theoretical deviation

Before and After - Chapter 6

2009-03-06T16:00:00.002-05:00

Full Moon on the Mediterranean

I am a woman now. As a child, I would have been confined to the inner depths of a playroom. Now I can stand fierce as the wind on distant shores. I feel powerful. I know myself. I know beauty, I know love, and I know freedom. I am sorcha. I am free.

I stood at the salty pool, just below the hotel on the cliff. All around me the stars were glimmering brightly. The day had been pleasurable; casual walks through Corfu city, an afternoon of drinks and dinner at the coast, and now I was settling in for my fifth night in Corfu, Greece.

I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Only 16 and I was able to travel to the ancient cities of Greece. When the ad for the spiritual quest had shown up in the bulletin at church, and my mom had suggested I go, I had thought she was kidding. I was an atheist, and so was she. What good would I do on a spiritual retreat with the Christian missionaries from the United States?

But, she pushed. I wasn’t upset to be encouraged to go to Greece. Even at 16 I knew that opportunities like that are few and far between. I was grateful for my parent’s help, and accepted the plane tickets and trip fare gladly. I would fly through England to Greece, stop in Albania to do some missionary work, and then fly back to England. There I would spend three days with my family in London before coming back home. It was a dream vacation.

It was hot that night, although this seemed reasonable as it was a Grecian summer evening. The sun had set not a minute before on the horizon, and the religious missionaries I had met were jumping into the salt-water pool in order to cool off.
About ten feet from where I stood was a long, rickety wooden staircase that led to the Hotel’s beach on the Mediterranean. I considered this for a moment, before turning to my group of friends.

“Hey, why don’t we all go in the sea? Why swim in a pool when the Mediterranean Sea is at your feet!?” I laughed.

My Korean friend, whose English name was Sarah, giggled. “Nah. We’re already here. It is long walk down,” and turned back to the pool. I already had my bathing suit on, and I could grab a towel when I came back up. It would be refreshing and releasing. I turned towards the steps.

“Alright, well you can all be lame and swim in a pool. I’ll be down at the beach for a little while,” and I took the stairs down.

About halfway down the stairs, every night, you could see the moon sitting above the island to the right. I stood there in my blue and silvery bikini and let my hair blow freely. The breeze moved about my long, thick hair, pushing it away from my face.

“Ah, this is lovely. Why wouldn’t you come down here?” and I laughed again, and continued downwards.

At the bottom of the staircase, which descended along the length of the cliff, was a small sandy beach which led to an open sea swimming spot. Two chubby, younger men ran by, yelling at one another. Besides that the beach was quiet and peaceful. I watched them run out to a wharf and turn around, their silhouettes distinct against the blue skyline.

I stepped into the salty water, which settled around my ankles. It was colder than I had expected it, and I was anxious to get my belly below the water line. I did a quick dip in the water, dropping below the surface for a moment. I pulled my hair and head out of the sea, letting the water slide down my arms and back again. I felt so peaceful and alive. For a moment I believed in mermaids again, and wished I was one.

I crouched there in the sea for a few moments, inhaling the freshness of the Mediterranean Sea. This would be something I would tell my children one day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two men who had been running stop on the shore behind me. The skinnier one turned away from the sea towards his friend and shouted something. He turned back towards the ocean and pulled off his swim shorts, and walked into the sea towards me.

I screamed, loudly and ran for the stairs. How stupid! I thought. You KNOW the Grecian men. They are terrible. The man who had stayed on the shore now chased after me, kicking sand out from behind his feet.

I screamed again. Someone hear me! I ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. Adrenaline pulsed through my body, and the fear pushed me faster than ever before. Halfway up the stairs I met a group of the missionaries I was traveling with. I almost tripped into my friend, Kristan from Wales.

“Whoa! Are you alright?” he asked, taking his hands to my shoulders to stop me.

I pointed behind me, and gasped, out of breath, “There are two men down there. They tried to … to…” and I bolted the rest of the way up. I heard behind me my friends yelling cusses in every language from Gaelic to Chinese at the men who had followed me up the stairs.

I stopped at the top of the stairs and sat on a marble bench there. I had lost a flip-flop and an earring in the chase. A moment later, the missionaries were back at the top of the stairs. Each of them questioned me. “Are you alright?” asked one. “Did they touch you?” asked another. I could hardly pick apart my friend’s voices.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m fine,” I said, pulling myself up to a standing position. Kristan came over and wrapped his arm over my shoulder. “Let’s get you back inside,” he said, and directed the entire group towards the hotel. I followed, glad to be away from the scene.

That was a close one, I thought.

Before and After - Chapter 5

2009-03-06T15:52:00.009-05:00

300

This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am not your Queen!

Jason and I sat on the gigantic couch in Jarrod’s brother’s apartment. We were exhausted from our five hour long drive from our university Worcester Polytechnic Institute in Worcester, Massachusetts. Jason, my boyfriend, and I were cuddled up on the sofa, engrossed in the conversation of Jarrod’s brother, Luke.

“Yeah, well, I love working at the patent office here in D.C. We tend to get the most interesting ideas,” he was smiling, fully. He looked just like Jarrod. “Why, a few weeks ago we had a man turn in the famous time-machine patent. He was pretty confident…” Luke laughed, his blond curls bouncing.

The brothers were sitting on the love-seat, catching up on their individual lives. Luke‘s girlfriend, Melissa, was in the kitchen making mojitos. Jason wrapped his arm around my shoulder as the apartment cat leapt onto my lap. She was a beautiful black, soft-furred thin cat, with white fur covering her paws and stomach. Friendly and attention-seeking, she began purring on my lap, shoving her head against my arm.

“Wow, she’s a beautiful cat,” commented Jason, petting her head gently. He had directed the question towards Jarrod, but he was absorbed in conversation. Jason smiled at me, and rested his head on my shoulder.

“So, what do you all say to watching a movie?” asked Luke, already digging through his collection of DVDs.

“That sound fabulous,” I said, smiling as I pet the cat. “What’s her name, by the way,” I asked, nodding towards the animal on my lap.

Luke looked up from his DVD shelving unit, “Oh, that’s Chuck. She’s pretty, huh?” He asked, his head back in the movies.

“Sure is,” I said, placing my hand on Jason’s knee and rubbing it gently.

He leaned over to me and whispered, “I love you.”

I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. True love, I know, silly. But, it happens.

Washington D.C. was a lot nicer in March than Worcester. Jason and I had just come in from a walk through a cherry blossom lane, and were cuddling on the sofa. We weren’t concerned with the movie choice.

“How about 300? Have you seen it?” asked Luke, directing the question outward.

Jarrod replied, standing by the doorway. “Yeah, it’s awesome. Let’s do it!” His blond curls were longer than his brothers. He was thinner and taller, though. They both shared in the rosacea of their cheeks, and had the same sparkling smile.

I took a long glance at Jason, to my right. He was not much taller than me, but much thinner. He had short, blondish-brown hair that settled over his brow quite handsomely. His nose was longer than normal, but it fit the gentle nature of his face. His ears were rounder than other parts of his body, and reminded me of a monkey. An adorable monkey, of course.His hands were masculine, and I loved when they held me. I snuggled closer.

Luke slipped the DVD into the player, and played around for a few moments with the controls. Jason and I had already claimed our spot on the couch, and everyone else settled in around us. Melissa brought in the mojitos, and we all enjoyed our drinks while the movie began.

I hadn’t seen 300 before, but I heard that the visuals were amazing. I’d also heard there was a decent amount of gore, but that it was artistically done. I had doubts, since many people had said the same thing about Saw, so I was skeptical. But, I was comfortable, and satisfied from my food and drink, so I figured why not?

The movie was intense. There was a graphic sex scene in the beginning which I had NOT been prepared for, as the Queen and King separated. In a way, though, it was beautiful. It was the sort of sex that should be in movies, if they’re going to go there. It was love.

I knew I had to be careful with movies, though. Those are the sorts of things that trigger my memories. It had been not quite a year since it had happened, and I was still vulnerable. I am still vulnerable.

I knew as soon as the Queen was alone with the treasonous war hero. I saw the look in his eyes.

I remembered that look. I saw it every night in my dreams. As he came upon her, she asked, “What can your Queen do for you?” She was fearless.

I began crying then, as I saw him pull off her clothes and push her violently against the wall,

“This will not be over quickly. You will not enjoy this. I am not your King.”

That was the end of the scene, but I couldn’t breathe. I knew what would happen. I knew with every fiber of my being, of my memory, of my soul. I buried my face in Jason’s shoulder and tried to forget. Tried to cry away the visions, but they wouldn’t go.

Jason knew. Well, he didn’t know. Had no idea, but he knew something was wrong. I pretended to fall asleep there, but my whimpering didn’t end. He held me close, and whispered, “Let’s go home.” It wasn’t a question.

Jason stood up and stretched, said how tired he was, how we had to get up early, and told Jarrod, Luke, and Melissa we were going to head home. I didn’t say anything, attempted a good-night, and followed Jason out the door.

In the car we said nothing, but Jason’s hand held mine.

Back at the hotel, Jason carried my purse up to our room, letting me inside. The door closed behind us, and we sat on the sofa-bed, where we slept. Still there was silence. No questions, no prodding. Our hands were together, clasped.

Finally, he broke the quiet. “Do you wanna talk about it, darling?” he asked nervously. He looked into my eyes as he asked. I was afraid to look back.

For a minute I was silent. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and I tasted the saltiness on my tongue. The minute took forever, years seemed to stroll by. I squeezed his hand as I replied.

I told him.

Before and After - Chapter 4

2009-03-05T10:33:00.003-05:00

The Kyle Richenbach Story: The Planned Kiss

Miss Mar-y Mack! Mack! Mack!
All dressed in black! Black! Black!
With silver buttons! Buttons! Buttons!
All down her back! Back! Back!

When I was in 4th grade, my social circle was rather limited. In fact, it included only me, Katie McBrien and a boy who was destined to be a nerd if only for his name: Kyle Richenbach.

I’ve always had a fascination with boys. Even as a pre-school child I had promised myself that I would marry my cousin, Timmy. He was my favorite man; handsome, smart, just divine. In 4th grade I was no different, and I had developed a crush on Kyle Richenbach.

Well, we’d planned the whole event. Together, eyeing the ground, shuffling our feet, we’d decided to meet at the steps of the school during recess the next day and kiss. Kyle Richenbach had been all for it.

“Siobhan, do you wanna kiss or something?” Kyle Richenbach asked shyly, kicking a stone with his sneaker-clad foot. He always lisped my name so it came out sounding more like ‘Shih-bihn’.

He stood probably an inch shorter than myself and was everything a nerd should be. He had huge glasses taped in the middle, and he always seemed to be scratching his too-blond hair. He was as skinny as a stick and dressed like prep-school drop-out; khaki colored pants, crimson and gray horizontally striped long-sleeve shirts, with a collared white dress-shirt underneath. And when he smiled it was all one could do to not see his lime-green and blue braces.

I was in love.

“Sure,” I sighed, pretending not to care.

“But, you know, not today cause that’d be too soon, don’t ya think?” he asked, staring at me.

“Sure, yeah, of course,” I returned casually.

“Tomorrow, then?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, tomorrow” and I turned and ran to catch up with Katie.

That was that. As Katie and I rode the bus home that day, I divulged everything to her. Our plans, the date, what I would wear. Together we surmised that the experience would be blissful, and that the kiss I was to share with Kyle Richenbach would be an unforgettable event.

