Blog Feed

He always make sure i'm set perfect.  He makes my face sit toward the big open course, its really a beautiful sight, all of the scenery like the lake, and the trees and the bright green grass. My lifes a lot of fun, i'm a guy who likes to travel, its not really my choice, and I did not like it so much when I was new to it, but I've adjusted and its really a lot of fun. I travel all over with my good friend billy. We’ve played in contests in front of audiences, winning money sometimes, and other times we’ve just went out and played for fun by ourselves, enjoying different courses with different scenery, and playing at the course thats closest to our house.

Today we are out on a new course, in sunny San Francisco. Billy takes me out and I notice that he is playing with his co workers, a usual group to play with. He holds me in his hand and I listen to them talk “Alright fellas,  who's going first?” I hear billy say “I guess I will” He always goes first, it gets me excited every time. He walks over and sets up my stand. He always makes me sit up high in the beginning, probably because i'm his favorite. He faces me out toward the course, and I admire the beauty of the course in which is new to my eyes. I see a big stream that runs through the whole land in which the course sits on, creating an obstacle for me to get to almost every hole. I feel him take his practice swing, the wind created from the swing hits me and it tickles, the blades of grass in which he sliced the tops off sway back and fourth. I know its time know. I get excited, knowing I am about to launch off into a new course, or a new world is how I look at it. The first hole is always the most important for me. When I launch, I look around at all the other holes while i'm souring, checking out all of the obstacles in which billy will guide me around. He always does. Hes such a skilled player, he always wins, out of all the matched we’ve competed in we’ve probably one every single one. Were the best team since, since, since peanut butter and jelly. The wind feels great, we haven’t played in awhile,  it's nice to finally get out of the bag to play other than to get cleaned over and over again. I was heading down for landing, just looking at where I was going to land and I noticed, At the speed i am going, i'm guaranteed to land right in the stream. I start to panic, this could be my last game, ever. My life starts flashing before my eyes, all the tournaments, all the courses, all the wins. I just close my eyes, wanting it to be over. I feel myself hit the water and just float to the bottom. The water is cold and the rocks are covered in slimy moss. I just sit with my eyes closed, sad, thinking why here, why now.

Suddenly, I feel a cold metal ring, wrap around me, I jump because I am startled. I open my eyes and notice that I am being lifted by some mysterious pole, type thing. I see a big blurred figure out side of the water. The light shining down affects my sight. I just close my eyes and think. Ive heard stories about this kind of stuff. When the kids take us and hit us as hard as they can with bats, damaging us and just forgetting about us after we land.  Or the people who take us out of rivers and sit out side of courses, selling us to make some cheap cash.

Oh! My feeling’s returned. This is just what I need after all those weeks I spent frozen and crammed in tight plastic. I’m not complaining, the synthetic did wonders to compress and contain my ever expanding ass. I’m no barbie doll, but a turkey’s gotta look good. It feels like ages since I’ve been alone. You spend all your life squeezed between #6788859 and #6788857, it’s hard to feel like the strong and beautiful turkey you were meant to be. The bath confetti cubes of carrot and celery are delightful, I couldn’t ask for more. How did I get so lucky? Before I was booked a trip from Oregon to Pennsylvania, I was defeathered and shaved. I’ve never felt more like a woman. The removal of each pesky bristle unearthed a disgusting chaos which had cultivated beneath my feathers...chapped and pasty skin. But what’s to expect from a girl who’s never seen the daylight. Artificial lighting only goes so far. I wasn’t sure if they would apply bath oil or a simple two in one replenish and restore lotion to soothe the itch. Razor burn was the least of my problems. Boiling water soaked my tense muscles and with it, rising steam seemed to carry a familiar aroma. That rustic farm smell.

Wait, where did the bubbles go? Ouch! A pair of hands clasp my feet, bothering a stray hair neglected to have been plucked. Within a few seconds, my legs are being spread open. Are you looking up my…? Carrots, potatoes and...is that rosemary...are pressed into every groove on the inside of my stomach. I’ve heard rosemary lightens the mood. The same hands turn me over and begin kneading oil into my skin. It was like an oil, herbal massage. If I were alive, that’d tickle! I hear a faint jingle, then one by one, tiny crystals shower over my thighs as if to celebrate my beauty. I am proud of my thighs. I’m a scientific wonder. [Looking up at the ceiling] That’s a nice shade of orange. It reminds me of the beautiful hues on the pills that were pushed down my throat each morning. I’d love to see that color on my fingers. Wait, I don’t have fingernails. [Looking at thighs] Does this dressing make me look fat? Hopefully removing my feathers took a few layers off, or did it just emphasize my butt? I do have perky breasts, they may even hold up under the roasting. It was fun when they were force feeding me. Some guy would come around with a funnel and cram food down my throat. And I would just lay back and take it in. But hey, I’m rich in protein. And men like curves, right? I heard that the Turkey next door was raised on an organic farm. What a loser. 2 in 3 farm animals are raised on a factory farm. Organic is so uncool, everyone is factory farmed now. Where’s the community? At once, I’m lifted into the air, spun around and then lowered. [The Turkey notices a picture hanging on the wall, as she is moved slowly into the oven] I notice a blue and green square on a bare white wall. Birds like me sit among colorful patches and others drink water from a pond. My toes begin to blister and heat moves up my legs and spreads to my thighs. I don’t notice the rosemary inside my stomach begin to roast as well. Where are the people? Where are the cages? The turkey next to the tree is eating, choosing it’s own grass, not being force fed mashed and unidentifiable food. Maybe that’s how free range turkeys are supposed to be...ah, finally the tan I’ve been longing for...

