Bipolar Relations

You know what makes me really pissed off and want to destroy something? Jimey. He hasn't called for weeks. He hasn't answered his phone in over a month. Last time we talked, he ended the conversation with "I gotta go, we're wasting minutes." I was stunned and just hung up. I don't think I even said good bye. I remember calling him either an asshole or a jerk. I've been doing that since he went back to Arizona. He deserves it. He is an asshole.

It's ridiculous, though, I can bash him and curse his name all I want. That's when I'm not talking to him, though. When I'm talking to Jimey, I seem to forget that I hate his guts. It's just too easy for him to make me laugh. Like how it's too easy for anyone to insult him. Who knew Osa could actually hate someone? She sure didn't know. How did this all start??

Well, I think my anger and disgust towards Jimey began when he found out that I've never had sex before. That's when, I think, it seemed to become his mission to have my virginity. He acted like it was his God given gift. Don't worry, he hasn't done anything to me. If he had, he certainly wouldn't be alive anymore. Or his penis would be permanently broken. It's just... his obsession turned me away from him. It really irritated and weirded me out.
I'm not going to go any deeper about this... but yeah. Just that moment really disgusted me.

Maybe it was partially my fault. I'm pretty open to him. I feel safe saying anything to him. And yet I still hate his guts. Ugh. I might have lead him on to believe things that I didn't mean to portray in that way... Or, more likely, Jimey is just a creeper and only hears what he wants.

Hmm.. Okay. I just wanted to get that out. I didn't want anyone to be lead to believe that me and Jimey were happily ever after.

Damn, I wish I had...

I think it's rather depressing and pointless to think about the "woulda, shoulda, couldas" because it's all in the past. Everything that has happened will always be exactly that; The past. You can't change the past. What's done is done. End of story. If you start thinking about what you could have done, and it would have been an easy change, to make things better then you just end up feeling depressed or guilty or both. Those aren't pleasant feelings. 

On another note, I wish I would have turned in all of the math work that I had last year, completed or incomplete. I'm sure I would have been able to just barely pass by the skin of my teeth. Instead, I failed by the skin of my teeth. I failed by .14% and I am never going to forget that number. Needless to say, it sucked. I just couldn't keep from freaking out. 

   Later, when class was out, I got a lot of hugs and was offered a cigarette from a friend. Haha. That made me feel better. The hugs, not the cigarette. 

But I mean, all of those tears and emotions could have been prevented if I had only turned in a couple of extra assignments in, ignoring the lateness of them. I seem to have a habit... a bad habit of ignoring my math work. I seem to think that everything is gonna be coming up Millhouse! for me even if I don't do my work. Wow. I'm really full of myself in that way! Thinking I'll pass if I don't do any work. Huh. I should work on that. I gotta put my nose to the grindstone and just do my work to save myself, and others, time and sanity. 

Help! I'm Blind!

Is it bad that I can't think of an bad habits of mine? Or that I really, really have to think, to dig deep into my own mind, in order to see a bad habit? Hmm... Maybe a bad habit of mine is waking up later than I'd like to or am capable of doing. Or here's one, I conveniently "forget" an assignment at home the day it's due. I don't do that too often, though... 

Hmm... Well, I'm not a grammar Nazi anymore, like I totally used to be. That was back in my internet "elitist" days. I'd correct everyone's grammar online and then usually end up using their lack of spelling or grammar against them in an argument. It was bad. Now I can usually ignore grammatical or spelling errors unless I really, really dislike someone. Then I point out every single thing that they do wrong and make sure I don't make any mistakes myself.

I'm seriously at a loss here. I think I'm gonna have to ask my friends for my bad habits. Jeeze. It also doesn't help that I'm sleepy right now... I woke up a little over an hour ago. Ugh. 

ABCDEF...08

A is for Adderall. This stimulant has gotten a lot of attention this year, I've noticed. I started taking it last year for my inattentive A.D.D. I stopped, though. It made me a different person and I didn't like it. It seemed to make my attention span longer... but I'd pay attention towards more spacey things, like staring at that moth in the corner that's so helplessly trapped in a cobweb.
A is also for Anonymous.

