Ugh.

My dad and I had a fight today. We were playing tennis and I was doing really well until we started a match--the exact same thing that happened yesterday in my class. All of a sudden, everything was going out, and my serve was basically nonexistent. So I got frustrated. And then (bad idea) I started thinking about how miserable school is this year and how sick I am of going to a math math math school.

So I started crying in the middle of a game after I screwed up yet another shot. My dad got angry at my frustration and told me I needed to chill and lower my expectations. That does NOT help me. I have expectations based on what I have been able to achieve in the past. It's not like a totally arbitrary thing.

I finally made him let us go home, and he yelled at me on the way to the car (the people at the court diagonal to us looked over and apparently decided I wasn't being abused or anything) and took us home. I ran upstairs and he talked to my mom for a few minutes before coming up.

When he came up to apologize (and let me apologize, which I did) I tried to explain all my issues with school and stuff this year. I pointed out that the three or four big things that bothered me were just made worse by the zillions of little things that were bothering me.

He agreed, obviously. And since he did, I decided not to go off on a rant about how much my mom adds to my stress. Smart move, huh?

Trying to think deep thoughts.

For years now, I've wanted to be a lawyer. I do enjoy following legal news, and I'm on the debate and Model UN teams. I took a criminal law class and loved it. I'm taking Criminology now and loving it. But I don't know if actually being a lawyer is for me.

In December, I was one of the attorneys for a court-martial committee at PMUNC. I was so excited to get into the committee in the first place, and I was downright ecstatic when I found out that I would be a prosecutor. I then went to the conference and hated every minute of every committee session. I'm still going over the experience in my head trying to figure out whether I just didn't like being a lawyer or whether I was bothered by factors specific to the conference of the case itself.

There were so many little things that really bothered me about the whole thing. I hated having to push for the death penalty or life imprisonment for a defendant that I thought was innocent (or at least, not intentionally responsible for the crime). And then, one of my fellow prosecutors was a real prick, to put it nicely. There was another (younger) kid from his high school on the prosecution team as well, who basically seemed to be the prick's protégé. The fourth prosecutor was nice enough, but he was a senior already committed to Columbia (for sports) and didn't give a damn about winning. Of course, the prick and his protégé also had hard-core mock trial experience, and, had we been facing off one-on-one, would have beat the crap out of me. My school didn't start things going for mock trial until after the conference and I didn't make the team last year (not surprising. I was a freshman.). So they were good, they knew they were good, and they thought I was completely inept. I wasn't even allowed to argue with him and point out his (many, IMO) logical fallacies since he was on my team.

My ineptitude was probably real, too--I didn't practice examining any witnesses, and I basically had no idea what I was doing. In his background guide, the chair had stressed that we wouldn't be following real trial procedure. Then, we followed real trial procedure. Imagine my surprise. I hated the feeling of fighting against the current the whole way, knowing I had absolutely no chance of getting an award.

And then there's the whole I-was-exhausted explanation. I wasn't getting enough sleep, I wasn't eating normal foods, I knew that a pile of homework awaited me on Sunday evening when I got home, and I missed my family.

All of the problems I had with the conference and the committee probably contributed to the general unhappiness I had when I was there, but as of now, I think that the cause was a combination of the above plus one actual issue I had.

My favorite part of both debate and Model UN is when I get to argue back and forth with someone. I love it when you ask the perfect question and the kid has no idea how to answer you, so he says something that gives you the perfect followup. And then you sit down and your partner smiles and says Good job as he gets up to make a speech and then you bounce happily all the way through it.

I really missed that. There was no direct back-and-forth, you couldn't one-up people who agreed with you, and you had no chance to really out-logic the people you were trying to beat.

So I've decided that maybe being a trial lawyer isn't for me.

(More to come on this--maybe tomorrow.)

mmm.

They are over. The midterms are done with. The grades are in. I have time to sit, to reflect, and to simply do nothing, let the mind wander.

I'm thrilled with one. Happy with one. Oh-so-slightly disappointed with two. And still left waiting for the sole grade remaining. I expect it to be solid.

And now, with all the time I have to reflect, I shall.

The tests were meant as a tool, both for us and for the teachers. We were promised that discrepancies between teachers and classes and other factors beyond our control would not be allowed to hurt us. The teachers complained, the administration cackled behind closed doors, and those caught in the middle resigned themselves to sarcasm.

As students, we had no choice. Realistically, there was no other way to do it. But the idealist that sits inside my head protests. A vote! she cries. Democracy! The realism takes over though, and I have almost--but not completely--convinced myself that these tests did have some value to them.

Cumulative knowledge is good. Long-term memory is good. It wasn't the tests themselves that bothered me, it was the indignity of the way they were administered.

But for now, I'm just trying to actually learn the material covered in class, rather than shoving facts into my brain for ten seconds.

At least, I can try to relax.

This is not, must not, and CANNOT BE HAPPENING.

Help me.

My Dream Summer Job

I've found it. It's perfect. And maybe unattainable. But just the thought of it sends happy shivers down my spine, makes me smile, and makes me want to jump up and down and dance to loud music and scream and yell and shout and tell everyone.

And, apparently, use run-on sentences. Which is a problem, because I have to write an essay about why I want this job. So, I question myself, why do I want it. And then I think, I just do. But that's not a very good essay. And that begs the question to a certain extent: is it possible to want something so much that this desire subverts your attempts to reach your goal?



P.S. I meant for my last post to have a title: "Insert Title Here" with angle brackets around it. But for some reason, it disappeared. I dunno. Maybe Blogger doesn't like me.

I've started to realize that I have absolutely no talent for titling my posts. Take, for instance, these posts: [1] [2]. I gave them their titles intending to mention them in the posts, but I never got around to it.

Which is an entirely different issues. I often mean to say something in particular in my post, then realize halfway through that there's something else that makes more sense.

Whatever. I have chem and math homework to do.

Reaching and reaching.

As everyone who has and will read this knows, I attend a competitive public magnet school. I chose my school because I knew that the academics would be awesome and I would learn a lot. Additionally, I thought that the school would actually challenge me, something my middle school miserably failed to do. I never anticipated, though, that the challenges could prove to be overwhelming to the point of tears and panic attacks.

For the past week or so (ever since mid-trimester reports came out, incidentally), I've been feeling like I can't do it. My brain tells me, You can! Keep going! Go! but my heart and body want me to stop. They want me to relax, get a good night's sleep, and take time out of my life to think. I had no idea which plan is going to win out.

This evening the two ideas finally clashed enough that there was a battle (read: I cried and tried to make it all go away and hoped my dad would make it better.). My heart was telling me that it wouldn't matter if I stopped, but my brain was telling me to go anyway. The combination of the two ideas led to an odd, unexpected, and unwelcome thought. Maybe I really can't do it. Maybe I'm just not an "A" student in math (which I hate) and chemistry (which I love). Maybe it's okay to enjoy something while not excelling at it. And maybe I shouldn't worry about it and just let things happen.

I started to write a conclusion for this post and realized that I have no conclusion yet. My dad suggested a math tutor. It sounds like it might work. I know for a fact that's I'm going to see my chemistry teacher tomorrow and figure out why (after a high test grade) I'm only in the "lower part of the A range". Beyond that, though, I have no idea. For now, at least, I'm going to bed early.

Super Tuesday

I'm sleepy but I can't go to bed. I hate that feeling. Except this time it's totally my fault. I wonder when American Samoa polls close...

p.s. hillary's going to own obama.