One for yes, two for no.

This year brought me restlessness. 


I keep writing that over and over. Everyone on twitter keeps doing #2011inthreewords, but I can do #2011inoneword: restlessness. 


I have a journal post from January 1, 2011, written sometime in the early, early morning, and I feel like I haven't slept since. I've been too excited and too hungry and too alive and too... human for sleeping. 


I'll sleep when I'm dead, I suppose. 


I'm just dying here (metaphorically) (well, literally, I guess, too: one year closer to death now). All I did was blink. I blinked -- like this *1/1,000,000,00 of a second* -- and then there was only one day left, and I don't think one single thing happened the way I was expecting it to. 


This year brought me restlessness. This year brought me hair like coffee. This year brought me driving. This year brought me strangers. This year brought me walls, of books and of stones and of blankets. This year brought me House of Leaves and The Virgin Suicides and Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. This year brought me Billy Prilgrim and his un-stuck-ed-ness in time. This year brought me fat, full composition notebooks, hundreds upon hundreds of pages filled with my shoddy cursive in just a matter of months. This year brought me what I wanted for Christmas. 


And this year brought me August, which was important, because August gave me everything else: August celebrated my life, and August reminded me of how to read, and August taught me how to kiss. August handed me four people who taught me how to LOVE, absolutely and completely. August picked me up by my collar, tossed me back into the dust of high school, and looked me in the eye and said, "You can't win," but August must've forgotten that it made me competitive, because that statement of "You can't win" just forced me to look August smack in the eyes and say, "Watch me." August left me hungry. August confused me. August bought me book shirts. August stuck its tongue in my mouth. 


And sometimes I feel like I've forgotten what life was like before August, but I do remember. I remember the Titanic, and I remember the eighteenth birthday bash, and I remember the humiliation. I remember life ending with graduation gowns. I remember yearbook day. It's all there, happening in mid-blink, and I can't quite grasp onto it. There are things that I have repressed and things I would do over (but never really, of course) and there are capsules of angry, but I like them -- all of them, the wannabe repressed memories and the wannabe-but-not-really-of-course do-overs and the angries. 


I unloaded my pockets of the things 2011 left me while I was blinking, and what I found was as follows: one (1) paper crane, one (1) sandwich with hummus, three (3) pairs of magic pants, two (2) bins of cat cookies, two (2) batches of magic cookies, four (4) angsty teen novels written about us, seven (7) tubes of half-gone, misplaced chapstick, a lot (a lot) of fallen eyelashes, one (1) basket of fury, three (3) tuberwares of euphoria, six (6) jars of exhaustion, and one billion (1,000,000,000) handfuls of contentment. 


Oh, and you. I've kept you in my pocket, too, because I love you. Remember when we linked pinkies and wished at 11:11 pm on 11/11/11? Remember how when I didn't know what to write in the margin of your yearbook? Remember what you wrote in mine? Remember the time we brought magic cookies (but you didn't eat them)? Remember when we celebrated your birthday? Remember Riceday? Remember the way I told you everything about my high school and you told me everything about yours so that it was like we were never apart? I remember, even though I was busy blinking during it. 


I think that in 2012 I will learn to golf and learn to play tennis and also chess and how to write shorthand. At first I said, "In 2012 I will not be afraid of anything," but I realized that was sort of stupid, because there are things (e.g. what I'm afraid of) that I have no control over. What I'm really going to do is not let fear hold me back. From anything. (READ: ANYTHING AT ALL except maybe spiders.) (Actually, spiders might seriously be a good place to start with this one.) 


So when you're walking away, from now on, I'm going to call your name, and when you turn around, I promise that I'm going to say what I really want to, even though it's scary. 


I think that in 2012 I'm going to try to blink a little more quickly so that I miss less.


So, welcome 2012. Please bring great art.


HAPPY NEW YEAR, SNITCHES.
All my love,
Addy

The science of jealousy.

I suppose if I ever have an official beau I wouldn't be considered the "jealous type." Most likely because I may never actually have a real-life boyfriend. Like, facebook official or anything. Nonetheless, I, like everyone else, experience pangs of jealousy every once and a while.