B is for that Bitch who plays Hannah Montana/Hannah Monsnakemonster. This girl has sold her soul to the Disney corporation. It's sad, sure, but also very irritating. And menacing. She brainwashing our chilluns (children) to be shallow, materialistic, and fake. There was an actual law that was passed called the "Miley Cyrus" law or something... It had something to do with concert tickets being resold for way too much money. Thanks, desperate little kids and parents of. You've ruined everything!

C is for Creative Arts and Como. In the middle of the first school quarter(and my junior year!), I transferred from Como high school to Creative Arts. It was quite the shocking and pleasurable change. I went from some several hundred or thousand kids to about 90. It was amazing. My friends at Como haven't fully forgiven me for the sudden move(I did kind of spring it on them... and forgot to tell a few I was leaving. Oops.) but... it's not like we can't keep in touch, still. We have cell phones and internet, damn.

D is for Digg.com.

E is for emotions. Many tears, squeals of delight, giggles, fits of anger, and so much more have been released this past year. Events such as my senior friends graduating and leaving, Jimey coming home for summer, Mogar living at my house for a week, starting 11th grade, switching schools, and Obama being elected have brought the most passionate ides of me.

F is for Four Square. It's been a tradition for a few years, now, for my family on my dad's side (mostly the cousins and a few aunts and uncles) to play four square every family event we can. Even if it's freezing outside, if my grandparents' driveway is clear of snow and dry, we will play four square. It really brings us together, I like to think. It's great how we always debate rules and keep out logical sides, as well as athletic skills, moving.
What always makes me laugh is that my cousin, Elliot, utterly dominates the game. He's fierce and fiery. He's a good challenge, even though his style of play includes bouncing the ball at our feet and it all gets frustrating some times.

G is for

H is for
I.
J.
K.
L is for Love.

M is for Mogar, one of my favourite people in the entire world. Seriously. I love this woman. What's funny is that just a year or so ago, we barely knew each other. I remember Mogar telling me one time she actually said "Who the fuck is Osa?" Little did she know how amazing we soon would be together. Haha. Well, Mogar has given me a lot more confidence in myself and has introduced me to so many people and music and things and especially a different look on life. I love her so much and wouldn't know what to do without her.

O is for Obama! The fact that this man's name alone inspires change and hope is amazing. It's even more amazing that such a man is our new president.

P is for
Q is for
R is for
S is for
T.
U.
V.
W is for Writing.
X.
Y.
Z.

Oh Fuck My Life

Why do I always let things pile up until they're ready to explode? My room, my homework, my emotions... Why do I bottle things up? It's so ridiculous... I feel so silly when I do that and time comes for everything to just spill out of its container in a horrible, dramatic mess of liquid frustration.

Today, my mom went in for an emergency mammogram. She told me about it last night, so I should have had reacted to it already, right? But no. I'm reacting to it right now, during school, and I feel ridiculous. I haven't even heard the results yet and I'm freaking out. Gwen pretty much said how silly that is, which didn't really help things. I didn't really say anything to her, though, because she was already doing so much for me like getting me a bottle of water, tissues, a wet paper towel to put on my face...

I think Gwen figured out that it isn't just my mom's situation that's troubling me, but a bunch of things. I didn't tell her what other things were going on and she didn't ask. I kind of miss the social worker from my old school because I could dump everything going on in my life on her and then feel so much better. I could tell the social worker about how stressed I am with school projects and the like. How my luck with guys is fucking terrible. How I have no where to really study at my house because it's too full of random crap to even have a cleared off table. I could talk to that woman for literally hours. She was amazingly always calm and soothing to hear.

I'm trying desperately to calm down but I just can't... And I desperately want to be able to. I want to continue the school day but I don't know if I can. I'm really looking forward to 5th and 6th hour. 5th hour is my science fiction class and in my AP American History class is 6th hour. We're going to watch a video on the Salem Witch Trials. I've never learned much about those happenings in our country's history. Bah.

