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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Beyond the Pale.”

i used to run. i used to exercise a lot, in fact. when i was younger, probably around 12 or 13, i was able to run a few miles without getting winded. and then, somehow, once i hit high school i stopped trying. i rarely exercised, which i always cracked a few jokes about (those are usually the most popular) and just tried to eat more healthily to make up for that. recently (basically in the past week), i started going out and jogging a little. people say that you should “get back into” running a few miles at a time. i took that advice, except i probably run half a mile and then stop and walk a little. but i feel good. i feel that i’ll stay consistent because i like the way it makes me feel after (i’m usually under the impression that my legs look great the day after when, in fact, they probably look the same). i really do want 2015 to be the year in which exercising stops being a chore and actually just a normal part of my life, and i hope that by the end of this year i’ll be able to run a few miles without stopping. i usually play this game by myself where i start running when it’s flat, and i won’t let myself stop around people or until i hit a hill. it’s a quirky little thing that i’d be embarrassed if anyone saw, but in the end, this is going to be good for me.

beyond the pale: running (day one hundred and twenty two)

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Nothin’ But A Good Time.”

as a high schooler, it’s impossible to imagine a day without worrying about school. even during breaks, i’ve always had to do extra work (you can see why i hate summer now). of course i’m still a sophomore, but it’s still hard getting everything done.

if i had a day to do whatever i wanted, with no obligations at all, it’d go a little something like this:

wake up at 10 am. make a breakfast quesadilla or a smoothie

and then i’d just read. for the rest of the day, i hope. i was an avid reader when i was younger (i once won a stereo in the second grade that i still use for taylor swift cd’s), but as time went on schoolwork and extracurriculars started taking precedence. i am by no means busier than any of my friends, but i’ve been told that i move and act slowly so that could definitely hinder my scheduling. i just started americanah by chimamanda ngozi adichie and it has such an interesting beginning. i’m only on page six, but the narrator’s words almost sound angsty and sarcastic, something i wouldn’t expect from such a thick book with a dark-ish cover. i also subscribed to two magazines (teen vogue and seventeen) that have yet to come, but in the mean time i’d be getting caught up with time.

and of course, netflix. i can’t seem to finish a series, so i’ve got to work on completing merlin, bones, unbreakable kimmy schmidt, skins and friends.

an unattainable free day (day one hundred and two)

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Switcheroo.”

often i go back in forth between thinking i’ve finally stopped caring what people think about me and being sensitive to a person’s look. i’ve always been quite jealous of those who are naturally independent and confident, because i feel like an improvement in my personality could not just make me happier but could do wonders for my gpa. in an attempt to find a tutorial on how to shrink polyester (long story short i don’t care as much about size when the garment is cheap and good looking), i found sheri pavlovic, a free flowing diy blogger who i appreciate a ton. she has this quirky personality that shows through in her posts and vlogs, and i feel like she’s someone who i’d love to be friends with. undeniably positive with the sense of humour of one of those aunts and armed with some rad photoshop and gif-making skills. not just the skills, but the confidence to make them of herself. she seems like the epitome of a free spirit, not because of a highly filtered photo of an outfit or her clothes, but her personality. she also linked to the crafty gentleman, whose tutorials make me excited to diy (as excited as one who normally sees diy as overrated can be).

i’m not really sure how to become more self-confident, but i hope i find out soon.

funny face (day ninety six)

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “I Walk the Line.”

considering i only go to church a few times a year, it’s not a surprise that i am unsure of how good of a person i am (not that i’m saying that either are synonymous with the other, but i was brought up believing that faith almost always alludes to a good heart). i haven’t hit anyone or ruined a person’s life, and i generally would participate in community service in my free time, but at the same time i haven’t always stood up for what i believed in or defended what needs support. i struggle with being myself, in finding the balance between selfishness and altruism. and i think of the role models i’ve had, but they have never been in these kinds of situations.

when i’m muddling through my feelings, i often think that audrey hepburn, my top female of all time, couldn’t be bothered with this sort of foolish back-and-forth. she lived through world war ii, dealing with malnutrition and helping with the dutch resistance. she went on to be, not just kind and beautiful and unique, but incredibly talented. i can’t even imagine going on with that kind of upbringing and turning out that successful. reading her son’s biography, i kept realizing that everything about her was, not just sweet, but honest. it seemed that her heart was so big, yet it had no room for evil.

it’s crazy to think how much the world has changed. the issues i’m dealing with now can’t even compare to what was happening less than a century ago. the norm has changed, and that kind of scares me. how am i supposed to act like someone else when the circumstances and contexts are always changing?