It's interesting, though. Jealousy is hard to describe. The lines between adoration, amusement, intrigue, and envy are skewed. In a case of adoration, one loves the things they see in the object of adoration. In a case of amusement, one finds the humor or loveliness in the object of amusement. In a case of intrigue, one wishes to know more about the object of intrigue.

Envy, however, is difficult to put into words. There is a love in all things that one sees in the object of envy, but one hates the lovely things. There is intrigue. There is amusement. It is just hard to put into words the feelings associated with it.

It's exhausting. I don't understand where it comes from. There are wonderful women who I aspire to be like. Women I enjoy spending time with. Women whom I love. Women who are well-dressed and funny and classy whom I don't hate in the slightest. And there are girls who are well-dressed and semi-obnoxious with marshmallow teeth who just fill me with wild and terrible envy every time I see them.

It's a science. But, like most sciences, I don't quite understand it. Maybe Matt or Cache or Emily or Hunter Wilson can explain it to me. Oh, well.

Mozel tov.

All my love,

Addy.

Day 20: This month of February.

I do not have a perfect body. I do not have a perfect soul. My absences go unnoticed. I have bad hair days more often than not. I wish I had a perfect fashion sense, but I don't. I've never been kissed. I don't own a pair of oxfords. I am really different than I used to be; I am no longer "cool." He doesn't love me in real life. I don't play sports. I am not sexy. I fight with my parents a lot. I don't have perfect grades. I am not pretty when I am sleeping. I don't understand football; I don't understand basketball. I do not steal the eyes of every boy in every room. My good math grades come with a mass amount of lost sleep. I am flawed in every way.

At the same time, I have a nice body. My soul is better than it used to be. I am occasionally missed. I have a strong sense of fashion. I've never been kissed. I will soon own the greatest pair of boots (I ordered them last night). I am really different than I used to be; I am better. He might love me in real life. I am a dancer. I am beautiful. I have hilarious, generous parents. I get better than average grades. I don't need much sleep. I understand how to use a semi-colon; I understand French. I occasionally steal his attention. I get a good math grade with hard work.

Because of that, this month, I will walk with confidence.

You ought to walk with confidence, too.

Send mail to your cousins.

All my love,

Addy.

Day 17: Nostalgia.

Funny that you mention memories, my dear 30 days, on account of I have been feeling exceptionally nostalgic lately. I have these memories in snapshots. I don't see the whole scene, I see the best part. The picturesque moment that was never caught on camera.

Snapshot: Harli and I sitting on the table at Bearpaw lodge eating nachos. This was before boyfriends but after dollhouse and Regan's leukemia. We were old enough to ski alone. We were not yet pretty. But we were young, and that, in my opinion, is better.

Snapshot: His family standing in our doorway right after we moved in. He looked like Harry Potter. This was (obviously) before I asked him to Sadie's, which we shall be attending in 12 days.

Snapshot: My dad lifting Sophie over her first birthday cake. I stood next to them. This was before camera phones and texting and the reign of Steve Jobs and possibly even before electricity, though I'm not entirely sure.

Snapshot: Standing in the soccer field at Cedar Ridge Elementary with Sarah and Ashley singing that "Miracles Happen" song from Princess Diaries. Just because we could. This was before drama but after the pickle sisters.

Snapshot: First day of ninth grade feeling like I could do anything, Dawson complementing my hair and the thought, "You know my name?" hanging above my head. This was after I became Mme Asay's favorite student, but before I became friends with Dawson.

Snapshot: Lying on the hill with Hannah in the summer air. Breathing. After Josh left. Before the break up. In the middle of everything else.

Snapshot: SMUG at Noah's, my head thrown back, shorts too short, hair left unkept, converse sneakers untied, laughing at Jake Barton. Collin White pouring over the music trying to kick me out of his DJing room, but failing. This was in the midst of Katie's grounding, after meeting Avery, before J&K fell in love, and very nearly summer.

Snapshot: Reading the nicest note Katie's ever written to me at the lunch table. This was after our soul-sister-ship had been established, after she'd met Jake, and before we were torn apart due to some lines on a map.

