Unattached Musings

This is, *ahem*, a serious post. Somewhat unusual for me, I suppose, but I've been feeling rather moody all day (whether this is due to the comment we're about to discuss or to the fact that I'm back at school after a phenomenally luxurious break is currently undetermined) so this post gets to bear the brunt of it.

What set it off was a conversation with a certain Nyx regarding a certain Warburton (I'm currently trying to ignore the fact that it's entirely possible that Warburton will read this and recognize the description of himself...I'm still adjusting to the fact that people legitimately read this thing). Warburton is one of the many individuals who have emailed me in search of RSI assistance (my last count is 26 total); his email was one of the more memorable, though, as it was about four pages of sleep-deprived babbling, followed by an offer to play scrabble. I spent a couple of days pointing and laughing at the email, the read it closely enough to work out what he was asking and try to respond to that. After we had worked out that he was not, as I originally suspected, completely batshit crazy, I gave him Nyx's email because she wanted a scrabble buddy. She reportedly stayed up way too late talking and playing scrabble with him, and they reportedly had a bit of a nerd cred contest.

Nyx defines nerd cred as indie cred for nerds. Indie cred does have a wikipedia entry, so I suppose this is legit. I define nerd cred as "that thing I am always trying to get more of. Bryant probably defines nerd cred as "that thing I have so much of that I don't bother trying anymore." Bryant has an amount of nerd cred comparable to the level of indie cred held by a band that only its members have heard of. Warburton's nerd cred, from what I can tell, is more along the lines of the band that doesn't exist yet--so, basically, dude is a completely, ridiculously smart. I'm exaggerating a bit, but for the sake of the analogy, it is at least somewhat funny.

As I was saying, Nyx and I had a conversation on the way to school (it should be noted just how terrible I am at sticking to a serious topic). She said Warburton has more nerd cred than me. I agreed, saying that he should get into RSI as a result, but one never knows. She agreed with me, and I said that I wonder sometimes how I got into RSI when there are all of these awesome people out there. She gave me the look that said that I was missing some important point.

"You're a girl," she said, as if that was all the reason that was needed.

I can't find it on the website (so maybe it's not true) but I recall being informed, multiple times, that for those selecting an RSI class, affirmative action is not used. This is how we end up with 1.5 minority students and only 1/3 girls (I just checked flipped through my summerbook at counted the American students--30%. I cannot imagine it would be that low if affirmative action was used). The website does say that students are selected "solely on the basis of their accomplishments and intellectual potential," but this was in reference to costs rather than gender/race/what have you, and I'm not the sort of person who will seriously quote out of context.

Regardless, it hurts. It hurt when Dino said the only reason I was selected for SHP at the end of freshman year, when he was not, is that I was a girl. Because obviously my test scores are lower, or the same--I couldn't possibly have a greater level of scientific knowledge beyond the biology that I will freely admit he is better at. It hurts that when I am sitting at the top of my AP physics class (well, I'm not certain my grade is actually the highest, but that's because I'm being lazy and not working as hard as I should), class that has 25 boys and 2 girls (though I grant you the vast majority of these guys are jocks who probably should not be in the class), and people continue to think that I got into college because I'm a girl, that I had this opportunity and that opportunity because I'm female and not because I am a very intelligent person who has spent years working my ass off.

But I'm a secure individual. I know that shouldn't bother me, because satisfaction rests within the self. I believe that I am both capable and deserving, so it shouldn't matter what others think. The only reason that it should bother me is the same reason that the previous sentence says "believe" instead of "know." I am not as certain as I think I am. Nyx's words troubled me because she is among my closest friends, and is one of those I've known the longest and know the best. It makes me wonder: if my best friend doesn't believe in me, who will? And if she doesn't it, is my belief in myself unwarranted?

This is the insecurity that gnaws at me. It continues to live partly because most of the things that people regularly dispute can be attributed to affirmative action, so I can't quite tell myself that they aren't true--but I can't totally blame an outside source. Much of it is a case of "imposter syndrome", the feeling that, no matter what I've achieved, I've cheated somehow, and one of these days, someone is going to notice that I don't deserve my current position. It's common, from what I can tell, among women in the sciences, and I'll discuss it later, but I went on a huge tangent below, and I think that a discussion of that idea deserves its own post.

