My attempt at a fanfiction

*Yeah….the blonde one and I were fooling around a bit with a Weasley twin fanfiction….we have more, but this specific one is all me…I still have yet to decide if I'm gonna continue trying to write this…*

I kissed my parents goodbye one last time.

            “Have a good year, Ali,” Mum said with a teary smile. You’d think she’d be used to this after six years.

            “Study hard and make good choices, Allison,” Dad said gravely.

            “Don’t I always?” I responded, smiling and trying to look as responsible as I could. Dad just nodded absent-mindedly, then they both took a step back. I climbed onto the Hogwarts Express with my luggage, then walked down the train, looking for an empty compartment. I found one with Alice, my best friend, inside and decided that worked just as well. I slung the door open and walked in, smiling broadly. Alice jumped to her feet.

            “Ali, you git! Tell me everything right now!” I laughed, stowing my trunk above us.

            “Hello to you, too, Alice,” I said, hugging her quickly then taking a seat.

            “Don’t play cute with me you bloody wanker. You can’t send me a letter that says “lots to tell” then not tell anything!” Alice sat down across from me with a “humph.”

            “I’m sorry, I didn’t have time to write everything. It’s all over now, but it was amazing! Never had a better summer romance,” I beamed. I then proceeded to explain in detail everything that had happened with a particularly charming muggle boy I had met. “Of course, I ended it last week. I told him it’s difficult to maintain a relationship when at a boarding school far away,” I finished with a sigh.

            “What’s this, Ali?”

            “Breaking more hearts?” I rolled my eyes at the red-headed twins standing in our doorway.

            “Shut it, guys,” I snapped. Which they, of course, interpreted to mean “Please, come in and make yourself comfortable!” Fred took a seat by me, and George by Alice, who was grinning.

            “Hi George, Fred,” she greeted them cheerfully. I gave her a look that clearly said, “Don’t encourage them.” She shrugged. Maybe it was because the three of them were all in Gryffindor together, but Alice tolerated the Weasley twins much better than I did. I was in Ravenclaw and the two of them had irritated me from day one. But since they were such close friends with Alice, I was forced to put up with them.

            “What love potion did you use on him?” Fred asked me, disturbing me from my thoughts.

            “Excuse me?” I asked, not having heard him. Fred sighed.

            “She’s deaf, too,” he said sadly to George who clucked is tongue disapprovingly. Alice smirked. Sometimes, I wondered whose side she was on. “I said, what love potion did you use on the bloke you spent the summer with?” I flushed angrily.

            “I didn’t use one, Fred! I’m not impossible to love, you know,” I grumbled sullenly. Fred looked shocked.

            “What?! Why didn’t anybody tell me you were capable of being loved?!” I glared as Alice tried not to laugh and the twins didn’t try to hold back their amusement at all.

            “Oh, ha ha, Fred, you’re so funny,” I said sarcastically. Fred grinned.

            “So I’ve been told,” he replied with a wink. I made a face and he offered me some type of candy with an innocent smile. I recoiled from it instantly, shaking my head vigorously. I had learned better than to ever except candy from Fred and George, a rule even more important to know than the one about accepting candy form strangers.

            Fred sighed, as if seriously offended. “You know, Ali, I don’t get it. You’re nice to everybody else in school- even a little too nice, sometimes- except for George and me.” I frowned, offended.

            “I’m nice to you guys! It’s not my fault if all you two ever do is tease me and ridicule me.”

            “Teasing! Ridiculing! Ali, how could you slander us so?” Fred asked incredulously, his hand over his heart and his expression deeply wounded.

            “Shove off, Fred,” I grumbled. Something about these two always put me in a bad mood. Alice sighed.

            “Stop being such a grump,” she told me with a pointed look. 

'Nudder story

*So this is from a dream I had and I wrote it over the summer. Not sure if I like it or not :/*

            As silent as gentle wind through the trees, I fled through the forest, using every trick and skill I possessed to avoid making a sound. Breathless, but afraid to breathe since it might reveal my presence, I slid from mighty tree to mighty tree, ever aware of my surroundings. A sly smile slowly spread across my face as I drew my long dagger- I would get her this time. I burst into the clearing, ready to grab her, but it was empty, aside from a startled squirrel hurriedly scurrying away. The groan of a bowstring pulled tight and my muscles grow taut as I slowly turned to face her.

            “Of course, in a real battle, you’d be dead,” Sparra said with the smallest of smiles as she pointed her bow down. I sighed and stowed my dagger, nodding.

            “I know. It seems you’ve won…again.”

            “You did well, though. A real enemy not expecting your arrival would have died surprised.” Her smile grew. Her slim, muscled body turned and bent as she pulled both of our knapsacks from behind a large oak tree. I couldn’t help but smile as I accepted the water bag she tossed at me. I stared at it thoughtfully, weighing it in my hand. “Drink, Jay. There is enough to get us to the next stream,” Sparra told me, guessing what I had been thinking. I nodded somewhat doubtfully, then took a small sip. It was all I needed. Sparra suddenly stiffened. We exchanged looks before she melted into the surrounding trees, her brown and green clothing aiding her to camouflage. I hadn’t heard anything, but I trusted Sparra’s instinct. That was the way it had always been since we had begun traveling together several years ago.

            I first met Sparra when I had been severely injured. I can still remember that day perfectly. I had been travelling with my father when we were attacked. They killed my only living relative before I even knew what was happening. I was hit over the head and sent into a daze as I fell to the ground. Just as they were going in for the kill, a blinding light suddenly lit up the entire area. The most beautiful girl I had ever seen descended upon my attackers. My vision was so blurred with blood that I couldn’t tell what was happening, but I knew that revenge was being enacted on those who had killed my father. The last thing I remembered before fading into unconsciousness was my savior turning to face me.

            When I woke up, Sparra was tending to me. As soon as I gained my bearings and remembered what had happened, I asked Sparra if she was the one who saved me. I knew she was telling the truth when she shook her head and told me that she had found me lying in the middle of the road. Sparra was plain, tough looking, and scarred. Nowhere near what my savior had looked like. I swore to find the girl, whom I became obsessed with. Sparra said she would help me if I would help her search for the murderer of her own family. We’ve travelled together ever since.

Short story from last sprrinnnggg

*Okay, I never posted this. But I will now. WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE
this was for my Creative Writing class and I was instructed to keep it realistic, so, yeah :P*

I stare at the crumpled sheets in my hand. Clenching and unclenching my fingers, taking deep breaths, I brace myself for what I’m about to do. They couldn’t be right. I will walk again. I release the stark white material and use my hands to swing my legs off the bed. Gazing sadly at those shriveled, pale members of my body brings tears to my eyes. I could hear the screeching of braking cars again, see the flash of light, feel the rush of pain.

                                                                **********

            “So, you coming to Mike’s tonight?” Tara asked. I pressed the cold cell-phone harder against my ear as I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Reception was pretty bad in my room.

            “Uh…I’m not sure…Maybe?”

            I heard Tara sigh and the brakes of that ancient car of hers screeched loudly. The engine could be heard revving and sputtering as I imagined her driving, one hand on the wheel, the other holding her cell, barely noticing her surroundings as she chatted my ear off.

