Apr. 11th, 2004

could

Apr. 11th, 2004 07:28 pm
sidewalksparkle: (Default)
I'm making a poster (une affiche) about Audrey Tautou for the school's One Community, Many Cultures night. While OCMC is a good idea, it's frustrating to be required to do something for a grade, especially since I can't even attend the event because it starts at 7:15 and we won't get back from the field trip to Chicago until 7:45. Maybe I'll drop in late, pay the dollar, and sample some (scrumptious, I'm sure) foreign cuisine. Amélie is one of my favorite movies ever, but I just can't get excited about cutting out Amélie-ish pictures and typing out extremely basic sentences (basic so I can write them in French as well as English) about Tautou's birthdate and history in film.


But today is Easter, and I love Easter. Because it is Easter, I can eat popcorn again for the first time since Lent began. (OK, I love Easter because Jesus rose from the dead, but the popcorn is nice, too.) My incentive for finishing the poster is watching The West Wing on DVD and eating popcorn. Happiness.


I am annoyed with myself because I haven't been following the 9/11 hearings closely enough to understand exactly what is going on. Usually I try to read the newspaper on a regular basis, at least enough to feel somewhat connected to the world around me, but I've just been so out of it lately. I think my anger radar starts to flare up when something like this happens, and it leads to subconscious avoidance of events to which I should be paying attention.


I feel very disconnected in general, though. It's because of having gone to Kentucky for the funeral. I haven't been at school since Tuesday. I'm trying to stay caught up with make-up work, but I'm sure I've missed some relatively important stuff. I just want to be completely caught up by Thursday, so I can enjoy the mini-break from school that we get on Friday since we didn't use up the alloted snow day. Not counting church and work, since I have no control over the people I see there, I've seen people my own age exactly twice since Tuesday. My 18-year-old cousin, Josh, was at the funeral on Friday. I hung out with Molly and Kristen on Friday night, and saw several groups of juniors and seniors from a distance. And that's all. I haven't felt lonely or especially anxious, though. I've sort of tricked myself into thinking this is Spring Break #2, even though it was brought on by death. (That sentence strikes me as really callous, but I can't think of another way to phrase it.)


Tomorrow is going to be wonderful. I hope the Art Institute tour isn't so regimented that we end up completely restricted. At least we have the afternoon to roam, albeit in our assigned groups. (At least I like my group, and am hoping we can pull strings so Amy and Megan can join Molly and me.) The trip will be great anyway, because a bunch of painting kids on a bus and lunch at a fun food court and time "away from it all" (as if I haven't had any of that) can't be disappointing. I love the Art Insti-toot-toot, as I called it as a three-year-old child, back when I was innocent and giggly. (Come to think of it, I'm still sort of innocent and giggly. Giggly, at least.)


I figured out my senior quote. We won't get our yearbooks until this fall, so it won't really matter. By that point we'll all be settled into college or whatever else we're doing. But I still wanted to make mine something I care about. After struggling between lines from Orlando and "Hey Jude," I ended up with a statement from the poet Brenda Hillman:


"We walked through night 'til night was a poem."

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