The insecure feeling is similar to that which troubled me when Kathrya assumed I wouldn't land something because I'd be competing against international students, and they'd all be better--though in that case, it bothered me less, because I'm well aware that the best of the rest of the world is substantially better than me. I'm well aware that a lot of students in this country are better than me--but in what I've dedicated myself to, the number is damn small. There are probably tens of thousands with my grades, but if you throw in research and everything else--there are a number that do better, but from what I can tell, there are a few hundred of us that are about on par with each other (maybe closer to 1000 or so, I'm not entirely sure), maybe a bit more or less--though I'm getting stuck on this one, because while it's easy to make sweeping judgements, I don't know what everyone else is capable of, and I still don't know precisely where I stand.

However, any of these people would be qualified, overall, for RSI. These are the people that will do research at Caltech, Harvard, Yale, Princeton, MIT, Stanford (though a smaller number of them will end up at other schools). I don't really know what separates those who got into RSI from those who didn't--RSI is literally too small of a program to accept all of the qualified applicants, particularly if we take to heart MIT's constant statement that it, too, cannot accept all who are qualified--but regardless, there are more people sitting at the level of "totally awesome" than there are people at RSI. And at this point, I no longer remember what the purpose of this discussion was--something along the lines of being the best here, but not the best everywhere, which doesn't totally make sense. My 1000 estimate of people who are really into research--well, that's not a very conservative estimate. I would probably be better off with a few times that. And if "the best" includes that many people, what really qualifies me to say that I or anyone else is the best? If we make our definition broad, we pick up people who are good at many things. If we make it narrow, we discount the most intelligent.

I think I just made a point, but it has no relation to anything else I've talked about. I wanted to say something about affirmative action, I think. About how horrifically bitter Gretchen is because, from what she can tell, being an asian female puts her at a disadvantage in the college process. About how worried I feel that I've been receiving things I haven't deserved, even as I am fuming over the fact that others don't believe I deserve them. So where does it help?

It helps the statistics. It makes schools have the right numbers. And as I said before, with the huge numbers of the best, you could quite possible fill an MIT class with asian females and have the whole class be amazing. You could probably do the same with white Europeans. I don't know enough about the numbers to say if one could do the same with blacks, or with hispanics--I have a feeling that there aren't enough total people in research positions already. You could probably fill a class with people capable of succeeding, but it's quite likely that they wouldn't have had the same training. Just like I wouldn't have had the same training if I hadn't been accepted to the programs I was accepted to--because that's what enabled me to be one of these best people.

I feel like my reasoning is going in circles. The problem is that any equality in receiving an opportunity can go two ways--you can try to equalize people based on what they've had access to, and accept based off of that. Or you can actually take the people who have done the most, sum total, to be the most qualified. It's confusing, and I don't totally get it, and I'm tired, and I have a feeling that I'm going to offend people, and I'm a bit annoyed about the fact that I'm no longer anonymous, so I'm probably going to offend real people.

*insert curse word here*

Sniper No Sniping!

So I nerd sniped myself last night in the middle of dinner by derailing to entire conversation to prove that twin primes always surround multiples of six (answer: in a given set of three numbers, one will be a multiple of three, and this cannot be one of the primes, so it's the middle value. Additionally, primes are odd, but odds and evens alternate so the middle number must be even. Even multiples of three are multiples of six. Proof made).

Last night I also didn't sleep enough (shocker) because it was my beloved Cammie's birthday. Well, birthday party, but it amounts to the same thing. We had a Harry Potter role-playing battle at the park, then went back to her house, watched Moulin Rouge (or however it's spelled), and stayed up until 3 am talking. In our defense, we thought daylight savings time was applied, and it was actually 2 am, but this turned out not to be the case.