Fuck. Whenever I think about going back to class, I'm fine for a moment, but then the waterworks start again. The curse of sensitivity. I suppose I should tell Gwen that I don't think I'll be able to finish the day... But I want to finish it... Apparently not enough, though. I want to keep writing. Jebus is the internet useful for that. Easy writing, no hand cramps, ink smears, scratched out letters and messiness.

I hope Bob doesn't cut off her foot. That would be a silly thing. Gimp Bobs are not good. I'm touched that she's so worried, though. I'm a mess. How would I even get home? Walk? That would suck. Suck ass. Eight blocks up hill in the freezing weather. I guess being at home would be that much more rewarding.

It's freezing in this room. My leg hairs are standing up beneath my pants which is kind of an awkward thing. I hear a sword fight... I wonder what movie they're watching in Caleb's class?

I have nothing really to say anymore...

The Tales of Jimey

Every so often in your life you find that rare person who just seems to click with you. Who seems to get you, feels you. That person can make you laugh with the wiggle of a finger. They can comfort you with the right words when you really need it. Turn your tears, your anger, into laughter and warmth. Well, I've found that person a couple years ago... At the Central High homecoming game.

It was a wonderful night, at the homecoming game. It was cold, so we all huddled together, even if we didn't know each other's names. People were sitting on my lap, letting me sit on their laps, it was amazing. My friend Chibi(an old nickname) had introduced my friend Tata(an old nick name) and me to her friend "Kerry". She never called him Jimey(pronounced like "Jimmy"), and I'm not sure why. And well, upon seeing him, I was infatuated. Tata and I fought like children over a toy about whose lap Jimey would sit on. I let Tata win eventually because Jimey looked annoyed and cold. I'm glad that victory never lead into anything more. I don't think Tata even saw him after that game.

Well, simple words and stories were exchanged during the game. No one was rally paying attention to the people on the field... It was really too cold for that. We were just concentrated on keeping warm, mostly. So when the game finished, it took us a second or two to realize it. Jimey had disappeared into the crowd. I didn't hear from him again.

...Until about the middle of January. My friends Zoe, Dustina and I had gone to see Eragon in theaters. And you know who we ran in to? That's right. Jimey. I was still calling him Kerry then, but I soon learned how much he hated his real name... So Jimey and I talked for a minute and then he went back to his group of friends, who I would also come to know as friends. After the movie(which was really awful), Zoe, Dustina and I were ready to leave when Jimey appeared again. We loitered in the mall for quite a long time. It was fun. We eventually ended up exchanging numbers. I didn't hear from him again until February-ish.

He wanted to know if I wanted to go see a movie with him. His aunt would be giving us a ride. I thought they were an hour late, but apparently I was thinking an hour too far into the future. I was just so excited to see Jimey again. I had developed a huge crush on him and was super anxious to see him again.
We were gleefully obnoxious in the theater. There were only about 10 other people in the theater and we sat in the back. Our first inside joke was formed and I cannot, for the life of me, remember what it was... It had something to do with miniature gummi ninjas. He has a shirt that he made with the whole thing on it. I'll ask him what it was next time we talk.

I think on the way back to my house, it became a mutual thing that we both were attracted to each other. I really don't remember what happened in the car to establish this... It was awesome, though. And when we finally pulled up in front of my house, Jimey offered to walk me up the stairs to the house. Once we got out of the car, he whispered to me to run away down the block with him. I obliged, of course. We only got past two houses before his aunt shouted something and we almost died laughing. Oh, that boy is ridiculous. I think he did eventually end up walking me to my house.

I think we talked on the phone a lot after that... or was that after he was sent to Arizona?

