tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70793408619572652322024-03-14T09:04:18.798-04:00write it on the skylineSometimes I ramble with reckless abandon.leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-60290547697037590792013-11-09T10:14:00.000-05:002013-11-09T10:14:11.896-05:00Words.<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I hate writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Interesting," you're probably saying. "What exactly are you doing this for then?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Excellent question. Why am I still writing after making that statement? I guess it's because I'm starting to get the itch again--I finished my final writing class six months ago, avoided putting my thoughts to paper this whole time, and then, as always happens when summer turns to fall and the air becomes crisp with a sense of clarity, began to feel like I could write again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I say "could," because recently I've been feeling like I can't. I used to write all the time. I have a stack of old notebooks filled from cover to cover and stuffed with scrap paper, spilling over with writing I did in high school, and my freshman year of college, before I declared creative writing as my minor. Maybe that, my short spiral into an unpleasant area of my mind, and feeling like I was being stifled by school, is how I lost my taste for writing. Or maybe, as I thought for a while, I was just not meant to be a writer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Writing classes solidified that train of thought. I know that you never get better at anything if you don't work with people who are better than you, but next to my classmates, I felt this crushing sense of inferiority. I couldn't shake it. All I felt was they were getting better, motivated by some source drive and passion that I couldn't seem to find, and I was sitting in the corner of the room, wondering what I was doing there and hating every word, sentence, and paragraph that passed through my brain.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So I stopped writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I mentioned this to someone the other day and they asked if the classes had at least made me better. If they had asked me six months ago I would have spat out a quick and bitter no, but looking back from where I am now, I think I can say yes. Or at least a solid maybe. I learned new things about perfecting the craft I want to call mine, but what I've been lacking is the practice. I've spent the entire summer dodging questions from people about what I'm going to do when I graduate, avoiding the lurking shameful feeling when someone says, "So you still want to be a writer? How's that going?" and just questioning everything I've done for the past three years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"You should start writing again," I was told. And I've been thinking--why shouldn't I? I could start writing again. I should start writing again. I will start writing again.</span>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-22475480086721312782013-04-16T19:16:00.001-04:002013-04-16T19:16:20.134-04:00Self-discovery.
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I like making plans for my
future because it makes me feel like I have some measure of control over it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The first plan I ever made for my life was when I was a
senior in high school. This was around the time when I was starting to apply to
colleges, and getting ready to finish one phase of my life and move onto
another, bigger, scarier one. I only applied to three schools: NYU (my reach),
Northeastern (my sort-of-reach-but-fairly-certain-I-would-get-in first choice),
and William Paterson (my safety). When I got into Northeastern, I checked that
off my to do list, and crafted this elaborate plan for my college career.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Since it was a five-year plan that I was on that was going
to involve two internships/co-ops, I had to decide on a major/career choice
fairly quickly. I picked journalism. In my head, everything happened like this:
I would have a wonderful, easy transition into college life, living in Boston
on my own, oh how exciting, and then my three co-ops would be as follows: some
small newspaper/magazine, then the Boston Globe or the New York Times, and then
Rolling Stone. Yeah. I know. I dream big.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Before my freshman year was even up, I had applied to
another school, and in the fall of 2010, I was a student at Montclair State
University, home of the Red Hawks. I went in as an English major, and expected
my love of reading to come to my assistance as I read book after book for my
classes. And yet, somehow, after three years of English classes and analyzing
all these great works of literature, I feel nothing but contempt and hatred for
every new reading assignment. I had gone from being an excellent student who
was on top of all her work, ahead in all her readings, and excited to learn new
things to being that person who shows up to class because they have to, skipped
more often than not, and found myself skimming Sparknotes in the hallway
because I hadn’t even cracked the novel open yet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Somewhere in those first two years of college, I lost
myself, and for a while I was simply floundering. Nothing seemed to be going
right, and the worst part was that I couldn’t even bring myself to care about
what happened next. It was a very low point in my life and for a while, I
thought I wouldn’t know what it was like to feel happy and fulfilled again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But the one thing about being closer to home and commuting
to school was that I had two fantastic opportunities right in the palm of my
hand: I could play competitive hockey again, and I could study abroad. So I did
both of those things.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Somehow, hockey became my life. It gave me something to be
passionate about. I loved it. Hockey was, and still is, <span style="font-size: small;">a huge thing with me</span>. A lot of people, I think, dream about doing things like
traveling the world, going to foreign, exotic lands, becoming rich and
successful, or famous, but for me, if I could just play hockey for the rest of
my life, I would be happy with that.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Which brings me to the next part of my story.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In the beginning of 2012, my parents and family started to
pressure me about life after college. And even though I knew that there was, in
fact, life after college, it came as a bit of a shock that I had to think about
the “real world” so soon. I didn’t want to jump right into a career immediately
after graduation, so instead I started talking to my friends about going on
some sort of trip, like to Europe or something fairly stereotypical like that.
Plans were being made, once again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In the fall of 2012, I went to England. If I had to choose a
few defining moments of my life, those almost four months in Europe would be on
the list. The places that I went to, the things I did, and the friends I made
were all incredible. And yes, when I came home, I became that person that
brings up their travels whenever possible. I try to do it in moderation.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In September, I logged onto WESS and went to check my
Analysis of Academic Progress (basically, that thing that tracks all the
classes I take and the number of credits I have). After a lot of calculating, I
realized that I was 12 credits shy of graduating. Considering I had been making
plans for post-graduation, banking on the fact that I would be done with school
in May, I sat in stunned silence and then began stress-crying, thinking that
this was it, my life was over, nothing was ever going to go right, and how was
I going to tell my parents and family about this—because in my head, having to
do an extra semester was a sign of failure, that I did something wrong, and I
should be ashamed of it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But there was a silver lining.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My good friend, Lauren, who I played hockey with for the Quarry
Cats, had been hard at work at good ol’ Montclair State, trying to bring a
women’s ice hockey team into existence. All of a sudden, this whole “graduating
a semester late” thing didn’t seem so bad because I could <i>play college hockey</i>. Almost anyone and everyone who knows me today
knows that I will drop plans, reschedule events, and give up almost anything to
play hockey. <i>This was a big deal</i>.
Yeah, sure, it was only going to be a club team, but it was <i>still college hockey</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And my plans changed again. There w<span style="font-size: small;">ould be no traipsing around Europe with my friends, <span style="font-size: small;">no grand storie<span style="font-size: small;">s to tell before I jumped into <span style="font-size: small;">whatever job was offered to me. </span></span></span></span>This time, I would be graduating
in January, but I would spend that last semester mostly playing hockey, and
taking those last twelve credits I needed to finish school, and then here comes
the part not everyone knew about: I was going to fly to Georgia in March and
hike the Appalachian Trail all the way to Maine. That was my plan. I was
determined to see it through (kind of like how I was determined about all my
other plans, so I bet you can guess what’s going to happen next).</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Just recently, at the beginning of March, I found out I was
going to be able to graduate in May. As in May of 2013. This May. This should
be a cause for celebration, yes? I should be jumping around and cheering and
happy to be done with school (possibly forever). I should have been overjoyed.
I hate school. I despise college. I hate people who love college because it
makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong, because everyone says that
college is supposed to be the best four years of your life. If that’s the case,
then the rest of my life is going to be miserable and I should probably just
give up now, because college was not the best four years of my life. If I didn’t
have hockey, and England, I would probably put it down as being the worst four
years of my life. Whenever people tell me about their great college
experiences, and all the great friends they have and the awesome parties they
go to, I want to tell them to shut up and see how miserable college really is,
because I don’t want to be the only person who feels that way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My parents told me to just graduate. Graduate in May and get
a job and be done! I feel like that’s what I should want too. All my friends are
graduating. They’re all moving on with their lives. Some are going to graduate
school, some are getting jobs, some are making plans for moving out and living
on their own or with a significant other—all their lives are getting started.
They’re all looking at the big picture, and starting to step towards it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then there’s me. There is no bigger picture for me because</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">don’t</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">know</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">what</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">want.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I chose instead to delay my graduation because I wanted to
play hockey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Two weeks ago I found out that one extra semester wasn’t
going to be enough for me to play on the team—I needed to do a whole extra
year. Right then and there, I almost gave it up. My two extremes were at battle
with one another: my hatred for school and my love for hockey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Somehow, my mom gave me the push that I needed to make my
most recent decision: go to grad school. If you actually read this whole post
and didn’t skip the last few paragraphs, then you know how I feel for hockey.
I’m applying to grad school at Montclair State so I can stay and play hockey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I feel like I have missed out on a lot during my college
career. In four years, I have been to three universities. I live at home. I
drive to school every day. I don’t go to parties. I don’t have friends that
have been made at school—I have friends from high school, or friends from
hockey that happen to go to the same school as me. I don’t have a job with a
steady paycheck. I have a major that everyone likes to remind me is useless. I
have a passion for something that isn’t going to give me a career. I feel
listless about all my classes, about my work, about trying to figure out where
my life is going. I haven’t applied to grad school yet, but I assure you that
if I don’t get accepted, I will be devastated once more.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I wish I had some sort of moral lesson at the end of all
this. Like if you just keep persevering, everything will eventually fall into
place and you’ll figure it all out. But right now, even after getting
everything out there and talking it through with multiple people, and thinking
over and over and wondering if this is the right choice: I still don’t know.
