Digital Diary

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Living With Faeries

A Quick Note to My Reader:Hello beautifuls, and welcome to my all new and all revealing diary/journal. This journal is a peak into my heart and soul, and I'm posting it out of my deepest need of self expression. Not everything maybe understandable, and all things maybe not what you'd usually expect of a perky chick like me, but its my world and welcome to it. So, without further ado...

3/6/03 Yo en la clase de espananol. The mardi- gras dance was postponed because of all the snow that we are getting. Can you believe it? It’s the beginning of March and its been snowing all day. This is one of the worst winters we’ve had in years. I really wanted to go to the dance, too. Oh well. Today is a much better day for me, so was yesterday. I’m so happy, I don’t know what was wrong with me before, probably just PMS. Mrs. Stanton is sick, she has bronchitis. I can so completely empathise with her. When I get sick, I get really sick, and its always bronchitis. I changed my mind about Annie, I knew that I would. I was just having a bad day, or she was, or I was just being sensitive, or something. That’s why I try as hard as possible not to judge people, although it is very tempting. I think I’ve decided about my friend Liz, I think that I’m sure she’s not a lesbian. I think she is just very unique and affectionate, like me. A kindred spirit. I suspose that it is a good thing that they postponed the dance considering that I have a huge math assignment tonight. I got most of it done in study hall though, which was something new to me. I only have a study hall once every six day cycle. Today’s quote of the day, “Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large numbers.” Trust me, if you were sitting here in this Spainish Class right now, you would completely agree with me. Another reason to like Annie, she shuts Adam up. She accomplishes the impossible and actually shuts Adam up. Cerra la boca, Adam. It’s a good thing that I’m a woman and that it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. I've recently become an eBay fanatic, I bet that I've blown over $100 in just the past 90 days. Correction, I know I have. I almost spent more today on Gargoyles comics, but I decided against it. I'd rather hold out and spend my money on something I really want, aka every single episode on VCD. Wouldn't that be awesome? To just pop it in and watch Awakenings or Avalon Pt.2 anytime I want, instead of shuffling through all the tapes that I taped on VHS. That would be completly groovy. I miss Robin, I haven't seen him lately, I wonder what's up with him? He says that he is visiting his sister, but I think that he just might be avoiding me. miss him. Tootles, ~*Beckie*~

4/3/03 What a sucky day today is, honestly it just seems as if nothing is going right. It actually hasn’t been that bad of a day, but things just keep turning out to not go well. I mean lots of things have been going well, I got back my Lit test and I got a perfect score, I got a perfect score on a 125 point Lit Test, of course it was a given because it was on Romeo and Juliet and I’m a Shakespeare fanatic. But I’ve been crying at the drop of a hat lately, I think that my depression medicine may not be working. To make things worse, it just seems like everyone is out to get me. I missed drama practice last night, I was mistaken, I made a mistake. I thought that they only wanted the principle characters and I’m set decoration so I knew that if that was the case that I wasn’t needed. Here it turns out that I was supposed to be there, joy. You ever notice that the more uneeded you are the more your absence is noticed? Sarah Miccolo can miss five out of six practices and nobody cares, and she’s the romantic lead, but I make a mistake and the entire school is on my butt. Annie was the worst. Why is she like that? Sara says that it’s “senioritis,” I don’t think that that is an excuse, she doesn’t have to act so superior. That bothers me, when people have those airs about them. “Why weren’t you in practice?” her voice was annoyed. “I was mistaken, I didn’t realize that I was needed.” “You should have looked at your schedule.” Her voice was practically dripping with condescendence. “I did!” I exclaimed as she walked away. She seemed so nice at the beginning of the year, now I think…. Well, I don’t want to call her a booger because then I might change my mind. I think that it was just the mood I’m in. Yes, she’s stage manager, but does that give her the right to act like she does? She could have been nice about it. It wouldn’t have hurt so much if she’d have been just a little kinder about it. I wasn’t so much hurt as angry. I don’t know why I’ve been acting like I am, teenage hormones maybe? I’ve already, “rode the crimson wave,” this month, so to speak. If this keeps up then I’ll ask my doctor about it. I’ll think about something happy right now, Liz and I went to see Chicago last night at the Cinema Center. It was awesome! I loved it! It was just as good as the Lord of the Rings, which is a lot when a fantasy fanatic like me says it. I wonder if she thinks it was a date? I still can’t help but wonder, like I said, it doesn’t matter to me what her sexual preferences are but I’d just kind of like to have a heads up, you know? I have to go eighth period to complete a test on To Kill a Mockingbird Mrs. Harder didn’t have it enlarged during class so I wasn’t able to complete it. Its okay though, because Mrs. Harder is always so good with getting things enlarged and run off for me. She’s so very organized. I’m not organized at all. Perhaps I’m feel sad because I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, project after project, test after test, paper after paper, it all gets so overwhelming. Tootles, ~*Beckie*~

