Damn, you are either lost or*very* bored!

The autobiography can be a powerful and useful tool, an aid in reaching the inner workings of a person’s psyche. Doubts and fears, beliefs, hopes, dreams; A person’s whole being can be explained in a page, an essay, within the pages of a book. Though a person is not always capable of explaining themselves to the letter, they can give the greatest amount of insight as to who they are, who they have been, and who they wish to be. A person’s whole being is developed from past experiences, thus making their being an ever-changing thing. I, along with my being, am no different.

On a slightly chilly Sunday afternoon, at around three PM, Patricia and Thomas Macho had their first child, a girl. The girl’s name was a mix of a joke on her father’s part, and a love of a name by her mother. A compromise was made shortly after her birth: Patricia Rebecca Macho.

For the first few years of my life, though they are blurred and memories are few and far apart, I had a normal, happy upbringing. My brother was born when I was one and a half. I have no memories of feelings of jealousy as a result of his birth, and for that I am glad. Pre-school, from what I can remember, was a little home away from home. I could play, make-believe, and draw; Everything I could do at home, but I also got to play with others my own age. Famous literature, it seems, snuck into my early years as well. Once, while playing on an Etch-a-sketch, my pre-school teacher complimented me on the song I was softly singing to myself. I can only remember one part of the song-“Frodo, of the nine fingers, and the ring of doom.” The beginning of a song featured in the animated movie of Return of the King.

I went on to Kindergarten and the following grades just as any child would. Though I was shy, I still had no trouble interacting with the other children, although I seemed to get along with the boys better than the girls. I suppose the reason for this was that I was close to my younger brother. During recess, while most of the other girls stayed in a group all to their own, I was with the few boys I was friends with, running around the field. Well, until we were caught play fighting and broken-up by the lunch ladies that is.

School wasn’t the only place I was more “boyish” then the feminem little girl society tells me I should have been. I owned Barbie’s and, yes, I played normal “Little girl” games, but those could not entertain me for long. Mostly, my Barbies, usually missing heads, were forced to do battle with my brothers Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle dolls. Needless to say, poor Barbie often lost, and if her neck was not already broken, by the end it was.

I never really had a best friend when I was younger. I felt no need for one. As I grew older though, I started to feel that need. In fourth grade, that need was filled by a few girl’s I had become friendly with. Nicole Ohr and I became friends through the school’s Enrichment program. Thanks to that, we were able to leave our class for half the day once a week. With our teacher that year, we so looked forward to that half-day out of class. Even if I only see her at swim team practices now, and on rare occasions in school, I would still consider her a friend. Of course, seeing the way some of my ex-“best friends” have treated me, most people I know could be considered friends. Two girls in my class remained with me into fifth grade. There we were best friends. That is, until an incident that occurred after a game of bowling, revolving around a rumor concerning my possession of a blow-up doll. Needless to say, I do not consider these two to be my friends, and I have not for a long while now.

Middle school was a new challenge on it’s own. While I wished to remain with Nicole and her group, I was quickly and effectively pushed out of that group by the end of the first quarter. I spent the next few month wandering among the masses, so depressed I cried myself to sleep most nights. In my home economics class I met my soon-to-be-best-friend Alicia. While I have never really told her, her presence helped to calm me, and to bring me back into a stable state of mind. She also seamed to help with my self-esteem issues. I wore my first ever baby-tee at her encouragement. Before that, everything I wore was large on me to hide what I thought was the worst looking body in the world. I have yet to revert back to that frame of mind.

The years went by normal as ever. Conflicts with teachers and fellow student occurred, but that is, in reality, nothing new. In eighth grade, I found myself in the middle of two groups: Alicia and everyone else who I was friends with, and the group of people who had similar class scheduling as me,(Or, as another friend once put it, all my “smart Honors friends”).In class I was the some what silly, quiet honor student. Around my friends I was the loud girl who had somehow forgotten how to think. Even now I face the same thing, and I am now convinced that somehow the administration knows who my friends are and tries their best to separate me from them.

