A wall left blank, set for demolition

Sometimes when I see this blog form and it’s so empty, so white and unmarked, I am inspired. I can’t stop myself from jumping in with both feet and just letting my mind and my typing fingers run on.

Other times, I can’t stand the intimidating whiteness, hard and unwelcoming. A cement wall, refusing words. I can’t even graffiti black on white, type on screen. Nothing will come to my mind and I’ll turn away from this little blog, defeated.

Tonight, I felt the ominous presence of blank space looming at me in the shadowy light of falling evening. My mouse fluttered near the little red “X” in the upper right hand of my screen.

Then, somehow, I changed my mind. I didn’t leave, miserable with my own lack of voice. I just turned up the music and twisted the cement into something more pliable. Words, inspiration, whatever you want to call it.

This might be a completely pointless, rambling, metaphorical exercise, but chipping away at that forbidding white cement barricade gives me some satisfaction tonight.

I wrote for over an hour earlier, on my story. That might be entirely a waste of time, but it’s good for my mind and it keeps me writing. I can put down some of my imagination in a format where maybe, someday, someone else will derive enjoyment from it. If I could do that for the rest of my life, I might. There’s just so much I could do, I think.

It’s a lot to handle when I have to start looking at colleges. If I wasn’t such a lazy bum enjoying her summer (despite driver’s ed daily), I would get right on that, haha. Then again, I have dial-up here, still, so college research is awfully slow.

Nonetheless, I’ll be chipping away at that wall shortly. Obstacle by obstacle, I’m going to figure it out. Just like this blog, tonight. I guess the best way to gain satisfaction from something is to remove the mouse from that little red “X”, and break out the sledgehammer. Start knocking down what stands in the way of inspiration.

Skinny

Now that I feel like Buddha, I’m going to share my wisdom. And elaborate.

I have encountered a number of life’s lessons this year (a tiny portion, I’m sure), and in doing so have discovered that not everything should be taken at face value. Not everything one comes across should be accepted as the truth.

That could be taken a number of different ways, depending on who is looking at it. If you’re a mellow fellow, you could just assume that I’m talking about the mysteries of life, and how they are just that– mysteries. And how we don’t really know anything.

To an opinionated soul, it might come across as vague, or it could be a direct reference to something. For example, I could be talking about religion or politics, and the facades and shrouds of half-truths that surround those shaky topics.

To the cynic, I’m probably wrong and misguided and what is the point of this blog again?

I’m agreeing with the three separate personas: I don’t really have a point in writing this, I’ve uncovered the wobbly fact that I think I’m agnostic and a conservative liberal, and I definitely agree that people don’t know anything. Myself included, most days.

Besides that, I’ve figured out that what the modern world takes for concrete fact, we should be questioning, and what people so eagerly attack should simply be accepted.

So… okay. I’m going to just jump right into it.

A concept I’ve observed is taken as fact: if you’re thin it’s okay to eat, but if you’re built differently, you’d be considered a plus size. Better stick to salad.

The actual truth: that’s just bull shit. Since when is it fashionable to look like you volunteered for a concentration camp? Get real, be real. Stick-thin only happens naturally to a handful of girls. So thanks but no thanks, I’ll eat my french fries, go for a swim, and enjoy the fact that I’ve got curves.

A completely unrelated concept: The government’s leading us to success and change.

Some food for thought: Why aren’t we criticizing Obama even half as much as America critiqued Bush? He can fuck us over as easily as Bush could.

And I could go on, but that’s enough opinion for me today. I’m going to go work on my book/story/whatever you want to call it. I’ve just been thinking lately, kind of deeply, that as a whole, society just sits back and accepts ideas that could really do us harm. Such as the projected images of skin-and-bones being “in” and adored, and the belief that just because we have a new president who can talk a good game, everything’s going to be peachy keen. I wish him luck, honestly, he’s got quite a lot to live up to if he wants to meet America’s expectations.

Society bashes a lot of age-old beliefs as well, when in the here and now there are people suffering, everywhere. Instead of harping on how outdated and wrong the Bible is, it might be a good idea to take a look at the main thoughts it preaches. To love everybody and help out your neighbot aren’t such bad actions, are they?

The most I can do, personally, is try to think of others before myself, and that’s tough for me. But when it works, when I do, it brings such a peaceful feeling. Satisfaction.

I really feel like Buddha now, ha. Enough with the deep thoughts. I’m going to go write some more and listen to the Avett Brothers and Scott and Seth’s kick drum hearts.

Golden summer

What a month June has been. I’m not going to reminisce over everything I’ve done this year… for me, June feels like the end, July the beginning. Then again when September rolls around, that feels like a beginning, too. Lots of new, exciting, and interesting life experiences are waiting for me in the next coming weeks, I can feel them. Tingling, humming, just anticipating the excitement of the hot orange summer sun, the sweet smell of July and steamy breath of August. Then the swift, sure change and finality September will bring.

For now, I’ll live in the moment and enjoy as many seconds as I can in the final two months of summer vacation. I’ll get a tan– already I kind-of have one. I’ll swim all the time: Michelle and I have been in the pool almost every day over the past two weeks.

I’ll enjoy myself, and damn the consequences. I’m only sixteen once.

So now I’ll go ask my mother the questions a friend needs to know in order for him to be able to come with us to this dumb fourth of July party where I will only know him and my family. I will brave the wrath of the mother figure in the pool facing her at volleyball. I’ll get my daily exercise and perhaps vent some of my own frustration and maybe kick mom’s ass for once. Haha.
And I can say, with sure certainty, that regardless of challenges or decisions or obstacles or reservations, this is going to be one hell of a summer.

I agree with the lady

Shut the fuck up, Craig.

My mother told me that if anyone says that to me again, I should stop talking to them, because it’s incredibly rude and it doesn’t matter what context it’s in. I disagree. When Damen and Tallon jokingly tell me to shut the fuck up, I understand that they’re really just expecting something worse back, and it will amuse them. They’re dorks. I understand.

When I say it to someone (that isn’t them, that isn’t joking), I really mean something else. Something entirely un-funny. When I tell someone to shut the fuck up, I really mean: what the fuck are you doing attempting to enter a conversational venue I am a part of, and why would you even bother trying to communicate?

Because understand this. I never said this to your face, but I should have. I won’t ever say this to your face, because I am polite and respectful of everyone, in public.

But hey, this is my blog, so I’ll say what I want.