3/27/03 Well I’m waiting for forensics practice. Mrs. Stanton told me to come after school for practice and, what do you know, she’s off on an errand. Again. She must be as hard to get in touch with as I am. My friend Leah says that I’m about as easy to get in touch with as the President, I would have preferred it if she said the Queen of England as opposed to good old Bush, but hey, a gal’s gotta take what she can get. I’m sitting in the hall way typing this because good old Mrs. S looked me out of her room. I tried to get a teacher to open the door for me, but she had left her keys upstairs. I told her not to worry about it, she was really nice about it though. Talking about Leah, I can’t help but wonder what will become of her. You see, her mom and dad just separated, her dad was an alcoholic and a drug addict. They lost their house, it was technically in her mom’s name, so her mom had to make the payments. Well, her mom doesn’t make enough money at her job at West Coast Video, so her dad always made the house payments. Bye-Bye Dad, bye-bye house. So they moved. They got an apartment on west main street close to her mom’s work, and close to Leah’s new school. She was one of my best buddies, and she still is, and she moved away. Gram says that she’ll never achieve her dream of being a vet and that she’ll get in with the wrong crowd at Bloom, like with Danielle, or should I say Ms. I-have-a-stick-up-my-butt-sideways who thinks that she’s an authority on the world because she is sixteen and has a baby, or should I say toddler. I think that’s sad, sixteen and has a baby. Can you imagine? That’s only like two years older than I am. Danielle and I never got a long, she swore and was just all around nasty to everyone. She smoked in the bathrooms and was partier. That’s how she ended up with the baby, she was partying. The Dad was at least eighteen, and he didn’t want anything to do with it. I think that he might have even wanted her to have an abortion. Then, a few months after she had the baby, he wanted to be part of his life. Danielle said no. So the father left state, and we have another vicious cycle of the system. Danielle was in foster care, and now she had a child who was taken away from her and is in foster care. Its beyond sad, its tragic. I’m not sure what I think about the whole thing, the last I heard she gotten her baby back and was moving back in with her own family. Even though she was a nasty bugar I hope things work out for her, for her child’s sake. Isn’t that what its all about? One time I commented on how the bathrooms always smell like smoke. “Yeah,” said Leah, “thanks to Danielle.” Whom she nudged jokingly. That was before I knew that Danielle was responsible. I loved to irritate her, so I pressed the issue, she thought that I was a goody-two-shoes, so I thought I’d rub her the wrong way by acting like one. “You really shouldn’t smoke, its bad for you and it damages other people’s health.” To which her response was to get into my face and shout, “Then don’t @#!*ing pee!” So I got stone cold up into her face and replied, “Than don’t’ @!$%ing smoke!” I rarely, if ever, use such coarse language, sadly though sometimes one must use coarse language to reach coarse people. Danielle didn’t know what to say to that, no one ever stood up to her. “I kind of like it when the bathroom smells like smoke, it smells better than when it smells like pee.” That was Liz, good old Liz, which brings us up to the present, so to speak. I’m sitting in the hall looking at a sign advertising for the Mardi Gras Dance on Thursday, March 6th 7-10pm H.S. Gym 2$ w/ costume 3$ w/out. Liz is going to go with me. I love to go to dances, I used to go to every dance in middle school. Liz is our resident goth, a cute nickname tat I gave her. I call Ashley, who’s both parents are Italian and Dad is the manager of the Cracker Barrel, “The Princess of Cracker Barrel who Lives at the Olive Garden.” Yum. Talking about food, I’m hungry. I wonder if Liz is a lesbian. It doesn’t really matter to me what her sexual preferences are, but I have a feeling that she is attracted to me. I left my Spanish binder on the lunch table. I saw her scribble something in it and I thought that she was drawing me a cute picture. When I asked her what she wrote she said, “Nothing.” It wasn’t nothing, when I got the chance to see what she wrote she had inscribed on the one paper in pencil and red pen, “Becky is my hero.” My first thought was, “She spelt my name wrong.” Isn’t that crazy? Someone called me their hero and the first thought I had was that she spelled my name wrong, its kind of amusing actually. (Just for the record its Beckie, not Becky.) Needless to say, once I’d gotten the name thoughts out of the way I was truly flattered. Oh, but it didn’t stop there. Not at all, the next day I found the inscription, “I love you.” It had little hearts drawn around it. She hasn’t written anything since then, but you can see what I think that she might be a lesbian. I asked her if she would come to the Mardi Gras Dance with me, and she said if she didn’t have anything else going on that night. I asked Ashley to come to, the Cracker Barrel Princess, and she said she’d think about it. Liz finally decided that she’d go as long as I’d dance with her. Lesbian? I don’t mind either way, I guess I’d just kind of like to know. She used to date my friend Ryan’s older brother, Corey, so she might be straight… she strikes me as exceedingly straight, too. Opps, my battery is low, Tootles! ~*Beckie*~

