Get Organized: How Wonderful Summer Is

I don't clean.

Let me repeat myself. I do not clean. Ever. But, for you Mr. Allen, I will reluctantly clean out my Camelbak from the summer.

Oh, the Camelbak. This turquoise backpack carried my life, and 2 liters of water at all times this past summer. It was small, but suited my needs. Many an item made its way in and out of it throughout June, July and August, but only a select few items nestled themselves into the bottom and still remain. And because I NEVER clean, it has been sitting in the corner of my bedroom ever since school started.

Little did I know when I started this project that it would bring back a plethora of memories that made my heart ache horribly.

I started at the side pockets, otherwise known as the cup holders that no one ever uses to hold cups. I found two pairs of sunglasses, both broken. Somehow I managed to break these even when I had them hanging around my neck all summer; it's a special skill. That was a frustrating find. Along with those, I found 90% deet bug spray, band aid wrappers, red, white and blue beaded necklaces, a Twix wrapper labeled in all French, and a list of songs we repeatedly listened to on our way to Canada. I laughed as I encountered each of these items. I didn't use one drop of the bug spray all summer because I love getting bitten by mosquitos, which resulted in the use of multiple band aids because of how much scratching I was doing. The red, white and blue beaded necklaces were from the 4th of July, and I had to take them off to jump in the lake. I was hungry when I bought the Twix, and as for the list of songs, each of them are constantly on repeat on my iTunes. It's funny how these memories lingered.

I moved onto the small front pocket where I found way to many hairbands, tons of Canadian coins and about ten packs of saltine crackers, crunched and crinkled. The crackers made me giggle. Camp served crackers along with chili one day at lunch, and my friend and I hoarded them because we wanted to go back to the cabin and see who could eat them in under two minutes. It was always a funny way to distract ourselves from the heat.

Finally, I tackled the main pocket. I found two journals, one was labeled "Summer 2011," and the other "Summer 2012." I set them down on the ground. I reached my hand back in and dug up more saltine crackers, a picture one of my campers had drawn for me, an earring, a Walmart receipt, starburst wrappers, and something sticky. The receipt said I had bought an AW Trunk and a 2 pack of boxers. I don't know what the AW Trunk is but I definitely bought the boxers. How could I not? They were so comfortable, and cute. The picture my camper drew was sweet, but horribly out of proportion and the starburst wrappers were from the candy we snuck into our cabin.

I moved on to the best part of this little adventure: the journals. I remembered writing in the Summer 2011 journal like it was yesterday, but the Summer 2012 journal slipped my mind. It could've been empty for all I had known. I opened it, expecting a blank page, but instead I came across this passage, probably from the last night on our trip to the Georgian Bay.

I itch. I itch all over and I can't lay still. It's not only my mind that is fleeting, it's my soul. The stars were mocking all of us tonight. We laid out just to look at them but we couldn't help but feel them too; we tried to reach for them. We laughed, sang, talked, realized we smelled like shit, and then slowly retreated back to our tents. We all thought the same thing. If only this could last forever. But just like the stars only seem bright because they lay on a backdrop of a dark night, so do days like these. We must experience those days full of tears and pain before ones like these come along. Then we appreciate them. I hurt with happiness. I won't sleep tonight, or the one after that. I can only smile. How wonderful life is.  

I sighed and shut the journal.

So, now as I type this, the floor of my bedroom is cover in wrappers and crackers, sunglasses and pictures and journals and hairbands; my bedroom floor is covered with my summer. And what am I going to do with it? I think I'll return it all where it belongs. It was a pleasant surprise finding these things, and I'd like for it to happen again in the future. The sunglasses should go back in the side pocket, and the journals should slip back to where they were before. And I'll put my Camelbak back in  the corner of the room to collect dust once again. It is autumn and unfortunately, summer is months away. This stuff is the gold of my summer. Every once and awhile I discover it and feel rich with memories. And every time I find it, it reminds me that I don't have to wait until June to relive my summer again. But oh, how wonderful summer is.

Metacognition: Poetry

Cup of tea to my right. Record player to my left. Cell phone off, and incense on. The same journal I've used since 6th grade, and a pen, front and center. Welcome to the battleground of my next masterpiece. The constant fight between my judgmental mind and my fleeting heart occur here, on the floor of my dimly lit bedroom. Usually, a guitar is laying around somewhere too but not today. This time, I'll have to create my piece of art without it. I truly try to wrap my entire mind around this poem, but seriously, how long will that last? The events unfolded as follows.

