Suck on my 19 and a half pages of notes

I have spent many late nights in my school's 24-hour library with my amazing, glorious coffee that I could never live with out, despite my mother's efforts to get me to give it up. And I must say that today's has been the most productive. Except for right now. But we all need breaks.

I've taken 19 and a half pages of notes so far for my Human Sexuality (Yes, it is a class. A psychology class to be specific. I'm taking notes on urinary incontinence right now, and it's really reminding me of when I was in Kindergarten and how I peed my pants multiple times a week. And that is reminding me how I didn't learn how to spell my name until I was in pre-school. Sorry, I am really off topic right now. Time to focus) midterm, and I feel like I am going to own this test. In part because my focus has been near impeccable and in part because of haterz.

I don't like to deal with haterz. I'm a really emotional person and when I feel like some one insults me or judges me in anyway, I instantly feel like crying. And most of the time I do. Today was a very bad day.

I was studying with a friend earlier, and they kind of told me I was dumb, like, in a serious way. I hate being told I am incompetent in any way. I think it's mostly because I judge myself for being not as smart as other people, and it's cool when I do, but when ever anyone else does, it's like the apocalypse. My world is over. Reality sinks in and I hate myself, but I especially hate them. How dare they say something like that to me?! My level of intelligence is none of their business. And if it doesn't meet up to their expectations for me as a human being, then they can suck it! At least this is what my brain is telling me when it happens. So, the way I see it, I have two options. I completely give up, drop out of school and move home and work at a yogurt shop the rest of my life, or I kick some ass, get fan-fucking-tastic grades, and shove them in all the haterz faces.

I was just listening to Pandora, and an Ingrid Michaelson song came on called "Giving up" and she kept repeating "I am giving up" over and over again. It got me thinking. I'm not giving up. I will not give up. I am going to defy all the haterz because they are just trying to keep me down in life and that's just not cool. Go pick on someone else. You are wasting my time.

Sorry, this was so philosophical. I'm just in that mood. But I go home tomorrow, so I mean, that's really rad.

Soccer almost killed me

I played soccer for two years when I was in elementary school. My first year was in Kindergarten, and my second was in 2nd grade.

I remember absolutely despising soccer. Both times. I originally joined because my best friend Ali Boehler played, and my parents totally encouraged me being an athlete. And of course I thought that I was going to be God's gift to soccer. And I totally was not. At all. And here are the three reasons why:

1. Ali and I were not on the same team. I was so upset when I found out that I didn't get to play my first sport ever with my best friend. I mean come on! She was my best friend! I needed to be on her team. But, I wasn't and I never got my wish. I'm actually not sure why. It probably had something to do with the fact that Ali was a really thin girl that looked like she had an athletic future, and I was a chubby child that really probably had no future as an athlete (This actually didn't end up being true. I was pretty gifted at riding horses, an okay volleyball player, and a kind of talented, kind of cocky shot-put and discus thrower). We probably had try outs or something and she was probably waaaay better than me.

2. I hated running. I still hate running. With my whole soul. I have always found it very inconvenient. It's like walking (which is great; I love walking) but faster and you are out of breath after. It's not fun. And around this time, my sisters were both diagnosed with asthma. So obviously I thought I had asthma too. I remember there was one game that I was so out of breath that I made them take me out of the game and I made my parents give me my sister's inhaler. I was convinced that I was going to die. That was it. That's how my life was going to end. I was going to die on the side of a soccer field at the ripe young age of seven with my parents trying to save my life with an inhaler that I did not need. But really I was just out of shape and chubby and unable to run for long periods of time because I was out of shape and chubby.

3. It was boring. I thought soccer was so boring. They didn't let me play the position that I wanted to play (which was the coveted goalie position) and the position that I did play (maybe wing or something? Is that a position in soccer? I wouldn't know. I don't follow the sport), my coach told me that I had to stay on our end of the field the whole time and I had to keep the other team away from the goal. But that was so boring. The ball was always on the other team's side of the field and I was so bored of just standing there with nothing to do. So of course I had to entertain myself in some way. Sometimes I took up dancing on the field (please note that I am about as good of a dancer as a squirrel with an acorn stuck up it's butt). I would prance around because I didn't like just standing. It was more exciting to shake my groove thang. Other times, I would just sit down on the field. My coach did not like this one at all. He would yell at me to get up, but he just didn't get it! I was so bored and standing for too long hurt my body, at least that was how I felt. And plus, why would the field be full of three-leaf clovers if we couldn't look for ones with 4 leaves? That just seemed preposterous to me. I wanted a four-leaf clover so badly because I had never found one, and at seven years old, that was my life goal. I would search at recess, at the park, in the middle of soccer games; anywhere there were patches of clovers, you would find me on my hands and knees searching for that clover with 4 leaves on it. I needed that clover, but I never found one.

You might be wondering why I decided to play soccer for two years instead of just one. I hated soccer from the beginning. That's why I didn't play when I was in first grade. But when I was in second grade, all my friends were playing and I felt left out. But when I started playing again that year, I regretted it completely. That was the worst decision I made for my recreational life in elementary school.

Oh, and they also eventually let me play goalie. Once.