You are a dick. You treated me like shit and I was too naive and innocent and trusting to comprehend that hey, you treated me like you treated Jackie. Maybe worse, because at some point you loved Jackie and you sure as hell did not love me.

Therefore, shut the fuck up, Craig. I hate the fact that I absorbed whatever you said to me and made it the fucking gospel. And you’ll say that you didn’t make me do that. No, you didn’t. But you knew you had that control. Could you have been the wiser person and cut it off, for my sake? Evidently not. Then again, in retrospect you’re not so wise, anyway.

And will I hate myself because you had such control over me? Hell no, what a waste of time and energy. If I hate you it’s so much easier, so much more effective, and you so deserve it.

I will never forget that you tried to take advantage of me. In many ways, you did. And you whether you did so guilelessly or intentionally or a with a mixture of both is completely irrelevant. The effect you had on my life is like a stain, drenching my past, my experiences. Except for, what: the first two months we dated? Uhg. I can’t even believe I let you get away with so much. I can’t believe you didn’t have any averse reaction to my total submission to everything. I am ashamed of myself, but the shame can only last so long and I refuse to live in a constant struggle with myself. That’s ridiculous. I have a life to live, goals to achieve. People to meet and lifelong passions to fulfill. I am one of the lucky ones that still has a life to live. I’m not going to throw it away hating myself because of emotions and feelings and impulses I presented to you over a year ago.

I have gotten over my own shame. Now it’s time for you to stay out of my life. To never speak to me, never come near me again. I’ve had it. I’ve made peace with myself, but I won’t give myself the opportunity to mend fences with you. You’ve caused enough trouble for me as it is. Every time you show up somewhere I am, speak to my friends, my family, it is yet another reminder of how foolish I was, how pathetic, and how arrogant you are. And how much I despise now every second I was with you.

And doubtless you think this is me, being emo and overdramatic.

It’s what I think. What I know. And if you can still patronize what I think and what I know, then guess what.

Shut the fuck up, Craig.

I give up on trying to understand

It’s my last day of tests this year. I’m done. Finito. I’m still going to be busy, obviously, but aside from going in next Thursday to roll on the snare for an hour and then practice the senior song with chamber choir, I’m done with school until September. It’s finally summer.

So I’m mostly sitting here harmonizing with the great Avett Brothers and wasting the day away. I figured as long as I was online and in a mellow, tranquil mood, I could try and write.

While I’m thinking of mellow and tranquil, I still am wearing my red bandana. I didn’t know Daniel, but the fact that he never got to do all he needed or wanted to do inspires me daily to get out there. To improve myself, to make some kind of effort to do what I want to before my time is done with. I look at the bandana and I think it. I look at the bandana and I can see his face: I know it from pictures, I know it from the wake. I look at the bandana and replacing the red is white skin and blonde hair, blue eyes and the peaceful face of the cousin I never knew. I don’t see him sleeping, as he appeared in his coffin. I see him smiling the truly excellent smile everyone says they will miss. I never knew it to miss it. I wish I had known him.

Well, I guess that’s what the mellow mood produced. Faint melancholy and a regurgitation of my thoughts from the past few months. Here’s another interesting thought: I went to Medusa’s the week after Daniel died, to get my hair done for prom. I’m going there next Thursday to get it cut. It’s interesting to think that everything revolves that way, or maybe it feels like it does. The world keeps spinning even when something so unthinkable happens it seems to stop. But life goes on, turning, turning. So interesting.

So you think you can love me and leave me to die ?

As I sit here jamming to the piercing guitar riffs of Queen, I think on the possibilities the future has to offer. What’s new, right? I do that on a daily basis. Lately, though, it’s started to hit me… in a few short weeks I will be considered a senior, or at least in the transition to one. I will be preparing to enter my final year of high school.

I don’t want to! But in the same breath I do; I desperately, desperately do. I want to go out to experience what life has to offer, I want to leave my mark on the world. I want to be my own person, my own individual.

But I’ll miss not living with my family and seeing my friends daily when I’m away in college. I know I will make new friends, but what of the old ones? What will happen?

Anything can happen in that last year of school. Everything or nothing can change me, mold me into the person I will be when I leave for college.

I’m eager, and yet I’m terrified. What if I fail? Or, what if I succeed?

I know I’m not making much sense at the moment, but I didn’t start this blog with a set sense of what I wanted to write about in mind. It just kind of evolved with my stream of consciousness.

In any case, I want to make the most of what time I have left in Gowanda. “Youth is wasted on the young,” they say. Well, I’ll be damned if it’s wasted on me.

Drifting

I wish I could do that right now. Just drift, float along the strains and percussive sweetness of Andy McKee’s fricken awesome song. But I can’t. Even though I feel stressed and out of it and tired, and like I’m just treading water until time passes, I can’t relax and let the tide sweep me away. I have to keep going, pushing myself and my muscles to move, to keep me from drowning.

I have sooo much shit to do. What’s new, right? But this time, it’s do or die. If I don’t bring my chem grade up, I am legitimately, for the first time in my life, going to fail a course. And I really want to get into Advanced Art. AND musical tryouts are coming up, and NYSSMA solofest is the weekend of the Hollywood Happening, and I am auditioning on level 6 All State solos for xylo and voice. And the kicker? I have an AP US History test this Wednesday, and hardly any time to study for it. Except right now. Ha ha. I have to go to a baseball game and take pictures shortly, also. Maybe I’ll beg off to stay home and study, but then mom would be confused and I’d have to explain the date and importance of that dumb AP test.

Oh, and did I mention boys? Always at the busiest times in my life I start to get exceptionally fond of them, and then I get even more strained. I think it’s the nice weather, everyone’s twitterpated. Ha, I love Bambi. :) But yeah. So, stress. Now I’m being compelled off of wordpress and toward my Advanced Art essay. Damn it, why can’t I just drift away?

Happy mother’s day, dammit

I don’t even know what I want to write about. I’m pissed, upset, miserable, guilty, and rebellious all in the same measure, all of which essentially equate to stupid. The lazy bum in me wants to just brush everything off and say, “it’s insignificant; life will go on so just chill. Hakuna matata man.” But the stressed-out part of me, the usual, tense part, is screaming that I need to analyze my behavior and shape up.

