Solve For 5y+3x > Steph

Do you ever wonder what happens to the kids who just are incapable of passing math? Like, what if they really, really couldn't understand math concepts and just failed everything? Do they have special math classes for them? Do they stick them in with the special ed kids? Can they even graduate high school?

I'm one of those kids who can be taught the same lesson over and over again, and still not get it. Which is unfortunate because I go to a tiny private school that doesn't have after school math help, and my only hope of getting a tutor would be during seventh period - when I happen to have Biology. My test scores are becoming lower and lower. First, I got a C-, and an F this Friday. (F for Friday! My life is alliterated.)

When it would often take a normal child with an average brain thirty minutes to do fifteen problems, it takes me one hundred and fifteen. Take tonight for example: I sat on the couch from seven-thirty to eight and did five problems. (Actually, that's a lie - I copied them down from the back of the book because I quite honestly had absolutely no idea how to begin the problem.) I was almost at the point of tears. My mom walked in the room and said, "What's wrong?"

I looked at her. "I don't know how to do these," I choked. "Do you think it's okay to cheat and get the answers from the back?"

"Can't you call your teacher?" she sat down on the coffee table in front of me.

I slammed my textbook shut. "She has three small children which occupy her life."

"They're probably in bed by now."

"I dunno," I said, "I've sat her for an hour and a half and gotten nowhere. I don't know if a phone call is going to help me much."

I pulled my test out from my notebook. "Look, an F!"

She pulled a face seeing that I was about three seconds from bawling. "I know what it's like to not get things," she said, taking the test from my gently.

I swallowed painfully. "I don't understand why I'm so stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"Yes I am."

She told me to call my teacher.

So I did, and, of course, she didn't pick up. So I told her that I'd been at my math since seven-thirty and didn't know how to do anything. I also informed her I wouldn't have my homework completed by tomorrow and quite obviously needed some help.

So, currently, I'm sitting in my room writing this and listening to Skillet's Collide album as loud as my stereo will go. Loud music helps some, I've found.

Does anyone else ever feel this way? I seem to be about the only kid who's this mathmatically handicapped.

Consecutive Good Days in a Row: 2

Yesterday was a good day, even though I got my first F on a test. I was able to make Rachel's day better by being the only one to notice that she was sad and needed a hug. I watched an educational video about sharks with my little brother. And Jake called me at seven to see if I could participate in his orchestra, and even though I couldn't, we proceeded to talk on the phone for an hour and a half. We decided that we need to go busking (the act of playing music on a busy sidewalk for money) sometime. And we also need start a band.
I think I've just found two new great friends!

Today, my sister and I had thought we were headed up to the mountains. But, this morning, my dad was leveling the yard (again) with a rental tractor. So, apparently we weren't. Instead, she, my mom, and I went shopping in Boulder.
After a few hours and two pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, we ran into Michael Anderson's family in a vintage candy store. Michael is the one who's in love with Kristen, remember? I was beside myself.
"Hey!" I exclaimed. It's not often that we find people we know out of context. Let alone in Boulder. "Andersons!"
I think Michael's heart almost jumped out of his chest at the sight of Kristen. "Woah!" he said, shaking his head. "Is this sheer conincidence?"
No, Michael, we're stalking you.

There is something I'd like to say on the subject of hippies. In Boulder, there are more than enough hippies to go around. Really, people, could you be any more whimsical?
"Hey look!" my mom exclaimed while we sipped Starbucks, pointing across the street at a man wearing shorts and no shirt with shoulder length golden hair. "It's Blonde Jesus!"
Kristen nearly sprayed her coffee all over herself.
In an art gallery, I overheard an old guy wearing a tassled tie-dye shirt, long grey hair, and ripped jeans saying, "Oh, Mercury. I see. I have a friend who's just had a baby they called "Mercury", I'll have to tell him about this."
Excuse me?
There were countless overweight women in dreadlocks with jangly belly-dancing sashes. My mom promptly began to make jokes about them whenever they tinkled past. "Couldn't you see meee wearing that?"
Bad. Mental. Image. "Daniel would be scarred for life," I coughed.