When people ask me what I want to do with my life, I say I don’t know. Because
I don’t. For some reason, those people asking think that if they keep pushing
it, I’ll magically figure out the answer. I won’t. I’m 22 years old, and I
should probably be moving on and letting go of all my hockey dreams. But I
can’t. Without it, I feel purposeless. I feel like I have nothing if I don’t have
hockey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am lost and confused and sad a lot of the time, about
everything. I feel like all my friends are moving forward and I'm getting left behind. Playing hockey is what keeps me going, and even if
my family, or other inquiring people, don’t agree with my motives for staying
in school longer just to play, I have to do it. I’m trying to find my way in
this world like everyone else, and I have to believe that somehow, this is all
part of my bigger picture, and everything will work out in the end.</span></span></div>
leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-62648121929456187192012-11-19T10:33:00.000-05:002012-11-19T10:33:23.979-05:00Thoughts from Places.<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Being in Europe is sometimes very surreal, like I can hardly believe that I am here, in England, and spend my weekends in different countries. I had the most incredible, sudden realization in Rome, standing on the top of the dome of St. Peter's Basilica with nothing but the wind, the stone beneath my feet, a metal fence for my hands to grip, and all of Rome and its thousands of years of history below me. I was there. I was seeing that view with my own two eyes. I was feeling the wind lift my hair off my neck and I was drinking it all in, trying to swallow great big gulps of that moment, trying to preserve how I felt just then, when I fell in love with Rome. And the realization that hit me so suddenly was simply that I was here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Rome. Paris. London. Edinburgh. Belfast. Newcastle. Still to come: Amsterdam and Vienna. I don't want to say that I am just lucky to be here and to be seeing all these new places and learning new things, because I worked hard to get here. I was determined to be in England and to be able to travel. So I worked hard, but at the same time, I can't help but think that I <i>am</i> lucky.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm lucky to have the parents that I have. They are nothing but supportive and encouraging and the more I travel and the older I get, the more appreciative I am to have them. They support me in all ways, financially, emotionally, and the more I think about it, the more I see that I would not be who I am, doing the things that I do, without them. My dad encourages my weekend ventures, my mom cautions me to be safe and have fun; they are a home I can always return to, a place I can always feel welcome. They are safety, security, a springboard for me to leap into the world from. They are always there for me, supporting me wholeheartedly even if my dreams and plans are wacky and sometimes wishy-washy, loving me unconditionally. And I've never been more thankful for that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm lucky to have the best family I could hope to have. People always say that you can't choose your family, but even if I could, I wouldn't choose anyone else. They have given me so much, from money to adapters to advice to love and support for me on this journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm lucky to have the friends that I do at home, because they're not so much friends as they are my second family. I'm able to tell them anything and everything and I'm lucky that this physical distance between us hasn't changed anything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm lucky to have met the people here that I have, because they're the most incredible friends that really make Newcastle feel like home to me. I feel accepted and comfortable and like I really belong here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm lucky to be alive, to be walking the streets of Newcastle, to be taking in the magic of Paris, to be getting lost in the winding streets and alleys of Rome, to be hiking up to glorious views in Edinburgh, to be enjoying the fast-paced city life in London, to be drinking Guinness in a pub in Belfast, to be anticipating adventures in Amsterdam and Vienna, to be able to simply, well, you know, <i>be</i>.</span>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-56563026277643650982012-10-23T18:35:00.001-04:002012-10-23T18:36:24.539-04:00This Moment<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So over the weekend I flew home to attend my uncle's wedding. When I first heard they were getting married in October, I was quite upset at the thought of missing out on it, as there aren't likely to be many more weddings in my family, at least not for a while. But I managed to make it back, thank goodness.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">During the few hours of downtime on Friday morning, before the wedding in the afternoon, I was skimming over the poem my mom (being his sister) was going to read during the ceremony. I decided to take it upon myself to write something a little more engaging, and with a little more feeling. After a few drafts and a few crumpled pieces of paper thrown across the room, I produced a speech for my mother to read.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Not to build it up too much, but it was kind of a big hit. Ya know. ;D</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But in all seriousness, I feel really honored that everyone liked it so much, and that I kind of surprised everyone there. My uncle wanted me to write something, but didn't want to put too much pressure on me to do so; when I did write this, he told me it made his day (besides the whole thing where he got married, ya know), and I'm really glad it did. The priest asked for a copy and when my uncle's friends and my family actually realized I had written it, they were stunned and impressed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So now you may all enjoy it. I hope I didn't build it up so much that it doesn't live up to expectations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>This Moment</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i>By Rachael Bahr</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Marriage is easily turned into metaphors.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Marriage is like buying a puppy--when choosing, you want someone lively, happy, fun, loving; but not so much that you banish them to the backyard when they get annoying. You could say marriage is like a car; you want it to run smoothly and with very few bumps in the road. Or it could be like a rollercoaster, full of ups and downs and sudden turns.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And of course, marriage is a promise--one of companionship, one of having someone to share in all of life's experiences. It's a promise of the good, the bad, and the assurance that even if things get worse, they will always get better.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">These metaphors, however, all look at the long run. But in this moment, here and now, marriage isn't any of those things.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Marriage is a joyful moment. Marriage is everyone here coming together to celebrate the unity of Jeanette and Alex. Marriage is the look in his eyes when she came down the aisle. It's the sunshine on this rainy day. It is, simply, love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's this moment that can't <i>really </i>be put into words. It's this feeling. It's warm. It's the smiles exchanged between the bride and the groom. It's new. It can be scary. It's the start of an adventure. It's a leap of faith.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It can lift your heart, it can make you fly; it might make you cry. It's a time to celebrate and to let all the joy you're feeling fill all the corners of the room. It's a time to capture, to save, to share with the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Marriage is a long journey on a twisting, uncertain path, and it's this moment, here and now, wrapped in the warmth and happiness and metaphorical sunshine, surrounded by love, that you are taking your first steps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Author's note:</b> </i>It was raining that day, to put that metaphorical sunshine into context.</span></span></div>
leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-76432615251119134612012-10-16T07:24:00.000-04:002012-10-16T07:24:05.717-04:00On studying abroad.<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The very first day I arrived in England, after I had gotten all my things up to what was to be my room for the next three months, I stood staring out the window, unable to process everything that was flying around in my head. So I did what any normal 21-year-old girl who was abroad on her own would do. I cried.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I spent about an hour crying in my room that first day, extremely, terribly thankful that I was the only one on my floor. What would my floormates think if, the first time I met them, my eyes were red and puffy and I was sniffling all over the place? So I got it out that first day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">After that I was surprised at how easily and quickly I settled in. Newcastle no longer seems like a strange foreign place that I'm scared to walk around by myself. It's not quite home but it feels more like it every day, especially after a weekend away, when I'm just getting back and my feet are aching and my bag is weighing my shoulders down and the only thing that's going to be better than a hot shower is falling into my bed, in my room, on my floor. Because it's slowly turning into a place that I can call mine.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then there's that nagging voice at the back of my head, prodding and poking and telling me I'm not making the most of being abroad. Have I done enough yet? I've been here for over a month and I haven't even left the UK yet. I spent a weekend in Ireland and a weekend in London but what I expected to feel when I went away isn't there. Aren't I supposed to feel amazed and fulfilled, like pieces are just clicking into place with ease? Here I am in a foreign country, seeing and experiencing new things, and yet I still feel like I need to do more. What more can I do?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Don't get me wrong, I love being here. I love all the people I've met (especially my friends of 10A) and everything has been great but sometimes I feel like I spend too much time either sitting in my room or sitting in my friend's room. Shouldn't I be out exploring? Drinking with the natives? Pushing my boundaries? Getting to know all that England has to offer? Maybe I built it up too much and now actually being here just isn't living up to my expectations.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But I'm here, aren't I? I made it here, I got myself here (with, of course, much help from my parents; let's be real). Shouldn't that be enough? Theoretically, everything should just fall into place and I shouldn't have to move too many pieces around. Or maybe that's the point--the pieces aren't all there and I have to seek them out. The picture isn't complete yet, but I don't quite know what I'm looking for so I'm just going around and looking, touching, feeling, learning--and maybe that's the whole point after all.</span>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-15644780933289199922012-08-13T23:21:00.000-04:002012-08-13T23:21:41.398-04:00Hey.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
Oh hey.</div>
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Hey.</div>
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HEY!</div>
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Stop ignoring this. I promise it's real. I promise I am actually updating with the intent of updating again before the summer is over.</div>
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As the summer has progressed--</div>
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<i>Pssst.</i></div>
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What.<i> </i></div>
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<i>Hey.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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--I have taken note of a few things.<i> </i></div>
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<i>Stop it.</i> </div>
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Stop what??<i> </i></div>
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<i>I am your writer's block. YOU WILL NEVER WRITE ANOTHER WORD. NEVER.</i></div>
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Well guess what I'm doing right now, I'm writing, so go away and never come ba--<i> </i></div>
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<i>You're pulling words out of your ass, that's what you're doing. Just stop now. This will never be a quality post.</i></div>