I don’t want to revert to my introverted, shy self, though. Lately– and I think it’s because
Daniel’s premature death opened my eyes quite a bit– I’ve loosened up, lived every second to its fullest, because I’ve realized there’s no way to ever snatch those seconds back. In doing so, I’ve indulged myself, and acted selfishly and for the present. Examples: the day we got back from Hershey was mother’s day, and some-freaking-how I didn’t wish my mother a happy one. What the hell? How did I do that? It took her lecturing me in a serious, disappointed tone for me to realize and remember that she had gone to see Dr. Haar– whom she only sees maybe once a year– during my Hershey trip. Dr. Haar is her neck doctor, the one who will tell her if she has tumors and if she needs surgery. God dammit, it never even fucking crossed my mind. I am so angry at myself. Frustrated.

But I’m also frustrated at the fact that I really haven’t lived as if I will only get one life. And that’s how I’d like to live. Prom weekend, I lived it up, and it was fantastic. I learned something every minute. I could regurgitate those lessons here but I might save that for another time: I’m really tired.

During the last dance at prom it really, really hit me (for about the millionth time) that we only go around once. I was dancing with Kevin (my wonderful date, haha) to the “theme song” and it slammed into my mind that Daniel had died exactly a week ago to the day. I accidentally said “Holy shit,” out loud, and naturally Kevin was like, “What?”

So I told him. I said, “I know this is going to sound really weird, but a week ago today my nineteen-year-old cousin who I’ve never met fell down a banister and broke his neck.” Immediately he began freaking out a little: “Oh, I’m sorry, that sucks, I–”

I interrupted him. “Kevin, don’t get all jittery. I never met the kid but I guess he was just an awesome, chill, goofy guy. He lived every day like he wouldn’t get another one, though. This dance, having fun here, just reinforced it, that you only go around once. So thanks for being my date. It’s been fun.” And then we danced the rest in silence.

I felt a little bizarre explaining, but it felt fitting. Every time during the evening (even after the actual dance part) when I began to feel shy or insecure I’d take a look at the red bandana I’d wrapped around the strap of my bag and feel a gush of confidence, of surety that I wasn’t put on this earth to stand on the sidelines and fade into the background.

I suppose this flood of new confidence incites a need to stamp on me, since that’s all my mother’s been doing lately. That’s why I didn’t wish her a happy mother’s day (as ridiculous as that sounds)– because I had woken up with ten minutes to get ready for grandma’s house after an eight-hour bus ride, and I was forbidden to shower. I was pissed, and dirty, and exhausted to the point of tears, still. She just yelled at me.

I’m genuinely sorry I’ve been so caught up in myself. But I’m a teenager. It’s one stupid-assed, overused excuse but hell, I’m only going to be one for less than four more years, and even before then I’m going to have to pretend I’m an adult, for all intents and purposes. I’m only going to have so long to be self-absorbed.

And it really is no excuse, and I’m disappointed in myself. But I hate it when Michelle grovels because she did something wrong, so I refuse to. I apologized (and never before has it been harder to get the words out). But I did it, and I said I didn’t understand how the misstep had occurred, and I said I loved her and it was obvious I was upset about it also.

But it was one mistake, and I’m sick of feeling the pressure at home. I’ve said fuck you to chemistry class and boys and band and it’s already pressure enough without my own mother freaking out everytime I make a mistake. I couldn’t even go to dinner tonight with the throwers on the track team even though I had money and the means to get a ride home.

I’m sure mom had her reasons for not allowing me to go (primary ones revolving around the fact that I was an unwitting imbecile), but I can’t get over the fact that I need a little freedom, need a little independence and a little fun. Once in a while. I’ve been a good kid, or so I’ve thought. I only have a year left of high school and I’ll be damned if I don’t make the most of it, one way or another.

Yet another day

I should be in bed trying to catch some z’s right now. Or any letters, really.
I felt like writing, though, and a few minutes of reeling off some thoughts can’t hurt.

Europe people got back last night. Some were back in school today, and we got to hear all about their trip. Some will be back tomorrow, and whether we want to or not, we will get to hear all about their trip.

Today was my first official track meet. It was at home, and I have a feeling we lost, but that honestly doesn’t matter to me. I mean, it’s important that we do well, but since I personally did my best, the rest fills in as a new experience. Whether we won or lost is uncontroversial. I have to say, I love the feeling of this kind of team. Before, I’ve been in a group of people where you have to depend on and work off of the other people in it (i.e. band, or musicals, or summer league softball), but I’m finding myself enjoying the comraderie of an actual, dedicated sports team. A school sport.

On another sports note, Sowa is pissing me off. Facebook is not the place to debate how ferociously the Capitols will vanquish the Rangers, however, so I’ll save it for tomorrow during AP.

I guess I just felt like writing or typing stuff out, but none of the important stuff that’s sifting through my mind feels like oozing into words, so no oozing for tonight. I’m signing off and attempting to get my eight hours of sleep. Even though by the time I get into bed it will be impossible, given when I’m forced into the world of the living. Mmpf, well. Good night.

If looks could kill

I’d be dead, probably. Then again, so would everyone in the world. Except maybe the hermits.

That’s only my blog title because the song was playing and I was singing to it. I like Heart.

I feel like I’ve done a one eighty from yesterday. I was pretty cranky and tired and too uncomfortable to really be confident and bright and cheerful like usual. But today I don’t have track, and Katie might come over, and we might plan a bonfire for sometime this week. :) So I’m happy. And feeling quite vivacious, in fact. I feel like I could do or say anything and not worry about anyone’s reaction to it. I feel like I could do what I want in order to get what I want and not worry about the consequences. Is this what people who don’t think so much normally feel like? Maybe I should stop thinking altogether, haha.

But I guess my mind just takes five different routes to get to one idea, instead of the usual one or two. And from that idea can spread a veritable spiderweb of reactions: so it’s not as if I’m crazy, I just see that spiderweb of conflicts and attempt to analyze it. Mmmpf. I’m going to just get the broom out and sweep away the cobwebs for a while, until I can decide which is better or easier– not thinking, or over thinking.

“Kid’s got a lot of talent” [not referring to me, obviously]

Gtown Showdown was today. It was okay. I was really excited in the morning but as the day wore on, my energy trickled away. By the time Taylor and I performed, I was mostly thinking, “I look like a skankasaurus rex” and “If those two end up talking during this I pretty much suck as a musician.” Because hey, Broadway isn’t the norm when you think of music, but I’m singing nonetheless and it’s important to me that the two people I’m intimidated by the most don’t have a low opinion of me.

Hah, and no, I have never admitted that before.

I know it’s really pathetic, don’t worry. But that was my frame of mind today, because I was exhausted and always, always afraid of saying something stupid. Stupider. Than normal, anyway.