Now, in conclusion after seeing the University of Colorado campus, I'll say I'd like to go there, major in psychology, minor in music or art, and then return to my reletives in Nebraska wearing a Buffs shirt. Take that, you Cornhuskers!

Coffee Break

I know I haven't posted since last week, so I'll give you a little life update. Here we go:

I kind of had a bad day on Friday. I don't know if it had anything to do with the fact that I was wearing a pink shirt, but something was definitely different. I don't know why, but I wasn't really feeling included by everyone. Nobody really talked to me, with the exception of, like, Jake and Ben. And I guess there was this party after school that I didn't know anything about. So it kind of sucked knowing that I had to go to work and wasn't told about this. It's a little hard to be the only new kid who doesn't know any of their jokes from freshman year, who doesn't know anybody very well, and is also exceptionally shy. I'm in the group; just not in the group.

And so, because it is my first reaction to everything these days, I went home and cried about it. Crying annoys me because I know consciously that teenagers can only think with their imigdula. This part of the brain is purely emotions, and not logic. The frontal lobe deoesn't even do anything. So, in the part of my brain that doesn't control emotions, I know that I'm crying about nothing. But my imigdula has other ideas. "No, we're going to cry now," it says.
Urg.

However, today was much better.

To start, I woke up on time. I made coffee that didn't burn my tongue. I wore my Vans instead of my dorky Pumas with my special shoe inserts and instantly felt just a little cooler.

In Algebra II, I didn't get the test back that I took on Friday and hadn't been prepared for. Some would say that this even was unfortunate, but I was glowing inside. I didn't really want a D on a paper today.

In History, we've been studying the ancient Greeks. And so today, we talked about warfare (which I've always found interesting). That in itself kind of made my day.

While sitting next to Rebekah in World Lit., I received a long note in my notebook about how much she loved me and thought I was not only beautiful, but awesome. Rachel also decided to do the same thing. I have now taped both the notes on the wall next to my desk to remind me I have friends.
Also, randomly in the middle of the day, Willis asked Jake why he had music in his take-home folder.
"Oh, um, I was going to give it to someone," he said. Then he called me over and handed it to me, because he knows I play cello and his quartet needed such an addition. Unfortuantly, he lives about an hour away from me and didn't work out; but it was still kind of sweet. Wrapped in a thick layer of awkwardness, but still sweet. I appreciated it.

To top it all off, I got my second study hall switched so I can sit in the teacher's lounge in peace instead of having to deal with gum-popping study hall moniters and loud kids. Some of us have 4S, people. I was able to sit quietly and read Pride and Prejudice and draw dinosaurs for an hour, which was nice.

After school, a few of us went to the coffee shop down the street to hang out. I'd totally missed out on the memo that we were supposed to bring extra clothing to change into. So, when everyone else had normal stuff to change out of, I stayed in my khakis and polo shirt.

Life: 237. Steph: 0.

Kristen had called me after we were sitting at a table to ask when she should pick me up, and I told her, "Well, I'm hanging out with friends - because I have them now - at the coffee shop. So...four-thirty?"

The other kids laughed.

"Tell her I said hi," Jake whispered loudly.

So I did, and then Rachel said the same thing. Squosh, as well.

The four of us, including Aiden, walked to a park to play for a while. It was all just...a lot of fun. I even recieved a couple hugs before I left.

