Abuliac

on creativity...

(and some link love)

Via a Penguin Lover, I found this amazing drawing you must watch. Yes, I said watch, not see.

A witty story about ducks, which features a photograph of mine (of one of my alter egos, that is).

on simplicity...

After looking at some cool drawings at Sandwich Bag, I was directed to the site of Chuck Jones (think Bugs Bunny) where I found this quotation:

"The whole essence of good drawing —and of good thinking, perhaps, —is to work a subject down to the simplest form possible and still have it believable for what it is meant to be."
~ Chuck Jones

This made me think about writing. I tend to write too much. When I took a creative writing seminar, the professor (and pseudo-famous poet) commented on almost every poem that the last several lines were unnecessary. It was as if I came to a strong ending, but tried to reach just a little bit beyond that -- which cheapened it.

One of my favorite writers, Anton Chekhov, was known for his simple style. It was said that he would write a story, and then he would go back and cross out every thing in the work that was irrelevant. Then, he would go back again and repeat the process until all that was left was just enough to understand the gist. The readers then had to make the connections (which sometimes are not that easy).

His famous quotation on writing is:

"If there is a gun hanging on the wall in the first act, it must fire in the last." ~ Anton Chekhov

There is always the retort:

"Drama is a gun that doesn't go off."
~ Jonis Agee

Sometimes, a story is made magical by the irrelevance of details, like in Gogol, but even then, those pieces of irrelevance contribute to the mood or the atmosphere. Everyone has their own style, but I think there is something especially beautiful in simplicity.

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on speaking freely...

I let you, alone, hear my thoughts, and challenge them. The rest hear diluted versions of opinions - masked - and beliefs toned in sepia to be more old-fashioned. For you, I tone ideas with selenium, making the darkness richer, while shading the whites a little blue to match my eyes at night.

A year ago, when Putin was taboo, I cringed, but now I speak. I stake my love -- your love -- against my ideas. Even when you disagree, you respect my words and try to understand them as part of who I am. I do the same for you.

My words can shock and sting, but the poison is only knowledge. My love remains my only weapon, which I use only in self-defense. You don't need gun control or safety locks to keep me near -- only kind smiles, warm hugs, and millions of laughs. And if you don't have that many to offer today, I can wait forever.

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on alter egos...

Most of us have pseudonyms online. Periangel is something I adopted because I wanted to escape from every other "online" name I had, hoping to remain completely anonymous as I posted. (So far, apart from my boyfriend, I have succeeded).

We come online, sit in front of the computer, and become someone else, in a sense. People read our words and assume that we hold certain beliefs, character traits, and preferences -- those that don't necessarily reflect who we are in real life. But at the end of the day, we escape those opinions of us be returning to the "real" world.

Trouble comes when our public self is confused with our private one. Some famous people, who cannot escape their public selves in their daily lives, have turned to alter egos for relief. Britney Spears asks to be called Mona Lisa if she's stressed. Mariah Carey as Mimi to her friends. Et cetera.

Mariah Carey says:

"It's not like Mimi is some alter ego or character, but really more the true person as opposed to the celebrity," she explained in a recent MTV News interview.

I wonder if anyone called her that before her fame. Chances are that she developed that nickname as an alternative to the "household name", Mariah.

Fame is something that can disrupt people's sense of self, no longer knowing where their own thoughts end and the perceptions of others begin. Perhaps, by creating new names, new personnas, they are trying to escape the entire character of what they have become, what fame has made of them. By changing their names, they can start fresh (supposedly) with no perceptions, only their own thoughts. Sadly, these new names also come with the stigma of "crazy celebrities wanting to get publicity." This should be a warning for those who still desire fame to some degree.

Recently, I've drifted away from doing what I love -- writing poetic prose. It is much easier to argue and vent than to create and invent.

on the motivation to learn...

Have you ever encountered a problem or task that was so difficult that you were not sure you could accomplish it?

Research shows that how you respond to such difficulty is a result of your theories about intelligence. While it is often more complicated than a binary distinction, most people have opinions that resemble one of these categories.

1. Intelligence is a stable attribute of people. It is fixed and can be measured, tested, and quantified. This is the basic idea behind an IQ test. (I'll save my opinions on that for another night.)
2. Intelligence is incremental, in that people can increase their intelligence by learning new things, having new experiences, and acquiring new skills.
   

Think for a moment about which of these theories you believe.

