first, maybe. And watch it small (like, not full-screen) if you want so terribly to watch it on this page, but a better idea is to click here after you've read whatever I'm saying and watch it from the source (it's far better quality, for some reason) so then you can actually make it full screen and not have to squint a lot when you watch it.

I don't normally post things like this. And for good reason, I suppose. For me, this blog has always been about writing -- writing for my sake and for yours and for the sake of art. But this is what has been stealing my words lately, so I figured I’d give it to you.

This is another part of me and another art form and another something that I have put my soul into.

The video above is our ensemble scene from last weekend -- Titus Andronicus, condensed -- which we performed at the Shakespearean Festival. It became this huge deal and we ended up performing it twice and some strangers sent up balloons for us “for the sake of our art form” and it was absolutely crazy and fake life-y.

I know it’s terrifying and horrible and very, very scary (the judges also kept saying, “So sexy!!”), but don’t even get me started on our concepts here. I guess we just wanted people to realize that they really ought to react to what humanity is, and if they weren't going to see things within themselves we would shove it down their throats (no pun intended).

Half of us say nothing (e.g. me), but we have stuck our hearts and our souls in this piece. We sewed things and memorized every line and made the cuttings for the piece and painted things and did everyone’s makeup and stayed at high school for far longer than was asked of us, because this is what we believe in.

This is a part of us. This is who I am, and who we are, and who Ben is, and I wish that I had words for it. (That sounds kind of awful. We're not satan-worshipers or anything. Really.)

But I don’t. I don't have the words.

The sound quality isn’t great and the filming is done from the back of the Adam’s and you can’t hear the music and the video is blurryish, but that doesn’t really matter: What you’re really missing the way our hearts beat and the way we were all half-naked and all hypothermia and whatnot, but that it didn’t seem to matter for just .2 seconds, because look -- pay attention!! -- at what we’ve created. You're missing the things that I wish I could write here, but they just wouldn't even make sense.

Also, in case you were wondering, we absolutely swept the competition. The judges were obsessed with us, rival schools were obsessed with us, etc. Word of the "really intense, people-eating, circus scene" traveled like mad and people didn't believe we were a public school (we are). 

When they announced our first place ensemble scene, we all cried and half the auditorium stood up and gave us one last standing ovation. And the tears just kept coming as the awards just kept coming, which is so dumb, but it almost didn't matter if we won or not, after everything we'd done already, but I guess it felt nice to know that every one of our scenes and monologues and every person in Titus had just given their hearts and someone else had noticed and felt the need to mention it.

You might not understand. It sounds crazy, but it isn’t. I promise. (I’m about to go all cliché on you, sorry:) We’re actors. We’re the opposite of people.

Or maybe we’re the epitome of people.

Anyway.

All my love,

Addy

P.S. Can you even recognize me? Meow.

Crystal (well, you know...)

I am stuck in the crevice between real life and fake life. If I'm being honest, I don't like it here much. Both real and fake life seep their ways in and make my head spin.


I promise you I'm not insane. Let me explain "fake life" and "real life" to you. It's really not all that confusing, but people seem to think I'm loosing my mind when I say things like, "It happened in real life," thinking that of course it happened in real life. Ha. False.


The following things occur in fake life:


1. Boys love me (and you, for that matter (not that they don't love you already (because they really actually do))). In fake life, boy are always like, "I love you," and sometimes I'm like, "I love you back."
     1b. Boys try to kiss me. So much, in fact, that it is exhausting. When they're totally beautiful I usually give in and I'm all, "Okay, okay."


2. Fake life is also when nothing feels real. Perhaps you've woken up at, say, five in the morning and headed off to dance in a parade: Definitely gonna be a fake-life day.


3. In fake life, romantic experiences don't freak me out.


6. In fake life, boys toss rocks at windows and life is a bit like an '80's movie.


7. Fake life is full of spontaneous bursts of song and dance. It's sort of like a musical. All the time. And everyone harmonizes perfectly pretty much every second of (fake) life.


8. In fake life, Matt Davis never wears a shirt. (What?)


In real life, however, boys don't always love me and I don't always love them back. They also don't try and kiss me. Real life feels real, three out of four romantic experiences send me into small anxiety fits, and life is like 2011, not '80's movies (or even real life '80's). In real life, most people can't harmonize or dance, let alone do both at once. Plus also, Matt Davis wears shirts in public. It's fine.


That, my friends, is the difference between fake life and real life. It's not all too confusing. You have fake life, too. Admit it.


But here I am down in this crevice where some boys love me, but I don't love them back. Where half the day is very fake and the other half all too raw. Where only two out of four romantic experiences are giving me angst. Where people dress like they're in the first few minutes of 13 Going on 30, but no one is standing in my yard with a boom box. Where musicals are real life on stage, but then I realize that I'm getting weird looks from the window washers in my basement when I am singing RENT really, really loudly in my house. And Matt Davis was spotted shirtless. Once. It's fine.


It's exhausting in here - in this crevice. Sometimes I don't mind it all too much, but when things happen that I can't differentiate between, I get angst and my head hurts and I run away super quick.