As soon as we stopped outside of my house, on Manchester Road, I, and the brother and sister from across the street, got off. I crossed in front of the bus, hardly looking where I was going and waved goodbye to Katie from my driveway. I leapt for the door.

Inside, I dropped my backpack next to the dog crate and let Juneau, our beautiful lab husky, outside. It was always a struggle with her and it took what felt like precious minutes to attach her leash, allow her to drag me across the hallway to our backdoor, and then down the stairs to the backyard. She did her business, which I always turned away from, and we leapt back inside.

I tore open the dog food bag and poured out her dinner. In the kitchen I took her bowl and gave her some water, and then I abandoned her to her sad life while I retired to my bedroom. I began my plan.

First, I started cleaning. This is what I always did when I was nervous or excited. I threw the laundry all in one basket, I cleared and organized the piles of homework assignments and art projects from my desk, and I even vacuumed the hideous puke-green carpet that covered my floor.

Then I began my true project. I dug underneath my bed and pulled out a yet unopened package of yellow post-it notes. I unwrapped them and took out my favorite purple pen. I then proceeded to write the notes as follows:

I littered my walls from as far as I could reach on the wall, all the way down to the floor. Every bare space of ugly blue and white wall-paper was covered with little purple and yellow pieces of love. I thought of kissing.

I wondered what it would be like. I wandered over and flopped into my bed. I licked my lips and kissed my pointer and middle finger of my right hand. I hoped that kissing wasn’t like that. That was boring. I was incredibly restless. My room was already clean, so I slipped off of my mattress and ambled into the kitchen. I began washing dishes, kneeling on a dining room chair.

“Siobhan? Is that you?” I heard my Dad yell from the living room. I shoved the mug I’d been cleaning into the drying rack, and dried my hands on a towel before shutting off the water. I slid off the chair and meandered into the living room, through the dining room.

Dad had been sleeping on the sofa, and I’d missed him in my excitement to decorate. His glasses were lying next to his elbow, so I picked them up and put them on the ground. “Yeah, I got home a little while ago,” I said, adjusting my skirt.

“Oh, ok,” he mumbled. He flipped over on the couch. “Please be quiet. I have to work tonight.”

I tucked in his feet with the blanket and then walked back to the kitchen.

The dishes almost finished, I wanted to do something else. With a sudden inspiration, I ran to my newly renovated bedroom and grabbed my pink and purple jacket before running outside the back door to the porch.

It was a lovely autumn day. Our rented house was situated right on the edge of a forest. In actuality, the probably 3 acres of woods were sparse and easily navigated, but as an imaginative child I always imagined other worlds within those trees. In the late evening on wintery days we would see deer in the forest from our back picture window. After living in seedy towns like Portland, Wallingford, New Haven, and Meriden, the wooded beauty of Glastonbury was a magic that is still indescribable.

I trudged into the woods and went for a short walk to a nearby stream. I pretended that Kyle Richenbach was there besides me, holding my hand and kissing me. A part of the earth, I knew all about everything. I melted in with the trees and the animals, and became one with the forest. I felt glorious.

What felt like hours later I ran back home, through the woods. In the backyard, I stopped to examine some of Juneau’s leftovers. I had just finished a story, I forget its name now, in which a young girl was alone in the world, abandoned. She lived in a little cement, square home without a toilet, and she had to do all of her personal business in a corner of the room. I stood up and went inside, glad to have a bathroom.

Mom was inside, with my little baby sister, Maeve. The tiny, wrinkled thing was crying furiously. I wondered if Mom had noticed the cleaned dishes. Most likely, not. But there was always a possibility.

The television was already on, so I sat on the floor in front of the love seat, resting my head on the cushion. Mom was feeding Maeve, and was absorbed in her sobs. Dad was asleep, on the couch. I already felt bored.

“How was your day, Siobhan?” Mom asked, not looking up from the baby.

“It was great! I got to read a book called Little Bit of Blue, and although I didn’t finish it I really loved it. Then, Katie and I played ‘Tigress’ on the monkey bars, you know, where you pretend you’re a female tiger! Rawr, and then we had a math quiz later. I’m not sure how I did on that,” I rambled on for awhile, neglecting to mention Kyle Richenbach of course.

The day continued on in much the same fashion. At around 6:30 p.m. I began rummaging through the pantry in search of dinner. Mom had to leave for rehearsal, and Dad was still asleep. Maeve went with Mom to Aunt Theresa’s house, which was about 20 minutes away. I found some cheetos, and assumed they would suffice.

I watched a few more television shows before moving to the computer in the dining room. My mom had been working at COX Communications for several years, and had gotten a cheap computer when they had first come out for general home usage. My Dad had installed Civilization II, which I played incessantly.

I would rule the great Celts, and dominate the other civilizations which attempted to corrupt my world. Building spaceships and networks of cities and towns, I felt in complete control of the universe. Time always disappeared as I played, though, and before long Dad was waking up to go to work. He scolded me for playing so long, and told me to go brush my teeth and go to bed.

In the bathroom I rubbed some toothpaste on my tongue, and ran water over the toothbrush. I brushed my thick, auburn hair ferociously with my mom’s hairbrush for a few moments, before turning out the light and going to my room. I played with my barbies in bed for a few minutes, wishing I had a Ken doll so we could practice kissing.

Outside, I heard the squeaky red car, a Dodge Shadow, pull into the driveway. I heard Mom and Dad part ways, and the night settle silently. I stole over to the lightswitch and threw it down, turning my lights off.

Throwing the barbies in a Tupperware container, I exited my room and gave Mom a goodnight hug. For once, Maeve was silent.

I fell asleep that night imagining that Kyle Richenbach and I were getting married. I wore a beautiful orange fairy dress with glittery slippers. He wore a black suit and had contacts in his eyes. Just as we were about to kiss at the alter, my dad runs in screaming.

That is what I awoke to, my dad screaming. I opened my eyes, and there he stood in my doorway glaring furiously at the walls. I had forgotten to take down the post-it notes! “What the heck is this!?” Dad yelled, pulling a post-it off the wall.

I began whimpering, trying to complete some form of explanation. Dad stood in the doorway before calling my mom’s name, “Maureen!” he yelled.

I heard the scream of a baby, and my mom’s groan of just waking.

“MAUREEN!” Dad said it a little louder, although a great deal of red had disappeared out of his cheeks.

The door opened down the hallway, and Mom came ambling in, her eyes half-open. “Look,” he said, much quieter now, pointing at the walls.

I was shivering now, and my stomach lurched from side to side. Were they going to kill me? No, they can’t do that. They’d go to jail. I let out a small sob from my bed, and Dad and Mom turned to me.

“Alright, this is what you’re going to do,” said Dad, moving towards the bed.

“You’re going to go to school today and tell this Kyle Richenbach that you are in no way going to kiss him. I am going to drive you to school, and I will be in the office while you do this.”

Dad told me to get dressed, and walked out of the room. Mom stood there for a moment, looking at me. She gave me a little smile, encouraging me to do as my dad had asked. “Well, there you go. Up and at ‘em,” she said, exiting the room and closing the door behind her.

Openly crying now, terrified of the social rejection that would come of this pull-out on my part, I grabbed clothes at random. My striped leggings and striped (but non-matching) dress-shirt, and a pair of green socks. I opened my door stealthily, making sure no one was around. I could hear Mom and Dad talking in the other room. I ran to the bathroom and brushed my teeth ferociously, until my gums bled a little. Sobbing, I tried brushing a huge knot out of my hair that had formed in the night. Unable to manage the thing, I left it.

Dad was waiting for me in the living room, my backpack in hand. “Let’s go,” he motioned for me to follow him. I did.

The car-ride to school was unbearable. I thought I was going to throw-up. We didn’t speak, accept for a mumble about ‘boys’.

Once the car was parked in the lot, Dad and I got out of the car. He was still carrying my backpack. I wanted to carry it. I wanted something to hold on to, but I was afraid to ask him. I followed him inside. Dad walked up and said something to the principal, who always stood outside of the office in the morning. I cannot remember her name, but she was a tiny woman, maybe an inch taller than me. She was thin and wore long, floor-length skirts. She had short, blondish-gray hair and smiled whenever anyone passed. She looked concerned, now. “Hmmm, well, let me call him down to the office. I’ll have to contact his parents, too,” and she disappeared into her office, leaving Dad and I in the school hallway.

Everyone was walking to their morning classes, and my friends stopped and said hello. Katie walked by, with her twin brother John. “Are you sick or something?” she asked, looking up at my Dad.

“Something like that,” I muttered, staring at the ground.

“Ok, well I hope you feel better soon!” and she headed off for class.

The principal stood at the door. “Alright, Mr. Barton, if you and Siobhan could come this way,” she motioned with her hand. We stepped into the office and there, sitting in an office chair was Kyle Richenbach. He looked terrified, and he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I thought I saw little beads of sweat forming on his eyebrows.

“Kyle’s mother will be in later, but she’s asked us to deal with this immediately,” said the Principal, taking a seat next to Kyle.

Kyle denied everything, down to the fact that he even knew my name. I was furious at him for lying. He was supposed to be my boyfriend, and one true-love. How could he lie like that? When they asked me, I told them the almost-truth. That Kyle had come up with the idea, and, after lots of persuasion on his part, I had agreed. That was the ‘almost’ part.

The morning ended like that, Kyle and I sitting in chairs opposite one another, denying everything from attraction to friendship. The adults nodded to everything we said, and they simply asked that we apologize to one another, which we promptly did.

Dad took me home. He had the social intuition to know that my day in school would be incredibly uncomfortable and wasted after the morning.

When we got home I had to take all the post-it’s off my wall and throw them away. I pulled one after another off the wall, sticking them together and tossing them in the trash.

I felt defeated, but also relieved. I was nervous that as a kisser I wouldn’t do a very good job. I was also glad that I had been saved from kissing Kyle Richenbach. He obviously wasn’t a great boyfriend. He couldn’t even stand up for me. I suddenly hated his taped glasses and white-collared shirt.

I left my room to go watch TV with my dad, the wire wastebasket in my room full of yellow and purple post-its. I was saved.

Before and After - Chapter 3

2009-03-05T09:28:00.002-05:00

Plane Home

May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.

Compared to the farm where I had spent the past two months, the airport in Shannon was a zoo. I felt like I could hardly breathe as heavy-set Irish women and broad-shouldered Irish men politely shoved me out of their way.

I focused on the board which displayed the flight times. Shannon to New York – 10:25 a.m. I began searching for a clock, and found a simple one hanging on the wall. It was black-rimmed, and had a white, glossy background. 9:30. I sighed, deeply.

I trudged over to a black leather chair near a window. Collapsing into the seat, I dropped my luggage underneath the chair. I took my red knock-off Prada purse, and carefully placed it between my blue hiking sneakers. My jeans were dirty, and I began fingering a hole in my pants. I was trying not to think.

All around me people were hurrying back and forth, hugging and touching each other, and pulling large black luggage pieces behind them. I tried focusing on voices and words from the people around me.

“Elle et fatigue, non?” asked a tall, lanky woman of a man whom I assumed was her husband. She nodded her head towards a little blond-haired girl who was lying asleep on her mother’s lap. I searched the little girl’s peaceful face for some sign of life. She was breathing gently, and I watched her chest rise and fall. She had a soft, Irish face. I could tell by the way her cheeks were formed. I don’t know how I always know an Irish face, but I do.

