Midnight Clearing

Clarity comes when least expected, when you least desire it to come. When deep down you already know the answer and hearing it out loud will only make the wound tear itself open again.

When you feel like you can't live through the truth, it finally comes to you.

My dreams do this to me every night. My problems, my questions, my hopes and fears... So much is revealed--if a bit cryptically--in the dreams. But they're just vague enough that I don't have enough answers to be satisfied, to have the thirst entirely satiated.

Last night, I dreamt about so many people, all in one place at the same time, all shouting at me from different directions. Nothing new; I've seen this before. They shout and they cry and they scream and point in separate ways and beg me to save them.

Stupidly, I do. And I always end up dying to do so.

But last night was a little bit different than before. Last night, I recognized no one--not a single person--and felt more alone than ever before. There was only one person whose presence seemed to comfort my fear, and he, too, was completely unfamiliar.

He didn't smile, didn't offer me any assistance, didn't even speak to me at first. He watched me struggle with the screamed instructions, watched me stumble down the endless, dripping corridors that lead to thousands of dark dead ends...

As I prepared myself for the end of the dream [I can always tell when it's almost over; the entire atmosphere changes, shifting to revolve around me instead of the whole scene] and for the "death" that would soon follow, he suddenly appeared again, shattering the tension and staring down at me with cold, sad, deep eyes.

"You shouldn't have come," he said quietly, his voice only a murmur in the odd air. "You should have stayed where you were and avoided all of this. Too many mistakes. Too many mishaps. You're a menace, little girl, and you've ruined everything.

"They're all going to die, because you didn't save them. You didn't try hard enough. You failed. You--"

It's at this point that I broke his face. He screamed at first--high-pitched, sort of silly--and then crumbled into a thousand tiny bits of dust. I stood before him, ready to fight him if he put himself back together...

And I died, just as predicted, but the dream didn't end. The people went on living, each with a separate direction and purpose. All because I saved them. Because I did everything I could for them, without questioning my job. And, in my half-awake lucidity, I found that I was shockingly content.

Is this my place? My purpose? To be the one who saves them all without a single regret? I can't be sure. I can't be sure of anything. I'm certainly not going to die any time soon [hopefully, anyway] and I'm pretty sure the masses won't gather to shout at me, but still... The meaning was clear.

If I let the questions get into my head--the voice of the familiar boy with the deeply depressing eyes--then I'll fail. I have to have no doubts, no regrets, if I want to succeed and ensure that the people I love don't get hurt. I'm not expecting impending murder or attack. I'm waiting for the emotional struggles of everyday life to catch up to people, to harm them. It's my job to prevent such pain...

The thing is, I'm not sure if I'm able to protect them without asking questions.

And the thing about that is that it scares me beyond all belief to think that my measly doubts could affect their lives.

Me and the Music

So as you all know, I play the piano. I'm sort of good, I guess--what with not having lessons since I was really little and all--but I struggle with some very basic things, like trills and nine-note stretches.

As I've said before, I have little hands. Disproportionately so. I can't really go nine notes and try to play other things at the same time. Eight is perfectly okay [I would be in really bad shape if I couldn't do the whole octave thing] but nine just hurts.

My hands are also the reason I can't play the guitar. Trust me, I've tried. My fingers don't wrap around far enough to reach the strings. I know, I know, people with little hands play instruments all the time... But when it hurts to strum a single chord, is it really worth it?

So I'll stick to my piano. I'm learning three new Beethoven songs [Sonatina in F, Moonlight Sonata, and the Turkish March] and I'm finding that this whole "learning" thing gets WAY easier over time. It used to be that it took me months to master a new piece, and I would have to sit and actually count the beats. Now it's more like a few weeks, and the rhythm comes more naturally.

Still, I'll never be pro, and I'll never write my own music. I just don't have that kind of musical ability. I can write the words to songs from dawn until dusk, but don't ask me to put a tune to it...

Back to the bottle drive [it's for my bro's DI team... I disappeared for a few minutes...].

More of the All, Less of the Nothing

Something in that smile makes me
Weak, and I try my hardest not to laugh.
You're ridiculous to an extreme, sort of
Funny in a childish sort of way
Yet it's not the charm that charms me
It's not the attraction that attracts me
It's everything that shouldn't, all
The things that make no sense
And it's frustrating
Irritating
Awful, terrible, miserable
And I can't make head nor tail of it all, even
The things that should be perfectly clear

We're absolutely wrong in every way
I don't want you, and you
Don't want me
But I'm afraid that it's not going to be
How we wish it was
Because despite the wrongs, it's
Absolutely right, and
I'll always wonder if we should have tried
Just a little bit harder
To keep it right

I'll never be enough for you
And you will never be enough for me
But I'll settle if you'll settle
I'll take care of you if you'll take me in
I don't want you forever, and you
Won't want me that long, either
But now is enough
This time is enough
These moments are just enough
To make the whole struggle worth the effort.