And it’s probably a turn off to anyone reading this to think that I have such low self esteem. But really, I don’t want to end up as one of those people who is constantly talked about behind their backs: “She says the strangest shit… she didn’t use to be this way, I don’t know what happened.” I don’t want that “she” to be me. So I overthink: if I don’t want to be known for saying the wrong thing, I shouldn’t say much to begin with, and I guess that’s my strategy. But I really, really dislike it. I’m just too timid to do anything else.

And isn’t that ridiculous? Me, who’s always been confident and brave, and outspoken. Usually. And I’m afraid of two boys and what they think. Please.

I’m just tired, honestly. Tired and ready for a fun and relaxing spring break. And if we can just ignore that little part about me being intimidated by anyone or anything, I’ll be happy with today. Or as happy as I can be, given how I barely spoke unless it was to cheer or say, “More tape?”

God damn it! I hate being shy. My throat locks up and does weird things to my voice. I blush like a sunburned strawberry and am scared to speak my mind, in case it’s not what anyone wants to hear.

But, hey. Maybe I’ll improve. Get better with practice, or what have you. I’ll make unshying myself a new talent. Maybe I’ll show it off at the next Gtown. Hah.

I hate English essays

I hate English essays. Generally the books we have read in English this year have inspired deep thoughts about moral issues and personal feelings. When it comes to the book we have recently finished, especially, I find myself wanting to keep my private thoughts to myself, instead of spreading them around on paper or demeaning the book by having to bullshit some fake ideas in order to churn out a decent essay. I want to savor the thoughts and feelings the literature inspires, rather than mush the subject around until it’s no longer appealing or thought-provoking.

Therefore, I hate English essays.

Finally

Yeah, finally. I did it. I admit it.

I failed.

But I’m probably too pathetic and/or proud to ever say “I give up.” I won’t give up. Until it’s said to my face that, no, I am not wanted, I will not stop attempting to get my way. I’m just that stubborn. Or just that stupid.

I waited too long. And now chances of going with someone enjoyable to prom are completely shot to hell, so I believe I will be going solo and hopefully by then I’ll be over the sting of rejection (yet again, hey, deja vu anyone?) and can walk with someone I’m not going to prom with down the stage or aisle or whatever and still look good and smile, etc.

I wanted to wait just long enough, so it didn’t completely shock him when I asked. I (shh) actually wanted to be the one to BE asked, but isn’t that funny?

And I’m also bothered by the fact that my first, instinctive reaction to it was tears. I got a text, “don’t bother to ask him, he’s going with someone else.” And for the first time in months and months my eyes burned a little. I blame it on allergies.

No tears have actually formed and fallen, though, so there’s a victory for me. And even though I feel like bitching and moaning about how I’m pathetic and suck at life and all that jazz, I’m not going to. I refuse. I am going to suck it up and deal with it. Even though I may or may not have liked this guy off and on for a very long time.

But whatever, because for what feels like the millionth time, it doesn’t matter. My resolutions of taking the initiative are completely pointless because all I ever seem to do is sit/stand/swim there and make idle conversation and try not to look like a retard. Maybe if I wasn’t so self-conscious, mom would say. Maybe if I didn’t care so much.

Well God damn it, I do care. I care about all of it. I care about my future and my music and my God and whatever love I might ever find. And it’s fucking stupid to think I will find that love in high school, so I don’t. But I don’t understand why I can’t try to find some amusement or fun or entertainment along the way. I don’t need love, per se. Just a bond.

Ha, and now I doubt I’m even making sense because I am exhausted and overworked and a little sad. I am so sick of comparing myself to the girls that get picked instead. I am sick of not succeeding. I am sick of forgetting what my best feels like and I am sick to death of not being able to sing. That’s what I do. I sing. I feel like a trapped bird or something, because when the worries and the stress and the inadequacies start to smother me, my voice gets lost in the hustle and bustle and I end up getting more and more miserable.

Maybe going alone will be a good thing. No, there won’t be anyone special guy-wise I can spend the evening with. There won’t be anyone to dance with, either. But hey, I can jump around in a poufy dress and pretend to have fun and maybe eventually I’ll burn off the frustration.

Alright, I’m done not making sense. I’m sure that was a whole shitload of jibberish, but as I said, I am exhausted.

I’m done. Finally.

Twenty below

I. Am. So. Cold.

I didn’t have time to grab my hoodie for track, and now I can’t seem to get warm. I’ll be hitting the hot shower in mere minutes, but God I am freezing.

I’m a little sick to my stomach too, but I ran over one and a half miles today. Whoo hoooo.

And for dinner we are having potatoes (baked in olive oil, mmm, if I make them), salad, and hamsteak. God, I’m hungry too. I say God a lot when I’m feeling like shit, I guess.

I can barely type, my hands are numb. And all day I’ve felt a little uninteresting and a lot boring because I can’t seem to capture someone’s attention long enough to have a conversation. Maybe he just has some sort of set image of me in his mind and can’t replace it with a better one. Whatever. I’m so exhausted (and it’s a good exhausted, so take note: I’m not complaining). But I’m just not in the mood to think and over-analyze and stress myself out over a guy who is normal around everyone else but me.

I probably shouldn’t talk, though, because I’m normal around everyone else but him. God damn it, but that does not mean we are in the same situation. I’ve taken the initiative so many times, without any kind of reaction except one dance. And that was probably on a dare or something.

Oh well. I’m boring. I’ll get over it.

I feel like I’m going to puke. But I am so hungry. I suppose I’ll get over that too. God.

Slipstream

Swimming wasn’t all that bad. I compromised and wore a black tank top… oh well.

Heather still hasn’t called me back, but that’s okay too because I’m sure I’ll hear from her.

Track was sooo much fun. I ran and had a little bit of a hard time with it, but today was really enjoyable and although I’m sure I’ll be sore(r) tomorrow, I really hope I don’t have to quit. It was tough-ish, but it’s something that as of right now I really would like to do. I left and felt refreshed. Felt confident. Didn’t feel like I failed at sports, or athletics in general, that’s for sure. I could keep up, for the most part, and that was exciting.

I hope tomorrow goes as well. There will be scheduling conflicts, I’m sure of it. But until I am positive that track is going to be an enormous issue, I’ll repeat myself.

I’m not quitting.

Music doesn’t soothe everything;

I am in pain. Not serious, life-threatening agony, but I’m hurting.

I went skating, and what do you know. The only time I fall I land in a shattered heap on both knees and elbows. Hard.

But whatever, my skinned knees will heal and I’m assuming the bone-deep ache still pulsing in my left elbow will vanish eventually.