Now, I will tell you about a study on motivation done by Carol Dweck at Columbia, back in 1991. Unfortunately I can't link to the actual study, because I get access to the server directly from my university, but if you would like a copy, e-mail me. Basically, Dweck gave a some elementary school children 10 problems to solve. The first 6 were easy, and they solved them without difficulty. The next four were far beyond their capabilities (very difficult). Cruel, you say? Not really, considering the study was meant to see how these children responded to difficulty.
There were two types of responses when children began to struggle (they were asked to verbally guide themselves through their thought process):

1. Helpless response: The child immediately felt as if he had failed and began to give reasons for his difficulty in the task. The child described himself as incapable of solving the problem and believed that he would not be able to solve the problem in the future. The child even had a distorted memory of the number of successful problems he answered and believed that if given a second chance, he might not be able to solve those problems again. The strategic thinking deteriorated. Finally, with low confidence, the child gave up quickly.
2. Mastery Response: The child maintained confidence in that she would eventually solve the problem. The child focused more on the solving process and even improved the thinking strategies. The child seemed excited about the problem and persisted in trying to solve it.

What separates the two? Their beliefs about intelligence, and consequently, their goals.
Children (and adults, presumably) who believe that intelligence is fixed, often have a performance goal (i.e. to demonstrate their knowledge, whether through grades, praise, or even for themselves). Their objective is to be judged positively and to avoid getting negative feedback. They interpret the feeling of exerting effort as not having enough ability to solve the problem. (e.g. “Smart people don’t need to try; it comes naturally!”) At the first sign of difficulty, they assume failure, and give up. (There is also a moderator of confidence which may lead to a mastery response if the children feel that the task should be within their ability.)

The goal for children who believe that intelligence is fluid and can be increased is learning. They view difficulty as a challenge and, therefore, an opportunity to learn something new. They persist because their goal is not to succeed at the problem, but to develop their skills. These children are more likely to pursue difficult tasks (because they are not afraid of failing, as it would not be a sign of their inability but rather a sign of room for improvement and learning).

This research has many consequences for teaching and education, in general. Do grades motivate or encourage encourage a performance goal, which can lead to a lack of motivation to learn, only motivation to succeed? Similarly, for parenting -- perhaps it is more useful to teach children that intelligence is incremental. Personally, this article made me realize a lot about myself. Keep in mind that people may have different theories and responses to different situations and different skills. For example, a girl might have an incremental theory of knowledge in literature, but an entity (fixed) theory of intelligence for mathematics, because of hearing that girls “are bad at math.” This may lead to a helpless response in mathematics, while still persisting in literature. [Insert consequences for the nature vs. nurture debate here].

A follow-up study Dweck performed recently (currently under review) involved going into a classroom where many of the children were unmotivated and getting bad grades. The researchers “intervened” for half of these borderline children, which meant holding a special class that simply taught an incremental theory of knowledge. The teacher did not know which kids were chosen. After a certain time, the teacher was asked to give assessments on her students.

Almost all who participated in the intervention improved in their grades. About one boy, she wrote that he had always handed papers in late, with careless mistakes, bad spelling, and poor organization. On the most recent paper, he finished the essay early as a draft (He got a B+ in the end)! Another child, who had received mostly Ds and Fs, asked to be tutored after school and improved dramatically.

This has turned out to be longer than I had expected, but the subject is so relevant to all of us (whether students, professors, professionals, or parents) because we are always faced with new and difficult tasks. The key to succeeding is remembering that we can improve. If we always give up, we will never succeed at anything we could not do before.

an Easter post...

Bunnies... so cute... yet so suicidal. You have to be in a certain mood (or have a certain type of humor) to appreciate this site. I do not take any responsibility for any ideas anyone might get, but do take credit (at least some) for any chuckles the site might elicit.

on wishing happy birthdays...

Warning: a rant on American culture.

Perhaps, it is a Ukrainian custom, or a Slavic one, but I respect it, and adhere to it. What I am talking about is proper "wishing" of "Happy Birthday." Since it is my birthday today, I've gotten many congratulations, but all of them had been just plain, "Happy Birthday." In my opinion, that is not a wish -- not a proper one at least. That is to say it wishes the person no more than "Have a good day," which something we hear daily, making one's birthday no different from any other day other than recognizing that this was the anniversary of one's birth.