Aside from that, MIT applications are due tomorrow, but I already finished mine, so this doesn't really matter. I ought to be studying for my chem test, and I think I need to read Candide this weekend, and I should figure out where I'm going with my Lit X, and write my college essays, and do a thousand other things on my to do list.

They'll get done. Someday.

Well, Ginny covered ride there

here, so I figured I'd take care of the next bit.

Despite the tardiness of three of the eight paperclips, we still arrived at the high school early, and, due to the absurdly tight arrival schedule, waited for about five minutes outside of the parking lot before getting dropped off.

As we drove over, a pair of decidedly math-geek looking boys were playing frisbee on the tennis courts. Mario and Irving derided their skill. While I can accept that Mario is probably decent as frisbee, since he does seem to be relatively athletic, as far as math team people go, I highly doubt that Irving could have done much better.

Regardless, we walked into the school to a separate area from Mr. Booth, so we had to take a few minutes to make extra certain that everybody was equipped with a TI-84 for the team round (which was completely useless, as I don't think I even touched mine) and hear a last minute "down with Treeburg" reminder before we filed off to the cafeteria.

I went to the bathroom soon after arriving, bringing Ginny along with me. This detail is not relevant at this point in the story, but it is foreshadowing. Note the foreshadowing.

Moving along. The four present members of the dream team sat on one side of out little section of bleachers, and we sat on the other. Our group, consisting of Ginny, Micro, Argon and I, discussed the relative visible nerdiness of the various students. For instance, the girl who was clad entirely in purple, including a too-tight-weirdly-cut-oddly-long purple dress, leggings of the same shade and purple sneakers: nerdy. Blonde guy in cargos with a long blonde ponytail: nerdy. Short guy doing handstands without tucking his shirt: very nerdy. Tall, otherwise reasonable looking guy wearing a t-shirt that said "I failed the Turing test": nerdy. Team of guys wearing sunglasses like Nia's normal ones and carrying a boombox: trying too hard to not be nerdy, but failing when they turned on the boombox at a not ear-shattering volume.

There was then a supremely horrific degree of disorganization of us trying to find our rooms, but we did eventually do so. I met a girl from my cousin's hometown who looked extremely not nerdy, but I have a feeling that this is more because she is black, and my image of a nerd is either asian or white or occasionally indian, than anything else. Midway through the first round, when "TWO MINUTES" was called (I realize that that is technically not midway. Forgive me), I jumped and said "oh my god," then mentally congratulated myself for not swearing, although I'm fairly certain that I did manage to get a big fat 0 on that round, unfortunately. Honestly, I would feel so much more secure with myself if I'd just gotten that one three-point negative sign....

Ah, well, c'est la vie. I need to get back to calculus. Ginny, if you want to continue this, please do.

Slangy Research Paper Outline, formatted properly

as ordered by Cammie

-Gifted children

------IQ points

------quick learners

------need more than can be offered by the typical classroom

-The used to have programs

------but now they don't

-----------NCLB is a bitch. And it's not my bitch.

------It's helping slower learners

-----------and this means teachers and schools have less time/funds for the gifted

----------------they're not getting attention

-Everyone thinks they don't need it!

------They'll make it anyways! They have it made! Everything is sunny in smart kid land!!!!

-----------it's unpopular! Teachers hate them! OH NOES!!!

-But seriously, dude, they totally need it.

------school sucks for geeks

-----------remember those nerdy high school guys on TV, like Brian in the Breakfast Club, who never got a date?

------yeah, it's like that, very nightmarish, to quote a study

------Can't be too smart. And nerdy is evern worse. Pop culture says we can't have one without the other. It's a stigma!!!11! WOO!

-Consider also, the need for intellectual stimulation

------Kids learn best in a middlingly challenging environment

-----------Boredom, like too much challenge, is an issue

----------------Yeah, gifted kids- totes bored

---------------------They already know the material

---------------------This makes them suffer (McClure)

------They don't want to try

-----------Mario

-----------That mother with the kid who's acting out

-----------Prevents them from learning how to learn/work

----------------Big paragraph quote about stumbling

---------------------Nyxiepie!