            “Come on, you lazy ass! There’ll be free beer, free cigarettes, hell, there’ll even be free marijuana!”

            I laughed. “Tara, you know I don’t do drugs.”

            “Oh, yeah, I forgot you’re a freaking angel.”  I could practically see her rolling her eyes at me.            “Seriously, Angela, it’s our senior year! We only have a few weeks left before graduation! Stop being so damn well behaved and have a little fun! Everyone’s gonna be there, including your boyfriend!”

            “Ryan didn’t tell me he was going out tonight…” I frowned.

            “Probably because you’re such a fucking party pooper!” Tara sounded exasperated. “Look, just come, okay? You don’t have to get drunk or high or anything; you can be the freaking designated driver, for all I care! Just. Come.”

            “Alright, alright! I’ll come!” I sighed. Tara released a delighted whoop, and from the excessive beeping in the background, I could tell she had probably let go of the car’s wheel for a second.

            “Shut the hell up, you bastards!” Her voice sounded distant, and the sound of rushing wind could be heard, so I guessed she had rolled down the window. Quiet was restored in a moment and Tara’s tone became pleasant. “I’ll be at your house in a few, Ange.” There was a click, and then silence. I smiled softly and shook my head; I still couldn’t understand how the two of us were friends. We were such opposites. I was valedictorian and top of my class. I worked hard at my job at Macy’s, studied hard at school, and had a very good reputation amongst my peers, perhaps even too good a reputation. Tara partied hard and was only just barely graduating high school, mostly because I had done the majority of her work and she cheated off a lot of my tests. Her reputation wasn’t good or bad, but rather borderline scandalous. But despite her blunt nature and numerous flaws, she was very lovable and a good friend.

            Only a few minutes passed before she strutted into my room and tossed her oversized bag onto my desk, which was littered with books and papers. She grinned at me, hands on hips, her dark brown hair cascading in curls down her back.

            “Ready for a party makeover, Ange?”

            The only word that came to mind when Tara and I walked into Mike’s house was loud. Very, very loud. Tuneless music blared throughout the rooms and everyone shouted to be heard. A lot of laughing people were gathered around a low, gray table, and they were tossing ping-pong balls into plastic red cups of beer. My eyes searched the room we had entered for Ryan, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I looked up at Tara, who was at least four inches taller than me, and said as loudly as I could, “I thought you said Ryan would be here!” Tara’s wide smile dropped to an annoyed expression as she looked down at me.

“God, Ange, you’re pathetic! We just got here; Ryan could be anywhere. You’ve got his number, why don’t you just text him?”

“His phone broke last week; I can’t text him until he gets a new one.” I bit my lip, fiddling with the strands of blonde hair that had fallen out of my loose bun. Tara looked at me sharply and there was something in her expression that I found really weird. “What?”

“I could’ve sworn I saw him texting yesterday in class, though.” She glanced at me with that weird look again then quickly smiled and shook her head. “Know what? He was probably borrowing Matt’s phone or something. They were passing shit back and forth the entire time.” Tara cleared her throat and looked around. “Uh, let’s go get a drink.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me along. My eyebrows knitted together; why would Ryan lie to me about breaking his phone? Nothing made sense, and I didn’t like nonsensical situations. I couldn’t handle confusion very well, and the setting I was in and the emotions I felt were the epitome of confusion.

We pushed our way through the crowd until we found the table of drinks. Hard liquor, beers, and even a few sodas covered every available inch and a few spillages pooled on the surrounding floor. I grabbed a diet coke and Tara took a Bud Light.

“I’ll save the vodka for later,” she shouted at me, a twinkle in her dark eyes. I laughed half-heartedly, my eyes constantly searching the room for the familiar face of Ryan. When I finally saw him, I wished that I’d never come to this stupid party at all. There he stood, his arms wrapped around some girl I had never even seen before. And their faces were so close—too close. My mouth dropped open and the room seemed to grow eerily quiet, yet as I looked around, nothing seemed changed. I couldn’t breathe; I felt sick; I could practically feel bile rising in my throat. The soda can dropped to the floor, clanging loudly as it made impact. With it, all the noise of the party came rushing back. Feeling as if my whole world had just come crashing down, I ran away from Ryan and that girl, out of Mike’s house, and into my car. I threw it into reverse, backed out of the driveway, shifted into drive, and then slammed on the gas pedal, the tears streaming down my face.

                                                             **********

Gently, I place my feet on the floor, still sitting on the bed to avoid putting any weight on my legs. I put some pressure on one foot experimentally. I don’t feel anything. I wonder if not feeling anything was a good thing or not. I repeat the action with the other foot; the result is the same: nothing.

                                                ***********

I woke up to a bright light, surrounded by white walls, and engulfed by an overwhelming scent of sick people and cleanliness. Those two combined scents made no sense at all to me, and I felt somewhat panicked by the confusion they incurred. The only part of me I could move was my eyes, and those just barely. Anxious mutters and relieved sighs echoed around the room and I recognized the voices of my parents and Tara. All too fast my memories flooded back, and I painfully remembered how I had sped through the stop sign, my vision blurred with tears. The truck had crashed into my left side before I could even register what had happened. Beyond that, I only remembered spinning lights against a black background, squealing tires on the pavement, and a scream that was probably my own. A man who I presumed to be my doctor came into view and he started talking to me in a gentle tone, explaining what had happened and what my condition was.

I didn’t listen to a single word of it until he said, “Now, I know this is a lot for you to take in right now, but I’m sorry to say that it’s doubtful you’ll ever walk again.” At that moment, time seemed to stand still and I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, waiting with bated breath for my reaction. My mouth suddenly felt very dry and everything started spinning. I slammed my eyes shut, desperately hoping that this was all a nightmare. Somebody grabbed my hand and told me that everything would be okay, that I would get through this. Tara’s voice drifted through the haze to tell me that Ryan was here now and that was when I felt something. Rage coursed through me and my arms started shaking; my skin felt hot and I could tell my face was red with anger. The beeping of the heart monitor to my right began to quicken as my pulse raced; I was itching to tear Ryan to shreds.

“Hey, baby. How you doing?” Hearing him talk to me like that was the final straw, and I suddenly found my voice.

“Fuck you, Ryan!” I screamed hoarsely, my voice cracking. There was a collective gasp throughout the room and I coughed involuntarily. “This is all your fault! I saw you and that slut at Mike’s party! That’s why all of this happened!” My eyes flew open and I could see a blurry version of Ryan’s face. His mouth was open and his eyebrows raised. Then he stared down at his hands and scrunched his forehead, his lips pressed tight together. Everyone was staring at him expectantly. There was a moment of complete and shocked silence before he muttered some inaudible apology, then hurried out of the room. My breath was now shaky and oxygen wasn’t coming fast enough. I felt dizzy and lightheaded and before I even had time to feel an emotion, I passed out.

                                                **********

Taking a deep breath, I push myself off the bed and stand upright. Joy fills my entire body and I feel like I’m flying. I carefully move one foot forward, ready to prove them all wrong. All those pitying faces and consoling voices that I could no longer even place would disappear now. As I step down, my face wreathed in a smile, my knees buckle underneath me. Horror courses through me as I crumple like a rag-doll into a heap on the floor. I guess they were right after all.