I was brought up to actually wish people something. A proper birthday greeting would be to wish the person happiness, love, and health for the coming year. An appropriate wish for an aging person would be to be "always as beautiful as you are today." In short, a birthday wish wishes something, reflects hopes and desires for the future, and gives the person a good outlook for the future year(s).

I don't mean to rag on the people who wished me "Happy Birthday." That is what is expected and accepted here. But I will always wish people more than a happy day on such a special day, which is meant to celebrate them, their contributions, and their life.

Here was some advice I received from my sister (you would call her a cousin, but she's not) for today.

a new look...

Tomorrow (in 13 minutes now) will be my birthday. And with a new year, I shall bring in a new look. Let me know what you think!

on bilingual children...

Children are amazing. They learn so quickly and can discern so many more things than we can. I'm sure most of you know about the pruning of synapses that occurs in the first few years of life. A one-year-old child has as many synapses as an adult, but loses the connections that the child doesn't use. I think that's amazing - how much influence parents have over their children's futures. The more they talk and play with their kids, the more of their "genius" they retain.

Yesterday, I observed children in a pre-school for my Developmental Psychology course. These 24-30 month olds impressed me with their abilities. Most children only begin speaking at 2 years, but here children were using complete sentences, with proper grammar. Of course some children varied. While one boy screamed, "More! More!" when he wanted an extra helping of juice, another girl asked, "I want more water, please."

Our assignment was to focus most of our observation on one child. The one that immediately grabbed me was Evelina (as I later found out she was named). With curly blond hair and big blue eyes, she couldn't take her eyes off me when I first came into the room. (My big yellow sweatshirt might have been part of the reason). She was mostly quiet during snack time. I didn't hear her say anything until reading time, when I realized that she spoke strangely -- overpronounced words, some letter confusion (d for th). After a few times of hearing her, I realized that it wasn't a speech impediment or learning disability... rather, English was not her first language.

I learned English when I was 8 years old, which surprises some, since I don't have an accent at all (Tweedledopey would say that I pronounce my Ls differently sometimes, but only after speaking Russian for a while). However, here is this kid -- only 2. She's probably only recently learning to speak English, but has more complex grammar than most of the other children in the class!

For all the claims that raising children in bilingualism can be "detrimental" to the child's development (all based on false/misinterpreted data, I might add), this girl made me realize how lucky she was. She will become fluent in English very quickly (since she is surrounded by English-speakers), but she will gain a metalinguistic understanding and an appreciation for differences among people that some monolingual Americans will never get.

That is all for now.

on religion...

An icon hangs over my bed, softly reflecting the wall lamp. The gentle face looks down at me and brings me comfort, but not because I believe.

I believe I don't believe. I don't think belief is strong enough. It's bandwagon jargon.
~Huffamoose, "I Wanna Buy You a Ring"

No, I'm not religious. The icon reminds me of my grandparents' apartment, of the many icons and photographs that graced those yellow walls. Pictures of daughters and granddaughters framed in the same wood as Mary and Jesus. My grandmother always turned to God for comfort, which inspired me, but her faith was not enough to instill religion in my heart.

This is the story of my parting with religion. When I was wee, I wavered, oscillating between my grandmother's reassurance that there was a God and the societal pressure not to believe (the Soviet Union did not approve of religion). Since I have always been a curious child, my religious beliefs (or lack thereof) were based on simple hypothesis testing.

One day, when I was six years old, I lost my red marker. I love red, so without it, I could no longer draw. After looking for it for a long (relatively), I became frustrated. My grandmother told me to pray to God (to Mary, really, since the Russian Orthodox religion emphasizes her role) and ask him to help me. I did just that, but with a twist.

I set a time limit and an ultimatum. I said, "Mary, please help me find my red marker. If I find it in 10 minutes, I will believe in you. If I don't find it, I will know for sure that you are not real."

I found the marker in 11 minutes.

Return to the main page...

a butterfly kiss...

Caressed by the lacquered rays of the Aztec sun, I squint, letting light refract fiercely through my eyelashes. A shadow slithers down my face and stings my bottom lip. But no –-- it’'s only Psyche, disguised as a butterfly. Her fickle spirit sits unmoving just past my pink nose, and I can barely see her petals, –glistening green.

My breath trembles, as fragile swirls of gleaming black refuse to let me speak. How silly of me to think a butterfly would stop for conversation!

Mute, I scream (or dream): Do you see her? My babushka speaks without tongue, afraid I lost my Ukrainian voice in seeking another. My cocooned patois cannot reach her.