I have to bare those knees during swimming tomorrow. I don’t want to. I’m not dreading it, per se, but… I refuse to wear a shirt over my bikini. And I’m sure that will garner a small crop of speculation. But again, whatever. It’s like, honestly, this is my body. Take it or leave it.

And ultimately I wouldn’t mind if some of them left it because I’m a little leery of a few of those fun kids. Yikes. Haha.

I also have track tomorrow. My first day ever of a high school sport. Ahhh. Cliff goes, “Oh, I enjoy painful practices.” Katie says, “Oooh, me too!” And then they rattle off on some athletic tangent and I am left standing there thinking, “Oh, no.”

It’s not as if I don’t want to get in shape. I do. In fact, that is why I am joining track. But I’ve never done it before, and I believe I am instinctively sensing imminent failure at it… and like all sane creatures, I shy away from what I fear. Usually.

One thing I have refused to shy away from is my own health, something I take seriously but am seriously misinformed about. I am almost entirely unaware of what my body needs to function to its best ability. I hate that. I do know that I need daily exercise, and I’m hoping the peer pressure I expect from track will force me into a somewhat fit state. I’d like to be able to step into a prom gown and not have to fight the zipper the entire way. And I’d like to be able to come home not feeling like a useless piece of crap because I’m not going running. I will have already run.

I do have to cancel my voice lesson this week for it, though, and I don’t like that at all. Heather is much more busy than I am, and I hate to have to admit to her that we need a new time to meet.

And this hurts me too, because I feel like I’m being a jerk and quitting things when I promise I won’t, but… if it comes down to Heather or track, I’m choosing Heather. I know for a fact that I will never major in track and field and that there is a good chance I will for singing.

I have to reschedule tutoring, too, until sometime after five, which will throw my family’s schedule off and probably the little girl’s focus will snag, and sag. Uhg.

I want to do track, though, something fierce… even though I am positive I will suck at it. I’m going to try and either succeed a little bit or wear myself out completely.

Storytime

So, I have not been blogging lately, but never fear. I have been writing up a storm.

It’s always been my dream to write a book. For as long as I can remember I’ve been making up stories left and right.

Now is the time where I get to feeling like my hypothetical biological clock is ticking. NOT for children… for a book.

There are already published authors who are my age or younger. I have a great deal to contribute to the literary world and am so eager to share it!

So for the past few weeks I’ve been carrying around a simple-but-perfect black composition notebook. It’s a lot like a journal, because the story is going to be narrated by me, for the most part. It’s easier telling a story that way; reading one written by someone else always makes me feel like I am in that character’s shoes at that particular place in time. What I write is always in story form, though; I have a setting and a cast of characters and I’m trying to go crazy with it every chance I get. I think it’s working :] As soon as I fill up the notebook, I’m typing and revising the little excerpts I have, then putting them in order. And then filling in the gaps with more story. Maybe I’ll even fill a second notebook, depending on how much material I feel like I’m lacking.

Ha, but anyway. There you have it, the reason why I have neglected my blog.

For Aida and Amneris

I was just listening to “Written in the Stars,” from “AIDA.”

I got chills and felt like crying. The music. The characters. The loss of the part I thought I was perfect for, the discovery of my true talents, plus actually performing the show. All of these made it a life-changing experience for me.

It’s funny that it all hits me now, months and months afterward.

I originally received a copy of the Broadway cast recording in February 2008. I was just recovering from my first “real” breakup from a “serious” relationship, and the music helped me regain some sense of power, control, individuality and self-possession. It also allowed me to regain my dignity.

Later that year, I “hung out” with the same guy, and when he acted like a dickhead, I put up with it, then went home and listened to Heather Headley pour Aida’s soul into my ears, and into my heart. The character is so powerful– a strong woman, a queen. Very headstrong and opinionated, but she fell in love. As star-crossed as they were, they found happiness together.

It really sucks being a headstrong, opinionated, hopeless romantic. Despite the bullshit I had waded thigh-high into in my actual life, I could listen to “Elaborate Lives” and feel Radames’ and Aida’s love wash over me. Sometimes those songs made me think that my own relationships could be so sweet. Ha, at that point in time, I was really, really naive. But that’s not the point.

When auditions rolled around, I was dead-set on getting Aida. I felt like I KNEW her, I wanted to be her. I knew I could convey the passion I felt for her situation on stage. In my mind I saw Observer headlines, envisioned Heather Headley and Elton John sojourning to Gowanda. I vividly pictured a stage decked out in Egyptian finery, with myself in the center, belting out the injustice of slavery and the guilt I felt for endangering my people.

One of my best friends got the part.

I was shunted (in my mind) to the role of Amneris, the Egyptian princess head-over-heels for fashion and for her fiance Radames. Amneris is really shunted in the musical– Radames would rather be with Aida. Amneris undergoes a one-eighty degree turnaround from light-hearted and air-headed diva to heartbroken, powerful ruler.

I fell in love with Amneris’ character, too. It was unexpected, and it was a smaller role. But I had a million and one costume changes, some phenomenal singing and acting coaching…

And when I sang, when I stood in the middle of the stage with tears wet on my face and sang about love and loss, worthlessness, waste and a shattered heart, I felt Amneris. Her story became a part of me, as much as my eyes or my fingernails. It’s generally observed that Aida was the strong one. And she was strong.

But Amneris was strong, too. Immeasurably so. She withstood her pain, overcame it, survived. And made her life a success. Maybe she knew love later, maybe she never did. But she made her country a better place and she held a life lesson in her heart for the rest of her life.

“Aida,” and the life lessons that accompanied the show (from February to November to now) will stay with me for the rest of my life. When I’m eighteen or eighty with my own lover or sixteen cats, I will remember “Aida” as the most moving show I have ever performed in high school; I will remember it for its powerful and inspirational leads. I will remember it because Aida and Amneris represent both sides of love, and of life. And since I intend to love, and live, they represent me.

Zapatos

I’m off to Gowanda Eye Care in about five minutes to pick up my new glasses. They are very pro-looking and also extremely spiffy :)

I really hope my parents’ flight to Mexico is going okay. I know airlines are supposed to be safe and wonderful but it is a five-hour ride. They’re with Mark and Karen, so they should be entertained… but. Pff. I really want it to be fine.

Raaa, okay okay. Now I need to finish getting ready. Maybe put some shoes on. Y’know, that kind of thing. Toodles.

