Dear Blog,

I miss you. Why don't we hang out more often? I really enjoy writing in this little grey-rimmed box, and looking back, I've used some descriptions that I'm really quite proud of here. I mean, come on. I called my printer an alien spaceship with which I had to have a nuclear battle. And I used the phrase "begrudging snobs". How many times in life will you hear that phrase?

Sure, all of my stupid typos are out here for all to see (ironically I just misspelled the word stupid twice), but I refuse to go back and fix them. The flaws make this more real, more human. I don't want to seem like a professional here. I'm not an author, and I don't want to be. Not anymore, at least. NaNoWriMo ruined that for me. I want to write for fun, not because I have to. That's why I started this blog in the first place, rather than taking a Creative Writing class at school. Sure, I could ace it. But I'd be REQUIRED to share what I wrote. And I'd have deadlines. And I couldn't start sentences with the word 'and'. Here on this lovely little blog, people can see what I write, but barely anyone does. I like my small audience. I wish I had more feedback, but still. Small is good. And I don't get stage-fright here, because I'm not anticipating having to read my essay to the class. There are no grades, no deadlines, and no length requirements. Ironically, that makes me write more.

Oh, so you're saying it's my fault we haven't chilled much lately? Well.....I guess that's true. I mean, I have been struggling not to fail AP Physics, as well as going to both District and Regional competitions for theater. And there's something I'm forgetting.......oh yeah. I auditioned for All-State Band. That's right. Get on my level :P I'll be writing about that soon; it was quite an experience.

Anyway blog, I've missed you a lot. I just wanted to tell you that. Mainly because I felt like writing tonight but I'm literally too lazy to get up and go and get my journal. Also, my wrist hurts from over-practicing for states. I know I've posted recently, but I wrote those things because I had to. The percussionist essay was originally written for AP English, and although I am immensely proud of it I wish I had done it by my own free will. I feel like I had to try really hard to write that essay, as opposed to right now, when I'm literally just sitting here with my laptop and a can of Pepsi, listening to Repo! The Genetic Opera and typing whatever comes to mind. And as far as the virtually nonexistent post goes.....I wrote that on a night when I was so stressed I actually could not concentrate on practicing anymore. I needed a distraction from my nervousness and anger at myself, and I felt like I owed the internet an apology anyway. I mean, I ditched it all at once. Seven different websites in one night. I bet it was heartbroken (ok not really).

I'm really going to try and come back to you, blog. I promise we'll have a special Bro Night sometime soon. Now that you are my primary interweb attraction, you will get all the attention. In the next month, I promise to write more real things and (hopefully) they will be more interesting than this is.

I Am Virtually Nonexistant

So those of you who read this most likely found this blog through my Twitter....which no longer exists. I deleted it, along with my Tumblr and many other websites that I formerly used to procrastinate, and honestly I've never felt more free. I've already mentioned once here on this blog about how I "don't want to put too much of myself out here on the internet" and how I don't think it's necessary to pretend to be friends with people who I barely know at all, so I don't need to be redundant here and rant about that again. But my point remains the same, and I don't want to be a part of that sort of immature society, who doesn't know how to communicate without a keyboard or camera-phone.

I honestly don't see why people want to tie themselves down to the internet so much. I mean, it's a wonderful tool for research; I've learned endless amounts of interesting things from websites like Youtube (the Vlogbrothers on their new shows SciShow and Crashcourse mostly) and StumbleUpon. I've also been much more up to date on the news thanks to access to SourceFed, Phil DeFranco, and CNN Student News. I have enjoyed entertainment from Youtube (can you tell I'm a fan?) and Symphony of Science, as well as Memebase and of course other blogs, which I have also mentioned here before. Don't get me wrong, I love the internet. I just don't want to let it rule my life.

Back when I was still a Twit, I had a deadly routine. I'd get home from school, fire up the trusty laptop, open up Firefox intending the check email and start on homework, and end up automatically typing Twitter into my address bar. I'd then waste about 30 minutes browsing through the silly things that people tweeted during my school day, none of which were important at all, as well as checking out the pages of the people I was closest friends with. I would follow all of the 'interesting' links (from people whom I trusted of course; there is a lot of Twitter scamming that goes on these days), look at all of the Twitpics, participate in discussions, and overall just waste my time. What made it worse was the fact that I also had Twitter on my phone, so I was connected 24/7. Sometimes, I'd end up having 2 conversations with people at the same time, one over texting and one over Twitter. It all felt so fake. It was fake. I cringe to think about all of the time I wasted on websites like that, all of the hours I could have been catching up on sleep or preparing a little bit more for auditions and such. I feel like I missed out on part of my summer as well, because I was too busy tweeting about the good times I was having to actually enjoy them.

