The Expiration Date on my Intelligence was January 28.

Ugh. I'm sure you know the feeling. It's like... gah, I don't even know what words to use. My vocabulary has taken a serious hit these past two days. I feel like I'm speaking in tongues [click! lamalamalama schhhpow! I have no freaking clue...].

Yesterday I turned to a friend of mine after completing what I thought was a normal sentence, only to find that his face betrayed my greatest fear: my words had come out like mush, all sort of slurred together to make one really, really big meatball of nouns and verbs. Totally frustrating, right?

At least I had a real excuse yesterday--stupid, howling winds kept me up until 4:30 in the morning the night before--but on Monday and Tuesday my slowness was unforgivable. My brain had turned to a chunk of sponge. No, not sponge... A sponge would be more intelligent than I've been these past three--four--gah, I-don't-know-how-many days.

It's not just a mental thing, either. I'll be the first to admit that I struggle with coordination, but never before have I stumbled into the same flipping door frame three times in one day. It's getting ridiculous, almost like I'm turning into a robot.

But then again, a robot would probably be able to dodge the door frame. I don't know, probably.

I wrote two English essays this week in school, and neither one of them is anywhere decent enough to deserve the time my teacher will spend on editing. My physics teacher informed me that my solution to one of the textbook's problems was "garbage" [one of these days I'm going to lose my self-control and give him some garbage to ponder]. My Econ class is a zoo; literally, like with animals and all. I can't properly describe the kids in that class without making gorilla noises.

And to top it all off, I'm trying to crank out another book. My goal was to be done by February 6th, just like last year, but it's not going to happen.

Wow. That was a whole year ago... Wow. Just wow. Time prefers to fly when I'm not looking, apparently.

I'm off to bed, to dream strange and mildly unpleasant things. Hopefully we won't have school tomorrow--they're calling for about a foot of snow. Knowing my luck, I'll have to go anyway...

Goodnight, world. Don't mind me, I'm just slowly transforming into a maniacal, bumbling looney.

:D !

Take It or Leave It

Sometimes there just aren't enough words. Not enough adjectives or verbs to sum up an experience or an emotion.

So I'm not going to even try to explain all of the details of my discombobulated life. I'm just going to say a few vague thoughts, work on my latest book for awhile, and then tuck myself into bed.

Let the obscurity commence.

You can have me one of two ways, guys: as I am or not at all. There's no middle ground. I am not the innocent child I once was. I'm not perfect--in fact, I'm probably more screwy than even my enemies are willing to admit. And you could maybe even go so far as to label me insane, I guess. If you really want to cross that line.

I try my best to protect myself, and sometimes--a lot of the time--I fail. I can't be invincible, no matter how much effort I put into it. I can't always win. I won't always beat you. I'm ashamed to confess that yes, you could probably use me to your advantage, and I would probably let you. Even though I'd try to fight you off all the while.

The face I wear is one that shields and conceals. It tucks away my insecurities, the faults I know I've got and really can't change. And this battered wall of insecurity surrounds the most damaged portions of my heart and soul, struggling to prevent further atrophy.

The hardest part of all this is learning to accept that it's not going to get any better. Nothing will get easier. Time does not heal wounds, guys--time is the Elmo band-aid that helps you pretend that there was never a hole to begin with. Tylenol won't do much for me, either.

But maybe someday I'll wake up to find that I can rip off the band-aid in one stroke and stare the wound in the face. Perhaps I'll even go so far as to show off my battle scars, proudly displaying them like marks of victory.

Look, world--see what I've lived through. See what I can survive. You're going to have to do better than that if you want to shatter my defenses. Keep working.

So take it or leave it. Take me or leave me. Once taken, I'm yours. Once left, I wash my hands of you.

Maybe someday you'll stop dirtying my palms, and I'll begin to patch my holes. For good.