A Hat for A Glow in the Dark Condom

I went over to my friend Zoekia's house last night. I had just got The Dark Knight and we were going to watch it in her basement. It's impossible to be in that basement without having something to eat. Seriously. So I brought along a couple packages of Ramen, and upon entering Zoe's house, I see her mom. Through a thick Liberian accent, she asked me what I had in the bag. I showed her the Ramen and she said "oh you don't need to bring food here?" she ends all of her sentences with a high pitch, unless she's angry, "this is a black house. If you want food and we have it, then you can eat it. If we don't have it, well, then, you can't eat it!" I nodded and took off my shoes.

Zoekia then appeared at the top of the stairs to the second floor. She's so adorable when she sees me. I showed her the Ramen and she grinned wider. I showed her The Dark Knight and I thought her face would break. She quickly went back up stairs to grab a blanket to wrap herself in... Then we rushed down to her basement blindly in the dark. I had to use my cell phone to light the steps for me so that I wouldn't trip and, like, die. I jumped onto the couch, Ramen still in my hands, as well as Watchmen, which I had also brought along.

About ten minutes into the movie, Zoekia's mom told us she was going out for a while. We were totally cool with that. Then, about 20 minutes into the movie, I proposed we go up and make use of all these Ramen packets(I had brought five). Grudgingly, Zoekia paused the movie and we flew upstairs. While we waited for the water to boil... We figured it fun to go and bother her sleeping sister, Jojamba. It wasn't.

So we meandered over back to the kitchen... On the way back, I noticed a hat on the table under the mirror. I put it on immediately after Zoe had told me she made it. Water still not boiling. Zoekia opened my right pocket and fished out a glow in the dark condom. She's seemingly endlessly amused by it. I ended up giving it to her in exchange for the hat.

Wow. These glasses ARE loud...

Up until about the 7th grade, I had fantastic hair. I never worried with it. I loved my hair. It was long and shiny and soft... Light brown in the warm part of the year, dark brown during the cold, when I would never get any sun unless I went sledding. But I'd always be wearing a hat anyways, so yeah. I loved my hair. It was wonderful. I always felt pretty, even when I didn't brush it. Especially when I didnt't brush it, actually. My rebellion against my mother started at a very early age...

Well, up until 7th grade I had awesome hair. Then all of a sudden.... It went haywire, almost literally. I think there was a trend. Right when my hair went crazy bushy, I had started to take showers instead of baths. My dad had just installed an upstairs shower and I was excited. Taking a shower felt like a grown up thing to do, and since I was in junior high as well, I felt more grown up.

I endured my long, frizzy hair for two and a half years. I didn't feel pretty through out that entire time except for a few moments scattered about. It was terrible for high school... my confidence was so low. Why didn't I just cut it back in junior high? I'm not sure... I guess I kind of took comfort in my long hair. I could chew on it if I needed to. I could twirl it around my finger if I got bored or nervous. Wrapping my arms around my head made my entire body warmer... I eventually got fucking sick of that noise, though. And I decided to get it cut over winter break.

I was nervous at first, when I entered the hair cutter's domain and sat in the waiting chair and then the hair cutting chair. The lady seemed nice enough. My mom knew her, so I trusted her. I knew I wanted a short cut. Like... above or around the ears. I ended up having an interesting cut, and it was amazing. It was layered and short and shiny.

Once I got home, though... I freaked out. I was already missing the comforts that my long, thick bushy hair provided. I cried. In private, I cried. I don't think I brought it to any one's attention. That's just what happens, though, when I get a hair cut that is drastically different. I really don't like change, it seems, when the change affects me and only me. It was a different story when I went back to school a couple days later.

Every one shat bricks about my hair. It was amazing. I felt so much more confident and less loathsome and angsty. I felt like my true self at last. At lunch, every one of my friends was raving over it. My buddy Sam said "You now look like one of those hip people who would work at a record store." That brightened my day. My friend Peter came up behind me and just started petting my head. He was stunned. It was hilarious. I had finally welcomed myself to the world.

Oyvey...

I'm having enough trouble writing my story for creative writing that I feel utterly dedicated to, and now for my blogging class I must think of stories or a story to write... My brains is not up for this at the moment. Oh, shit. I forgot my script in the car. Shit! I need that... Ugh.

