Advice From a Boneless Alien Rubber Band Woman

 

I bought a book with workouts to become a stuntwoman.

“Chelsea, you’re going to be a teacher. Do you really need a workout that prepares you for a high-impact, potentially deadly career?”

Very much so. Yes.

So anyway, I bought this exercise book called “The Stuntwoman’s Workout” by Danielle Burgio and Jennifer Worick because it was a dollar at Dollar Tree and I want to be all Matrix-y and sexy in-shape. Evidently, Danielle Burgio is a famous stunt-double for, like, 30 movies that aren’t chick flicks, comedy, or Harry Potter … or, in other words, movies that I haven’t seen and possibly haven’t heard of ever. (There was one called … The Matrix … or something. Hmm. Sounds kinda indie. I doubt anyone’s even heard of it.)

I’m losing track of my brain again.

So Danielle is this beautiful woman who is probably an alien that possibly has no bones. She goes through these interesting work-outs that are supposed to turn you into a rubber band like her. And trust me, she’s a rubber band. The book shows these “This is how you do it!” pictures where Danielle (We’re on first-name basis now, yes.) is folded up and she has her leg wrapped around her head like a turban and her other leg is actually coming out of her arm socket and her face clearly says, “When is this going to get difficult? Hey, Chelsea – what’s wrong with your body that you cannot do this so effortlessly?” Oh, and her eyes are very smoky and smoldering and intense, like she’s burrowing into your soul and can see all of your short-comings.

I give up on trying to find this conversation.

Anyway, the exercises aren’t as terribly difficult as I, so cynically, like to complain about. Actually, they are very easy to understand and the pictures show a talented woman who is very capable for her successful career. I’m actually making quite a bit of head-way and I already feel better about my body. After working out, I subconsciously choose healthier foods and I don’t crave the junk food I have always loved to eat with wild abandon.

Okay. Now which paragraph did you like better?

Huh? Which one? The cynical and only partly true (okay … mainly untrue) paragraph or the one where I’m all, “Look at me! I’m being serious about how in-shape I’m getting while you’re sitting on your butt reading my blog!” Yeah. You like the cynical. Never complain about me being cynical again, or I’ll revert to being boring again.

“But, Chelsea, I didn’t say anything!” I can read your mind and I wish your reproaching thoughts would stop being so present.

Anyway, so I’m most likely not going to be a boneless alien or a stuntwoman unless the teaching field completely dries up and I never write a novel worth selling to my family or friends for pocket change. Then, I might become an alien.

I’m sorry if I offended any extra-terrestrials by insinuating that your life is not one of great difficulty. Pretending to not exist and dining with President Obama at Area 51, as I understand, is of great difficulty and importance. And to think we’ve all thought he was slacking off and vacationing all this time.

Anyway, this book sure promises a lot. I’ll post pictures once I can flip my legs behind my head like antennae and once I can twist my head around like in The Exorcist. Until then, you can assume I’m busy being a stuntwoman or eating cheesecake.

If This Were Any Crazier, I’d Probably Have a Reality Show

 

It has been three days since I decided to become organized.

I am still organized.

I’m about to call Ripley’s Believe it or Not!

Again, I do not believe any change has occurred until it can stand for two weeks. Then I get hope.

Right now, though, this is very odd. I normally don’t make 12 hours before everything looks like a blind, rabid raccoon got inside the house. 

I’ll keep you posted.

Legitly Legit

 

It’s, like, LEGIT raining outside.

I’m writing this post in my security-blanket composition notebook, reclined in the driver’s seat of my car in the school’s Jazz lot. My classes don’t start for another 15 minutes.

(I’m copying it here instead of doing my online finance class.)

Anyway, it’s legit raining outside. However, I passed this guy in his dirty and rusty white car (it totally had normal car potential – it was, like, 3 years old) and his window was down, letting in all this freaking rain inside the vehicle, because he was sucking at his cigarette like how the soldiers returning from WWI latched onto their ladies because they hadn’t seen them in, like, forever and two halves.

I’m like, “Dude. Seriously?”

Addictions are stupid.

People are stupid.

Online financing classes are STUPID.

 

Blah, blah, blah. Teacher cars. Rain. The light post is waggling back and forth, back and forth, in all this wind and it looks highly NOT safe. Rain. Pavement. Rain.

Yeah … I’m alive so that means my life is complicated. Like, legitly complicated.