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Yeah, not with you being such a downer. Get out of here, Gollum, I'm trying to organize my thoughts.<i> </i></div>
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<i>No.</i></div>
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Quit it.<i> </i></div>
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<i>You can't make me.</i></div>
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Yes, yes I can. This is my head and I control what goes on in it. Now go away.<i> </i></div>
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<i>I will never leave you. I will constantly plague your mind with fear and doubt. May all your words be forced and all your writing never be good enough.</i></div>
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You're so mean.<i> </i></div>
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<i>Well, boo-frickin-hoo. Get used to it.</i></div>
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I'm walking away now. I'm done.<i> </i></div>
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<i>SO I WIN AGAIN!</i></div>
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<i></i></div>
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I don't really know what that was. An attempt at humor, I guess. Anyway, I've been struggling with writing and getting my ideas flowing, as I have, like many times before, hit a wall. I've just had a stressful time thinking about whether writing is really for me and whether it's really something I want to do.</div>
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But then again, there's really nothing else I'm even halfway decent at so I keep coming back to it.</div>
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Something that I have noticed, however, is that I'm really no good at endings. I can't ask questions because I think like 10 people read my blog and no one ever responds. I don't like deep, philosophical endings unless I'm doing something dramatic, which I almost never do. I only have so much wit to dole out for each post so I'll just leave with this:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__jNRCb3PH-laR8scgnCh_RstcVwdMF0lWlnGoczG6rKXqB4C3mzhIu9s8xm-VQ27QgbPEMulWbgvgFx6nZ3JnteUa9zFYnxW-V7-MbumCmW3yNybAvkHhXJv6oZSObTZjpqbgCCqQDg/s1600/tumblr_m6r6onhQLv1rqnm16o1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__jNRCb3PH-laR8scgnCh_RstcVwdMF0lWlnGoczG6rKXqB4C3mzhIu9s8xm-VQ27QgbPEMulWbgvgFx6nZ3JnteUa9zFYnxW-V7-MbumCmW3yNybAvkHhXJv6oZSObTZjpqbgCCqQDg/s400/tumblr_m6r6onhQLv1rqnm16o1_500.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby bat burritos.</td></tr>
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leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-2458284864357421332012-07-09T01:06:00.000-04:002012-07-09T01:06:52.162-04:00The metaphorical crossroads of life.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I feel like I've come to a sort of crossroads. A metaphorical one. I'm walking on the path of Life and all of a sudden, I've come to a fork in the road, or an intersection, really, and I've been kicking loose pebbles for a while, trying to decide what would be best for me.</div>
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I've reached a point where "real life" isn't such a far off thing, and "being an adult" isn't so much a thought as it is something that I actually need to do. I feel, as most people do, a little stressed, a little scared, a little helpless, and a little lost.</div>
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When having the "what are you doing after graduation" conversation with my parents, the most I've been able to come up with is...well, nothing really because I tend to just leave the room when the topic is brought up. It's like I think by avoiding it, I can continue to put it off. How very adult of me.</div>
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So that intersection I mentioned? Here's a brief summary of what each road looks like (may vary for other people):</div>
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Road #1: Do what's expected of me. Graduate college with my English degree in hand. Get a job, probably in New York. Pay bills. Pay off loans. Pay rent. Do adult things. Drink on the weekends. Repeat.</div>
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Road #2: Graduate with English degree. Go back to school for second bachelor's degree, preferably in Geology, leading to a more refined study in volcanoes. Study for several more years, possibly move out west, where volcanoes actually exist. Uproot my current existence for something I'm not sure I'll be any good at; move away from everything I know. It's like starting college over, basically.</div>
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Road #3: Obscured by mist. Possibly leads to a cliff, which maybe I can just jump off of.</div>
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And road #4 is the one I walked up on, and that would be my past on this metaphorical Life path, and turning around would do nothing for me. Not that standing in this intersection kicking pebbles is doing anything either, but maybe I'll get hit by a car, or lightning, or just start running down a path in front of me.</div>
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But basically, I no longer have any idea what I want to do. I feel something like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4cU7-5xg0TrUDMEvaXCi3AXKOjhpt2Pwei1p-1sHqoAZnXCv9ATOBPaSH_WlVRMg06EVlOp-tfEiQ8xEhNV-h7dXyi5vGwDNDZbmJFUTd1VA26Wr_6541qtysQLCPrsdgkqidZAuRH8/s1600/tumblr_m5xpp6pJu61qzxzwwo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4cU7-5xg0TrUDMEvaXCi3AXKOjhpt2Pwei1p-1sHqoAZnXCv9ATOBPaSH_WlVRMg06EVlOp-tfEiQ8xEhNV-h7dXyi5vGwDNDZbmJFUTd1VA26Wr_6541qtysQLCPrsdgkqidZAuRH8/s400/tumblr_m5xpp6pJu61qzxzwwo1_500.jpg" width="252" /></a> </div>
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Do I subject myself to years of more school? More studying, more homework, more tests? Do I take this desire and run with it? Or do I stick with what I know? I know English, I know literature, I know New York City, I know needing a job. How do I know I won't hate the science once I start studying it seriously? Is this just a whim? Or is this a chance that I should take?</div>
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As usual, the best response I can come up with to any of these questions is, "I don't know."</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-13942617181115696402012-04-11T21:44:00.000-04:002013-03-31T20:21:57.395-04:00Stanley Cup fountain and the Rangers shuttle.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
I spent most of today feeling very sleepy and out of it, especially during class, where I spent a good chunk of time taking illegible notes because I kept dozing off. That's what I get for staying up late to try and actually do homework. But then I remembered that the Stanley Cup was in Times Square so of course my energy levels shot up and I had to go in and see it.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5-XiZrp4AFrxis6T-JYo9gJCYdg3FeO4ak3h-9T8y1S6KRU35yHH6VirsqmWFiesNrlj7QDvzOIwEzyCAhNqJ_VBrtALmWVqW3VXxXK07VcO7w2VVXII3A6sStSkAS0LPu9_IQ_G-Pw/s1600/IMG_5577.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ5-XiZrp4AFrxis6T-JYo9gJCYdg3FeO4ak3h-9T8y1S6KRU35yHH6VirsqmWFiesNrlj7QDvzOIwEzyCAhNqJ_VBrtALmWVqW3VXxXK07VcO7w2VVXII3A6sStSkAS0LPu9_IQ_G-Pw/s400/IMG_5577.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">21 feet tall! (I think, haha)</td></tr>
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How could I pass up an opportunity to see this? Especially since it's only going to be there until Friday (or maybe Saturday, not sure), but either way I'm going to visit my friend this weekend, so today was my only chance to see it.</div>
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It's actually a fountain, and they gave out free cups and you could fill em up and drink. I was kind of iffy on drinking the water, but I did anyway...so far so good, I'm still alive.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8tzB6q-Jtb0HxjmIA5Rrw6nbp6-urnGC_b0cy3U2We2HkjWU8nMA2DChiV5Y-7OQI5lJnCKcgL45Di6S2fxntfkDssxyqRaM1Lg3w-wppKYlcZ2wtytAEGBrg1hPr-Oe9eZmWtT7q8I/s1600/IMG_5580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8tzB6q-Jtb0HxjmIA5Rrw6nbp6-urnGC_b0cy3U2We2HkjWU8nMA2DChiV5Y-7OQI5lJnCKcgL45Di6S2fxntfkDssxyqRaM1Lg3w-wppKYlcZ2wtytAEGBrg1hPr-Oe9eZmWtT7q8I/s400/IMG_5580.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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My cousin and I took a few more pictures, stood on the red stairs (still don't really understand the point of them, but you know, whatever), and then I remembered that the shuttle that runs from Grand Central Station to Times Square was Rangers-themed, so since I was in the city, I decided to go and check it out.</div>
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IT WAS AWESOME.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKluI5GIbG6bAMzqphw0d7D_WSGJK6BthonD2od6PsN0aCIyInLa3SxZI_Ps6pD9qbTn4YGIUBERZe6uzlJtGsagTJcbRZ13fC4EVp6ztcQX84DiQj_J6YyjEPppSgA_9MgwG277NNY0/s1600/IMG_5606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKluI5GIbG6bAMzqphw0d7D_WSGJK6BthonD2od6PsN0aCIyInLa3SxZI_Ps6pD9qbTn4YGIUBERZe6uzlJtGsagTJcbRZ13fC4EVp6ztcQX84DiQj_J6YyjEPppSgA_9MgwG277NNY0/s400/IMG_5606.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the shuttle.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobJtkVw3F9KQvJokDmDG3PMpqYqOK3WcveGqs2y8YkT4N9NCKerC7ozhbMrJd_zBEnDcZ5hPR_nXhuDbw7f1x6JmXfDENWYq5TOPgWwZ-9gy9-5WDmx22niWTSdLqSMH8WDfgsLD3ngw/s1600/IMG_5604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobJtkVw3F9KQvJokDmDG3PMpqYqOK3WcveGqs2y8YkT4N9NCKerC7ozhbMrJd_zBEnDcZ5hPR_nXhuDbw7f1x6JmXfDENWYq5TOPgWwZ-9gy9-5WDmx22niWTSdLqSMH8WDfgsLD3ngw/s400/IMG_5604.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHvtpG-x11Ps-0vbVk2y-3jTiae84hUX10cdKL4WLICejpmyko7DZFzKHm3wdlffGxhScauJgfEul2n8KcnRy6i82-yXGWY4LoX_tvFJbKmqsMdYyVKDLCvktC05kiTbHzZaI8RlqjWU/s1600/IMG_5608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHvtpG-x11Ps-0vbVk2y-3jTiae84hUX10cdKL4WLICejpmyko7DZFzKHm3wdlffGxhScauJgfEul2n8KcnRy6i82-yXGWY4LoX_tvFJbKmqsMdYyVKDLCvktC05kiTbHzZaI8RlqjWU/s400/IMG_5608.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best seats ever.</td></tr>
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We ran up and down the length of the train, taking pictures of all the players featured there. We waited for it to go to Times Square and back twice before finally getting on and taking pictures of the inside. We tried to time it so we could run on as soon as everyone else was off and get a decent picture of the seats and everything, and then we were running around the train taking pictures of the doors and the ads and, pictured above, the awesome seats. :D</div>
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It was a quality afternoon, and now I'm watching the Penguins/Flyers first playoff game with a cup of coffee to get me through it. I'm also casually filling out study abroad forms, which is simultaneously stressing me out (so many forms, ugh) and making me really excited for the fall. :)</div>
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Something else to be excited about is this weekend, because I'm going to Stockton to see Jessica and Becca, and watch a Quidditch tournament. We've been planning this since we first heard about it--we're going ALL OUT. Robes, ties, wands, EVERYTHING. I'm so pumped because this week has been so long and tiring.</div>
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And my spring hockey season starts on Sunday, so I'm expecting this weekend will be pretty awesome. I am going to try and keep up with the blogging though Saturday might be difficult. But we'll see.</div>
leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-73641867361460019142012-04-02T16:41:00.001-04:002013-03-31T20:18:59.981-04:00How hockey changed my life.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
It's no secret by now that hockey is a huge, huge part of my life. I love hockey. Hockey is my life. Literally. At this point, I don't know who I would be without it.</div>
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People always talk about things like books or maybe movies or inspirational people changing their lives. I've never heard a lot of talk about how a sport changed someone's life, but I'm sure that it's happened. Because it happened to me. I also feel like I'm one of those rare breed of combination nerd/hockey fan, so I gush about my love for hockey as freely as I wish.</div>
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I started playing hockey (again) in 2008. The last time I played hockey before that was elementary school. There was no sound reason or basis for wanting to play again. I was standing with my dad, watching my brother play, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, I said, "Hey dad. What do you think about me starting to play hockey again?"</div>