-Chronic underachievement sucks balls

------Dropouts

-----------Conflicting numbers (all the hell over the place)

-----------------But, clearly, there are gifted children dropping out

----------------------And this is an issue

---------------------------Want to "attain extreme levels of capability"

-Why should you want this? They'll save the world!

------They're your doctors

------They help us compete with China

-----------Down with China

----------------Our principal's faculty meetings (no, I won't actually mention them)

-For the betterment of the nation, gifted children should not be made to languish

------Easier said than done.

-----------Fears of damaging other children

-----------Expenses

-----------Years of accepted educational dogma

----------------All at stake. A stake through the heart. Of a VAMPIRE!

---------------------Equity verses excellence

--------------------------Who wins

-------------------------------Can we have fairness while pursuing excellence?

------------------------------------Maybe if it's eggcellent?

-----------------------------------------Snack break!

-Equality debate --> leading view is that students stay in the classroom

------"integrated learning"

-----------language win

----------------but, yeah, doesn't really end up happening

---------------------?

Why My Problems Are Puny

Well, I haven't got very many of them, for one thing. Just the typical constantly careening self-esteem of a teenager, lack of any sort of romantic anything ever, a relatively minor health issue, on and off anxiety, fairly frequent social paranoia, clumsiness and a severe case of the geeks. Well, that last one isn't so much a problem as a solution. And, all in all, none of those are particularly bad.

A lot of teenagers have horrible self-images, so the fact that mine sometimes is good is definitely a good thing. Lack of romantic anything ever is hardly unusual for a sixteen year old nerd. Thyroid problems are easily medicated. The anxiety I deal with. The social paranoia is vastly improved upon by large numbers of awesome friends. The clumsiness is cute. I mean, I'm 5'9", so I could probably do some serious damage and I probably look ridiculous, but I'm saying it's cute because it makes me feel better.

And geek is fun. As is nerd. And I'm probably more nerd than geek, anyways.

There is also the oft-recommended there-are-children-starving-in-Africa method. This is basically reminding yourself that somebody else has it worse. Watching The Kiterunner, for example, will do that to a girl. Because, seriously, at least I wasn't hunted down and killed or raped. Visiting the hospital also helps. I went to see Avon today. I drove on the highway, by myself I might add, and then crawled from the exit to the parking garage, trying desperately not to get hopelessly lost (I know the hospital is very visible, but roads are confusing!).

I finally got there. The people in the hospital are so nice, Avon included, but the whole experience is still somewhat terrifying. I mean, hospitals don't bother me- I'm very comfortable with hanging bags of blood and IV lines and people in scrubs. It's just I hate the idea of being so sick that one has to go to the hospital. Illness is so utterly random. I know that it's not, really, that it's the product of genes and of environment, that there are any number of things I could be doing to keep myself healthy, but there are still the totally confusing syndromes like ITP. Idiomatic Thrombocytosis Purpleosis, as I told Avon I call it. It's scary, the way people can be here one day and gone the next. I don't like to think about it too often. It's the lack of control that bothers me. I'd like to be able to say, unequivocally, that I'm going to live for 78.6 years, have 2.5 kids and 1.3 husbands, but I can't, and, sometimes, that terrifying thought seems like more of a problem than the whole list of the ones above.

Nerds Don't Get Any

This is, as we're all aware, a sad but true fact. And it only makes things worse to hear about all of the people who we considered totally beneath us in middle school, back before we moved to the higher level classes where one could, potentially, find a room in which the only person who's had sex is the teacher, are out there hooking up and doing god knows what else. (Forgive me the run-on sentence. Incomprehensibility seems to be my buzzword for the week). For instance, take Grant, who apparently hooked up with a girl and then called her "Isabel" by accident. I personally don't know anyone named Isabel, so who knows what he was thinking, but regardless, I think I'm going to break into another round of pouting along the theme of what-do-they-have-that-I-don't.

This should make for a highly enjoyable evening.