Delight and nausea, as the winged witch flutters away. No whisper could translate the hush. The Morning Star stole my words, and let the silence echo, hollower and longer-lasting than the reverberations of any sound.

on lies...

I steal the art of putting truth in a lie...
~Blue October, "Independently Happy"

"What is a lie?"

The other night, my boyfriend and I had a long discussion about what exactly constitutes a lie. Is it something said deliberately to deceive? Is it something that is untrue? Can a lie be an alternate version of the truth? An almost-truth? A possible truth?

Children in the pre-operational stage (around 2 to 6 years old) tend to believe that anything that is not true is a lie, regardless of what the person speaking believes. Thus, if a box of crayons has confetti in it, and I say that it has crayons in it (unknowingly), I would be lying. Most of us grow out of that stage. We understand that people don't know everything. Particularly, with the development of theory of mind, we figure out that others don't know what we know.

Where does that leave us? Most would argue that claiming something is true when one knows it to be false is a lie. But what about possibilities and probabilities and promises? Is it a lie to say, "I promise I will go to bed early," when one plans to stay up? Is it less of a lie to say, "I promise I will try to go to bed early" or simply, "I will try to go to bed early"? The line is fuzzier with future prognoses.

This applies to politics -- specifically, estimates of probabilities of attacks or numbers of deaths. Every estimate is based on some current knowledge and some uncertainty of the future. The weather channel didn't lie when the rain they promised does not arrive; it was simply wrong. Its facts, its knowledge, its equations and prognosis tools were mistaken. But if all the tools come up with the prognosis of a cloudy day, would predicting snow then be a lie? If there is a chance (however small) of snow, is it wrong? I think so.

On another note, thanks to bitchphd's kind words, I've had quite a visitor boost. For someone that gets relatively few readers, it feels strange.

a catharsis...

My father ran after my car as I pulled out. A last-minute hug, a sobbing "I'm sorry," and an "I love you" to match. That is how my evening ended. (cue the strings and roll the credits...)

Part of me wonders whether some other part of me still blames my father. I remain unnecessarily cold most of the time, perhaps to punish him -- for lying, for cheating, for bragging. Christian faith teaches that it is virtuous to forgive, to let God punish as he wills, but not being religious, I feel I need to make father understand what he did, what he is doing.

If I lived in a sit-com, tonight would have been the catharsis that would signal the coming of a new stage in our relationship. Perhaps we have moved beyond the resignation he exhibited earlier when he said, "At least I might be able to teach your kids to windsurf."

I wish it were true -- this realization on his part. He always talks about me so much (flaunting my accomplishments for his friends, getting complimented on how well he raised me). If only he had talked to me as much, learned who I was. He had just asked my mother, but now he no longer can, since my mother is trying to move on.

In a marriage, parents often take separate roles. One works, one raises the children -- that's how some split it. I'm not sure how my family was. Regardless, when that family breaks apart, the parents must learn to take the other's role. Some may find it very difficult.

My father had frequently left the interaction with me to my mother (I wasn't a boy, you see). He never had to face the fact that he did so until he realized that sitting alone in a car with me was more difficult than standing in front of a judge (at least then, you can prepare your words). My fearless father learned that his daughter most scared him. If only I could take pride in that fact...

on ashes...

You speak, and snakes escape your mouth. Each word is poison, tickling at my skin. Like a hurricane, you wreak havoc on those you near, and leave the damage for us to clean.

But I will glue these ashes together, if I want to live on. Your pride is all that matters, your power. You smile slyly as I gasp for air in the silence, searching for words. Thick smoke rises from the ruins, follows the contours of the car around to my seat, engulfing every thought, drowning every dream.

I became myself in spite of you.

I'll survive, knowing that each day will bring new pains, and new joys along, perhaps. I'll rebuild my strength to some day fight back, risen from the ashes that you left.

on cacti...

I bought some plants for my room today. Cacti. One pot includes an arrangement of tiny cacti (a garden, of sorts). The other pot has just one: 4 inches tall with a neon pink flower on top. I'm thinking of naming it Pink, but that would be too mundane.

I don't know what it says about me that I find cacti comforting. The needles? My whole life, I've had an exterior that tended to ward others off -- whether too shy or too intimidating. My cacti aren't painful to the touch, but people still refuse to touch them because of what they know about them. (How many more times can I say "cacti" in this post before it gets annoying?). I like that these plants require little care (watering once or twice a month).

