THE END

The end of the Arts Academy,alas. I've been getting used to getting two hours of sleep and eating a cheese Danish for breakfast every morning. I've been enjoying meeting interesting people and getting away from the everday. I'm not enjoying the horrible cramp that is plauging my thumb after the last two weeks of strenuous typing. It's tough to think that when I first entered the Academy I was afraid to talk. It's strange to remember a tine when I knew none of their names,and none of them knew mine. Sure it was only two days of silence,but in Grace Time,that's two years.
In my memories if the first day everybody actually seems different. One picture that is clear in my mind is when I asked Jada if they were going to haze the new kids,she waled away laughing and said no. Not a really significant moment,but it is stuck in my mind. that Jada seems different from the one I know now. I remember looking up at Steve wearing John Lennon glasses and thinking "huh?",and trying to cut into Taylor,Sam and Raychelle's conversation,wondering why Courtney was talking to Tyler and sitting on the other end of Swope hoping that that huge group of people was some other Academy,anD that all the writers were as new and scared as I was. I evenremember them talking about Figgler! I can remember being able to not picture him.
I don't even remember what I did those first few nights after classes. Probably went to my room,went to sleep at 10:00... I've already mentionedthe closeness of all of our souls,how we are all so different,but so alike. I can' imagine not being close to the rest of the writers who took me and the other new kids in like sick orphans in the rain. I think it was fate.
I think that all of us were supposed to sign up,return,I think we're all supposed to know each other. I know that I'm coming out of this whole experience a changed person. Not only was I taught about writing,but I was taught about people. Think of my hometown as a town of flat characters, a place where pretty much everyone has one trait. "Oh,Jenny is funny","Joey is such a rebel","Clarissa is smart." And that's it. Here I've found a whole new type of person,like discovring a new zombie race in the Earth's core. The people have many sides,many layers,many moods. I love it here. Even if I hated the people,I'd respect them. For daring to be different,for not being flat. (Ready for this? Cheesy end line,locked and loaded) For living without margins.

We live inside the dreams

"We live inside the dreams of others. We might be imprisoned in them." I think that this means that we as people are expected (Hey! Like the theme of my blog) to live up to the aspirations and dreams of others. Other people dream about what they want the world to be. If you happen to be realted/associated with this person,they almost certaintly have a dream of what they want you to be. Nine out of ten dentists agree,you probably don't live up to their dreams. The hard thing about it is is that it breaking out of these expectations and predisposed notions is IMPOSSIBLE. Hence 'imprisoned'. So,to break out of these notions, or "dreams" if you will one must grab the spoon of individuality,cut into the ground that is these dream,and start digging out of prison.

I didn't even title my last post.

Well. Here we are, a blog post due and nothing offhand to talk about. I got a beautiful record high of five hours of sleep last night, so I'm pretty much rip raring to go this morning. Sleep is such a priceless thing. I don't know why you would want to put a price on sleep,something that we all can have quite easily. But then again, the sleeping pill market is in very high demand. Sleep should be like walking should be,free,easy,and atainable by everyone,sometimes though people get hit by the car called 'Insomnia' and are paralized forever.
I can't spell.
I'm too tired.

Who are my ancestors? Well I really can't answer that. I'm like a family who is too lazy to hire a genealogist,I can't look into the past to find my answers. But if the types of ancestors we're looking for is defined as: the people who walk the same journey as you, then I woulod say that the rest if the Academy writiers are my "ancestors". In fact,some of them did come before me,so it all works out rather nicely. They are my ancestors because when I talk to them I know that they have gone through the same things that I go through, worry about the same things I worry about. We,to quote a horrible asinine movie, are "all in this together". We are all walking along the same path.

The Wizard of Odd

To you,this might sound childish,but I was child when it happened so you would be correct. The first time I remember being unbrideled,not haveivg to conform or deal with everyone else was during my elementary school’s production of “The Wizard of Oz”. I’m sorry I can’t go deep than that, lie to you and say “I discovered I was free when I first went into the Artic at age six,” but I can’t. At the time I was in fourth grade (The first year you could join the play,might I add) and was cast in the role as “The Wizard.”
1) The number of girls largely outweighed the number of boys at St. Vitus. Fun Fact? I later learned that many parents chose to send their daughters under the impression that nuns emit birth control powers on adolescents.
2) Being small for my age,my high voice and air or ridiculous pep and enthusiasm made the final pulling back of the curtain hi-larious in the eyes of the director, a nearly crippled elderly church goer, named Marge.

Marge was quite senile,so creative production was basically turned over to us,a collection of 4th through 8th graders armed with paintbrushes in our hands and the hope that this would be the BEST. PLAY. EVER. I took full control of my roll, and was living the dream. When I stood behind that curtain holding up a giant carboard Oz head by two feeble sticks, I was free to do it how ever I pleased. If I wanted the Wizard to be a vampire, he was going to be a vampire. (Sadly,Marge was on her medication this day,and this was struck from the play.) On the day of the performance in an auditorium filled with parents,unwilling teenage cousins and drunk single uncles, I ran about the world of Oz in my own frenzied cloud being myself while pretending to be someone else.

You can say from this that maybe I was confortable because of this fact,that the only reason I was free was because I was free to be another person,and it might be true. All I know though is that in fourth grade I could talk to the way I wanted to talk,dance the way I wanted to dance. This is the starting point. Now it’s time for a full circle.

"If they give you ruled paper,write the other way"
-Juan Ramon Jiminez

The reason I chose margins unecesscary as the title of my blog is that it is a simple truth. I should not have to conform to norms,I should not have to be confined to write inside the lines. Recently I experienced a change of personality,a drastic transition from security within a group of accepting people,or artists and thinkers to a group much more restricted group.
Slowly I noticed myself changing,becoming more and more content to sit at home filling my life with less and less thought and creativity.
This course,I want to reinvent myself.