My blue rain jacket felt incredibly hot, and I tore it off of my body, almost violently. I was suddenly very jealous of the little girl who could sleep so peacefully. Why must I be so alone here? I though. I was tired, too. My last night of sleep in Ireland had been a restless one. I tucked my jacket behind my head and awkwardly positioned my body on the leather chair so I could fall asleep.

As soon as I closed my eyes I saw him. He was so tall, and I felt tiny as I stared at his feet. I was afraid to look into his eyes. Afraid of what he would do. I could hear the people drinking in the background. He was powerful. I could tell by his arms. He works on the farm. His jeans were worn and dirty, and his construction boots were covered in mud. I started raising my eyes towards his waist.

My eyes shot open. I sat up quickly and tried to collect myself. I took a quick count of the people around me. No, he wasn’t here. I looked for the clock again. 10:12 am. The airplane would probably start boarding soon. I sat up straight and checked to make sure all my luggage was still there. It was as I had left it. I straightened my shirt, which had gone a little lopsided while napping.

A woman carrying breakfast foods and coffee wandered around the aisles, offering the sustenance to travelers. She stepped into my section, and asked if anyone wanted anything to eat or drink. I slipped my right hand into my jean pocket and pulled out a few euros. I awkwardly stood up and dropped the change into her container. She handed a hearty slice of coffee cake on a napkin, and a small cup with coffee. I mumbled a “thanks,” which she gladly accepted. She smiled down at me and started asking me where I was going and where I was from. I didn’t answer her and instead ate my food. She looked hurt as she walked away. I wanted to feel bad, but I didn’t feel anything.

I munched on the cake, holding the napkin inches from my mouth. I knew it tasted good, even though my ability to actually taste it was missing. I could tell by the way the brown sugar melted in my mouth that on a normal day, I would be happy to eat it. But today was not a normal day. “Flight 608 for New York – 10:25 am,” said a voice over the speaker system. “Report to Gate 3 for immediate boarding, all seats.”

I shoved the rest of the coffee cake into my mouth, crumpled up the napkin, and stuffed it in my pocket as I put on my coat again. I grabbed my small luggage bag and my purse and lumbered off towards Gate 3.

As soon as I was on the plane, I stashed my belongings in those overhead compartments and took my seat by the window. I buckled my seat belt and laid my head against the window, promptly falling asleep again.

His waist was wide. I hate him, I thought. He seemed to be commanding me to do something. I don’t know what. My arms were limp at my side, and my feet were the same. It felt like I had stepped in wet cement and was slowly sinking. He grew taller then, suddenly. His waist rose feet above me. I was still afraid to look at his face, to look into his eyes. What would I find there? My eyes moved upwards.

“Young miss, young miss,” and I awoke to the air hostess’s gently voice and the gentle tapping of my neighbor. “Can you just move that blanket there so I can see your safety belt?” she asked. She had bright orange hair and crisp green eyes. Her cheeks were puffy and red, and her hand that tapped me was adorned with a diamond ring.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” I said, and showed her the belt. “Cheers,” she replied and moved on to the next row.

I took a moment now to observe my neighbor. He was a man, first of all. I felt anxious and quickly rearranged my blanket over my lap. He was skinny, with dark brown hair and a sharply pointed nose. I turned my face towards the window and tried to slip into the dream world again, but I found it impossible.

“Well, you’re quite a pretty young lass to be traveling all by yourself there, what?” he suddenly said, his face staring at the back of my head. I shifted in my plane seat and lifted my eyes to his face.

“Not at all,” I replied, pulling out the safety information, so I would look busy. I began reading the directions attentively.

“Ah,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t waste your time with such nonsense. Nothing’s going to happen to this good ole Air Lingus plane,” he added, tapping the seat in front of him.

I smiled thinly, but didn’t reply. I wanted him to stop talking to me. I didn’t know what to do or say to make this happen. I considered saying, ‘Sir, please do not talk to be today. If your kind offends me I may just kill you all,’ but decided against it. I was afraid of what he could be capable.

Instead I folded my jacket up and snuggled against the window and shut my eyes tightly. I could hear him behind me joking with some other traveler who didn’t give him the cold shoulder. Ignoring their laughing, I pretended to fall asleep. Eventually, I did.

His chest is expansive and large. Suddenly, the blackness which surrounds me fills with the sound of his beating heart. The beating is not human, though. It is too quick. Suddenly his hand flutters at his side, and I scream.

I jumped in my seat, and was surprised to find the plane over land. I took a look at my surroundings. My neighbor has fallen asleep as well, with a book in his lap, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I began to rearrange my clothes when the pilot comes on over the radio, announcing that we’ll be landing at JFK International Airport in 15 minutes. Something in me becomes frightened. Will they know? I ask myself. I was torn inside. Part of me wanted to shout out into the airplane what had happened and the rest of me wanted to forget. I wanted to forget terribly. If mom and dad knew, how could I forget?

I collected my things together, and reassured myself that my passport was secure in my inner-coat pocket. I tapped my pockets to make sure I knew what was there, and then I folded the airport blanket and placed it in the seat-pouch. I peered out the window looking at New York below. I wanted so badly to be home then. To be safe in my room, away from these things I knew. I searched the horizon.

“Did you have a nice nap?” I turned and the sharp-nosed man was smiling at me. He stretched his arms in the air and leaned back in his seat. I was suddenly extremely aware of his hands, which scared me.

“Indeed,” was all I said, before nervously folding my hands in my lap and watching the clouds shift over the city. We were coming in for a landing, now.

There was a jolt, and I began shifting my jaw to keep from hurting my ears. I yawned, I hummed, I chewed absent-mindedly. Still, I felt the ear-pain rise dramatically as we descended. A tear ran down my cheek.

After a few minutes of screaming children’s yells, gentle parent’s soothing, and my own adrenaline rush, the plane touched down on the pavement. We bounced a few times, my elbow slamming the armrest as we did so. I wanted off this abominable technological device. I wanted the fields again.

We sat awkwardly for a few moments before grabbing our things. I moved quickly. My urge to see Mom and Dad was immense. I wanted more than anything to have them know and understand what had happened. They needed to know! I bolted off the plane into the air tunnel, and finally into the airport terminal.

Ah, what had happened the old days when as soon as you were off a plane there were your loved ones, waiting. Now, I had an infernal number of checkpoints before I could hold them close. I stopped as I reached a security checkpoint and customs, but due to my small luggage and European Union passport, was moved through quickly. I shoved my slip on hiking sneakers into the tray, along with my purse and luggage, and bounced through the metal detector. I waited behind a man with an infant patiently, as he collected his things. I pulled out my stuff and found a seat by the door. My shoes on my feet and my luggage in hand, I headed out to meet my parents.

I found them by the luggage terminal. I saw them first, as I came down the escalator. Mom was sitting in a blue-leather chair by the window. Her hair seemed browner than before, its fierce orange color softened by her years. She seemed heavier, too, and I imagined that she was in a great deal of pain from her hip. My Dad was sitting next to her, a collection of notebooks in hand. No doubt he was writing something, either for his blog or for his novel. They were so strange together; Mom limping and chubby, approximately 5’2, next to Dad who towered at 6’2 and stood straight and lean. I ran towards them, ready to tell them everything.

They saw me and pointed. Mom smiled, and Dad gave me one of his smirks. I ran to Mom first, and hugged her before turning to my father. The books in his hand made it impossible to hug him, but he mumbled, “Hey! Who are you?” with his look of complete seriousness, his eyes almost angry.

I laughed, “Oh it is so wonderful to see you!” I began feeling anxious. Could they tell?

“How is everything here?” I asked, my arms almost outstretched for love.

“Fine, fine,” said Mom and Dad in unison, standing and walking towards the door. Dad picked up my luggage bag. “Nothing’s changed here.”

I stood awkwardly there for a moment as they walked towards the door. I could feel a head-ache and unwept tears forming. I leaned down to pick up my stuff and walked defeated after them. I knew they were wrong. I knew what they didn’t.

“Everything’s changed,” I mumbled, and disappeared out the sliding automatic doors.

Before and After - Chapter 2

2009-03-04T23:56:00.002-05:00

The Birds and the Bees

The tree is so big. I crouch on a branch and it seems that the ground is hundreds of feet below. Maybe millions. Gagillions. I close my eyes and feel a breeze bring to life little shivers on my neck. When I open my eyes, I see the yellowy-green leaves of the weeping willow tree twirling, like a ballerina, in the wind.

Summer days, when the sun passes in between perfectly formed, puffy cumulus clouds, and the grass is green and soft to the touch, and the smell of the pine trees and flowers are inhaled, and the sound of crickets and birds fills the air; ah, those days are the making life to a little child, such as myself.

When I was only 4 years old my parents moved in to the adjoining side of my grandparent’s duplex. My parents were both rather poor. At this point in my life we had already moved 4 times, once every year. This was a great opportunity for them to save up some money to move out of our foreclosable apartments to something a little better. And we did, eventually.

My grandfather, a dark, quiet, and enormous Irish man owned the property, but for some reason we all called it “Grandma’s”. Grandma had such an interesting personality. She has a brilliant, talented woman who hides her beauty away from the world. Perhaps it is a form of protection.

I remember summers at my Grandma’s in a sort of bright blur, like a picture you take in the sun’s glare. Everything shines and glows, and I can simply see myself existing in the world with everything else, the trees, the bees, and the birds.

A great deal of my time would be spent with my Aunt Kathleen, one of my mom’s younger sisters. My mom had me at the age of 19, and Kathy was only 18 that year. I admired her, despite her youth. She always had such straight, long auburn hair. She was strong, too, but in a rather pleasant Irish way. She always bought me little things of chapstick and earrings. I adored her and followed her everywhere.

When we went out to the store together, people would mistakenly assume that she was my mother, we looked so much alike. I loved that I looked like her, and I loved the idea of her as my mother. She was funny, too. We used to play the “cup game”, in which we’d hold our hands in an open fist and fill it with all sorts of imaginary gross stuff; hair, toenails, teeth, and coca-cola.

On certain sweet-weathered days I would be allowed to run free outside. The duplex was on 2 ½ acres of land and was surrounded by fields and other homes. When I was released from the confinement of Barney, the purple dinosaur inside, I was the most joyful child. I’d pretend I was a fairy, and I would climb the ancient weeping-willow tree as high as I could.

On this particular day, this is where I was perched. Like a bird, I gripped my feet onto the branches and commanded the willowy leaves to be still. Then, as though a magical spell had commenced, the breeze died down and the world was mine. I giggled with childish delight at this power.

But then, oh! A terrible monster was climbing down after me. With enormous purple-teeth, and shiny yellow scales he began sliding down branch after branch. Terrified, I leapt from my branch and down to the ground. I had fallen softly on the grass, and my hands had prevented my complete collapse. The green blades squished between my knuckles. Just as I was about to rise up and command the monster’s end, I noticed it. There! Amidst the green was a little bit of blue.

My imaginary monster disappeared above me, as I brushed the grass from off the object. It was round and ever so small. I placed my tiny fingers on its edges and gently picked it up. The way it rolled in my hand was so beautiful, and I slowly stood up in absolute wonderment. I cupped the egg in my hand and sought out my Aunt Kathy. I found her on the front stoop listening to her stereo. I looked up at her smiling blue eyes and with childlike adoration told her “I want to take care of it, Kathy.”

Kathy was just as enamored of the egg as I was. “It’s a robin’s egg,” she told me, her eyes glittering. I didn’t want her to touch it, and she didn’t take it from my hand. She twisted her auburn locks and helped me understand about the egg.