I roll side to side trying to think of what to write about. Clearly, the judgmental side of me is taking control, because it seems I usually have a plethora of ideas, but not this time; none of them are good enough. My mind begins to wander. My bedroom is so boring, I think. Why are my walls grey? Elephants are grey, but they aren't boring. Elephants can be cool though, like the Buddhist ones or whatever. I run to the computer to search "cool symbolic elephant" on Google. I find one. Wow, that would look really good as a tattoo, I think. Tattoos hurt. But it is totally worth it cause they're awesome, but they still hurt. Pain. What is true pain? I ponder this thought. Wait, stop. I have to write a poem. Mondays mornings are true pain. Losing that lacrosse game to Hinsdale was pretty painful too. Woah. Epiphany. I'm amazing. I print out the picture of the elephant, run back to my room and tape it on the wall. I return to the floor and keep rolling. But these poem ideas are just not good enough, I think to myself. Yea, but this is English class I'm not trying to write an Emmy award winning song and I can hear that Chemistry homework calling for me. I make the decision that I'll try to make these far from perfect poem ideas as flawless as possible. I turn on some Brother Ali and Kanye to help me out. They are, of course, true poets.

The hard part is over. Once I get my pen moving, it doesn't usually stop.

Ten minutes later and I've struggled through the entire first draft of both poems and I've read them over to myself multiple times, putting stress on different words as I try to pull the most meaning out of them as possible.

Not going to lie though, these poems were harder to write than others. This time, I had one audience member in mind, Mr. Allen, a expert critic, and I've never been comfortable in front of small crowds. So I also made the decision that less is more. In later drafts, I would let the language speak, and allow the reader take what they want from it.

What surprises me about my thinking? Nothing really, except that I am way more distracted than I should be, but it's the distraction that leads me to the gold. What do I like about my thinking? Oh gawd, that is a horrible question. Nothing and everything. My brain is completely scattered, but I love getting lost in it. That's where my music/poetry comes from. It's also kind of an entertaining thought process. My mind must be doing something right because I always finish with a halfway decent product. What would I like to work better? Nothing, nothing at all. If my brain worked any better I would probably go crazy.

Writing these poems, affected more than my English grade. I am now seriously considering getting a symbolic elephant tattoo on the side of my ribs, I hate Monday mornings even more, and there is now a page in my journal, with two modest poems, that I have to look back on one day. The dynamic of my thinking is all over the place, but look what I got out of it.

What does Metacognition even mean anyway? Sorry, that was brain speaking.

Blogging Around

The first blog I commented on way the wonderful Kali Croke's, who never ceases to amaze me. Her entry was titled iMedia: "Society" by Eddie Vedder. Kali spoke of the movie Into the Wild and one of the songs written by Eddie Vedder, in its soundtrack. The song, Society, comments on how our current world measures peoples worth on their material goods. Croke, voiced her opinion on how society should really be and my comment was as follows:

KALERS!

How are we so alike? I love this blog post because I agree completely with it! You put my thoughts into words! Not only is "Into the Wild" one of the best movies ever made, because it portrays such a powerful story, but Eddie Vedder's moving music fits it perfectly as well. I think part of the reason I love this song in particular so much is because I connect it with the movie, and everything it stands for.

This blog post really got me thinking, because what you are asking is simply, How do we escape something that is all we've ever known? Society is life (duh). It is hard to wrap your head around the idea of living in a way that really no one has ever lived before. We just don't know what that way is. I love that you suggest that we start "keeping score" in terms of mental, intellectual, emotional, spiritual, and philosophical worth. I love that you're optimistic enough to even suggest that.
Call me a party pooper, but I just can't see a world like that.

People are naive. People are so naive that they can't fathom a society where material goods aren't important. For as long as we can tell, people have always measured, paid, and traded based on a good's worth. Personally, I'm like you Croke, I don't like it, but these days people really don't seem to care about people's intellectual worth. It's ridiculous to think a little piece of paper can be worth 20 or 100 dollars. Christopher McCandless probably thought just that; he felt it so strongly that he ran away. However, you can't pay for something by giving the cashier a few fun facts or proving that you're smart. 

These days life has got a price on it, and you're right Kalers, we have to stop measuring, because the true value of life is priceless.

The second blog I commented on was the sassy yet kind Nikki Grundy's post named 360 Degrees: Moral Questions. In this entry, Nikki battled with the question of whether it was right to steal an ear of corn from a farmer if her family is starving. 

Nikki,

This reminds me of some questions my math substitute asked my class in eighth grade. They were all on the topic of lying, and she asked us, "Is it wrong to lie about..." questions, progressing from horrible lies, to not as bad lies. The last question was, "Is it wrong to lie about taking a cookie from the cookie jar when you weren't supposed to?" You can imagine that a group of eighth graders of course answered with a resounding "no". It's only a cookie, there are a million more cookies in the world, and it's not like anyone is getting hurt.
Isn't that the same idea you had with the corn? Nobody is getting hurt, in fact, you are helping your family, and the farmer would probably never notice. But is it RIGHT?
Seriously, that question kills me. Right against wrong. We commit some wrongs, we're humans, we can't help it, but isn't the point to try to live a good life and do as little wrong as possible. But that cookie just looks so dang good, and you need the corn to live.
Sometimes, I think it's just a judgement call. Will my mom be disappointed when she finds out I lied to her? Yes. And is it worth that cookie? Probably not. But your situation, is more extreme and desperate. And in your case, I agree with you one hundred percent, life is worth much much more than trying not to hurt someones feelings because you took and ear of their corn.