4/1/03 Today we had our very last Forensics Tournament, it was the National Qualifier, and I made finals. Can you believe it? The National Qualifiers and I actually made finals! Of course I didn’t make Nationals, I would have to be a complete prodigy to do that. Although I am gifted, I doubt that I could make Nationals as a freshman. I don’t know if I’d want to make Nationals as a Freshman though, then there would be nothing to hope for during my older years, making finals was my first step to Nationals, and might I add that it was a very big step at that. Beckie

3/7/03 I’m feeling very happy and content right now, and I mean very happy. We had a two hour delay today, in truth I’d rather have a two hour delay than a day off, because then we don’t have any time subtracted from vacation, but I get to sleep in. Plus its Friday, who could possibly be sad on a Friday? Another groovy thing that happened this morning was that Mom took me to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. Sometimes, okay, most of the time it’s the littlest thing that make me happy. Its just good to be alive, you know? Each day the day time gets a little longer and the nights get a little colder, even if there is snow the hope of spring is in the air. I love spring, I think that its my favorite season. Its so short, its gone in a blink of an eye, everything stretches and awakes, and then colors burst everywhere and its wonderful. I love Spring, and then Spring gives rise to Easter, and then Summer Vacation. Do you ever notice how all year long my fellow students and I pray for summer break, wish and hope and pray for it, and then when it gets here we have nothing to do? I didn’t have that problem last summer, not in the least. The biggest problem I had last summer was that I was hungry for intellectual stimulation, but I got over that by reading or sketching or shopping. It wasn’t that I had a bad year, but it was socially intolerable and interminable. You see, that year was when I first started using my cane, so I had that problem. That is a white cane, for seeing purposes. My right eye is a lazy eye, I have no peripheral vision, and no depth perception, but that’s another story that I don’t feel like getting into right now. So that was the year that I first started using my cane, I said “I’m tired and sick of running into things!” I never felt more independent in all my life. I could finally look around me even more and not keep my eyes on where I’m stepping, I could enjoy my world to a fuller extent. Oh, but it wasn’t without a price. Everything has its price. The kids were horrible, I’d ben through more than the first twelve years of life without one so why did I need one now? They were mean, they taunted, whispered, and pointed, but I didn’t care. Or rather, I taught myself not to care, so that was part of the reason that the school year was socially interminable. The rest of the reason I think revolves around the fact that I am not like my peers. I’m not saying that I’m better, or smatter, or anything of that nature, I’m just saying that I see things differently than the majority of people my age see it. That was the year that I really started to notice that. I be began to become more comfortable in the presence of teachers than with kids my age, and I still do. Unfortunately a teacher can’t be your friend, or rather not a normal friend. In class they have to treat you just like a student. A student, that’s all. Not like someone that they discuss politics or world economics with during study hall. My History teacher was my best friend that year. I remember boarding the bus, and and as I stepped onto it thinking about how glad that I was it was over, I didn’t think that I could take it anymore. Or was that seventh grade when I thought that I couldn’t take it anymore? Yes, I think that it was seventh grade, my eighth grade year I was ecstatic as I boarded the bus, my English teacher had given me a wonderful present. She had been to the Jamaica multiple times, and toward the end of the year when we had nothing to else to do, which was rare, she showed us pictures or movies of her trips. I asked her if I they had bought any jewelry in Jamaica, and she said yes. Then, on the very last day of school when I saw her to fix my grade, she told me to wait. She went to the back of her room, straight for her filling cabinet. My heart pounded, my pulse quickened. What could she possibly be doing? She turned around and came back with a string of reTThat at d and white beads, and gave them to me. They were beads from Jamaica! I loved them so much, I was so ecstatic and happy. I think it was that day that my older cousin, Barbie, and I went to Pizza hut and I wore them. Beckie

March 14, 2003 Dear Maestro, That, at least, is what I’m caling this computer, my friend, and I guess that it is what I’m calling this digital diary as well. Dang the way the sun is shinning at the moment is really annoying, sometimes I can hardly see the screen. I’m in the car right now, on the way to see my mom’s fiance’s daughter’s baby. I have a few choice words for my mom’s fiance’. How bout we call him Chuck? He looks like a Chuck, the jerk that he is. I don’t care to publish what all that he’s done, but lets just say that although he’s not an escaped convict, he’s not a very nice guy. Mom says that I’m jealous of the little baby, Ashley. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m not jealous. Its not the baby’s fault that her grandfather is a jackass, I just get sick of hearing about it. Baby this and baby that, I just get so sick of it. Children are defensless, and like I said she can’t help that her grandfather is a slime bucket, but I just get sick of hearing about her. In truth, I am indifferent. Trust me, I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I mean , I should at least be able to be truthful with myself. We’re taking that the baby home for the weekend, joy. Yes, that is sarcasm. Babies poop, scream, cry, and puke, none of which I am very fond of. At least I can go to Gram’s to get away from a screaming, crying, and pukey baby ruining my weekend. Maybe it won’t be so bad, I hope. Mom says she doesn’t puke, much, and I like kids. I hope, Oh dear Lord, please let me like kids! I think that I may end up tossing my cookies if I have to change a diaper. At least it’s a girl. We might stop for dinner at the mall, though. That will be nice, and at least I got to bring you with me, Maestro. Although you have been acting a little funny lately, oh please be okay, Maestro! You’re my best computer buddy. Tootles, ~*Beckie*~