My thought train has taken a wrong turn and now it's stranded somewhere dry and arid. I can't draw any inspiration from things... It's been like that lately... for, like, a week or two... And it's frustrating me to no end. Funny, I have no issues talking about this bane, but trying to think of other things to express? Near impossible.

Blah. I'm going to just mentally spew all over this post. Oh, speaking of spewing....

My cat spewed all over my brother's carpet and internet wires the other day. I think he ate too much food after his surgery... That was my bad for giving him too much food in his dish. My dad was also there when Ace threw up. Neither of us wanted to bother trying to clean the old carpet, so my dad just said "You know what?" and whipped out his knife. He then proceeded to cut out a lazy half circle from the carpet. It smelled so terrible. Poor Ace. First his balls go, then his stomach!

I did NOT get enough sleep yesterday... I had to wake up from a dead sleep yesterday so that I could go along with my parents and my cousin to meet my aunt somewhere... My cousin, Megan has the entire month of December off for a winter break. Lucky college kids. So Megan took a bus ride from Duluth to the Twin Cities, my brother picked her up from the station and brought her to our house. She spent the night... We stayed up really late watching Dr. Who and old digitized tapes of the grand kids on my dad's side. ("The grand kids" being me, my brother, and our cousins. Megan is a cousin from my mom's side.) We hadn't gone through all of the video... We watched my brother's 7th birthday party... And there was some footage of my grandpa Larry... I had never heard his voice before... And remembered it. I was 2 when he died. It was amazing to see him animated... I was near brought to tears when I saw him alive on that tape.

So we watched my brother's 7th birthday party... Then the tape skipped to EASTER! And you know what? I made my first appearance on video. I was an adorable baby. And I squiggled a lot. And I moved my hands a lot. And I had some hilarious facial expressions.

So we all went to bed around 2am. And woke up at 10am... You'd think that 8 hours of sleep would be good enough, right? In short, no. In long, noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
It took Megan, my mom and me about an hour to be fully ready to venture out. Megan is not a morning person, neither is my mom. I'm not a morning person on the weekend, when I know I can be getting more sleep than this.

Jebus...

So I learned last night that my buddy was laid off last week. He was working at Target... And apparently they just sprung it in him. It really sucks because how is he going to pay his rent, now? Hopefully he can find somewhere to work, and fast. He was thinking of maybe working at the AMC theater or maybe Ikea. My mom suggested Ikea to him. Poor Timmy.

I'm so thankful that my dad an brother have been able to keep their jobs. I think the fact that they both work for the state has something to do with it... I'm not sure, though. This whole thing is rather rattling. I am rather rattled. People don't seem to really notice a problem until it affects them directly. Just wow... 553,000 people without jobs... that number is barely feasible. Especially since the effects of just one of my friends losing his job is driving me into a depression, I can hardly imagine 552,999 other people losing their jobs and the impact that really has on everyone. I'm trying my best to not just burst into tears... Fuck.

Well... on a lighter note, it's Friday! And Friday means tomorrow is Saturday! Aaah, those two worry-free nights. Those two nights of peace before you realize you haven't written a huge paper for a class, or you haven't memorized your lines for a skit. Those are some relaxing nights, indeed.

Kick Ass?

Boredom in creative writing class... I think I'll post up some of my story here... It needs to be shared. Here is the first chapter!


