I am just so done. Really I wish I could just be done already.
This stupid college essay is metaphorically raping me. (I guess the real trouble starts when it's literal...) I can't stand it. My essays before were too serious, too whatever, so fine. She says start with something "out of character," and y'all already know how much that pissed me off so I will skip it. So I thought to myself, Okay, I'll do something humorous and light and talk about the spazzy side of me. So I did, and now Mom has her face in her hands and she is muttering about it's just not deep enough. It's too shallow. It portrays you as a goofball. Can't you put in something about befriending the folks at Starbucks and starting a Chemistry study group there? Incorporate how you help people? For the sake of Jesus Philosopher, when colleges look at my common application, they will SEE the NHS and the SHS and the 2nd in the class and the SAT scores and the straight A's and the drama club and the Speech club and all of those wonderful academic things. How the hell am I supposed to convey me?
Who am I? Great question. How the hell am I supposed to know? How about all the identity issues I face daily? Or the eleven million other things I have going on. In any given week, I cry, I read, I write poems, I sing songs, I buy steampunk miscellany, I draw comics, I participate in class discussion, I run around outside, I sit around outside, I sit around inside, I exchange sarcasm with students and teachers alike, I ask insightful questions, I scrapbook, I drive carpool, I make my bed, I wonder when I'll ever cut my speech piece, I wonder if I'll ever FIND my speech piece, I sit down to write my RI or me EE and go on Youtube instead... I repair shoes and books with duct tape and create multimedia theatre presentations, I get the only A in the class on an essay, I wear a fairy princess dress to school for fun, I yell at people who try to recycle apple cores in the bins and throw aluminum cans on the compost...
I have a shower curtain with the 200 most-tested SAT words. I have tie-die duct tape on my desk. I name my electronics, and I recently lost my iPod, to which I attribute the fact that I never named it. I stare at my biology book without reading it, or I read it so enthusiastically that for an hour nothing else matters. I love and I like and I appreciate and I dislike and I form opinions. I rant and I blog and I joke and I laugh. Someday I want a ring tan. Just a light one. And I think that I have way too many shirts, so I'm working on giving some away.
I've been to Spain, but I don't think it changed my life. I went to Israel. Did that change my life? I don't know. I think about it daily and I ask myself. Was it really a life-changing experience? I keep telling myself that I'll print out all those photos and put them in an album. When? After I finish my two speech pieces and my college essays, my RI and my EE, my biology IAs and my psych IA, my TOK essay, understanding the derivatives chain rule?
So my overarching question underneath all this ranting is: how am I supposed to accurately convey who I am, and why do I seem to stink at it so badly?
This stupid college essay is metaphorically raping me. (I guess the real trouble starts when it's literal...) I can't stand it. My essays before were too serious, too whatever, so fine. She says start with something "out of character," and y'all already know how much that pissed me off so I will skip it. So I thought to myself, Okay, I'll do something humorous and light and talk about the spazzy side of me. So I did, and now Mom has her face in her hands and she is muttering about it's just not deep enough. It's too shallow. It portrays you as a goofball. Can't you put in something about befriending the folks at Starbucks and starting a Chemistry study group there? Incorporate how you help people? For the sake of Jesus Philosopher, when colleges look at my common application, they will SEE the NHS and the SHS and the 2nd in the class and the SAT scores and the straight A's and the drama club and the Speech club and all of those wonderful academic things. How the hell am I supposed to convey me?
Who am I? Great question. How the hell am I supposed to know? How about all the identity issues I face daily? Or the eleven million other things I have going on. In any given week, I cry, I read, I write poems, I sing songs, I buy steampunk miscellany, I draw comics, I participate in class discussion, I run around outside, I sit around outside, I sit around inside, I exchange sarcasm with students and teachers alike, I ask insightful questions, I scrapbook, I drive carpool, I make my bed, I wonder when I'll ever cut my speech piece, I wonder if I'll ever FIND my speech piece, I sit down to write my RI or me EE and go on Youtube instead... I repair shoes and books with duct tape and create multimedia theatre presentations, I get the only A in the class on an essay, I wear a fairy princess dress to school for fun, I yell at people who try to recycle apple cores in the bins and throw aluminum cans on the compost...
I have a shower curtain with the 200 most-tested SAT words. I have tie-die duct tape on my desk. I name my electronics, and I recently lost my iPod, to which I attribute the fact that I never named it. I stare at my biology book without reading it, or I read it so enthusiastically that for an hour nothing else matters. I love and I like and I appreciate and I dislike and I form opinions. I rant and I blog and I joke and I laugh. Someday I want a ring tan. Just a light one. And I think that I have way too many shirts, so I'm working on giving some away.
I've been to Spain, but I don't think it changed my life. I went to Israel. Did that change my life? I don't know. I think about it daily and I ask myself. Was it really a life-changing experience? I keep telling myself that I'll print out all those photos and put them in an album. When? After I finish my two speech pieces and my college essays, my RI and my EE, my biology IAs and my psych IA, my TOK essay, understanding the derivatives chain rule?
So my overarching question underneath all this ranting is: how am I supposed to accurately convey who I am, and why do I seem to stink at it so badly?
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