Monday, May 25, 2015
Shoes
In third grade I lived in Arizona. I had red Adidas high tops. I had the coolest kicks on the playground, until they ripped while playing football.
In fourth grade I had black Vans. I got a small sky blue paint spot on them from an art project. I went to California to see my sister and I left them at the beach on accident. I was SO mad.
In fifth grade I had white Adidas from Ross. I remember I was back in Utah, and I was playing football in the snow. I had ball and I ran for a good gain, but I poked a hole right through the feet. I just kept playing.
In sixth grade I had black And1 basketball shoes. I was pretty alright at basketball back then. Then, I hit a growth spurt, and I couldn't wear them anymore. I still have those in a storage room.
In seventh grade I got blue, black, and white Nike high tops. I wore those until in late eighth grade I poked a hole in them playing basketball. I was wearing them for family pictures once. SO bad.
Then I bought these super light Nike running shoes, and I've been wearing them ever since.
In fourth grade I had black Vans. I got a small sky blue paint spot on them from an art project. I went to California to see my sister and I left them at the beach on accident. I was SO mad.
In fifth grade I had white Adidas from Ross. I remember I was back in Utah, and I was playing football in the snow. I had ball and I ran for a good gain, but I poked a hole right through the feet. I just kept playing.
In sixth grade I had black And1 basketball shoes. I was pretty alright at basketball back then. Then, I hit a growth spurt, and I couldn't wear them anymore. I still have those in a storage room.
In seventh grade I got blue, black, and white Nike high tops. I wore those until in late eighth grade I poked a hole in them playing basketball. I was wearing them for family pictures once. SO bad.
Then I bought these super light Nike running shoes, and I've been wearing them ever since.
Remember
I remember being terrified of earthquakes and serving missions.
I remember the fire that lit the mountain when I was young. We sat and watched it that night.
I remember moving, and I hated the idea, the fact, and that I had no choice.
I remember my first swim practice. That was the first time I had ever felt manly, and I loved it.
I remember being sad to move back.
I remember staying quiet on the first day of school. It was my first time keeping my mouth shut.
I remember my first crush after moving.
I remember being terrified of middle school because it was so big.
I remember that middle school sucked. The teachers were weird and the kids were weirder.
I remember I still had good times in middle school.
I remember being excited for high school.
I remember that sophmore year was dominated by feeling that death was preferable to life.
I remember wasting my time for the next two years. Still going.
I remember the fire that lit the mountain when I was young. We sat and watched it that night.
I remember moving, and I hated the idea, the fact, and that I had no choice.
I remember my first swim practice. That was the first time I had ever felt manly, and I loved it.
I remember being sad to move back.
I remember staying quiet on the first day of school. It was my first time keeping my mouth shut.
I remember my first crush after moving.
I remember being terrified of middle school because it was so big.
I remember that middle school sucked. The teachers were weird and the kids were weirder.
I remember I still had good times in middle school.
I remember being excited for high school.
I remember that sophmore year was dominated by feeling that death was preferable to life.
I remember wasting my time for the next two years. Still going.
Heart
I beat 80 times per minute, 4800 times per hour, 115200 times per day, and more than 40 million times per year. Contract and relax, contract and relax, contract and relax for the decades of your life.
1 gallon per minute, 83 gallons per hour, 2000 gallons per day, 730000 gallons per year, and 1000000 barrels of blood are pumped through your veins through my efforts.
I work and labor every minute of every day to provide you with life.
Don't waste the effort!
1 gallon per minute, 83 gallons per hour, 2000 gallons per day, 730000 gallons per year, and 1000000 barrels of blood are pumped through your veins through my efforts.
I work and labor every minute of every day to provide you with life.
Don't waste the effort!
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
RealTalk x5
RealTalk
I'm creative when I'm by myself. I'm creative when I don't have to show anyone else. I'm creative around people. A few people. I'm creative, I promise... Ah, you'll just have to take my word for it, because...
RealTalk
Everyone sees what is on the net. I'm not by myself. I am not anonymous anymore. I am...
RealTalk
Scared of not being anonymous. I'm scared of my original ideas being discarded. I'm scared that I won't live up. I'm scared to express what's inside because...
RealTalk
I'm intimidated by everyone else's inside. I'm nervous that my inside is a cliche inside. I hate being cliche, on the inside. I'm also nervous that...
RealTalk
My insides are dreadfully boring.
I'm creative when I'm by myself. I'm creative when I don't have to show anyone else. I'm creative around people. A few people. I'm creative, I promise... Ah, you'll just have to take my word for it, because...
RealTalk
Everyone sees what is on the net. I'm not by myself. I am not anonymous anymore. I am...