Snapshot: Sitting across from him in a hot tub taking about the future, wet hair, no trace of make-up. Knowing I liked him. This was before I cared about his girlfriend, before I knew him, really. This was after taxes, but everything is after taxes. Taxes came even before stew. (Who caught the literary reference there? You should've. Avery. Kaitlyn. Collin.)

Snapshot: His hand in mine.

Remember?

All my love,

Addy.

Day 03: The Parental Supervision

These are my parents. Someone once referred to them as Barbie and Ken, which I found mildly hilarious. (And quite possibly true. I mean, look at them.)

He plays the guitar. She plays the piano. He sings. She doesn’t. She’s good at math. He isn’t. She is a runner, and so is he. He is a human performance and organizational coach. She is a landscape designer. They do yoga. They are in love.

While most marriages seem to be falling apart, my parents are falling deeper into love every single day. They make out on the couch and at the grocery store and in the car. While the car is in motion. It’s fine.

I have his personality and her cheekbones.

Yesterday, they were teaching me not to run into the road. Today, they are teaching me how to drive upon that road. Yesterday, they were watching me breathe while I slept. Today, I am creeping into their room around midnight and kissing their temples. Yesterday, they were teaching me how to add. Today, they are checking my grades obsessively to make sure I get a good grade in College Preparation math. Yesterday, they were reading my stories about pixies and bunny rabbits. Today, they are watching me write and begging me to write professionally. Yesterday, they were listening to me screech on my violin. Today, they are hearing me play Bach concertos and sing in front of large crowds. Yesterday, they were running as I rode my bike next to them. Today, they are sending me out to run miles on my own. Yesterday, they put me into dance class. Today, they are watching me do pirouettes on pointe.

Tomorrow, I’m going to live outside of their house. And I will miss our arguments about my skirt being too short or my grade being too low.

Some days, they are my best friends. Other days, they are my parents. I guess that’s just the way things go. I love them very much and I know they reciprocate those feelings. "I love you to the stars and back," I said in elementary school. "I loved you first," my dad would say. "Do I get a kiss?" was my mom's constant question. I love them to the stars and back. It's very true.

Keep your chin up in the face of adversity.

All my love, Addy

Dear Bandwagon: Is there room for me on this thing? Love, Addy

Day 01: Introduce me. Pictures and words.

figure 01.

figure 02.

figure 03.

Some part of me wants to be the woman in figure 01: classy, sophisticated, overdressed. And another piece of me wants to be the girl in figure 02 with messy hair and eclectic clothing. But I am nothing more than the girl in figure 03. & I am happy about that. I am green-eyed and sandy-haired and freckle-faced. I am in love with my backdoor neighbor, infatuated with a boy who is wildly intelligent, find Dakota Gosselmeyer (or whatever his crazy last name is) to be cute, and only now coming to reality with my romantic interest in all three of them. My favorite color is grey. I have exceedingly long eyelashes, and I love them. I am me. That is all.

If you're positively dying to know more about me, click here (it's just an old post about myself, really). Or keep reading for the next 30 days. You know, either or. [Edit: the hyperlink doesn't work, does it? Ha. Ha. Looks like you'll just have to read the bandwagon posts.]

Be euphoric about something worth being euphoric about.

All my love,

Addy

P.S. You bet I just snapped figure 03 from my computer photobooth.

The Unfortunate Truth

So here we are, business as usual; pretending to be fantastic when we're really just sitting around questioning our self-worth.

The worst day of my life.

This day is the worst day of my life. It's fine. Except for it's not, on account of the following facts:
1.) My math test was ridiculously hard.

1b.) I probably failed.

2.) My dear friend Sarah is moving to Virginia.

3.) I am grounded until my grades = 3.5 cumulative.

3b.) I am grounded forever, probably.

4.) Thanksgiving makes me fat-ish.

5.) I love a boy I cannot love.

5b.) Not to mention, I also still love that other boy.

Okay, it actually is sort of fine. My life isn't bad. My life isn't actually that bad on account of the following facts:

1.) I don't think I failed my French quiz.

2.) This week is only two days long.