I was also constantly worried about censorship. On Twitter and Tumblr, people can be anonymous or easily conceal their identities. You have no idea who sees what you type. I have no idea who is reading this right now in fact. You could be my mother, or my English teacher, or a college professor or potential employer checking out my internet profile before you hire me. On Twitter, it was always so easy just to tweet on a whim, and there were many times when I was overreacting over personal situations which didn't belong on the internet at all and yet, boom, there was my personal life, in under 140 characters for all to see. Later I'd feel guilty and stupid and delete those posts, but of course, once something is on the internet, it never goes away. I am ashamed of that.

I was actually in the process of 'tidying up' my Twitter page when the annihilation of my virtual self occurred. I realized how much of myself was there on that public webpage, despite the discrepancy of the individual tweets themselves. Anyone could learn almost anything about me, simply by reading a few hundred of them. I realized how scary it was, and how I was tired of worrying about whether people thought my tweets were funny or interesting, or what my darned Klout score was. What is that anyway? Who is Klout, to say how interesting it thinks I am? So it was quick and painless. I hit deactivate. And since then, I haven't looked back. My phone is quieter, I get my work done more efficiently, and despite feeling isolated from everyone else socially, I am relieved that I don't have to hear about every little occurrence in everyone's lives. Sure, I might not be the first to know if so-and-so broke up or if there is a marathon of America's Next Top Model on or if #TeamInsomnia is trending in Australia, but that's fine with me. I have my own life and my own goals to worry about. Who needs those kinds of distractions anyway?

Also, if not having a Facebook means that I get to own an Invisibility Cloak, that's totally cool with me.

Now don't worry, I'm not going to delete this blog. It seems to be a really healthy outlet for me to get all of my brain clutter every once in a while. I actually wish I had time to blog more. And I'm not leaving Youtube either. I still love the internet- just after the real work is over with.

Percussionist

Devoted to his major in music, this percussionist is far more exhausted than your average college student. He has an apartment, but he rarely goes there, for he would rather just sleep in the band room after practicing while everyone else parties and sleeps, living out their mundane college lives. He uses his home as a storage area instead; drawers and bedside tables are littered with tuning forks and tambourine wax and music, and piles of drums occupy the corners and line the walkways. Addicted to Gatorade and Brown Cinnamon Pop-tarts, some may call him crazy. But he longs to be extraordinary. First in the state, top of his bands, hired for 4 or 5 gigs per week, he has exceeded our expectations by eons. He believes in eternal improvement, nothing can ever be too perfect, too precise. He will spend hours on one tiny passage, concentrating on details nobody else would even think to care about.

His eyes, periwinkle and fringed with blonde, squint as he contemplates his music, noting every dynamic change and stealthy indication of the composer. To me, the music looks like ink splatters on the page, holding no observable patterns or even resembling music at all. But to him, the dots sing and whisper, speak their complex language in his head. When he sheds his snow-sprinkled peacoat and timeless beret, a scraggle of golden slightly-in-need-of-a-haircut locks are exposed, a testament to his schedule, which is too full of rehearsals and concerts to make room for such a trivial appointment. He considers his bulging mallet bag, fingers twitching excitedly as he ponders which mallets to paint his auditory masterpiece with. He chooses a blue set, soft yet heavy, good for warm rolls and deep chords. Two mallets in each calloused hand, protruding at awkward angles that somehow feel natural to him, he approaches the rosewood keys of the marimba, shutting out all distractions and focusing on his music.

The yarn mallets brush the notes like gentle fingers and the room’s atmosphere shifts instantaneously. If you listen closely you can hear his silver watch jangling against his wrist as his hands flit and flutter, a symbol of his punctuality and reliability that he never removes. He shifts fluidly from one end to the other of the humming instrument, rolling on the balls of his converse-sheathed feet and always prepared to move. His concentration is tangible in the air, glowing of an intensity that can only come from love and total devotion to the music.

The melody is unpredictable, yet he tames it and prunes it, making it bloom and flourish like nothing I’ve ever heard before. I can hear the colors swirling in the air, yellow with C Major, red for A minor, blue for a serene B Flat. Despite the lack of lyrics his tune tells me a story, of love, loss, and peace, and he must feel it too, for the music shows on his face. His eyes close as rolls crest and bellow, his faintly muscular shoulders square when the notes are frantic. His own emotions flow through this music that is not his own, and watching him play alone is an intimacy he only grants to those he trusts. Without using words he opens his heart, telling his own story for us who choose to listen.

In the end, the beauty fades away. The room returns to silence and he emerges from his trance, modest about his own playing and admitting “I could have done better.” He has no idea how he touches his single audience member; how he leaves an impression so clear it is tangible. Under-appreciated by only himself he sets to work improving his technique, acknowledging the beauty of the piece but not of himself.