Sharing My Story

I was interviewed this evening at youth group by a few guys who were filming a few kids' testimonies for a Meet Me At the Flag Pole day. I don't think I've ever shared it aloud before to anyone, let alone men with cameras and Chris Johnson, but it was fairly nerve-wracking. So, I'd trotted in shortly before they had begun to pack up (I was the last person to go), and they said they'd film me anyway before they left. I said cool, and was sat down on the sofa with a microphone clipped to my collar.
The guy began to ask my questions. "What does Jesus mean to you?"
"Jesus..." I began slowly, trying to put the words together right, "is my savior," I said. "Not just because he died for me, but also because he saved me. I mean, I might not still be here today if I didn't have him. I could be dead."
Chris' eyes slowly widened as he sat behind the guy with a camera trained on me.
He asked if I'd like to share a bit of how I got to know Jesus.
"I've always been a Christian," I said. "I mean, I grew up in a Christian home - but I didn't really have a close relationship with him until this past year. I was being made fun of at school and was really depressed, and I have 4S, which magnifies sounds so I can't stand gum and chips and stuff. The only escape I could come up with was killing myself."
"So...how did Jesus play into this?" he inquired.
"Every time I'd come home from school depressed, my mom would tell me to go read my Bible and verses would just pop out at me and really encourage me," I said. "Then I'd been praying really hard so I could get into this one school I had no chance of getting into, but look where I am today!" I gestered to my BWHS* hoodie I then sported. "I was accepted. Jesus has really helped me."
"And what would you like to tell other kids who are depressed or suicidal?"
"Just...don't do it. Don't kill yourself. You can't do that to your family, it'll affect everyone. You just need to realize that things will get better."
"What do you want people to know about Jesus?"
I paused and smiled a bit. "He loves you. I'm not just saying that because everyone does. He loves you."
He smiled back and switched off his camera, turning to his friend. "I'm really glad we got that one in," he said. Then to me, "Thank you for talking with us!"
"Thanks!" I said, walking towards the door. "It was nice meeting you!"
Chris' face had a look of wonder on it and he gave me a high five. I don't think he ever knew any of that was going on.
Later after a lot of people had left, he came and sat next to me and said, "Powerful testimony."
I half smiled. "Thanks."
"I had no idea it was at that point."
"I can't believe I'd even considered it. At my drivers class they told us to imagine how our families would be effected if we were killed in an accident, but I couldn't think of that. I thought about what it would have been like if I'd done suicide. I just can't believe what I almost did to my family."
"Steph," He put a hand on my shoulder and smiled. "I'm glad you didn't."
I put a hand on his. "So am I."
"You're an incredible kid," he said.
I frowned. I certainly didn't feel incredible. I felt horrible. "Thanks," I said.
"God's still working on you."
I laughed dryly. "Clearly."

I can't stress how horrible I feel about what I almost did to everyone. There was a night coming home from work a few months ago when I mentioned something about killing myself to Kristen and she asked me to promise her I wouldn't. And I'd said I couldn't promise that. Today she told me that that was one of the scariest nights of her life. She was so frightened just hearing me say that.
Dad would have tore himself apart, Mom would be devistated, Daniel would feel betrayed, and Kristen would feel like she'd lost her right arm. I just can't believe I'd ever thought that. I'm so ashamed and I'm so mad at myself. I hate that part of my past. I can't get over it.
If you're reading this and you're thinking of suicide, please listen carefully to what I am saying. Think of who you would affect. Whether you think so or not, everyone would be changed in some way. And not positively.
Whatever you're going through, no matter what it is, it will get better. Life could always suck more. There is always hope, and there is always help. And if you can't find someone to talk to, I am always here for you and am willing to help.
Just please don't give up.
Never stop fighting.

Happiness is A Plethora of Hugs

It's amazing how I've gone from suicidal to filled with joy in, what, four months? I mean, I haven't really had a group of friends that I love since before Christmas last year. And now, going to my school picnic today, I've not felt so loved in a very, very long time. I can't tell you how many hugs I got today!