“Well, if you’re going to take care of a baby bird, you need to know where baby birds live. Do you know where a baby robin lives?” asked Kathy, confidently assuring me that I did know the answer. She was destined to be an elementary school teacher.

I nodded, and excitedly shouted, “Nests!”

Kathy laughed, and said, “You’re absolutely right. Now, where are you going to get a nest?”

I was baffled for a moment. I ran to the tree and began searching the branches with my eyes. I couldn’t see a nest anywhere. I returned to Kathy, defeated.

But she did not give up so easily. “Well, if a bird can make a nest, I bet you can make a nest.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to me, although now that Kathy had suggested it, I immediately knew it was the correct answer. I collected dry grass from the yard and started carefully weaving together a home for the egg. Kathy leapt at the opportunity to help, and went into the kitchen to get a jug of water. Together, we poured the water into a dirt hole I had made with my hands. Fingernails caked in dirt, I began mixing together the water and soil to make mud. I churned and, using the mud and grass I began the project of being a mother.

I felt honored, excited, and powerful as I took on the sacred duty. In my blue gingham dress I was simply the earth and love, all wrapped in one. I could paste the grass into the nest, tuck the egg inside and it would be safe. I had placed the egg on the grass next to my project. Kathy had told me she would watch it. I folded and weaved and mudded the nest until I finally had a rounded muddy grass thing, which I called a nest.

It was hot and sunny that day, and within minutes the moist soil had dried and hardened. Kathy and I sat, cross-legged on the ground, and watched the nest dry. I took my dirtied hands and picked up the egg. Staring at it now I noticed thousands of details I had missed in its discovery. It was blue, yes, but it was also covered in little speckles. I traced the spots with my finger, and murmured words of love to the baby bird.

“I think the nest is dry now, Siobhan,” Kathy said gently, pointing to the object at my feet.

Cupping the egg in my hands, I gently tucked it into the softest part of the nest I could find. My hands trembled as I let the egg go, but I looked down at it cuddled up with the grass and laughed.

“You know, Siobhan, a bird egg needs to be kept very warm. Usually, a mommy bird will sit on top of the eggs to keep them safe and warm. I don’t think you can sit on the egg, but maybe you could put something on top of it to keep it warm?” Kathy nudged my brain into thinking.

My mind raced with things that provided warmth – sun, blankets, tea, oodles ‘n noodles, stuffed animals – nothing seemed to fit. Then it hit me! The dead grass which now, mid-summer, filled the yard would be perfect. I pulled tufts of the grass up from around me and began padding the baby bird egg. I was so excited, too. I pulled two big clumps of dead grass, one in each hand. I leaned over the nest and pushed them down on top.

Like the princess and the pea, I suddenly knew that something beneath me wasn’t right. For a moment I was bewildered, and then I felt an oozy something around my fingers, which were still lying in the nest. I pulled my hands up and examined them. They were covered in a yellow substance. Already crying, I grabbed at the grass that had covered my beloved egg. There, at the bottom of the nest was the blue speckled beauty, but it was all in pieces!

I don’t quite remember the aftermath. I know that shortly after the squishing I was tucked away inside, safe and away from the death. Grandma wrapped me in my favorite quilt and put on the television. She poured me a cup of tea and made some soup to eat. In between sobs I would try to spoon a bit of broth into my lips, but it didn’t work. I had done something awful, and I knew I should be punished.

The rest of the afternoon I stayed inside on the plastic-covered sofa and mourned the death of my baby. No one spoke to me about it, although Kathy and my Aunt Bernadette offered me sweets and games to try to get my spirits up. Nothing worked.

I sat and thought about the crime I had committed that afternoon. Surely, Grandma had let me off easy. What would mom and dad say? Oh, I had forgotten about them. What would they do? Was there some way they wouldn’t find out? I thought of the Cat-and-the-Hat. Maybe someone would clean up the mess and mom or dad would never have to know. I began crying again.

I was sitting on the couch, contemplating these things when I heard the car pull up in the driveway outside. I felt my stomach lurch, and I began sobbing. I broke out into half-sobs, half-hiccups and cuddled up into a ball.
I closed my eyes, but I could hear the side-door open and my mom’s melodious voice moving through the rooms. “Hello, Ma. How was she today?” Mom asked, and I could hear the smile in her words.

There was some whispered mumbling from the kitchen. I heard a gasp, a laugh, and other sounds equally perplexing. I kept crying, louder now. I was so afraid of what she was going to do to me.

“Siobhan, are you in the living room?” I heard my mom ask from the kitchen.

I didn’t reply, but I knew she’d see me as soon as she moved through the doorframe. Surely I wasn’t hard to miss, a sobbing little ball on the sofa.

“Honey,” my mom said, and she was next to me now. I felt the couch sag a little as she sat down next to me. The plastic covering made crinkly noises beneath the added weight, and my head sunk down a tad. “Honey, are you alright?” she asked, clearly concerned.

Sobbing, I sat up and told her everything, down to the last detail. I buried my face in her large breasts and moaned. “Shhh, Siobhan. It’s alright. Everything’s alright,” she said, trying to show affection by patting my back.

“It’s – all – my – fault!” I cried to her there. “Are – you – going – to…to spank me?” I jerked away, momentarily.

“No, no, no, darling,” mom said, pulling me back towards her, “it’s alright. It’s not your fault, sweetie. How were you to know? Don’t worry about it, ok?” she murmured quietly.

My sobs were less-frequent now, and I was quieter. I lay wrapped in my mom’s expansive arms and closed my eyes. I felt sleepy and everything felt dream-like. I heard Grandma talking to my mom, about the day’s happening. I felt the extreme summer day’s warmth melt into a softer, cooler dusk.

As Mom and Grandma continued talking, I sat up on the sofa. There was a large wet spot on my mom’s shirt, from where I’d been crying. I folded my hands in my lap and sat deciding for a moment. Then I slid off the couch and walked towards the side door. I turned around to make sure no one was paying attention. Engrossed in their conversation, the adults seemed distant. I reached up for the doorknob, and went outside.

The day had passed while I’d been inside. Although not dark, the entire Earth seemed to be blue. Shadows melted with one another and the first stars were beginning to appear. I searched the pine trees and the willow for some sign of life. Everything was quiet.

Nervously, I tip-toed towards the center of the front yard. There, beneath the berry-tree was the mud-hole that Kathy and I had made earlier. I peered inside, but the mushy soil had sunk deep into the ground. The black depths of the hole mixed with the blue grass, and I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. I didn’t care. I was looking for the remains.

I anxiously gazed at the ground, expecting at any moment to find the destroyed nest and bird body. After a few moments, I sat down on the ground, puzzled. There was no nest to be found. It had disappeared while I was inside.

I began biting my fingernail, which had broken at some point during the day. I searched the sky for an answer, although I knew there wasn’t one there. I listened to the sounds of the bats flying overhead, and to the distant yell of coyotes.

It was then that I realized that maybe the day hadn’t happened at all. I began replaying the day in my head. Surely, I didn’t find a bird egg! That’s silly, I told myself. I must have imagined I’d done all those things. That was the word mom and dad were always using. Imagine.

I stood up, lightly. The air suddenly felt fresher, and I danced around in the yard for a few moments. I tried to do a jig, which my Grandma had taught me a day or two before, but I only fumbled around, my arms and legs flying in all directions. The sun had set, though, and the evening was colder than the day. I listened to the call of a bird somewhere off in the distance, and then trotted inside where I knew a cup of tea and a bowl of soup were waiting for me.

Before and After - Chapter 1

2009-03-04T16:32:00.004-05:00

Aftermath

I arrived back at the house with cuts and bruises on my knees and feet. I hurt everywhere, my soul, calves, thighs, and head. I sat in the upstairs bathtub and washed my legs with a white washcloth. I couldn’t feel the temperature of the water. It could have been scalding, I wouldn’t know. The cloth turned red and brown.

The aching in my chest was powerful, impressive. I couldn’t register the pain which traveled from the unknown regions of my body, parts I didn’t want to know anything about, back to my skull and heart. I wished to not breathe anymore. I went to bed.

My great-aunt Mary had made up a room in her home in Ireland. I covered my head with the blankets and fell asleep, anxious, scared, cold.

I awoke. It was brighter than the nighttime. The smell of meat was coming from somewhere. I thought of red.

I pushed the covers away, just like I’d pushed him away. Get off, I thought. Nothing on top of me, nothing. I stood up instinctively and walked to the bathroom to take a shower. Ah, cleanliness.

Downstairs everyone was there. Right, this is my last day here. I’d better smile. I did. I gave hugs, though I didn’t want to touch anyone. I exchanged a smile with my cousin. Hey, Paddy. Thanks for abandoning me, thanks for letting him take me away. But he didn’t. It was my fault. I was sure.

Great aunt Mary made me eat breakfast, though the concept of ingesting food was horrific. I sat, I smiled, I tasted, I breathed. I went outside.

The sky was beautiful; no, Ireland was beautiful. Every moment had been splendid and divine. My little darling cousin Niamh came out to keep me company. So innocent, I thought. So pure.

Then came Timmy, my cousin and adoring big brother figure. Could I tell him? Should I tell him? He helped me carry my bags to the car, and packed them away, laughing and smiling. His Irish brogue seemed reminiscent of something from the past, something unclean. I stopped thinking.

I said goodbye to everyone, and passed out passionate hugs and words, though everything seemed false and tasteless. I slid into the passenger seat of Timmy’s car and waved goodbye as we drove out of the driveway, away from the farmhouse, from Tuam, from pain.

I looked at Timmy. He was short and chubby, but sweet. He kept conversation going, though I don’t remember what he asked. I answered, abruptly, disjointedly. He didn’t notice.

And then I cried. I was staring out the window at the overhanging clouds and distant mountains, when, without noticing I began crying. Then sobbing. I stopped again.

Timmy asked what was wrong, I’m sure, although I don’t remember him asking. I cried and lied and said that I would miss Ireland. I would miss my family and the people who I had grown to love. I cried and I lied.

Blah, Economic Crisis

2008-10-08T21:59:00.007-04:00

College is expensive, we all know that.

College is time-consuming, we all know that, too.

Combine the two, and what you get is an exhausted, over-worked, poor student, who has no time or energy to fix the monetary problem.

Looks like I can't be that person anymore. Due to something called an economic crisis, Sio was denied a couple of vital college-paying loans and now can't afford school, books, groceries, rent, or bills. Yay, fun times.

So, I hear the advice, "get a job," and know how true it is. Yet, how can I, in the midst of studying, practicing, and attending find time for a job? I have NO idea.

Mom just recommended that in order to pull stuff together financially, I might have to find a

third part-time job. I currently have work study, which pays me a whopping $1200 a year. I also work as a writing tutor in the writing center. My hours vary from term to term. A-term I worked 3-4 hours every week. Next term I am tutoring approximately 4-5 hours a week. $8.50 an hour leads me to, what, something short of $300? That is not even one months rent, so that's not very useful. So, I guess it's time for me to find job number 3. Wonder what it is going to be?

I am thinking of taking the model of my aunt Kathleen who worked as a waitress

during college. I can't imagine it's going to help with the exhaustion, but I suppose I kind of checked the "no sleep" box (see photo at left) when I signed up

for school.

What I'm really worried about is time. Time, time, time, time, time. If I need to pick up a third job, I don't think I can do the activities on campus that I've been working so hard to be a part of; Alden Voices, Festival Chorus, Technichords (a cappella group), The Towers (school paper), and I was hoping to get a bid for Alpha Xi Delta.