The whole bit about nerds not getting any is a stereotype. It's a true stereotype as far as e the nerds I know go, but it is a stereotype. This week in Health, Kathrya, Nia and I are making a public service announcement about stereotypes in which we film a representation of a stereotype, then demonstrate how this person subverts it. For nerd, Kathrya got all dolled up in high-waisted cords with a TI-85 in the pocket, a tucked in, baggy white tee, and overlarge glasses. We were debating what subversion to use while Nia got the camera working. My vote was for an STD. Kathrya, however, didn't respond favorably to my pleas to tell the health class that she has gonorrhea.

A few minutes later, Mr. Booth walked by, and Kathrya and I both waved and said hi. He walked over to us.

Mr. Booth: So what are you doing?

Tea: We're making a public service announcement for health.

Kathrya: I'm dressed as a nerd. I don't normally look like this, I promise!

Mr. Booth laughs before saying: Nice calculator.

Kathrya: Haha, thanks.

Mr. Booth: So what is this about?

Tea: Stereotypes.

Kathrya: We're dressing up as them and then subverting them.

Mr. Booth: So how are you subverting nerd?

Kathrya: We're not sure yet. Tea wants to say I have STDs, but-

At that, Mr. Booth's entire head, including the top of it, turned red, and he covered up the his face.

Tea: Honestly, it's health class, I don't see what's wrong with it!

Mr. Booth: It really doesn't seem like the best idea.

Nia: Maybe you party a lot or something?

Mr. Booth: Or she could play sports. You still have the whole jock divide, right?

Tea, musing: What sport, though?

Mr. Booth: How about chess club. Would that work?

Tea, puzzled: No.

Kathrya: Probably not.

Tea blinked a few times, confused.

At that point, Tawny emerged from the bathroom in hippy regalia, and we had to end the conversation to go film her.

Fun

In health class, Red poked me while the teacher was talking and whispered, "Mario was just staring over here, so I waved at him, and he looked away," although she actually referred to him by both first and last name.

He was probably trying to figure out why I kept looking over where he was (I was watching the clock! Honest! The second hand was broken, so it was doing this really entertaining thing where it skidded forward only every four seconds!), or had become completely enthralled by Red's red hair or the weird poster with the male olympians on it (unlikely), but really, Mario, you were creepishly staring at Julie just last week! You need to be more careful not to zone out while looking at people.

Speaking of Mario, as I've said before, Kathrya believes that he walks awkwardly. In fact, she believes that she can distinguish a nerdy guy solely by his walk. I told this to Ginny today while Bryant and Tybalt were about twenty yards in front of us. I finished up with, "I mean, just look at the twins!" right when they rounded the corner ahead.

"You want to run after them and observe?"

"Yes!" I said, and we rent running up to the corner before continuing to walk, this time a bit closer behind them. For anyone who's interested, they were stepping in opposite synchrony, going inside-outside-inside-outside, and they don't walk in precisely the same manner.

During science research today, I did the lab that's supposed to teach us how to use the micropipettes. Lumiere and Elle talked about this weekend's drunken antics. Lumiere seems to have some real memory issues. He had no recollection of telling Elle that he'd devirginized seven girls (he claims that he's slept with seven, but only three were virgins (only three. ha.)), and had no clue why he'd woken up on Sunday morning with a bed full of sand (tag on the beach). Elle professes to be very dedicated to TAG, which is Teens Against Something-to-do-with-drugs-and-alcohol-that-starts-with-G. Julie mildly insulted Lumiere while he was going on about his moral code, and she used a large-ish word I've forgotten (purport? profess?) but that he didn't know the meaning of. This from a boy who is going to Yale next year. I, for one, am appalled.

Royal Flush

Last time I played poker, I kicked ass. However, we were playing for checkers, so I didn't win any money. Goddamnit.

Speaking of Royal Flushes, though, I couldn't find any notecards today, and I didn't want to do something immediately productive, so I decided to study spanish, but couldn't, due to the lack of notecards. To circumvent this issue, I found a stack of post-it notes that my father received recently. On each side is written, in large letters A ROYAL FLUSH. On the the upper fourth of each sticky is written:

A ROYAL FLUSH Portable Restrooms 1-877-###-####. www.aroyalflush.com

Said website opens to an extremely classy picture of a portajohn on a beach. Needless to say, phrases such as mortificade fondo (embarrassed bottom) are feeling right at home.