Today was a dress-down day, so, you could wear normal clothes if you payed five dollars to the seniors. Which sounded good to me. So, I chose to wear my very favorite outfit to school, and everybody seemed to make a mental sigh and go, "Oh, good, she's normal!" 'Cause, you know, I have glasses and look beyond dorky in my school uniform. I mean, otherwise, I can work the look; but when you're wearing khaki pants and polo shirts tucked in? You hardly have a chance.
People were talking to me more than usual today (probably because of my outfit and looking not so loser-esque) and I actually got around to telling Hannah and Rachel that I was bullied last year. They looked at me like that was a totally foreign concept to them. Yes, girls, welcome to the real world - kids like me get pushed around out there. It's not pretty. I still didn't mention the fact that I have 4S to anyone, but I'm sure they'll all learn sometime.

After school, we had a picnic at a park and participated in a relay race, a cake walk, tug of war (over a river! It got a little wet), and I had to eat a doughnut on the end of a string; but only because I'm a first-year student. It was kind of sad, because I didn't get to participate in the relay race because everyone volunteered for roles before I was able to. But, what was nice was that Willis was kind of distressed that I didn't get to play. I wasn't upset about the fact, but I was touched that he'd cared enough to ask if I was okay with that and that he was sorry.
Between events, I was able to hang out with my new friends. Mainly Hannah, Rachel, and Jake; but with the other guys, too. And while we're all different from each other, I think that it's kind of cool that nobody is ever alone. Everyone's included in everything.
The juniors ended up winning the relay, and the tug-of-war, but altogether it was really fun. What really touched me was at the end, Hannah and I were walking and she asked, "So, are you liking Bird Watched High*?"
The other girls had left and she and I were walking behind some of the guys.
I smiled, "Yeah," I said, grinning ear to ear, "I absolutely love it here!"
She tackled me in a hug. "Good! Because I love having you here!"
"I love having you here!" I exclaimed.

When I was leaving with my mother, I kind of called over my shoulder, "Good-bye, everyone!"
So, Jake flings his arms open and was like, "Byyye!"
I hugged him, even though I felt quite awkward about it because I don't think I've ever hugged a guy before. It was okay, though, and it was really quick anyway, so I got over it and hugged Hannah, this girl named Holly, and Nathan.
But wanna know something? Hugs are amazing. My self-esteem has sky-rocketed.

My Failed Attempt at Orchestrism

It's funny, because whenever I start a post, I have so many ideas in my head about what I'm going to write, making me sound all awesome and deep. But, once I'm at the keyboard, my brain goes dead. But, I'll go ahead and try and make some sense anyway.

First, I'd like to say that I think I type too fast. I think it's saying a little much if I'm fifteen and can type seventy-five words a minute. Also the fact that I would go online to figure out how quickly I can move my fingers across a keyboard. Let's say it together, dork. Please take this test and comment to tell me how you did so I feel a little better.
Moving on:
I made chocolate cake and brownies today, licked the batter, and didn't get any of it on my white T-shirt. I think this is a big developmental step for me. But why was I making all kinds of cocoa-y goodness? Because tomorrow, my school is having a back to school picnic and we are going to be participating in a cake walk. I have never done a cake walk before, but, however, I have made cakes. Hopefully I'll excel sometime at one or the other.
As I was happily making a cake in the kitchen, my mother dropped in and told me to make brownies. I asked her why, and she just told me that she didn't want to be tempted to eat my cake.
Oh, I thought, good point. So I made those as well.

A few hours earlier, she and I had drove over to a church across town because my cello teacher had said that she'd gotten me into a little orchestra as part of another home school group in the area. My mother and I thought this was a marvelous idea, so we went with it and showed up this morning. Unfortunately, it appeared that my teacher had not talked to the board about letting a random student in without being accepted to the school, and I was evidently not allowed to play.
"If we let you in," the directer so calmly explained as she chomped her gum loudly (to my particular annoyance), "then we'd have all kinds of students dropping in unannounced in the middle of the semester. I'm very sorry."
As we drove back home, I turned to my mother and said, "...because the rest of the American population is just dying to be in small home school orchestras."
"They'd be coming in through the windows," Mom commented, "and through the doors with battering rams!"
Sometimes I'm so glad for my mom's sarcasm.
Anyhow; dejected, I was dropped off at the house (because my mom was going to have coffee with her best friends) by myself and went to practice guitar instead.
Later as sat on the floor next to our daschound and schnoodle reading my Biology textbook, I was feeling quite peaceful. Even if I can't get into orchestra, I'm still contented to sit with the dogs while doing my studies at home, unhindered by children wielding bubble gum.
And that's good enough for me.

