Anything else?
Yes, only I'm not sure how to articulate what I want to say.
The school year has dragged on and flew by at the same time. How is that even possible? But, it is, and now it's Sunday and school ends this week.
Next year, I'll be a senior. I've heard that senior year is the best, but all I can say is that I hope it's better than junior year.
I won't miss much from this year.
I'll miss CW, and photography, and English class with my friends. But, other than that? Not much. I'll be in CW2, I'll still take pictures, and I'll see my friends again. So, it doesn't matter, does it?
This class was one of the only things that made this year suck a little bit less. Thanks, Nelson. And that last day almost made me start crying and I'm not even a senior, for goodness sake. Goodbyes make me emotional.
But it's not goodbye, it's see you later. See you next year, maybe, or see you in ten years when we run into each other at the grocery store, when we both have six kids and a busy schedule, when we stop being afraid of the future and embrace it. I hope I'll see all of you later.
Thanks for being in this class. Thanks for accepting me and not laughing (too hard) at me, and thanks for being my friends. It means more than you'll ever know.
Hannah, thanks for your note in class. It made me smile.
Madi, thanks for being you. You're fantastic.
Everybody else- thanks for being you.
See you later.
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Saturday, May 21, 2016
what does the heart say
dear c,
figure out your life. you only have a year left, you know.
one year left.
is that enough time to do everything you've always wanted to do?
that's up to you.
you can't keep procrastinating forever, as much as we both know you'd like to.
so, don't.
and don't forget about me, either.
love,
your heart
figure out your life. you only have a year left, you know.
one year left.
is that enough time to do everything you've always wanted to do?
that's up to you.
you can't keep procrastinating forever, as much as we both know you'd like to.
so, don't.
and don't forget about me, either.
love,
your heart
Sunday, May 15, 2016
Nostalgic
I remember the moment I fell in love.
I remember the moment I thought I didn't care anymore.
I also remember the moment when I was reminded why I loved him in the first place.
Is it bad to sometimes wish that I didn't remember? That I could forget everything? Sometimes, I want to. It would be a lot less painful if this had never happened, if I didn't have to watch him leave and if I didn't keep checking my phone to see if he texted me back yet.
But this isn't meant to be a sad post, is it?
I have happy memories, too. Memories of laughing and teasing and him calling me beautiful. I have memories of watching Disney movies and laughing until I thought I was going to throw up, and I remember the happiness I felt when he told me we should hang out sometime.
So, yeah. It's almost ironic that I'm writing this post today, because this is a very nostalgic day. But that's not always a bad thing, right? Some days are just like that.
Some days, it's okay to remember.
I remember the moment I thought I didn't care anymore.
I also remember the moment when I was reminded why I loved him in the first place.
Is it bad to sometimes wish that I didn't remember? That I could forget everything? Sometimes, I want to. It would be a lot less painful if this had never happened, if I didn't have to watch him leave and if I didn't keep checking my phone to see if he texted me back yet.
But this isn't meant to be a sad post, is it?
I have happy memories, too. Memories of laughing and teasing and him calling me beautiful. I have memories of watching Disney movies and laughing until I thought I was going to throw up, and I remember the happiness I felt when he told me we should hang out sometime.
So, yeah. It's almost ironic that I'm writing this post today, because this is a very nostalgic day. But that's not always a bad thing, right? Some days are just like that.
Some days, it's okay to remember.
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Story time
I believe in ghosts.
I believe in the ghosts of things that once were, and that will be, and that are still here, but not quite.
Most of you might not know that I work at a retirement home- Ashford/Highland Glen. (Shoutout to Sabrina. :))
Most of you might not know that I spend my work shifts taking care of people that can't quite care for themselves, and that even though it's one of the hardest things I'll ever do, it's also one of the most rewarding. I work in a memory care unit, and, as such, I work with people that are in any stage of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, or any age-induced mental impairment.
Most of you might not know that these people are the purest and sweetest souls that I've ever had the opportunity to meet.
