Chores, Doctors, and Dubstep

Today was a day off, and that's great and all, but I still had practice and when you have tendinitis, it's not exactly fun to overwork your shoulders into submission.

Went to the doctor to get my shoulders checked out, and of course she said to go to an orthopedic specialist and to not swim until I go to the other doctor. Because not swimming for two weeks will DEFINITELY help my swim team beat the rich snobs, right? Sometimes, I swear doctors are stupid.

Too many chores to handle. I stayed up until 11 cleaning stuff and I was not a happy camper.

And also, my sister proclaimed that she now likes dubstep. Wonderful.

Going to bed now. 1:15 and practice in 5 hours. Merp.

I bleed purple and white... not really

Visiting the vast green campus of Northwestern was like a dream come true. I couldn't believe that I was even standing on the same ground that Matt Grevers did just a few years ago. Crazy.

No gen-eds, campus on the beach, and the opportunity to study abroad in so many countries besides my own that my head spun in disbelief. Northwestern.

Awkward

Why am I in the habit of liking the most unlikeable people? As in, why do I like the guys that I shouldn't be liking? I crush on the taken dudes, the untouchable dudes, and even the nerdy-cute dudes. Of them all, not one likes me back. Of course.

I'm just some girl they pass in the hallway. The girl who writes sports recaps for the awesomest school newspaper in the history of school newspapers. Yeah.

I'll just sit here and watch my episodes, and just fantasize about trading lives with Jenna Hamilton.

Too Close

Which way is right, which way is wrong,
How do I say that I need to move on?
You know we're headed separate ways.

And it feels like I am just too close to love you,
There's nothing I can really say.
I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more,
Got to be true to myself.
And it feels like I am just too close to love you,
So I'll be on my way.

He croons the words of the song as smoothly as softened butter glides on warm French bread. And in it all, the words evoke an emotion within me that I can only describe as understanding. I like you. I can't lie about it and I can't really hide it. I just like you. But you don't feel the same way, so I'll just move on with my life.

The Downfalls of Being an Athlete

Swim. Sleep. Eat. Repeat.

I wish I could say that there was more to my life than swimming, sleeping, and eating everything in sight, but there really isn't. All summer, day in and day out, it's a constant cycle of swimming, eating, sleeping, and computer usage. Not that I really mind, but my life is becoming tedious, which is something I'm not really happy about. I want an adventure over the summer, something to talk about once school starts next month. Not this, "Oh, I swam all summer and barely went anywhere other than the pool, the library, and sometimes to various stores to buy stuff I needed," because that gets boring after two summers of telling everyone that.

There's practice tomorrow morning and I'll be honest; I kind of don't want to go. It's the last day and all, and I'm sure the coaches will have an easy set or something (if we're lucky), but I just want to have a day where I don't need to think about swimming, waking up early, or even having my parents mention that swim season is starting in a week and a half and that I need to be on my A game so that I can potentially be put on varsity, or something along those lines.

Life is short, and it seems like instead of having fun and relaxing like many of my classmates did this summer, I was at the pool for two to four hours every day, busting my butt so that I can maybe be captain (which didn't work out) or snag a place on varsity (we'll see). I know that all my hard work will pay off in the end, but I just don't know. I've pretty much been preparing three years for this season, and it sometimes feels like those three years are just more time wasted on being good, but not good enough for other people who will yet again decide my fate on a school swim team. I'm sick of it.

I dunno. I guess I'm just angry at this system that's been egging me on to keep swimming and to push myself until I physically can't do it anymore.

Swim. Swim. Swim.

The Olympic Rings are Emblazoned onto my Wrist

The dark rings of Sharpie stand out against the the golden-tan skin of my wrist. The faint blue lines of my veins run below the rings, just as my blood pulses through the veins.

Mom yelling at my sister in the next room. "Stop using all of the air fresheners. You're ten, you know better. When will you ever learn your lesson?"