Back To My Roots [A Quick, Inexplicable Post]

Ah, country music. I love being able to say that I was raised strictly on country. Kenny Chesney, Garth Brooks, Johnny Cash, Tim McGraw, Hank Williams Jr, Faith Hill, Martina McBride and all the others filled my childhood with their sweet sounds. There were also rock influences, obviously, along with other genres, but country was what my radio played. I fall asleep to country music every night [99.5 WYCD, of course!] and I wouldn't have it any other way.

For awhile, I was on a no-country diet. I stuck to my alternative punk/rock and often felt the urge to throw something hiphop-esque in my CD player [back in the days of CDs... lol]. But when my friends--the same friends who absolutely loathed country music before--began to listen to country all the time, I felt out of the loop. I was reunited with my first musical love, and now I'm proud to say that I've found a balance between all the genres I enjoy.

So just for kicks and giggles, I felt like putting a link on here for one of the artists I've come to like recently. She's my age, and extremely talented. I've come to respect her simply because she's not afraid to put her name out there and give life a whirl. I commend her for her courage.

Her name's Taylor Swift. If you can't stand her, don't bother clicking the link. If you love her, you've probably heard all of these songs before. If you're curious [and you're not a country-hater], take a peek.

The songs aren't the full versions, but the snippets are still good. My recommendation? "Picture to Burn." Ever since I heard the third line, I was hooked:

So go and tell your friends that I'm obsessive and crazy
That's fine, I'll tell mine you're gay.

Ah, that makes me happy. :] Three cheers for post-breakup vengeance.

They Call Me the Independent Variable

There's a comfort in math, I've noticed. A solace that comes from the permanence of numbers, of functions. Even the most abstract of concepts is rooted in something substantial...

4 is always 4. It is a quantity, an entity, a value. It will never be anything else.

"What if it's 4.5?" the dim-witted may ask. Well, in that scenario, it's not 4, is it? Just because it contains the digit "4" doesn't make it an actual 4...

I sat down to do my trig homework today and realized exactly how much trust I've put into math. How much faith I've had in the concept of numerical and variable values. I can get up, leave my desk, walk three hundred miles, drive back in a taxi, and the function I wrote on my paper will still yield the same results as they did pre-adventure. Its limits and end behaviour will still be exactly the same. Its intercepts will be identical to the ones before. No matter how many times I blink, it will always be that way.

And for infinity, it will be the same. Forever.

The concept of infinity is one that I love to ponder. Trying to quantify eternity leaves me with a funny, fuzzy feeling in the depths of my chest, as if I've accomplished some death-defying feat with one hand tied behind my back. Such a wonderful feeling.

And so inexplicable! I can't describe the emotions I feel when I try to imagine the unimaginable. Theories beyond my wildest dreams. It's not just for math either, so don't go thinking I'm so bizarre trig-loving freak. It's everything.

So much I know, and so much more I don't. So many secrets I've kept from the world--matched by the thousands the world has kept from me.

Oh, someday, someday... Maybe I'll... Nah.

[Random] Incendiary Verse

Hold your fire ready, but remember who you burn
Their ashes tell us those mistakes from which we ought to learn
Watch your mouth, and hold your tongue, and let your fire fade
Because they'll come to get you, those "friends" you so betrayed.


-KB, 2007

Eh, I Was Bored...

"RUN!"

My feet skidded on the tiled floor, throwing me around the tight corner with unnecessary force. Arms outstretched to catch my stumble, he rolled his eyes and then shot me a brief look of concern.

"Are you all right? Can you keep up?"

I nodded and began to sprint beside him, the muscles in my calves screaming against the motion. Every bone in my body ached at the thought of pushing forward.

The voices were growing louder now, the shouts echoing off the asymmetrically angled ceiling. The lights had been cut hours ago, when the first hostages were taken.

No prisoners today, their leader had whispered to us. I shuddered now as I remembered.

We'd been sitting in class, a normal activity for a high school Tuesday; my fingers had tapped impatiently on the desk while I waited for the rest of the class to finish a test. Sighing to myself, I had turned my head slightly to the left.

The eyes of my partner had met mine, their pale blue matching my dark black only in boredom and exhaustion. We'd both been on call last night; just as those nights always went, we'd gotten less than two hours of sleep each.