April 7, 2003 Life is really sucking right now, I mean really. You know what caused all my problems? Busy bodies. Horrid, thinking that their helping, busy bodies. Everything was going fine, things were going wonderful, things were great. We had out performance with the drama club and I was so proud and happy to be on stage. Things were wonderful, granted that I did have conflicts with the Drama Club. I have problems working in groups, I just can’t help it. I want to draw away, I want to hide. I don’t like being in groups or working with them. I like to be with people and go to parties, but for some reason groups really frighten me. So I go away, talk to myself or sing to myself. Laura, Miss Busy-body, who thinks she’s helping me , sees only this side. This side of me that has problems working in groups, and she combines this side of me with my middle school side that she still thinks is me, and calls and says she’s worried about me! But before that there were parties, all the drama club got together and went out in groups to parties. Some went to Denny’s, some went to Annie’s for a party, some went to the Town Perk. I wasn’t invited to go anywhere. So gram called Laura’s mom, Laura’s mom and the whole family of busy-bodies. Laura’s mom says that I need counseling. All Laura’s mom here’s is the screwed up and only half image that Laura reveals to her. Laura’s mom and Laura are worried about me. All of a sudden things aren’t going so fine anymore. Now my whole family is mad at me! All of them all of them all of them! Mom is angry, mom alway6s gets angry, I get so sick of tiptoeing around her, I get so sick of her saying that I play mind games and that I do this and that. I get so sick of it! I get so sick of everyone comparing me and my actions to my father, I’m NOT MY FATHER! I’m me! When I say that I think that someone looks pretty, I mean it! So now things aren’t going so great anymore, in fact, things are sucking. Things are really, really sucking. So now Gram wants to send me to therapy! Gram wants me to tell all my problems to some quack. Mom is angry because she says I never include her in anything. And they want to send me to some quack. But lets stop and think about it…. When did all my problems start in the first place? When Gram called the family of busy-bodies. I suppose in a way gram was being a busy-body herself. Oh, and guess what else? The grand child of the man who sexually assaulted me is coming over for a visit. Again. The grand child of the man that sexually assaulted me is coming over to visit, and you know what this means? I have to fall all over it. I fall all over it and cuddle it and coo to it. Why? Because if I don’t mom will say that I have a chip on my shoulder. Mom will be angry with me. Mom is always angry with me and everyone gets mad at me for saying this, but its true. So life is really sucking right now. Thanks for the help, Laura. Beckie

5/5/03 Wow, its sure been a while, hasn’t it? Jeez, things seem to be going groovy. Yesterday Barb and I went out for some fun, we caught a flick with Vicki and Chrisie, The Lizzie McGuire Movie, it was actually a lot better than I thought it would be, and much better than I would ever have thought that I would give it credit for. Tonight we might go out and get a Ritas, yummy! Beckie

5/10/03 Dear Diary, Being a teenager can be more depressing than anything that I would I have ever imagined. I wouldn’t trade it for the world, and its all a great adventure, but lots of times a feel like… like I’m trapped in a time, no stage, no, just like my piers, just like, like I don’t know. Like something isn’t quite right. I mean, why don’t I get along with my peers? What’s wrong with me? Or rather, what’s right with me? I would rather hang out with my Spanish teacher than anyone in my Spanish class. I’m going to Greece and Italy this summer and Mrs. Stanton even said that she planned on us being “bossom budies,” which I’m quite happy about. Of course we won’t share a room; I’ll be bunking with some other girls in the condensed tour group. MY bestest buddy (on this plane of existence) Jed is moving away. Or he might be, his mom can’t stand working at Heinz Dog Food anymore, and she thinks that she might be able to find a better job down south. I think that she might change her mind about that, though, considering how little they pay down south. And the poligimists! The south is filled with dudes with multiple wives, I feel so bad for this cicks. No man is worth enough to share, or rather my man is worth too much to share, my Robin. Both my “parents,” would rather have other kids than me. My “father,” is now a foster dad, but not just to one kid, but six! Four of which are siblings who don’t even talk yet because their mother locked them up like animals. Don’t get me wrong, I think its great that he’s a foster dad and all, in fact when I get older