On Adorable Things and Sleeplessness

Hello all!

So, it's Saturday and I promised a post. Happy Saturday. I spent much of the day sleeping after I got home. I hate when you're sleeping at someone else's house and someone decides to set their alarm for 6 am after you've all been up until 3...and doesn't turn it off when it goes off. Hence, making up sleep once I got home. Delicious.

Speaking of delicious, my friend posted a link to something wonderful on the Facebooks today. CLICK ME

They're plushie sushi! Cuddly AND delicious! I had to spread the love to you all, in hopes that you too can appreciate the adorable stuffed noms. I think they look down right appetizing. Yum. :)

But anyway, my point is that losing sleep is terrible. As I've already said in earlier posts, the teenage body is not meant to sleep under the schedules mandated to us by the education system, and needs proper sleep schedules in order to function properly. It turns out that sleeping 3 hours in cramped conditions surrounded by other people is also detrimental to getting adequate sleep. Can someone come up with a solution for this?

Hope your weekend is restful and delicious,
Rachel Leigh

OHDEAR-- On Voices

Hey, my lovely readers (real or metaphorical)!

So I almost went to sleep without posting. That would have been a travesty. I had intended to post after the State of the Union address this evening with some witty critique of things said by Mr. Hope-and-Progress himself, but I really do not have much to say on the matter. Except "Boo off-shore drilling." And "Why does the entire Democratic Party have to give a standing ovation every time the President takes a breath?" I love Barack Obama as much as the next person, but I'd be frustrated if every time I paused for a comma, the room erupted in applause. It delays the next thought.

Anyway, the reason I almost went to sleep without posting was because a friend of mine (he vlogs daily on the YouTube, maybe one day I'll link to his profile so you can meet him and get to know the strange people I have befriended over the years) posted a video tutorial on how to do one's hair and make-up to look like Sailor Moon. I like Sailor Moon. This is not a secret. I would much prefer, however, to be Sailor Jupiter. She's more awesome. But yeah, so then I got distracted by YouTube videos of this girl doing cosmetics tutorials. I really liked her voice. That happens a lot. I'll watch TV shows, movies, listen to songs, and favorite random people on YouTube because I just really like the intonation and musical qualities of their voices. Part of the reason I watch Everyday Italian on the Food Network is the fact that I like the way Giada DiLaurentis pronounces her "cr"s, like in "crust" or "crumbs." It sounds so nice. My favorite part of watching RENT is hearing Jesse L. Martin's voice. It's like butter and warm chocolate and cinnamon all rolled into one. It's literally delicious-sounding.

In case you can't tell, I really like voices. I like using and listening to different voices. I think they're beautiful and funny and fun and awesome.

Listen to the voices in your head (they're often right),
Rachel Leigh

Metablogging

This is what I shall call "metablogging." It consists of any time that I blog about blogging.

I find it really funny, blogging. Just the word is funny. But more than that, I think the concept is funny. The fact that thousands of people around the planet convince themselves that enough people are interested in hearing their opinions that they end up posting their innermost thoughts and feelings on the internet. It's really quite funny.

Unless you're a celebrity or the things you say are particularly insightful, the rest of the world probably doesn't care about what you did today, or your reflections about a cup of coffee.

Of course, I lump myself in with this sillyness. I, of course, post every day and frequently wonder what people think of the things I'm saying. The fact of the matter, though, is that most of the world really just doesn't care that much. Sure, a few of my close friends will probably read this when I post a link to the latest entry on facebook, and maybe it will come up if colleges or future employers decide to Google me as the internet safety lectures try and convince me will happen. But aside from that, the likelihood that this blog will be noticed by anyone, and therefore be read by anyone, is fairly small.

So I shall continue my blogging and my metablogging, but really...why?

Meta-love,
Rachel Leigh

A Nighttime Post

This is a nighttime post. As this blog progresses, these will become the norm. This is because, as a full-time student, most of my free time comes, shockingly, at night. There are also lovely filters on the school's computers which prohibit access to blogs and blogging websites. Something about wanting to make sure students are focusing on their school work during school hours. What the crap?

Anyway, did you know that the teenage body is supposed to get nine hours of sleep every night? I'm not entirely sure how that's possible. No teenager I know gets that much sleep. Our schedules rarely permit it. School, work, homework, studying, and socializing keep people up until midnight, if not later. And then we all have to wake up in time to make the first bell at 7:30. There aren't enough hours in the day.

Aside from that, research has been done that says that melatonin-production schedules in teenagers are contradictory to our current schedules. Melatonin is the hormone that puts the human body to sleep, and in teenagers, the hormone doesn't even begin production until 1 o'clock in the morning. This means that the teenage body is not naturally accustomed to going to bed in time to get those 9 hours of sleep it needs and still wake up in time for school.

Clearly, something's gotta give. And for most teenagers I know, what gets tossed to the wayside is adequate sleep. Hooray for nocturnal teenagers.

Sleep well, my darlings,
Rachel Leigh

Day 3: On Slumps

My blogging has yet to hit a slump. Perhaps that's because the rest of my life seems to have run head-first into the wall protecting me from going insane with boredom and isolation.