Not that I didn't like my job; it just wasn't what I'd initially envisioned. The day the Boss had given me that fateful phone call, I'd truly had no other option. Halfway between the living and the dead had always been my home; I belonged with the Guardians, with their secret world and preternatural talent. To think that I was one of the least experienced field agents made me wonder exactly what those higher-ranking members were capable of.

Working in the dead of the night certainly had its perks--snazzy black car, unlimited senses, and oh, yeah, immortality--but there were nights when I just wanted to sleep. Like last night.

But Benji and I had dutifully answered our phones, arriving at headquarters around one in the morning. We'd spent the entire night cleaning up the mess some crazed medium had made, scraping memories off of city walls and picking up the trembling pieces of soul that were splattered on the streets. I much preferred the nights when we were actually destroying evil, not just acting as its maid...

As my partner's eyes had risen to my gaze, I had become suddenly aware of a disturbance down the hall. A quiet disruption, but a disruption nonetheless. Ben had noticed it too; we'd both turned stock still, our senses fine-tuning the perceptions and giving us a clearer mental picture.

The men had come so quickly that I hadn't even had time to finish the gasp; the air stuck in my throat, choking the words that I now sputtered incomprehensibly. They'd threatened us, their sinister tones ringing in my ears; in only moments, everything around me was suddenly on fire...

And now Ben and I were running down the hallway, our limbs flying against the slippery floor at top speed. We ran from the yelling behind us, because the danger there was over.

We'd followed the attackers from the room.

While I ran, I pulled my hair into a tight ponytail and wiped any sign of weakness from my expression. These were hardened killers, quite the opposite of the usual demons we'd faced. We were the youngest in the field, barely ready to move into the real action...

But we were in it. Without the help of the Boss or any of our coworkers, we were going to have to take on eight men who had come to destroy us.

I gulped loudly and continued to run. This was what the job was about, wasn't it? The adrenaline, the racing pulse, the excitement of the fight...

Ben reached over and grabbed my arm, keeping us close together in the smoke-filled, danger-saturated corridor. The same corridor I'd walked down for years, strolling casually to class. Just a regular high school hallway.

Just another high school Tuesday...

"I've Got Essay All Over My Hands..."

Yes, my friends, it's that wonderful, special, beloved time of year. The time we high school students love to loathe. It's famous among us for its amazing power to separate the dedicated from the lazy, for finally bringing justice to those who didn't do a single assignment all semester and still managed to get an A.

Midterm exam week.

I have so far survived 4 of my 6 exams. The first day--Wednesday--was my easiest by far, consisting merely of Spanish IV and AP Gov. I totally owned those exams. Take that, AP curriculum!

The second day--today--was ironically my second hardest session. Honors English [two essays in 85 minutes] and AP Psych tried to destroy me slowly, but I made it through. When I walked into my Psych exam, my hands were absolutely covered in pencil from writing in English--hence the reason why I rushed to the hand sanitizer dispenser and exclaimed, "Argh! I've got essay all over my hands!" It was interesting.

But now I sit before my computer after studying Physics and AC Trig since 1:30 this afternoon. I got out of school at 10:22, got home at 10:45, went out to lunch with my father at 11, and then napped until 1:10. After that, I sold my soul to the gods of math and science, because tomorrow is THE hardest set of exams for me.

Maddy, RoyGBrown, Anakin, and I busted our bums for the vast majority of the day. With some minor exceptions [like eating, using the bathroom, playing ping-pong--the vitals] and just a few moments of extreme "sorry-my-train-just-flew-off-the-thought-track-and-went-careening-over-a-cliff," we were totally focused.

We read all of the past chapters of Trig and prepared our note cards for tomorrow. We went over all of our Physics notes and did example problems from every chapter. We even found time to breathe, too.

I'm very, very burned out. I'll be fine by tomorrow morning, of course--I'm quite productive under pressure--but by 10:22 I'll be ready to pull my hair out. I have a date with my pillow, my fleece blanket, my pajamas, and the couch at 11 AM; it's probably the only thought that will get me through the day.