(Elizabeth is sitting on her bed. She is dressed nicely, with makeup and jewelry on. As she talks, she takes off her shoes, jewelry, and makeup (in that order), then takes her hair out of the side-braid it had been in, then shaking her hair out by the end. Side note- she pushes her hair behind her ear when she is upset or disappointed or shy)

That was incredible! He liked me. He kept calling me pretty and gorgeous and telling me that my laugh was amazing. And he was so cute (I’m talking tall, dark, and handsome, here) and nice and funny and sweet. And he listened when I was talking, always paying attention to me! And when he kissed me (puts her hands over her heart, leans back and squeals, kicking her feet a little). I can’t believe Nat was able to set that up for me. I have to thank her so much tomorrow. (Phone Buzzes. She picks it up, and reads the text aloud.) “How did it go? He told me he loved it! You totally scored- Nat.” (stares at the phone for a second, before laughing brightly and smiling. Then she begins to type) “It was awesome. He couldn’t stop looking at me! Even when I got up, I could feel his eyes on me…” (looks up from the phone) All night. All night, he was STARING at me, not looking. And he probably wasn’t really listening. (pushes hair behind her ear and looks down) And he was surprised when I started talking about politics.

I’m not asking for prince or celebrity. I’m not even asking for love. I’m asking for a guy who is willing to take for what I am. Because that, that’s what love grows from.  It would also be nice if he didn’t focus on the physical? That boy probably didn’t hear a word I said, he was so focused on my body. I’m sure he meant everything he said, it’s just...  (Looks back at phone) “Totally scored.” Not really. ‘Totally scoring’ would be getting a guy who is interested in what I’m saying and who I am, not just the physical features I have.

(shakes her hair out of braid and sighs) I can’t believe that I used to believe in love at first sight. At first sight, we focus on how a person looks. And we always try to make ourselves look nice. First sight is never this (gestures to herself, completely bare of makeup and jewelry). This is what I want people to love. I don’t want someone to love my body, but not my mind. Love my lips, but not the words they speak. Love is knowing everything about that person, all the little things that they like, and what drives them crazy. Love is knowing exactly what buttons to push. Love isn’t shoving your tongue down their throat. Love isn’t having arguments over stupid, petty thing. I don’t want love right now, and I know I probably won’t find it now, anyway. I guess I just want people to stop use a word they don’t know the power of. Love is beyond the physical, and it takes time. (picks up her phone, and begins to type a message) “It was okay. Don’t think I’ll be meeting up with him again.”

You know Betty, I was never….. (pause) never mind, just forget it. No, no, it’s fine. Yes It’s fine. (Sight) It’s nothing, I wasn't going to say anything. Betty it’s just I was never considered… skinny, especially to my family, I’m not, I never was. Betty I don’t need to hear you tell me I’m beautiful, when I’m sitting here looking at my stomach rolls and double chin. You never had this problem Betty, you’re skinny and no one ever makes fun of you or judge you what you’re eating and how much of it you’re eating. (Screams) Why am I so fat, why can’t I be skinny! Betty I’m not overreacting. I am not a 16 year old drama queen. I’m a 16 year old with rolls the size of football fields.

Let me tell you what happened just the other day.  I was walking down the streets on a beautiful snowy day. I enjoyed walking, it made me feel happy, just looking at snowflakes falling lightly. Then, I saw a group of people walking towards my way. I was in my big black coat, I already see it coming, they started to walk in a more narrow line, like instead of 4 people across the sidewalks, They bundle up walking in a way to say, “HEY let’s make room for this fat girl to go by.” It hurt my feelings a lot. Just realizing that. (Got quiet)

Yes I’m still here Betty, Sorry I was just thinking. I was just thinking of why can’t I just go to the gym like normal people and workout. Because Betty, when I go to the gym, I feel like they are judging me! I’m not overreacting again. I feel scared, I’m afraid of getting judged and judged on how I’m fat. Betty you’re so lucky, you never have to feel this insecure.

