New Stuff Going On

NEW STUFF #1: Swimming lessons. I am in Level Eight, because last year the pool had chemical problems or something (as always) and the lessons didn't start until we had jetted off to the lake. (Kidding. I haven't ridden a plane since I was, like, three.) There's only supposed to be two kids in my class, but he quit. So basically I'm getting solo lessons! It's cool. Today I managed to correctly execute a Stride Entry, which is a pointless way of jumping in the water without putting your head under. I thought this was dumb, because a) if you're jumping in the water and you can't get your hair wet you have a PROBLEM and b) once you jump in a wave washes over your head anyways and soaks you. I asked my teacher, Shanna, why there was a point to this. She said it's for when you jump in and save someone and want to keep your eye on them the whole time. So I guess there is a point. The thing that is vaguely curious about swimming lessons is that they have so many rhymes. Some poet out there has no life. There's fire, wire, gas, glass, look up, look down, look all around, and sniff. They're not all rhymes, though. Pep-si, co-la, sev-en up is the rhythm for the front crawl. There's more, but I can't remember them all. Ah well. Good times. I love the water. I especially love the flickering turquoise light dapples on the pool floor underwater.
NEW STUFF #2: I actually studied for my science test. Last night I was spastic with energy, leaping around my kitchen, muttering "a beam is a strip of material used horizontally to support a load" and leaping on my brother and screaming, "GUESSWHATGUESSWHATGUESSWHAT? THE STRENGHT OF A MATERIAL DEPENDS ON ITS SIZESHAPEANDUSE!!!" Completed with an evil cackle. Cookie dough does this to you. Consider yourself warned. Anyways, the test was beyond simple. I may have even over-studied. Can you do that?
NEW STUFF #3: I'm graduating tomorrow. In my town, we only have two schools. Elementary is K-7, and High School is 8-12. They actually don't call this a "seventh grade graduation," they call it a "grade seven farewell." I'm kinda sad to think about leaving the good ol' Elementary school, but I am excited for high school. I'm totally psyched for lockers and different classrooms and the evil people and the cool people. Today the grade eights came over to our school and answered some questions off a sheet about high school. Stuff that we wrote. Like, "Who should we avoid?" ("Just don't be too cocky, especially not at first, and then no one will hate you. The grade nines especially despise if you start strutting around like you own the place," Laura said.) And "What happens if you forget your locker combination?" ("We hardly ever lock our lockers, unless there's an event going on at school," Levi said. "If you do, just go on down to the office.") Apparently we don't get a school supplies list, either, so their advice is four zip-up binders, pencils, pens, white-out, and all that shiznit tucked away in a pencil case, and markers for art. Chantelle suggested a mirror or a little box to keep stuff in inside your locker. I wanted one of those magnetic mirrors and a magnetic shelf or something to keep chapstick and hand lotion and stuff in. Maybe I should use another pencil case instead, because if the thing fell off and spilled all over the hallway, that'd be annoying. I think I'll just use a pencil case, because then I can keep a few bucks and "feminine supplies" in there without fear. Okay, I convinced myself. I have a nice dress for tomorrow, white with large black polka-dots, and sweet shoes and silver-and-black jewellery that sounds odd but looks nice. I don't exactly know how I'm rolling with hair, though. My hair is getting longer, because I'm growing it out. I like the length it's currently at though. I have a thick mat of golden-brown curls. I know they're golden brown because I once went around at a drug store matching a curl to all the little samples they have taped down. Grade Seven Farewell is really not a big deal. At one o'clock we walk in one by one, sit down, and watch embarrassing pictures of us snotty-nosed kindergartners played to everyone. Then the teachers make a speech about how wonderful we are, then we get diplomas then we get to go home. I suggested we all go to the Co-Op for koolaid slushies after, and it was seconded enthusiastically.
NEW STUFF #4: My right-next-door neighbors sold their house. The people moving in have a thirteen year 0ld daughter!! How great is that? They're moving in July 1st. I'm really excited. Even if we don't end up best buds, I still am going to introduce her to a bunch of people so she won't be so alone. We can prepare her for high school. I may even email my new teachers at the high school and ask if they want to email her back or something to give some teacherly advice. I can't help but imagine her. I mean, I don't know anything about her. She could African-American, Caucasion, Native American, or Asian. She could have blonde streaks, red curls, or blue spikes. She could have braces. She could be a model. She could be in a wheelchair. She could love reading (or better yet, writing) or she could hate all literature. Kind-hearted, mean-streaked, music appreciative, sensitive, sense of humor? Who knows. We could end up best friends like those BFFs you see on TV that walk into each others houses. We could end up enemies. We could chat every night, or maybe living next door will be a curse. I don't know. I'm hoping for the friends part, obviously. Even if we're not BFFs, we can be aquaintances or buddies. The summer before sixth grade my best friend Kensey and I met a girl named Alex at the pool. Kensey, who is related to everyone, had whispered to me before that they were distant cousins. There is a girl named Kelsey who lives right next door to Alex. I remember what we said. We had lingered uncertainly around her for a few minutes, twice saying, "Hi." She responded with a cheerful "Hello" both times. We finally swam up to her and introduced ourselves.
"Hi, I'm Jaecy," I said.
"Hi, I'm your cousin," Kensey said. Alex smiled and nodded.
"Kelsey told me."
And so on. We're now good friends. I'm hoping the new girl will be reasonably nice, with a sense of humor, and likes to read. I hope she'll appreciate me and my other friends introducing ourselves, rather than telling us to get lost or something. Most new people are the same at first, though. Shy, introverted.
Anyways, have you guys ever moved? I never have. I've lived in the same house in the same town my whole life. I don't know what it's like. I know it can't be easy. Any idea on how I should act around her? They're moving in on July 1st.
NEW STUFF #5: Poems. The other night I woke up at four in the morning and tossed and turned and finished my book and wrote two poems about eating disorders. They're kind of dark, but I like the finished product. No, I'm not bulemic OR anorexic, but I can imagine the pain.

