'Cause it's so much easier if someone else is wrong

While watching hockey last night, I had an interesting thought: the world would be better if people stopped trying to correct everyone else and focused on correcting themselves. I realized right after that I needed to edit that thought, due to the irony.

Do you know someone who just frustrates you, and you're not sure why so you begin picking apart their whole personality to find the speck you find irksome? I wish I didn't, but I do. And it seems every single time I dissect someone, I feel more and more dissatisfaction with them.

I guess there's something humbling--a little too humbling--about realizing that the problem is within yourself. It's a whole lot easier if our issues are not our own fault, but that of someone else.

That's my philosophy for the day.

Spring Allergies, School Work, Yadiyadiya

Ah, 'tis spring! The sweet smell of budding flowers fills my nostrils with pollen, the charming cold-like symptoms throwing me into a mound of tissues like most people dive into a meadow of daisies!

Sarcasm, in case you haven't noticed.

So, you know how I do public speaking? Well, that's, like, my life for the past month or so. I was so proud of my ability to think and plan ahead and be organized last school year. This year, I've been doing things like realizing I have to give a speech in about two days and, gee, I have to memorize the thing. Plus, for an event coming up (this weekend) I have to wear red+black one day and purple+black another. Took me up until Sunday to realize that, guess what? I have no suitable red or purple! Which means today I meekly murmur to my mother if I can pretty please run over to Salvation Army this Wednesday and buy clothes. Suffice it to say that my planning ability has...uh...fled.

I've covered spring allergies and schoolwork, so now it's on to yadiyadiya. However, I have to leave in ten minutes as I haven't brushed my teeth yet, so this might be short. I have been writing again. Last week or so, I sporadically flipped open my laptop and began (wait for it) another draft on the book that I have been drafting for, like, the past three years. Ever since I was thirteen. Or maybe four years, because I thought I was twelve.

No matter. Spring allergies, school work, and yadiyadiya. The whole shibang.

Can I have a shoulder on which to sob?

After her piano lesson today, Kara said something that struck me, because it was the exact same thing I said when I was her age after my piano lessons: she sighed and said, "I wish I could take violin."

Isn't that so reflective of human nature? We have piano lessons, but we want violin lessons. Why? Is it any easier? Any more fun? Just different?

I compare myself to people. All. The. Time. I see someone with "in" clothes, and then I think of how pretty much every article of clothing that I own is either hand-me-down or Salvation Army. I see someone who is a grade 7 pianist and I think of how I'll be testing this spring for grade 4. I see someone who is brilliant and talented and skipping grades and taking all honors classes and think of how I struggle with just the average stuff and average grades and average assignments.

Today was a really bad week. Not necessarily anyone else's fault but my own. Not even super huge catastrophes, but little ones that just stack up. The kid I babysit asked me a question about the Civil War because she was studying for a test in school and I gave her an answer. I thought my answer and explanation were brilliant, and then later in the day I realized I completely botched it. I've spent the next couple days wishing I wasn't such an idiot.

So, with all my own stupidity rising in my face, I ask myself: "When will I be content? When will I learn to know that my life, with all its flaws, is mine and I can't ever have anyone else's?"

It's so easy to look on our own pianos and wish we had violins.

I guess we won't be really content until we get to heaven. And seeing as heaven will last a lot longer than earth, I'll give myself an energy boost by looking forward.