Now I don't even think I can do half those things. Do I have to drop all of my activities? I guess we'll find out...

So, this is what the economic failure of the U.S. (and the world) is leading to; financial ruin for the up and coming generations. Wow, I've got senioritis already!

Assignment 4: WPI Publication

2008-04-29T00:38:00.004-04:00

So, we had this assignment for my Rhetoric of Visual Design class. We had to revisit one of our older assignments, rewrite, rethink, reanalyze, and present it in some digitially-enhanced format, if possible. I figure I might as well do it here, since this is my own sort of diary, just an extremely public one (well, not too, public I guess -- no one comes here, ha!).

Here are excerpts from the paper, along with some visual graphics...

Worcester Polytechnic Institute publishes several hundred different documents throughout the year, with items ranging from forms, catalogs, manuals, and reference materials. However, one of the few documents published somewhat regularly is the school newspaper, The Towers.

All final decisions are made at about 4 am every Monday morning when the two editors-in-chief are cramming to get the edition laid out and completed. Time is a huge factor for this publication, as the staff only has one week in which to collect, edit, layout, and print contributions.

This newspaper relies heavily on graphics, which accompany ever article. The graphics do not stand alone in this type of publication, as Gunther Kress and Leeuwen would contend in their book, Reading Images: The Grammar of Visual Design. However, the graphics aid The Towers which disagrees with Barthas concept of dependent- graphics. The graphics add to the overall content of the paper, making them an invaluable part of the paper’s innerworkings.

The way graphics operate in this paper may vary from other publications. A newspaper is informative in nature, and needs to provide clear interpretations of data. If the paper were to plop down graphics without explanations or introductions, news would not be transferable. While one reader may look at the front page and remember the hypnotist’s show fondly, another may believe that a terrible accident occurred. The graphics, therefore, cannot act independently in an informative publication.

When “reading” The Towers, my school's paper, one discovers new information from articles, titles, subtitles, cartoons, and, more importantly, graphics. Although many of the graphics could not stand alone without the text, the paper would not be able to stand without the graphics. The graphics convey a realism and accountability. Reading an article about a hypnotist’s show is one thing, seeing photos of people falling over, dancing, and stripping is an entirely different matter.

The photo speaks for the text. This is not always true. Photo's can be misleading, not honest. Neither Kress nor Barthos are correct or wrong. They only have a different purpose in mind for the graphic. A particular graphic is generally not better or worse when affected by text, but different. This is true of the hypnotist’s photo, which interpreted without text can be confusing, yet exciting; however when interpreted with text it is clear, but exact.

The difference lies in the purpose of the graphic, the purpose of the reader, and the goal of the publication.

Girelli, A. Rhetoric of Visual Design: Lecture. Conducted April 8, 2008. Salisbury Laboratories at Worcester Polytechnic Institute.

Texiara, Andrew. Interview on The Towers. Conducted April 8, 2008. Student Journalism Association Office.

The Towers. Volume 98, Issue 20. Student Journalism Association. April 8, 2008. Worcester Polytechnic Institute.

The Literary Conformist - Excerpt

2008-04-08T22:27:00.000-04:00

MDB (my darling biologist) told me that I should consider writing a book. To get started, I used an assignment from my class which concerned using memoir writing to teach a lesson about something in writing. I had to write this essay for my Peer Tudoring in Writing class, and in it I discussed the use/lessness of the Five-Paragraph essay format. Here's an excerpt:

When I trudged into Mr. Prytco’s 7th grade Language Arts class, this is what I saw marked on a poster hanging over the white board. It summed up what we had been repeatedly regurgitating for the past two weeks. Today we had a test on the five-paragraph essay form, something which Mr. Prytco guaranteed we’d be using for the rest of our god-given lives.

Mr. Prytco pushed his round, thick glasses up his huge honker, scratched his balding head, and ordered the class to get into their seats. We were, after all, a group of middle schoolers, capable of horrendous crimes and youthful violations. I staggered to my desk under the weight of my backpack and saw that the tests were already passed out, face-down. Mr. Prytco solemnly covered up the poster on the board and began the timer.

We had five minutes to fill in the blank spots on our test that correlated to the poster we’d all just seen, the poster that had been slowly carved – no, gouged – into our brains. I filled the blank lines quickly, although I accidentally spelled ‘clincher,’ ‘clicher’ and had to cross it out in pen and rewrite it. I wrote fast and finished before my classmates. I turned my head toward Sean Briggeman (the cute boy across the desk from me) and saw him scrawling away on his test, stopping every moment or two to look up into the air to think. Clearly, although cute, he lacked a brain. I put my head down on my desk and waited for everyone else.

I began to ponder this 5-Paragraph essay form. None of the novels I’d read had used this. Little Women, Redwall, Harry Potter… none of these had been so formulaic. I did not understand the value of this format. It was so restricting and confining. I began to wonder what would happen if I had more than three main ideas that I wanted to talk about. How could I put a blank spot in that holy construct? But before I could go about answering this question the timer pierced the air with several eardrum destroying rings.

Lifting my head, I saw Sean quickly scribble in the final blank line and glance up at Mr. Prytco, quite proud to have gotten away with it. Mr. Prytco paced through the islands of desks and collected the tests, uttering monotonously something concerning the value of the lesson we had hopefully just learned. He repeated confidently that the 5-Paragraph essay form was the most important thing we could learn in Language Arts, and that he would be looking for it in all of our future essays. I thought about asking where a fourth main idea, if it existed, would fall in the format but thought better of it. If asked, Mr. Prytco would go off on a tangent in his dreadful Ben Stein voice. So, I let my question plunge to the back of my mind and forgot about my concerns in the 5-Paragraph form

___________________________________________________________________

I got an A on this paper, a perfect score of 20/20. After this section I preceeded to explain what it was I learned from this experience (which was the assignment) and make some conclusions after observing both sides of the argument. I do feel that it was a deserved grade, and I really like my paper. Thus why I have included it here. You should see the horrendous draft I just turned in for our second paper, which concerns teaching students how to write biology lab reports. It is completely disorganized and I wouldn't show its pages to a drosophila, nevermind my friends and family.

My professor is a memoir writer and I think that's why we had this assignment. I like memoir writing and as I do it I feel as though I could one day be David Sedaris or Agusten Burroughs. Its a way of storytelling that invigorates the reader AND writer. It's neat.

Saussure and Structuralism

2008-04-08T13:37:00.005-04:00

Ok, so lets get this straight. This is a car.

BUT, the word car does not actually mean car. Why is C-A-R different from C-A-T? That over there could just as easily be a C-A-T as it could be a C-A-R. This has been the topic of Professor Alan Girelli's Rhetoric of Visual Design for the past few weeks. It's exciting stuff and really makes you think about the meaning of language.

For example, remember that book, Frindle by Andrew Clemens? It's about this unruly boy who, as an act of teacher-student rebellion, decides to call what we say is a P-E-N a F-R-I-N-D-L-E. His teacher is defiant and as student by student joins him in referring to pens as frindles, he does worse in school and his teacher gets him in trouble with the school.

Then, at the end, there is a narrative of the teacher walking up to a house, carrying a dictionary, and knocking on the door. The grown up boy opens the door and sees his teacher. His old teacher gives him the new edition of the dictionary, which happens to have F-R-I-N-D-L-E in it. They hug, part ways, and you're left with a feeling that you can accomplish anything and that maybe you'll starts calling a L-A-M-P a M-I-N-D-A-M-I-N-G.

Was Clemens aware of Saussure? I certainly did not know anything about Saussure and the arbitrariness of language. Clemens got me thinking, though. Language is not constant. If it were, humans would all speak the same language and even when separated the same one would form. This isn't the case though. Languages form all the time from French to English, from Chinese to Gaelic. They aren't the same and some have completely different rules, syllables, and tonal qualities.

So, language must be arbitrary. It must be someone looks at a big, gray, roundish thing on the ground and says, "rock." Then, if he goes and points to it and shows it to his friend, saying "rock," then his friend will call it that. Then the whole tribe of humans will. But, the question is, why didn't he call the big, gray, roundish thing "peanut" or "book"? Why... how do languages develop?

I don't have the answer. I don't think anyone does. But I think understanding the devlopment of language can eventually lead to a better understanding of the evolution of humanity. Missing links are certinally something to be on the look for, but maybe filling in some of the other gaps is necessary, too.

Please, let me know any thoughts you have :-)

Happy Birthday Dad!

2008-04-01T23:38:00.002-04:00

Just thought I'd let my Dad know that I was thinking of him today. I don't know how soon he'll check this, but I thought I'd write him a poem of sorts.

More than a whisperer or rules

More than a harbinger of hate

Lacking in the nurture

but full of the nature

and always late, late, late

A cynic, a pessimist

A romantic, a lover

A writer, a reader

A father, a brother

More than a man and less than a God

I hope to some day travel as he's trod.

Thanks Dad for being there. I was a Daddy's little girl when I was a kid and I'll never forget it. I love you, am always thinking of you, hoping for you, and would be willing to do anything for you.

Happy Birthday :-)

2008-04-01T09:19:00.002-04:00

This is the first decent article I wrote for the local school paper, "The Towers." And if you can, I strongly suggest you meet Dr. David Adams. He is brilliant, interesting, and entertaining!

Biology Research at Worcester Polytechnic Institute
Siobhan Barton

Worcester Polytechnic Institute is one of the top schools for science and technology research in the country. Although most well-known for its engineering focus, WPI has a well-developed life sciences program in which many students take part. In President Berkey’s Vision Statement, he concludes that there needs to be a greater effort to expand life science studies at WPI.

There is, however, already a large life science contingency on campus. The MQP and IQP experiences are a big part of undergraduate student research. Professor Michael Buckholt runs the Biology Project Lab in Salisbury Laboratories, which is where students work on their research. With the new edition of the Biomedical Engineering Sciences Building, Gateway Park, life sciences looks to be an expanding field at WPI. Faculty research is a big part of any university, and WPI is proud to have the work of several professors on display, most notably the research Professor David S. Adams.

Dr. Adams’ contribution to the study of Alzheimer’s disease has provided the springboard for all further attempts to understand this debilitating disease. On February 9th, 1995, Dr. Adams published as second author the cover story of Nature, sharing his research with the world.
Alzheimer’s disease is not fully understood. The general concept is that every person has on their brain cell membranes amyloid precursor protein, but, when cut incorrectly they form beta amyloid which is neurotoxic (poisonous to brain cells). The beta amyloid aggregates together and forms senile plaques. Although senile plaques are not directly linked to Alzheimer’s, they are present in almost all Alzheimer’s patients.

Dr. Adams hopes to reverse this process. There are already several drugs on the market which counteract the symptoms of Alzheimer’s, but the cause of the disease is still untreatable. Dr. Adams is working with neurotrophic (neuro=brain; trophic=growth) factors, which will hopefully increase the growth of nerve cells in the brain.

The only issue is that there is a protective layer surrounding the brain called the blood-brain barrier. Neurotrophic factors are unable to pass through this wall and are therefore incapable of encouraging the growth of new brain cells. The goal is to use mimetic neurotrophic factors, which have shorter amino acid sequences and are thus smaller, to get through the blood-brain barrier.
Looking ahead, Dr. Adams thinks the future is bright for those affected by Alzheimer’s disease. “I think the wave of the future is going to be combined therapies.” Elan Pharmaceuticals is currently using antibodies which can cross the blood-brain barrier and indirectly remove the neurotoxins from the brain. This however does not restore memories. Dr. Adams believes that a combination of antibodies and mimetic neurotrophic factors will one day soon work to regenerate the brain.