I want to adopt, that and join the Peace Corps. But the fact of the matter is he can’t even be my dad, but he wants to be the dad of kids who aren’t even his. I quote, “I wasn’t there to be your dad when you were little, I want to be a dad.” Hello? Am I non-existent? He can be my dad! So I’m not cute and little or anything, but I am pretty dang… uhhh… artistic! Yeah, that’s it! I’m artistic, not to mention his daughter. He could at least make a little more of an effort to be my dad before he runs off with six kids who aren’t even his. Speaking of not being cute or little I think that my Mom is having a slight problem with that. She had baby Ashley Naomi over this weekend. She really is a sweet baby, a little chubby-wubby! Here’s something to ponder, she loves to hug the baby but when I ask her for a hug, she says that I’m trying to make her late. Okay, so there it is, Beckie’s pity party, but tell you what, as long as you don’t tell, I won’t! ;) Tootles, Beckie

5/22/03 Dear Digital Diary/ Maestro, I am suffering through an inferiority complex. I really, truly am. I am a horrible, mean little girl and nobody likes me. Okay, maybe not no one, Robin loves me. I wish that I could give you a big hug right now my wonderful, darling Robin. We have another group project in Honors English. I hate group projects, I always feel like such an intruder in my group. This time Katie and Ramona were nice enough to have me. At first, because everyone already had a group (I wasn’t there yesterday when we started the project, I went home early because I had a “feminie emergency,” followed by an appointment to go to Bloom vision to get my glasses) I walked over to Laura, she was my lab partner in Bio ounce and she is ¼ Filipino, “Do you need a third person in your group?” No they didn’t, nor did they want one. Especially me. What is wrong with me? I have friends but they are so scattered throughout school, but they are never there for group projects. So while I was standing there, looking as pathetic as I felt, Katie and Ramona asked me to work with them. It could be worse, they are both A students and all, I just feel like an intruder. I feel so stupid with them, they are close friends and they practically share each others thoughts. I’m just Beckie. I don’t expect to even have someone to ask me to sign their yearbook. I don’t fit in with kids my age. When the Spanish Club went to Terra Pin Cantine this fact was only reinforced. I sat down at a table, and was later joined by Emilee, Luke, and Maria. They bounced up and down on the seats, chattered happily, Emilee stuck beans to her teeth, and then they all tried to stick beans to Maria’s cup when she went to the bathroom. That’s when I made a big mistake, I forgot who I was. I forgot that I was a klutz, I forgot that I didn’t fit in. I reached out to put more beans on Maria’s cup, spilling mine in the process. My cup was practically full, and I made a huge mess. Leave it up to me. After the mess was mopped up everyone said that it wasn’t a big deal at all, and maybe it wasn’t, but it served as a very strong reminder of where my place is. As they dared Emilee to pour salt and pepper on her tongue for five dollars I was never more acutely aware that I wasn’t one of them. I’m not sure if I’m not one of them because I was born that way or because I make myself not one of them. I think it might be a little bit of both. I’m not afraid to be myself and I act true to my heart. My piers find that strange. I’m in Honors Classes, but I have no better luck in there with those kids. My best friend in my Spanish class is my Spanish teacher. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me at all and most of the time I’m happy and carefree and couldn’t care less. That is, most of the time. The very minute portion of the time when I feel forlorn, I talk to you. Or I draw, or I write, or I talk to Robin, or I read, and then I feel better. I shouldn’t feel the way that I do, even if Laura betrayed me. I was betrayed by who I thought was my best friend in the whole wide world! Betrayed, the blackguard, I’ve went from feeling a bitter sadness to feeling extremely angry. I’d like to smack her, the booger. I’d like to rip out her hair and beat on her, I’d like to break her bones and bruise her face. I’d like to smack her and smack her and smack her some more! The booger! After I trusted her, after I believed in her! She’s not with my electronic ink or even my thought, but that doesn’t mean that I’d like to give her a piece of my mind. You know who I get a call from thanks to her? Ryan, Corey’s little brother. Its very hard for me to hold my tongue when I think of it! I’m just sitting down to do my Algebra when the phone rings, and Ryan tells me that Laura said that I wanted to give Puck a blow job! Such vulgar language, I thought that he was my friend, too. She’s spreading rumors about me, talking about me behind my back, and all under the façade that she cares about me. I’d like to beat on her. I’d love to let all my hurt, anger, and frustration on the one who caused the majority of it. Heck, I wouldn’t even nearly notice as often how alone I feel if she hadn’t been all like, “Beckie, you don’t have any friends!” last paragraph has been censored because of profanity and other things that I am not proud that I wrote but am glad that I let the feelings out in the open Tootles, Beckie NOTE: I no longer feel the urge to smack, and am feeling much better about the whole situation, I amanaged to talk to my guidance counsler and together we deduced that Laura is inflicted with a disease known as Projection. When a person starts to find out what is wrong with themselves, they project their problem on to others.