The beauty of not sliding into an icy abyss

10something AM   1/28/09  The Bus

I hate winter. I really do. I would gladly substitute snow for five months of sweltering heat.

But today, as I walked down my icy driveway to meet the bus, I was awed by God’s creativity, at his creations.

Beauty surrounded me. I don’t think I have the ability to select the choicest words to describe it.

Snow piled up soundlessly around (and on) me.  The locust and spruce trees sat stoically on the front lawn and allowed themselves to be frosted by a delicate sheet of white.

The tranquility and silence after a morning of waiting and loud, beat-laden melodies was a welcome, gently settled blanket of peace.

It isn’t often I am alone. I can feel lonely, or sit by myself, but there is always someone with me physically, or checking up on me, or on my  mind.

Christ Jesus and Mary. The bus almost slid into a ravine. There was no guard rail. We’re fine though. The busdriver and I. We’re fine.

Back to the snow-glazed wonderland I just stood within– it was nothing like what I just experienced. No thumping heart, racing pulse, or sharp incision of fear. No fervent thoughts like, “let’s just not go this way” or “um, there is no protective rail there.” No nerve-wracking skid or slow creep backwards in an enormous deathtrap of a vehicle.

For a few short moments this morning, I stood immersed in stillness. I wasn’t doused in frigid wind or plunged into icy deepfreeze. The natural scene placed before me sank into my skin and immersed me in love and admiration for the beauty of it all.

I walked down a driveway, and drank in the peace.

Purple

Mauve, violet, lavender, amethyst. It goes by myriad monikers but it otherwise known as purple.

I am rocking the purple today. My lips are mauve, fingernails royal purple, and my scarf is laced with lavender and plum. I am ready to go into the english regents and come out victorious.

This morning, I have consumed an entire pot of coffee, so with all luck I won’t start drowsing in the middle of the final half of my english exam. Out of all the tests, I have a feeling that I’m going to get the best grade on this one (a good thing, because I’m sure my chemistry Regents are going to blow and I’ll need this grade for an average booster).

I’m feeling a little jittery, but I’m pretty sure that’s the coffee speaking through me, har har.

I got up at six thirty to the sound of my sister, breaking dishes. She dropped an entire stack of plates and they smashed. Thankfully, she wasn’t hurt, and they weren’t the new plates I just got my mother for Christmas. Phew.

I am so ready for this! I just want to go and get it over with. I have to wait for the bus to get here; even though we’re supposed to get there at 11:45, he said he’d be here around ten-thirty, so it’s like, ahhh. Hmmm. Okay, so I’ll be there an hour early. I guess I can go do yearbook.

It’s blizzarding out, too, and I’m not positive when exactly he will be getting here. I’m the only one who needs picking up, too. Uhg… Well, I guess I can make conversation, even though I’d rather continue getting pumped up via the music on my iPod.

I’ve been blasting the music all morning since my family left. I’ve visited Funkytown, jumped on it, done it in the road, felt untouched and turned the music up. It’s all been fairly helter skelter.

I just need to pee and brush my teeth and I will be completely ready. Hoo boy. I am going to kick this exam’s ass. Be ready, English Regents, you won’t have seen a score like mine.

Voulez vous cocher avec moi, c’est soi

Being angry and frustrated and sad about my own inadequacy is all peaches and cream, until I get bored with the routine. I am honestly very glad that I can feel miserable about it, because otherwise I’d worry that I was broken or something. The little stabby pains that trouble me whenever I think about how much I suck at life are really reassuring sometimes.

However, it gets old.

Yes, I know, I’m not as small or cute or (apparently) amusing as she is. And that rankles, just a lot. But what does it do to muse endlessly on it?

Maybe “engaging” is the word I’m looking for. She’s engaging all of the time. I only am when I feel like it.

But I’m done comparing myself. If I ever need a reassurance I’m human, I can think about them and feel the pang and then go back to normal life… but it’s like an addiction, you feel it once and get a little hooked. “Oooh (shudder), aren’t I pathetic? I’m so pretty and confident and intriguing and no one likes meeee!” is not the slogan I aim to present to the world.

So, fine. A kid I like I’m interested in has another girl in mind who I’m not going to bother openly competing against. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself being all seductive and acting differently because… because he likes someone else? We were getting along pretty well before I knew about her, we’ll get along fine for the rest of the time. No worries, no stress, and only occasionally with a little pinch of remorse at the lost chances.

Yea, tho’ I walk through the hallway of the crapload of Regents

1/27/09     7:10 AM    The Car

I am not feeling too hot right now. My stomach is still unsettled (although not NEARLY to the extent it was yesterday). I’m on my way to take the Math B Regents for the fourth time. I have never failed it– I just have yet to get the score I want on it, and it’s the one exam I don’t mind taking again.

I had a Kashi granola bar and a cup of coffee for breakfast. And now I really don’t feel so great. Oh, uhg. I thought it was better than eating nothing! which is what I wanted to do.

I just want to go home and head back to bed. I never don’t usually want this… but today it sounds perfect. Heavenly, in fact.

Alright, time to go. Here’s the school.

Oh; but my mom and sister are talking about the dentist, which reminds me– I had a dream last night that I was at school and there was a smiley poster for free dental care for one day only– the “Day of Smiles.” Strange!

And, I guess

I suppose it was just a speculation of mine. You know, a thought. A random inconvenient fantastical idea, that floated in from nowhere. I wouldn’t sound so dramatic, but I’m practicing my writing for the stupid English Regents tomorrow.

But simply put, that means: I guess I just got my hopes up.

It wasn’t a big deal, realizing that, oh-hey, there goes a possibiolity of a fun time. Of course, nothing is really a big deal when it comes to me and guys. I don’t have big deals, or drama. I don’t get upset. It’s “whatever” and “it doesn’t matter” and “who will I take an interest in next?”

Right. Okay, so, who will it be.

I don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t really want to dwell on my failure as a girl, my failure at attractiveness, at witty repartee. I don’t ever like to sit and nurse a wound that will heal easily and soon.

But I don’t want to fail to notice my own sad attempts at femininity. The long blonde hair really does nothing for me, nor do the blue eyes, obscenely long lashes, curvy frame or even smile. Maybe it’s the laugh that turns them off, maybe my cheerfulness is just too obnoxious to behold for any length of  time. Maybe the flirting was just that.

Sure. I can deal with that. I won’t think any more on the fact that I’m completely undesirable, too outspoken for my own good, and when the time is right to comment, I refrain. I refuse to pause any longer over my inadequacies as a determined but unsuccessful interested party.