Were you aware that the standard portable toilet weights 235 pounds?

That is 101 pounds more than yours truly! I definitely could not lift that.

Speaking of portapotties, I love Glee. The T.V. show, with the singing glee club members. I almost wish it were September just so I could watch it again.

Also, since I'm working on my portfolio, here is a short paragraph of my musings on race.

I'm underexposed to those of other races. It is difficult to view black people as unique individuals when I only talk to two or three of them, and many others would say that those kids "act white." It reminds of Mean Girls, when they introduce the lunch tables, and there are plenty of cliques for the different social groups of white kids, but the groups of racial minorities must form their own, like the "Asian nerds" "cool asians" "unfriendly black hotties," as opposed to the multitude of white groups. Unlike white people, whom I see as individuals, or, at the very least, specific labels, black people are in their own category, labeled only as "black."

Deep, huh?

AND, as if your day couldn't get any better, I leave you with a piece of fiction I wrote last year, for English class.

Enjoy!

They meandered their way down the old path, arms around each other. She tripped frequently, much preferring the view of him to that of the path. It was just so wonderful. She couldn’t think of a better word. She and Derek, finally alone. She snuck another look at his smiling eyes, and snagged her toe on a rock. He caught her just before a tumble became unavoidable.

“C’mon, Lynn. Let’s sit.”

They settled themselves with his back against the tree, and her back against him. She leaned into his warmth, pulling her knees up to her chest. He reached his arms around her to fiddle with her shoes. He talked idly, and she responded with half her mind. There was always talking. The small town they lived in used to have farms and a small factory, but the products of the factory had long ago gone out of style, and the farm produced less than the amount needed to sustain the town. People were living on their savings, constantly talking about what they had lost. Lynn and Derek, still young, mostly just farmed, and usually together. They were always talking, but this nearness, this closeness, was so wonderfully new. Lynn leaned into him, smiling again.

“If we don’t get going, I won’t have time to show it to you,” he said, pulling himself up from behind her. He walked about ten feet away. “You coming?”

“I’m working on it. Maybe I’d be a bit more motivated if you would tell me what you’re taking me to.”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.” He grinned.

She smiled back, and then stopped when a barrier suddenly appeared between them. The sky began to flicker light to dark so quickly that the wood seemed bathed in twilight. Derek’s arm reached out imperceptibly, and sparks shot across the barrier where he touched. Then he was gone.

“Derek!” Lynn shouted and leapt up. She was halfway to her feet when he appeared again, but before she could even process that he was back, the wood was once again empty. “No!” She tried to run forward but landed with her face on the earth. He had tied her shoelaces together when they sat against the tree. She lifted her head up, searching for him. The grass turned brown, wilted, and then grew again. When it reached its tallest point, Derek returned for another moment. The cycle repeated thrice more while Lynn lay on the ground.

Lynn lifted her head to look at Derek. With each flash there was some difference, some change, it was, it was- he was getting older. He had filled out a bit, and now his hairline was receding, each reappearance with less hair. His clothes, body, and facial hair all changed, but one characteristic stayed the same; his sad eyes gazed solemnly at Lynn during each instant he returned. But he was getting older. He already looked middle aged.

Lynn pulled herself up, but her tied together shoes kept her from reaching the barrier quickly. By the time she got there, Derek would be a withered old man. She hauled her body off the ground again and threw herself forward, towards the barrier. Her hand slipped through, but she didn’t notice.

Then, she felt a quick pressure on her palm. Confused, she looked up, and her eyes caught Derek’s as he held her hand. An instant later, the connection was gone. Another moment, and he returned. She tried to squeeze back, but by the time she could react to his presence, he was gone. She began to time a returning squeeze with the growth of the grass, matching them so that she clasped when he held her. She smiled up at him, pleased at her success and enjoying the small touches and the fleeting glimpses of him. He was growing into a beautiful old man.