Let me make this very clear: I cannot stand to be alone. I am terrified of it. There is a long list of things I would rather do than be alone, and it includes getting teeth pulled without an anesthetic, drinking mildly-corrosive acid, and being poked repeatedly with a fork. I think pretty much the only thing I had more than solitude is the idea of being eaten alive by a giant spider. That might be more terrifying. I'm not sure, though. It could be less scary.

Anyway, so for the last three days, I have had no human contact outside of my own mother (and even that has been limited) and a two-minute conversation with my friend from through a ticket-window which was ended when people needed to actually purchase tickets from said window. And this solitude is starting to drive me completely bonkers. I have spent approximately 30 of the last 72 hours doing absolutely nothing, and approximately another 30 sleeping. The remaining 12 hours were spent either walking or in school. Ugh.

I have, decided, however, to fix my slump. I have had some coffee to get my body charged, and have gotten up, gotten cleaned up, and gotten dressed. I took a walk, and if it's the last thing I do, I shall show this slump who is boss. Which is me.

Tomorrow I shall discuss more things.

Don't get in a slump,
Rachel Leigh

Dulce et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori

For Christmas this year, my best friend gave me a copy of The Collected Poems of Wilfred Owen. I reread some of it after my Comparative Government final. After reading through a few of the contained poems and the biographical introduction, I began thinking about Owen's writing and why he is one of my favorite poets of all time. This is what I got out of it:

What I like about Wilfred Owen's poetry is how real it is. People often find it depressing. Of course it's depressing. It's war poetry. War is depressing. People lose limbs. Bright, healthy, happy boys go off in search of courage and with dreams of glory. Many of them come home in body bags, if at all. Owen saw this long before the rest of the world. He was a fatality of the first World War, the so-called "Great War," and he saw that the war he fought was sad and disgusting. He commanded men, men he thought were brave, strong, and worthy of all the best things in the world, and watched them die. He watched as gas hit and he saw men's faces hanging "like a devil's sick of sin" as they hoped and waited for death. His poetry is beautiful and horrifying and disgusting and heart-wrenching and political.

I guess the biggest tragedy is that he died before the end. He found himself in the trenches in France and never lived to see the fruition of his growth. After so loudly opposing war and getting so close to peace, he just...died. He warned that death for one's country was neither sweet nor glorious, but he was both sweet and glorious, and his death was a tragic loss.

"Blood's dirt," he laughed, looking away
Far off to where his wound had bled
And almost merged forever into clay.
"The world is washing out its stains," he said.
"It doesn't like our cheeks so red:
Young blood's its great objection.
But when we're duly white-washed, being dead,
The race will bear Field-Marshal God's inspection."

--"Inspection" by Wilfred Owen

Welcome to Day 2 of the Snarkfest

I'm sitting on my floor, surrounded by two broken backpacks, a laptop case, books on the meaning of Shakespeare, a sock, and a wet towel. My trash can is literally overflowing with college mail and papers from the past semester that I am finally and happily ridding myself of forever. I'm honestly wondering what is wrong with my life. Right now, though, my major concern is my impending appointment.

You'd think by now I'd be used to these. It's the seventh visit in a round of psychiatric appointments designed to test me for and help me cope with ADHD. On the one hand, I feel like I'm one of the most functional ADD kids I've ever met. On the other, I twitch like crazy and never stop talking, and apparently my lack of focus interferes with my executive functions.

I think the reason I'm concerned about this appointment is just that I don't know where we're going now. I got back the results of my testing over the last two appointments and...now what? I know she wants me to phase out processed sugars and artificial flavors and get regular exercise to handle my hyperactivity but I really don't know what else she might want me to change. And I'm not sure I like it.

I swear I will talk about Wilfred Owen soon.

Hope You're Doing Well,
Rachel Leigh

Hello World

So, every time I start blogging--seriously blogging--something seems to get in the way. I finally found a blog that I could really get in to, and...the server went down. And thanks to my darling friends at freedomofknowledge.org, never went back up. Really, guys? You couldn't protect my darling blog? Oh well.

The point is that after a year on hiatus from blogging, I am back, on a new hosting site (yes, I know blogspot is not the most advanced of blogging tools, but what can you do when you can't afford a domain name on your own?), and better than ever. I'm hoping I can think of something to post about every day to make this blog actually worth reading, but if I can't, you'll have to forgive me.

For those of you who did not read or frequent my previous blog (Harmony, Melody, and the Music in My Head), my name is Rachel Leigh Hall. I am currently a senior in high school who specializes in saying a lot while saying a little. Or vice versa. I am proud to say that I really enjoy blogging and pretending that you all want to read about my life. This blog will be a little bit rant-y, most likely, but it's always fun to write those posts. I assume one of my first posts will be some thoughts about Wilfred Owen that I wrote down the other day.

I hope to be snarky, witty, and critical enough to warrant this blog title.

Hope you're having a wonderful day,
Rachel Leigh