AAAH! I can hear a a dance party going on somewhere and I really wish I were there. I miss dancing SO much. Hard to ignore. Well, I mentioned yesterday that I was coming to grips with the whole living-at-home-after graduation thing. I also mentioned that not dealing with my old friends helped. Well, (I just used that word again) my dad came home last night and told me he saw Michelle at the gas station. Apparently she told him she's going to Cal Poly and then asked where I was going. He told her that I'm not going to college. Maybe in his little fantasy world I'm not. However, the truth is that I am taking five classes at the JC and then transferring to a UC with all my lower division work done. AAGH! It made me cry. Not because he told her the wrong thing - on the contrary, a variety of untrue rumors have circulated aroud my old school since my departure and I can honestly say I don't care. I'm happy that Michelle's dreams are coming true. I cried because my dreams are not. This is hard for me because academics have long been a large part of my life and something by which many people define me. It just seemed obvious that I'd go to some great school after I graduated. I'm learning, though. What I do is not who I am. I've always known this principle and applied to other areas of my life (it's easy to avoid defining yourself by your job when you are a motel housekeeper), but it felt good and comfortable to ignore it when it came to academics. Academically, I am a high school student with a stellar record who homeschools herself and attends college. But in a few months, what then? I am a high school graduate living at home, working a manual labor job and going to a junior college. Is my identity and value truly based on what I do? Life is simply confronting me with questions about whether I truly believe what I say. Dreams come and go. And God will only have something better lined up for me. Just wait and see. *** I did like a week's worth of schoolwork today. Then I went shooting with the guys - my dad, Josh, Danny, their dad, and Jeff. My dad and I got to the shooting place (out in the forest) first so I rocked a few clips before they got there. I like la pistola the best - it feels cooler than a .22 and it has just the right kick. When everyone else finally arrived, the guys started shooting some bigger guns. Danny's turn came and he leaned his rifle across the hood of his truck for support and aimed at a target. His face was too close to the scope and when he fired, the gun kicked the scope right into his head. It cut a half-moon through the flesh of his eyebrow and across his forehead. At first, we didn't know anything happened. He fired, then just casually said, "Hey." When he turned, I saw a bit of blood on his forehead and I knew . . . It only took a couple of seconds for it to start REALLY bleeding. He tilted his head forward and let it drip on the ground until we got some gauze out of the first aid kid. It was gross, let me tell you. So he went to the hospital. I would have still shot some more after that. However, my dad proceeded to pick up a gun and when he shot it, a huge puff of smoke came out of it. He said, "ah, I got a powder burn." Then he examined the gun for a second and said, "Hmm, sometimes they blow up when that happens." He put that one away, but I was done shooting. When asked why, my reply was just "Bad vibes!" Later tonight I called Danny to see how he was. He said they put four stitches on the inside and five on the outside, then gave him some painkillers. Poor guy. We decided that he is going to tell a different story to each person who asks what happened. Such as: "I cut myself shaving." |