A moment later he vanished, and this time, he did not return. He was young, then old, then- “No!” Lynn cried. Her eyes began to fill. She went to wipe her face with the hand behind the shield, but could not break away. She watched the hand through her tears. Its nails grew longer and longer, looping into a spiral. The veins became more prominent; the skin wrinkled. The joints tightened without her control, and she couldn’t open them. Soon she lost all sensation in it. The hand curled into a tight ball, then began to shrink further. It was eaten away, and Lynn pulled her arm back from the shield. Skin had grown over the edge, but she was now without a right hand. She pulled herself back from that horrible wall that had taken both her hand and her Derek.

She gazed down at her stump of a hand, then turned and watched the endless cycle of the trees. She stood there for hours, trying to comprehend the events that had just occurred. Finally, she took a deep, calming breath, and turned to walk back to town. When she was about halfway there, the strobe light sky ceased, and she was once more bathed in sunlight. By the time she reached the town, it was empty.

“Hello”, she called, her voice quaking, “Is anyone here?” The was no response. “Hello?”

The she heard someone call. “Rodney, I found another straggler.”

“Huh?” Another man, most likely Rodney, responded

“Never mind, I’ll bring her in myself,” he yelled back, then rounded a corner and came face to face with Lynn. “Hello!” He said brightly, “I’m just going to bring you in for a few tests, then you’ll be free to go.”

She looked at him blankly. “What happened?”

“It was a bit of a scientific test. Six hundred years ago, a group of scientists isolated your town in a time bubble. Basically, every second for you was a few years outside, or something like that. I was never much good with math.”

“Wha- why- How could you do that? Isn’t it illegal?”

“You weren’t producing anything, and you were taking in more benefits than you paid in taxes, so they figured there wouldn’t be any negative impact on the economy. And, well, the guy who instigated it is long dead, so he can’t exactly go to jail. All we’ve got to do is pay a few fines, which is well worth the new scientific knowledge. There were all sorts of different microbes six hundred years ago. And there’s been some change in genetics overall, and you didn’t have psychiatric drugs, so your mental processes are fascinating, and you are stock full of extinct microbes. Did you know, we’ve already found sixteen variants of Acute viral nasopharyngiti? It positively amazing.”

Lynn fought to comprehend the barrage of information. “You imprisoned my entire town just because we weren’t contributing to the economy?”

“It’s not like you were harmed, and it was only for a few hours, technically, and-“

Lynn cut him off. “Not harmed! My right hand eaten in front of me, my boyfriend is dead, and no one even asked me anything!”

“Well, um.” The man seemed unprepared to deal with anything except happiness. “ You’ll be monetarily compensated, I’m sure, and we can get a prosthetis no problem. And just think of your gift to humanity. The world has changed so much in six hundred years. You’ll be able to bring history to life. It’s amazing, it’s wonderful, it’s-”

“Horrible!” She cried, and sprinted away from him, past the boundaries of the town to the graveyard that lay a behind an old church. She let the adrenaline from her shock carry her through the gate in the old stonewall. The graveyard looked faded, broken down, but also larger than it had before. She ran past many sections, searching for the area that bore Derek’s family name. She found it at last near the back. There it was. It said his name, his birth and death dates, and then a short statement. “A man who lived many long years, but whose heart shall always belong with the love of his childhood.”

Homework

I swear to god, all this work is eating me up. I'm on my sophomore year- it shouldn't be this bad! It's ridiculous that to find classes that are challenging enough for me mentally, I'm basically forced to give up my emotional well being in favor of the endless stream of homework assignments. Yes, I could, theoretically, take easier classes, but I've done it before, and it generally leaves me both bored and ostracized. I made it through middle school- I do not want to experience anything remotely like that again.

In marginally better news, one week and two days until the first day of the Science Honors Program, and I am so excited. Yes, the fact that I am psyched to ride on a train into new york and learn science is incredibly nerdy, but according to Newsweek, the girl nerd is 'hot', so me and my 5'9" of gangly limbs are ready to prove them right, I suppose. If I could just figure out how to put on eyeliner...