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My original suggestion was roller hockey, but he suggested ice hockey instead, which I readily agreed to. I went through the painful process of buying and then breaking in all the equipment (skates were the worst, ugh), finding a team, trying out for the team, making the team. I did endless camps and clinics over the summer. Because I'd never skated much before, I remember doing a clinic every Sunday morning with kids probably ages 7 to 10. It was combination mortifying and hilarious. Eventually I progressed, and did clinics with kids my own age--it was still mortifying because I was awful. I didn't know how to stop and couldn't lift my shot to save my life.</div>
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But eventually, I got better. There was nowhere for my level of skill to go but up, and up it went. With every new camp that I went to over the summer, the more I fell in love with hockey. By the time I started practicing with a real team in October, I knew I was hooked. So much so that I somehow got it into my head that I should play on my high school's hockey team too, which was quite the experience.</div>
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That's where it all started. And for the next four years, my life was nothing but hockey games and practices and tournaments and trying to fit in homework and seeing my friends around all that. I complained bitterly during every season. At one point I hated it. But every March, when it was time to wash my equipment (shocking, I know, but I can't deal with the smell if I don't) and put it away, I wished for a few more months to play.</div>
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Hockey changed my life. Before I started playing again, I was just another quiet girl in high school, wondering what I could do to lose weight, make myself feel confident about myself. Getting back into skates not only helped me get in shape (the second year I played was the best shape I have ever been in. Ah, the good old days when I actually had upper body strength.) but helped me to feel better about myself. For the longest time, I wished I was more like my best friend, who is tiny and petite and stays skinny with virtually no trouble. I envied her so much for that because next to her I always felt fat and hulking and gigantic. I was never skinny, even after I'd been playing for a while, but hockey helped me come to terms with that. It was okay, being the size that I was (am). If I had the body type of my friend, I wouldn't be able to play hockey because I would take one hit and fall apart on the ice (no offense, Jessica). I've learned to throw my weight around and not be afraid to use it to my advantage, especially when playing with all guys.</div>
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But even more than that, hockey is one of the few things that can make me truly happy. It fills me up, it completes me; there is nothing that playing hockey can't fix for me. If I'm having a bad day, if I'm upset or angry and need to blow off steam, hockey is my go-to solution. I prioritize it over almost everything in my life. If I have a game at 8:15, get off the ice, and someone asks if I want to play another game, I will say yes with no hesitation. If you pose the question "hockey or _______," it is highly likely that my choice will be hockey.</div>
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I have never had anything I could be so passionate about. This doesn't just go for playing hockey, it also applies to being a hockey fan. People are sometimes mocked, I think, for being sports fans, and for getting so into something that you aren't even playing. We're not on the team, no, and we don't contribute to their wins or losses. But being a sports fan is about being a part of something that's bigger than yourself. It's about losing yourself in the joy of watching two teams battle it out for victory. It's about coming together in a community of people who all share the same passion. It's about realizing that no matter how many people tell you it's just a game, it's really not.</div>
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It's something to be passionate about. It's something to share with others. It's something that allows you to make bonds with people that will always last. It's something to love. It's something to live for. </div>
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Nothing will ever be greater than the feeling of lacing up my skates and stepping out onto the ice. The first puck drop. The last two minutes of desperation in a tie game. Getting worked up and emotional over what is technically a kid's game.</div>
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I can't explain what hockey is to me. Trying to describe how I feel about hockey is like trying to describe what being in love is like. If you've never felt it, you simply will never know. And that's as far as my words will take me.</div>
leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-5606798727877703672011-12-31T18:47:00.000-05:002011-12-31T18:47:07.910-05:00Looking forward.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As I sit here, alternating between writing this and getting ready for a party at my friend's house tonight, I'm trying to look back on this year and think about what has really stood out. This year hasn't been particularly memorable. I don't mean that it's been bad, but it hasn't been spectacularly good either. It was just another year.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If I learned anything at all then it's that I need to stop trying so hard to fix things between myself and other people. Too many times I wanted to make things right and everything just got worse. One of my few resolutions for the new year is to stop trying to keep people in my life when they won't make the same effort to keep me in theirs. Because what's the point then? Sometimes I don't want to be the one who has to fix everything, sometimes I want to see that other people want things to be fixed, and that they don't want to lose me. I'm sick of people just dropping me out of their lives like I don't have feelings. Just once, I want someone to fight for me.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I think I changed a lot during this year. The way I think, definitely, and the things I want to do with my life (mostly I have no idea, but I think that's starting to change). I'm sick of people doubting me and telling me my dreams will never come true. I don't understand why people don't believe in me, but it just makes me even more determined to prove them all wrong.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Hockey has come to play such a huge role in my life. I honestly don't know who I would be if I didn't have hockey in my life.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This year meant the end of the Harry Potter series, but it also made me realize that some things don't really ever end, and that the bonds made through it don't ever really break.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My dislike for school reached an all-time high, so much so that I am actually worried about my GPA for this semester.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I wasted my entire summer on one boy who, in the end, just forgot about me and apparently met someone new. Not sure about that. But I'm pretty sure about it. That was kind of a big thing for me. I shed way too many tears over him but I've finally been able to move on with my life.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I am who I am and I'm not going to change for anyone. If people can't deal with that, then I'm not going to deal with them.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm hoping that 2012 means new and exciting things for me. Hopefully at this time next year I'll be celebrating the new year in Europe, as I will be applying to study abroad for next fall semester. If I don't go, then I have plans for the following summer (in 2013), to go somewhere. I don't care what anyone says, I'm going to get my butt out of this country for a while because I do not want to be one of those people who talks and talks about going places and then never goes anywhere. We live on such a big and wonderful planet that I can't even think about not trying to see as much of it as I can.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This year has been an interesting one, at any rate. I could make all the normal, boring resolutions like lose weight, write more, keep in touch with people and blahblahblah, but those are just things that I try and do all the time.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's time for a change in my life. I don't want to be a small-town girl with small-town dreams; I want to try new things and see new things and become someone new. I won't let myself be stuck in one place because of other people, and I know that the people who do matter will make the effort to stick with me no matter what I do or where I go.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Out with the old and in with the new. I want 2012 to be unforgettable.</span>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-70128850765827396062011-10-27T23:37:00.000-04:002011-10-27T23:37:34.640-04:00130.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Something I've always wondered about is how people would react if I died. Would they be distraught? Simply sad? Would they sob until they felt completely drained? Or would they be dry-eyed, unwilling to accept my death?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I guess what I'm really wondering is how much of an impact I've made in people's lives. Would they feel my absence so intensely that they couldn't rid it from their minds even though they wanted to? Or would my death slowly fade to the background, just one of many others?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Are you awake?" That was my mom I hear yelling up the stairs.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Yes!" In fact, I was still in bed, and had barely lifted my head from the pillow to yell back. As soon as I heard the front door close, I shut my eyes again, trying to get back into my dream. You know--you're having a great dream and you're getting up to a great part and then something kicks you out of it--like your mom yelling at you to wake up even though it's only 8:30 in the morning and your first class isn't until 11:30.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I slept until my third alarm went off. One alarm just wasn't enough for me. I needed three. I slid out of bed, resembling a zombie the way I staggered around my room, looking for a clean pair of pants. Grey skinny jeans? Dirty. Dark blue skinny jeans? Can't find them. Black pants? In the hamper. I pulled them out, sniffed them and decided no one would really notice if I just used a few extra squirts of perfume.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I pulled off my Avery t-shirt and threw on a bra and clean shirt, leaving my skin exposed to the cold air for as little time as possible. The clock read 9:15. Plenty of time to spare.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I wake up. I go to school. I go home. Usually I'll kill time on the Internet, spending too many hours on Facebook or Twitter or YouTube. Or all three. Somewhere in there, I'll fit in homework and working out. Then I sleep and repeat. Where's the break in the monotony? Day in and day out, it's the same things over and over again. Where's my escape? What will this lead to? Only more monotony, but instead of waking up and going to school, I'll wake up and go to work, always dreaming of something more, something out of reach, something unattainable. What escape is within my reach? Is there a way out?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I sat down at my desk--second row from the door, fourth seat back--and gulped down some coffee. I placed my notebook on my desk and my textbook on top of my notebook. Same routine. Sometimes I think I preferred a routine. I would always know what was going to happen. If I had a routine, then I would always know what to expect. I would know that nothing could go wrong. There wouldn't be anything to catch me by surprise, like a punch to the stomach from someone when you think they're going in for a hug.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I began to think of more normal things, like what I was going to have for lunch when I got home because this was my only class of the day. Which homework should I do first? What workout should I do today? Maybe I should just nap instead.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">My professor walked into class and my mind went blank, and the monotonous drone of his lecture filled my ears and my eyes glazed over.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It might be a little sick but sometimes I envision different death scenarios. What would be the quickest? What would be the most gruesome? How long would it take for me to bleed to death if I sliced my stomach open? What if I jumped off the top of a building? If I threw myself in front of a speeding vehicle? If I drove my own car into something at a high speed? Would that kill me or would I merely experience unspeakable levels of pain and then be thrust into therapy and onto medication until people believed I could function normally again?