2/15/24 - Blog Entry 1 - "Disappointment":
Disappointment from your parents is insidious, whether real or perceived, it can really hurt you as you develop, and can drive you to extreme behavior. Extreme can be productive, or extreme can be counterproductive to our ideas of what makes someone "good". My brother, for example, I believe is fairly disappointing to my parents, and has chosen a path which is very insular and unadventurous. He doesn't try to make something of himself, he just does the expected. He's pursuing a degree in computer science in-state instead of business at a prestigious university, he spends his nights gaming as opposed to finding friends or internships, and he doesn't really have the same physique as my 'athlete Dad' or 'yoga instructor Mom'. It's really sad to see him taking this path when I'm doing the exact opposite, rising to the challenge presented by our family, and looking to graduate high school and pursue Journalism in the Ivy League.
There's a difference in our approaches, and there will undoubtedly be differences in our outcomes. I suppose only time will tell.
Period. Enter. Posted!
Ashlee sat back in her desk chair with a sigh of satisfaction as she reread what she'd written.
I think it's fair.
She mused, but despite her attempts to reassure herself, she hoped that her brother Adam would never find her blog.
Maybe "Disappointment" was a little strong of a title...
She dismissed the intrusive thought.
If he didn't want to be considered a disappointment, he should've done something worthwhile with his life like me.
She glanced around her room, it was well-organized, proper. The desk in front of her was plain, white-painted wood with her laptop on it, a few school documents open in other windows, and a handful of papers neatly stacked in the corner.
College applications to secure my future...
She riffled the paper lightly, it was a comforting sound in the silence of her alone time. Her mother, Gemma, hadn't gotten home yet, and her father, Pete, was likely out until the early evening. Ashlee briefly stood, then flopped directly onto the carefully tucked, periwinkle bedspread.
Homework? Done. Applications? Done. Workout? Done. Blog post? Done.
She found herself bereft of responsibilities, of the structure that she usually relied upon, so instead she just lay there, enjoying the cool darkness of the fabric on her face, blocking out the light of the room, the very picture of a bored teenager. She considered grabbing her phone, putting on some music to help her focus, but it felt wrong, she had nothing upon which to focus.
She'd started the blog for just this scenario, another feather in her cap of extra-curricular activities and awards, a base of writing which would catapult her to the editor of the Harvard Review, or perhaps the Princeton Review, or the Yale Review, whichever one she chose to attend once her applications were in.
There's gonna be a Review, and I'm damn sure I'll be editing it
. She thought about her writing, the personal nature of it, and despite herself felt a twinge of doubt.
Is it too much? Too open?
She considered, and stood back up, her head throbbing due to the sudden change of orientation. She took a half step back towards her desk, then stopped again, and shook her head.
Raw, real, that's what admissions committees want.
She could always take it down later, after she'd gotten some comments.
Ashlee nodded to herself, her moment of consideration banished to the aether. She began to strip her clothes off, sports bra and tight workout shorts hitting the floor, then the hamper, followed by her panties.
I can't second-guess myself if I want to become President
. She thought, meandering to her connected bathroom, and slapping the water on hot.
Maybe that can be my next post: "How to stick to your guns"
. She stepped under the torrent and began to clean her tight, athletic body, her auburn hair dropping over her sharp blue eyes as she did so.
Surely, my resolve will serve me well.
3/8/24 - Blog Entry 17 - "The Importance of Being Earnest":
When you're a writer, you have to be aware of what your audience wants to read. It doesn't do anyone any good to write something people don't want to read, or to read something someone didn't want to write. Audience is essential for your content, and making content is essential for your audience.
Ashlee stared at the measly half paragraph in front of her, and felt the gnawing contradiction within it.
That's not right, is it? You need to write controversial things, not just what the people want...
She thought back to her day at school, she'd sat alone, her friends hadn't seen fit to hang out with her since she gave them poor peer review scores on a handful of English papers. Controversy had left her a little lonely, but undoubtedly top of the class.
If they took my advice, they would have done better
. She tsk'd to herself, spinning in her desk chair aimlessly. They could take a page out of her book, writing things that people didn't
want
to read, but
needed
to read. A couple of her friends had started blogs around the same time as her, and they were absolute garbage, all just basic fashion and makeup tips, all shlock for the masses to devour.
They
are
getting more hits...
She banished the thought. The things she was writing were important, and her audience would materialize as soon as she-
Her spinning was interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. She sighed, it was Adam, back from college for spring break, she'd forgotten he was coming home today. She rose from her chair. She was wearing a basic cami top with tight-fitting yoga pants she'd stolen from her mother, a normal outfit for her, but probably more ass than her brother had seen at the local state school. She trotted down the stairs, rounding the railing at the bottom and fumbling with the lock. Adam was constantly forgetting his keys, and today was probably no exception.