Why am I so awful?

Boo. I haven't written a post in wayyyyyyy toooooooo longgggg. I apologize :( My life. Has been. Crazy: busy, dramatic, interesting, what-can-I-even-say?

Anyway. Um. I'll try to get back to posting on here cause I feel so bad- this blog's my babbbyyyy and I can't abandon it!!!<3333 Sooooooooooo. Yeah. I'll look through what I have on here already and maybe post a lil som'n' som'n' to make up for my horrible blogging skills.

The boy with the fruit snacks.

*This is actually something that happened to me, and I couldn't stop thinking or worrying about it, so I had to write it down.*

            “Hi, Miss, would you buy fruit snacks for my soccer team?” I stopped and stared at the tall boy of around 18 standing in front of me. The vacant, deer-caught-in-headlights look in his eyes and something about his voice told me that there was something wrong with him. His light brown hair fell past his ears, the edges sticking to his face with sweat. A tight, mottled pink and gray t-shirt accentuated his rail-thin frame; baggy jeans that didn’t quite fit made him look disproportional. Everyone who passed him avoided looking at him, politely declined his request, then pretended he didn’t exist. I stood there staring, wondering if I was being naïve for feeling so sympathetic towards this lone figure in a crowd standing outside a food market.

            “Miss, you wanna buy fruit snacks for my soccer team?” I smiled apologetically then shook my head ‘no.’ Averting my gaze from his figure, I hurried back to my car with my groceries. As I pulled out of the parking lot, I felt haunted by the image of the boy holding his box of fruit snacks, wondering why no one, including myself, had wanted to help him and his soccer team. It made me flinch as I recalled his facial expression when I too had refused to help: blank, too accustomed to disappointment to even care anymore. Although I wished with all my heart that I had bought just one fruit snack, I realized why I didn’t. I had been scared of the boy, scared of my own pity for him. He was off, not normal, and as much as I hated to admit it, that had frightened me. I felt ashamed and disgusted with myself. Even more than that, I was disappointed with myself. I drove back home, knowing that the image of the boy with the fruit snacks would haunt me forever.

NEW STORY! YEAH!

*So, this is the prologue and beginning of chapter 1 of that story I told you about from a while back. You know, the one that I dreamt about...you don't remember? You sure? Ah well, I guess I understand that...I have been terribly neglectful of this blog. Sorry about that. I'll try to be better (which really means I'll continue on the exact same way I was before.) Anyway, I haven't finished the first chapter yet and I'll probably add more to the prologue, but I really just wanted to get what I have out for you guys to read so I can get some feedback and ideas and good stuff like that. It's kinda bad right now and just a wee bit cheesy, cause I haven't edited it or anything, so you'll have to bear with me for now. Enjoooyyyy! :)*

                                                                            Prologue

            Screams and cries pierced the air as heat and smoke erupted from beneath the five gargantuan rocket ships that were lifting off. Thousands upon thousands of people were in hysterics, pointlessly begging the rocket ships to come back, to not leave them. A state of complete panic settled in the atmosphere as explosions set off and people realized they had been abandoned and there was no hope left for them now. They scrambled around, clutching their loved ones close, looking for any safe place; there were none. Some just collapsed on the ground in tears, all too aware that their death would soon arrive.

            Miles and miles away, in an indestructible, underground cavern, hundreds of people were hiding. Tears filled their eyes as they listened to the distant cries of their fellow humans. But nothing could be done now. All their fates had been sealed, a different future for each group- life for those who hid or fled, and death for those who had been abandoned.

  

                                                            Chapter One

            The dusty brown dirt crumbled between my fingers as I worked. Day after day, I did the same thing: I tilled dirt in the greenhouses connected to the living center. Section after section, I worked 12 hours a day, stopping only once for a ten-minute lunch break. But as tiresome as it was, as bored as I would become, I knew it was necessary to live. We all had to till dirt to survive; it was the only way to produce more oxygen on the moon.

            For each center in our settlement, there were three greenhouses, except for the living center. There were five for this one, since it was most commonly used and oxygen was most needed here. Each greenhouse was split into fifty ten-by-ten squares, and we were all assigned five squares for life, which we would till until we died.

            I sat back on my heels and massaged my aching neck and shoulders with my grimy hands. Glancing over at Darren a few squares to my right, I saw he had stopped working as well. He met my gaze and smiled. I quickly looked back down and continued working. We could get in trouble for slacking off, and the officials might grow suspicious of the two of us. Darren wasn’t my match and it was illegal to have an attachment with anyone else.

            At birth, a sample of our genetic makeup is taken and kept in the lab center. Every year on our birthday, we take another genetics related test. Each test, along with the original sample, determines which two members of opposite sex would produce the healthiest, strongest, most capable humans, and they are matched. Our matches are revealed to us when we are sixteen, since by that time our bodies are mostly developed, and it is required that we marry at eighteen. We are permitted to have one child and one child only, so as to prevent over-population. My match is Jasper, but my heart belongs to Darren.

Hmmm...

Pain is such a strange thing. I used to always say that I had a very high tolerance for it, but I've found myself to be such a complainer as of late and I am not okay with that. I got sunburned today (AH, YES, SO INCREDIBLY HAPPY THAT IT'S WARM ENOUGH TO BE BURNT AND TANNED!!!!) and it annoyed me that it was so obvious to everyone that I was in pain. Why do I have to be so dramatic and make such a big deal of my troubles? I really, really dislike being that way and I'm trying hard to stop...being...that...way (pathetic sentence...I apologize that you had to read it.)

Some of you may know this already, and some of you may not, but beginning a few weeks ago, my knee's been stupid and caused me a lot trouble. Because it decided to stop working, I guess it set off this chain reaction thing where it caused all of the joints (or something) in my hip to quite literally pop all out of place then pop back in, one by one. Which hurt. Last year, I tore my hamstring, and now that pain has returned again. And all of this is on the same leg. So I've been limping through dance competitions/classes and life, and waiting for my doctor's appointment to find out what the heck is wrong with my body. In the meantime, every single person that sees me asks me what's wrong and I have to explain the whole story. Which is annoying. I wish that I didn't have a stupid limp so I wouldn't have to explain my stupid and weird and completely inexplainable  injury. I guess the point of all of this, is that I don't mind being in pain, but I do mind people being aware that I'm in pain and then questioning me about it. Cause I hate explaining my problems and having to talk about them.

....Aaaanndd this post was sorta pointless. I think I've had too much sun the last two days. What?! There's no such thing as too much sun, silly! Sorry guys, my brain's just scrambled and stupid. I'll try to write something better and (hopefully) more amusing next time.

One-Act Play

*Here is mah play :D*

A mother in her early 30s is reading the book “Pinocchio” to her four-year-old son. They are sitting on a couch in their living room.

Mom: (Turns to final page.) “Never again, Pinocchio decided, would he tell another lie.” (Shuts book.)

Timmy: Mommy…your tummy is fat.

Mom: What?

Timmy: Your tummy is fat.

Mom: Timmy, that’s not a very nice thing to say.

Timmy: I’m just telling the truth.

Mom: Sometimes, sweetie, it’s best to keep the truth to yourself.

Timmy: Oh. (Pauses.) Read it again?