5/31/03 My feelings now would best be expressed by an e-mail I sent to my Spanish teacher (her name has been changed to protect her privacy) Dear Ms. X, *Note; you may want to print this e-mail for easier reading, its kind of long and extensive but I had to send it to you Hi, I've been meaning to send you this e-mail for quite some time now. I can hardly believe that the year is drawing so close to the end, and that finals are only a heart beat away. This may sound strange, but I think when all is said and done that you were one of the closest and most valuable friends that I made in my freshman year of high school. I don't know what I would have done without you. Thanks so much for everything! I am aware that I may have seemed a bit introspective lately, I'm not sure whether or not you noticed. For the longest time now my "friend"(that could be argued) has wanted to convince me that I am crazy. That is another story completly, and I would hate to burden you with the inpact that it has had on my life, but what it has done is to make me look around and notice things. Strange things, I don't know why, but I have never fit in. Perhaps as a teacher you might be able to give me a different out take from what I see. The majority of my peers and I have never seen eye to eye. I used to care more, and try harder and harder to correct what I feared might have been wrong with me. Now I fear more that I have become cruel and hard hearted, for I have become fed-up with many of those around me. You said that this is the time of year that people are the most irritable, I can believe that. Perhaps I am different because I make myself different, or perhaps it is part of my personaltiy, or perhaps it is a combination of to many things for me to ever fully comprehend. With the spring I have become more introspective, I am looking inside jmyself into all the nooks and cranies, taking skeletons out of the closet and examing them one by one. I blow the dust from their skulls and stare into their empty eye sockets. I am realizing myself more, and with understanding comes even more questions. I guess all of this is just a large and complicated way of introducing the anecdote that I want to share with you. Do you remember back when we went to Terrapin? Thanks again for letting me come with the Spanish club,, by the way. I was ready and prepared to sit by lonesome and meditate on many different things, when Luke, Emilee, and Maria sat down. I was happy to have them, although I found myself slightly uneasy. Again and again I tossed the question over and over in my mind whether my diffentiality is a thing of my imagination, whether or not is external or internal, and other things.. The conversation consisted mainly of bouncing up and down on the seats and seeing who could shove more beans in their mouth. I began to ascend from the darker mood I had been inhabiting and let myself go. Then it happened, I forgot myself, and in that moment disaster struck. Maria got up to go the the lav and for fun Luke stuffed beans all over the side of Maria's cup so that when she picked it up again she would stick her hand in refried beans. They fell off, and something possessed my try and stick more on the cup. I don't know why I did it, but I did. I spilled the cup and created a huge mess all over the place.. It wasn't exactly disaster, but it served as a slap in the face to remind me of things. It reminded me.... The following are to excerpts from internet sites that I found, I find them quite interesting and often time churn certain thoughts from then around in my brain. I thought that perhaps you'd like to see them? THE DREAMING When you realize that you are fae (some of you may still be unaware of it), you will come to understand that fairy tales aren't just for children (not that they ever were) and that they don't always have happy endings. You will discover what it is like to be exiled from your homeland, persecuted for your true nature and unable to express the sublime beauty welling forth from your soul. You will know what it is like to be alone in a crowd, to be aware of the power of dreams and to be able to tap the power of magic. And you will learn what it is like to be helpless in the arms of fate and unable to stop the crushing weight of the Material World from robbing your memory of all that you have discovered. You lead a double life, alternating between reality and fantasy. Caught in the middle ground between dream and wakefulness, you are neither wholly fae nor wholly mortal, but burdened with cares of both. Finding the happy medium between the wild and insane world of the fae and the deadening world of humanity is essential if you are to remain whole. Such a synthesis is by no means easy. Mortal affairs seem so ephemeral and so trivial when you stand amid the ageless magnificence of the Seelie Court. When you don garments spun of pure moonlight and drink the wine distilled from mountain mists, how can you go back to polyester and soda pop? Alas, you have no choice. Although your faerie self is ageless and eternal, your mortal body and mind grow older and less resilient as you move through life. Sooner or later, nearly all fae succumb to one of two terrifying conditions: Banality, the loss of the their fairy magic; or Bedlam, the loss of their mortal reason. But is this fate inevitable? Can you retain your childlike wonder while fighting against the frigid Banality that seeks to numb your mind and steal your past? Can you ride the currents of the Dreaming without being swept away in the maelstrom of Bedlam? Tragically, you are