So what if my laugh is too loud, my comments too sharp? So what if I say the wrong thing once or twice, or I’m less appealing than she is?

If I’m too big, I’m too big.

If I’m too smart, I’m  too smart.

If I’m only a focus of amusement and flirtation, then I’d do better to focus my own attentions elsewhere.

But this could have been my chance. I let myself believe that, hey, this could be the rebound I’ve been searching for. The connection that pulled me out of ex-infested waters and into a lifeboat built with lighthearted gaiety and a less depressing spirit.

But it’s no big deal. I’ll get over it.

If I’m too romantic and hopeful, I’ve just got to suck it up.

Food (or lack thereof)

Here’s to wishing I could redo everything today from post-basement romp to now. I wish I wouldn’t have eaten anything; I wish I would have brought a hairbrush.

I just started feeling awful. I don’t have an eating disorder. That’s ridiculous, especially for me. (Come on, look at me. Seriously>) But I’ve just been so busy, eating often and healthily has had to take second fiddle to the many priorities already swirling around me.

So after eating only two granola bars, a bottle of Special K protein water, and two cups of coffee, a Tim Horton’s BLT, bagel, and cappuccino didn’t really sit so wonderfully in my stomach. I felt like puking and I had some awful cramps. After getting home and showering I felt better. The warm water washed away most of the uncomfortable, painful sensations. My mother said the same thing happened to her, when she was “young, and seriously stupid.” She ended up having to rush to the emergency room when she was in college because she only ate a little bit throughout the day and then a large meal later on. Her body wasn’t accustomed to it. Her diagnosis: an “irritated colon.”

It’s irritated, all right. My body is irritated with me. Sure, I’ve lost a few pounds over the past few weeks. But it hasn’t helped me in the health department, and I need to start eating better. I’ve gotten thinner, but I’ve gotten weaker. Without nutrition, I can’t function properly. It’s yet another added workload of thinking and planning, but I guess healthy food is going to have to be added to my priority list. I really felt like shit today, and I don’t want it to happen again. I’m too busy, too dedicated to so many things, to have to worry about a sudden bout of dizziness or the inability to carry something heavy without my legs shaking.

Satisfied

Today was a success. Xylophone audition did not go as well as I wanted it to, but I got a 100 on my singing, and Heather and Mr. Fleischman were there, and it was nice seeing them.

Oh, uhg. Forget it, this is not what is honestly on my mind right now.

I want to know why I can’t be happy around a guy? I can spend time with him, and laugh, and that’s cheerful. But when it comes to doing something that’s not just talking, I get awkward, worried. I’m nervous. I’m not confident. I am scared.

And I think to myself, come on now, honestly. It’s not like you’ve never done anything before, and it’s not like you’re doing the dirty with him right now, you just chilled out with him for a while. No pressure.

But, take this as an example. Hypothetically, let’s pretend I go to sit on his lap. For lack of a chair, naturally. And let’s pretend that when I sat on his lap I worried about breaking his leg… is my butt too bony? Can he tell how much fat I have on my legs?

And then he (hypotheticall) remarks, “It seems like you’re uncomfortable, though…”

Get a grip, Kim. Or get a seat. A decent one.

I deserve a little happiness and carefree fun with a boy. I normally feel unusual admitting that I should get something, it is my right to have it.

But I do deserve to have a little fun. Without worrying about obligations or what he or anyone else thinks of me. I’ve had enough trouble in the guy department for too long to believe anything different. My only real relationship was spoiled and sullied. Any crushing I do is done in secret because I don’t want to ruin friendships or make conversation awkward.

But if I have a chance to make something of a friendship turned attraction, than shouldn’t I take it? I’m always ranting and raving about taking the initiative… where are my balls?

I don’t have any, but hypothetically let’s pretend I really should grow some and take that chance.  

It might be completely worthless and I might be bullshitting myself into thinking that something could come of this. But free, unrestricted fun would be so welcome, so warranted. I’m busy and stressed and a strong and confident person. I’m not the sort most guys are attracted to. Come on, I might be blonde, but I’m not a stick and aside from being a good laugher, a good listener, and an okay joke-maker I have nothing appealing going for me. I have an ex-boyfriend that everyone knows about and disliked, and I made a fool (publicly) out of myself for him for the majority of last year. I’m not a slut but I can be kind of a smartass sometimes, which puts me at the bottom of any list of interesting prospects, naturally. I don’t do drugs or party (yet, I guess), so my reputation on that front is clean. To boys, I’d be boring. Maybe a little bit pretty, because my hair’s kind of cool, but generally uninteresting and unintriguing.

Therefore, if I have an opportunity to change that… shouldn’t I?

I don’t want him to take up a huge part of my life, because my life revolves around my family, friends, and school. And success. I’m ambitious. But I’m worried that if I take a step out onto this particular limb, I’ll fall straight off the tree, and fall hard. I don’t want to be falling for anyone. It’s a crush, an interest, and that’s all it is. Nothing serious, but it’s got possibility. What if I make it serious, though? It’s so habitual to just gravitate toward the intense, serious, straight-faced attitude.

Why? Have I been brainwashed into thinking that serious is good? I want a lighthearted relationship that feels nothing like a relationship! A friendship, with benefits.

But then again, do I really? Didn’t I like the bonding, the adoration?

Ehh. I could live without it right now. It’s too reminiscient of last year’s catastrophes. A carefree series of rendezvous would be just fine with me.

The end.

If music be the food of love, sing on

All county auditions are tomorrow. I guess, according to Robin, NYSSSA auditions are, too, because she thought I was doing one.. and I’m not. Ha ha. I wish I was. I wish I could.

But all county will be fun, and colleges won’t care if I don’t get into NYSSSA or whatever, they’re going to look and see my audition scores and NYSSMA adjudication sheets… at least, I hope so.

I am going to go practice the xylophone in my room as soon as I warm up. The dogs decided to chill  (quite literally) in the woods somewhere for a few hours and mom and I were out calling for them. Then my student’s mother came and paid me, and we stood chatting in the driveway for a long while. It’s pretty cold outside.

Now I am going to practice, before nerves make me throw up. Hopefully auditions and the play tomorrow go well. Deep breaths, deep breaths, and cross your fingers.

Update

Correction, about a post a few days ago. I didn’t do my english project on Marilyn Monroe. I changed it to Sarah Palin, she got ridiculed twenty times more than Norma Jeane ever did, even if she never bj’ed JFK.