You know my family, they are always telling me, “Don’t eat too much, you’re getting more fat” or if a family member comes over to visit, the first thing they’ll say is, “Wow, you look fatter, don’t eat too much okay, you need to be skinny and pretty okay.” Like is fatter even a word? I don’t know about other asian family Betty, but in my asian family, your weight or appearance is like the topic of conversation! That’s the first thing they’ll say to you or talk about when they see you. I felt insecure. I wanted to hide, I was never one of those skinny girls, with the perfect everything, but I wish I am. For what? So I wouldn't get judged or ever made fun of. Skinny girls like you Betty never go through what fat people like me have to go through!

Betty why are you getting so upset? Did I say something wrong? What do you mean I’m self centered. What I said was true, I never saw a skinny girl get called “fat” or “Hey fattie, why don’t you go get yourself some salad.” Betty were best friends, I thought you understand what I’m going through! I’m the one who doesn't understand you? What are you talking about Betts. Who’s going to understand you more than me Betts? I stuck by you since kindergarten! I knew everything about you and still do. I know I know Betty, I know you stuck by me too. Why do you keep saying I’m self centered? I know you were there for me too, when no one was. You can never understand what it’s like to be fat! You’re those skinny girls that I wish I was like.

Oh…. you never told me that. What did they do? They what? No they did not! Why didn't you tell me that before? I wasn't gonna judge you Betty. I can’t believe they did that! What kind of guy says to a girl, “What are you a toothpick, no butt, no nothing. You look like you got a body of an 8 year old boy.” Betty I’m sorry. Well, it’s not worse then what happens to me, you look nothing like an 8 year old boy! Betty what happened to you doesn't compare to what happens to me as a fat girl. Betty I didn't mean it like that. Betty! (Betty hangs up).

No one ever understands me anymore, not even my best friend. (Thought to self).

I know that there is a bus stop right out front of my house but I think I’ll go catch the train this morning. It’s about five blocks away in the part of the city that people call the white side but all the cute boys from St. Charles East catch the train from there and besides I could use the exercise. [rolls eyes] I mean I don’t know what it is about cute boys but they just make you do stupid things.

I was standing on the platform clinging onto my book bag as the train rushed into the station. The wind from the train made my hair blow fiercely like Beyonce in concert. I am ready. [Flips hair] The train door opened and I walked in and grabbed a seat all the way in the back of the train. Thats when I saw him. [eyes grow wide from amazement] I saw green eyes sticking out from the crowd of people as he scanned his transpass and made his way into the same train car as me. No freaking way. So I’m clawing through my bookbag trying to find my lip gloss. Got it [puts on lip gloss] I hope he sees me. [Sits up really straight and crosses legs]

Green eyes is just standing there and slowly bobbing his head to his music. I wonder what he is listening to. Maybe classic 80’s rock. Yoooo look at those lips. Good lord. They are so pink and full and so round they are perfect. They probably feel perfect too. We would be so cute together posting kissing selfies. He could be my mcm every Monday. And his hair… Lord. His beautiful baby brown curls fall effortlessly down his smooth Ivory skin. I just want to hold his hand. Or just be able to feel his arms around me Shit. He sees me staring at him. Ummm maybe I should smile. [Smiles awkwardly] OMG he really just smiled back. Hopefully he doesn’t remember me from last time. When I tripped and dropped my cell phone, my glasses and my wallet. Hopefully I can redeem myself.

I really would like to get to know him but what will he think if I just walked up to him and told him that would like to have his number. He would probably tell all his friends that I was thirsty. And all my friends would call me an oreo, sell out, or say that I [air quotations] hate my people. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to be like other girls. To be able to like boys that do not necessarily look like me without being accused of hating myself.

I love myself. I love my sun kissed skin, wide hips, round lips, and kinky hair. Today I’m going to do what I want to do. Who gives a damn what people think. That’s right today is the day I’m going to get his number. But wait… what should I say? [bites lip as if in deep thought. Eyes get wide from amazement] I got it! I could say, yooo I lost my number can I have yours? Nah. I could say I’m pretty and you’re cute, together we could be pretty cute. Nah. I’ll just let it happen naturally I mean whatever happens, happens. This is the moment of truth.[stands up and nervously walks over to guy] [Clears throat] Hey, umm you know umm do you know what stop is next?

