The real genius behind blogging is that it gives you an opportunity to say to the world, "Does anyone else do this?" and there's a possibility that you'll meet scores of people who do exactly that.
Did you ever get an entire year of your life stuck in your head? Because as of late, I have had frequent occasion to recall my sophomore year of high school. I think this is due to several things:
1. The rediscovery and subsequent downloading-to-the-iPod of several tracks from the Moulin Rouge soundtrack.
2. The fact that two pieces from that year's All-State have resurfaced in my life, one in my class and the other in my student's All-State repertoire.
3. The singing of the old songs in worship, many of which I discovered during that year.
It has just occurred to me that those are all music-related points. Hm. I've heard that smell is the sense that links to memory the fastest and the most effectively because (paraphrasing from various sources I can't be bothered to cite right now), it goes to the memory part of your brain before going to the part of your brain that says, "What is this?" But for me, music can put me back in a place as well, especially music that has lain dormant in my brain for a while. When I snagged the MR soundtrack from Mom's house a few weeks ago and listened to their rendition of "Your Song," I was immediately back in my old bedroom, pacing around, imagining that the young gentleman I was dating at the time was making grand and elaborate romantic gestures.
When I think about tenth grade, it comes in quick little clips. Standing on the back row in Chorus next to Sara and Ashlyn singing the Pitoni "Cantate Domino.) Spending hours on AIM with the young gentleman I was dating, only to find him quiet and withdrawn in person (really??? A 16-yr-old boy wasn't just brimming with conversation?) The pretty girls in Chorus giving me a makeover and Doc informing me that they made me look, erm, meretricious. Writing up scripts for pretend television shows.
Sitting in Physical Science making jokes with Jon, starting a friendship of epic proportions. Listening to soundtracks over and over and over and imagining every dance move, outlining every voice part in my brain. Writing parodies upon parodies. Wondering why Coach B had such a great reputation. Bethany, Rebecca, Ashlyn, Sara, Deanna, Elena, Jenny, Meggie, Jon, Andrew, Stephen, Ryan, Marc, Justin, Curtis.
I dated, got dumped rather spectacularly ("I would date you, but I'm afraid of what people would think of me..."), dated someone else, found him unenthusiastic about the whole thing, dumped him unspectacularly, re-dated him because I thought no one else would ever like me enough to date me, found him downright mean and re-dumped him with what Doc called a "cerebral hate letter." (Lest I be accused of soiling these unnamed fellows' reputations, I would like to add here that both apologized and more than made up for their conduct and have since been pleasantly civil to me and great suitors to subsequent girlfriends.)
Mostly, I remember that year as being a year of extremes. I decided to try to eschew sugar one day and found myself eating 6 bowls of HoneyComb the next day. Boy du Jour would hold my hand for two seconds and I would be over the moon, dancing down the hallways, only to be despondent an hour later when he wouldn't even say hi to me because he was around his friends. I was desperate for approval (in other news, water is wet) and any little speck, from a good grade on a test to a friend saying I was a good writer sent me skyward, whereas any hint of rejection or disapproval sent me into a self-hate spiral.
Now, what's funny is...I remember it as being one of the best years of my teenagerhood. It wasn't the happiest year, but it feels like the year I lived the most as a kid, in a manner of speaking. I ran unabashedly toward what I wanted, exulted to the heavens when I got it and crashed into sorrow when I didn't. I used to think that songs like "Need You Now" with lines that said "I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all" didn't make sense because, really, who wants pain? But my 11th grade year, which was generally a more pleasant year, doesn't feel to me like a better year. I think back on it and it feels beige. It feels oatmeal. Whereas 10th grade is (speaking strictly metaphorically) a series of emotional parties and hangovers. 10th grade is bright colors and big music, poison and panacea, trying to sort out what among my personality traits were to be embraced as me-isms and what were blemishes that needed immediate removal. As you can imagine, anything that really could be called a personality trait made the latter list, whereas skill traits like verbal intelligence made the former.
I think the last thing that really made 10th grade the best year was that the full self-control psychosis hadn't descended on me just yet. Although I was getting close, it wasn't until just after that I extrapolated that having and expressing emotions was bad bad bad because it made me sensitive and sensitive means that I am weak and undeserving of respect or validation until I get that crap under control. So often when we think back to fun childhood times, we wished we had savored the moment more, worried less, blah blah blah. But I don't feel that way about 10th grade. I was in it at full speed the whole time. It was a great big year.
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