...is the integral of the absolute value of velocity. Isn't that beautiful.
Subjective observation is important. Its the first step in every injury report form, and only after this evaluation can the athletic trainer do the objective, assessment, and plan. It is the history, which always, always, comes before palpation and special testing. Athletic Training says so. It is law. http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_manshocTPq1rngbi0.gif
Eye contact is very rare for me. There is almost always math homework, a physics textbook, the occasional calculator with which to fiddle. There may be movies, board games, campfires, clouds, or bunnies, anything to serve as a distraction from the most resonating mode of communication. The problem, I think, is the frightening magnitude of focus required to purposefully maintain the gaze of another. Teachers are good at this, because they remove themselves of all intentions except the furthering of their students' educational horizons and understanding of life. Its awkward for friends unless it is a brief glare or sympathetic shot of sharing the pain. Its nerve wracking from flirts and naturally playful and witty people, often assumed to be innately superior to the humbled masses. I refuse it from my parents, deflect it from other adults. Someone did say that once, right, that eyes are windows the soul? Shakespeare, Da Vinci, proverbs, the scholars. It must be true.
In the recent past, I had the distinct pleasure of being rightfully trapped in close proximity to a fixed gaze. Physically, it would have caused significant pain to flee the situation, and emotionally, the inertia of the atmosphere was too great to overcome. Thus began an informal staring contest, which I probably lost at the fault of a dare and eskimos. Of what I actually want to take note is the exchange and record of cognizance. I remember wondering how ugly my eyes were, but mostly, everything disappears. There is the lingering question of what happens next, the breathless absorption of the space that is filled and packed with the absence of everything. There is a moment of trolling and a moment of utter seriousness. There is a moment of classic (by Tumblr) and a moment when there is no space to be filled at all.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
The Public Domain
A consideration: http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdclr3yqCa1qz4d4bo1_500.gif
Appeal to the masses isn't what I really want to talk about, partly because we see it too much in politics, partly because I know nothing about politics to even say that, and mostly because its uncomfortable, questionably hypocritical, and subject to suffer from the topic itself (speaking of politics, OBAMA, http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/sickaroundamerica/view/ and why healthcare). Fortunately or unfortunately, circumlocution is fun and can even be accidentally inspirational. And there are maybe four readers, three of which probably aren't even following me, so "public" doesn't really, really apply, even though I don't have copyrights, probably.
The Public Domain, aka judgment, popularity, approval, confirmation, by Yours Truly, jk
Admittedly, I am not as eloquent as either of the Green brothers, by pen or mouth, so an introduction to fearing exposing ourselves: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGmAekTPD5c
So first, my disclaimer? I judge people, some strongly, some more aloofly, some probably very wrongly. I never hate people and have bitter reservations only for one to three. In this day and age, there is enough freedom such that actions and words do reflect the heart, regardless of how hard it is to admit. We are not suppressed by unspeakable life-threatening government, binding religious rules, or cult-frat-sorority rituals. For this reason, everything said and done, purposeless or not, during times of pensiveness or thoughtlessness, is still, on some level, an indication of the thunder brewing within. Even the simplest minds have thunder, I would hope, anyway.
Its a relief to be alone in the crowd, furiously working, calculating, writing, without hindrance, 100% in sync with integrals, differentiation, rhetoric, circles. Its strangely exhilarating to observe the world through interaction, realizing, that as five old friends gather to analyze the suicide of Edna Pontellier, that others have deep, deep insight, even about befuddled feminists of the Realism age, and fiery issues at heart. Its wonderful to have teachers that live, authors that think, and my dear mother, who understands. These feelings are either part of my adolescent revelation phase, or the decreasing frequency with which I talk to people for real. So the latter.
Similarly, its a relief to be alone, away from the prying and giggling eyes of the public. Finally, in the literal sense as well, there is air. Oh how I love to be surrounded by nothing but the embrace of the forest, the sunset, the chill of the air... oh how I love to be momentarily unthinking, because everything is okay, like once a week, for one, precious hour.