Ok. stop. It’s 11:13 pm. Everyone knows that no good work gets done past 11. Ugh, how can it already be 11:13? It was 9:42, like, 5 minutes ago. 11:13 may be a little late, but late is better than never. And look! I already have a solid paragraph. I’m just four more paragraphs away from a decent sized history essay. And then all I have to do is my lab, then those geometric proofs, and then that english reflection paper… Oh my god my life is a never ending assignment! No, don’t panic, don’t panic. Double space solves everything. *types* There, that looks, longer. Oh, size twelve font, there we go. *types* Is ariel bigger than times new roman? Whatever, times new roman makes it look fancier.

*starts to fall asleep*

What? I can’t go to bed yet, not now. I have too much work to get done. I mean, people pull all-nighters in college all the time right? I just need coffee, or an energy drink, or, or…. That bottle of coke thats been in my room for like a month? *thinks for a minute*

*typing and saying* When.. Does… Coke… expire….?

No, no I need to do this, with or without an energy drink. Lets see, “The collapse of the soviet union…” How did that happen? How can I forget how the Soviet Union collapsed, that was like, the whole unit. I’ve got it, I’ll message someone! Somebody else can totally help me out, maybe even share their paper. Ok facebook, who to message. Not in my class... not at my school… Jeremy’s mom. How can nobody be online, it’s only 11:26. Maybe Jeremy’s mom could- Wait. Ned! Ned’s online! Oh thank you facebook gods. Ned is pretty much the smartest kid in the grade besides that kid I’m pretty sure has been held back a few years. He’s totally gonna help me. Ok, ok:

“hey” No, no. A one Y hey totally sounds like I’m trying to steal his history essay. *types*

“heyy” Better. And… send! Alright Ned, gimme those answers. ‘Seen at 11:28’ He’s totally responding! We were lab partners last year. Hey, we were friends. We would talked a lot in lab about tests and quizzes. He was sweet, he used to offer me gum when he had it. Everyone thought he was into me, he probably was. He would even let me look at his homework when I needed to. Then why is it taking him so long to respond? I guess I don’t have that many classes with him now but… Is that who I am now? That girl that asks for other people’s homework? It was totally Jessica Stein last year. When she was at a desk next to you, everyone knew you were screwed. It was the fact that she was shameless about it, though. It was so casual, sometimes she’d just give a you this slight glance in your general direction, and you knew what she wanted. It got to the point where people avoided sitting next to her in a classroom setting. I’m pretty sure she transferred this year, actually.

Oh god. I’m totally the new Jessica Stein. When given the choice, people never sit next to me. It’s a spiral! I don’t do one thing and then I have to do it the next day on top of the 3 other things I was just assigned. It’s just more and more and more and more and… No wonder he isn’t responding, Ned probably hates me for begging him for work and thinks I’m pathetic. I’m probably worse than Jessica in his eyes. *takes breath*

Stop with the pity party, he’s gonna respond. And hey, If he responds quickly enough, maybe I’ll have enough time to finish my homework up tonight. Maybe I’ll finally get it all out of the way. Maybe… Maybe I’ll start writing my work down, or putting it in a planner. Maybe I can do my work right when I get home, instead of putting it off, and off. Maybe I’ll go to bed earlier, I’ll probably get more sleep. Maybe I’ll walk to school, yeah! I’m only like a mile away, I could use the exercise. I can get one of those apps that blocks facebook- No- I’ll get an app that blocks the internet. My work time is my work time, I don’t need the internet to distract me. And then, maybe I can-

(James runs into his bunker and closes and locks the door.)

We should have seen that coming.   I can’t believe that they surprised us like that.  There are hundreds if not thousands out there.

(He sees a piece of paper and pen)

I need to say goodbye to my family.  

(Runs to the paper and pen)

What do you say to someone you love  when you are about to die and they are thousands of miles away?

(Looks at the paper and freezes)

To my loving wife Linda and soon to be born son James Jr.,

It’s me, James.  I have always been a man of few words.  I hate talking and you know that.  But (pauses)  

I don’t think I am coming back home to Philadelphia.  The base was attacked.  We didn’t see it coming.  I am writing this because today I am going to die.  

(pauses again).  

Linda I just wanted to say that I loved you.  Even if I didn’t show it at times, I did.  When I first met you in high school English class, I knew that you were the one for me. When a woman can make a strong man weak by the way she looks at him, you know you’ve found a keeper.  We’ve had our ups and downs but what relationship hasn’t.  To James Jr. I know that you will have no memory of me.  You are not even born yet. That is the one thing that hurts me the most.  I thought that if I fought in this war I would make this world a better place to watch you grow up.  The irony.  I wish I could be there to watch you grow up. To teach you how to catch a baseball, take you to your first game

(a tear comes down his face) (sniffles)

(Come one James, pull yourself together)

and see you graduate and everything in between.  I know that you will become a great man one day.  These words can’t really describe how I am really feel.

(Hears random German commands outside his door.)