The goal of medicine is to make the world a better place to live. Research in biology and biotechnology at WPI is working to succeed in this field. The project mind-set means that students and faculty are continually involved in work that can change the world, making WPI an innovative leader in biological research.

Got Mono?

2008-02-14T13:43:00.002-05:00

I do.

Yep, I'm 18, in college, have a boyfriend, and therefore, I have mono.

For the record, mono is horrible. At present, it feels like I have the flu; headaches, soar throat, inability to swallow without some God-awful pain, nausea, aching, and general unhappiness.

It is Valentine's Day though, and because of that I suppose it's alright. My wonderful boyfriend made me soup, jello, and gave me lots of hugs (and kisses). Of course, since I have mono, he has mono, which means we are equally feeling terrible and equally taking care of the other.

Hopefully, this mono won't last too long, although I've been hearing horror stories from friends and my darling biologist. At least it's a day of celebration and love, and we're doing that best; cuddling on the couch, eating soup, drinking water and orange juice, and working up enough energy to say "I love you."

Happy Valentine's Day!!!!!

Rise and Shine

2008-01-08T18:21:00.001-05:00

I might have pointed out the other day that sometimes things just don't go right. Sometimes, no matter what you do, no matter how hard you try, things fall apart.

Lucky for me, that time is not now! School is about to start on Thursday and I've never been better. All of my money issues are sorted out, all of my classes are sorted out, and all of my technology is sorted out. With all of these issues solved, my life is indeed easier.

I also find myself struck with love and happiness by my darling boyfriend. I've never felt more loved than when in his company, and it tends to brighten my day and lighten my heart. It's just what I've been hoping for.

It seems that everything is coming together. I feel like I did just after I finished watching 'Wonderfalls', everything is seeminly perfect. Everything is in order and working, the lyrics in the background are "Love will come through, it's waiting for you," and I'm just smiling.

I get to start classes and work in a few days too, which is good. I've been aching to work and be productive. Hopefully, this term will be a shimmering time full of music, laughter, and love.

Hmmm, this has put me in a 'Pushing Daisies' mood.

Which is a little disheartening as there won't be any new episodes for quite some time. I am a full supporter of the Writer's Guild, I encourage the use of strikes and Unions to make the working world a better place. But Pushing Daisies makes the world a better place too, through the cunning use of Lee Pace and pies. So, give them their money!

Alright, I need some Chinese food.

2007 Meme (via Mom)

2008-01-03T17:51:00.000-05:00

1. What did you do in 2007 that you'd never done before? I went to college!
2. Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year? If I had a New Year's resolution last year, I don't remember it. This year I plan to stop biting my nails -- a habit I've had for as long as I can remember.
3. Did anyone close to you give birth? Yes, my darling friend Stephanie had a baby boy.
4. Did anyone close to you die? My friend Al.
5. What places did you visit? I spent the summer in Ireland, and almost didn't come back.
6. What would you like to have in 2008 that you lacked in 2007? As greedy as it sounds, money would be nice...
7. What dates from 2007 will remain etched upon your memory, and why? May 23rd, because I finally became an adult!
8. What was your biggest achievement(s) of the year? I was accepted to a wonderful university, Worcester Polytechnic Institute, and I immediately was successful in classes, in singing, and in friends.
9. What was your biggest failure? Calculus....
10. Did you suffer illness or injury? I intercepted the pavement while playing football and had to get three stitches on my left knee. That hurt. I was sick a lot, too.
11. What was the best thing you bought? I didn't quite buy it, but a college education is pretty nice.
12. Whose behavior merited celebration? My mom.
13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed? My dad.
14. Where did most of your money go? Into the economic system of Ireland.
15. What did you get really, really, really excited about? Being able to visit my family in Ireland.
16. What song will always remind you of 2007? Lizzie -- Ben Kweller
17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
a) Happier or sadder? Definately happier.
b) thinner or fatter? Definately fatter... eek.
c) richer or poorer? Damn college -- definately poorer.
18. What do you wish you'd done more of? Socializing and studying.
19. What do you wish you'd done less of? Socializing and studying.
20. How did you spend Christmas last year? With my family, as always.
21. Did you fall in love in 2007? Just maybe.
22. How many one-night stands? Zip.
23. What was your favorite TV program? Pushing Daisies
24. What did you do for your birthday in 2007? I drove out to my Grandmother's house and watched the sun set over the hills of Hebron. And I had cheesecake.
25. What was the best book you read? For Whom the Bell Tolls -- Earnest Hemminway
26. What was your greatest musical discovery? The Jazz Clubs of NYC.
27. What did you want and get? Plane tickets.
28. What did you want and not get? Perfect skin.
29. What was your favorite film of this year? I can't remember which movies I saw...
30. Did you make some new friends this year? Absolutely -- and I do believe they will be friends I will have forever.
31. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying? .... more cheesecake?
32. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2007? A combination of Vogue, Pushing Daisies, and Kate Winslet.
33. What kept you sane? Devin -- although she might have had the opposite effect.
34. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most? Lee Pace -- mmm, pie.
35. What political issue stirred you the most? Guantemano Bay.
36. Who did you miss? My highschool friends and my grandmother.
37. Who was the best new person you met? Dora and Bryan -- I wouldn't have survived without their wonderful company.
38. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2007. Life is what you put into it.

AND that was a neat review of the year. It reminded me of things I hadn't thought about and also made me grateful for the many positive changes that have happened in my life.

Those In Between Days

2007-12-31T17:44:00.000-05:00

You know how some days you feel as though you can take on the world? That the Gods are smiling down at you? That everything can turn out alright?

Today was not one of those days.

It started out alright. I woke up, drove my mom to work, and then went to the bank. That's when it started. For the fourth time in the past two weeks, Soveriegn Bank told me to come back another day when they could deal with my Overdraft Issue. So I left the bank angry that I have to travel back there again on Wednesday.

So I decided I'd do something happy. Well, that means a Dunkin' Donuts medium regular coffee with cream and sugar. So I grabbed one. Now, that made things slightly better. I ran home, picked up my sister, and we went to Goodwill. We dropped off some movies and clothes, went inside and did some of our own shopping.

Then we went to the Mall and decided to join in with our materialistic American cohorts. We didn't actually buy anything, except for our donation to Burger King. I did have my eye on a nice pair of boots at Payless, but they were not on sale. Too bad. I could have used some guilty pleasure buying.

We ended up having to drive to Hartford early to pick up my mom, who then wanted to go to Marshall's and then The Puppy Place. After that we drove home to settle in for the night.

Now, two weeks ago I was invited to a Birthday/New Year's Party in Cheshire. After receiving a 'yes' from my mom, I okayed and we started working on a plan to attend. Turns out, I'm not allowed to drive on New Year's Eve. This is frustrating to me, as I've been such a responsible and mature adult. I feel like I'm 14 again. I feel like I'm grounded.

So, rather grudingly my mother agreed to drive me down to Cheshire before Dad has to go to work. It's dificult because last year, when I was depressed, my parents encouraged me to make friends and go out and do things. Now that I try to do that, I'm not allowed. Maybe it would have been better if I'd been a difficult and unruly teenager. Then my parents would understand that it's time to give me a little independence and freedom.

I mean, I'm only in college.

Time to grow up?

"Fear Not"

2007-12-25T02:17:00.000-05:00

Anyone who knows me well, knows that religion is not my thing. I was raised by two athiests. My parents are very open and I'm sure if at 15 I'd chosen to convert to Judaism, Catholicism, or even Jehova's Witness, they would have been very accepting.

However, I personally do not believe in God. I'm very spiritual I think, despite my athiesm, and that is what I think is important. I hope to make life better for other people, for the earth, and for myself. I suppose my religion is kindness. That's all I try to do. I do not need a God to help me to do the right thing. And I find that satisfactory for myself.

Some people, though, need God, want God, and hope for God. This does not bother me. I do not think that God is 'evil' or 'stupid' as many of my athiestic cohorts might be found to say. If you believe in God, that's great. Good for you, and I hope you are right because heaven seems like a pretty cool reward for being nice.

Even though I am athiest, I attend church pretty regularly. My mother gets paid to sing with Sacred Heart Church, and whenever I'm able I go along with her. My mother just left South Congregational Church in Hartford due to the anti-gay, anti-music, anti-women minister. What surprised both my mom and myself about the Catholic church was it's liberal outlook. Father DeVito, the priest at Sacred Heart gave a sermon this morning, at the Midnight mass about Fear. It was a facinating sermon and very moving at times. He encouraged the congregation to "Fear Not" and spoke of the fear we have of our leaders, our friends, our coworkers, and of our lives. He said that fear and anxiety were not good and that Jesus told his people to "be not afraid."

I think this message is an important one. Whether you are religious or not the value cannot be lost. In today's world we are constantly being made afraid. Is someone spying on me? Is that man a terrorist? Will I make it home safely in traffic? Will global warming destroy the Earth? Was 9/11 the work of our government? Can my child walk to school safely? Is that man wearing the trenchcoat a robber? a rapist? a murderer? ...

We are an afraid people. We fear each working day and each night as we lie in bed. Our world is globalizing as we speak. I can pick up my cell phone right now and dial a friend in Korea. I can get on my I-Pod (if I had one...) and listen to any of a thousand songs at the click of a button. With this comes the expansion of an entire network of people. Whereas my great-grandparents had the next door neighbors to worry about, my generation fears people in other time zones, in other countries, and on the other side of the world.

Father DeVito was right. We need to be not afraid. We need to not fear each other or ourselves. As Regina says, "'Cause people are just people like you." We need to bond together and become a stronger, happier world.

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

Why One Should Marry A CS Major

2007-12-23T01:15:00.000-05:00

So, since I fail at computer-life, I will have to just post the link as opposed to the actual youtube.com video. I happened across it while clicking that 'Next Blog' button.

(You know, as a side note, someone should really require each blog to have that button at the top bar, because if it's missing, you have to backtrack to the previous blog and press the 'Next Blog' button again. It's very frustrating!)

It's a neat little video of a anti-homosexual rally at Stanford University by these old guys. Parental Advisory: there may be a little kissing near the end!

Aww, Christmas Brings Out the Best ....

2007-12-22T16:33:00.000-05:00

... or worst. Listen to this recording of O Holy Night. It makes me cringe a little, but I don't notice in between the hysterical laughter. Enjoy and have a Merry Christmas.

5:30 AM

2007-12-13T05:36:00.000-05:00

I'm not quite sure why I'm posting anything right now. I should be finishing my Jazz Theory composition and then collecting study materials for my Microbiology Exam. However, if I go back down to the floor and try and write a melody line right now, I will collapse and fall asleep. So, I'm making some Irish breakfast tea and taking a momentary break from the homework. I haven't really slept in 2 days so forgive me if I'm incoherent or my statements are illogical. Hmmm... I don't even think there is a point to this post; other than the obvious procrastination usuage and fun which comes with writing something about nothing. Look! Something shiny!!!

Theory # 1

2007-12-10T14:29:00.001-05:00

You must work for the wonderful things in life, for without the work you would not know the value - Siobhan T. Barton

Where I'd Rather Be...

2007-12-09T15:41:00.001-05:00

Just wishing I could be here right now. The smell of the burning wood, and having my cup of Irish tea... it almost hurts. Why aren't I there now?