What a good question. When will we ever learn from our mistakes? Is it tomorrow? Is it next year? When we're old and on our deathbeds?

Mom says, "This isn't working out for me," as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders and I'm the missing savior.

What have I done wrong?

Skunky mornings

Bringing my bike out
And then I saw the white stripe
Skunk in my backyard

So yeah, I woke up earlier today because practice is now being held 15 minutes farther by car. Brought my bike outside so that I could put it in the car and then left it on the patio momentarily so that I could get my bag packed. Had the car keys and everything and went outside to get the bike and right on my lawn is a huge skunk. I just stopped and stood there for what felt like forever. Because the last thing I want is to be sprayed by a skunk before swim practice.

Swim practice was somewhat uneventful. It was outside, if that makes a difference. But otherwise the same old, same old.

And now I'm just chillin' like a villain, waiting for my mom to come home so that we can go to my second practice of the day. Lovely!

Swimming

Wake up. Put swimsuit on. Brush teeth. Pack bag. Drive to school. Swim swim swim. Shower. Bike home. Sleep. Eat. Read. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

For the past two months, I've been swimming. Every morning before the sun rises, I'm out of bed and on my way to school for swim practice. My routine is so normal to me now that I no longer think about it; I just do it.

And all of the swimming has paid off. I've dropped a few seconds in my races and I feel stronger, and I even feel like I have a shot at being varsity this year. Other days I feel weaker than watered-down soy sauce in a Caucasian-run Chinese restaurant.

For the past hour, I've been compiling workouts for the week-and-a-half between the off-season and swim season. The fitness nut in me chooses the longer workouts and as I look at them on my computer screen, the black print against the white of a Google Doc, the doubter in me wonders why I'm even trying to kill myself with such strenuous activity. Just take a break, my conscience says suavely. No one will even know you didn't do that last set... it goads.

No. You can do it. Stop trying to sell yourself short, the fitness-nut version of myself retorts.

Just keep swimmin'

College

When I roll out of bed, it feels like any other normal Saturday. Except it isn't. It's the day that I visit the college that I've always wanted to go to. Loyola. I can't stop fantasizing about the beautiful campus, sporting maroon and gold clothing in the fall, and the excitement of finally being in college. The idea of starting fresh, of not being the weird bookish jock that can't fit in easily, it makes me think of all the possibilities next year holds.

Heavy machinery drills, clanks, and beeps as I walk towards the Sullivan Center. You're gonna go up some stairs to something called The Hub. And then from there, you check in and wait for your tour group... my mom had said earlier.

As I take a seat on a plushy black leather couch with my forms to fill out, my eyes wander, landing on all of my prospective classmates. They all look so much older than me and I feel intimidated. Some catch me staring and offer a sheepish smile, and I just look down at my yellow folder. A guy in a striped blue and pink shirt catches my eye, and I wonder if he's even my age, judging from his strong jawline and muscular arms. His hipster-like glasses glint in the fluorescent lights of the building and then I realize he's holding a folder just like mine.

During the tour, I introduce myself as, "Hey, I'm Rebecca. I live in the Chicago area and I want to study Spanish and journalism,"and then listen as I find out that many of the other students are from far away places like North Dakota and Arizona. Their thousand-mile treks are huge compared to my fifteen-minute drive.

I learn a lot about the campus and am successful in not embarrassing myself and the group walks back to the student center for the presentation on financial planning/student aid/potential majors. My mom and sisters rush in quietly a few minutes into the man's speech and I feel my face flush scarlet. Mom passes me a note every so often proclaiming stuff like, "Hmm, no major on Twilight, I see," or, "Are your sisters annoying you?" and I scoff. She eventually tells me that she wants to go on the campus tour again and I sigh. Again? But I just went on the campus tour, I think to myself.