Ah, high school. So ridiculous. If I live through tomorow, I'll post again soon.

Fragments, Part II [Thank You for the Thread and Needle]

Morning, afternoon, evening, night. The progress of yet another twenty-four hours. They blend so obscurely that there's no distinction between one and the next.

And yet, sometimes, there is. Because there are those few precious hours each day when the insanity subsides and clarity takes root.

Her fragmented soul need not exist in such a broken state all of the time. She first learned slowly, painfully, how difficult it is to trust another human being; she then learned even more slowly how nice it is when you can.

She sits in pieces in her chair and stares numbly at the words before her. They're meaningless. "There lies information I'll never need, never want, never use," she mutters furiously. She sighs--one of those deep, menacing half-growls--and then proceeds to read on.

When the phone rings, she is eager to answer. Excited, perhaps. For on the other end of the line sits someone she knows and trusts, someone whose fate has become so entwined with hers that their similarities are uncanny. Someone who cares.

"I'll be right over," that someone says, her voice as weary as our fragmented girl feels. The sigh that escapes her lips this time lacks the ferocity of the first, its temperament one of joyful relief.

A half-hour passes, and she waits anxiously. The words on the page are no longer empty. Each letter is distinct and pronounced, each phrase an actual collection of meaning.

When the doorbell rings, she smiles, a gesture so treasured that she savors it for a moment. As the door opens, her expression is reflected by one so similar that she nearly laughs.

"I brought everything I could," the dear friend says clearly, closing the door. "All the books. Want to start with Gov?"

"Sure," the girl states in a happier tone. "Let's get going."

And the next five hours are more distinct from the previous thirteen than she ever dreamed possible. She lets the ecstasy in the air bathe her skin in its gratifying glee, watching as it does the same to her friend.

Both are tired and weary, their faces drawn after so little sleep the night before. Both are bored to tears with the books before them, their smiles only plastered on because the other girl is present. Because the other girl puts it there.

More than friends, the girls are sisters. Sisters not by blood, but by choice. As they stand united against a force more powerful than any imaginable, the bond between them is strengthened, more and more each day. No amount of agony or suffering will destroy the ties that bind them together in this battle.

Because it is a battle. It is a struggle every day, to rise and meet the enemy with unwavering courage. There is something to be said for the power of sisterhood and brotherhood, a something so few can put into words. Something she never can quite put her finger on.

As she sits at the table--music loud, pencils flying across the page--she notices for the first time that her fragmented soul has mended itself. That the scars snaking across her battered heart have been healed. With no fear, no chaos, and no regrets, she feels as though she can do this. She will make it.

She will survive the downfalls and hurricanes. She will conquer the terrors and demons. She will live not only for herself, but for her sister. The girl who unknowingly brought a needle and thread to their studying session and used it sew up the pieces of her little sister's soul.

And she will also remember these days for the moments when she felt whole, not the hours when she fell apart.

Because those broken hours are almost never worth a second glance.

Fragments

"I'm half sick of shadows, too" she whispers into the night, accidentally reading aloud from one of her favorite books. If only she could be the Lady of Shalott...

The words to her songs don't really mean much anymore, do they? The same ones always bring those worthless tears while others strike a chord and force her to think. Force her to remember. She wants to start fresh, in her own skin, and be known for the woman she's become.

Memories that normally evade her have come to haunt these hallowed grounds; emotions she thought she'd never feel have raised their flag upon the fortress. The conflict within her is remarkable, some say, but she can't see why. There's nothing special about confusion.

Survival--so basic, so trivial--has become her only necessity. Live through the next year. The next month. The next week, day, hour, minute...

It's not that she'll suddenly up and die; it's that she fears the morbid atrophy that comes with living tough. With living for the long run.

"I'll do it all tomorrow," she whispers, closing the book and staring at the ceiling. "I'll do everything that I've put off. All the work, all the plans, all the everything..."

