Two Clocks

I have two very loud clocks. One is in the bathroom, and one is in my room above the computer. At night when all the machines are quiet and nobody is talking through voice or speaker, you can hear them both. It's odd. Clocks are supposed to be precise and accurate, but every night the intervals between their alternating ticks and tocks is different. Sometimes they are exactly in time with each other, sometimes there is a jagged beat, as though one echoes the other, and sometimes there is an even staccato.

Clocks are supposed to be precise and accurate. How many clocks do you look at in a day? They're all supposed to say the same thing but you know they can be set differently, and apparently they're not always too precise either. What about everything else that's supposed to be accurate then, that isn't even running by machine? People, for example.

How many clocks do you look at in a day?


Compare and Contrast

So I got a pretty nice handful of compliments today on an English paper I wrote for our Antigone unit, about 'Creon as a tragic figure.' Things like, "great selection of quotes," and "a great deal of personality [in] your writing (which is no easy task in formal writing)." It was particularly flattering to read, "[this] shows a writing level far beyond your age."

But I started to wonder, does this mean my now-sweet and well-disposed student teacher (in ten years he may be a bitter, crooked bastard like many of his older colleagues) is a little ageist? That seemed silly, with the assumption that the comment was made in good will as a compliment. Nonetheless, who is to say what people my age should be writing? Is it even fair to compare my writing with that of others my age?

I've also been told that I'm "more mature than my age." Why does this matter? Why can't I just be as mature as me? Of course, I hear this mostly from parents of kids my age, so perhaps it is just that apparently irresistible parental urge to judge other kids.

I'm not trying to complain about being called mature or a good writer. I like those things. My ego likes them a lot. Also, I realize the school system is relative and it counts more to be 'better' than it does to be 'good.' I think it's just the wimp in me that hates competition, naturally loathing to be compared to anybody.

Cliché closing statement today:
Just love me for me!


A New Home(?)

Well here I am at another blog site. I feel like a disloyal friend with benefits, jumping into the arms of the first other friend I get the chance to. Poor Xanga. We had some good times.

But not really. I've been itching to get away from those damn Google ads for a while. (But with my luck they'll start crowding space here, too.) I've also been mulling over the idea of a nice pictorial header, and I came up with that thing up there, waiting for somewhere to put it, and the opportunity practically hit me in the face. Also there's a lot of crap on my Xanga that I'd be glad to distance myself from; they're mostly old grade eight ramblings that make me laugh now, but I'm mostly cringing.

I think it's about time I started a new relationship. Things were interesting with Xanga at first, and I became familiarized and comfortable, but things were getting dull. It's time for a change, and I don't like livejournal. Hello, Blogspot/Blogger.