Broken

 I am. Broken, that is. Or, I think my writing mechanism might be. Andd also my motivation button. And perhaps my focus lever, too. I can’t seem to get anything done. I’m a little distractable, and I find myself daydreaming. But when I try to make the daydreams into stories (and hoo boy, would they make some good ones), the words won’t come. It’s very unpleasant. I feel dirty, or slimy; a little tainted, like I have some kind of anti-word bug I can’t get rid of. You know the feeling when you have the flu, and you’ve been puking all day and your stomach believes it should still be puking? But you can’t vomit, so you’re dry-heaving and it’s completely uncomfortable and painful, yet utterly unproductive?

That’s how I feel. I have the writing flu. It sucks, man.

And plus I have a stomach ache, too… I hope to God I’m not getting the real flu, too.

Stupid biting

I have a story in mind, but I don’t have the words to put it down. It’s starting to really gnaw at me. A few clueless girls, a troupe of dangerous vampires, and some biting, then voila. Chemistry, romance, territory disputes, and some more biting could make for an interesting conflict. It would be better than Twilight in about fifteen hundred different ways, but I can’t seem to get started, and what I do have reads like a story written by a ten-year-old.

Uhg.

Busy. Well son of a gun

I love being busy when there’s a set schedule that goes with it, is my excuse. Lately all I’ve wanted to do is bum around, and let me tell you, it’s driving me nuts. I wish I was a workaholic. Then I could get everything done.

You know, maybe it makes me less dedicated than others I know, but I LIKE getting a full night’s sleep. I ENJOY it. Occasionally I will derive a faint amount of cheerfulness from my own weariness and the similar, comrade-like air that emanates from my classmates.

Maybe it makes me lazy, though, but most days? I enjoy sleep.

So what am I doing blogging? You might want to know. Well,  I figure, if I’m going to have to stay up until God-knows-when to work on lines for the play and a National Honor Society essay and research on Marilyn Monroe for my Scarlet Letter project, I can take five minutes to write something for my own small amusement.

Very shortly, I’ll be typing my lines for tomorrow’s Act II and loading them onto my iPod, where I can scroll through them throughout the day. I have to remember to tell Katie tomorrow that I’m going to have to come back to school for the wrestling meet on Wednesday although I hope she knows I would have loved to go to Tim Horton’s with her. I am going to have to ask my friends if they’re available for sledding Saturday and then further disappoint Katie by admitting that I cannot go anywhere Sunday because I am too backed up: English essay and reading cards are due next Friday, not to mention the play is a week from this Saturday and so are my SATs and so are All County auditions: for voice and xylophone. Shit, shit.

Jesus, I need to stop blogging and go do something. I wish I was a workaholic! Then I wouldn’t even be side-tracked! I would be like, well, bitch, getcho ass workin on that essay, yesterday! Son!

But I am a simple lazy teenager with big dreams and lots of ambition, just little time and, currently, little motivation.

One day

One day
                                  it’ll all be over.

No more parties, no more xylophone, no more crazy ideas like “let’s steal the zamboni” or “how about we break into the vending machine?” I won’t be able to bitch about the early morning or walk to Timmy Ho’s when there’s nothing to do afterschool but I’m stuck there anyway. I’ll be a grown up. I’ll have responsibilities. I will have to hold down a job.

From time to time, I’ll look back on high school and think, those were the best years of my life. Carefree, unrestricted, restless and just learning how to be my own person.

I want to make the most of it.

Chancellor

I’m really busy.

As if I’ve never realized it before.

I’m working on my resume for keyboarding, and it’s reminding me that I really am involved in so many different activities– and I want to do track?! When am I going to find the time?  I need to train something fierce; I ran fifteen minutes straight in gym today and I was winded. Maybe I should drop my study hall for conditioning, but then Mrs. Propp would murder me, because I use that time for yearbook.

Yep. I’m pretty damn busy. So busy that I’m not going to bother writing any more because Act II for play tomorrow is off book and tonight I had none of my lines memorized. That was sucky. So, toodles. I got shit to do.

Remember

I just got done with a pretty gay myspace survey; but it started out talking about 2008. I got a little sentimental thinking back on the year, which encompassed everything from the shitty times last winter with issues and miscommunication to the shitty times this spring and summer with some more issues and my inability to communicate altogether. But it also covered the kickass summer with Caitlin, Michelle, and bonfires and the blanket game to this school year, my best yet– with friends and Aida and mudslides and hot tubs and sledding and friends and photo shoots.

I want 2009 to be a continuation of the time from July  to December.

I want fun with friends and family. I want the bond with my sister to strengthen and expand. I want another mudslide ;) I want to be able to play some ferocious xylophone and bust out the Puccini like nobody’s business. I want to have so much excitement and happiness that I feel like I’m going to start glowing with optimism. I want to work my butt off and be motivated and feel like a success as a person.

I want 2009 to be the best year of my life so far.

I’m going to remember 2008: there were a lot of hard-learned lessons that I need to keep with me. But I want to be able to put the crap that accompanied those lessons behind me and move forward as my own independent person. And I will, despite it all. Shboom shboom, son.

Cloudy, grey

I did not go skating. It was exceptionally chilly, so after two trips back indoors for extra clothes and an iPod and phone deposit, I made my way outside to freeze with the dogs. We couldn’t find a ball, so we made do with randomly galloping around the backyard. Over stumps, rocks, and piles of accumulated bramble we went, me, then Grizz beside me, Potter lagging slightly behind. Molley would run for a moment or two, then something would catch her interest, and off she’d go to explore an intriguing scent, shape, or movement. After about a half hour we went back into the garage, where I fed them dog treats, harrassed Grizz, praised Potter and ignored poor Molley. Out of the three of them, she has the least dominant personality. A little snippy, shy, and protective, she tends to roll with whatever her brother and mother get up to. The lowest-in-the-pack role extracts a sweet and submissive nature, though. When she was a little puppy we called her Sweetie, not knowing that we’d be keeping her. The nickname suited her then and now. She might be the quietest, but she’s easily the calmest-natured.

The dogs’ stories can wait for another day, however; I’m tutoring in about eight minutes. The lesson’s nicely timed out on paper, and I’m all energized and ready to hammer out some math facts. It might be break, but the mind always needs exercise, right?

After teaching, Katie’s coming over and then we might go see Rod’s puppies before heading to Chelsea’s with apple fritters. Fun stuff.

Tomorrow’s New Year’s Eve, which might mean even more fun stuff. Or it could mean Katie and I drowning in ennui all by our lonesomes. Hrmm. We’ll see.