They're also the reason that I believe in ghosts.
I've held the hand of a dying woman before, and I held her hand after she had passed, and told her that I love her. (Present tense.)
And the story I want to tell is funny, but it also makes me think- which is the best quality of a story, in my opinion.
So, a little background. On a normal day, I start work at 2:30, meaning I go straight from school, and I usually don't get home until around 11:00 at night. The shifts are long, and tiring, and by 9:30, I usually just want to cry. But that's cool.
On one particular night, around 10:00, we were all exhausted and ready to go home, when our pagers started going off- letting us know that there was a call light going off. This was a normal occurs nice, and I stood up to answer it, but that's when I noticed that it was coming from an empty room- one who's occupant had passed away a few weeks early. Weird.
The woman who had lived in that room was one of the residents I was closest to. She was tiny, weighing only around 60 pounds when she died, but her mind was surprisingly clear, and I loved talking to her. Needless to say, it freaked me out that an alarm was going off from her room.
I forced my coworker to come with me, and we walked down the hall to her room, with our iPhone flashlights on, and saw a figure in the corner of my room. I literally almost peed my pants, man. We were both silent until we turned on the light and saw one of our other residents standing in the corner, tugging on the call light. She was a wanderer, and it was common to find her in somebody else's room, but this one really freaked us out. Imagine walking into a pitch black room and seeing somebody in the corner... Yeah. Bad night.
But it made me think. For those of you that don't have experience with Alzheimer's, it's a destroying disease. It turns healthy people into people with hardly any recollection of their surroundings or even their family. And it's heartbreaking. Their former selves are like ghosts, and as sad as it is, some of the people I work with are no longer who they used to be, even in the slightest. That's why it's hard for their families to visit them- because it isn't truly their mom, or their dad, it's a ghost. So, yeah. I believe in ghosts. Maybe not physical, literal ghosts, but the ghosts of who people once were, and the ghosts that are now occupying their bodies, only a trace of who they used to be remaining.
I believe in the ghosts of things that once were, and that will be, and that are still here, but not quite.
Most of you might not know that I work at a retirement home- Ashford/Highland Glen. (Shoutout to Sabrina. :))
Most of you might not know that I spend my work shifts taking care of people that can't quite care for themselves, and that even though it's one of the hardest things I'll ever do, it's also one of the most rewarding. I work in a memory care unit, and, as such, I work with people that are in any stage of Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, or any age-induced mental impairment.
Most of you might not know that these people are the purest and sweetest souls that I've ever had the opportunity to meet.
They're also the reason that I believe in ghosts.
I've held the hand of a dying woman before, and I held her hand after she had passed, and told her that I love her. (Present tense.)
And the story I want to tell is funny, but it also makes me think- which is the best quality of a story, in my opinion.
So, a little background. On a normal day, I start work at 2:30, meaning I go straight from school, and I usually don't get home until around 11:00 at night. The shifts are long, and tiring, and by 9:30, I usually just want to cry. But that's cool.
On one particular night, around 10:00, we were all exhausted and ready to go home, when our pagers started going off- letting us know that there was a call light going off. This was a normal occurs nice, and I stood up to answer it, but that's when I noticed that it was coming from an empty room- one who's occupant had passed away a few weeks early. Weird.
The woman who had lived in that room was one of the residents I was closest to. She was tiny, weighing only around 60 pounds when she died, but her mind was surprisingly clear, and I loved talking to her. Needless to say, it freaked me out that an alarm was going off from her room.
I forced my coworker to come with me, and we walked down the hall to her room, with our iPhone flashlights on, and saw a figure in the corner of my room. I literally almost peed my pants, man. We were both silent until we turned on the light and saw one of our other residents standing in the corner, tugging on the call light. She was a wanderer, and it was common to find her in somebody else's room, but this one really freaked us out. Imagine walking into a pitch black room and seeing somebody in the corner... Yeah. Bad night.
