Make It All Stop

This week has been a nightmare. Insufferably hectic. I have had so many things to do all at once that I felt like my head was going to explode. I went to bed at 5 in the afternoon today.
When you break it down into what the things I had to do actually consist of then it doesn’t seem like much, but you have to consider my life.
You have to consider; and then dutifully forget: the week previous.
Due to my arrangements with busses, school and geographical misfortune; I only get 5 hours to eat and do stuff per day, and only 3 on a Thursday. Most kids get about seven all days of the school week. And they don’t have to cook their own dinner half the time.
Anyway; continuing with my plight from a different angle… this week I have had a mammoth 50-marks-for-the-total-school-study-score-for-this-semester Edgar Allan Poe essay due. I decided to ‘extend myself’ in the hope that my teacher would get the message that the work was boring. The class wrote around 900 words on one of six questions using three stories from Great Short Works of Edgar Allan Poe and every single handout or notes they could find. I wrote nearly 3000 words on 11 stories using nothing but the book and a dictionary.
I overextended myself. It only took me two thirds of the time as the class got, but shit it was hard. It consumed my every waking moment, as I wrote to my teacher in a footnote at the end of the essay. It is of course a masterpiece though.
Then I had a practice English Language essay where I had to compare two texts in a way that I have never had to do before, in 45 minutes. It was the only thing that my otherwise excellent teacher has asked me to do that served no real purpose. I am also so utterly daunted by time constraints.
Then, in every moment of spare time I had, and also quite a lot of the time I was supposed to be studying at school; I was collecting pictures for my parody video. Having been inspired by this little passage of discourse from The Shadow Box:
“Quote from: CaffeinatedCassadie on July 31, 2008, 03:52:37 PM
Katy fucking Perry can go rot in hell.
Quote from: ___ampersand on July 31, 2008, 03:16:33 PM
Yes. Yes. Yes! Gahh I can't stand her!
ugh seriously.
Why doesn't she make a record called "I like cock and pussy and can't make up my mind so here's a bullshit record about my search for both" and be done with it?”

I decided to take on the wonderful overplayed heap of shit that is the song “I Kissed A Girl”. Whilst sitting the car on the way back from work one night I heard this song and immediately hit on some great substitute lyrics. I then crafted these and the idea for the video, before animating it and recording the actual parody. This recording contains no Katy Perry whatsoever, it is all me and karaoke track. It took for-fucking-ever to produce, especially converting the PowerPoint presentation to a video file. But I have succeeded and you can now view the results on YouTube.
Here is the video itself, imbedded onto the blog as well as the link for more info on the file also.

(And alternatively if you are listening to the podcast, the track for the song. And please, if you haven’t heard the original, search for it on YouTube right now “Katy Perry I Kissed A Girl Official Video” ‘cos it isn’t half as funny unless you’ve heard it.)

I almost wasn’t going to put it up anywhere. In fact I almost deleted the whole thing from my computer altogether.
To begin with I felt great about it. I thought it was funny, clever, sardonic, well produced and comparatively well sung. My mother thinks it is brilliant and witty and has since turned into one of my biggest fans. One of my friends saw me making it and was rather eager to see, and being as proud of it as I was I wanted as many people as I thought were interested to see it. So I stayed up later still to convert it specially to a format I could use to show people at school, and then I showed it to one of my friends. He giggled a little. He was kind and didn’t say much. I then tried to show it to Mr. Perfectly-Alright (the most well adjusted of my male friends) and he refused because in a remark of an eerie parallel to something Mr. Crushing would say “You can’t have a parody of a joke song.” I threw my pencil case at him and he still wouldn’t watch.
So still feeling confident and proud I showed it to some of my acquaintances, two girls I knew came over and had a bit of a look. One of them smiled a few times. Then when it was over my friends and acquaintances (who can’t help but snoop anyway) all turned and looked at me. “Did you really sing that?” one of them asks. I tell them that I did. A boy who is usually very kind and intelligent smirks and hides his face, “Right.” He says. ‘I mean who else was I going to get to do it?’ I say in lame defence. A boy who I don’t like much who just happens to be standing around mutters into his left shoulder – “Someone better.” I say that it was also meant to make fun of her voice and the way she does it, she’s still pretty pitchy and a lot has been done to her voice. I still think I do an alright job. Everyone sniggers and does a really poor job of not absolutely devastating my feelings. Think – disastrous dinner party where no-one wants to tell the hostess that the food is inedible, until one person bursts out with it and the whole table folds with relief for not having to say it themselves, although they were all thinking it. Except this was weeks of work and a major point for my confidence regarding my whole ambition.
Oh well. They all hated it. It wasn’t even funny enough for them to be able to look past my apparently disastrous rendition of the vocals. So what hey?