Mom: Sure. (Opens the book.) “Once upon a time, there was a toymaker named Geppetto. Geppetto loved children, but had none of his own-“

Timmy: Why doesn’t he have children?

Mom: Because he’s not married.

Timmy: Is that ‘cause no one loves him?

Mom: No, honey, it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.

Timmy: Oh. Is Daddy the right person for you then?

Mom: Yes, Timmy.

Timmy: Then why do you yell at him?

Mom: (Laughs.) Because sometimes he can be annoying.

Timmy: Is that why you yell at me? Because I’m annoying?

Mom: (Hesitates.) Let’s just keep reading. “Geppetto could make wonderful things out of wood. One day he made a puppet that looked just like a boy. He called the puppet Pinocchio…” (The lights dim, then come back on.) “This was not true. Suddenly, Pinocchio’s nose started to grow longer-“

Timmy: (Hurriedly.) Mommy, I don’t like carrots.

Mom: …Okay.

Timmy: I don’t like it when you make pasta, either.

Mom: Timmy, what did I tell you about saying nice things?

Timmy: But Mommy, I don’t want my nose to get bigger.

Mom: What?

Timmy: When Pinocchio lied, his nose got bigger.

Mom: It’s just a story, Timmy.

Timmy: (Unconvinced.) Okay.

Mom: (The lights dim, then come back on.) “Right away his nose grew still longer.”

Timmy: (Begins to cry.)

Mom: Baby, what’s wrong?

Timmy: O-one time, you s-said I couldn’t h-have a c-cookie, and…and…and I ate it anyway!

Mom: (Shuts book.) Okay, Timmy, I think you’re taking this story way too seriously. Your nose won’t actually grow longer if you tell a lie.

Timmy: (Sniffs.) Th-then why d-does it h-happen to P-P-Pinocchio?

Mom: Because Pinocchio is fake, sweetie. He’s a character in a made-up story.

Timmy: (Horrified, stops crying.) Pinocchio isn’t…real?

Mom: No, no, honey, uh, he…he’s real, all right. It’s just, uh, his…his nose just doesn’t actually grow when he tells a lie.

Timmy: (Unbelieving.) Oh.

Mom: The point is, Timmy, that it’s not a good thing to lie, but you should try to keep the truth to yourself if it will hurt someone’s feelings.

Timmy: But Mommy, when Pinocchio didn’t tell the truth, he got into lots of trouble and his nose kept getting more bigger and more bigger.

Mom: (Sighs.) I know, Timmy, but that’s because…it’s because he was a puppet! Yeah, that’s why. That’s what will happen to you if you’re a puppet. Which you’re not. You’re a real little boy.

Timmy: So it’s okay if I lie?

Mom: No, Tim-

Timmy: It’s okay if I don’t tell you that I broke the lamp and hid it under the couch ‘till Daddy found it and said he did it so I wouldn’t get in lots of trouble? It’s okay if I say that my tummy hurts so I don’t have to eat dinner when you make yucky food? It’s okay if I say that you look pretty even when I’m just kidding? It’s okay-

Mom: Timmy! Stop, stop, stop! None of that is okay! (Pauses.) Well, except for maybe that last one, but still! It’s not a good thing to tell a lie-

Timmy: But you said it’s okay to tell lies…were you lying?

Mom: (Sighs.) No, Timmy, I wasn’t lying. What I meant was sometimes you have to use tact when telling people things.

Timmy: What does tact mean?

Mom: It means being aware of how other people feel and tell them things while keeping their feelings in mind.

Timmy: …What does it mean?

Mom: It means, if someone looks ugly, will you tell him or her they look ugly?

Timmy: Yes.           

Mom: (Shakes head, sighing.) No, Timmy, you shouldn’t.

Timmy: But then that’s lying.

Mom: No, that’s being tactful.

Timmy: So being…tac-…tact-…tactful means lying?

Mom: No, it means making sure you don’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

Timmy: Does that mean that telling the truth hurts people’s feelings, then?

Mom: Well…(Pauses.) Well, sometimes it does. But I still want you to always tell the truth. Just, sometimes, don’t tell all of the truth.

Timmy: You want me to lie a little bit?

Mom: No, I want you to be tactful. (Smiles. Silence. Timmy looks very confused. Sighs.) Listen, Timmy, how would you feel if I said I didn’t like that Lego ship you built me earlier before?

Timmy: I’d be super sad because that’s not very nice, Mommy. You said you loved it!

Mom: And I do love it, sweetie. But let’s pretend that I didn’t love it, and I thought it was kinda ugly, which it isn’t, it’s beautiful, but we’re just pretending.

Timmy: We’re pretending? Are we playing a game now?

Mom: Sorta…Yeah, I guess so. Anyway, we’re pretending that I didn’t like your Lego ship, but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings because I love you so much. So I told you that I thought it was great. I’m not really lying; I’m just being tactful so I won’t hurt your feelings.

Timmy: So…so you’re not telling the whole truth?

Mom: Exactly! Just like I said before! Not telling the whole truth is called a “little white lie.” Telling those doesn’t hurt anybody’s feelings and it’s not a wrong thing to do, either.

Timmy: Oh…why are they little and white?

Mom: Uh…I’m not sure, but do you understand what I mean?

Timmy: I think so, Mommy.

Mom: So you’ll try to be more tactful from now on?

Timmy: I’ll try, Mommy.

Mom: Does that mean you still think I have a fat tummy?

Timmy: Oh no, Mommy, you’re the skinniest, beautifullest person in the whole wide world! (Places his hand on his nose and feels it with apprehension.)

Thoughts!!!!

Heeyyy...everyone...*Sheepish smile* So, yeah, I know I'm a bad a blogger and...stuff...and...yeah...

Okay, I'll stop being shy and start this post already. I seriously, earnestly, REALLY WILL TRY to post my thoughts every day from now on. I think it'll be healthy for me to just let everything out daily, y'know what I'm saying? So there'll probably be much less actual writing, and a lot of informal, most likely frightening views into my mind. If you wish to not read any of it, I do not blame you.

So let's get this party started, shall we?

Thought 1: South Riding on PBS ended...I CAN'T BELIEVE *SPOILER*ROBERT*SPOILER* DIED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thought 2: Tomorrow (Monday) is quite likely the last day at college (I might go in on Wednesday, but I'm not sure). This saddens me...so very, very much. I could care less about no more classes, but I don't get to see my friends and have fun twice a week anymore :'( Homeschoolers (and the Graceling): WE MUST UNITE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 'Cause otherwise, I will be one MISERABLE camper.

Thought 3: Soooo....there's a guy, sorta, and he confuses me. Greatly. To an unhealthy extent, most likely. And I'll probably never ever see him again after this week, since this is his last semester at Suffolk...And he's three years older...and three inches shorter...and has a girlfriend...and I'm trying so hard not to gush about him...and it's really hard...because I do this way too often, when I let myself obsess and then I end up heart-broken...and he acts like he's completely in love with me...and I know that he's a very flirtatious person naturally, but the way he flirts with me is different...and I'm sure I sound like a complete idiot right now. Gahhh, boys are so stupid!!! You have no idea how hard I'm trying to not let myself feel anything. I'm literally forcing myself not to think about him, but as you can see, he's numbah 3 in my mind. NOT A GOOD THING!

