Currently Gaming Guitar Hero 2 (Game Only) By Activision see related

Finals are over! Yesss.....

Ah, so nice.

I can actually return to some thing like life. Right now it involves sitting in John's basement playing Guitar Hero II and Fable. I love life. I'm gonna go eat some pizza and watch MST3K now.

More later, I actually have some stories to tell, I'll probably update later when I'm playing Literati with John.

Snogs to all (I'm feeling generous today.)

Currently Listening The Eleventh Hour By Jars of Clay Love Song for a Savior see related

We are allowed a certain number of major screw ups in our lives, right? Everyone has a set number of severe disasters they incur, correct? Well, if this is true, then I've just used one up.

Don't ever try to cut your own hair. It's a very bad idea. My Dad tells me I look like a special disabled child who was left alone with the safety scissors. Gah. It's just a good thing we're not headed into the Holiday Season. No one is going to be taking pictures during my birthday, Annivesary, Christmas, New Year's or the three weddings I have comming up! Silly.

I had a very bad day yesterday. I just got really depressed and felt completely alone. Even though I wasn't, I felt like I had been isolated. Like I had been tarred and a million problems of insurmountable punishment had been thrown at me like feathers. In short, it sucked. I feel awful, but my life is so good all the time that when I have a bad moment I feel like a jerk complaining about it. I'm better now. I spent a lot of time praying instead of complaining and someone showed they cared completely out of the blue. Miraculously, I was instantly better.  There is no God, ha.

Tolerance? I always think of this when I post. How tolerant are people? How come the people who claim to have tolerance only tolerate what they want to hear? Actually, that goes for everyone. Hm, don't really feel like posting a mind-boggling blog. Maybe I'll do it later.

I'm almost done with this sememester. Thank goodness. My room is really needing a cleaning! It's hard to believe that at the end of this next semester Kelly and Danielle are graduating. Weirdness.

Speaking of things being over! That ding-danged play is finally over. Wow, that was exhausting. Two performances a day. The acting wasn't that hard, it was the waiting. It was so exhausting. Man, oh man.

I really have a lot to say, but I don't want to post a lot. So in short...

Thanks, to a lot of people who deserve it.

Everything is permissible, but not everything is beneficial. Good advice to live life with.

            It’s 10:27 p.m. on a Tuesday night. I’m eating a salad. It’s pretty good. I got the last handful from the bagged salad we generally buy, so it’s about three pieces of iceberg lettuce and lots of chopped up carrots. The red cabbage is really my favorite bit, but you can never taste it, they cut it up too thin. I’m drinking half a can of diet coke. I opened it earlier today so it’s flat now, but that’s ok. I like it that way. I normally don’t enjoy coke but, as silly as it sounds, it matched. So I took one.  

            What does it match? Why, me of course. I’m a teenager everything must be self-focused. It’s true, I’ve basically stopped posting things on the internet just because it felt so selfish when I did so. (This is why people think I have a disorder.) It doesn’t feel right to impose my life upon unsuspecting victims of myspace, xanga, facebook, etc. It feels very egotistical to believe that someone with nothing better to do than cruise the information highway would care to sift through my opinions.

            Well, back to the Coke. It matches my shirt, which contrasts my pants, which coordinate with my underwear, which came as a set with my bra, and my socks are white, so they match everything. See, all neat and organized.

            I have to be, I’m a girl. That’s the way girls are programmed, whether it be nature or nurture girls are generally more coordinated, organized, and prepared than boys. Come on, what boy has to make sure all their garments match just incase they’re in an accident and have to be rushed to the hospital?

            I’m fuming tonight. I’m not to sure why, but I am filled with simmering anger. It’s not really flaming or raging, nothing as flamboyant or rapid as that. It feels more like a hot ember, glowering in a bed of coals. I can almost feel the waves of heat ripple through me, like flame on a burnt log.

            That’s why I’m wearing red and black. I generally do when I’m fuming.

            I’m reading an interesting book right now. I shouldn’t be, I should be focusing on school, but by golly all I have is school and occasionally I need a break from that. School is, on average, too boring and easy to capture my attention. I need something challenging once in a while.

            Well, it’s not a challenging book, it’s entertainment solely. I’m reading Leonard Nimoy’s autobiography. I am Spock. Very interesting read. I enjoy it, but then again I am a Trekkie at heart.

            Change in tempo. On my iTunes I have a song playing that makes me think of something entirely unrelated to my life every time I hear it. Rascal Flatts’ I’m Moving On. I once had a story going in which I based on this song. It was interesting. To me the song seems to spring from the antihero. Someone who, throughout the entire work is severely despised. Now, once the world has been properly saved, the antihero has no where to go. He’s had to turn his back on his entire history to do what is right, but because of his past the heroes can’t accept him. It is entirely unfair. I guess it can all be summed up by the song, hence it’s inspiration. “They mean me no harm, but it’s time that I face it, they’ll never allow me to change. I never dreamed home would end up where I don’t belong.” Interesting.