3.) Being grounded is an excuse to read lots and lots of fat, fat coffee table books.
3b.) Like the time I was grounded and read all seven Harry Potter books in one week. It's happens.
4.) I have dance tonight.

5.) The other boy told me I have a cute laugh and complemented my singing voice. And then we sang a song.

5b.) My mind has been successfully occupied replying that scene for several days.

6.) I am becoming better friends with the funniest boy in the world named Hunter Wilson.

Look. More reasons to be happy about my life than sad about it. Even though today is the worst day of all my other days I have lived. It's fine.

Stop making "to do" lists.

All my love, Addy

P.S. I desperately need a new dream catcher, considering I have had the most terrible dreams lately. Huzzah.

It's fine.

Sometimes I'm like, "Waaaah! I have the worst life ever!" And then other times I'm all, "My life is the best life of all the lives! Yayy!" And then I feel bipolar. It's fine.

Also, last night, I danced with my headphones in - a full on dance, with leaps and turns and pointed toes and all that jazz - on a sidewalk in Salt Lake City. People looked at me weird. It's fine.

Cookies with raisins in them are mostly only salads.

All my love, Addy

Hello, November. I am different this year.

It's a nice thought, if you think about it. How have you changed since last November? Have you changed since last November? "Why November?" you ask. I'll tell you why November. "Cause it's November right this moment." That's what I'd say. Have you grown? Shrunk? Cried more? Less?

I, for one, have grown in some ways. I have simply grown as a person. Matured? Well, I wouldn't use the word "matured" maybe... Anyway. I'm smarter. Brighter. And, in a funny way, younger. I'm a little more alive than I was a year ago. One year ago I was starting ninth grade. I don't know. It was... It just was. This year has taken growing and adapting and being and existing, and more than all of that, thriving. I had a few dark patches over the last year, but look at me now. I had to head off to a new school (which brought upon more tears than I've ever cried over any three consistent weeks maybe ever) (except possibly the first three weeks of my life) (my mom says I cried a lot when I was a newborn). But look! Look at me now! I am happy. I am classy. I am alive. As a dancer, I've grown incredibly. I've had strangers come up to me after a performance and tell me how lovely I am as a dancer. I've had a moment or two where I've been a little down on myself, but not anymore. I am happy and I am content and I am alive. I've made so many new friends since last November. I'm in love. I'm alive. I'm not afriad. I sleep less - and sometimes more. I am a little more out there, a little less afraid. I took away the nightlight (I'm a little more mature, I guess). My voice has matured and I've sung a few pieces that you wouldn't believe. I'm just happy. I'm so comfortable with who I am now. I am not afraid to not wear makeup to school (I didn't today). I am not afraid to talk to "cool people." I am happy to wear my hair on top of my head and run around like a wild thing.

Mostly, I'm at peace. I'm at peace with everything out there. And I'm happy. I'm a wild thing.

Stop simply existing.

All my life, Addy

Life is brilliant.

It's true. I'm just so happy. Because guess what! Today, I wore a blazer. Yes, a blazer. It even has some funny little elbow pads. I wasn't even grouchy upon discovering that my sister wore my favorite rainboots to school. I was that joyful today. Also, someone said that I sort of remind them of Ingrid Michaelson. I've never been so overjoyed by something in my entire life. And another kind soul said I remind them of Zooey Dechanel. What?! Such classy women!

I feel like an incredibly classy individual.

Keep calm and ditch class.

All my love, Addy

P.S. I just found out that a little girl in my sister's preschool class was Justin Bieber for Halloween. I'm completely enthralled and slightly repulsed.

Oh, the cluelessness of teachers.

The assignment was to look up current issues and decide what to write our end of term research papers about. For the entire period. I mean, come on, does he really think that thirty-some-odd high school students are going to spend the entire period studying up on research papers and current issues? Ha. Instead, I plan to blog stalk, read feminism articles, and possibly sing a song or two.

Don't lie to your teachers.

All my love, Addy.

Katie is the funniest girl I have ever met.

(Katie. In her essence.)