Do people still say “legit”? I highly doubt it because I always catch onto new phrases right as they’re leaving mainstream and entered '”weird” … like “groovy”, “shenanigans”, “ralph” … they are perfectly useful words.

Anyway, I say “legit” because I think it makes you think I’m, like, really cool with piercings and stuff.

… I don’t have piercings. Well, my ears. But that’s like including your mother to the list of people you’ve kissed.

I don’t have piercings. I was raised Catholic and I’m terrified of Hell.

That means no piercings. (In a Craig Ferguson voice: “I look forward to your angry letters, emails, comments, and Facebook messages.)

I never did say why my life is complicated. You probably don’t care, though, because your life is impossibly complicated too. I bet you’re even stressed out too.

Am I psychic? Yes.

It’s 10:50. That means it is time for me to get out of the warmth and happiness of my car and go out in that. Freaking rain. I can feel my hair just bristling with excitement to turn into an afro right now.

You’re probably like, “Wow. 10:50. You suck.”

I love my schedule because several times a week, I get to sleep in until 7am … and then I have to do my online finance class so I don’t get behind. (Can you tell I adore that class?)

WELL, at exactly 6am, when I have to get up on my early days: BAM! BOOM! FIZZLE! CHHHHH!!!!!

God decided to wake me up with his cloud cymbals. It hasn’t stopped raining since and I haven’t slept since. Well played. So, yeah. You can laugh at me because I had to wake up with the normal fishies instead of being all warm, happy, and asleep. You’re satanic, just so you know. 

I think I’m going to willingly become a coffee addict. I realize that addictions are stupid, but I also accept the fact that I’m a huge hypocrite.

But you shouldn’t be. It’s bad. Hypocrites go to Hell and stuff.

See what I did there?

Annnnd it’s 10:53. I definitely need to get inside. I’ve been sitting her for 15 minutes and now I’m going to be late if I don’t get my booty moving.

Annnd I took the time to write that even though I’m running late.

And that. And this. And this. And thiiiiiiiiis.

Coffee addiction is GREAT.

(Legit.)

Conflicted Catharsis

 

Today was that special time of the month.

 

No, I’m not talking about my period. Today was that magical day that hits me unexpectedly about once a month. For a day, I think I can live an organized lifestyle.

Today, I organized several drawers, closets, and collections. All my school papers have their places in organized folders and my room looks like a magazine advertisement.

For one day out of every month, I get this weird feeling to clean and to organize my life so I, too, can live that perfect stress-free life people pretend exists.

During this non-Chelsea-like day, I actually believe that I will continue to put everything back in its new home behind bright white labels and in clearly distinguishable stacks. Tomorrow, I’ll laugh manically as I put that English folder right in the middle of my sheet music. Heck, I may even put Sousa in with my college work just to screw around with my sanity.

See, it’s really hard to accomplish anything of note when you have an evil side that likes to watch the good side start sputtering in frustration. I call it conflicted catharsis. Actually, I don’t call it that, but I think I may start.

Anywho, I’m going to use this newfound responsible energy for something more productive than blogging.

Who knows, maybe this time the organizational bug will stay awhile. Doubtful.

(Friday, April 22, 2011)

18th Birthday

 

Today’s my 18th birthday. I figured it would be weird if I didn’t write on such a pivotal day in my development.

That is all.

Lost in the Paperwork

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you remember, as a child, tucking your knees up to your chest and spinning as fast as you could in a desk chair? I sure remember – my mother yelled at me every time I did. Well, once that chair stopped – either because it slowed to a halt or because an angry mother grabbed the arm rail –your brain probably felt like it was going to slush right out your ear.

That is how I have felt lately. For my faithful readers, you know that I’ve struggled with inferiority and isolation in my classes and that I’ve been so busy all of a sudden I feel like my week is a continuous day chopped into segments by deadlines. I’ve cut off communication with friends and family, and I’ve completely crumbled inward to robotically complete all I needed to complete. 

Somewhere under the debris of papers, I lost God. I lost sight of the only thing that is truly important in my life. I have never rejected God; however, the slightest pick-up of craziness in my life and I accidently put Him in the “Later” pile.

A series of conversations led me to realize how far I had turned from God. That led me to pick up my phone. I faltered over the “call” button; I didn’t want to be a pest and I didn’t want to ask for help. But, I was home alone and I really needed to talk, so I pressed “call”. Couldn’t have made a better decision.

As I called long-distance, I needed to talk on my cell. Therefore, I had to be outside to get service. That led to a walk to the backyard and to the garden steps that I have always written, prayed, and dreamt on.