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Class ended and I practically sprinted out of the classroom. I was starving. I needed to get home and eat. The walk to my car went quickly, except for the part where I was looking on the wrong level of the parking deck, which only added fuel to my frustration and hunger.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Every day when my classes ended, it was like a race to my car. I wanted to get out of this place as fast as I possibly could. I didn't want to spend any more time there than necessary. I hated school. I hated those people who had their lives all fucking planned out. I hated the ambitious people who were doing double or triple majors and seventeen and a half minors and were already planning on graduate school and what they would be wearing to their wedding and how many fucking kids they were going to have and how they had so much to do but it would be so worth it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I hated those people because I was the exact opposite. I had no idea where I was going or how I was getting there. I hated routine and I loved it. I wanted to know what was coming so I could prepare myself but I hated that trapped feeling I got when the days started to blur together because they were all the same.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I finally found my car and escaped the confines of the parking deck, thinking once more of the leftovers in the refrigerator at home.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The funny part is I have absolutely no reason to kill myself. I just happen to wonder these things from time to time. I don't know if it's weird to fantasize about my own death but it can't be that weird. It's something everyone faces.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I pressed down on the gas pedal a little harder, urging my small car to get up to speed faster as I merged onto the parkway. My coffee thermos leaned over a little precariously in the shallow cup holder--I steadied it as I cut over to the left lane and quickly reached 80 mph. That was maybe a little fast for this section of the parkway but I couldn't help it. Driving, to me, was a way I could forget the world for a little. The faster I drove, the more alive I felt. The emptier the highway, the faster I drove; the more alone I was, the harder I hit the gas pedal. I craved that adrenaline rush. The white lines blurred on the pavement; the grass was a green smudge on the side of the road. I passed by exit signs so quickly I could barely read them, but it didn't matter where I was as long as I could push the speedometer ever higher.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to start a day out completely normal and then die. Like, I went to school, went to class, and then just didn't make it home. What if I bypassed my exit on the parkway and kept driving until I had no idea where I was and then crashed? The worst part would be doing that and then not dying, because then people would realize how twisted my mind really was and they would be all over me about it. Why can't someone just wonder about death without being thrust into a psych ward? Everyone's so sensitive about something that happens to all of us.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Exit 163. Mine was coming up. I was in the middle lane. I stayed there. I pushed the gas pedal closer to the floor. The engine groaned a little but the needle of the speedometer moved past 80. 90. I could see the bend in the road up ahead. 100. The steering wheel began to shake in my hands. 110. 115. My hands were sweating with the effort of gripping the wheel. 120. The bend. 125. How would people react? 130.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-71774161730491004132011-09-19T19:16:00.000-04:002011-09-19T19:16:51.405-04:00Things to do.<ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li>write</li>
<li>make lists</li>
<li>take naps</li>
<li>drink tea</li>
<li>take walks in the sun</li>
<li>read</li>
<li>indulge occasionally in something you want</li>
<li>have chocolate</li>
<li>go for a long drive with no destination</li>
<li>do something you've never done before</li>
<li>frolic in the changing leaves</li>
<li>stop thinking about him</li>
<li>take care of yourself</li>
<li>buy pretty clothes</li>
<li>go apple picking</li>
<li>drink hot chocolate in the evenings</li>
<li>paint your nails bright colors</li>
<li>take pictures</li>
<li>go to a city you've never been to before</li>
<li>be carefree</li>
<li>watch a good movie</li>
<li>wrap yourself in blankets</li>
<li>embrace the change in seasons</li>
<li>make some change for yourself</li>
<li>enjoy</li>
</ul>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-66352690715462286232011-08-21T15:15:00.000-04:002011-08-21T15:15:05.003-04:00Always.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">July 21, 2007, the final Harry Potter book came out. I stood in line at midnight to get it and I stayed up all night to read it, feeling as though some chapter in my life (no pun intended) had just ended. But it wasn't quite over yet.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">July 15, 2011, the final Harry Potter movie came out. I was at the theater at midnight to see it with my friends, and I cried like someone close to me had just died when the credits began to roll. It was at that point I felt like some part of my life had really and truly come to a close.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I saw the movie four times in theaters, most recently on Wednesday (the 17th). I was surprised at the number of people still flocking to the theater to see it. Granted, they put us in one of the smaller theaters, unlike the one I saw it in at the midnight premiere. But the atmosphere couldn't be more different. These people on Wednesday were just casual fans, or maybe people who were bored and couldn't think of anything else to see.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">At the midnight premiere, I was surrounded by my friends and people who are just as crazy about Harry Potter as I am. People dressed up (myself included), had their books, watched the first part of the seventh movie while waiting. There was a legit race to the theater when they finally let us in.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There was cheering at all the right moments. When Neville killed Nagini. When Molly Weasley uttered her famous line, "Not my daughter, you bitch!" When Ron and Hermione kissed. When Voldemort was defeated. There was cheering and clapping for all the great moments.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">There were also subdued moments and tears. When Fred died. Seeing Remus and Tonks dead. Snape's death. The Prince's tale. The Resurrection Stone scene. Hogwarts being destroyed. The very end, seeing all the kids on the train, pulling away from the station for the last time. The last time I would ever see the Hogwarts Express pulling away from King's Cross.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I know there's Pottermore to look forward to, but I still can't help but feel as though I've lost someone close to me. There's no more anticipation, no more looking forward to something completely new. People think I'm just being overly dramatic or emotional, and that maybe I should just get over it, but I won't. Harry Potter has always been there for me, and it will always be there for me, until the very end.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Because it's real for us.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-43349148656248063602011-08-15T20:07:00.000-04:002011-08-15T20:07:05.317-04:00Five things to be happy about.<ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li>summer thunderstorms</li>
<li>thinking you have a ton of work to do but really have nothing</li>
<li>Mondays that don't suck</li>
<li>being told that someone really does value you</li>
<li>feeling absolutely safe and content in the arms of the guy you like</li>
</ul>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-24998415316304424932011-08-07T18:49:00.000-04:002011-08-07T18:49:13.689-04:00Five things to be happy about.<ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li>lazy Sundays after a hectic Saturday</li>
<li>chocolate donuts</li>
<li>talking to a friend you haven't heard from in a while</li>
<li>finishing your homework before two in the morning</li>
<li>new boots</li>
</ul>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-85057814449831084082011-07-31T18:19:00.000-04:002011-07-31T18:19:28.275-04:00Five things to be happy about.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In an attempt to blog a little more often, I'm going to do this thing that I saw on <a href="http://writingcreatively.tumblr.com/">this girl's blog here</a>. It's also my attempt to be a little less depressed all the time and to think a little more about the things that make me happy.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li>brightly colored nail polish</li>
<li>that crunching sound your skates make on the ice</li>
<li>driving with the windows down and the music loud</li>
<li>cups of tea</li>
<li>getting the perfect amount of sleep</li>
</ul>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-45112740220775914842011-07-02T22:43:00.000-04:002011-07-02T22:43:52.679-04:00DFTBA.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I would be lying if I said I was never insecure. Let's be completely honest, what girl doesn't feel insecure from time to time?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm not one to read girly magazines on a weekly basis, but occasionally I'll indulge and read some Cosmo online. I basically just read it all for laughs, because I believe half the things they write about how girls should act/dress to get guys to like them are ridiculous. For example, I saw <a href="http://www.cosmopolitan.com/sex-love/relationship-advice/be-a-good-girlfriend#fbIndex1">this article</a> on how to be a good girlfriend, and was immediately offended by the very first thing on the list. I can't cheer for a sports team that I like? Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean that I can't get into sports. And I'll drink as much as I want, thanks very much.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Any guy that wants to go out with me will learn and have to accept the fact that I am a diehard hockey fan and player. My social life revolves around my hockey schedule. Very frequently, I find myself saying, "Sorry, I can't, I have hockey." And I'm a huge, huge, huge New York Rangers fan, so on most nights during the hockey season, you'll find me screaming at the TV when I watch my team play. If you can't get over that, then we just won't work out.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That applies to everything. The "advice" that Cosmo gives its readers is ridiculous. Do this, not that; wear this, not that...honestly, I'm not going to bend over backwards or change my style just to impress a guy. Yeah, relationships require give and take, but they shouldn't require so much that you're practically becoming a different person.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But sometimes, when I'm on a Cosmo-reading binge, I start to wonder if maybe some of their advice is worth listening to. It's usually after I've been feeling down about myself that I tend to start reading their relationship and dating articles, because sometimes I feel like I'm lacking experience in that area. I've only ever had one serious boyfriend, and when it comes to pursuing a guy, I start to hesitate and falter and second-guess myself. Constantly.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'll wonder what he's thinking of me, and wonder if he thinks, "Hey, this girl is a great friend, but not someone I see myself dating." Am I not girly enough? Is that why I find myself lacking experience in the dating area?</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then I catch myself thinking like that and pull myself out of this funk. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe my own words, but I try to keep telling myself that if a guy is going to want to be with me, he'll want me to be me. He'll accept my hardcore obsession with hockey and Harry Potter. He won't tell me to dress differently or act differently. He'll go with my mood swings and not run as far as he can in the opposite direction when I start to hit a downward spiral.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As arrogant as it sounds, I just need to remind myself every now and then that I am awesome, and no one can change those things that make me so awesome.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-90390841725398155472011-05-30T15:22:00.001-04:002011-06-01T16:24:53.922-04:00Huskies to Red Hawks.