            Music can have a very interesting affect on people. I am very much one of those people. I have my rage music, my thoughtful music, my romantic music, my facetious music, my dancing music, the list can always go on. I think of so many things when I hear certain songs. I guess it’s the problem I have with my right brain.

            I was so enraged earlier. I turned my music up very loudly and wished I could be anywhere with people that would want to hear about all the things that were bothering me. It only made me even more upset that I wasn’t. It made me feel even worse to believe that I could never explode to people about what I think, I’d feel like too much of an inconvenience. There are two maybe three people that I want to expose everything of myself too, but I’m too afraid. Not that I’d believe these people would ever disapprove or refuse to listen, but I’m ashamed that they would believe me to be a whiner.

 Gah, and now the phone it rings.

Applause Granted

Miss me? Come on, lie if you didn't, it's the least you could do.

I don't know why I'm updating this, the people who read this are the people I talk to. Conversation is so much better. This will really just be a review for those of you who converse with me.

I am fine. Translation: I have eaten, and am wearing flannel pants. Today was good. Translation: I went to class, and paid a lot of money to a lot of people. I am looking forward to tomorrow. Translation: I'll get paid soon to replace the funds I spent on school and visa. I love my friends.Translation: I spilled Ryan's beans and stole his sweater but, luckily, he's not mad at me for either. I'm slightly bored right now. Translation: I'm thinking about drawing again, but have no idea what or what to do with it once I've done it. I wrote a short story for class today. Translation: It sucks, and I hope the class doesn't make fun of me for it. My parents are watching baseball.

So, in summary.

Life sucks, God is good. Therefore God is better than life.

Currently Listening Speechless By Steven Curtis Chapman With Hope see related

Funeral Blues

I must really enjoy embarrasing myself if I've taken to posting my short stories up here. Written between the times of 4:30-5:30 AM. September 13, 2006.

           No one really wanted to tell her. A few knew about it, but it was quickly voted against revealing to her too early the meaning of their arrival. So, instead, they made small talk, they chatted. They chatted about the weather, the game, the normal conversation that dances around a point while never really having one. Finally, once her unease at the lack of purpose reached an obvious point, one of them made the signal.

            It became still. People shifted apprehensively. Finally, one of them cleared their throat, and it started.   

            They tried to break it to her easily. It was very unfortunate. No one could have known. It had always been a dangerous road. It was really no one’s fault.

            She gasped, halting conversation, staring at all of them. Barely breathing, as though that could protect the fragile truth, she forced a weakened smile and thanked them. Excusing herself from the room, she walked slowly to the front door, and let it close behind her.

That went well. They concurred, congratulating themselves on the success of their mission. They continued with their affected conversation, but one man watched her through the gap in the curtains, missing his lines in their rehearsed dialogue.

            Outside and alone, she watched the autumn leaves dance in the early morning light, her thoughts spinning and twirling, mimicking their decent. Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the overwhelming feeling of loss. It crawled out of her, like the intense hunger that comes around noon if one has forgotten breakfast. She placed her fingertips against her eyelids, dropping her head. She could feel her hot breath recirculating in the palms of her hands. It was washing over her with each involuntary expulsion of breath. She gasped in air, mouth open, trying to increase her input. However, each inspiration was much shallower than its following exhalation, as though her lungs themselves didn’t want her to continue breathing. Her chest was heaving as her diaphragm contracted jerkily. She felt like she would throw-up.

            “Hey.”

He was standing in the doorway. The dearest one, the only other one left with her now.

            Pain came from an indeterminable place as she looked into his eyes. He was a living memory of her loss. He always would be that to her now.

He was slightly guarded, holding onto the open door frame, but then again he had always been. She lowered her hands and wrapped them tightly around her waist, lacking any other action for them to do. Her chest was still seizing and she felt something burn down her cheek, leaving a cold trail of moisture behind it.

            “Oh, Sara.”

He dropped the door and stepped towards her.

            He was awkward and didn’t know what to do. He reached for her, but didn’t touch her. He offered her his hand, but never took hers. He watched her cry, but didn’t comfort. The proximity of his body only put the harsh truth in starker contrast and she sat down forcefully on the front porch, hunched forward, still squeezing her own waist tightly, for his arms would never be around it again.     

            “I thought I loved him.” She said, “I thought that could protect him.”

He sighed, sitting down beside her,

            “He was my north my south, my east and west.” He quoted slowly, neither looking at her, nor the sky.

            “My working week and my Sunday rest.”

            “My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.”

He turned to her, quietly, she was shaking, eyes shut tight against the world.

            “I thought love would last forever.”

He watched her, as she dropped her head, the cancer of misery overtaking her.

“I was wrong.”

Credit to WH Auden for "Funeral Blues"