I opened up the communication lines with a human again. I let myself cry a bit and I said just about everything that I had hidden from people. I shared that I was uncomfortable, that my “power through it with a smile” approach was faltering. Admitting ended up feeling better than hiding.

After a great conversation about faith, I felt I needed to do one more thing: I had to go into the woods, in solitude, to pray. I always feel so much closer to God when I’m alone in the woods, so I locked up the house, threw my lanyard around my neck, and headed off into the backyard. 

I talked to Him as I walked down the wooded path to the deepest heart of the woods, a couple acres in. Eventually, I stopped walking. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes to say, “I’m sorry.” Instead, I dropped to my knees and sobbed into the ground, completely overwrought. For the first time in a long time, it felt like I meant that apology. I begged for guidance, for wisdom to see the lessons He taught during this time. But most of all, I begged for Him to come back, for Him to come back into my crazy life and make Himself at home.

I don’t believe in asking for signs. I believe we live in a world full of astounding testaments to God’s presence and love and that asking for a “more obvious” or “better” sign is arrogant. However, I’ve been so lost and so uncaring, I felt that I needed a sign at that moment to know that He was with me. I didn’t expect one. However, a butterfly (the first butterfly I’ve seen this season) came up and fluttered directly in my face out of nowhere. Then, it flew a bit ahead of me and landed on some fallen pine needles. I walked toward it and it flew away. Then, it circled around and fluttered in my face again, this time flying toward a tree. On the tree was another butterfly, stretching out its wings. The butterfly that had flown into my face flew up next to the perched one and the two flew off together. I started crying again, this time with a huge smile and a couple dorky chuckles.

When I walked back inside, I blessed myself with the Holy Water I keep in my room and I turned on my laptop to resume work on some scholarship essays … annnnnnd check Facebook. I had a notification that Fusion, our after-school Bible Study, will meet tomorrow afternoon. I couldn’t have felt any happier. I contacted Allie and confessed that I was struggling and that I needed that Fusion meeting. I can now look forward to a group hug from the Fusion group, with Jesus invited in on the huggin’!

I thought this week was going to be the worst lately with all the deadlines and paperwork; turns out, it is the most pivotal and beautiful. Why I ever pushed away true Happiness in my time of stress, well, only God knows.

 

Full Steam Ahea --- wait.

 

I woke up this morning. That’s a GREAT start.

I woke up this morning (no allusions to either Shania Twain OR Ke$ha so far ….) already thinking of a hundred things at once.

Primarily, what the HECK was I thinking when I decided to switch my major??

I was set in the English Department; I had a PLAN. I would take five years to earn my BA in English and to complete my education courses for my certificate. I had already lined up all my classes and I was excited to learn about the major poets and thinkers, the devices of advanced prose, and the semester I planned to take abroad as I studied Brit Lit at Oxford. I had already gotten the “ins” with the professor that would help me polish my writing and help me publish. It was all in the cards that I would write my first novel meant for publication during my Junior year and then I would complete it all up, maybe work through a second, and begin my authoring career just after college graduation.

Then, I had the nerve to switch my major.

I’ve done an incredible amount of independent research in the English field over my lifetime, and I planned to take the classes to elaborate on what I already knew and to hone my craft. However, this is not same process for music. Where I know quite a bit about about music and I’m a skilled musician, I am below amateur. Music has always been a very strong passion and a great release for me, but the depth of the field is so diverse and expansive.

So, there I sat on the stairs, wondering what I signed myself up for, realizing that this is a huge decision. I mean, of course I could always try it and switch again if I do not succeed, but I’m an “all my ducks in a row” type of person. It was easy to switch this time because I’m only taking GenEds, or classes that I will need to graduate, regardless of my major, and it didn’t mean wasting time and money in classes I would not need.

Anyway, I realized on that stairway what the main difference was: I had studied English extensively and I had not done the same for music. Therefore, if I want to feel as comfortable with music knowledge as I do with English knowledge, I have to take the same path! Today, I started researching concepts and composers I know about to find the deeper information and explanations for each. This seems to be the logical path to comfort in my higher education courses over this stuff!

I can’t just tiptoe around to see if I will be able to survive in a harder course-load. I need to just dive in without restraint and work to my limit to make this reality.

Why? Because, DANG IT, I want to be a band director!  

Il mio Audition è finito!

 

 

 

 

 

I am very tired.