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I've probably blogged about this once or twice, in passing, without too many details, but due to a lack of any better ideas, and because people keep asking me about it even though it's been over a year since I left, here is the entire, comprehensive, detailed account of why I left Northeastern, if I like Montclair better, and if I miss Boston.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I started visiting colleges during my sophomore year of high school. I know, that's early. I don't actually remember every single school I went to, but a few were Cornell, Emerson, Northeastern, William Paterson, Rowan, SUNY Purchase, Sacred Heart, and NYU. My dream school is and always will be NYU, but they rejected me. Bastards.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I ended up only applying to three schools: NYU (my reach), Northeastern (second choice), William Paterson (safety). I thought about applying to Purchase, but in the end, I just didn't. I kind of regret that, but not so much that it's tearing me apart on the inside.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I got into NU and Willy P, like I thought I would, and was basically set on going to Northeastern, unless NYU accepted me. Which they didn't. So in September of 2009, I moved on up to Boston to start what I thought would be the first of five years as a Northeastern Husky.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And at first, it was great. I loved it, both academically and socially. I spent a lot of time wandering around Boston in my free time, getting to know the city, which was awesome, because I've always wanted to live in a city, though my preferred city is New York. No offense, Boston, but you can't live up to New York in my eyes.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Somewhere around Christmas break, I found myself thinking about leaving NU and going somewhere else. At first, there was never really a concrete reason as to why, but I wanted to. This will sound really weird to probably almost everyone, but it was after I left Northeastern for Montclair that I realized why I never regretted my choice to leave my school, my friends, and my then-boyfriend.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">To put it very simply, I have absolutely no idea what I want to do with my life. I still don't. Northeastern has a great co op program, where you do internships during your time there. And that's fantastic, if you know what you want to do. A kid in one of my classes at Northeastern was telling me about he hadn't been on a co op yet because he'd kept switching his major because he didn't know what he wanted to do. He spent a lot of summers and winter breaks catching up on classes so he could do at least one co op.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I didn't want that to be me, struggling to keep up with classes and trying to figure out what I wanted on the spot. My roommate at the time summed it up with this aggravated Facebook status: "Please, as soon as possible, plan out the next four years, and the rest of your life. Sincerely, Northeastern."</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Montclair might not be a big-name school like Northeastern is; most people look at me like, "wtf is a Montclair" when I tell them where I go to school, but I like it. It's perfect for me. Being at Montclair is opening up a whole host of opportunities I definitely would not have had if I'd stayed at Northeastern.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I got to play another year of girl's hockey with my old team; I'm planning on studying abroad next summer (were I at Northeastern, I wouldn't be able to afford going abroad with their tuition bill). But what I love best of all is that the pressure to immediately plan out my life is much less than what it was at Northeastern. I'm declared as an English major, and I think that's what I'll stay as, but I can take a variety of other classes, to see if anything strikes my fancy.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So yes. I like Montclair. I don't mind commuting. And yes, I miss Boston. I don't miss Northeastern; if anything, I miss the freedom I had while living away from home, but my parents pretty much just let me come and go as I please, plus I have a car now, so there's really not that much difference, except I have to be quiet when I come home drunk. I miss living in a city, I miss going to school in the same city as one of my friends; though now I go to the same school as two of my friends, and I can spend free weekends down at Stockton with my best friend/wife.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So there you have it. The next person who asks me if I miss Northeastern will be decapitated because I'm getting sick of explaining myself.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-55682477275798417182011-05-24T14:27:00.000-04:002011-05-24T14:27:05.968-04:00Things that annoy me: A general list.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Something ticked me off on Facebook today, a harmless comment made by someone that just unfortunately pushed me over the edge. So here it is, a list of things that annoy me.</div><ul style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><li>Stupid people.</li>
<li>People who claim things without valid reasoning.</li>
<li>Flyers and Capitals fans.</li>
<li>Being cut off by another driver who then proceeds to drive extremely slowly.</li>
<li>Getting stuck behind people driving BELOW the speed limit. Just get off the road.</li>
<li>People who wear Uggs in late May.</li>
<li>High school girls who think they're the shit.</li>
<li>Obsessive Twilight fans.</li>
<li>Being told that I'm too old to like/do certain things.</li>
<li>People assuming things about me because I'm from New Jersey.</li>
<li>School.</li>
<li>One letter text messages. What was the point?</li>
<li>When I keep dying in a video game and have to keep doing the same mission over and over and over and over.</li>
<li>Being told I can't be a Rangers fan because I don't live in New York.</li>
<li>Being told that I'm short. CONSTANTLY. Seriously, SHUT. UP.</li>
<li>Not being able to find a job.</li>
<li>Having to find a job.</li>
<li>People who hate Harry Potter for NO REASON AT ALL.</li>
<li>People who hate Harry Potter in general.</li>
<li>When my parents harp on and on about how I'm fat and should lose weight. Thanks. You really know how to help my already crappy self-esteem.</li>
<li>When my Nintendo DS dies and I'm in the middle of a Pokemon battle.</li>
<li>Being broke.</li>
<li>Being called "little one." Don't call me that.</li>
<li>When I make lists like this and people are like, "haha, I'm going to annoy you with these!" and then they do and piss me off more. I make lists like this 1. for fun, and 2. so you DON'T piss me off by doing any of these things.</li>
<li>Doing the dishes.</li>
<li>Living far away from my friends so I can't see them often.</li>
<li>This crappy, miserable weather.</li>
<li>People being cheerful when I'm pissed off.</li>
<li>Immature people.</li>
<li>People who don't realize they've crossed a line and should step back before I severely injure them.</li>
</ul><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">That's all for now.</span>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-73731837288390743382011-05-06T10:15:00.000-04:002011-05-06T10:15:54.360-04:00Evolution of Disney princesses.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It's not exactly a secret that I love Disney movies, specifically Disney princess movies. Doesn't matter how old I am, I refuse to hide that fact. The only retail job I would probably actually LIKE is at the Disney store. Unfortunately, the ones near me aren't hiring.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But even though I'm a huge fan of Disney princesses, I still have my preferences. Belle is my absolute favorite, hands down, no competition whatsoever. I found this post <a href="http://beautilation.tumblr.com/post/4014204251">here</a> about her that basically sums up how I feel in a much more concise and clever way.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But anyway, I love the evolution of the Disney princesses. In the beginning you have the princesses like Cinderella and Snow White, who are old-fashioned and traditional. They don't do much for themselves and instead wish and wait for what they want.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then you have the princesses like Belle, Ariel, and Jasmine, who want more out of life than what's expected of them, but they still need a little push out the door. I guess Rapunzel, even though she's one of the more recent Disney princesses, falls into this category too, because she never actually decides to leave her tower until she meets Flynn.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Disney improved their princesses even further, with ones like Mulan and Tiana, who don't just wait around wishing for things. They go out and do what they have to do. In this most recent generation of princesses, Disney finally fixed what everyone complained about; how girls are capable of getting what they want on their own and without a man. Mulan set out simply to protect her father and there's no romance in that movie. I mean, it's implied, but it's definitely not the main point. Tiana (<i>The Princess and the Frog</i>) wants her restaurant and works as hard as she can for it. She's a little single-minded when it comes to her restaurant but, unlike Cinderella, who just wishes on stars, Tiana goes for what she wants.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Even though I like to sometimes preach about women being independent and not needing men, I think I relate best to the Belle-Jasmine-Ariel category, because I know what I want but I think I'm struggling to stay afloat a little. That was like a failed metaphor. But whatever.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Anyway, this picture here sums up everything I just said with fewer words:</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvT1QrGEGUIOZEoZcAVsV2sFeRgK_e8jG1JOuJrMx69FkgnEvoDGzSFePDh8sMh-9sM6POmaguHwsmukk7gPhzRn42jEoaXt5a_Wc9t0f3Qcu5__G8DDKKIS8ENK9ILHyqVpWkSeZ8Hk/s1600/tumblr_lhtcqofFta1qd962oo1_r4_500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDvT1QrGEGUIOZEoZcAVsV2sFeRgK_e8jG1JOuJrMx69FkgnEvoDGzSFePDh8sMh-9sM6POmaguHwsmukk7gPhzRn42jEoaXt5a_Wc9t0f3Qcu5__G8DDKKIS8ENK9ILHyqVpWkSeZ8Hk/s400/tumblr_lhtcqofFta1qd962oo1_r4_500.png" width="332" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-9512586944025620972011-04-27T12:11:00.000-04:002011-04-27T12:11:45.943-04:00The Box of Crayons<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <style>
@font-face {
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</style> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Once upon a time, there was a box of crayons.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">All the crayons in the crayon box were segregated by their colors, but each section was really good friends. The blues got along with the greens, the reds loved the yellows and pinks and oranges, the grays and whites were all great pals, and the browns and blacks got along famously.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Then one day, the box of crayons was taken off its shelf and opened. All the crayons spilled all over the floor and the colors mixed together. The browns were squeezing with the greens, the blues got cozy with the yellows, and the reds and blacks chatted it up.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">One green crayon and one pink crayon really connected. They talked and cuddled and laughed the time away. But then it came time for all the crayons to be rounded up and put away. Each crayon was placed back in its own section and of course, the pink and green crayon were very sad that they had to be separated so soon.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">They promised to keep in touch but it was hard. They were each at the farthest corners in their little sections but somehow, they managed to stay wonderful friends. Every so often, they would even be able to get together when the crayons were spilled all over the floor or table or carpet. They learned that distance is no excuse for letting a relationship fall apart.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"> <span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">One day, after being spilled all over the floor, the crayons were not put back in their usual organized fashion. The pink crayon and the green crayon were overjoyed when they realized they were next to each other. And so they lived happily ever after.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Author's note:</i> This is not to be taken too seriously. I wrote it in about ten minutes a few years ago and I just thought I would try to keep up with the short story theme for this week. Hopefully I'll have another one for tomorrow.</span></div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-64347055529303081552011-04-20T18:52:00.000-04:002011-04-20T18:52:57.577-04:00The view from my window.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In order to avoid ranting about my depressing feelings and mood swings, I'm just going to leave you with a series of pictures, all taken from my bedroom window, over a period of...maybe a year? I think that sounds about right.