And when she's finally through with all her empty promises, she curls in on herself, slashing through the hard exterior. She's not as strong as she thought; no, even the most convincing confidence can't fool her into thinking that she's durable.

Feeling fragile and weak, she slams her eyes shut and tries to sleep. With the loss of consciousness comes a small sense of relief--no one will find her here. Come what may from the outside world, she can have her freedom in her dreams. Entirely liberated, she does what she wants, not what is expected of her.

There's a mirror there, tall and polished, the few scratches standing out from the otherwise perfect glass. She leans in to see her reflection, to catch a glimpse of what she is.

"I see not what I wish to see; I see instead a mere glimmer of what I've been," she mutters, furious with what meets her eye. The glass simply snickers and stalks off to bother another victim.

She sits in the grass and tries not to feel the bafflement, the confusion flowing through her veins. So much of her is tied to the reality--the work, the society, the world--and yet a decent portion has been long dedicated to the imaginary. So much of her is lost...

As she sits upon the cool, dewy grass and pretends not to feel, the fragments of her very soul divide themselves, splitting her up and shattering her sense of normality. She can't help it; she's too weak to fight the separation, too broken to resist.

She awakens to the darkness of another winter morning, and paradox eats at her heart. The greatest tragedy of mankind has now befallen her.

Those who hang from the cliff by a thread will never have the courage to let themselves go, while those who freely walk the surface can always choose to jump.

You'll be surprised what she'll survive when she gives herself no choice but to live.

She Who Was Born to Carry the World

Try to see from my point of view for just a few minutes:

You're sitting there, minding your own business, when suddenly BAM! the world comes up and says, "Hey, wanna haul me around for awhile?"

You say sure [as if you have a choice] and before you can even read the fine print on the contract, you're suffocating.

All of the problems, puzzles, clues, evils, hints, tricks, and pains--it's all yours. Happy birthday.

Did I ever mention how difficult it is to feel all of your emotions? I finally figured out why I can feel them, too [though it has provided me no relief...]. It's good ol' synesthesia, acting up again. You feel an emotion, it registers as a color in my head, and my brain gets tricked into thinking that I'm feeling it...

More tricks. Ugh. Ew.

But that's how my days go, guys. I wake up after having vivid dreams [often the kind you would consider nightmares] only to find that the real world is no better. You're all so angry, so tense, so sad...

How am I to keep from going mad? I'm a mere human girl. I can't be supernatural. I can't be anything more than this.

And yet, I am. I have to be. Without you knowing it, I will bear your burdens and share your joys. I will be blessed on your good days and agonized on your bad.

A public service announcement for the Red Cross reads, "We've never chatted in the grocery store, but I will help save your life." I laughed when I read it, because it's just so damn ironic.

Welcome to my life, people. I'm only here to be a part of your lives, to save them if need be. I don't want gratitude [because I'm not even sure if I deserve it]. I don't want fame or fortune. I just want to be able to sit in a chair in a crowded room and feel only ONE set of emotions. My own.

I thought maybe that I was just really, really empathetic. Ha. I've learned all about empathy, and yet I've never seen anyone else react the way I do to another's pain or ecstasy.

I'm sorry, I'm ranting. But everyone was emotional in school today [for absolutely no reason whatsoever] and it's wearing me down.

Have a splendid day, world. Try to be happy--for everyone's sake.

Odd?

Today was one of the weirdest days so far this school year. It made absolutely no sense. Not a bit. Nothing. Nada.

Let's start with the weather. Just last week we were experiencing temperatures so low that I didn't even want to look outside. There was a mound of snow at the end of my driveway, and ice splattered all across the streets...

And now today, it's a humid 55 and every last trace of snow has vanished. It's absolutely ridiculous.

My school day itself was a bit strange, too. For one thing, it didn't feel real; I felt like I was dreaming all day long. For another, I was a bit on the giddy side. I know that that sounds entirely impossible, but I was indeed giggling childishly and grinning from ear to ear. Without any cause or reason.