alone in the mundane world. No mortal will ever understand the depth of your alienation, strangeness and uniqueness. Though you may try to communicate your condition through art (and many have tried and failed), only those with faerie blood will see, understand and appreciate what you are. An exile among exiles. Lost among the lost. A stranger in every crowd. Hail, fellow traveler- welcome to the dreaming. I by no means have the presumption to even hope that I might perhaps be fae, That would be to wonderful for anyone to believe. I just found many of those thoughts interesting, for who hasn't felt, if even for a moment, that they are "an exile among exiles." I don't want you to get the wrong impression, though. I am quite happy most of the time, but there are those moments that I start to think... A HISTORY OF FAE . . . A long, long time ago, the Earth belonged to the creatures of the wood. By creatures of the wood I mean gnomes and elves, fauns and faeries, goblins, ogres, trolls and bogies, nymphs, sprites, and dryads. They tended it and took care of it, played, danced and sang in it, cared for wounded animals, sat on mushrooms discussing matters of import and drinking Labrador tea, rode down streams on leaves and bark, and parachuted from trees with dandelion seeds. This was the world into which mankind was born These early days, when man was but a newly arrived dinner guest who hadn't yet taken over the entire house, are fairly well documented in the literature and folklore of the world, so there's no need to go into it here. What I am interested in, and what I am asking you to be interested in, is the question... "Where did all the gnomes and elves, fauns and faeries, goblins, ogres, trolls and bogies, nymphs, sprites and dryads go?" The friction between man and the wood creatures began with the discovery of agriculture. With the discovery of agriculture, civilization arose and spread. The forests were cleared to provide wood for shelter and fields for pasture and crops. Mankind had set up camp. No longer just a visitor in someone else's world, he pushed the wild back from his newly built doorstep. At first this wasn't a problem. There weren't many people and everyone else felt that it was only fair to allot them their own little half acre to do with as they wished. Some of them even decided to help out. Gnomes moved into the barnhouses and helped out with the gardening chores. The devic spirits of the vegetables helped the humans better organize their crops and plan rotation, and taught them the correlation between planetary and lunar cycles and the agricultural year, plant radishes when the moon is in Cancer, harvest when the moon is in Taurus. Many trolls felt that the heaping piles of manure were a change for the better, and decided to stick around too. The rest of the wood creatures just backed off into the wood, playing mischievous tricks on the new settlers, like turning the milk sour, rearranging furniture tipping the cows, tickling people's faces in their sleep, and occasionally stealing babies and leaving bundles of wood in their place. But man's dominion spread (and spread and spread and spread), and the forests got smaller and smaller and smaller. Things got real crowded in the woods, and things were getting worse in civilization. Most farmers weren't listening to the devic spirits anymore. People found that they could increase their output by disregarding the needs of the Earth. They were raising productivity and killing the soil. Petrochemicals were just a step away. Most of the devic spirits and the gnomes fled. The trolls stayed. Today they live mostly under bridges and in the shallow, mucky ditches beneath the metal grating on farm roads that cows are afraid to cross. Be sure to honk your horn before driving over one of these. A troll may be hanging from the grate, swinging over its living room, as they are apt to do after rolling in muck and manure, If you don't give a warning honk, you may run over its fingers, and it's not a great idea to get either your name or your license plate number on a troll's shit list. Now there is little wild land left at all, and even that is shrinking at an unprecedented rate. There is simply not enough space for all the gnomes and elves, fauns and faeries, goblins, ogres, trolls and bogies, nymphs, sprites, and dryads So where are they? Are they dead? No! So where did they go? The answer is a bit surprising They didn't go anywhere! You did. Early humans had an intuitive knowledge of their role in nature, just as bears and raccoons and mice and every other creature does. They understood, from the ways of the wild around them, that nothing ever comes from nowhere and nothing ever just disappears. Things change form. Death is necessary for life to continue. They offered up their kills as sacrifices to the gods of nature. They offered praise, prayer, sacrifice, and song to the spirits of the wild, to brother buffalo, brother deer, brother fish, and brother tree. Taking life to feed life requires a keen understanding of the natural law of give and take. When humanity lost that understanding, gave up the songs, the sacrifice, the prayers, the praise, they lost the connection. Saying grace is not enough. When you lose those connections, everything becomes dead - fish, rivers, frogs, mice, even each other. There is no way they can reach inside you any more. The five senses you are left with are not enough. You have given up those connections in exchange for the freedom to clearcut forests with skidders, turn cows into milk machines and chickens into egg