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnthDPKuEn93bvX0RkdvKQjF2EuZuOD-8wqLBUUxtxUzmFmJQYno2yInS1oZ0xHYNIaw7p8RviDCrJ9PL7e1ofkIhIjIb0nc9ma9IF8UAFoOkiS_KePDThfzxvm9DCMNFBuZDP-pCdLo/s1600/DSC06285.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnthDPKuEn93bvX0RkdvKQjF2EuZuOD-8wqLBUUxtxUzmFmJQYno2yInS1oZ0xHYNIaw7p8RviDCrJ9PL7e1ofkIhIjIb0nc9ma9IF8UAFoOkiS_KePDThfzxvm9DCMNFBuZDP-pCdLo/s400/DSC06285.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNoT8vw2W84dnINvIljeMvxg51dnqFJS-wN7lha4-P4v0fMX0e_60EFiNRxANYymh6mZgXYFs0VrCjgZA6NRXKE0LZvPnTUxtlrjHD9HFmb1TFocKC72caTGCJT0SqxahGEgKBrp-gqI/s1600/DSC06287.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNoT8vw2W84dnINvIljeMvxg51dnqFJS-wN7lha4-P4v0fMX0e_60EFiNRxANYymh6mZgXYFs0VrCjgZA6NRXKE0LZvPnTUxtlrjHD9HFmb1TFocKC72caTGCJT0SqxahGEgKBrp-gqI/s400/DSC06287.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tmvea-bwJvyiPoytN3C9YpI-1WnHp3kI93O7u-Im4mPvjjAj3OM3qOzyEspGotBPjhI7jIvAUYs-_YEp6HVomaa8ag_NlOtYWlf8Az-sUr5J08zpUfnFbciMqHOrawjMTBOunAbI6sI/s1600/DSC06303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tmvea-bwJvyiPoytN3C9YpI-1WnHp3kI93O7u-Im4mPvjjAj3OM3qOzyEspGotBPjhI7jIvAUYs-_YEp6HVomaa8ag_NlOtYWlf8Az-sUr5J08zpUfnFbciMqHOrawjMTBOunAbI6sI/s400/DSC06303.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4uje71BSdGLAICpZSxZPJjKClNdufrAZj6-uvof6YVx5uSST5FNZ4IgBrt-F6usrPsZhP-Gy8yeauWQlnp5GLQKsGs_J4WK-KKFw7v9pknBWeai4ELAbqZ-RuFnCNlW4Ye2AkICta7A/s1600/IMG_4005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4uje71BSdGLAICpZSxZPJjKClNdufrAZj6-uvof6YVx5uSST5FNZ4IgBrt-F6usrPsZhP-Gy8yeauWQlnp5GLQKsGs_J4WK-KKFw7v9pknBWeai4ELAbqZ-RuFnCNlW4Ye2AkICta7A/s400/IMG_4005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-19533647410986963182011-04-18T14:25:00.000-04:002011-04-18T14:25:36.856-04:00All was well.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Due to a lack of time because I need to do homework and study (I hate the end of the semester; there's so much to do), I'm just going to post an essay I wrote about Harry Potter. I've mentioned before how much I love and adore and obsess over this series, and I wanted to share this. It was supposed to be a literary journalism/cultural critique piece, and I think my essay turned out pretty well. So enjoy.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> <style>
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</style> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>My Letter From Hogwarts Is Just Late</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some people might think this is weird or claim that I’m just making these details up, but there are some nights that I just don’t forget.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Six years ago, on July 15<sup>th</sup>, around 10:30 pm, I was standing outside a bookstore in Maine with my dad. I was fourteen years old and we were on vacation.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>A day or two before we’d learned about this midnight release party for <i>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince</i>, and I’d convinced my dad to take me even though we had to be up early in the morning to drive home. I needed to have this book—mostly because I wanted something to read during the car ride home but also because it was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter was important. To me, anyway.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I nodded my head slightly for each person in line, counting silently in my head. I was thirteenth in line. I clutched my small Dobby doll in my hands, adjusting his movable ears so they stood straight.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The doors to the small bookstore opened at 11:00 pm sharp and the enthusiastic crowd was let in for Harry Potter themed games and trivia questions and socializing. I met a Rita Skeeter, a human sized Dobby, and numerous clones of Ron, Hermione, and Harry himself.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It was my first experience being with other people who were just as obsessed with Harry Potter, counting down the minutes until the book was released and we could hold it in our hands.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I wonder if J.K. Rowling (Joanne Kathleen) ever thought that one day her book about a boy who finds out he’s a wizard would ever become as big as it has. She started out destitute, with no job and a child to feed; a mere five years later, Forbes magazine estimated her worth at one billion dollars.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span><i>Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone</i> was rejected by twelve publishing companies before someone took a chance on it; it was published in June of 1997. I’m sure that investment has paid off, considering Harry Potter is now a global brand worth about 15 billion dollars. The final four books consecutively set records as the fastest-selling books in history; <i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows</i> sold 11 million copies in the first day of release in the United States and the United Kingdom. The previous one, <i>Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince</i>, had sold 9 million copies in its first 24 hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The rights to the films were purchased in 1998, and the first one was released in November of 2001. The film series is the highest grossing film series of all time, with over 6 billion dollars in receipts. The series won the Michael Balcon Award for Outstanding British Contribution to Cinema at the 2011 British Academy Film Awards.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Now, ten years after the first film was released, and fourteen years after the first book was published, as we slowly approach the release date for the second half of the final film, I’m starting to wonder what will become of us obsessed fans when we have nothing to look forward to anymore. Will it still be a huge part of my life? Or will I, as well as others, put the books on the shelves and move on?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>For the past six years, Harry Potter has always been there for me. There was always another book, another film, another midnight release party or midnight premiere to go to. There was always something to discuss, whether it be what we thought would happen in the final book, or what we thought the films would take out or add or change.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Harry Potter has brought together so many people, it’s hard to imagine it ever ending. From Harry Potter fanfiction to Harry Potter themed Tumblr blogs, from all the different conventions to the theme park in Florida, from a small community on YouTube to wizard rock (wrock) festivals, Harry Potter has always been there.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Hogwarts has been my escape from reality, a fictitious home for me to return to whenever I wanted. I’ve never wanted anything else to be real as much as I wanted Hogwarts and Harry and Hermione and Ron and the Weasleys to be real. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I know so many people whose lives have been changed by Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One. Harry Potter isn’t just a book series, or a film series. It is a cultural phenomenon that has brought people from all over the world together.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>And in my opinion, Harry Potter will never really end.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two years after my first book release party, I went to attend my second, and final, one. I’d been preparing for weeks, counting down the days and rereading the first six books. I spent the days leading up to July 20, 2007 reading about preparations for the release.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>People in London had started lining up two days before the 20<sup>th</sup> to ensure that they would be among the first to buy the book. Less insane fans started lining up at 7:30 am on the 20<sup>th</sup>, dressed as their favorite characters and counting down the hours.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>As for myself, at 6:00 pm that afternoon, I’d gone over to the Barnes and Noble where I would be later that night to reserve two copies of the book and purchase a gold wristband that designated me as one of the first hundred people that would get their books.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Upon arriving at the bookstore, around 9:30 pm, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. There were so many people milling around. Some were sitting in the hallway outside the store, others were reading other books; meanwhile, there was a whole line up of Harry Potter activities going on upstairs.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Bookstores across the country had been preparing for this night, as it was sure to be their biggest party of the year. In New York, for example, booksellers prepared by putting finishing touches on cauldrons, replicas of Diagon Alley, and Harry Potter themed snacks and drinks, like butterbeer.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>11:59 pm. A countdown had begun. It was like New Year’s had struck; when the clock turned twelve, cheers filled the store. Books were purchased and taken away by happy customers; I was the thirteenth person in my line. I got my two reserved copies and escaped the madness that was Barnes and Noble on midnight, July 21, 2007.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>On the way to the car, my dad and I passed people who had already cracked open the pages, beginning the final installment. I saw people who’d already flipped to the end to see what happened. I clutched my book tight to my chest the whole ride home.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>This was the last time I would ever read a Harry Potter book for the first time.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">What’s great about Harry Potter gatherings is that there is never any shortage of things to talk about. Sometimes all it takes is just one little thing to turn it into something bigger.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Between the releases of the sixth and seventh movies, one of my best friends sent me a link to a song called “Lumos Flies,” a Harry Potter parody of the Owl City song, “Fireflies.” From there, I became so involved in the online Harry Potter community, it was like I lived and breathed Harry Potter.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>And there wasn’t just one YouTube channel that started and continued because of Harry Potter. There were dozens and dozens of them. One channel I started following extensively was the one called fiveawesomegirls. It was a collab channel with five girls who had become friends because of Harry Potter. A few of them hadn’t even met in person when they started this channel, with each girl making a video every weekday.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>From there, I discovered wizard rock bands like the Ministry of Magic, The Whomping Willows, The Parselmouths, and Diagon Alley.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>In November of 2010, my friend and I went to the New York City Wizard Rock Festival in Brooklyn, where we danced all night to songs that were inspired by the Harry Potter series.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Things like wizard rock are what have really launched people into the eye of the community. Kristina Horner, for example, who has a YouTube channel that I subscribe to, is one of these people. She got her start with writing Harry Potter fanfiction, then moved onto making videos on YouTube. She is a member of the previously mentioned fiveawesomegirls channel, and a singer in the band the Parselmouths. They sing songs from the point of view of two Slytherin girls.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Because of this series, she gets to travel around the country going to Harry Potter conventions and speaking at them. Without Harry Potter, her life would be vastly different.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Three years after the final book had been released, setting records in book sales, the final film opened in theaters. The midnight premiere drew in approximately $24 million in about 3,700 locations. The previous film, the <i>Half-Blood Prince</i>, opened at midnight with sales of $22.2 million, at 3,003 locations. Despite the fact that the series had come to a close, the phenomenon that is Harry Potter hadn’t died down a bit.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It was 7:00 pm when my friend and I arrived at the movie theater for the midnight release of <i>Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part One</i>. We weren’t the first ones there, though we were among the first dozen to arrive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>We picked some good seats and for the next five hours played Harry Potter themed hangman; I played Harry Potter Lego (Years 1-4) on my DS; we watched as more and more people filed into the theater.