Thought 4: DUDE, my hair was crrraaazzyyyy frizzy and curly today. Whhhaaaaaaa????? I'm loving that the humidity makes it supeeerrr warm, but my hair is INSANE when the weather's like this! No way I'm wearing my hair down tomorrow, that's for sure.

Thought 5: I painted my nails today. They are dark purple. I loooovvveee them. It makes me feel so summery and happy. I kinda just want to go dance around outside and pretend that it's raining and sing at the top of my lungs. How epic would that be? Pretty epic, I'd say.

Thought 6: I'M GETTING FACEBOOK AGAIN SOON! AHHHHHHHHHHH, DUUUUDDEEEE, I CANNOT WAIT AT ALLLL!!!!!!!!!!!

Thought 7: I just realized I said dude twice in this blog (now three times). What is this? I only say "dude" (four times) in person, and only sometimes in that case. What is wrong with me????

Thought 8: I. Cannot. Wait. To. SHOWER TOMORROW.

Thought 9: I am in such serious pain lately. My left knee decided to die, my left thigh just hurts ALL THE TIME, and my left hip has been seriously messed up somehow. And now my right leg is hurting because I've been relying on it so heavily. WHY DOES MY BODY HATE ME??? Plllleeeaaseee, plllleeeaasseee, leg, I need you to work again! I have competition this weekend!!!! And of course, I can just barely do the dances full out. I haven't even been able to stretch in awhile, either. Ugh, I can already see what an epic fail this weekend's gonna be. Hopefully, I'll just remain in one piece, although I'm pretty sure my limbs are just gonna fall off soon. But, you know, no biggie.

Thought 10: I love friends. So much. I just love hanging out with people, and talking, and laughing, and having fun, and smiling, and just being with people who enjoy the same things. YOU ARE ALL SO COOL AND THE BEST EVEERRRRR.

Thought 11: I think I'm going into happy overload, which hasn't happened in awhile. But I'm also going into nostalgia overload at the same time, which you would think would be mentally and emotionally impossible, but not in my case. As you all already know, I am a very, very special person. Very.

Thought 12: Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I should post my one-act play on here for you guys to enjoy! *GASP*! Yes! Brilliance, right there, you just read it, ooohhhhh yeaaahhh!!!! See, I have my moments. Sometimes. Occasionally.

Thought 13: I might be seeing people on Tuesday!!! Yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yay, yay!!!!!!! I LOVE PEOPLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! With a passion. Unless they're stupid. And annoying. And jerks. And rude. And, you know, human. :P I guess a better way to phrase that would be "I LOVE FRIENDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Thought 14: This was an incredibly boring and stupid post; more so than my other thought posts have been. I apologize profusely for this. And thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for reading all the way to here (if you have) GOOD NIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

POEMS

*Here are the two poems that I promised youuuu :) The first one is a List Poem, so we're not supposed to actually say how we feel, but rather list items in our surroundings and show how we feel by the way we describe them and the words/adjectives we choose to describe them with. The second poem is an empathy poem, where we have to write from a widow's point of view. Her husband was drowned and now she is forced to confront the water. Enjooyyy :) <3 *

Beach At Heartbreak


Echoing wind rushing through the air,
Hair stuck to damp skin, caught in dry mouth.
Sand gritting against sore muscles,
Forcing its way into every crevice. Ice cold
Water stinging old wounds, sharp rocks creating
New ones. Salt sitting heavily
In the air, making everything
Taste bitter. Weak waves crash again and again;
Earlobes ring in the desolate silence
That follows, like the quiet that comes
After death when the heart stops beating,
The breathing unnoticed until its gone.
Eyes burn and the cold cuts the air
Like a knife through the skin, painful and
Delicious at the same time. Atmosphere
Throbbing from the ocean's pressure, beating
Against reality like an incessant,
Never-ending drum. Delicate shells shatter
Beneath careless feet, as does
A heart in careless hands.


Clearwater Beach


White sand, so soft against my skin;
It's my safety, my comfort, my world.
It's the barrier between me and
The harsh sea, the cruel water, the
Painful memories. "Vacation," they said;
"Time to reflect," was my need, according
To them, they who played in the hands of
Death itself. Seven years ago today,
My life had fallen apart. Today, the
Sea had released its wrath on my
Beloved. The capped waves came rushing
At me, like a rabid animal
Foaming at the mouth. I was helpless
Against its destructive power. I could not
Face it, that which had killed my husband,
That which had broken my heart. Stinging
Water sprayed my face, and I gasped,
Stiff at the touch of the brutal drops.
I took a step closer to my deepest fear,
Longing for closure, longing for peace.
A wave rose to meet me, swallowing
Those who had brought me here in a
Dark void of nothing. I turned and ran.

Could it be...*GASP* A new STORY??????

Okay, so much for the daily thought posts. I'm a lazy loser, so that idea failed miserably, lol.

Anyway, here's thought numbah 1: I had an extremely interesting dream the other night, which means, yep, you guessed it! A NEW STORY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I'm actually really kinda liking this one so far...I have a general plot/outline in mind, so I know where I'm going, which is a good thing. It's science-fiction/fantasy, and I haven't written in that genre in the longest time, so it's kind of nice to get back into that again. As soon as I finish the first chapter/Prologue (haven't decided which it is yet :P) I'll post it and you can all let me know what you think. General plot, though, is that it's way, way in the future and mankind now lives on the moon, since apparently life can no longer exist on earth. The people here spend most of their time tilling dirt to release oxygen into their enclosed atmosphere. Each person is matched with a member of the opposite sex to be married and produce one child only. The match is based on the genetic makeup of each person, and which two will produce the fittest child most likely to survive. The heroine in my story is unfortunately in love with another man, which is forbidden. But she is willing to forgo her feelings and follow the rules as everyone else does. But the man she loves is more rebellious than that and is determined to overthrow their corrupt government. He is convinced that the situation on earth is not as bad as they had been told. He wants the heroine, he wants power, and he wants to go back to earth; and what he wants, he normally gets. But is returning to earth really such a good idea?

Second thought: Wow...that was a super cheesy summary and really doesn't do my idea any justice whatsoever. Oh well. It's not as predictable and typical as I bet you all are thinking, I prroommmisseee.

Third thought: Dance competition this weekend. AHHHH! I am really freaked out :/ Mostly about my trio. ESPECIALLY about my trio.

Fourth thought: IIIIII shhhouuuulllddd goooo to beeeedddd....I have school tomorrow :( And I'm so tired. And so sore. And so tired. Bleh.

Fifth thought: I have the most amazing bunch of friends and I love them all so much!!!!! I am so happy to know everyone I do.

Sixth thought: My stomach hurts, I am incredibly hungry, even though I've just eaten, like, EVERYTHING, and I'm super moody and bipolar. Yes. You're thinking correctly. I am currently going through my fat phase (That's what I tell my siblings who are too young to yet understand the workings of female bodies...and other things)

Seventh thought: OMG! I should totally post some of the poems I've been writing for my Creative Writing class! (Which, by the way, I absolutely LOVE) Why haven't I thought of this before? There's two that I actually really, really like...Yes, it is final, I shalt post two poems immediately after I have posted this.