But it made me think. For those of you that don't have experience with Alzheimer's, it's a destroying disease. It turns healthy people into people with hardly any recollection of their surroundings or even their family. And it's heartbreaking. Their former selves are like ghosts, and as sad as it is, some of the people I work with are no longer who they used to be, even in the slightest. That's why it's hard for their families to visit them- because it isn't truly their mom, or their dad, it's a ghost. So, yeah. I believe in ghosts. Maybe not physical, literal ghosts, but the ghosts of who people once were, and the ghosts that are now occupying their bodies, only a trace of who they used to be remaining.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
If you knew me
If you truly knew me, you'd know that I hate being 'the girl that always sits in the same spot, the girl that doesn't share much and doesn't talk much', but I'm too afraid to change it.
If you knew me, you'd know that I wish, more than anything, that I wasn't one of the five juniors in our class- that I wish I was a senior. That I wish I could grow up and leave and get out and hopefully, not visit Utah County any more than I need to.
If you knew me, you'd know that I love pineapple ice cream and Mary Higgins Clark's books and boybands and this class, even though I might not show it.
You'd know that I like instrumental music and risque music and music that makes me feel something. You'd know that I've played piano for almost ten years, and for about eight of those years, I wanted to quit more than anything, and I'm just now starting to appreciate the talent. You'd know that I play music in my car way too loud, and when I pick up the elementary school carpool, adults give me dirty looks for blasting 2011 Justin Bieber. Music is important, basically.
I love photography. I love being able to capture a moment, and for some reason, I love the way I feel with my camera around my neck.
I love dogs, old people, and snow cones. I love my job (even though it SUCKS) and for the most part, I love the people I work with. I've got it pretty good, guys.
I love scary movies and San Diego and swimming with dolphins and laughing so hard that my head starts to hurt. I love the summer, and I love getting to sleep in, and I love having plans for the weekend. I love good grammar.
I love when people text me first.
One thing I don't love? This reveal. (Sorry, Nelson, but I almost boycotted). This is more scary to me than writing the first post, because at least then, nobody knew it was me. But I've written personal stuff on here for a good few months now, and now I'm supposed to tell you all who I am, and let you judge me, and that basically terrifies me.
I care waaaaay too much about what people think.
You'd know that I hate being in pictures, that I hate the way I smile, and maybe that's why there's only three pictures of me on my phone. You'd know that I hate judge-y people, I hate slow drivers and eight hour work shifts and grumpy people.
If you knew me, you'd know that my real name isn't Charlotte Rose, obvs, though it's a pretty name and it's done me a huge favor.
My name's Cassidy Atwood- Cassy for those who know me. Nice to meet you.
Above: Me, with my best friend, Wyatt. Some of you might know him. :)
Thank you, Charlotte.
If you knew me, you'd know that I wish, more than anything, that I wasn't one of the five juniors in our class- that I wish I was a senior. That I wish I could grow up and leave and get out and hopefully, not visit Utah County any more than I need to.
If you knew me, you'd know that I love pineapple ice cream and Mary Higgins Clark's books and boybands and this class, even though I might not show it.
You'd know that I like instrumental music and risque music and music that makes me feel something. You'd know that I've played piano for almost ten years, and for about eight of those years, I wanted to quit more than anything, and I'm just now starting to appreciate the talent. You'd know that I play music in my car way too loud, and when I pick up the elementary school carpool, adults give me dirty looks for blasting 2011 Justin Bieber. Music is important, basically.
I love photography. I love being able to capture a moment, and for some reason, I love the way I feel with my camera around my neck.
I love dogs, old people, and snow cones. I love my job (even though it SUCKS) and for the most part, I love the people I work with. I've got it pretty good, guys.
I love scary movies and San Diego and swimming with dolphins and laughing so hard that my head starts to hurt. I love the summer, and I love getting to sleep in, and I love having plans for the weekend. I love good grammar.
I love when people text me first.