"So, if you're like having a bad night or something, just think, 'Wow, I'm so glad I'm not Katie right now cause her life sucks.' I can't think of anyone who has a worse life than me right now. Cause, you know, it's just me and my life is the worst. No one has a worse life than me. Except for maybe Osama Bin Laden, but he doesn't count." -Katie on being positive about your own life.

(Oh. And this is Avery. For all that were wondering. Boy love these girlies.)

Something Terrible.

One day, we will not remember how it is to be young.

So, live your life NOW. Have cake fights and eat and fall recklessly in love. Dress up and make sarcastic remarks and get yourself suspended. Sneak out and make out and act out. Take lots of pictures. Kiss lots of boys and run around without a bra on. Listen to good music and go to lots of concerts and do the things you've always wanted to do. Cut your hair all off and splurge on something you'll only wear once. Buy vintage clothing, wear red lipstick for no reason, write letters, take a chance, jump off cliffs, sing songs, learn to play the guitar, try new things and laugh much.

This isn't Neverland, loves.

I've always said not to regret anything. But this is my deepest regret.

I don't remember his name, but rather I remember the way he looked, and the things he wore on those days that feel so long ago. He was taller than me, I think, with dark hair and dark eyes, and, looking back, he wasn't an unattractive boy, but actually quite the opposite. His clothes were inexpensive and his wardrobe limited, and I remember knowing (for some reason) that he was being raised by a single mother; a fatherless, hispanic boy of barely eight or nine. I remember that he had to go to a special classroom for special tutoring while the rest of us stayed in a normal classroom, learning normal things. I distinctly remember going to the bathroom one day while he was walking back from tutoring and he looked into my bluish-greenish eyes with his deep brown ones, wearing a red pokemon t-shirt, and smiled, saying, "Hello, Addy. How are you?" I broke his gaze. I walked faster. I remember feeling so terrible for the way I acted for several days, and avoided him even more, going out of my way to not have to look him in the eye, sit by him, or share crayons with him. I made a choice one night, lying in my bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling, that I would be kinder to him, be his friend, look him in the eye, sit next to him, share my crayons with him... I hoped he would forgive me for the way I acted all that time. The next day at school, he was absent. And he never came back.

...What Happened To Me?

I sat there with Sarah on the top stair of the commons area and looked around.

Sometimes I wonder what people experience behind closed doors. That girl? Over there? She's been called "fat" and "chubby" and "overweight." Today, I found out that before her dad was shot and killed, he had two types of cancer. This hit me deeply.

What else are people living with everyday?

I think of how many parents are divorced. I think of how many eating disorders, weight issues, depression, school troubles, lonliness, diseases, financial problems, abusive lovers, drug users... I think of how much I don't know that happens when the blinds are closed and the windows are dark.

We looked around and I thought, "Who would I be spending time with?" It was funny. I looked at Katie Parker, surrounded by popular groupies and nearly laughed. What if we were still best friends now? What would I be like?

Don't get me wrong, I love Katie Parker. But that seems so different from my odd group of quirky, indie friends. She seems so different from Sarah, Katie Thueson, Avery, Ari, Jake Barton, and Roah.

I looked at Brette. I was friends with her once. I can't believe how much she's changed. How much I'VE changed.

I looked at Davis. He isn't even the boy I loved anymore.

I thought of people from elementary school in Orem whom I haven't spoken to for years.

When do people we know become people we knew?

I thought of the girl I used to be - who did everything right. Who never got in trouble, worried about her weight, wore skirts, danced, dreamed of being a professional actress, couldn't run a mile, sat silently, didn't understand perverted jokes, or know the pain of drugs.

I looked at who I've become and thought, "What happened to me?"

Life happened, that's what.

I make so many mistakes now. I get in trouble with administrators, teachers, my parents. I worry about my weight. I wear skirts. I dance. I dream of working on Broadway for a living. I can run four miles solid. I never sit silently. I understand perverted jokes. I have friends who do drugs and I've seen the destruction.

Life happened to me.

The bell rang and I went to class.

But I don't want to forget anymore. I don't want to walk through life blindly, leaving things behind.

I never wanted to grow up. I never thought I would become this person. And yet, I have.

Stay pretty.

All my love, Addy* Sue.