On the Subject of Love

2007-12-03T20:06:00.000-05:00

It's interesting the things you discover after 6 cups of coffee and 45 sleepless hours. Why, just today I found out that true love exists. I wish I was speaking of myself, however maybe it is better that it isn't me. My friend told me a story about true love today that would make even the most misanthropic, miserable miser believe in a happily ever after.

After an endless night full of chicken bits, I began the day late and homeworkless for Jazz Theory, and followed it with a two hour nap in which I skipped a meeting with Professor John Delorey and a homework session for Jazz Theory with my friend Krista. I stumbled to my class in which my sleep-stealing, 15 page paper was due, and found some of my dearest friends glad to see me.

After two hours of preparing for a project presentation, we returned to DAKA (the school cafe) and had a shared meal. After which, my friend returned to my dorm with me and gave me a wonderful, ahem, I mean "terrible" massage. During which I asked him to tell me a happy story.

He then proceeded to tell me about his true love and I have never believed in the idea more than then. Even after watching the Princess Bride, true love never seemed more real than when he explained how he felt around his love and how much he missed and longed for her. All I could think of were the endless Irish love songs and ballads.

I truly believe that true love exists. I'm still unsure of what it really is, and I do not think I will ever fully know. It is someone with whom you share a bond stronger than any known to man. It is a comradary meant to overcome all evils and troubles; my thousand loves -- Mo mhile gra.

I hope that someday I get to experience this love. However I think I have been looking for it in the wrong way. Mabye Kahil Gibran had it right, "And think not, you can direct the course of love; for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course." Whether or not God exists, or if there is a plan which we are all destined to follow, true love is there if only we are brave enough to accept it into our hearts.

Butterfingers

2007-12-01T23:30:00.000-05:00

I just tried one for the first time. I'm not too fond...

Delmarva: Full of Chicken?

2007-11-29T12:14:00.000-05:00

In my Great Problem Seminar: Feed the World class, I am currently researching dead zones in the Delmarva region. My team and I are looking to aid the Chesapeake Bay fisheries, who have seen a serious depletion in their fish intake. The fish, crabs, and other organisms are moving on to other places due to their habitat being overrun by algae blooms. The algae blooms form due to increased levels of nitrogen and other nutrients in the water. Now, the Delmarva region is known for its heavy chicken industry. These chicken farms have large amounts of chicken waste to deal with. To not waste it, they fertilize their grounds with it. However, due to the large amounts of waste, a great deal runs off into local estuaries, which flow into the Chesapeake Bay. This run-off has a high nitrogen content, which then fuels the growth of algae. The algae absorbs all of the dissolved oxygen in the area, as well as cuts off sunlight to the sea grass below. This habitat destruction is why the fisheries have found a decreased amount of fish in the area. It is this issue that my team and I are trying to solve.

Our first plan of action is to make the public aware of the issue. Hopefully, with their help, we can convince state officials of the area to form a stricter set of guidelines which chicken farmers much follow. Presently, the regulations for chicken waste dumpage are very lax and not enforced. By clamping down on how much chicken waste farmers can dump on their fields and into local waterways, we can reduce the nitrogen content of the Chesapeake Bay area, and hopefully enough so that the algae blooms die off and the fish, crabs and other organisms that have been displaced may return home.

Since chicken farmers require excess fields on which to dump their waste, the regulation of the waste dumpage would allow them to either sell the excess fields, or use them for profit. Either way, allowing the chicken waste to be given up, for free. Now, you may be curious as to who would want chicken waste. Most people do not go to the store saying, "Hmmm, I think I'll get some chicken feces today!" However, farmers can use the chicken waste in place of synthetic fertilizers. Therefore, there would be a competitive market for the chicken waste. The enforcement of stricter guidelines for farmers would allow for this new opportunity for entrenpenouers.

Our mechanisms for the enforcement of such rules would be a series of steps. First, we will hand in a report dictating the problem in Delmarva, and provide a set of possible solutions. These will include regulations for farmers, observations from the area, data that would provide recommendations for a certain level of chicken farmer to dispose of their waste in a manner other than fertilization. Second, the EPA (Environmental Protection Agency) would send inspectors to the farms to make sure that the farmers are disposing of their waste appropriately. If not, a set of fines would be in place. Third, our team is creating a digital story which will help raise awareness about the dead zones in the Chesapeake Bay. It will convey the issue and our goal to solve it.

In order to assess if our work has been of any help to the Delmarva fisheries, we will analyze the nutrient content of the Chesapeake Bay to see if any decrease in the nitrogen content has been seen. We will also check with the EPA to see if farmers are obeying the new regulations and that the run-off has appropriately dissipated. We will also be observing the chicken waste fertilizer market to see if it is competitive and surviving. If all of this is in order, we will know that our work has gone to the betterment of the world.

When my partner, Nate Merrill, first chose this I couldn't believe what I was going to be studying. However, his personal excitement at discovering a hidden patent that would easily burn off the excess chicken waste, showed me that there is more to this science thing after all. I may be a writer, but still, it's kind of neat to know that you could be helping to save the world, right?

So the next time you're near the Chesapeake Bay, check it out! Hopefully by the time you see it, there will be a lot more fish and a lot fewer algae blooms.

Flying High over WPI

2007-11-28T12:32:00.000-05:00

This is the place where my future lies... for now. It's pretty beautiful I think. My dormitory is to the right of where this photo is taken. I live in Institute Hall, which is down the hill, through the woods, and across the street. Sort of like Grandma's house =D

Uncustomary Delays, College, and Life: 2007

2007-11-27T16:19:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone! I apologize for the uncustomary delay in my posting, but blogger wanted to be a booger for quite some time, and wouldn't let me create new posts. However, I'm back up and running, and looking forward to updating theoretical deviation with news about college, life, and exciting new information as often as possible!

So, as you are most likely aware, I'm attending Worcester Polytechnic Institute right now. Until most recently I was an Environmental Engineering major, however, I am now in the Professional Writing Program: Major and also a Music Minor, so I am now officially a part of the large statistic of major-changing college students. That's alright though, because I already feel happier in my new major. For those of you unaware, Professional Writing at WPI is similar to Technical Writing -- where you are educated on how to write for magazines, newspapers, or your own pleasure. I decided to switch since I was obviously enjoying the writing portion of all of my science classes more than any other part. Maybe one day you'll see me as Chief Editor of Scientific American, who knows?

Besides the actual coursework, there is the extracurricular activites in which I'm involved. I sing in Alden Voices (the Chorale), Festival Chorus (the open Chorus), Technichords (WPI's No-fella, A Capella), Vocal Performance Lab (VPL - a chamber group), and RNA (Rhythmically Naughty A Capella - a four-part a capella group formed by friends :-P). I also arrange music for these groups, which is really exciting! Besides singing, I also play cello, help GAEA -- the Environmental Club, knit, dance, and read! I'm never without something to do.

There is of course the dorm-residence, which isn't actually that bad. My room is rather small, but since one of my roommates has migrated upstairs with her boyfriend, it isn't too confining. My other roommate is one of my best friends here, and it makes for great living quarters. Also, many of my friends are upper-classmen, and have apartments all around campus, so I can go there and relax if necessary. The one great thing about college is that you are never short on friends. I have so many wonderful friends who are always there, and if they're are reading this (which they should be, grrrr) they know I'm talking about them.

Life itself is rather boring. I'm plugging along through all of my school stuff and singing stuff, and trying not to let the little things get to me. With all the stress that school causes, I can't let the things which aren't truly problems bother me. Who needs a boyfriend? I mean, it's always nice to know you're loved, but why is it something for which I am striving? It's interesting because I know I have options: at a school where the ration of men to women is 3:1, you are almost guaranteed an admirer of sorts, but none of those whom I am aware of are options for myself. I've found I have this great gift, though, for falling for already taken men. So, if you're looking for a guy who has a girlfriend, ask me! I'm sure I can point them out to you. Other than that, I'm just keeping up.

Other than that, I've not much else to write. I suppose I would reccoment reading The People's Act of Love by James Meek and listening to some good bands, maybe Copper Tree, for instance. And, as always, I would say have a wonderful day and keep in touch!

I Don't Wanna Grow Up - High School Graduation 2007

2007-06-22T22:36:00.000-04:00

You know, it astounds me as to how fast these past 18 years have gone by. As I lined up to recieve my "diploma" onstage (it was actually empty and we had to go backstage to recieve the real ones), I spent the moment reflecting on how easily I remember being a child, and how Peter Pan was right, and I won't grow up ...

Here I am preparing to go off to college, to WPI! I'm getting ready to buy my school supplies, and color coordinate my folders, notes, and notebooks. I'm 18 now. I can buy some illicit substances ( not that I want to) and I have a credit/debit card now. All of these things that are 'grown-up' in nature, and I'm doing them!

And, to be honest, some of them are fun. Driving the car is my all-time favorite because it alludes to a sort of freedom that isn't experienced anywhere else that I know of. However, most of these adult duties are scary, and I just want to return back to my teddy bears and naptimes and forget about everything else.

But then I think how if there weren't teachers there, and lunch ladies, and annoying PTA moms, well, those childhood moments wouldn't have existed. I, a slightly weaker emotionally child, would have been squished by more assertive children and we would experience a Lord of the Flies situation, and we don't want that to happen, do we?

I suppose what I'm trying to articulate is that despite the beauty and wonderfulness of being a child, and despite the fact that I don't want to be an adult and that my duties as such terrify me, It's time for me to give it up. My next job is to make childhood for others the wonderful experience it was for me. It's like accepting the inevitability of death; once you've accepted that its going to happen, all you can really do is make the limited number of days you have left worth something more than they were before.

I don't try to give advice or make stunning new epiphanies, but I think I personally have gained something from reading this over. Something about growing up and moving on. I hope you understand it as well, and can take something away from my endless ramblings.

So, after experiencing graduation, after giving up high school and its safety net for college and its endless opportunities, this is what I think: I'm going to miss my friends and teachers so very much as I turn down a different path, but I know that it's for the best, and that I am going to follow Ghandi's wisdom. "Be the change you want to see in the world."

Back From a Long Journey

2007-06-19T13:20:00.000-04:00

Well!! It's nice to write on here again! I'm sorry that I haven't been around recently, but all of the blogging stuff had to change, so it took me quite a long time to switch over to the google accounts.

A quick update on things: On August 19th, I'm leaving early in the morning, with our car packed to the brims, for WPI (Worcester Polytechnic Institute) where I'll be attending college as an Environmental Engineer major. However, before that happens, I am leaving on June 27th for Ireland!! Thanks Mom and Dad for the wonderful birthday/graduation surprise.

More importantly, I am graduating this Thursday, June 21st at around 8 p.m. It's very strange but I just don't feel as though school is over. I mean, it is. I'm done with classes and all I have left to do is sing and graduate, some of my most favorite pasttimes. But I always had supposed that finishing high school would leave me with some feeling of extreme joy; a.k.a. leaping in the air and singing "The Rain is Over and Gone." But I just came home like regular and checked my facebook and WPI email ( stbarton@wpi.edu) and such. It was boring! I'm hoping that after graduation I have some feeling in my body of happiness. I'm not sad about graduating, so I don't know why I keep expressing sadness. I'll blame in on hormones...

Well, I'm glad to be back finally and able to post. I've found that theoretical deviation is just about one of the most exciting blogs out there, so please, keep on reading!