Eighth thought: Colleges scare me so bad. I mean, I'm totally excited to actually GO to college, but the choosing, applying, visiting, etc, etc, process is frightening me terribly :( It's. Scary.

Ninth thought: I'M GOING TO GEORGIA TO SEE MY LOVELY LAURA AND EMILY THIS SUMMER!!!!!!!! YAAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tenth thought: I have decided that I am quite happy being single and boyfriend-less. It's quite a fulfilling and liberating feeling. The need to be in a relationship with somebody used to consume me, but now, I really don't mind being alone, because I have so many wonderful friends, and I have my entire life to find Mr. Right. I really don't need to add something like that to my long, long, long, long list of worries.

Eleventh thought: Speaking of worries, here's what's swimming around in my brain right now: Bible verses, Thomas More, Henry VII, a conversation the two of them are having, Biology definitions and terms, Pre-calculus theorems and equations, French declensions and rules and words and tenses, the new story I'm working on. I told my mom this and she is now convinced I have ADD. I personally find that ridiculous. Nobody has ever said that to me before. I mean, come on, ME? ADD? Seriou-OH MY HOLY FOOT, DID YOU SEE THAT BIRD?????????????????????????????? Wait, what was I saying? Oh yeah, x to the third power plus five times x minus eighty-nine graphed as an exponential function would be best described as a formula using the number e. Oh no, I was totally saying Je parle francais tres mal, mais je parle anglais tres bien. No, no, I meant....you know what, I'm just gonna end this right now. Good. Night.

Short story

*Okay. So. I wrote this story as well for my Creative Writing class, and I'm debating which one I should submit. Let me know what you think and which you like better (Only part of the other story is up, but I don't feel like putting the rest of it up, so sorry, lol :P) Enjoy!!!*

Frothy waves lapped gently at my feet as I walked the length of the beach. Miniscule rocks and shells cut into my feet, but they were so calloused and accustomed to it from the years I had spent here, I hardly even noticed. I paused and turned to face the rolling swells of the Sound, the damp sand squelching between my toes. I was looking for the solace and healing that I knew this beach would always provide. Evaporated salt sat in the air and on my tongue along with the other flavors of the sea. White foam appeared, disappeared, and reappeared, capping the deep blue-green of the water. The billowing wind blew strands of my hair into my face, plastering it to my neck, my eyelashes, my mouth. Nostalgia settled over me as I gazed at Connecticut in the distance, remembering the countless times I had peered through the fog to see it when I was younger.

With a sigh, I turned my back on the water and gazed at the massive cliffs that had previously been behind me. Sand and vegetation cascaded down its side. I smiled sadly as I looked at the deep rifts that looked like fingers, partially hidden by overhanging branches and the stairs. I remembered playing Nancy Drew with Emily and Beth on those slopes, entirely convinced that a giant had made an imprint of his hand where the rifts were. It was the only reasonable explanation to the mind of an over imaginative twelve-year-old. I could still feel that rush of excitement and anxiety flooding through me as I told the others that we were being watched and were in grave danger. But we didn’t have to worry, because the giant’s handprint was a sign that he would protect us. I laughed in the silence, shaking my head at the foolishness I used to create and made others believe. My laughter abruptly stopped as I remembered that Emily and Beth were gone now. They had moved away long, long ago, and although we had kept in touch at first, our connection had been lost. The girls who had once been two of my dearest friends were no more than memories now.

My gaze now turned to the assortment of large rocks at the bottom of the stairs. I could practically feel my hands pushed against their gravelly surfaces as I climbed all over them. It felt like hundreds of little pebbles pressing into my skin, then being rubbed back and forth. Yet it wasn’t painful. When I grew too old to enjoy climbing over them, I would sit on my favorite rock, the one that reminded me of “The Little Mermaid,” and just think. It was elevated above the rest, and shaped like an oval, its tip jutting out above the sand, surrounded by reeds. If I wasn’t alone, on those rocks was where my friends and I would sit and talk. Sometimes our conversations were deep and meaningful, and sometimes they were silly and pointless.

A gust of wind swept across the beach, carrying sand and the remains of whatever litter people had thrown down from the cliffs with it, shaking all 174 rickety stairs to their very foundations. Midway up the wooden steps, on one of the landings, I could see the bench where I had sat that day with Kimmy. I had been so angry with Haley for tagging along with us and forced her to climb farther ahead, making Kimmy wait with me on the bench until she was out of hearing range. As I ranted and complained about how annoying little sisters were, I remember breaking off a hollow branch that was growing amongst the bramble along the cliff. Taking my pocket knife that I enjoyed carrying around with me everywhere I went, I began to try and stab little holes in it, determined to make a flute as Kimmy gave me words of sympathy and advice.

I saw the blood dripping onto my worn jeans before I felt the pain. I moved the piece of wood away from my hand to see that I had stabbed right through into my pinky finger. I remembered staring at my hand in surprise, not making a sound, more intrigued by the wound than pained. Kimmy began to panic and scream when she saw my finger, which by that time was bleeding profusely. I had quickly wrapped it in my sweater, told Kimmy to shut up, then ran the rest of the way up the stairs. The remainder of that day was a little unclear to me, but I remembered Haley keeping a cool head, despite being eight years old, fetching me a ridiculous amount of band-aids, and ensuring that our mom wouldn’t find out. My parents never did know what happened, although a stitch or two would probably have been useful. I recalled being afraid that they would never let me or my siblings use a pocketknife again because of what happened, and I couldn’t bear being the one responsible for that. Pocketknives were the coolest accessories any one of us could possess, and I knew how terribly my brothers would hate me if my stupidity lost them their most prized possessions.

I peered down at my left pinky in the fading light, and smiled softly as I saw that the scar shaped like a sliver of the moon was still there. I could barely remember the last time Kimmy and I had spoken, but that scar on my finger was like having a piece of her with me at all times. It always made me laugh to think that I had been the one with the injury, but Kimmy had been the one who cried and needed to be comforted.

Squinting at the setting sun, I pressed my pinky close to my chest, feeling as if somehow it connected Kimmy and me. I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing. We used to spend hours upon hours together, not just at this beach, but all over Long Island. At her house or at mine, our families had been close and our friendship even closer. Kimmy was an ardent Yankee fan, and although I generally could care less for sports, I claimed to be a Mets fan just because my dad was. Among any of my other friends, this would have caused derision and arguing. But for Kimmy and me, it only seemed to draw us closer, making us proud that we had different interests, but could still be the best of friends. Anger festered within me as I thought of how simply it all ended. My mom never answered or returned their calls, and soon enough the phone stopped ringing. Without getting any say in the matter, I had woken up one morning without a best friend.

A few years after the friendship disintegrated, I had been in my room typing up a paper on my computer when I heard my mom talking on the phone. “You saw her? That must have been awkward! Her daughter, Kimmy, was sweet enough, but the shit that went on in that house…Oh, God …What’d you say? Yeah, she’s still drinking, hasn’t been sober in years. I felt bad, I really did, but there was no way in hell I would have let my daughter be exposed to that crap.” Hearing that conversation made me sick and I remembered feeling so bad for Kimmy and hating my mom for taking me away when my best friend probably needed me.