BULIMIA

Self loathing
Gorging on sugar, starch, salt
Until I'm fit to explode
My stomach clenches
In bloatedness,
Anxiety.
Gagging
Heaving
Lurching
Purging forth my uncertainty
And doubts
About who I am
And where I shine
Repeating the actions
That I lose myself in
I drown in pessimistic bleakness
Unpleasant tingles
And the hollow,
Wracking
Gasps.
Do I feel better?
No. no.
But I will continue
Letting go
It's the only thing I'm sure of.

ANOREXIA

i stand quiet in the crowd
muscles taut
flesh sucked in
and i wonder:
am i too fat?
are they too skinny?
do they notice?
do they hate me?
am i good enough?

if i fidget
and rearrange
and dissect the food on my plate
maybe no one will notice
that none enters my clasped lips

i smile through my pain
and push on through my fatigue
i collapse at night
into a pile
of bones
and flesh
and suffering

yet i still lie awake
heart pounding
irregularly
not just because i'm living
on air
and water
but because i'm afraid
that after all of this
i'm still
not
good enough.

They're both somewhat dark, and twisted, and depressing. But it's also life, and I like to think I captured the lives of these poor people. Because most people think that bulimia is just models trying to stay rail-thin, it's actually a lot of chubby people that hate themselves and do this to themselves.

NEW STUFF #5: Wait, this is old. MY FISH DIED. It was an algae sucker. The kind that are the sole survivors in a filthy tank. My tank was CLEAN. And Peter Pettigrew had to add to my deceased number of fish. It's now a lucky number: seven. I'm a killer. However, I do have two remaining: red fantails, Coraline and Christine. They are perfectly fine. I hope.

Summer had finally came. The air is hot. School is drifting to a close. I finish next Wednesday. I'm also going to Moose Jaw for a ball tournament this weekend. For once, I'm not playing in it. My sister is. My friend Lizzy's little sister is on the same team. We are camping at this place with a motel, campgrounds, and rentable trailers. There is also a swicked awesome pool. We decided to party there all weekend instead of watching Squirt softball. Wheee!!!