Runner's High.

So today I spent several hours freezing my ass off at the track, waddling around like a penguin with my arms held stiffly at my sides, refusing to take my hands out of the over sized sleeves of my varsity jacket. But in the end, when it was finally time for the 800, my race went by surprisingly fast and when it was all over I sat down, put on my sweats, and replaced those dreadfully toe-squishing track spikes with my worn out, comfortable uggs. It was a good feeling.

On the car ride home, I couldn't stop coughing after running around in the cold for so long, yet I sang with Leona Lewis at the top of my lungs. And as I drove past the rows of houses, amazed at each one's sparkling Christmas lights, I felt warm, and relieved, and content. And when I got back home my mom made me hot apple cider with cinnamon and I sat there sipping my steaming mug while listening to a piano cover of Just The Way You Are. So Amy, to answer your question - "Why do you run? Why would you do winter track?!" - I guess it's for moments like these.

Sacrifice.

So tonight at dinner it was just my mother and I. Not unlike many of our dinner conversations, we got on the topic of college - except instead of finishing my plate with the usual feeling of a sinking heart and the fear of failure, I sat there in a sort of awed confusion.

My mom is mad smart. Whenever I don't understand calc, she'll take a quick glance at my homework and say, "Oh...hmm give me your textbook, I think I remember this," and within a few minutes, perfectly understands the entire chapter. It blows my mind. Whenever my computer crashes, mother comes to the rescue with her troubleshooting skills. And when I borrow astronomy magazines and books from the library, she'll finish reading them before I do and then start asking me questions about them that I have no answers to. And on top of being a genius, she's an amazing artist. All the paintings that we have hung up around the house are hers. But she hasn't painted in a while.

She wanted to be an architect. Came to America, got into college, received her Masters degree. "But you really shouldn't worry about where you go to college," she said as I stared at my rice. "Cause in the end it doesn't really matter. I mean I didn't go to that great of a college but it makes no difference now - I chose not to go to work, and just stay at home. I'm happy with my life." And then I felt really bad. I mean I know my mom loves our family and would do anything for us - from making me breakfast in the morning to solving crazy math problems with my brother to helping my dad publish books. Yet I can't help but wonder if she ever regrets giving up her own interests, her own dreams, to support her family. I hope am a good enough daughter to make her sacrifices worth it.

College.

How can anyone really get to know a person through a list of awards and a few measly essays? Even interviews are no good - first impressions are often wrong. There is too much luck involved in this application process.

I dislike things that are out of my control.

Rant.

I didn't make regions so in a momentary outbreak of spite I wrote this:

I can’t wait for the day
When I can turn around and say
Did you forget about me?
Well I’m back and here to stay.

Celebrities will know my name
And the President will claim
That he knew I had it in me
Before I came to fame.

‘Cause I can guarantee
I’ll be all that’s on TV
And everywhere you go –
They’ll be talking about me.

I’ll come knocking at your door
To even out the score
Did you forget about me?
Well you can’t anymore.

Okay, my rant is done now. It's alllll good.

Locker Room Conversations.

Girl: So, do you know for sure yet?
Other Girl: No...my mom's like freaking out though, crying and crap.
Girl: Wow, why are moms soo dramatic...was she like born 36? She was our age once too...
Other Girl: I don't know, but she had me when she was a teen, so she should know all about it.

Oh, the things you overhear sometimes...

So...college.

It's like I'm walking down an empty hallway lined with locked doors on each side, and I'm desperately knocking on every one, hoping someone will open it before I reach a dead end.

Stop Sign.

So Shirley and I stayed after today for calc and, not surprisingly, got into a pretty serious conversation amidst trying to fix our completely warped wire model of a hyperboloid of one sheet. After our lopsided project was complete, we left the classroom, conversation still going on, when she asked, "Do you ever get the feeling that life just never stops?" And I replied, "I know exactly what you mean."

We walked outside into the drizzling parking lot. My mind was filled with a million thoughts, with hopes and worries, with dreams and doubts, with memories from the past, with instants from the day, with wishes for the future. It was a jumble of reality, of the high school, the concrete, the raindrops, the track, the cars - a collage of everything around me cramped into the space beneath my skull. Cold and wet, I opened the car door and rushed into the cozy warmth of the vehicle. For a few seconds, the world was quiet, I was alone, and life stopped.

Then I turned on the engine and the loud buzzing vibrated throughout the car, the windshield wipers started moving at top speed, I pressed on the gas pedal and life began again. Driving home was like any other day - the same streets, the same stop lights, the same turns. A part of me didn't want to go home, I just wanted to keep going, just wanted to get lost so I could find myself again. But then I saw a stop sign, paused and thought for a second, and then I turned left, the way I always do.