Pingpingpong!

My family likes ping pong. My mom has been playing for years since she was a little girl with her cousins and is flippin' fantastic at it. I'm kind of a wet noodle who has trouble hitting the ball, but I'm doing alright, I think. It is some of the only excersize that I get. I've gone to Dr. K from my church, and he's been telling me to start being active, and I have. I'm really proud of myself. My mom and I have gone on three walks in the past week, and I've also been doing the Hundred Pushup Challenge and the Two Hundred Sit-Up Challenge to strengthen my abdominal muscles and my back muscles so my back won't be in so much pain all the time. And, I think it's starting to help. So, if you're feeling a little bit flabby and are up for it, follow the links above and begin your own challenge!

I think there are mice living in my walls. I don't know how many, but I can hear something chewing on - I think - piping under my heat regester. My cat has been sitting next to it all day, but she hasn't found anything. I'd set up an elaborate mouse trap last week when they were on the other side of my bedroom constructed of a chair, a ramp, a box next to the chair, and a toilet paper tube teetering over the box on the edge of the chair with peanut butter in it. Did I catch my mouse? No, I did not.
My cat is a mouser. Only, she's a lazy one. Whenever she finds a mouse in my room, she'll sit and watch it all night while it cowers cornered in a frightened little ball. When she finds one in the basement, she makes sure to kill it and bring the guts up to leave on the floor as an offering for me. (Okay, that was a really nasty sentence, but I just wanted to say she does. I always feel like puking every time she does it.)
Anyway, I just wanted to share my rodent frustrations with you all because nobody else in my family seems the least bit concerned while I sit here and worry about catching the junta virus.

Tomorrow, I have school. I normally have school on Tuesdays and Fridays anyway, so Labor Day didn't really do anything for me. All I did today was follow my mom around town while she ran errands. But, my point was that I really like school. It's cool to not worry about what school's going to be like the next day. I've said this before: I love it! And wanna know something sad? I really like wearing uniforms because it makes me feel like I belong somewhere.

I hope you all had a great Labor Day and a great three-day-weekend and that you are having a great day :)

Friend Found This For Me:

I think it's pretty accurate. And I wish my life had subtitles.

Papa

Usually, my Fridays begin at 5:15 am. It's usually dark, the wood floor of my room is cold, and I'm the only one awake. Makeup, hair, lunch packing, and coffee making takes me to 6:20 (or today, 6:15), and then I'm in the car with my dad. We listen to the radio; even though I know he doesn't like my favorite morning program. But, he never makes any attempt to change the station, nor has he ever complained.

I'm learning a lot about my dad. I appreciate him more than I used to. I know I'm starting to see a different side of him than I knew a year ago. Maybe it has something to do with God opening my eyes to others and their sufferings, but maybe it doesn't. Maybe my heart hasn't changed at all. Even so, I'm now aware of all that he does for my family, but doesn't get acknowledged for. All the work he puts into taking care of my mother, my siblings, and I. House payments, groceries, medical bills. He's stressed all the time, but I've only heard from my mom and not his own mouth. I'll ask, but he'll water it all down so I won't have to worry. Then he'll ask me what I'm doing in my classes, and the subject is too quickly forgotten.

We get out of the car, now in the parking lot of my high school. He carries my book bin into the school, even though he has a bad back, without complaint. He knows I have the same condition - inherited from him. He hugs me and kisses my cheek, saying he hopes I have a good day at school and that he loves me. I do the same.