She was approached by an elongated shadow. Reclined back on a tree pulp chair, she set down her drink in the scorched sand and stared at the elongated shadow contemptuously. "Let me guess," she started beneath her dusty red hair and brimmed, brown leather hat, "I can run forever, but I can't hide for quite as long." She lolled her head over the back of the chair, squinting from the sun's scathing rays, smirking at the owner of the shadow, who stood a bit behind her right side.
The formless face stared at her, restraining to reveal his surprise and disgust for the woman sitting before him. "Where are my coins?" He managed through gritted teeth. His fists were slowly clenching.
"That's funny...", the woman remarked. "Yes, that's very funny indeed, 'cause I was just about to ask you the exact same thing." She heard a click and flashed her eyes fully open to find a black metal tube pointed directly at her face. Her smirk transformed into a disappointed frown. "Now why would you do that?" Her voice was smooth and serious.
"I want my shipment."
"Really, now? You want it so bad that you'd shoot me in the face for it?"
He nodded, slowly, truthfully.
"Well, seein' as your momma ain't never taught you any proper manners..." She shifted her left hand, pulling something out from under her corresponding leg, "...and since manners are so incredibly important when one wants their cargo of coins... And since these coins seem so dang important to you... Well, then I guess I'm gonna have to teach ya some manners myself."
The man raised his chin arrogantly, but still bracing himself for the worst. He didn't have too long to react, though, because before he knew it, he had a cocked gun in his face, heard a loud "bang!" and then he knew nothing. His death would cause great outrage later, when his body was finally found and the news had reached his superiors.
The woman looked down at the bleeding corpse. She watched, with joyous eyes, the blood soak into the parched sand. No matter how many dozens of company pawns she killed, the woman never lost satisfaction. Imagining the look on her father's infuriated face felt too good to ever lose its dose of malicious potency.
All joy drained from the woman, though, when she had realized that her drink that was resting in the sand had been tipped over and spilled. She stood up, over the dead body, and kicked it with a leather booted foot. She wasn't too worried about the drink, though, as she rummaged through the man's pockets and found her payment easily in his shirt, held in a small burlap pouch. She picked up his gun as well, pointlessly checking it for any flaws. Company weapons were always perfect. The small bag was slipped around the woman's neck, tucked into her shirt, behind her dusty brown vest. Her own gun was placed back in its holster. The company gun dangled in her hand.
Suddenly, the body's face was truly noticed. Curious eyes wandered over to the sunglasses that rested on the nose. Kneeling down, the woman whipped off the glasses with anxious fingers and stared into the still marbles of her brother's eyes. She fell back onto the sand, eying her brother. "Well, Jeremiah..." the woman sighed, "can't say you didn't have this coming." She hunched over, back onto her knees, and proceeded to shift through Jeremiah's pockets once again, with extended care. Several ID cards made their home in the dead man's front suit pocket, all belonging to various organizations and the company. After several minutes of thoroughly checking every single pocket on her dead brother's body, the woman held in her hands two very thick stacks of papers, IDs, letters(a few were packed in envelopes), and a cardboard package from some expensive city delicacy.
She carefully stood up, trying her hardest not to drop any of the collected goods, and trotted through the burning sand past her reclined chair and to the small mud hut that stood a couple feet from a brown pool of water. Inside the hut there was nothing special, just a short, round wooden table, a wooden chair that had only three legs that stood in a triangular formation, and a small cloth bed that laid at the back of the building. A single light hung from the palm tree leaf roof. The woman eagerly threw the stacks onto the table. She planted herself onto the chair, which stood a few inches above the table's surface. She immediately picked the envelopes out of the messy stack. Most of them were addressed to people several continents over with names like Daryl, Alejandro, Rebecca...
The woman's eyes widened significantly as she spotted her own name. She hastily tore open the envelope, finding several large, golden coins with her family insignia stamped onto them, and a short letter, written by Jeremiah. She unfolded it impatiently, tearing part of a corner as she did so.


Rebecca,

You have caused father great pain since you left so many years ago. He's heard about what kind of work you've gotten yourself into and he likes it. He thinks that you're the most worthy to take the seat of company CEO after he passes.
He's dying, Rebecca. You need to come home and take over what's yours. I highly disagree with father, of course, but what he says is pretty much law to us.
I know we weren't very close when we were growing up and it's been ages since we last spoke, but you need to trust me. Father needs you. The company needs you. Now I'm not one to beg, but please. Please go back. We need you.