Goodbye, I hope you never forget me.

(The door is kicked down. He holds the letter to his chest.)

Please, Please Please!

I looked up. A flash of memories pass through me. I shivered, out of fear. I told you I was cold. I look at you. Blank stare. You don’t remember me. I don’t know why I’m surprised. I looked into your cold lifeless eyes, only to find them missing. Something has changed.  “So, Jesse is it? Why would you like to work here.” I say not letting you see that I recognize you.

I am boiling with anger inside. Why did you do that to me? Was it fun, Jesse? Throw the gay kid in the trash. Dump his head in the toilet. Lets make his life hell because he likes guys. I remember one time I wanted to join the football team, I had been training so hard, all month long. I got out on the field ready to go. We got assigned to teams. Then we got into formation, my whole team turned against me. “A gay guy can’t play football.” those were the words you said to me as I was pushed off of the field.

But, I guess I should thank you. For all of my accomplishments. Without you to bring me down every day of high school, I’d never be so determined to get into Law School and start my own firm. I can’t bring myself to say those words to you. I busy myself reading your resume. Scribbling nonsense notes. “I’m gay.” I stop. (pause then looks up) I look at your face, incredulos. You are gay. I don’t trust my ears. I have to repeat the words to myself five times before I can start to believe them.  You are gay!

All those years, bullying me because I (points to self) liked men. And all those years you did too. (laughs) I feel bad for you. You hid behind a shield, bullied me so no one would dare to think you too, were gay. Surrounding yourself with girls. No one would have ever thought. Jesse the prom king, the popular guy, the guy who everyone loved...gay? No, no one would have bought that! And why should they? You built a wall, never let anyone see the real you. You created a character so intricately that no one thought to question it.

Oh god, oh, oh god he’s looking at me.

They’re all looking at me.

Why? All I wore was a t-shirt and jeans. Is it my boobs? Is there too much cleavage?

(looks down at boobs) There’s only a little. What’s the big deal!

Is it my jeans then? My butt?! (Looks at butt) They are somewhat tight…

But so are their clothes! One of them isn’t even wearing a shirt!

(Pause) Oh no they’re starting to shout! They’re starting to shout!

Okay, okay just ignore them and they’ll go away.

Just ignore them and they’ll go away.

Just ignore them and they’ll go…

ARRGGGH! It’s not working! I just want it to stop. This is so humiliating.

Maybe I should say something…

NO! no I can’t do that. What if I start some shit? It could get really out of hand.

I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t (long pause, silence)

(Blurts out) What did I do to deserve this?!

I was just walking on the street and this has to happen. Everyday.

I mean (laughing) Nicki Minaj shakes her fake ass only wearing a thong and she get treated like a goddess!

But I,

I,

I’m a…

Slut,

Tramp,

Whore.

Is that what they really think of me? You don’t even know me…

I mean, I see hot guys walking down the street all the time (Short pause) well… not all the time, but I don’t shout at them.

In front of everyone!

I know they have hormones, different from women, but that doesn’t mean they have to make me feel…

Subhuman.

Don’t get me wrong it’s not all of you. Maybe some of you are trying to be nice!

Beautiful is a compliment!

But there comes a point where I just

Where I just don’t know anymore.

And maybe I should just stopping dressing like a “Slut”

Or walking around at night

Or just alone In general.

Or maybe you need to just stop.

My male boss finally agreed to give me the pay raise I asked for 5 months ago.

I told him how grateful I was for his help in sorting it all out.

He said to me, “If I wasn’t married, I would ask you to show me how grateful you really are,” followed with a small chuckle.

I stared at him.

I couldn’t tell if he was serious.

I wanted to ask him how he could live with himself. How he sexualize his employee like that. Why he thinks that he can say anything to women, like we have to accept every ugly remark that spews out of his mouth. I want to ask about his wife, about his children. I want to tell him that, when men say things like that, it encourages their sons to do the same. And it encourages their daughters to accept it. Like it is something that cannot be changed. An endless cycle where women aren’t to blame. By letting our children to conform to these rules we are only perpetuating a prejudiced system. A system where feminism, is this radical theory that women are actually humans. We teach boys to grow outward. To grow as big as they can. While we teach young girls to grow inward, to make space for their man. Because apparently there isn’t enough space for both of us to shine. Contrary to popular belief, a woman doesn’t need a man to survive. A woman without a man is just as crazy of a notion as a fish without a bicycle. Equality shouldn’t be a concept we hope for our grandchildren to know. It needs to be a necessity. Something that we cannot live without.

