Picking up where we left off...

Wow, it's been a while since I've written. Kinda crazy how things happen, huh? I guess I sort of lost interest in blogging for a while. But I'm hoping that I'll be able to start updating regularly again. Maybe not every day, but often.

Senior year is awesome. I love all of my classes, except Physics. And that's something that I'd just like to motivate myself to get through so I don't have to struggle with it in college. AP Lit is fun with my particular teacher, but very hard. I never thought I'd be writing essays once a week, and analyzing two chapters and two short stories every A Day. Still, it's getting me in the habit of doing a lot of homework, and I think that will be good for college. I've never been a homework person before, so I just need to get the hang of it.

Speaking of college, I had an interview with the President of Northwest College of Art last Friday. He came to give presentations around Salt Lake for his school and did some at Bingham. After he finished with my class, a girl raised her hand asking if he could do an interview after school. A few more people followed, and so he ended up offering a group interview that night at the Barnes and Noble cafe. Rachael and I went together. Five people showed up including us, each one with some form of a portfolio, and he spent almost half an hour talking to each of us about our work. It was so interesting to meet this guy who just decided to start a college one day in order to make his own mark on the world. He had this incredible talent of looking at people's art and reading their personalities. Of Rachael, he said that she liked nature and people, and that she had some poetry in her. Which is true. Of me, he said that I liked color and had clever artwork. He loved my pop/graphic art style in particular, and said that when I was a student at NCA he was going to have me make a poster to advertise the college. On his analysis paper regarding my art, he wrote FANTASTIC and boxed it in. Not that I mean to come off snobbish about the ordeal, but I think he was pretty impressed. And I take that as a good sign. Maybe I can get myself into a good college after all. Maybe. If I reach for the stars.

I went to the first meeting of Bingham's very own Harry Potter club today. No, I'm not nerdy enough to do that sort of thing on my own. However, it's going to be a pretty big, popular club, and it actually looks like it's going to be a lot of fun. There are some great activities planned. Not to mention, they're sorting everyone into the houses and they're going to keep track of house points and that sort of thing, so at the end of the year there can be a house cup presented and all that fun stuff. I'd like to keep going, if I have time between Shakespeare, the musical, AP Lit homework, workshops, Drama Club, and Art Club. Oh, and work. Lots of stuff. But it will be good to be busy.

I started writing today. Something that my Lit teacher said struck the cord of inspiration, and I took out a piece of paper and restarted a story that I haven't worked on for a couple of years. It's called Parallel, and it's an idea that I toyed with in the 9th grade, but never really did anything with. Ever since I've found a style that I really love and am comfortable with (energetic, vocal, stream of consciousness type stuff) I'm having more fun with creative writing. Anywho, I'm going to post the one page that I managed to compose through the day. Lemme know what you think.
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"Please don't talk when I'm talking," Miss Pilot says to a pair at the front of the classroom. "I've got this whole narcissism thing going on."

The class laughs at the joke, but I don't. In fact, I barely register the comment. I've had a headache ever since I woke up this morning, and the dizziness is starting to set in. I feel disconnected, like there's a giant space between my brain and my body.

I also have a sneaking suspicion that I may be going crazy. I keep hearing this guy's voice in my head. I don't know about you, but my thoughts usually sound like me. Maybe this is what schizophrenia feels like. If it is, it's damn uncomfortable.

The dizziness is getting to me now. I put my head down on the cool surface of the desk and measure my breathing. In, out. In, out.

"Kennedy, are you alright?" Pilot asks me.

I pull my head back up with an invisible string attached to the hand of God, and I stare.

"Why don't you go get a drink?" she suggests, noticing my clammy skin. Ha. Clams. Sherlock Holmes says that clams are awfully prolific, you know.

When the message strikes my brain I nod and stand up, mechanically heading for the door. Then all the electrical signals keeping me together zoink out and I'm on the floor.



A moment later the blackness is fading and I can't recall why I'm laying down. There are faces looking down at me in shock, and I seem to recognize most of them, but my brain won't tell me how I know them or who they are. Error. Error. Does not compute.

"Do you know where you are?" asks a dark-haired, smart-looking lady.

"School," I blurt, incapable of producing "AP Literature and Composition" in my current condition.

"Do you know who I am?" she continues. I feel like I'm in a police interrogation, with all the faces leering at me and the lights glaring down and the headache pounding. I nod, but when I open my mouth to say her name I draw a blank.

She picks up on my confusion. "Come on, you'd better go lie down." She grabs a girl to help me walk down to the office, and the next thing I know, I'm lying down on the shrink's couch. Details have started to fill in. My name is Kennedy Jackson. I'm a student at Central High School. In fact, it's my senior year. Best time of my life, right?

... Right.

Headache still hammering, I debate on whether to check myself out of school.

"You idiot, that's all wrong..." says the male voice in my head.

On that note, I decide I should probably go home.