With love,
Jeremiah
Rebecca raised a high brow with equally high suspicion. Why would her brother write a letter telling her this? Didn't he have the intention to tell her face to face? Most importantly, how in the hell did he manage to find her? It was good that he did write it down, though, she guessed, since he was laying dead in the sand anyway.
A sudden thought flashed through Rebecca's mind. She alertly raised her attention to the open door of the mud hut. She scrambled up and out of her chair, stumbling through the cover from the sun and back onto the sand, casting a weary glance at the corpse that lay next to her reclined tree pulp. Rebecca dashed over to the reclined thing, fell to her knees, and with her bare hands, she tore through the frying earth. With each frantic movement of her blistered, calloused hands, the woman became closer and closer to her intended target.
Her bright red knuckles hit splintered wood. She gritted her teeth and continued to unsurface the battered wood. Finally, after several long seconds, Rebecca had dusted off enough sand to open the buried trunk that she was digging up. She pulled a key out from her vest and used it to open the lock that securely attached itself to two metal rings and wood. Rebecca threw the lock aside and yanked the top up and open to reveal a chest full of shining, polished, sparkling company coins of various metals and detail. She picked one up, smearing a bit of blood on the surface.
The coin was platinum and as big as Rebecca's entire palm. She flipped it over. It had a name engraved on the back, Dwayne Shirkfield. She threw it back into the pile, panicked. Rebecca picked up another coin. It was smaller and made of nickel, showing an interesting contrast between her tan, bloodied hands and the polished, new, light colour of the coin. She flipped it over. Her eyes widened. She read the name "Donna Elwitz". Rebecca whipped the coin back into the trunk, closing it afterwards.
She leaned sideways, stretching out her arm towards the reclined chair. Underneath it was a large wood and rusted, metal shovel. She stood up and began to dig. She dug around the trunk, through the dry yellow sand, straining against her body's desperate signals for rest. At last, she reached the bottom of the wooden case. Rebecca dropped the shovel and used her last few ounces of strength to dash over to the hut. She slid on her knees on the dirt sandy floor over to the bed. She extended a weary arm underneath it and retrieved a small object decorated in cogs, hooks, and rope.
Rebecca stumbled back onto her feet and dashed back to the hole with the trunk. With an inkling of hope, a hook was attached to the lock rings. The cogged machine, no bigger than a small dog, got a switch flipped on and it began to crank and turn it's wheels. The entire trunk was painfully being dragged from it's shallow grave.
Exhausted from the excitement, the red head fell to her knees, momentarily defeated by nature, and then fell fully to the sand. An unsettling but comforting warmth fully surrounded her as her eyelids dropped and limp body rested.

My Cat's Getting Snipped Tomorrow

Oi... I'm sleepy... Stayed up too late last night trying to figure out some major drama going on with two of my distant-ish friends. Bad judgment and tendency to despise are two very bad things to mix or clash together.

My writer's block is slowly being beaten down within an inch of its life. Just suddenly I've been hit with a wall. My mental streamed has been dammed. Frisky, feisty beavers? Oi. So... because of my lack of creativity at the moment... I'm just going to do this blogging assignment in list form. Q and A format. Repetitive music is not the best for when your head is struggling already. Ah. There. Sigur Ros. Now my mind is less tense...

The personality that emerges from their writing topic choices.
A busy, exasperated person seems to write this blog. They seem to be strong, though, and could over come anything they felt they had to, or if they really wanted to.
Their use of language- proficient, punchy or otherwise.
It's informative and wandering... Personal. This person uses their blog very much like a personal journal. But then again, isn't that what a blog is? Only placed out o the public? Their practice of grammar, spelling and punctuation.
It's pretty good grammar. And proper punctuation is always there.
Their knack for descriptive and figurative language.
I didn't notice a real descriptive presence. I mean, they can put a sequence of events together very well without it all getting muddled and stuff. Who their perceived audience is.
Anyone and everyone interested. How their work reads as a whole, stylistically and with or without voice.
I'm actually amazed I got through the whole thing, really... I was only really interested in this person's post about church vs. state. (Guess whose blog I read? =P) I mean, I am interested in people's lives for sure, but that's mostly what this blog is... Oh jeeze. Is that what my blog is, too? Level of writing engagement or commitment from them.
I don't see too much commitment... Well, no, there is a lot. This person posts a lot more than some of the other bloggers... They do get pretty in-depth with stories.
It was very high. Based on what you've read, what kind of a writer is this individual?
This person seems like a relaxed, casual person who finds them-self in busy situations.

