What I packed for D.C.

This is my favorite picture.

I promise the two of us will do this someday. I promise.

The Perks of Being a Wallflower

     My friend recommended that I read The Perks of Being a Wallflower the other day, and she's been gushing about it so much that I was kinda intrigued. I heard it was good, and short. And I figured I wouldn't have to think too much while I was reading it. I really like books like that. I've come to appreciate them now, now that so many books that I read are "deep" and I have to find meaning and symbolism in every damn sentence.
     So I started it last night. Finished it at about midnight. I was a little underwhelmed by it, but there were so many little beautiful parts that it turned out to be all right. I liked Charlie, a lot. I have this theory that anyone named Charlie is automatically a good person. My brother's name is Charlie, and he's the sweetest kid. I know two Charlies at school and they're both really nice. Charlie's just an agreeable name.
     Anyway, I didn't like how he was always smoking and tripping unnecessarily. I felt like that was out of character. But he was all right. I did not like Sam; I thought she evidently hadn't escaped her past (meaning her reputation as a sophomore). I liked the gifts Charlie got everyone, even when no one gave him anything in return, and his sweet little mixtapes, and the suicide note-turned-poem that Charlie read aloud. I really liked Charlie's teacher Bill, and I'm making a list of all the books he told Charlie to read for my own devices. Here it is.

To Kill a Mockingbird
Peter Pan
The Great Gatsby
The Catcher in the Rye
The Fountainhead
This Side of Paradise
On the Road
Naked Lunch
The Stranger

     Incidentally, I'm reading On the Road right now. It's a little slow to start, but I'm definitely going to give it some time because I loved The Dharma Bums, and I've heard On the Road was the original Beat book and all. But the thing is, I loved Dharma Bums more or less only because of the places Ray went, and how he lived, and what he ate, and how he dressed and all. He was just so thoughtful about all that stuff. I really appreciated it. But I found Kerouac's wording to be a little pretentious. I find that with a lot of writers, which is sad. But I can't help it. So many people are projectors. Even me, I guess.
     You know, that really is sad.

People on trains.

Ever since I watched Gandhi I've been interested in trains. I'll see if I can get some nice pictures of people riding in trains in cool places. Not just India.

Champaran to Manhattan

Last post today. I've been reading a lot of Rookie articles about people who live in the city, as well as planning the apartment with K., so I'm in the spirit of the city. Location change: Champaran to Manhattan.

Dreams.

     Also I had this really alarming dream last night in which someone very dear to me told me they lied to me about something very important. Then I woke up and dreaded coming to school, but it was 3.19 in the morning and I didn't realize it was just a dream until about 7.15 when I got up for real.
     But it was one of those dreams that told me something about myself, and that was the interesting part, because it expressly told me through a person that I was "unnatural about love," something like that, and that's why I don't like doing some things that are supposed to be nice in a relationship. I don't know what my audience is like, so I won't go into detail. But it was interesting. Especially when I realized it was true. And also why I don't make eye contact a lot with him. I don't know why, it's just that I don't want to. It's uncomfortable. Same with kissing. It's just something to get done. I don't like doing it. Honestly, it's a little gross. I wish I felt the same way he did. Why does everything like it? What do they feel? I feel nothing.
     Either way, I've come to respect my dreams one way or another. I do think they're pretty reflective of what's going on in life, so I'm going to pay more attention to them and analyze the more realistic ones. Just another interesting thing to do. I might even keep a dream journal...? I tried to do that when I was younger, but I can't write when I'm half-asleep and I don't want to lose any sleep if it's a school morning/night.
     Also, Dreams is a good song.

In defense of unwinding.

     I feel a little sad because this past Saturday and Sunday, I learned how to master a weekend. I honestly think I was happy the entire time. No boredom. Hardly any 2048. No sadness. No FOMO even. Yeah, that's come back.
     I digress. I can't relax. Too many group projects and I can't relax. All I want to do is read and run and talk to K and listen to music. I have so many things I can do. I want to take a long shower. I want to do planks on the floor. I want to type lists of food I'll have in the apartment. I want to start playing tennis again this season. I want to get the same feeling of my 800m last track meet. I want to style my books. I want to read Rookie articles. I want to blog the whole damn day. I want to write to Mia and Tess and Siena. I want my allergies to be bad on a hot late afternoon just so I have an excuse to turn all my lights off in my room and lie in my chair with a cold washcloth over my inflamed eyes and listen to my 80s Pop and Smashing Pumpkins radios on Pandora. I've gotten very attached to Sugar Ray and Simple Minds.
     Is it so hard? As we get older, we get bored. Why did we have nap time in kindergarten? No one ever napped; I remember spending that time lying on my towel and learning how to make animal noises from Brett. My brother actually gets in trouble for not wanting to lie down and close his eyes. But as 5- and 6-year-olds, our minds are too active. We're sort of ADD. We can't just stop everything. Everything's too exciting. But now! Now if we had nap time, everyone would love it to death. It'd be the best if we had nap time. Or if we could have less work. Or just start school later. My point is that we need more time to recharge. We're swamped with work, and we come home to homework, and we don't have any constructive free time. And school's too structured. I read an article on Rookie when I was supposed to be working on my Iwo Jima works cited—WHICH I COULD DO IN FIVE MINUTES ANYWAY—about this guy who went to this high school that gave credits for going to museums. Museums, dammit. I'd go to a museum. I'd love the hell out of a museum if I had one around. I guess I just wish I could drive. I'll never get bored then.
     Above all, I realized I hate working in groups. I'm a procrastinator, but it honestly works in my favor. I go at my own speed and produce my best work the few days before something's due. I can't stand people pressuring me to do this and that. I don't know why; I just can't. And I hate presenting with other people. I wish we could have relax days. I wish I didn't stay home the other day from allergies; now I'm all enticed by the idea of keeping my brain home from school. I wish I lived in a city; I'd have so much fun stuff to do. I don't need friends. I'm not sure I have too many anymore. But I guess I'm more of a lone wolf for now anyway.

Ragusa

I'm sitting on the front steps reading The dharma bums. My hair is curly. I ran a few miles at track. I can hold the lotus position for a few seconds and balance only on my arms. I can do side planks, left and right. For lunch I had avocado and lemon juice on toast. Great stretch on Boston Radio on pandora. Now I'm listening to 80s Pop Radio. Hall and Oates, and I Ran So Far Away. Later Papi and I are planting herbs in the cutting garden. Even later Maman is taking me to see an Indian film called The Lunchbox.

Last night I sat on the steps of some park in Ridgewood, in the lotus position, by myself, distractedly texting but enjoying being on a corner. I felt like everything was a triangle and I was the pinnacle and everything was pointing to me. Then I had to go and I watched Wadjda at home and didn't eat dessert.