The second tour is slightly more eventful. I learn that Stripes Boy's name is Joe, and he wants to major in some complicated science that my frazzled brain can't recall. My littlest sister seems the most eager person on this tour and she sticks close to the guide, a brunette senior. Everyone smiles at the short little asian girl who looks to be about 10 years too young for the tour.

Finally, the tour is coming to a close yet again when Joe's dad whispers to his son, "Hey, don't you wanna see a cool tour?" and then moments later, while the whole group is back outside in the sun, Joe's dad and sister emerge with handfuls of doughnuts, probably scarfed from a conference room in Simpson Hall.

"Thiefs," my sister mutters under her breath as the other one proclaims loudly, "Hey! Where did they get those? I want one!" and the tour guide just laughs it off.

All in all, the day was eventful, fun, and an experience to remember.

The Birthday

It's just another birthday, I told myself as I got my clothes all set. A party where you probably won't know a lot of people, other than your family...


I shower again, just to make sure I smell presentable. A spritz of perfume here, then there, and I'm ready to roll. My new elevated sandals make me feel like I'm taller, on top of the world even, as I cautiously walk down my stairs. Walking while wearing high heels was never my strong suit.

The community center parking lot is deserted, save for my uncle's black PT Cruiser. Uh oh, are we too late? Did everyone already surprise Aunt Sue? The frantic click of our shoes against the pavement serve as the metronome ticking at half-time to our heartbeats. The lights are all on, and I smell Korean food, and then my uncle comes into view, blowing a noisemaker.

"Heyyyy, everyone!" he says, enveloping us all into a hug, giving each of us a quick peck on the cheek with a, "My GOODNESS, you guys have grown taller!" directed at my sister and I. It's just my high-heeled shoes, Uncle Ray, I think to myself.

Slowly, people start coming. Coworkers of my aunt, family friends, and even Ray's neighbor.

I've never really been fond of Keith, but he was okay. With his loud voice and ever-growing paunch, he seemed to invade my privacy little by little every time I saw him. Luce just sits in the corner at the bar, talking with some people I don't recognize.

Finally, everyone is scattered around the room when the lights go out. We instinctively hush and look towards the doorway, just waiting for Aunt Sue to come through.

"Why are we even here, Ray? I just want to go home... it is my birthday, after all," I hear my aunt say.

The lights turn on and everyone shouts, "Surprise!" at the tops of their lungs, and noise makers are being blown everywhere. Aunt Sue covers here mouth in awe as it registers in her mind that all of us are here for her.


The food is unwrapped and I salivate at the sight of familiar ethnic dishes. Mmm, noodles! Oooh, tofu! Ahhhh, spicy chicken! And finally, the tinfoil is taken off the roasted pig. Its eyes have been removed and its mouth is open slightly, as if it were caught by surprise when it had taken its last breath. The skin is shiny and taut against the cooked muscle below it.

"Let's eat!" someone across the room bellows.

My youngest sister acts as the emcee and makes everyone laugh every once in a while. Embarrassing yet cute at the same time. Her smile is wider than ever as she grips the microphone tightly in her small hands.

As the party winds down, we boot up the Wii and play for a while. A man with graying hair approaches and tries to act suave, and I ignore him. Doesn't he know that I'm too young? Let alone, my family is around and the last thing the poor fellow needs is a butt-kicking from my burly cousin. I eye Stanford quickly, making sure that he's relatively close by. He flashes a small smile at me from the bar and I feel reassured.

I end up playing tennis, bowling, and then golf against my dad and a distant uncle. Before I know it, we've played a nine-hole game of golf (which I won) and it's already 11:15. People have left and it's time to clean up.

As we drive home, it's silent in the car, save for the almost-imperceptible squeaking of a balloon my sister managed to take.

We're tired, but the day was successful, and now it's time to get some sleep for tomorrow's busy schedule.

Loyola, here I come.

I was too blunt

It's Wednesday and I'm sitting on my bed, looking out at the oh-so-beautiful scenery below me on the desolate street that I live on.