I drifted through classrooms, barely focused on my surroundings. I did each class's homework in the hour before it was due, something I never do; I studied for my third hour quiz in second hour, did my fourth hour reading in third hour, did my fifth hour homework during lunch, studied for sixth hour in fifth hour...

What was wrong with me? I don't know. I just sort of breezed through everything, breathing in and out and not really caring about much else. "Oh, you want me to answer a question, Teacher? I would love to, but I haven't been listening for the past twenty minutes..."

And just like that, I arrived at my house, completely unaware that we'd been driving home in the first place. I now sit before my computer with a baffled look upon my face as I ponder where all of the daytime went.

What a peculiar eight hours. Thank God they're over...

Welcome Back, Agent Abby.

So I had school on Thursday and Friday, unlike so many surrounding districts in southeastern Michigan. I wasn't exactly pleased, considering the circumstances, but I decided to sally forth and deal.

Thursday was, well, sort of like drowning. I almost fell asleep in each of my first three hours. I start my day with Spanish, and that was interesting. Never try to conjugate verbs when you're half-dead. And then in my third hour, there's this girl I would just love to kick. Preferably in the face. As a normally non-violent person, my reaction to her stupidity often shocks me. It's just another everyday idiot, I tell myself patiently, hoping that maybe I won't strangle her right then and there...

Anyway, Friday came after Thursday, as it often does--every week, to be more precise. But it came and went without much delay, and I found myself quite content to lie still and stare at the ceiling for awhile when I came home. I couldn't sleep--no, it was far too early to do that--but I could just lie there. So I did.

I did what I do every other weekend. I took an enormous chunk out of my never-ending pile of homework [damn you to the deepest pit of hell, Physics] and spent some quality time with Aphrie and Thena. I need that time. Without it, I'm pretty much screwed.

And now, from where I sit, this next week looks a bit menacing. I have a test/quiz in every subject this week--along with two more ACT prep essays, ew--and somehow I have to find time next weekend to study for exams. Ick. If life gets any more busy, I'm going to have to bang my head against a wall periodically just to clear my mind...

Is there a solution? Ay, there's the classic catch. We spend all our lives working just so we can have free time later, only to discover that we worked throughout all of our free time.

We waste what we've got, don't we? We squander freedom on regimented fun.

From now on, I break the rules. I'll break them all. Today is mine.

I Hereby Resolve

Here they are, folks. The long-awaited, highly-anticipated NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTION(s).

I went with eight--as previously stated--and now I find myself eager to begin a brand new year. 2008! What a number. In a year from now, I'll be almost done with high school [YESSS!].

Let the resolving commence by my saying that you may not understand these. Some are pretty straightfoward, but some of them... aren't. Just keep smiling and stick with me.

2008 New Year's Resolutions for Abigail Morgan:

1) Better understand my own power and weaknesses. Pretty self-explanatory. I want to know me, and I want to know me well.

2) Better understand the world around me, including its power and weaknesses. Along with coming to terms with myself, I feel I should open my eyes a bit and come to understand the people around me as much as is humanly possibly.

3) Resolve our fairy tale--for better or for worse. No matter the end to this madness, guys, it's gotta come to a close. Despite the consequences.

4) Strengthen relationships worth strengthening, and sever those that aren't. I can't keep hanging on to dead weight or parasites. Be gone, nasties!

5) Finish The Heiress by the end of the summer. For me, this is a ridiculously optimistic goal. I will do my best, however, to meet my own goals...

6) Finish at least half of The Emperor by Christmas. Lol. Now I'm really being ambitious.

7) Maintain my academic success to earn the scholarships I want. I have quite a bit of school still ahead of me, but with any luck, my grades will stay put and I'll somehow manage to get into Kettering.

8) Get back the healthy me. I promised I'd want to get into shape, didn't I?


There you have it, niños. My goals for the next 363 days [yes, I counted February 29th].

Here's to a whole year of getting what we wish for.

Thena!

HAPPY 17TH BIRTHDAY, THENA!

Hope you get everything you could ever dream of, big sis.
<3