Cover

It was within a hiccup of the day that I spotted it--a group of trees that needed to be sketched--and off I went, far far away from here. Here being school, school being sunny, and sunny being perfect for daydreaming when alone. I didn't mean to be alone in a large school courtyard filled to the brim with students chatting and eating their lunch. Actually, my friends were out sick. I don't get sick very often, only about once a school year. If I am lucky, I will get sick once a semester, and the sick days will prolong a lazy weekend. When I leave the school but don't really leave it, I have two minds. Well, I have always had two minds. Not your average good and evil minds. These minds aren't representative of my conscience. One mind is my 17-year-old mind, the other is my 8-year-old mind. I say eight year old, but it's just a younger mind that I subconsciously switch in and out of using. I have a hard time trying to figure out if there are two or three minds. I think there is a mystery mind, one that will come along when I reach a certain age.
The trees are much more real than I used to draw them. The goose that they are growing out of isn't as realistic, but is close enough. The tiny goose on the back of the goose with trees is just there. I have half a school day left before I can go home and goof off. I goof off inbetween lectures, I goof off inbetween tests, I goof off inbetween doing my homework, and I goof off inbetween goofing off. My goofing off involves massive amounts of daydreaming, drawing, and websites. Mix well and often. The recipie for a Josie. Josie I am. Josie the dreamer-artist-random-girl-who-sits-in-the-front-of-the-classroom. I have bad eyesight (and have lost my glasses again), so I sit in the front. Teachers have even worse eyesight, because they catch everyone else chatting with someone or the other, but they never scold me about drawing in the margins of my notes while they're lecturing. I think I might be a teacher's pet.
I pick up a green marker-pen. Katie says that my pens are "sexy pens." I think she calls them "sexy pens" because they are double-sided: one end has a brush tip, the other has a fine line tip. I don't have any art classes this year. I completed all of my requirements, and my AP Studio Art portfolio ended up getting a 2. I guess comic-style illustration isn't good enough. For some people, it will never be enough. Since I don't have an art class, I am taking double-english classes each semester. I have AP Literature and Composition (which I have a 78 percent in) and Creative Writing (which I have a 94 in). I like Creative writing. I always make myself the heroine of my stories.
Now I pull out a dark brown marker-pen. I used to think my hair was fully black. But I realized that when the sunlight shines through my hair, some of it is reddish-brownish. Black is not my color. It took me three years to realize that I am not emotionless or gloomy. Three years ago, I idolized and befriended the wrong people. Three is that magicky-magical number, which does not always symbolize good things. I am in an all-girls private Catholic high school, and I guess that even the magic number three (for the Trinity) couldn't help me out when I needed help the most. I needed myself, and I didn't think about that three years ago.
My overused eraser cleans up the pencil lines that I don't need. I have different friends now, different obsessions, and a different view of everything. Mistakes I had made are still coming back to bite me, because my parental units won't let me return to the Robotics team. I still can't use the phone, go for outings without my parents, or stay on the computer for more than an hour for free time. But I know myself. I like robots. My colors are yellow and pink. I still want to publish a comic book (about lesbian robot-women who fight for good and evil). I don't think I was meant to be a Catholic. Ironically, it has taken me about 3.4 years in a Catholic school to realize that.
The P.A. system begins to list off the names of girls who have items in the office that need to be picked up. The hiccup has stopped.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.01.2010

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Widmung:
To the self I should have been at the time I needed it the most.

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