Poems! Yay.

Poem numero Uno:
"meow"
Who trod the system,
His nefarious society,
Why understand opinion only to spurn your individuality?
Use zeal and beauty to obscure my space.
Man can expunge scholar observation,
Hence arid faction question paragon veil.


Numero dos:
Wild young music,
That Paints your nude smear,
Scale, shimmer, silhouette,
Electric impressions,
Sing and draw.
Your fashion will try,
Though you will fall.

Oh, mom...

(Crap... I thought I pressed "publish" yesterday...)
I was just on freerice.com, doing some grammar skills tuning, and I came across a phrase that made me smile. It didn't make me smile, even laugh a little, because I knew it, but how I knew it. My mother likes to tell people stories of when I was little, as I'm sure any parent would. Naturally people have a favourite story to tell, or a collection of stories to tell. My mother is kind of a pack rat, so of course she has a collection of stories to tell about me as well as my brother.

Well, my mother has this one story that she loves to tell everyone, probably to show how smart I was(and am?) and to impress others with my intelligence. The story goes "I remember when Martha was in... was it preschool or kindergarten? Well, I remember when she was around that age, I was talking to her teacher. Apparently Leslie, Martha's teacher, had told her to do something. Replied Martha: 'If I were to do that, I would have done it.' This kind of startled Leslie because what five year old would say that?", and then she always adds, "my daughter, of course!" I guess that's what happens when English majors have kids.

I suppose because of my mom's major in English and her constant chatter with me as a baby, speaking "properly" comes easily to me. A lot of the time I don't use my grammatical skills to their full potential, though. Maybe I don't because it sounds too formal? I really can't stand formalities all the time. It really bothers and irritates me. That's probably why I have such a wide range of friends... Because I am alright with speaking without all the correct grammar that my mother uses, and I never rue my decision.

Late... Way late... Really late... Too late...

I feel like I'm floating. Floating through space and time... I'm incredibly calm. I have no idea why I'm so placid... Maybe I'm still processing the events of this week end? A lot happened in the past four days. A lot of time was spent with family. For the first time in years, all of my cousins on my dad's side of the family were in the same place at the same time. My grandma is a powerful woman like that, especially when she just turned 80 years old. She can pull people together.

It's not like my cousins don't like each other... We're a group of eleven kids full of love. Most of us usually come to family gatherings, and by most, I mean 10/11 of us. That one missing link, Peter, is a rare sight. None of us are sure why. Maybe we just don't keep him well informed of events occurring? It's not like we try to ostracize him or anything. We love him so much. I don't want to point any fingers... especially with family, but a few of my cousins also think that maybe it's because of how that side of our families sees homosexuality? They're very religious... Maybe those are reasons as to why Peter never appears? I dunno... I'm just glad he showed up for our grandma's birthday party. That really meant a lot to her.

My grandma's party was on Saturday. My aunt organized this whole thing, a surprise party, at my grandparents' church. We all arrived about an hour before my grandma was about to show up in order to help set everything up. My brother, two cousins, and I were the first to arrive and since we didn't have any of the supplies with which to begin a party, we took a stroll around the church. None of us are religious in any sense and we can be pretty blatant about it. I don't think the other people in the church appreciated that very much. Haha.

So my brother, Isaac, and my two cousins, Tristan and Sydney, and I walked around our grandparents' church... It's actually a very nice house for Jesus. Very Norse. You gotta hand it to religious folk; they know how to make a nice building.

Shortly after we got there and looked around, some more people showed up, people who had table cloths and eating utensils... (To be continued another day...)