Appeal to the masses isn't what I really want to talk about, partly because we see it too much in politics, partly because I know nothing about politics to even say that, and mostly because its uncomfortable, questionably hypocritical, and subject to suffer from the topic itself (speaking of politics, OBAMA, http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/sickaroundamerica/view/ and why healthcare). Fortunately or unfortunately, circumlocution is fun and can even be accidentally inspirational. And there are maybe four readers, three of which probably aren't even following me, so "public" doesn't really, really apply, even though I don't have copyrights, probably.
The Public Domain, aka judgment, popularity, approval, confirmation, by Yours Truly, jk
Admittedly, I am not as eloquent as either of the Green brothers, by pen or mouth, so an introduction to fearing exposing ourselves: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGmAekTPD5c
So first, my disclaimer? I judge people, some strongly, some more aloofly, some probably very wrongly. I never hate people and have bitter reservations only for one to three. In this day and age, there is enough freedom such that actions and words do reflect the heart, regardless of how hard it is to admit. We are not suppressed by unspeakable life-threatening government, binding religious rules, or cult-frat-sorority rituals. For this reason, everything said and done, purposeless or not, during times of pensiveness or thoughtlessness, is still, on some level, an indication of the thunder brewing within. Even the simplest minds have thunder, I would hope, anyway.
Its a relief to be alone in the crowd, furiously working, calculating, writing, without hindrance, 100% in sync with integrals, differentiation, rhetoric, circles. Its strangely exhilarating to observe the world through interaction, realizing, that as five old friends gather to analyze the suicide of Edna Pontellier, that others have deep, deep insight, even about befuddled feminists of the Realism age, and fiery issues at heart. Its wonderful to have teachers that live, authors that think, and my dear mother, who understands. These feelings are either part of my adolescent revelation phase, or the decreasing frequency with which I talk to people for real. So the latter.
Similarly, its a relief to be alone, away from the prying and giggling eyes of the public. Finally, in the literal sense as well, there is air. Oh how I love to be surrounded by nothing but the embrace of the forest, the sunset, the chill of the air... oh how I love to be momentarily unthinking, because everything is okay, like once a week, for one, precious hour.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Interruption
In the past few years, I have made it a habit to slide into a state of physical and mental exhaustion after any long period of competitive math activity, regardless of how rigorous it had been, meaning this cloudiness tags along every ASMA, ILML, NSML, ICTM, and calculus test. ARML shouldn't even be considered... it is death. Some have interpreted this decline in energy as sadness or anger, but, just to clarify, I'm still mulling over every problem, so carefully constructed, wondering how clever or stupid I had been.
So when people ask me what field I want to study in college (and presumably for the rest of my life, because knowledge doesn't end, and I can't imagine ceasing to learn, which apparently, is a viable path to take), I say either "I don't know" or math. Nothing else makes me think so closely; there is no science deep enough, no language profound enough, no art beautiful enough.
The worst problem, I think, that comes from such an engrossment, is my intolerance for interruption. Although clearly evident in other spheres of my life, it is most prominent when in the middle of warmups for NSML or after a particularly taxing contest. During the former, my speech impediment is worse than French presentation freezes... that, or I speak too quickly to be comprehensible anyway. After the latter, silence is golden, duct tape is silver, and both Au and Ag suffer from inflation unprecedented by even the Panic of 1837 (sly joke here ehehe).
And disclaimer, again, I'm not that good at math, at all, as can be attested by my 90.75% BC grade, repeated failures to win FTW (irony pun), and successive failures to qualify for any math competition beyond state, or to do well in state, for that matter. Its just wonderful, much like being uninterrupted.
Additionally, I am a victim of all sorts of inertia. For one, sleep inertia snatches me from the grasps of owner-less wisdom during physics and APUSH every day. (The key to pulling all nighters, by the way, is a 2 hour nap, good food, and coffee.) I am heavy set and stomp all over the badminton court, desperate to reach a bird of which only good players think to change speed (and velocity). Forced shifts in direction and halts in a good run may subject surrounding victims to berating anger. Sometimes.