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>As each hour chimed, someone would announce how much time was remaining. To pass the time, people played charades, passed out homemade versions of The Quibbler, Luna Lovegood’s father’s quirky magazine, and chased around a human Golden Snitch.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The previews began and people continued to talk excitedly over them, booing Twilight as it came on the screen. When they ended and the theater went completely dark, a hush fell over the crowd like a blanket.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The end had begun.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But will there ever really be an end?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The Wizarding World of Harry Potter has opened in Orlando, Florida, where you can drink butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks, buy a wand that chooses you, go to Zonko’s and Honeydukes, and ride through Hogwarts.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It is the closest people will ever come to Hogwarts besides traveling to Europe and seeking out the castles where Hogwarts scenes were filmed, and people are flocking to the theme park. It’s received good reviews and was well received by Harry Potter fans and non-fans alike. The grand opening for the cast and crew of the films, J.K. Rowling, and the media took place on June 16, 2010; it opened for the general public two days later.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>While I haven’t had the opportunity to go there yet, people I follow on YouTube and a few of my friends have been there. Their tales of how amazing and detailed and accurate it was to the books only make me want to go more. I’ve spent so much time wishing Hogwarts was real and that I could be there, surrounded by the magic and the people, that I can’t imagine what it will be like walking through the gates and seeing Hogsmeade, the Hogwarts Express, and the castle of Hogwarts standing before my eyes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Not to mention the numerous Harry Potter conventions and festivals that take place all over the country and throughout the year. Just recently, the Miami Yule Ball was held in Miami, Florida. LeakyCon will be held in July in Orlando, just in time for the midnight premiere of the second half of <i>Deathly Hallows</i>. LeakyCon is a charity conference that had its first year in 2009, in Boston, with only about 740 attendees. The next year, that number jumped over a thousand, and for 2011, that number has only increased even more.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>It’s not the only charitable event that revolves around Harry Potter; for the past four years, the Harry Potter Alliance (HPA) has been working to inspire people around the world to get involved in social issues the world faces. Some of their successes include raising funds for thousands of women and children in Darfur and Myanmar (Burma), as well as collecting and donating thousands of books for a youth village in Rwanda.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>I think the greatest thing about Harry Potter is that it isn’t just a popular series; it uses its popularity for good. Because of all the people that love and adore Harry, they can do something great for the world. In 2010, the HPA and other communities raised over $123,000 for the Haitian people through Partners in Health.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Will all these things come to an end when the films finally come to a close? It’s hard to imagine them stopping after fourteen years of fandom.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>The days are ticking away to the end of what truly is a cultural phenomenon. But as Stephen King said, “I think Harry will take his place with Alice, Huck, Frodo, and Dorothy and this is one series not just for the decade, but for the ages.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>Harry Potter has made the world a smaller place, bringing people together from unlikely places and in unlikely ways. Things like that don’t just vanish into thin air.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>But no one can really tell what will happen. Sure, the fandom will continue, but the same obsessive air that surrounds it now will probably disperse a little. With nothing new to look forward to, the less obsessed may retreat from this thriving community.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span> </span>As for myself, I only know that once the credits start to roll in July, so will the tears. But I won’t be alone.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-39629900661703469652011-04-03T16:08:00.001-04:002011-05-22T01:44:31.563-04:00Things that annoy me: Hockey edition.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As we all know by now, there are plenty of things that annoy me. Today, though, because it's a beautiful spring day and because the Rangers just beat the Flyers in a shootout to keep their playoff hopes very much alive, I'm going to address things that annoy me: the hockey edition.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>"Sidney Crosby sucks. I hope he never plays in the NHL again."</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">For those who don't know, because not everyone I know is quite as obsessed with hockey as I am, Sidney Crosby<b> </b>is the young captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins. I'm what you would call a casual Penguins fan, and mostly because I adore Sidney Crosby, but they're my fallback team in case the Rangers don't make the playoffs.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Crosby has been out since January, having suffered from a severe concussion. A few weeks ago, my dad told me that it might be so bad that he actually might never play again, which, as a Crosby and a hockey fan, was disheartening to hear. And here comes the part that really pisses me off to the extreme end: when people say that they hope he never plays again and he sucks and he's a crybaby and whatever else their tiny little brains can think of.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Seriously? Can't we all, as hockey fans, embrace and respect the amount of talent that he has as a player? I'm sure if he played for whatever team you support, you'd be singing quite a different tune and praying for his swift recovery. But no. Instead, people have to narrow minded idiots who can't appreciate talented players on other teams.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I hate the Devils, but when Zach Parise was out with his concussion, I wasn't sitting around hoping he would never play again. He's a good player even though he plays for my least favorite team. I hate mindless idiots who can't even bring themselves to respect talent around the league.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Being a mindless idiot.</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">This just annoys me in general, mindless idiots, but when I heard about this story, I could do nothing more besides shake my head at the types of people that exist.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Dallas Stars played the L.A. Kings last night, and the Kings won 3-1. I'm pretty neutral about Western Conference games, since, well, I live on the East Coast, and it's a lot easier to get access to Eastern Conference games, but I'm not even talking about the win.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Apparently after the game, a Kings fan was beaten close to death by a bunch of Stars fans. It could've been the other way around because I'm honestly not really sure and I can't find a story about this.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But the point is, why can't someone support their team without having to be afraid of getting beaten up by others? I mean, really, I don't think I can stress enough that people should be fans of hockey in general as well as being fans of their team. There really is no cause for an innocent fan to be beaten to a pulp in the parking lot after the game.<br />
<br />
EDIT: That actually happened at a DODGERS game. Different sport, same story. </div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>Pretending to know everything about hockey.</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When I go to Rangers game, this is what annoys me the most. I'll be sitting there enjoying the game, and some idiots behind me will be talking <i>very loudly</i> about the game, thinking that they sound so smart when they actually just sound like pretentious imbeciles.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">When the Rangers are on the powerplay, for example, more often than not, most people will be screaming, "SHOOT IT SHOOT THE PUCK SHOOT IT NOW WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING SHOOT IT." Um, hey, open your eyes, THE PLAYER ISN'T EVEN IN THE ZONE YOU FUCKING DIPSHIT.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Or, hey, look, someone on the opposing team IS STANDING RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM. That means THERE IS NO SHOOTING LANE. Do you want them to shoot it and have it blocked by the other player? That can result in the puck leaving the offensive zone and a potential odd man rush.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Something else is when the Rangers (or any team) pass the puck back to their defense. "HEY IDIOTS YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY," is a common phrase I hear when that happens. But sometimes, mindless-people-shouting, you have to go back in order to go forwards. If you just charge senselessly ahead without giving everyone on the ice time to prepare and organize themselves so perhaps a play can be run, usually nothing good will result. It takes patience, sometimes.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So just shut up, sit down, and watch the game. If you think you can do better, then get your skates and equipment on and prove it.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>"The New York Rangers suck."</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I'm sure I could say the same thing about your team. Get outta here before I rip you a new one.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>The Philadelphia Flyers.</b></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Suck it, Flyers. You might have made it to the Stanley Cup Finals last year, but everyone still hates you.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7079340861957265232.post-62602943558209994052011-04-02T17:25:00.000-04:002011-04-02T17:25:19.217-04:00Nostalgic for those days of past.<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On the way down to my grandma's house today, driving along the all too familiar Garden State Parkway, sitting in the backseat for once, I was staring out the window, gazing at the clouds, thinking about what a nice picture it would make, if only I wasn't too lazy to pull my camera out.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The clouds were just the right amount of puffy, mixing white and gray, seeming to be at a standstill. I have this fascination with taking pictures of clouds because looking at them, it makes me imagine a world of possibilities. The sky seems endless, timeless. It just goes on forever, stretching across a land of opportunities and dreams for me to chase.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Then I return to reality, where I'm sitting in the backseat of the car, my parents in the front and my cousin next to me, and my brother in the third row. It's like a small home, where I can feel completely comfortable and at ease. It makes me think of late nights, driving home from wherever, and just watching the lights pass by the window, gradually easing into a slumber, feeling safe and protected, as long as my parents are up in the front, driving to our destination.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sometimes I feel like I'm slowly losing that comforting feeling, the older I get. The older I get, the less we take family trips, the less time I spend at home, and the more time I spend doing things that require me to step outside of my comfort zone. I wish things could remain easy forever, and I didn't ever have to grow up and be responsible for myself. I wish I could return to the days of childhood when the days seemed endless and going inside at the end of the night was the worst thing ever; when the ground was lava and going to Dunkin' Donuts on our own seemed like the coolest thing ever; when naptime was acceptable.</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Oh, nostalgia. I yearn for those days more than ever now that I'm facing the years of my 20s. But for someone who wants a lot out of life, I need to spend less time looking back and more time racing forward. But I think it's okay for everyone, every once in a while, to remember, cherish, and wish for their childhood.</div>leahcarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10160615615192870024noreply@blogger.com0