My trusty ceiling fan is whirring softly above me, making the copper and taupe feathers of my dream catcher move erratically.

I'm supposed to be vacuuming my room, my parents' room, and I'm also supposed to be cleaning the kitchen. But as always, I have been hit with the lazy bug and am instead writing nonsense on the internet.

I was too blunt with you yesterday. Maybe I could have hinted that I liked you instead of just saying, "I like you. Why don't you like me back?" like the hormonal teenager I am. Whatever. I guess I don't know you as well as I hoped to.

So, I saw you today. You probably paid no attention to me (which is okay) and were on your merry way home (I assume). You have absolutely no idea what the mere sight of you does to me.

Here, since you like poems so much, I'll write a series of (somewhat horribly-written) poems to explain my thoughts/feelings.

You walk with your friends
My foolish heart goes haywire
Farewell, sanity

Being me is hard

I stutter, and you listen
Do you think I'm weird?

You
Runner boy
Whom I admire
Whose intelligence is under-appreciated
You

It was our junior year
And I thought that the end was near
But you were my unexpected savior
And I apologize for my awkward behavior
Because now I have nothing to fear

Hmm, I kind of like writing poems. Albeit, I probably stink at writing them. What good did pre-freshman year Creative Writing do for me? Sure, I wrote a gem or two, but other than that, I was average.

So, lovely. This post has turned into yet another one about how I admire you and how you make my insides turn to jelly because you're you.

Enough procrastination. Time to do my chores.

An Open Letter to Anonymous

Hey there.

So, it's 12:03 AM, meaning I am staying up super-late because of two reasons.

1. I can't sleep because of my goshdarn insomnia.
2. (TMI warning) My stomach-region cramps are also playing a role in this. Yeah...

And since I ignored my previously-set bedtime, I googled you. I know, it's kind of creepy of me... but I'm gonna be honest with you and say that it's not the first time that I've googled you out of boredom.

And in this google session, I stumbled upon your blog. Now, I must tell you this right now.

Your writing is amazing. And when I say amazing, I mean, "You have blown my mind because I never thought such intriguing thoughts were whirling through your mind as you kept your calm and collected demeanor". You've also probably heard it from tons of people because I heard you show someone your blog and this person said that your posts were really good. I agree.

So yeah, this post is going to be extremely random and disorganized because I am up way past my bedtime and I really don't know what to write to you. Seeing as you may or may not read this.

Ooh, okay, I have something to talk to you about.

In high school, or school in general, rumors fly faster than fighter jets. Person W is pregnant, Person X got denied to his dream school, Person Y likes Person Z, so on and so forth. Sometimes these rumors are true and sometimes they are false. I don't like believing rumors, and I like giving people the benefit of the doubt. So when I heard my friend (M) say that she talked to someone you knew (K), and K informed M that you knew I liked you because apparently some of your friends stumbled upon my blog, I didn't know what to think. Fear crept into my mind.

"Oh, gosh, he knows?"

"What will I do?"
"Okay, stay calm. He's just a boy and you're just a girl..."

To say that I freaked out would be an understatement. I nearly stopped breathing. My heart was beating like a hummingbird's and I think I quite literally died right then and there and came back to life.

Yes. I like you. No, I don't really plan our future together. Not really, anyways. I mean, I think about my future kids' names and silly teenage-girl stuff like that, but I don't really plan on you liking me back. Because inside my heart, I know that you probably don't feel the same way. And that's okay. I'm not saying that you will have to like me back for reasons unknown, but it never feels good to be the person that likes someone who doesn't feel the same way.

So now you kind of know how I feel. Here's a brief summary:

• Yes, I like you
• And sometimes I google you out of boredom
• And most of the time, the rumors about me aren't true
• And finally, I'm okay with you not liking me back

So there you have it. I just told you (and most likely the whole internet) that I like you, that I sometimes Google search your name, and that I think you're an extremely-talented writer.

Goodnight.