Recently, the flow of my life was interrupted, in not a rude manner, by multiple issues, some moral, a few emotional. I expected to earn straight A's. I expected to be, in fact, cruising, not easily, but with some high quality thinking and insights, through French, through chemistry, math. Even APUSH would cause me pain, a couple long nights, but give nothing less than a final grade of above 90. I was to run every day, there are no excuses not to be number one, not to be a good friend, not to talk to other people, not to fulfill every circumstance with which God presents me. SATs should have been a casual thing, and, without question, I was to maintain my body perfectly.
Interruption 1: SATs. Rarely did I see my parents so serious about anything until I began pretending to review for the SATs. For three months, I was expected to spend 2 to 4 hours critically analyzing passages and polishing grammar I had to master 3 years ago. This was okay with me; as long as I could continue to flip 20 pages a day and forget about it, the hassle was worth not working - but still, my parents continued to nag week after week, screaming for me to study harder for a college entrance exam that wasn't capable of being studied. These were times when one of the greatest disparities between me and my parents became evident - they thought studying was everything; I thought, and think, studying is nothing. Its not to say I didn't prepare for the SATs - its not that I'm trying to credit my score to my natural genius. I did spend lots of time pretending; perhaps I subconsciously picked up a couple tips (just kidding). I took two practice tests, I skimmed, although likely unconsciously, the critical reading sections of the Princeton, Barron's, and Keplon's Review. I read Hack the SATs a year ago and the morning of the exam. Truly, though, the best preparation, jokes aside, was life. Math is easy, Mr. Bey was good, and everyone should read complex literature every day.
Interruption 2: Mon garou. A subject of controversy, gossip, and inspiration, although the last could be just relative to other similar cases of the day. It is, actually, natural to accept this new wolf into life, as if praying for us is instinctual, as if time spent running is extended, not cut short or made less enjoyable. In a way, its like making a real friend with whom to be at church, math team, science bowl, but always, as if it becomes something I expect to be present, something that is meant to be there, something that I welcome to be there. It is not utilized, at least not actively, as an enhancement or detriment to our spiritual lives, but instead just becomes part of life itself.
It is, however, quickly draining the amount of time I spend talking to other people, and although the interactions are still thoughtful, still true to our friendships and exchanged understanding, they are less, or they could be deeper. It is one more thing to hide, and while this can be exhilarating, keeping secrets and closing life by compartments to selected audiences are cumbersome tasks. Many questions of priorities have presented themselves, but mostly, I have learned to let time heal and roll, to love freely, to work passionately.
Interruption 3: Health. A summer of chatting into the morning and waking before 8 am to play League of Legends has drastically altered my views of sleep. This semester, there were no more than a couple days when I slept for more than 6 hours on a weekday, although 6 hours is now my normal functioning recharge time. In the beginning of this year, however, I staved my body of even more rest, shooting between 4 and 5 hours of sleep maximum. In many bouts of hypnic jerks and falling victim to sleep inertia, I lost 5% of my physics grade to a B+ on my fluids exam, at least 10% of my grade to poor exams and lost homework in APUSH, and a hearty 21% of incompetent presentations and memorization in French. Here lies my shame, my impoverished 82%, 79%, 89%.
Of course, winter is approaching, bringing with it darkness an hour early and an irresistible desire to gain insulation. With it comes another half year of anticipated depression, already cycling relapse, which never completely healed since last May. I am tired, still, and I pray that I will be given the opportunity to choose to serve God, praise God, worship God.
So when people ask me what field I want to study in college (and presumably for the rest of my life, because knowledge doesn't end, and I can't imagine ceasing to learn, which apparently, is a viable path to take), I say either "I don't know" or math. Nothing else makes me think so closely; there is no science deep enough, no language profound enough, no art beautiful enough.
The worst problem, I think, that comes from such an engrossment, is my intolerance for interruption. Although clearly evident in other spheres of my life, it is most prominent when in the middle of warmups for NSML or after a particularly taxing contest. During the former, my speech impediment is worse than French presentation freezes... that, or I speak too quickly to be comprehensible anyway. After the latter, silence is golden, duct tape is silver, and both Au and Ag suffer from inflation unprecedented by even the Panic of 1837 (sly joke here ehehe).