One thing I don't love? This reveal. (Sorry, Nelson, but I almost boycotted). This is more scary to me than writing the first post, because at least then, nobody knew it was me. But I've written personal stuff on here for a good few months now, and now I'm supposed to tell you all who I am, and let you judge me, and that basically terrifies me.
I care waaaaay too much about what people think.
You'd know that I hate being in pictures, that I hate the way I smile, and maybe that's why there's only three pictures of me on my phone. You'd know that I hate judge-y people, I hate slow drivers and eight hour work shifts and grumpy people.
If you knew me, you'd know that my real name isn't Charlotte Rose, obvs, though it's a pretty name and it's done me a huge favor.
My name's Cassidy Atwood- Cassy for those who know me. Nice to meet you.
Thank you, Charlotte.
Monday, March 28, 2016
Wins and Losses
We're all going to die, so why the hell am I so afraid of it?
In ninth grade, I thought I wanted to die. I knew how I wanted to do it, I knew when I wanted it to happen, and I thought that maybe I would finally be happy, away from mean girls and overbearing parents and a stifling community.
Sometimes, I wish I had done it.
But sometimes, I'm happy they stopped me.
Because I'm not finished yet- one more year, that's all. One more year of high school and then I'm free.
If I had died two years ago, I never would've learned as much as I have since then. I'd be sleeping forever- which doesn't sound so bad when I'm waking up early every morning, but at least I'm alive. I can go to school and I can have a future and I can laugh and cry and live, just because I didn't open that bottle of pills. High school doesn't last forever. Neither did middle school, even though it felt like it would. And the older I've gotten. the more I've realized that nothing lasts forever. I don't talk to those mean girls anymore, and they don't talk to me. My parents are still overbearing, very much so, but I can deal with it. One more year, right? And the community is just as stifling, but next year at this time, I'll almost be finished.
If I had died, I never would've met him.
I never would've known that, hey, maybe there's a chance for me, after all.
I never would've met some of the best people I know, and I never would've taken the best classes I've gotten to be in, and I never would've known that even though I'm sad, I can still be so happy.
I never would've known that that my parents got divorced, and that even though I still cry about it, and even though I can't decide where to live and who to live with, I'm okay. We're okay.
And for the first time in a while, I'm looking forward to things. I'm looking forward to Hawaii, and the cruise, and senior year, and everything that's going to come after that. Because I'm afraid, sure, but I'm not going to let that stop me. That's a pretty big win, in my book, even after so many losses.
In ninth grade, I thought I wanted to die. I knew how I wanted to do it, I knew when I wanted it to happen, and I thought that maybe I would finally be happy, away from mean girls and overbearing parents and a stifling community.
Sometimes, I wish I had done it.
But sometimes, I'm happy they stopped me.
Because I'm not finished yet- one more year, that's all. One more year of high school and then I'm free.
If I had died two years ago, I never would've learned as much as I have since then. I'd be sleeping forever- which doesn't sound so bad when I'm waking up early every morning, but at least I'm alive. I can go to school and I can have a future and I can laugh and cry and live, just because I didn't open that bottle of pills. High school doesn't last forever. Neither did middle school, even though it felt like it would. And the older I've gotten. the more I've realized that nothing lasts forever. I don't talk to those mean girls anymore, and they don't talk to me. My parents are still overbearing, very much so, but I can deal with it. One more year, right? And the community is just as stifling, but next year at this time, I'll almost be finished.
If I had died, I never would've met him.
I never would've known that, hey, maybe there's a chance for me, after all.
I never would've met some of the best people I know, and I never would've taken the best classes I've gotten to be in, and I never would've known that even though I'm sad, I can still be so happy.
I never would've known that that my parents got divorced, and that even though I still cry about it, and even though I can't decide where to live and who to live with, I'm okay. We're okay.
And for the first time in a while, I'm looking forward to things. I'm looking forward to Hawaii, and the cruise, and senior year, and everything that's going to come after that. Because I'm afraid, sure, but I'm not going to let that stop me. That's a pretty big win, in my book, even after so many losses.
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