RealTalk
Scared of not being anonymous. I'm scared of my original ideas being discarded. I'm scared that I won't live up. I'm scared to express what's inside because...
RealTalk
I'm intimidated by everyone else's inside. I'm nervous that my inside is a cliche inside. I hate being cliche, on the inside. I'm also nervous that...
RealTalk
My insides are dreadfully boring.
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Fears
I'm going to New York for a few years, and I'm scared of that.
I am most fearful of being vulnerable.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Research of Humans
One of the most annoying things is when attempts are made to define people in general. According to research you are defined as the 70% that do this or the 30% that don't. You're in the 92.5% of people who are inevitably are like this, or in the 7.5% who aren't. You are classified as 60% this kind of human, 30% of this kind of human, and 10% of this kind of human. You automatically fit into one or more of the sections that are apart of this study of humans. What is not generally understood is that:
No!!! You're absolutely wrong!! I am 100% one-of-a-kind! I don't fit into any "researched" category.
Now, what in the world does this have to do with anything. I may have gotten a bit wordy and too involved with my own pet peeve for this to make any sense but, allow me to make my point.
Love is equally undefinable. There is no division of percentages that can define love. Love is so undeniably different and subjective that there is no research to be made. It expresses itself in so many strange and diverse ways, that researchers don't even know where to start. Love can only be attempted to be defined by each individual. Personally. With no help. With a lot of experience. And luck.
If I had to define it... Ah, maybe I won't yet. I haven't had the experience. Or the luck.
No!!! You're absolutely wrong!! I am 100% one-of-a-kind! I don't fit into any "researched" category.
Now, what in the world does this have to do with anything. I may have gotten a bit wordy and too involved with my own pet peeve for this to make any sense but, allow me to make my point.
Love is equally undefinable. There is no division of percentages that can define love. Love is so undeniably different and subjective that there is no research to be made. It expresses itself in so many strange and diverse ways, that researchers don't even know where to start. Love can only be attempted to be defined by each individual. Personally. With no help. With a lot of experience. And luck.
If I had to define it... Ah, maybe I won't yet. I haven't had the experience. Or the luck.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Something I Regret
When I was about eight years of age, I lived in a state that was not Utah(clinging to anonymity). At this time, I had a fascination with Air Soft guns. Every time I was taken to Wal-Mart I would have to take some time to go admire the humane weaponry. Then, at Christmas time, my grandfather recognized my fascination and bought me a brand new, fully automatic Air Soft gun; and ammunition to accompany it. I was elated!!! I was overly excited to go show off my new "toy" to everyone I knew.
About a day later, my friend Richard and I were looking for something fun to occupy our time. Of course I insisted that we go have a battle with Air Soft guns. I would, naturally, have my new fully automatic gun, while Richard was stuck with a single shot pistol. We went out into the field next to my house to have our battle. We began, and both of us were too scared to expose ourselves to each others fire. We eventually got over our fear and started to have a good time, and amass a good collection of welts.
We were in the middle of a battle, when I noticed that there were about four boys watching our battle from the Boys & Girls Club that neighbored the field that Richard and I were in. I saw a perfect opportunity to show off my prized Air Soft gun to the spectating boys. So, in the heat of our battle, I made my way over to the fence that divided us from the spectators. Trying to make it look as natural as possible, I used some bushes right by the fence for cover. The boys, to my delight, at the fence began to admire my weapon. They began to question me about my gun, and I answered every one of their questions with pride. Soon the question asked:"How much does it hurt to be shot." I tried my best to explain it to them. They weren't satisfied by my explanations, so they continued to ask for details. Quickly thereafter, one of the boys asked me to shoot him so he would know what the sensation felt like. By the time Richard walked over to join the conversation, the four boys were doing jumping jacks and begging me to shoot them. I looked over at Richard, feeling uneasy. He looked at me and said, "Might as well give them what they want." So I opened fire on them. They all doubled over when the pellets from my gun hit them in the stomach, and yet they still asked for more. They literally asked. So I gave my gun to Richard and told him to continue to give them what they wanted.
While he opened fire on them, I ran to my house and retrieved my BB gun, which is much more powerful. The moment they saw me run out with my BB gun, to my regrettably immense satisfaction, they bolted. Richard and I retreated to a secluded portion of the field to reminisce on our activities of the day. While thus reminiscing, two representatives from the Boys & Girls Club walked over to us. They asked us if we had shot some kids with Air Soft guns. We answered in the affirmative. They then told us if such an occurance happened again, they would be obliged to call the police on our behalf. I had never been so terrified in my life. I came to regret that we were almost reported to the police in the following weeks, months, and years. But now, it's just a funny story.
I have shared this story, and included some of the ways I felt during the time. I even bolded a few for you. I know it's a cliche argument, but a concrete one nonetheless. No robot could go through that heavy of a rollercoaster of emotions in that short of time. Therefore, I must be human... Pretty much.