My father is trying to become a father, suddenly. After calling me twice last semester (once drunk-dialing and once to ask me a question), he is now trying to pry into my life, asking me personal and uncomfortable questions. I can handle strange questions, but how he acts towards me is so different in other ways.

For example, my father has always had a liberal attitude about alcohol (similar to the Ukrainian attitude, where alcohol is not highly controlled as it is in the US). I had my first sip of beer at 5, had champagne at New Year's Eve for as long as I can remember, and was served tequila shots by him at 16. This weekend we visited his friend from Latvia, he offered us wine. Being respectful, I accepted along with my father. All of a sudden, two weeks before my 21st birthday, my father says, "She can't drink. She's not 21 yet." What? Since when has he been worried about the letter of the law? I wasn't even driving. Next thing I know he'll be telling me not to have sex before I marry (after he asked me to have a child before I went to college so that he could finally raise a boy).

Otherwise, being at home feels good. I love taking pictures of my mother. She's beautiful.

on coming home at 3:30am...

Midterm week completed. Start of Spring Break.

Time passes quickly when you fear the future... or at least when you worry about it. I look forward to catching up on sleep. My room is (sadly) covered with cans of RedBull and Amp. It's so strange that when you shouldn't sleep, you want to, but when you should, you can't fall asleep.

I just came back from "the street" -- our school's version of a frat row (yet different). My breakdancing crew got together and headed out to make some waves. And we did. There's something refreshing about people first seeing you breakdance, especially when you're a white girl. It's unexpected. I like shocking people.

I also like sleep.

on handstands...

Fun fact: Some pandas do handstands while peeing to mark their territory so that other pandas will think that they are taller (i.e. more threatening) than they actually are.

"Bursts of energy are avoided or reduced to an absolute minimum. Males are especially lazy and waste no effort on territorial defence or social interactions.

They avoid energy sapping confrontations by scent marking, which maintains a physical distance between individuals.

Anal glands are rubbed on scenting posts throughout their range. Males even urinate against trees while doing handstands; the higher the pee the more dominant the signal."

Being a (break)dancer and doing handstands (among other ridiculous things) on a daily basis, I take pride in knowing that humans are not the only ones crazy enough to do this. That doesn't mean that humans are sane, though.

I especially like the fact that male pandas are lazy!

on pseudonym...

I thought I'd write about my name... or pseudonym...

First, I turn to the dictionary:

pe·ri (n.):
Etymology: Persian perI fairy, genius, from Middle Persian parIk; akin to Avestan pairikA sorceress
1 : a supernatural being in Persian folklore descended from fallen angels and excluded from paradise until penance is accomplished
2 : a beautiful and graceful girl

In Persian mythology, peris were beautiful and benevolent supernatural beings or fairies, but as most powerful things, people at first considered them dangerous. They were known as a sort of female demon.

an·gel (n.):
Etymology: Middle English, from Old English engel & Old French angele; both from Late Latin angelus, from Greek angelos, literally, messenger
1 a: a spiritual being superior to man in power and intelligence; especially : one in the lowest rank in the celestial hierarchy...

I came across the combination of these two words when reading Andrei Bely's Petersburg. In it, he called one of the female characters (a virtuous prostitute) Angel Peri. I had never heard of a Peri, so (since I was writing an analysis of the novel) I had to look into it. The juxtaposition intrigued me. Although it was completely irrelevant to my final paper (I wrote about reflection imagery), the name stuck with me.

Why periangel and not angelperi then? Because it was aesthetically and acoustically more pleasing to me.

That is all.

on puzzles...

Some would argue that we are not all unique. We are all just pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle, fitting together to form the unity of the universe. But doesn't every portion of that puzzle, even in the 5000-piece set, have to be slightly different? Otherwise, those prodigies, who can put together a puzzle without looking at the pictures could never do so.

And some of us feel trapped, because our borders are already laid out around us. And some of us are puzzled that we just don't fit anywhere. Maybe some of us are just pieces of the sea, stuck among cookie cutter pieces of North American ignorance that think nothing like us. Or maybe we have too many curves. Or not enough. Or our edges are too rough. And we just can't find the place, where we're supposed to be.

on mixing songs...

"Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought." ~ E.Y. Harbug

When you make a mix for someone, or in general, it is such a personal and powerful action. It represents you from the inside -- what you enjoy, what you think about, what touches you, what moves you. I burned a breaking mix today for practice. Then, when practice time came, I found myself pausing and, instead of dancing, I was looking for people's reactions to my choices of songs. Were they impressed? surprised? confused? bored?

I can't expect everyone to enjoy my selection. In fact, I would be disappointed if my taste in music was exactly the same as another person's. By that I don't mean that I go out of my way to be individual in my musical choices. Rather, songs touch and move and motivate us in a very primal way. As Harbug's quotation says, they make us think and feel. If the same song gives another the same thoughts and emotions, I would be worried about my psychological individuality. Our experiences influence our reaction and thoughts, and if our experiences don't make up our identities, what does?

on embraces...

The memory of your embrace crawls across my skin like goosebumps, carefully creeping along my arms. It awakens each fiber of my hair follicles, standing at attention for another reminiscence to sneak into (or out of) my brain.

...the sway of your hips... the feel of your hands on mine... around mine...

quotations on writing...

There are many great sources for quotations about writing, but here are some of my favorites:

"All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath."
~F. Scott Fitzgerald

"I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me,
and my inquiry is to their working,
and my problem is their subjugation and victory,
down throw and upheaval,
and my effort is their self-expression."
~ Dylan Thomas

"When your writing is unselfconscious,
when it comes from your heart,
that's when it's powerful."
~ Sandra Cisneros

"I believe that writing is an account of extrication."
~ John Cheever

she used to...

She used to say, "I've already worked too much. My heart is already too heavy with secrets, with pain." She used to say, "I can't go on. I've lived everything that was waiting for me. The rest is more rain." She used to say that living was cruel. She didn't believe in the sun anymore, nor in the silence of the churches. Even my smiles made her more afraid -- It was winter in the core of her heart.

But the wind has never been this cold, nor the rain more violent than tonight, the night of her 20th year -- the night, when behind the facade of her eyes burned a clear red. Now, she only needs the sky, burning next to the sun, and wants new churches. But after tonight, I'm afraid that she'll bring only cold to the core of my heart.

on the gates...

I visited the Gates project in NYC on Sunday (the last day). Utterly disappointed. I expected grandeur and awe, but felt little more than impressed (with the lack of creativity). All the "artists" did was decorate the walkways of Central Park. Albeit, the decorations were nice and bright -- surely, attention-grabbing. However, these Orange pieces of cloth draped from metal beams made me feel as if I were missing something -- a point.

The most interesting viewing pleasure came when J and I heard music and walked toward a crowd of people. As we approached, two women roller-skated by us. One paused to do a fancy spin before catching up with her companion. The people were surrounding a dancing ring - a roller-dancing ring. These dancers - mostly middle-aged had such spunk and energy that it was hard not to smile. One man looked like an old Snoop, wearing a jersey, trying to C-Walk on roller-skates. And just outside this gathering was a man lying on all his belongings, watching the show from afar.

The cutest moment by far was seeing ducks ice-skate... or rather, ice-slide. The lake was covered by a thin layer of ice, which ended just a few meters before the shore. Most of the ducks swam in the water, but some brave ones climbed on top of the ice and wobbled across, tiny webbed feet sliding in every direction. It reminded me of little children wearing ice-skates for the first time.

In all, it was a wonderful afternoon. I took an entire roll of film and can't wait to get to the dark room to start making some prints!

on repeating mistakes...

I wrung out my spleen today... and watched all the pebbles of mistakes come tumbling out. Jagged little rocks of forsaken goals kept on falling. I built a mountain of my faults today and marvel at how I had hidden it inside. Why didn't I clean it out before?

Today I tried to spin myself into the ground (a move called 'the windmill'), but all I got were bruises from the parquet. There must be some secret to letting your legs twist, flying in the air, while you try to keep your body from taking off. There is a model in my head that I'm trying to achieve. With each bruise I come closer, but never quite get the momentum I need to propel myself. I await more bruises tomorrow.

There is nothing wrong with mistakes. If we can't learn from others', we make our own. We live by them. Few, if any, can say they lived lives free of them, and no person I would consider interesting lacks them. I revel in my mistakes. I bask in them, bathing in the knowledge that next time, I'll make different ones... new ones... and in creating new ways to make mistakes, something beautiful will be born.

I apologize for not writing recently. My schedule has been rough (and wonderful).