He would be doomed to an eternity of the outside world if I wasn't home already
. She succeeded in undoing the locks, and popped the door open a crack, spying Adam in the mid-March chill.
"What's the password, dweeb?" She grinned at her older brother's surprise, and his exasperation at her obstinance.
"The password is:
'let me the hell in before I freeze to death out here.'
" He grumbled in response, putting his knee into the door and pushing it open against her brief resistance, the grey dullness of the season washing the entryway in its overcast light. She wasn't surprised that he was cold, as he wore the classic computer nerd uniform: a graphic tee-shirt of some lame description, cargo shorts, poorly-sized glasses framing muddy blue eyes, and out of season sandals.
In March?
She eyed him up and down as he dragged a suitcase and book bag into the foyer, obviously loaded down with tech and laundry he had neglected to do for the past month or so.
"Yeah yeah, Twerp, it's my fault for wearing sandals, I hear it." He groused, heaving his luggage through the entryway, shedding his backpack and handily shouldering her aside as he did so.
"Good, I don't have to say it then," she quipped, nudging the dropped bag with her foot as he closed the door behind him. "You didn't have to bring the
whole
rock collection home with you this time, you're going back in like a week!" She could barely move the backpack with the weight of whatever he'd packed. Adam was a thin guy, the nerdy type who didn't see the use of going to the gym, focusing more on his computer than his body, barely still stronger than her despite her athleticism. He sighed melodramatically.
"It's my sex toys from college: I'm exploring myself, ya know." Ashlee snorted, half a laugh half an expression of disgust. Adam, however, was totally deadpan. "You doubt? Let me grab my cock rings!" He began to unzip the top of his backpack as she aimed a kick his way.
"You're so disgusting, that's not even funny!" She laughed despite herself. She'd forgotten his sense of humor. He grabbed her foot and began to tickle as she pulled it away.
"Weak, you've just forgotten how to loosen up without me!" She giggled, and jerked her foot away from him, dashing to the stairs.
"You're gonna have to haul that upstairs yourself, it's not my job to carry your dildos!" She retreated to the landing, grinning down at him despite herself. Adam tossed a sandal at her (which she dodged) and shook his head.
"You're not strong enough to handle it, I understand, little miss athlete..." He hoisted his bags back up easily, and advanced up the stairs behind her, glasses sliding down his nose as he ascended past her to his bedroom. She followed him, diverting to her own room and sliding back into her desk chair. Tapping on the keyboard, she deleted what she'd written, adjusting the title as she prepared to continue.
3/8/24 - Blog Entry 17 - "The Importance of Not Taking Yourself Too Seriously":
Sometimes he is kinda helpful
. She began typing up the start of her new post, feeling a little better about her chosen topic than earlier. After perhaps fifteen minutes of hard writing, she had a
full
paragraph, eclipsing her previous effort by a full 100%. She cracked her knuckles.
Perspective is important, even if it's coming from your screw-up older brother.
3/11/24 - Blog Entry 19 - "China, TikTok, and Media Platforms":
-which is why it's not difficult to see that today's youth are utterly addicted to instant gratification. The paradigm created by infinite-scrolling applications like Instagram Reels, Twitter, and to the greatest extent, TikTok, is one of destroying already-reduced attention spans and subjugating the youth of America. If we want to maintain our position on the global stage, both academically and from an industrial perspective, we need-
"Yo!" Adam barged into her room without even bothering to knock. She heard her parents talking downstairs, the evening darkness creeping in to disrupt her attention just as much as he was. She hastily minimized her blog, spinning around to confront him.
"Did you forget how to be polite at college?" She interrogated, narrowing her gaze at him in admonishment. She was wearing boy shorts and a bandeau, her hair tied back with a band; he was in basketball shorts and another in his rotation of graphic tees. He responded by rolling his eyes, proffering a flash drive.
"In my book, politeness is bringing your bratty little sister a present, knocking is optional." She looked at the cheap plastic 8 gigabyte drive in her hand, then glanced back up to him.
"Couldn't have sprung for a 16 gig one?" She gestured towards her door: "Thanks so much bro, now get out!" Another eye roll from Adam, and he pointed to her laptop.
"Plug it in!" He bared his teeth, and gave a mock shake of his fist. She acquiesced, keeping her blog minimized, she popped it into her USB port. A file explorer opened, and her screen flashed to black. She paused, then looked up at him.
"Thanks so much, Bro, I've always wanted a broken computer!" He frowned at her biting sarcasm, and touched her mouse, bringing the screen back to life.
"If you took care of your computer, I wouldn't have to break it-" He gestured towards the file explorer open on her desktop, "Presto! I've repaired it." She clicked into the folder marked
'Ashlee'
, wrinkling her nose at the oil his skin had left on her mouse.