I’d like to think of myself as an artist. Of course, most people have a different idea on this matter. I myself even wonder if I really am creative or not. Often I am told I am too critical of myself and my works, and I am starting to think that is true. No matter how many short stories I write I am still convinced my writing skills are only adequate, and no matter how many compliment I receive on my few paintings I still can find something wrong with all of them: the shadowing on this is wrong, the skin tone is slightly off; And so on. At times I become discouraged and will take a short break form any creative outlets. There are times I just feel as though every idea in the universe has been used. Often I have started a story, only to read or read about one with a similar plot. Acting has also posed some problems for me. I never feel like I am truly “in character,” so to speak, when I am acting. Although I suppose there is only so far into character you can get (after all, you are still you while acting), I am still convinced I am not trying hard enough.

Being as critical as I am, I find that I have many weaknesses. Though I like to think of myself as an individual, there are times when I follow the crowd, when I feel a strange need to conform. Of course, being a part of a group is not always a bad thing. I am also a procrastinator, and at the same time a perfectionist. Mix those two characteristics together, and you can have many problems. Luckily, I am an avid night-owl, which allowa me to stay up until the wee hours of the night to work on projects.

Despite what I believe to be my bad feature, I do also believe I have good features. When needed, I can be honest, and at times perhaps a bit too honest, though only when looking out for my friends. (Someone has to remind them that dating a senior when your not even in High School yet can only lead to problems). I also believe I do well in my classes. I’m not the smartest kid, no, but I do believe I’m up there.

I do not know what my future holds, and I am glad for that. A little mystery keeps one on their toes, so to speak. Although I have a future plan that I would like to follow mapped out, I do not know if I shall be able to follow it. I have not the slightest idea what College I want to go to, though I know it will be an art college. I hope to major in some aspect of film, as either a screenplay writer or a director, or preferably even both. Of course, I am still not sure of what I will do tomorrow, and as of now I am not too worried about what I will be doing after high school.

I could also consider myself a bookworm. I blame this part of my being on my mother. When I was a child, she was always there, reading, no matter what it was. (though, in most cases a romance novel or some old Star Trek book.) In wishing to be just like her, I suppose I picked up her love of literature. When I was much younger, everynight for almost a year, my brother and I forced my mother to read to us a Richard Scarry book that involved finding the big and little black letters on each page, going A through Z. From then on I was reading, reading, and reading. Because of this I was able to achieve a higher reading level then my peers in grammar school. I read The Hobbit for the first time in third grade. Books that took most of my classmates a week to finish I could complete in two days, one if it was shorter. My avid reading also seamed to have made me a better student, the most notable event would be my being sent down to the Principle’s office along with another student (John Curry, to be exact) to show him a report on giraffes I had done. John had done the Pterodactyl. My greatest reading accomplishment in fourth grade was the completion of The Lost World in three days. In fifth grade, I read The Hobbit again, finishing in two days, along with Jurassic Park, once again taking three days. Sphere I read while visiting my cousin’s upstate. I managed to finish that in two days. Sixth and Seventh grade were really only a collection of shorter books. Many of them. At that point I had also discovered just how much fun magazines could be. In eighth grade I discovered Charles Dickens, and his book Great Expectations. I started it by choice and finished it for a book report. I so fell in love with this book that I have read it three times in the past year. (Although, as of now, The Hobbit is still in the lead, having been read over ten times). Mt latesy reading progects have been the absurd play Waiting for Godot (This may have just started me on a new obsession-absurd plays.) and Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, which once again took two days. I am starting to think that I really need a social life.

My most recent obsession has been the Internet, web page formatting to be exact. Some day I hope to master Java, JavaScript and C++ programming. Until then, I shall continue to humble myself with simple (and not-so-simple) HTML formatting. I created my first website last august. I made it for something to do and did not expect for it to become known at all. At last count, I have 2,555 hits. Not bad, considering.

My life, as it has run so far, is not as exciting as one might expect it to be. I have a normal family, good friends, and, well…I once had a boyfriend, but I have learned through that experience one thing-if your friend sets you up with a guy, and has it so you go to see Pokemon, The First Movie for your first date, don’t. Just don’t. Also, don’t trust Sam’s character judgment, because she’s…odd. And that, as they (whoever “they” are) say, is all she wrote.