Well, the audition went pretty well. I’m in!

After I warmed up, I sat outside the vocal director’s office, as I was told. Then, the receptionist comes up and says that no one had seen the man all day and knocked on the door.

I was sitting outside of an empty office!

She scrambled around trying to find him, tripping over her apologies. Calling him, she found out he went home sick. In the meantime, the professor doing my instrument audition was AWOL.

The girl found another director to listen to my vocal audition, and he was really nice. At the end of the audition, the vocal director walked in. Evidently, both he and the instrumental guy were now present.

It was so hectic I didn’t even get a chance to be nervous! It was great.

I am content with how I did in each audition. I’m very unyielding in my expectations of myself, so I know the things I wished would have gone better; however, I did very well and each director welcomed me aboard.

That’s it. I’m a music student now. That slightly terrifies me.

I have also made a tentative decision to major in instrumental education. If I take a vocal pedagogy class and stay in the choir throughout my five years at SAU, I will have enough knowledge to cover my bases in case I’m put into a position where I need to teach a choir class. I’ll also go over elementary ed info in case I ever need to teach Twinkle Twinkle to tots. 

I’m excited, but predominantly tired. Also, terror covers up some of the excitement. Being an English Major would have been MUCH easier – I really hope I can keep up with this. But … lately, I’ve been all about challenging myself. This definitely attests to that.

But! Il mio Audition è finito!! No more obsessing!

I need a bubble bath and I need sleep. For now, I’ll just troll Facebook.

~C

Jenga! Real-Life Edition

 

In 37 hours, I will find out if I made the right decision. I find out my appraised worth and whether or not I will be accepted warmly into SAU’s music department.

Until then, I practice and I worry.

At 10:30am, I have my vocal auditions, where I will sing “When I am Laid in Earth” from Dido and Aeneas and “Wallet” by Regina Spektor with Dr. Charles Livesay. Next, I have an appointment with Mr. Tiechmer to play "Andante Pastoral et Scherzettino" by Paul Taffanel on flute and “Stars and Stripes Forever” (cough, cough. Coolest piece ever written. cough, cough) by John Philip Sousa on piccolo.

At this point, my feelings are mixed. I feel I can do well, I’m just nervous that I will freeze up. The key point is telling myself that I have prepared well and what will come out will be a product of my preparation and attitude.

37 hours. In 37 hours, this will all be over and I can relax knowing that I did great and will continue successfully in my music classes.

^See that false air of confidence there? If it’s 50% attitude, I have to lock in the mindset now!

Wish me luck; keep me in your prayers!

 

~C

 

From the Outside Looking In

 

Spring Arbor University is an amazing college. Every time I step on campus, I feel as if I’m walking into a friendly grandmother’s kitchen … minus the doilies and weird farm pictures.

However, this semester is especially rough for me. This is my final semester before high school graduation and I am consistently bombarded with deadlines and reminders and events. Honestly, I’m struggling to keep up between SAU, the high school, and my online financing course.

I began having panic attacks this weekend. I had three yesterday. The building stress level and denial about graduating is really affecting me. At the bi-annual blood draw, I needed my pulse checked three times before it was low enough to actually give blood. When it finally was low enough, it was barely below the mark and I passed out just off the table. I need to slow down to nourish my body, but Time is just relentlessly shoving and stretching me in every direction she can muster.

Currently, I find I cannot connect with my college classmates. Being younger than all of them intimidates me, I believe, but I just can’t find contentment on campus this semester. This displacement makes it very difficult to picture myself away from my high school, which has become a dysfunctional home. Again, I absolutely love SAU and walking onto campus feels like I completely belong; I just feel that I’m observing everyone from the outside and not actually a part of the community quite yet.

The combination of high stress, a complete rerouting of my career path, impending disconnection, and a heart that decides to pump enormous amounts of adrenaline at 3,000bmp (slight exaggeration) is really about to find that straw to break my back.

Until then, I’m going to enjoy my spring break … even though I still have my morning SAU classes, a music major audition (performing four selections, sight-reading, and doing scales I have yet to check .. all with four minutes of warm-up after a class I pray does not run over) a volunteering project at a nearby church, a long overdue lunch with an old friend, two reports, an essay, AP testing studying, and two dozen scholarship applications. All in one week.

See you at the aftermath.

~C

Countdown to Graduation

There!

Now I don't have to keep running to my calendar to count the boxes!