factories. You can experiment on animals, club seals, wear mink coats, exterminate passenger pigeons, dodo birds, whales, bear, dolphin and condor with not a twinge of guilt. The lines have been severed. We are under the impression that it is the forests, the creatures, the spirits, and the wildlands that are disappearing from the universe and not we. Not so. Thinking that is like thinking that if you stand on the end of a limb and saw that limb from the tree, the tree will fall and you will remain standing. Bugs Bunny might be able to get away with that, but we can't. When a marionette cuts its strings, the puppeteer doesn't collapse to the ground. When a spider severs the lines that connect its web to the trees, the forest doesn't fall away. It is we who have fallen away from the real world into a world where we may carry out our twisted sterile dreams without threatening the Earth and its inhabitants. Ever wonder why the trees and stones and rivers and streams, the birds, the snakes, the bears and the frogs no longer talk to us as they did in the early tales of the Native Americans, the Hindus, the Africans, the Bible? It's because we're not around to talk to any more Every clearcut, every vivisection, every mechanized slaughter of cow, pig, or chicken moves our dreamworld farther and farther from the tree, making a reunification, which is still possible, more and more difficult. Somewhere not so far from here, in the real world, the ancient forests are still standing, the buffalo roam the prairies, the sky is full of condors, the deer and the antelope play, and dodo birds wander the sandy beaches, bumping into things. Where there are still wildlands in our dreamworld, strong connections still exist. Bridges, tunnels, and portals. Occasionally a traveler will get lost in the wilderness and find himself in the real world, returning the next day to find that a hundred years have passed, or never returning at all. There are more ephemeral connections as well - brooks and waterfalls where you can still hear voices from the other side, if you listen carefully enough. When they sit by these waters they hear loud clanking and screams. When they eat psilocybin everything stops glowing, and condos rise where forests stand. Our children can see the otherworld in their dreams. The children of the otherworld see this one in their nightmares. And there is another connection. Sometimes agents from the other side infiltrate our world in an attempt to expedite the reunification. Believe it or not, they miss us over there. Sometimes - more often than you might think - they send souls over to our born in this world. Sort of like a socialist, communist, or anarchist entering the American political arena and running for office in an attempt to effect change from the inside. There are quite a lot of them actually - gnomes and elves, fauns and faeries, goblins, ogres, trolls and bogies, nymphs, sprites, and dryads - running around in bodies that look human, doing crazy things like writing on walls, working in co-ops, running inns in the mountains, talking to themselves in the streets, making pottery, illustrating children's books, spiking trees and blowing up tractors. They are planting bio-dynamic gardens, sitting in the back yard naked, arguing with Satan. They are in asylums pumped full of thorazine, in the classroom on Ritalin and lithium. They live with Indians. They run recycling centers. They are starting revolutions, corrupting the young, inventing paranoid conspiracy theories, making up religions. They're directing movies, gobbling acid, drinking heavily and writing poetry. The transition from their world to ours is not an easy one. Intricate rituals and incantations are involved. The transition is not easy on the soul. A great deal is lost. They may have no idea who or what they are at first. They may or may not find out. They will know that they are not like everyone else. They will know that this world is not theirs. They will faintly remember something better, where things made sense and worked like they ought to, where love and magic had the power to heal. They will know that what makes other people happy does not make them happy, and that what makes them happy makes them happier than anyone else alive. They will see things others cannot see, hear things others cannot hear, feel things others cannot feel, and know things others do not know. They will laugh a great deal or cry a great deal or both. They will love humans individually, but have a hard time with humanity as a whole that may occasionally approach loathing. I found that very, very, very, thought provoking. I must mention now, before I close this extensive letter, that I am slightly affeared that you, too, might think that I am crazy or walk away from this letter with the wrong message. I guess all of this has just be a glorified and melodramtic way of me saying that I have been introspective, and while browsing the world's largest database came across some thought provoking ideas that you might find interesting. So, I shall ask you the question that I have been trying to ask throughout this entire letter; Am I different, I mean truly different? And if so, is it something that can be seen, or is it jus something that can be felt? Or perhaps in your professional opinion I am just going through a time of growth in which all teenagers find themselves grasping at straws and asking themselves these questions. I knew that I could ask you, because you are a teacher and mentor who I truly respect and value the opinion of. Thank you, Ms. X. Siempre (Always), Beckie