About a day later, my friend Richard and I were looking for something fun to occupy our time. Of course I insisted that we go have a battle with Air Soft guns. I would, naturally, have my new fully automatic gun, while Richard was stuck with a single shot pistol. We went out into the field next to my house to have our battle. We began, and both of us were too scared to expose ourselves to each others fire. We eventually got over our fear and started to have a good time, and amass a good collection of welts.
We were in the middle of a battle, when I noticed that there were about four boys watching our battle from the Boys & Girls Club that neighbored the field that Richard and I were in. I saw a perfect opportunity to show off my prized Air Soft gun to the spectating boys. So, in the heat of our battle, I made my way over to the fence that divided us from the spectators. Trying to make it look as natural as possible, I used some bushes right by the fence for cover. The boys, to my delight, at the fence began to admire my weapon. They began to question me about my gun, and I answered every one of their questions with pride. Soon the question asked:"How much does it hurt to be shot." I tried my best to explain it to them. They weren't satisfied by my explanations, so they continued to ask for details. Quickly thereafter, one of the boys asked me to shoot him so he would know what the sensation felt like. By the time Richard walked over to join the conversation, the four boys were doing jumping jacks and begging me to shoot them. I looked over at Richard, feeling uneasy. He looked at me and said, "Might as well give them what they want." So I opened fire on them. They all doubled over when the pellets from my gun hit them in the stomach, and yet they still asked for more. They literally asked. So I gave my gun to Richard and told him to continue to give them what they wanted.
While he opened fire on them, I ran to my house and retrieved my BB gun, which is much more powerful. The moment they saw me run out with my BB gun, to my regrettably immense satisfaction, they bolted. Richard and I retreated to a secluded portion of the field to reminisce on our activities of the day. While thus reminiscing, two representatives from the Boys & Girls Club walked over to us. They asked us if we had shot some kids with Air Soft guns. We answered in the affirmative. They then told us if such an occurance happened again, they would be obliged to call the police on our behalf. I had never been so terrified in my life. I came to regret that we were almost reported to the police in the following weeks, months, and years. But now, it's just a funny story.
I have shared this story, and included some of the ways I felt during the time. I even bolded a few for you. I know it's a cliche argument, but a concrete one nonetheless. No robot could go through that heavy of a rollercoaster of emotions in that short of time. Therefore, I must be human... Pretty much.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Last night I had a dream
So last night I had a dream. In my dream the New England Patriots and the Seattle Seahawks were playing in the Super Bowl. During the course of my dream, the two teams played, and the Patriots, wearing yellow and red uniforms instead of blue, red, and white ones, won the game. On Sunday, the Patriots won the Super Bowl, just like my dream predicted.
The next night I had a dream that Mr. Nelson dropped all of his Creative Writing classes so that he could focus on the other classes he was teaching... Hmm...
The next night I had a dream that Mr. Nelson dropped all of his Creative Writing classes so that he could focus on the other classes he was teaching... Hmm...
Crayons
I've always hated crayons. They have never been precise. The left side of the brain always hates that. It's hard to get perfect symmetry when the crayon never writes where it's supposed to. Aaaaaaah!! It's so frustrating!!!!!
But of course, crayons forced the left side to give the right side a little room to maneuver. When the left side couldn't have its perfect symmetry, then the right side had to come in and create something out of the mess crayons made.
So crayons actually provide a creative benefit... Give the right side some spotlight...
... I don't care, I still like colored pencils better.
But of course, crayons forced the left side to give the right side a little room to maneuver. When the left side couldn't have its perfect symmetry, then the right side had to come in and create something out of the mess crayons made.
So crayons actually provide a creative benefit... Give the right side some spotlight...
... I don't care, I still like colored pencils better.
Sunday, January 18, 2015
Into(don't judge)
Uuuh... Me
Introduction, hmmmm... I'm no expert at writing, so my capabilities for some eloquent start to this blog are limited, so I'll start with an introduction of me, because that's what I know best. I'm kind of hard to understand in many aspects. The main one is in social situations. Sometimes I wish that I could be invisible to some people. Sometimes I like to observe rather than get into the thick of things. I'm a pretty social person. I don't mind having conversations, I don't mind getting to know people, and I enjoy being around my friends a great deal. But there is also a lot of time that I would rather keep to myself and not say a single thing; just watch.
That's one of the reasons that putting my heart and soul on paper (or a website), is somewhat difficult for me. Yes, I can be social, but I still don't reveal much about my character to other people. I let the other people figure that out for themselves.
My discomfort is probably apparent by my sub-par introduction, but, as in all things, I will seek to improve as time goes on.
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