let lemons be angry

Thinking about endings. Today the rj people are going for lunch with mr lee. This looks like it'll be the ending i thought we wouldn't get. Handbells: one of the best endings. They treated us to a pizza hut dinner and showered us with little gifts and cards that made us wish we had loved them more. We won the gold for syf, we had performed countless times in front of mall-goers, ns men, ministers, everyone; we retired without regrets. Volleyball: no ending that i can savour years removed from now. I missed the chalet farewell, and the junior that was supposed to give me my pillow only remembered to a few months later. And i'm leaving with so many regrets that i feel better when i don't remember that i was in volleyball. When you miss the ending it's akin to missing the entire experience. I was there for the beginning and the whole length of the journey, but it all seems to not matter now. Art: the cca and the subject. I should have run for club president, but then i wouldn't have been able to use art club evenings for other More Important Meetings, as i did. The last thing i remember about my involvement in art club is that awful conference with sharon and Her. Not the kind of memories that we're encouraged to keep as Kodak moments. Still, my art experience is more than the cca--"being elemented too", it was "mixt of all stuffes", including taking it upon myself to transform the junkyard of a studio into something more hygienic, and hiding friends in the room during lectures. So we didn't get our graduation Art Show, which means i won't get to have sheila et al model my costumes. And so few juniors will ever know that art ever existed as an A level subject once upon a time. And so the art room is once again a-shambles because of people who can't understand the concept of dustbins, and who have no aptitude for appreciating the value of expensive markers and brushes. My heart breaks because it's all come undone despite my trying to knot it with my teeth. Where's my glorious ending? There's none. But it was an experience that i haven't gotten enough of yet, and i leave it wanting to steal time from the bank. Then there's the Never-ending story, which i suspect will never be closed. I even envy couples for their option of making a clean break, which is more than what i have. But i don't mean that. And what about the stories that only had beginnings--or the ones that are being written now, or could have been written? Is that all there is to remember, their possibilities?

And: Can i end this year well? And do all the things i wrote in my notebook to do? I have been a louisa, staring into the fire too long, looking at the ashes turn white on the hearth, without doing anything about the ashes of my own life. Such is literature--it makes the mundane things seem more important because of their poetry.