In other news, and also in the stupid-shit-people-do-much-to-my-exasperation category is the occurrence of two guys hitting on me. A boy on my bus, big, fat, Samoan or Maori boy; seriously sleazed onto me the other day. Arm over the seat, smarmy look on his face; trying to impress his friends; making fun of the way that I am sitting. He starts to make kissing/smooching/slurping noises disgustingly close to my face. I ask him if he is alright there. He says that he is fine, waits a moment and does it again. By now about six kids, elbows over headrests, have come to see what is going on. He asks me if he can have a hug. I tell him no. He asks me again; his voice is naturally deep, but mine was deathly – no. ‘Is it cos’ I’m black?’ He retaliates. I tell him it has nothing to do with that. He asks for my number. I refuse. He asks a bunch more times, then he asks for the number of one of my friends. I ask him which one, since all my friends are male. He asks me if I want the number of one of his friends. Again I refuse. I get up to leave the bus; ‘Bye babe! Bye babe!’ he jeers after me.

Then a few days later sitting in a meeting at school, I was wearing a yellow ribbon around my neck as part of the school’s Daffodil Day celebration (unfortunately no-one go the reference to the folk tale). And a boy to my right says to me ‘Hey, I like your ribbon.’ I tell him thanks and smile and the whole bit; and then under his breath he says to his male cohort ‘She looks just like a present – ready to be unwrapped.’

It was either because I am the most undesirable, nerdy, nonsexual girl around; or because some people actually do find me attractive and interesting. And the worst thing is I never know which one it is. Sometimes I catch a random coy glance in the street, and sometimes I get people telling me that they can’t believe that I ever had a boyfriend.

Life of late has been tremendously chaotic, and not happily either. I haven’t come out of the tunnel yet. There are so many things that I wanted to write about, that I could have written about this week, but the post-traumatic hangover has continued. And in true form I have been neglecting everything. Somehow still progressing, and yet accomplishing nothing. Although the ironic thing is that when you are reading this, because it has been written; it means that I have accomplished blogs and things. And there isn’t much use whinging about it now.
Fuck me.

I know I haven’t blogged much recently. I’m sorry, although I doubt it mattered. I discovered, the other day, much to my horror, that I am a hypocrite when it comes to multiple and lengthy blogs. I have been reading about Musings travels on her blog, although I haven’t managed to phrase a reply successfully. But the other day I visited the page and she had done about seven new blogs since I last read, and they were all very long. So, being time poor, I closed the page and did something else. But in the time it took me to click the ‘x’ and open a new tab, I was already scolding myself for being a total fraud. Here I am, creating these hideously long and rambling blogs and expecting you all to read them, when I too am phased by huge blocks of text not unlike my own.
Karma will get me for this one.

I haven’t been appreciating being alive all that much either. I almost felt like I had a right not to since his week has been so bad. But that isn’t right; very ungrateful of me; life is life.
And mine just happens to be nothing but a bunch of disordered shit at the moment.
I still feel like I am getting away with it – in the words of Ian ‘Dicko’ Dickson, from an interview a few nights back. I still feel like someone is going to turn to me one day, look me straight in the eyes, and serve it up to me about the façade of competency I hide behind; how I am surviving on nothing but bullshit eloquence, self-destructive exhibitionism, emotional manipulation, and coffee.
I asked my teacher if I could skip the exam to have a music lesson: he said yes.
I walked through the ‘No Student Thoroughfare’ doors and the vice principal remarked disapprovingly ‘Are you a member of the staff now?’ I replied that I had been for quite some time and continued casually on my way.
I didn’t complete my art work and fed my art teacher so many excuses that he completely forgot he had to collect it from me.
When I finish my work I leave class ‘to go do some more research’ (bludge on the internet or go shopping) and no-one thinks twice.

I am stuck with the words of ‘Straight’ in my head. I have never heard the song, but I have the lyrics. And they fit so well.

“Straight”

there is a boy in a band
who is friends with my ex-boyfriend's
high school friend
Christian
a very nice gentleman

he seems to know me
but I can't remember him
good god forgive me
I’m out of my element

and I can't seem to keep them all straight
I’ve forgotten which people I like
and which people I hate
and I’m waiting for someone to shake me and say
hey bitch
you're wish is my command
just smile and nod
we'll under-
standing in front of the sink
I believe I’ve been tricked
into thinking I’m sick
when I’m actually generous

no use expecting the worst
let the thing run its course
and in time you'll look back
thinking god, how hilarious

but I can't seem to keep them all straight
I’ve forgotten which ones I should skip and which ones
I should take
and I’m waiting for someone to shake me and say
hey bitch
don't quit
you're almost dead
don't give up now
make friends instead
of going out
go home instead
of going down
go back to bed

there is a man at my side
who's convinced I’m alive
and I try to explain
the poor guy
that it's way too late

he seems to like me
but I can't relate
I would like to get closer
but Christ all the time it takes

and I can't seem to keep this all straight
I’ve forgotten which feelings to show
and which feelings to fake
and I’m waiting for someone to shake me and say
hey bitch
nice tits
you're broke but then
you're rich in love
you're great in bed
you'll see the world
you'll knock 'em dead
and all the thick books that you've read
will count for nothing in the end

I never have it all under control. But I have somehow manufactured an image of someone who does.
It’s almost awful; as Amanda put it so well in light of her public temper tantrum of a college art performance: “Both teachers gave me an A, but it didn't help. I was enraged. I had gotten away with murder, public wanking, and I was still stuck.”
I shouldn’t be getting away with this. I can see this teaching me bad habits and it all ending badly. Yet I can’t stop. While I can take advantage of it, it is irresistible not to.