With a bitter sigh, I sat down near the water’s edge, not caring that I would get my shorts wet and covered in sand. I dug through the sand around me with one hand, looking for some rocks to throw to help me release some pent up feelings.
Eventually, I came across a dark red, almost brown stone and a thousand memories flashed through my mind as I saw it. Instead of tossing it away, I dunked it into the water, wetting it, and then began to drag it across my bare legs. Red streaks were left where the rock had touched, looking like blood. It had been just the rock I thought it was: the Indian rock. I didn’t even know if that’s what its real name was, but throughout my childhood, I always referred to it as that. My siblings and I would use these rocks a countless number of times to pretend that we had terrible wounds or bloody noses or we would attempt to dye our hair red. Usually, it was blatantly obvious that our injuries were fake, but every once and a while, our artistic attempts would succeed and we would convince our mom that our noses really were bleeding. Of course, when Mom realized the blood wasn’t blood but dye, we’d get in a tremendous amount of trouble, but we considered the punishment worth the fun of playing a trick.

As I looked around and gazed at the landscape, each feature bringing another memory to mind, I thought of the many different parts this little, private beach had played in my life. This had been the site of many an adventure and exploration. It was here that my friends or siblings and I would talk about what we knew of sex and life and our troubles, however insignificant they might have been, and tried to make sense of it all. Here, we attempted to prove to each other who knew the most curse words and said them with a guilty sense of pride. This beach had witnessed our multiple arguments; it had been privy to our deepest secrets; it had laughed along with us and contributed to the fun that was always to be had when we walked down those stairs. It was here that so much life had been lived. It was also here that Kimmy and I had last seen each other.

We had been sitting on a massive rock, a few yards into the Sound, listening to the sea gulls squawk and scream. It was the summer before we entered high school, and we were both a little nervous.

“I wish we were, like, at the same school, you know?” she had said to me with a sigh, picking at the green barnacle between the rock’s crevices.

“Yeah, it sucks that we’re gonna be by ourselves,” I had agreed, staring up at the cloudless sky.

“My mom says it’s, like, good for us to make other friends.”

“We already have other friends, though.”

“I know, it’s freaking stupid.”

“I won’t forget about you, though. No matter how many other friends I make, you’ll always be my best one.”

Kimmy smiled gratefully at me and said, “Same here.” She stuck out her pinky, and I intertwined mine with hers, and we promised to keep that vow, just like we used to do when we were little.

The tide was slowly coming in, and the waves pushed past me, completely soaking me as they swept further up the shore. I rested my head on my knees, allowing the chilly water to surround me, not minding it one bit. The Sound washed up my legs, erasing the red stains from my body, and leaving a stinging, salty sensation. I felt the way I did when I was little and would hurt myself while playing in the sand. I would wash the blood away in the salt water to clean it then jump around in agitation because of the pain. But the wound always healed nicely. As I gazed at my now clean, somewhat sensitive skin, the sun finally dropped below the horizon. I picked up my empty Patron bottle and dropped some jingle shells into it, then headed for the stairs.

Beginning of my short story

*Here's the beginning of my first short story for my Creative Writing class. Let me know what you think of it so far!*

The rough bark against my skin offered the relief I had been searching for. I inhaled the pine scent, my eyes closed tightly. With all my heart, I wished I were home. But that was nowhere near possible. I knew this tree was the closest I could get.

Back home, we had trees around every bend. Brown and green hues met your eye wherever you turned. Those colors were my favorite; they were even the color of my eyes. I could still feel the prickly sensation of pine needles beneath my bare feet. The crunching sound of autumn leaves still echoed in my ears. Bright oranges, subdued greens, vibrant reds, dull browns; I didn’t care what color those leaves were. The fact that they were there and a part of the trees made them beautiful beyond belief to me.

I sighed as I heard some kid ask his mom why I was hugging a tree. As she shushed him and walked away, I slowly pulled back from my sole comfort and stared at it longingly.

“You got a thing for trees?” I heard someone ask. I turned to see an old man, maybe in his seventies, sitting on one of the benches that lined the path, staring at me curiously with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah…you could say that.” I sounded tired, defeated. I hated sounding that way. My voice used to be so full of energy and happiness. The man’s eyebrow rose higher; I faintly wondered if it was physically possible for an eyebrow to go that high. I guessed his overlapping wrinkles just made it look farther up than it really was.

“Why?” His question was so simple, so innocent. But I found it cutting.

“Why not?” I responded. “Lots of people got things for trees. It’s a reasonable thing to got a thing for,” I said indignantly. The man chuckled and shook his white head, looking down at the pigeons around his feet. He had some seed in his hand, and every few seconds, he’d sprinkle it around, smiling his gummy smile as the pigeons went berserk.

“I see your point. But you seem to like them beyond reason, if you get my meaning. I like trees, but I don’t go around hugging them like they’re my long lost lovers.” He grinned cheerily, looking like a pale raisin, shriveled to the maximum. I looked back at the tree, as if expecting my reply to his comment to be there.

“They’re home,” I whispered. I could feel the moisture gathering in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to dissipate the coming tears. The man smiled gently. He looked less like a raisin that way

“You don’t belong in the city, honey, I can see that. The only trees we have are the ones around you here in Central Park.” I nodded. I already knew that. “Where’re you from?” he asked kindly.

“Michigan,” I sighed, thinking of my farm. The man laughed softly and shook his head again, his loose wisps of hair blown around in the light wind.

“What the hell are you doing in New York?”

“I have family here. It’s the only place I could go,” I shrugged. The man nodded me over, patting the space next to him on the worn bench.

“Alright, sweetie, tell me your story,” he said expectantly. I paused. Did I really want to tell this stranger everything? I considered my options, and decided that I might as well. I needed to get this off my chest anyway.

I walked over and took a seat next to him, his toothless grin close to my face. He smelled like prune juice and bird feed, but there was something comforting about that. It didn’t bother me, at least.

“Why don’t you start with your name,” he suggested, handing me some seed to give to the pigeons.

“My name’s Ashlyn,” I responded, flinging the seed around, smiling softly as the birds pecked it off the ground in the blink of an eye. Just like my chickens would have done. It was quiet for a moment as I stared blankly into the distance. I felt angry at those tall skyscrapers that blocked my view behind the trees. They seemed too shiny in the sun, so unnatural a background to the green foliage. I wished they would all tumble down and be replaced by brown limbs.

After a few seconds of silence, I realized that he was waiting for me to continue. “I’ve lived in Central Michigan all my life. Never even visited another place. My family owned a farm where we grew mostly corn. We had animals, like chickens and cows and livestock like that. And…and there were a lot of trees. All around the farm. Where the fields ended, the trees began.” I sighed, closing my eyes in remembrance. “I loved those trees. More than I loved the farm. They were just…there. Always there. And I knew I could always find comfort and happy solitude with them.

“When I was little, I’d spend hours just hiding in the branches. Whenever things got bad at home or I felt really sad, I’d go to the trees and feel safer, better…happier.” I shook my head, frustrated that I couldn’t express what exactly it was the trees did for me.