I wanted to tell him that women already make 77 cents to the dollar that men make. And that we don’t need his harassment to make up for the lack of zeros on our pay check. And that my co-worker, John, has only been working here for three months - but he has already gotten twice the amount of promotions I have gotten in three years. I want him to feel the fear of going into my male boss’ office, uncertain if my lips will be asked to do things other than give a sales pitch.  I want to tell him that I wore my deepest cut business suit to my job interview, because I knew it would it would appeal to him. I cannot wait to see the day where people do not base my intelligence off of my wardrobe.

I want to tell him no. I want to tell him stop. I want to ask him why.

I can hear the preschool teachers call their class up to the stage. I’m next. All of the little babies run onto the stage and take their positions. Parents clap and wave to their kids. They  waved back, smiling. The teachers quietly got their attention. Then, the music started.

I’ve heard this beautiful song in rehearsal a couple times but that night I couldn’t stand it. Every little note drove me insane. “Calm,” I whispered to myself. My heart was beating so loud I could hear it. I began to go over my dance in my head. My solo. My first ever solo to be exact. that night, I was dancing all alone. It startled me when my dance teacher insisted on it. All throughout rehearsal I was nervous but never as nervous as I was then. This was like torture.

“One, two three, one two three,” I kept repeating in my head, “One, two, three, turn.” “One . . .,two . . ., turn?” Oh no! I forgot! I forgot my dance! I can’t go out there! My heart was beating faster than ever. I couldn't stop sweating and my breathing became faster. “Calm! Be calm! You can’t go out there like this!” I felt like I was having a panic attack. My body wasn't listening to my brain. I snapped out of my head and tune in to what’s happening around me.

The music stopped. “It’s over? I thought it just started! It can’t be done!” My heart was going to explode. I wasnt ready. I started preparing to go onstage when I heard the preschool teacher say, ¨Technical difficulties!” Technical difficulties”, I said to myself. A tiny weight was lifted off my shoulders and I breathed easily for the first time in minutes. But then I remembered the next time the song stopped it would be the end. And then it would be my turn.

The first class should be coming in right now 8:15 right on time as always never late never off right on time, except for those one are two who sit in the back who seem show up same time every day 9:15 on the dot, Every day come in sit down act like they pay attention then sit and slack off for  10 minutes look up watch me hanging waiting for the arrows to line up in possession so they can run out the door. The same every day with those two fools, from up here I can see it all though I can time  every thing I know the exact time that the next group kids will come in when that stupid kid in the back will make some sound that makes the entire class laugh he does it every day 10:15 on the dot. Then teacher ponders 15 minutes go by and another 10 go as she refuses to say another word unless the culprit speaks up, He never does though even though its quite clear who it is not to her thought to me its as clear as the air that you breath, I can see it  from up here I can track it all every minute, I can tell you when that the kids is sitting in front of you that makes those noises and that he did same thing 10:30 yesterday  but what can a holder a watcher of time do but that watch wait. I have seen I know all the dirty secrets of this place even the one you don't know how the students meet in this room and beat that boy with the glasses and the braces until he his black and blue every day at 3: 30.

Why do they do this I have been asking myself that very question 10 years now since the day the put me up in this god forsaken place, the first time I ever saw those boys gang up on that kid and why because mommy and daddy didn't hug them enough now because they were a bunch of egotistical little thugs who needed be taught a lesson or better yet need be slapped with the belt its not like they are using it to keep up their pants, because if they where then I would not be staring at there starry boxers stupid idiots. That little boy is no better he should stand up for himself standing there taking a betting won't help him much in life. Well it might if he is planning on being the worlds first pain feeling punching bag  I can see it now boy dies after one punch well what do I care I have my own problems to deal with for one having watch these stupid teachers that just hook up come in here make out like young kids they always come here 4:00 oh god help me you're not young get over yourselves and get a different room or please cover me up at least.  Why do I bother not like they will ever listen just half to pray that my hands move to 4: 30 faster before I lose a bolt, why couldn't I have been a  presidential clock learn the dirty secrets of the oval office and the secrets of the man running this country that would have been the dream hang me up next to George Washington painting I bet he has some stories to tell. Unfortunately that is not my fate its to watch kids beat the pulp out of that shrimp at 3:30 watch an idiot teacher stop a classes because of a imbecile who thinks making fart noises is fun. If that did not put the cherry on top of the Sunday I have to watch the generator come in the room at 4: 45 coming in the classroom and set up his weird ritual while he get naked and starts painting himself in white. I have tried saying Idiot that's not how you talk to ghosts that's who you catch a cold but does he listen no like the others, how I wish I could leave the only way I can leave is by praying the backwards school gets shut down oh how I hope until then I will forever be the watcher time keeper and recorder of this monstrous room oh look at that 7:00 already almost time start school better get ready done.