where do i stand (day ninety five)

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Just a Dream.”

i’m running, but i can barely feel it. in my mind i know that i’m too out of shape to have run this far, but anything seems possible. the sky around me is both light and dark, like i’m alone yet protected. any past worries i’ve ever had, about my grades, the people i hang out with, lack of creativity, all disappear from my mind. it’s almost like i’m intuitively realizing how mundane everything else is compared with this moment. somehow, three doors appear. this surprises me because i’ve been running for so long and nothing has sprung up. i know in my mind that usually, when given the option of doors they’re close together. not this time. i can tell that they’ve split up the circle i’ve suddenly become confined in three ways exactly. 120 degrees. and i look at each one, searching for any anomalies from one to another. they’re all the same, but i can tell which one is which. white and wooden, like they were taken from a perfectly suburban mahogany house. i can’t decide what left and right mean to me. i mean, i’ve always liked the choice of left because most people go right. it’s the underdog of directions. what do they mean politically? i can’t focus, so i just start towards the middle one. and my walk becomes a jog, which turns into a run, and before i can feel the sudden hardness of the door, i wake up.

wake me up (day sixty three)

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In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”

along with being one of my most hated questions, “what do you want to do when you get older?” is one of my most asked.  i don’t even know if it’s when people ask me or if it’s brought up in general. first of all, i don’t know. i don’t know what i where i want to go to college, i don’t know where i want to live, so i obviously don’t know what i want to major in. heck, i can’t even decide what i want to eat at chick-fil-a. most people never end up doing what they want to do, meaning millions of people probably hate their jobs. answering simple question of “what do you want to do in the future?” makes everyone sound naïve. wanting to be a videographer for vogue when you’ve taken one course of video editing is ideal, but probably not even an option for anyone. it’s the instagram bio of life- embarrassing and often changed.

and then, if i suddenly know what i want to be, i’ll change it out of the blue. as most little girls do, i went through the i want to be a singer-actor-model-dancer before i realized i can’t sing-act-model-dance even recreationally. and then i wanted to be a cook, and then after that, a cashier. now i just think i would like to be rich, which is horribly overhated. i like to think i’d spend my money better than the kardashians do, but i know that being able to pay my parents back or donate money to causes i’ve always been behind or providing opportunities for other people is the underrated side of being rich. there’s more than designer bags and weekend getaways (things i’ve always thought were overrated) and of course, i’d probably by old-fashioned luggage.

i can’t decide quite why i dislike it so much, nor can i understand why people still ask. i suppose it’s always an icebreaker or a fall-back option when conversation has become sparse. it’s something i could definitely find a need for, since conversation-having is apparently not in my of expertise.

miss congeniality (day sixty)

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darby tried to focus. breathe… normally. just in and then out. it didn’t work. these nerves were getting the best of her, and all she could notice was how loud her heart was beating. or maybe… it was just her. they had always described it in books and movies, where the quirky female protagonist narrates how everyone can just hear your heartbeats. you’ve done this for your entire life. how is it that you can’t do what anyone can do at this moment? she tried to concentrate on the boots of the kids in front of her. she thought about how they all resembled each other, wearing sweaters in such similar shades of gray that they may as well had been picking shirts off of color swatches. her eyes wandered to their pants, how expensive they must be just for the name of the brand. and how their furry boots looked at most, comfortable, alone, but almost aggressive together, their various heights and (again) similar shades to almost prove their friendship. she looked at xavier’s new haircut, and for a second was so shocked by how spiky it was, wondering how much gel could possibly be in the few inches on his head. and this worked… for a second. and then, she made eye contact. just for a split second- she couldn’t help it. and she decided that she couldn’t decide what colour his eyes were, because that would involve staring at the top of his face for more than the biweekly glances she always stole. her spanish teacher opened up the heavy wooden door, accidentally slamming it onto the unevenly textured walls. and this surprised darby enough to avoid walking into xavier and his nearly lethal hair, both of whom had stopped to avoid colliding with the freshmen who talked like this as if they were neighbourhood women gossiping in the 50’s about how lena from the end of the block got pregnant and they just knew that it wasn’t harold’s. switch their monochrome outfits and they may as well have been part of a gardening club. he looked away awkwardly, and almost immediately looked forward again as if she hadn’t glanced up at him. but he was too determined, and darby knew that he had seen her. so with one turn, she walked into her spanish room for fourth period and tried to shake off the discomfort of that non encounter.

fight or flight (day fifty seven)

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