Wasted Day

2006-08-24T21:41:00.000-04:00

This picture of my cat, Casmir, basically establishes a visual for my entire day. I did NOTHING! I laid in bed with my laptop next to me and spent the part of the day I wasn't sleeping fooling around on there. Casmir has me beat, but only by a small margin.

I wish I could cite something absolutely amazing that I did today. But that would be a lie. For the first time as far back as I can remember, I slept until 2:00 p.m. Upon waking, I took my dog outside, made my sister and I something to eat, and then retired to my room where I lay down next to my laptop and watched five episodes of Monty Python's Flying Circus.

My mom came home and we all took Cugel, my basset hound, to the vet. There he was proclaimed healthy, though a little lean. We came back home and I yet again retired to my room to watch MORE Monty Python's Flying Circus. Do you know that some people were testing cures for cancer today? Others were fighting for their lives in Iraq. Still others at least managed to find two matching socks. I wore flip-flops. I feel like a lazy slob.

Well, I am thankful that I did post on theoretical deviation today. At least I did SOMETHING valuable and useful.

Slave to the System

2006-08-23T20:52:00.000-04:00

So, I have become a slave to the system. Once you begin, you can never turn back. I am scared and excited, like Little Red Riding Hood in Into The Woods. I can not turn back. What will become of me? Is my entire future dependent on how I begin?

And to never be able to escape. Eternal enslavement. How does our entire world just let this injustice slide by. Surely some organization has been formed to fight this! I'll join and work with them to fight this evil.

But for now I must bow my head, stand before the alter of injustice and pray. Because without this evil, I cannot survive. How would I transport myself from one place to another? I would die a homeless woman. There is absolutely no way to survive without this system. That is, until we fight back. But, I shall wait in the wings and hope that some day it will change. Ghandi says to be the change you want to see in the world. I am sorry Ghandi. I would like to follow your advice, however I do not have the courage or willpower.

Oh, the job is at Highland Park Market.

To My Blog Viewers

2006-08-22T18:53:00.000-04:00

So, I opened my blog today and was just reading through my past entries, deciding what I needed to work on, when all of a sudden the words "3 comments" appeared before my eyes underneath two of my posts. Stunned, I opened them up, and what should I see, but comments from the disgruntled chemist, the minstrel boy, and tata.

I must admit I realize that my connection to Burb Rocking must have gotten ahead of me, for I know the names of my viewers well, having heard my mom mention them quite often in the car. I am unsure of how to react, but I suppose a simple thank you shall suffice. So, thank you for taking the time out of your day to read my blog. It isn't really anything spectacular, I mean, AP Physics hasn't started yet so I have nothing to talk about, but I like my writing. Thank you all so much for your advice. In response to my post University Debate: Massachuesettes or Ireland??, I would like to thank you all for your advice and questions. I have decided that I am going to go for Ireland, and if I get accepted, I'm going to go. It is scary leaving people behind, but what is life without a sense of adventure?

And to answer your question, tata, I really don't know. When you apply as an early decison candidate, you are saying that if you get accepted, you agree to withdraw your application from all other schools. I'm sure there is some way to get around those rules. I'll get back to you on it.

So, thank you for reading theoretical deviation. I hope you're enjoying it, and I hope that I can make it interesting enough to be read in the future. So hold on tight and wish me luck!

Being a Teenager

2006-08-20T21:48:00.000-04:00

Sometimes it is hard being a teenager. Now, it is important for you to realize that I am not the "typical" teenager. I do not have temper tantrums, I do not drink, do drugs, smoke, abuse freshman (well not often), or drink soda. I also have a clean room. Yes, I have a clean room. As a matter of fact, I take care of the house by cleaning it. If it weren't for my cleaning, the house would be a literal pig sty, filled with pigs and all. I get great grades in school, take the hardest classes offered, etc. My point is that I work hard and I am responsible.

SO, my mother and I had our very first fight ever. Well, first angry, yelling fight. And, it was over driving. Now, the speed limit on our highways here in Connecticut is 65 mph. I don't know about where you may be from, but here, most people drive about 75 mph on the highway. Yes, fast, but reasonable.

Well, I was driving back from my aunt's house. The highway was slightly damp. My dad was sitting next to me in the passenger seat, and my mom and sister were sitting in the back seat. So, I am driving behind this pack of cars, which are respectively behind two trucks. Now, there are three lanes, and these trucks are in the right two. Since they were braking, and the cars behind them were tapping their brakes, I decided the best decscion was to pass the dangerous situation, and move ahead. So, I moved to the left lane, sped up to 70 mph, and began to pass the truck. Now, the Violent Femmes were playing pretty loudly, you do have to keep that in mind.

The next thing I know, I hear my mother scream from the backseat, "Siobhan!!! You are going FAR TOO FAST!!!!!" She did it in that high-pitched, anxious voice that made me feel as though A) The truck was at that precise moment crashing into our car and B) I was a terrible, awful, irresponsible driver.

I was pretty upset. I mean, I am a young driver, I only have my permit and I do not have a lot of experience. So, having someone screaming at me from the backseat was certianally not only distracting, but upsetting. I may have been overly emotional, but I broke down crying. I was just... ashamed, I suppose. And disappointed that my mother couldn't find a better way to approach my driving.

So, I was mad and sad and... bad?? When we got home my mom didn't say anything. So Maeve and I headed up to my bed for the night (Maeve is having trouble sleeping in her own room due to the fact that it is COVERED in clothes, stuffed animals, and books). I came back downstairs to grab something and my mom says, "Siobhan, I'm sorry that I got upset at you earlier but you were making me very nervous. And I may be overeacting, but you can not drive over the speed limit in my car. I am upset that no one ever listens to me. You can not go over the speed limit. Not the supposed speed limit. You just stay in the right lane and drive 65 or under."

Now, I do understand where she is coming from, but with my little driving experience, I think that driving too slowly, where you are posing as an "in the way" object for other drivers is just as dangerous as driving 70 mph. I know that a car driving 55 mph on the highway (something my mom condones) makes me sort of angry, and I am more likely to pull a reckless pull into the next lane to pass them than otherwise. So, I explained this to my mom, maybe a little less coherently and a little more emotionally, but the same gist. But she decides that she isn't going to listen to me, nor have any more argument. And that's that.

So, well, now I don't know. I feel sort of like I am being restrained on the one thing where I felt like I was in control. My mom wants me to explain my driving maneuvers to her at all times, which I think is... well, ridiculous. "Mom, I'm turning left here. Mom, I'm accelerating to 25, 30, 35 mph. Mom, I'm pressing on the brake now." I think that if she is going to let me drive, she has to actually let me drive! Hah! That is exactly what I mean. As long as I am not driving dangerously, then I think that since I am behind the wheel, then I get the priveledge of making the driving decisions. That is 95% of driving, anyways, isn't it? Encountering a situation, and making a quick decision as to what the best course of action is? It is like those robots I read about in PopSci (Popular Science, magazine, for those of you who aren't as geeky as me) that in order to answer the phone, have to take a reading of the layout of a room and then make a decision about which path to the phone is easiest, taking into account changes that may occur to the room during the trip, such as a toddler crawling across the floor.

Conclusion: I get to make the driving decisions when I am behind the wheel, so long as they are safe and legal decisions.

Tweet-Tweet

2006-08-14T17:51:00.000-04:00

So I completely forgot to mention yesterday my daring rescue of a baby bird!

My cat, Casmir, decided that the little fledgling would taste good, so he carried the baby bird over to out back step, and delicately dropped her down. Since she was no longer moving, Cas wasn't interested, so he moved on to more interesting prey.

Now, my dad and I assumed the bird was dying and figured we would leave the bird there. But I was worried about her, so my dad grabbed a fireplace shovel and gently picked the bird up. Once on the shovel, the fledgling was a lot more alert and seemed to be doing fine, so my dad advised me to put the little bird in a box in my room, and call Animal Control for advice. Well, I strongly dislike the officers at our local Animal Control, so I called the Wild Bird Center somewhere out in the middle U.S. and after describing the bird, the said that she was probably fine, and to just release her in the morning. And I did. And right now, I can look out my window and see her sitting in her nest in the tree outside. It is a good feeling.

So there is my cunning rescue. It was neat because she sat in my lap (and peed on my lap) and thought that my hand was the perfect perch. And how often do birds just sit in our hands? Nifty, huh?

Univeristy Debate: Massachusettes or Ireland???

2006-08-13T15:13:00.001-04:00

So, I was thinking about this school thing. College, right? I've already told the President of Smith College, as well as two professors, that I'm applying there as an early decision candidate. That means that if I get accepted, I must remove my other applications from other schools, and must accept Smith as my college.

So, that is all well and good, except for two things. First off, Smith is an all girls school. Now, I don't want to seem like one of those girls whose whole purpose in college is to date and meet the man of their dreams. I have higher goals than that. The one thing I am afraid of is my apparent lack of female friends. As far back as middle school, my best friends have always been boys. Going back and listing my best friends starting with fifth grade, only three have been girls, and of those three, only one is still my friend. All in all, I find girls too petty, vain, controlling, gossipy, etc., etc. And the guys who have been my friends are still my friends. I don't know if it is a matter of compatibility or whatever, but going to an all-girls school seems like it would limit my options. I suppose one could look at it as an opportunity to make different kinds of friends, learn how to associate with women, or what have you, but I am going to whine a little, and say that I want a school where I don't have to work to make friends.

The other thing that makes me wary of Smith, is my desire to make the changes that I want in my life happen. The title of this post, which is now FINALLY relevant, is due to my love of Ireland. Not only did I love visiting it, but I loved the idea of living there. While doing all of my university research, I came across NUIG in Co. Galway, Ireland, and I cannot even express how much I desire to go there. I think I could get in, too. And there I could study botany, because they actually have a department dedicated to it. So few schools do. And I would have family to visit, and cute Irish accents to imitate.

And there is the fact that I believe the best time to make extreme changes in your life is when you are young and still have time to mend the problems that come with those changes. I don't want to settle in here in the U.S., get married, have children, get a job, a house, and then look back on my dreams and regret not having made the change I am so ready for now. Almost nothing is holding me here now. I have family, yes, and friends, but I can still keep that when I move. However, if I wait I fear I may never again have the courage. And that scares me.

So, now it is up for debate. Should I go to an excellent all girls school here in the U.S., and possible give up my dream of moving to Ireland, or do I move to Ireland next year, attend NUIG in Co. Galway, Ireland, and make my dream happen?

I think I need a psychiatrist.

Welcome to theoretical deviation

2006-08-12T23:12:00.000-04:00

With all that is going on in the world today, it seems important to have a place to discuss one's ideas. A blog seems like the perfect somewhere. Expressing ideas has made the world as we know it today. Now, one could argue that the place the world is today isn't a good one. And they would be right. But we cannot sit by and watch the world fall apart. Thinking through our problems and taking action is what can made the world a better place. We can do it. As Mahatma Ghandi said, " Be the change you want to see in the world."

So here I am, bringing change in a small way to a world ruled by power-hungry adults. Being young it may not seem that I would have anything interesting or valuable to say. Who knows, maybe I don't. I can only say what I believe and do what I feel is right. And maybe that is what needs to be said.

So, although I didn't mean this introduction and welcome post to turn into a throng of my many hopes and dreams, I suppose it did. And since I think it is somewhat well written, I am not going to go back and change any of it. What I will say is, feel free to comment. Or berate my ignorance and such. I could use a little constructive critcism.

Oh, and just call me Sio.