I stare at my blank computer screen in front of me. My entire dorm was completely dark except for the glow from the computer. I sit on the carpeted floor, maybe I can think better this way. I sit back on my green and white comforter. “Changing positions isn’t going to help you write the perfect speech.” I hear a little voice say to me. I write down a sentence. My hand is soon tapping backspace, erasing it away.

I am again staring at a blank screen. I can hear people outside in the hallway walking by. The voices carry under the locked door. I can hear the laughs and the joy laced in their voices. I want to be out there with them, but I don’t move a muscle. I won’t move a muscle ‘till I get this perfect. “You can’t even write a single sentence.” The voice persists to me. I try to prove it wrong, I start to write again. This time it will be perfect. This time it will be perfect, everyone will love it. Repeats over and over in my head, trying to drown out that voice. Finally having some words on the screen, I hear the clicking of the backspace key.

I am again staring at a blank screen. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. The word swirls around in my head as I try to find the perfect words for the perfect speech. It seems my world is defined by this one word, perfect. All I strive for is perfection, if it isn’t perfect I throw it away.

I try laying on my back, continuing my theory that changing positions will help me think. Staring up, I see the blank cream colored ceiling with the dark light in the middle.The ticking of the the clock engulfs the room, I see the seconds roll by, the minutes roll by, the hours roll by. As I sit there, there is still a blank screen. My dull, blank brain starts to light with the fire of an idea. The fire is brought to my hands as they start typing away quickly. There is a page of words in front of me and I’m burned out from the sudden surge of an idea. I read through what I have written, by the end of the page my hand is yet again wavering over the backspace key.

“It isn’t perfect, it will never be. Everyone at graduation will hate it." The voice tells me. No! My hand quickly falls away from backspace. I don’t care if it isn’t ‘perfect’, I shouldn’t throw it all out. “It’s garbage, it should be thrown away.” The voice said to me. It isn’t garbage, it is exactly the way I want it. It is the way it’s going to stay. I shouldn’t have to care what other people think, it’s perfect to me. I turned back to my computer and clicked the button, the save button.

I sleep 20 hours a day on weekdays. On weekends, I sleep anywhere from 10 to 18 hours a day. But I always can tell what you're doing. Do you always feel like somebody's watching you? Because I am, I’m watching you Ethan, (Heavy breathing, sounds like XHXHHHX) and listening, listening to what you’re doing But are you listening to me? Ha! course not- (rythmic) you just let my beat go on and on without any thought, ya don’t even know, how high the volume is on your stereo. You let it all go (pause)... to hell... yo... I know I’m not the only one. Just a few days ago I heard you complaining about the cell phone. You and that cell phone have done everything together and after 2 years you’re just gonna replace it for the next upgrade! I heard you saying… I heard you saying that (breaths deeply XXHHHXH) your planned on breaking the phone so that your mom would get you the gen 8. I (starts crying) I-I don’t even k-know (breaths deeply XHXHXHXHHH) what’s so great li-iike. It’s like (XHXHXHHX) what’s so great about having a thinner screen… You used to say live and let live. Ya know ya did,  ya know ya did,  ya know ya did. (Sniffle). 

Ok, um now back to the subject at hand. My speaker: why it’s broken, what you can do to fix it and what you can do to make sure this does not happen again. The reason why speaker my speaker is bust, is because of that dubstep. Please stop listening to the dubstep, it makes me vibrate so much I think I’ll explode. Please turn down the volume and listen to quieter music so I don’t explode, or worse. Now, in order to fix me you need to take out the broken driver and then place a new one in. It’ll only cost $20… maybe. You could always buy one of the internet from the computer. Hey, there’s another example of something good gone to waste. Remember your old computer? You used to spend hours on that thing, but then one day you put it in box, tossed it out and got that fancy computer. Anyway, buying an entire new stereo would be around… uh, eight thousand dollars! So just buy a driver for me that’s all you need oh and stop mistreating me and your other- Hey uh Ethan, what are you doing with that remote? Ethan (stern) listen to me don’t turn me on. Ethan, (worried) Ethan wait! Ethan- (screaming) CALL 911 NOW BWAWAH REEEEEEEEEAHHHHHH dududu REEEEEEAAHHH dududu WOOOOOooooowXXXHXHHHHXHHXHXHHXHXH. (pause) XHXHHXHTHIS GIRL IS ON FFFIYYYYAAAAAAHHHXXHXXHXHHXHXHX.