“It’s okay, honey, I understand. When I need some alone time, I come here to feed the pigeons. I like to think that I’m doing them a favor by feeding them. But each seed that I throw at them is like a seed of trouble that they just gobble up. And there you have it: one less seed of trouble to worry about. So I guess they’re the ones doing me the favor in the end.” He looks down at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile. I thought about what he said for a long second. I guessed trees did the same thing for me. They were so strong and old; they seemed to just drain all my troubles and worries out of me as soon as I touched their bark. That bark that held years of memories and concerns like mine.

Thoughts for the day

So, writing that birthday post for my blog the other day really got me thinking. It got me thinking about what a horrible person I am because I barely post on this blog anymore. And it also made me think about how much fun I had sharing my thoughts with you. So, after considering in great depth those two thoughts right there in those two previous sentences (Read them again if you must), the conclusion I drew from them was quite simple: I'm a really horrible person who has fun writing. Haha, just kidding, that's not my conclusion at all. My real conclusion was that instead, I should write "Thought posts," like the one I wrote the other day, as often as I can. This way, you guys don't have to just read those things I call stories and poems, and just have fun taking trips inside my head. Well, maybe not have fun, but definitely amused...I hope. Also, me and the Graceling (my awesome friend who is blonde and short and blonde) just may have "Thought post" responses to each other. Don't really know what that means, but I'm guessing we each just write a "Though post" and...yeah.

Ahem. First thought: THERE IS A POSSIBILITY THAT I WILL SEE THE GRACELING TODAY AND DEMOLISH HER IN A SNOW BATTLE!!!!!!!

Second thought: I'm getting my retainer today! I have mixed feelings on that...I'm glad that I don't have to worry about my spaces coming back, but I'm also afraid that I'll have to wear it full time and I've been enjoying my metal free mouth.

Third thought: Woah...There's a lot of snow outside. I feel like I should be inspired to write something about it, but I've already written about snow and winter. I hate to repeat myself.

Fourth thought: My room is incredibly messy...I really should clean it. Of course, I won't. But I really should.

Fifth thought: There were some very beautiful young men in my math class yesterday...dangit, why do I have to be sixteen? Wait, what? I'm only sixteen???? *Sigh* Do any of you ever have that feeling that you're oh so much older than you are? Maybe it's just because all my friends at college are 19 or 20 years old, but I definitely feel 18. Gr, I hate that. I mean, I've always felt older than I am...a lot of my friends are older than me by a year or two, even three. Except the Graceling, she makes me feel young again. But majority of the time, I always feel much older than I am. It's reached the point where if I'm asked my age, I literally have to pause for a minute and stop myself from saying '18.' And then people think I'm crazy and dizzy, etc., etc. I think the hardest part about being mature and hanging out with older people, is that others get really, really confused. I've had so many guys start talking to me and, for lack of a better word, hitting on me at Suffolk. But as soon as they find out how old I am, they quite literally back off. Which is a good thing, I suppose. But a frustrating situation at the same time.

Sixth thought: Fifth thought made me think about something. The only guys that I have ever liked, or that have ever liked me, were three to four years older than me. I mean, not even once has there been a guy my age or even just a year older than me. Is there something wrong with me? Actually, don't answer that question. I already know there is.

Seventh thought: Uh-oh, my thoughts are becoming depressing.

Eighth thought: THINK OF SOMETHING HAPPY, THINK OF SOMETHING HAPPY!!!!!!!!

Ninth thought: ........................I got nothing.

Tenth thought: Oh, wait, yes I do!!! I'm seeing my most favoritest cousin in the whole entire world on Saturday!!! Yay, happiness!!!!

Eleventh thought: I should really end this post now. You guys probably stopped reading after the second thought.

Twelfth thought: HOLY SNICKERDOODLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EMILY AND LAURA WILL BE HERE IN 21 DAYS!!!!!!!! Yes, two of my bestest friends in the whole entire galaxy will be coming to visit from February 17-22 for Emily's 18th birthday. Yeah, you heard me. That's FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Just the three of us, living together happily for FIVE WHOLE DAYS. Well, not exactly. It's more like four whole days. But it doesn't matter, because THEY WILL BE HERE!!!!!!

Okay, I'm going to end now so I can dwell on my deliriously joyful thought of Emily and Laura coming. Au Revoir!

Happy Birthday, Blog!!

Yes. Today is the first birthday of my blog. I made a cake and everything. And, as a present, I'm going to post something that's purely me: no fiction, literature, poetry, whatever. Just me blabbering. But wait! Before you run away screaming at the idea of just reading my craziness, hear me out. I promise it won't be too crazy. Maybe it'll even be a little interesting. MAYBE, you'll even enjoy it. :O

Okay, maybe that's pushing it, but hey! It kept you here, didn't it?

So. Are you ready to take a journey into my mind, to explore my thoughts? No? Too bad.

Alright, so my first and foremost thought that has been on my mind lately is my new Creative Writing class. Ah, so exciting, let's jump up and down with joy! Okay, calm down, you can stop now. Anyway, throughout the course of this semester, we will be writing two 5-8 pages short stories, at least 5 poems, a one-act play, and we need to keep a journal. Pretty cool, huh? Yeah, I thought so, too. Best part is the Professor is pretty awesome. And by pretty awesome, I mean TOTALLY AWESOME! (Did you think of AVPM, too, when you read that? ;D) I'm a little scared though. I mean, hey, I know I'm nothing special; I hold no allusions as to my ability as a writer. But what if everybody really hates what I write. I mean, really, really hates it? Eh, whatever. I'll survive. I'm just hoping that this class will show me what I'm capable of and if I actually do have any talent. I'll let you know at the end of the semester.

Second thought: Remember that journal I mentioned in my previous thought? Well, we can write WHATEVER we want in it, as long as we're writing something, and we turn it into my professor before the semester ends. He doesn't read it, just flips through it to make sure we did the assignment. I obviously won't use it as a diary, since my professor will be looking at it (Ha, can you imagine? Dear Diary, me and JimBobJoe kissed today! It was, like, so cool. Except his lips were slimy.) but I had a really cool idea for what to write instead. I have this WordSmart book that I use to help me study for the SAT, and they give you big words and definitions and you write a sentence with it and memorize it and blah, blah, blah. But since that is just so boring and gross, I decided to have a 'Word of the Day' in my journal, write its definition, and then write whatever's on my mind (a censored version, of course), making sure I use that word AT LEAST ONCE. Brilliant, right? Okay, maybe not that brilliant, but I still think it's a cool idea :)

Third thought: AHHHHHHHHHHH, I might see my cousin, Kaitlyn, when I go to my Aunt's house on Saturday and we'll eat SUSHI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fourth thought: I wonder if anyone else finds this post funny? I think it's pretty witty...

Fifth thought: My...stomach...hurts...STUPID RAGING HORMONES!!!

Sixth thought: I really should stop procrastinating and just shower already...*GASP!* Oh, no! I admitted it! I'm really using this post as a form of procrastination hidden under the guise as a birthday present for my blog! *Sigh.* Fine. I know what you're all thinking. You're thinking, "Geez, you stupid and incredibly silly girl, just go shower and stop being a nincompoop." And you're right, of course.

...But I really don't want to move from my comfortable position on the bed...

Oh, well here's an idea! I'll end this post and go back to sleep, and just pretend that I showered. You guys will never be the wiser ;)