And disclaimer, again, I'm not that good at math, at all, as can be attested by my 90.75% BC grade, repeated failures to win FTW (irony pun), and successive failures to qualify for any math competition beyond state, or to do well in state, for that matter. Its just wonderful, much like being uninterrupted.
Additionally, I am a victim of all sorts of inertia. For one, sleep inertia snatches me from the grasps of owner-less wisdom during physics and APUSH every day. (The key to pulling all nighters, by the way, is a 2 hour nap, good food, and coffee.) I am heavy set and stomp all over the badminton court, desperate to reach a bird of which only good players think to change speed (and velocity). Forced shifts in direction and halts in a good run may subject surrounding victims to berating anger. Sometimes.
Recently, the flow of my life was interrupted, in not a rude manner, by multiple issues, some moral, a few emotional. I expected to earn straight A's. I expected to be, in fact, cruising, not easily, but with some high quality thinking and insights, through French, through chemistry, math. Even APUSH would cause me pain, a couple long nights, but give nothing less than a final grade of above 90. I was to run every day, there are no excuses not to be number one, not to be a good friend, not to talk to other people, not to fulfill every circumstance with which God presents me. SATs should have been a casual thing, and, without question, I was to maintain my body perfectly.
Interruption 1: SATs. Rarely did I see my parents so serious about anything until I began pretending to review for the SATs. For three months, I was expected to spend 2 to 4 hours critically analyzing passages and polishing grammar I had to master 3 years ago. This was okay with me; as long as I could continue to flip 20 pages a day and forget about it, the hassle was worth not working - but still, my parents continued to nag week after week, screaming for me to study harder for a college entrance exam that wasn't capable of being studied. These were times when one of the greatest disparities between me and my parents became evident - they thought studying was everything; I thought, and think, studying is nothing. Its not to say I didn't prepare for the SATs - its not that I'm trying to credit my score to my natural genius. I did spend lots of time pretending; perhaps I subconsciously picked up a couple tips (just kidding). I took two practice tests, I skimmed, although likely unconsciously, the critical reading sections of the Princeton, Barron's, and Keplon's Review. I read Hack the SATs a year ago and the morning of the exam. Truly, though, the best preparation, jokes aside, was life. Math is easy, Mr. Bey was good, and everyone should read complex literature every day.
Interruption 2: Mon garou. A subject of controversy, gossip, and inspiration, although the last could be just relative to other similar cases of the day. It is, actually, natural to accept this new wolf into life, as if praying for us is instinctual, as if time spent running is extended, not cut short or made less enjoyable. In a way, its like making a real friend with whom to be at church, math team, science bowl, but always, as if it becomes something I expect to be present, something that is meant to be there, something that I welcome to be there. It is not utilized, at least not actively, as an enhancement or detriment to our spiritual lives, but instead just becomes part of life itself.
It is, however, quickly draining the amount of time I spend talking to other people, and although the interactions are still thoughtful, still true to our friendships and exchanged understanding, they are less, or they could be deeper. It is one more thing to hide, and while this can be exhilarating, keeping secrets and closing life by compartments to selected audiences are cumbersome tasks. Many questions of priorities have presented themselves, but mostly, I have learned to let time heal and roll, to love freely, to work passionately.
Interruption 3: Health. A summer of chatting into the morning and waking before 8 am to play League of Legends has drastically altered my views of sleep. This semester, there were no more than a couple days when I slept for more than 6 hours on a weekday, although 6 hours is now my normal functioning recharge time. In the beginning of this year, however, I staved my body of even more rest, shooting between 4 and 5 hours of sleep maximum. In many bouts of hypnic jerks and falling victim to sleep inertia, I lost 5% of my physics grade to a B+ on my fluids exam, at least 10% of my grade to poor exams and lost homework in APUSH, and a hearty 21% of incompetent presentations and memorization in French. Here lies my shame, my impoverished 82%, 79%, 89%.
Of course, winter is approaching, bringing with it darkness an hour early and an irresistible desire to gain insulation. With it comes another half year of anticipated depression, already cycling relapse, which never completely healed since last May. I am tired, still, and I pray that I will be given the opportunity to choose to serve God, praise God, worship God.
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