Music Therapy

Most people today, for better or for worse, know what therapy is—either because they need it or because someone they know does.  Few people think of therapy as being anything except talking to a therapist about one’s feelings and problems, which is called psychotherapy or “talking” therapy.  Less common forms of therapy, such as art and play therapies, offer more engaged and less abstract ways to connect with the same problems.  They use physical and visual tools, such as creating paintings in the case of art therapy (“What Is…?”), and using puppets to represent real life situation in the case of play therapy (“How Does…?”).  Even lesser known than these therapies is music therapy, which uses music in several ways to achieve similar goals as art therapy, play therapy, or psychotherapy.  It is not often heard about in the everyday world, making it at first seem much less professional or official than other forms of therapy.  However, music therapy actually is a well-researched and effective form of therapy.  Although music therapy is not yet widely known, it can be a more effective tool for those who need a more concrete way to connect with their emotions than standard "talking" therapy.

Every music therapist must have completed an accredited program for a Master’s degree in Music Therapy.  Strategies used in music therapy include expressing emotions through playing a variety of instruments, uninterrupted listening sessions of music chosen by the patient, and combined listening and discussion sessions with music chosen by the therapist (“Music Therapy and…”).  One might assume that music therapy is purely used for psychological and emotional problems, as many popular forms of therapy are.  Surprisingly, though, music therapy can be used for physical and social problems as well.  This therapy can be and is used with people of all ages, and on a huge variety of patients.  Some examples of when music therapy is used and who it is used on are people with Alzheimer’s disease (elderly people), young children (as young as two or three years), and people diagnosed on the autism spectrum.  In one type of music therapy session, the patient will use easy

The first acknowledgements of the value of “talking” psychotherapy were in the 1800s (Haggerty), and the first documented instance of music therapy was in 1789 (“History of…”).  However, music had been thought of as potentially healing as early as the writings of Aristotle and Plato (“History of…”).  Talking therapies are pretty much exclusively just what they sound like—talking to a trained professional about one’s problems (“Talking Therapies”).  In contrast, music therapy incorporates both playing music and listening to music, as well as some discussion components.  Talking therapies generally only work with cognitively developed/present people, eliminating both young children and elderly people with severe Alzheimer's disease or similar conditions.  Music therapy, however, can be used in such a way so that it does not require completely developed or healthy minds, opening the range of possible patients greatly.  

A  more specific and concrete example of a group of people who can be helped with music therapy is people diagnosed on the autism spectrum.  In 1995, three scientists tested the effectiveness of music therapy on an autistic three-year-old girl, and her interactions with her mother (Khetrapal 12.).  At the end of the experiment, the little girl showed significant signs of improvement in several social areas, including eye contact with her mother.  When they checked back with her after two years, the improvements had stayed with her.  This sort of case is a combination of both a very young patient and a mentally and socially disabled patient, neither of which could have been helped much by talking therapy.  

People who need a more concrete way to connect with their feelings and emotions need and deserve the same level of therapeutic attention as everyone else.  Music therapy is one way to achieve social and mental goals with these sorts of patients that are important to their qualities of life.  Most people, don’t go into a therapist’s office knowing how to perfectly express their thoughts and feelings.  But everyone has a natural emotional response to music that can be a powerful way of connecting with unconscious thoughts and worries.  

Works Cited

Haggerty, Jim, M.D. "History of Psychotherapy." Psych Central.com. Psych Central, 30 Jan.

2013. Web. 05 Oct. 2014.

http://psychcentral.com/lib/history-of-psychotherapy/000115.

"History of Music Therapy." American Music Therapy Association. American Music Therapy

Association, n.d. Web. 05 Oct. 2014. http://www.musictherapy.org/about/history/.

"How Does Therapeutic Play Work?" PlayTherapy.org. Play Therapy International, n.d. Web.

06 Oct. 2014. http://www.playtherapy.org/playhowdoestpwork.html.

Khetrapal, Neha. "Why Does Music Therapy Help in Autism?" Empirical Musicology Review 4

(2009): 11-12. Knowledge Bank. Web. 5 Oct. 2014.

https://kb.osu.edu/dspace/bitstream/handle/1811/36602/EMR000065a_Khetrapal.pdf.

"Music Therapy and Mental Health." American Music Therapy Association, Inc. (n.d.): n. pag.

American Music Therapy Association. American Music Therapy Association. Web. 5

Oct. 2014. http://www.musictherapy.org/assets/1/7/MT_Mental_Health_2006.pdf.

Silverman, Michael J. "Psychiatric Patients' Perception of Music Therapy and Other

Psychoeducational Programming." Journal of Music Therapy 43.2 (2006): 111-19.

Pubmed. Web. 5 Oct. 2014.

https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/#folders/0ByDxnS1HotqDNENYdkFsMkJNOE0.

"Talking Therapies." Mental Health.org. Mental Health Foundation, n.d. Web. 04 Oct. 2014.

http://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/help-information/mental-health-a-z/T/talking-therapies/.

"What Is Art Therapy?" ArtTherapy.org. American Art Therapy Association, 2013. Web. 6 Oct.