So, if you're looking for me, I'm just here, down in this little mixed-up crevice. I bet you will be able to find me here for a while, I fear. 


"Anxiety killed the cat, probably."


Maybe someday we'll each have an Independence Day of our own.
All my love,
Addy


[Edit: I just realized I left out numbers 4 and 5. I'm not going to fix it, though. Ha, ha.]

Thievery and thrift stores.

Despite what the title may seem to imply, I did not steal anything from a thrift store. "Thievery" is one entity and "thrift stores" is another.

Thievery: I think I'm very funny. The passenger head rest from Emily's car is now sitting on my bed.

Thrift stores: A few weeks ago, the church girls asked me what they would have to do to get me to come to our activities. Since there's only four of us in my age group, it's lonely, apparently, when I don't show up. My answer: "We would have to do fun things. Like go thrift shopping." It was meant as a bit of a joke, but yesterday night, that's exactly what we did. And it was enjoyable. The best part, though?

Jed (yes, Avery, that Jed) showed up. He walked in the door of that store. While we were there. Unplanned and beautiful as ever. And I died. My heart stopped and I died.

Therefore, I am writing this very blog post from heaven itself. Tell Jed he looked exceptional last night.(And that if I am risen from the dead, tell Jed I'm single.)

"If I wasn't so happy I wouldn't be so scared of dying."

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. Check out a little blog by my dear friend. He writes thought-provoking modern poetry.

I have enough time for spring cleaning.

"Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Theresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein."

I've been in a mood to clean things lately. I started with my nightstand drawer. I found ten dollars from my grandma and grandpa from my eighth birthday; I felt rich. (I'm very obviously unemployed.) Tonight, I'm going to start on my closet... That ought to take long enough. Nonetheless, it's a bit out of character for me on account of I tend to pride myself on my own amount of literary disorder in all that I do.

But I feel as if I am cleaning more than my drawers or my "junk shelves." I am cleaning out my past and all of the pieces of my old me which I am finished with.

It feels nice. Maybe you ought to go clean a thing or two yourself.

Je ne parle pas français. C'est bien.

All my love,

Addy.

P.S. Still afflicted with blogger's block. Sorry for the obvious lame-ness of this post.

P.P.S. Check out the new pages! What do you think?

Awkward me.

I've realized recently how much I've changed. I never used to find myself in awkward moments. I had it all down. I was killer. I was cool. I always knew what to say. Or something. But recently I've realized something: I am an awkward person. With people I am close to, I'm not so bad... But with strangers, I create the most awkward moments. I ask awkward questions. I don't answer questions. I look at them way too long. I stare at people in the eyeballs for excessive amounts of time and it makes them feel terribly uncomfortable. I give people "love pats." I sing in public places. I dance alone. I sing and dance simultaneously in public places. I am awkward enough to walk up to strangers and say, "You don't know me. But you're really attractive. Should we get married?" (Yes, I've actually done that. More than once.) I say the wrong thing at the right time. I say the right thing at the wrong time. I say wrong thing and the wrong time. Mostly, I think the next time I introduce myself (or, more likely, someone else introduces me, on account of I seem to be forgetting introductions lately and simply jumping straight into one of the said awkward things) I'll just say:

"Sup. I'm awkward."

At the same time, though, I'm realizing how much I enjoy my life currently. Instead of running around with people that have always been way too cool for me and liking boys who are absolute jerks underneath their attractive features, athletic ability, and sport shorts, I have been spending time with people that I genuinely enjoy. People that I'm not too awkward with. People I like. People who love to go sweater shopping and miss me when I'm not around. People who bake things. People who microwave tin foil.(People who love Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World.) People who are attractive in a way that is quirky and a little bit weird. But awesome. And I am happy. Happy and, of course, awkward. I am awkward enough to ask the guest in human bio if he believes in aliens. And I am awkward enough to whisper, "Yes," in an an ultra-creepy voice when he says, "I'm not sure. Do you?"

Together, we can take over the whole world.

All my love, Addy.

Post script: Dear Avery: I am sorry for thinking you were stupid for being obsessed with Scott Pilgrim. Turns out it actually is the greatest movie ever, maybe. My apologies. Love, me.

Post post script: "This one's for the guy on the balcony that keeps yelling. It's called, 'We Hate You, Please Die.'" "Sweet. I love this song."

Post post post script: "I mean, did you really see a future with this girl?" "Like... With jetpacks."

You're just as sane as I am.

I figured it out! I figured it out! I have, more than once, been compared to Luna (Loony) Lovegood. I take that as a complement. I know my last post was full of back and forths between Herminone and Neville, but, alas, I have now realized, that I am much more like Luna Lovegood than anyone else. I'm thrilled.

On a seperate note: everyone knows who I love, no? Well, I now love two boys. I feel like a rebel! Call my house (I got my phone taken) if you want to know who it is. Ha! (Katie. You know. Don't tell Zack.) I sung a duet with him while he played the guitar. He complemented my voice. He has nice eyelashes and funny sweaters. Maybe we'll love each other one day. Huh.

You're just as sane as I am.

All my love, Addy.