However there is also a part to it that has a real foundation; in my capable side. I do enjoy the control and the privilege a lot; I love all fleeting instances of maturity and elevation.
I am so much a part of this school. I taught classes this week. I conducted our year 12 Information Technology test. Our teacher was looking at videos on YouTube. I do like him; he’s nice; but hopeless.

I asked him whether he had any graph paper that I could draw my Excel sketches on. He told me he didn’t. I asked him if I could print out a screenshot of the blank spreadsheet and photocopy it a few times, since quite a few other students wanted one. He said it would be fine and that he would even do the photocopying for me. Then the session ended and he dutifully took my sheet. The next session we had, two days later, he still hadn’t photocopied the sheets. So I went off to photocopy them on his user ID. Except he didn’t give me the password. Then back in class with the 65 sheets I handed them out to every single member of the class who thanked me appreciatively. Meanwhile this group of usual-suspect boys who do not work, were trying to ask the teacher for help. The boys had no idea what the test was on about and have spent the first three sessions mucking around in frustration. He kept telling them to stop playing games and brushing them off with “Just a minute!”. Somehow he always seems to always be doing something, yet he accomplishes nothing and helps no-one. Bit scathing I know, but true.
So these boys just about get to their wits end; when I offer to help them. The first one comes over and I manage to clearly and easily explain the test to him for the first time. He is very grateful in his own way. But soon, all the other boys actually pick up their stuff and move away from the computers and the games, to come sit with me and find out about the test. I explain it to all of them and they just light up, and they get to work. They thank me loudly, and I get cheers of “All hail!” from the other side of the room. Soon enough those boys are explaining it amongst themselves, they are able to relate it to each other because of my instruction. They are happier for learning and not failing.
It was one of the most elating and fulfilling moments of my school life. It was amazing, I know what it is like to be a good teacher.

The ‘real’ teacher did crack it with me the third time I took the class. The students were beginning to lose faith in him and so when he didn’t answer (too busy Photoshopping images of himself, for reals) they turned round and said “Oh I’ll just ask (me)” – the teacher immediately returned to alertness – “No DON’T ask her.” And attempted to help the kid. Later when I was going from student to student someone announced that I was a better teacher than the actual one, to which he replied “Well, like, she doesn’t have to do… all the, other stuff, that teachers have to do.” The boy, spurred on by the teacher’s sensitive response said that I should be the one teaching the class, and the teacher spat “Well why don’t you just stick it!” back at him with serious irritation.
Everyone went “Ooouooh!” and then fell suddenly silent.
I asked him later whether he minded me helping the kids. He mumbled some concession about “…if they’re really struggling” He has since had to ask me for help himself. A meek little voice beside me spoke my name; and thinking it was one of the kids I replied with a casual ‘Yeah?’ tinged with the slightest annoyance at being interrupted during my work, and didn’t even look up; then I heard the depth and accent in the voice and blushed a little for both our sakes.
We’re cool now. He does all the teacher duties like roll marking and discipline and I do all the, uh… teaching.

So many people have told me that I should become a teacher. All the boys in that class that I helped asked me whether that was what I was going to and told me that I should give it a try. And another girl in my art class asked me if I would look over and/or correct her focus statement. I had a good read but lost track of the things I wanted to pick out, so I asked her if I could write on her copy. She said it was fine so I ended up doing the full teacher bit with the red pen and little annotations and suggestions. Then I talked to her about her piece and what I understood and liked. She told me that I had been so much help and that I must become a teacher. She told me that people would really like me and listen, and that it was ‘my thing’. I was flattered and gratified once more.
This was really something special for me; and to get those comments from school age teens, who don’t usually listen to or respect anyone; and I shan’t let it rest lightly. Teaching is a gift and a blessing, and I can see why people are attracted to that magical feeling of knowledge and service in their lives; it’s good for the soul.

Speaking of the future: tertiary admissions are upon us. Preferences opened at the start of this month and I didn’t even realise. I completely missed the commencement of it all.
I am scared. Very soon, in one half an hour sitting (as it has to be done as such) I am going to have to sit down and make my preferences course-wise for my whole post-secondary life.
But I think I am finally coming to terms with no set plan. I think after my experience with finding something else that makes me feel fulfilled and happy, I am finally getting what is meant by this ‘life is an adventure’ business. I do want to do far out haphazard happy-go-lucky shit, if it wasn’t for that and my crappy school I would have never known how far I could have stepped up and how great it felt.

You know, I really think I’ve changed.

☆