Musical Performance: Self-Inflicted Torture and Other Insanities

For months, musicians practice the same pieces over and over and over until they want to scream and throw the pages off a 30-story balcony, watching the pages flutter serenely down atop taxis and man-hole covers.

And laugh maniacally as the pages turn to dirt-stained rubbish.

Take choir, for instance. Choral musicians learn multiple languages to perform singular pieces. It becomes a mad dash to research exact pronunciations, stresses, and word phrasing of languages the musician will never speak again.

All musicians repeat their failures until they can correct them. Whether this is foreign language learning or note learnings, it is a continuous loop of reiteration into all hours of the night and minutes in the lunchline in public places. "Atchi no mi zu wa nigai zo. Atchi no mi. Atchi. Ah-tchi. t-chi. t-chi. t-chi. Ah-tchi. Atchi. Atchi!"

For months, musicians beat themselves to near-death extremes (I may exaggerate, but there are many sleepless nights that create the feeling of being "undead") to learn these pieces for a single performance. This performance could last anywhere from 10 minutes to an hour (in a school or small orchestral setting) but they take months to prepare. Months to perfect.

Why? WHY?

I have absolutely no clue. I could get mushy and say "it's an emotional experience, a medium of expression and release", but it's not always that. When I pick up my flute and practice the same three measures consectutively or I grab my piccolo and try to work my high range even higher, the only emotion I feel is anger and determination, which usually results in a headache.

So why do MILLIONS enjoy creating music?

Masochism. Insanity. Obscure Freudian concepts.

For me, music is expression, but it also a challenge that I need to overcome, that I need to master. It's a puzzle to be solved. It's a Rubix cube, it's labyrinth. Music teaches me about myself; about my motivation, my hidden emotions, my potential, and my ability to create something from nothing.

I could explore this topic even further, but, ironically (or perhaps fittingly) I have to leave now for my band concert.

Ready to Sail

 

“Do you know how the snail made it to Noah’s ark? ...Through persistence.” - One of my awesome friends, Jarred through Facebook chat

 

 

I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. My parents have as well, as they sat through many impromptu story tellings, usually starting with, “Did you know that …” One of my favorite home movies comes from Christmas on my fifth birthday. Sitting on the fireplace ledge, I had a piece of paper about the size of my little five-year-old palm in my hand. I looked up at the camera and said, “Mommy, did you know that there’s a story written on here?”

I proceeded to tell the story of Jesus, Mary, and “Jofus” (I hadn’t mastered his name yet) in detail from each of their perspectives. When I finished and smiled at the camera, I dropped the paper which, actually, was a piece of packaging I ripped around a sticker of a snowman and definitely too small to hold more than a sentence.

However, now that I’m older and have studied the art of writing, I understand that being an author isn’t about rambling and pretending stories are hidden in snowmen. I understand plot outlining, rising action, falling action, character connect-ability, climax, moral, themes, flaws and dialogue. I know what rules you NEED to bend (in school, we were taught to never use “said”. In authoring, you rarely use anything else!) and which to strictly adhere to. This knowledge, however, does not produce best sellers. And when you, like me, cannot think of a plot, you have nothing.

Recently (like the past year and a half) I’ve slaved and prayed and studied over tips for developing plots. I have a file full of developed characters and developed scenes, but right now they’re on a bus; I don’t know where they’re going or who will end up sitting next to whom. I vented my frustrations on all who would listen and received a lot of “don’t worry about it” sentiments and “just keep developing your scenes and look for a pattern.” But that’s not what I needed; if I ever wanted to become successful, I did need to worry about it and I needed to stop wasting my time perusing fictitious snippets of Arlington National Cemetery, two girls applying make-up, a woman grieving her brother’s death in the first months of our current war, and two detectives who (surprise, surprise) find solace in each other’s company to splice together a Mondo-plot. I needed to let these scenes go on suspended animation and start by thinking of interesting situations. What I needed did not rest with the caring “It’ll all get better” statements, but with one powerfully quiet sentiment IMed through Facebook by a very good friend of mine:

“Do you know how the snail made it to Noah’s ark? ...Through persistence.”

And then … like the final twig snap that unleashes the dam’s flood, I had two plots. TWO! This is monumental because I can finally enjoy the process of writing instead of starting in the middle with a broken compass. I can guarantee I will be much happier in the coming weeks!

And why can’t a novel be as easy as sitting on the fireplace ledge, letting and alternate reality become tangible, real? It’s what I love, so I think it’s possible to find fun in the complex and challenging.