Keep Me Here

You, me, her, him. All of us. It's not hard to see that we belong together.

So many roles I play, you know? And I wouldn't trade a single one of them away.

I'm a twin [a triplet, actually, but nobody likes our brother] to the ever-thoughtful Maddy, a little sister [and number one fan!] to the big-hearted Cassie, a big sis [and always-shoulder] to the silly and loving Kailey [and Young Matteo], and VERY closely tied to so many more [Barbie, Debbie, Lyrika...]. We're a family, more than anyone could ever realize.

It's those weird moments in your life that you finally recognize who loves you and who doesn't. Never again will I make the mistake of treating you guys poorly--never, never, never.

I look in the mirror, and I don't just see me. I see everyone who's made me who I am--biological family, extended family, friends, everyone--and it makes me happy. To know that I'm loved, and that I have enough connection with the world to get me through the day.

Because there are days I feel disconnected, and nobody should ever have to feel that way.

The tides are changing, and so am I. Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually decaying, but then I remember what holds me together, and I know that I can survive. We can do this.

I know it's risky to trust others. I know it's terrifying to think that these wonderful siblings I've got could potentially hurt me. But I don't care. I'm done being safe. I'm done playing by the rules.

So I'm going to love and not look back. I think I can love. I can trust, I can hope, I can feel, and I think I'll be able to learn how to love.

"If I Start Singing Right Now, Those Little Forest Creatures Better Come Clean My Room."

Definitely just watched Enchanted with Barbie. I'm not above Disney movies, and I never will be.

I want to be Giselle. So bad. I want a little chipmunk who talks to me and mice who wash the dishes. I want to make my dresses out of curtains and still look amazing, and I want to be able to believe in fairy tales [and true love].

Or maybe I just want a man who's willing to face a dragon for me... if such a man exists.

Hi, I'm Angry.

You know what bugs me? The Y chromosome. That's right, boys, you irritate me. You get us all twisted up in your crazy lives and then drop us like bad habits. Not cool.

You play games with our minds. Again, not cool. I'm a logical person, and I can credit the male population with destroying my rational thought. Thanks, guys.

Some of you are okay. Some. The ones that are just my friends and my brothers. But the rest of you can jump off a cliff.

The Hush Sound has a song called "The Boys Are Too Refined" [see playlist]. They're right, they are. They're so nice and sweet and mature on the surface... while actually they're still cavemen on the inside. Still waiting for you guys to make fire, aren't we?

Grr. I don't even know where this rant came from. Well, maybe I do... But either way, I'm angry.

I Don't Get It?

I just watched Across the Universe for the first time at Debbie's house.

Holy crap. [!]

I feel like I was just flying. Is that normal? Agagaga... Doesn't help that I'm very much exhausted and my brain has killed itself. Mehh...

I wonder, if someone were to actually be on a sixties-style acid trip, would the movie make more sense? Not an experiment I'm willing to embark on. No thank you.

I'm seriously considering watching another movie right now [probably Rent, it's sitting right here in front of me] just to get the weirdness out of my head. I won't be able to sleep for quite awhile, not after that.

It was good, though. Very good. I'd watch it again in a heartbeat. I think I may have fallen in love with Jude, though... Something about those British boys just melts the heart [and my sisters agree].

I need to stop typing, I think. Goodnight :]

A Flaw in my Character[s]

I walked in the door at 11:13 last night, my brain buzzing from the Starbucks caffeine rush that Kailey, Cassie, Fish [Kailey's boy], and I had just enjoyed. Definitely incapable of sleeping at all, I cleaned my room.

Hold the applause, please. I know it's shocking, but yes, OCD always wins in the end, and my room is now almost clean. But after my little obsessive-compulsive spree, I still couldn't sleep, so I sat down with the good old laptop and started to write.

Now, writing hasn't been easy lately. My head's too full of wild ideas and my life is too distracting. This was the first time in a long time that I cranked out more than just a bad page, and all I could manage in an hour was a whopping total of five measly pages.

Pathetic. It works, though.

Here's my biggest problem. After reading Book II in the trilogy, you kind of really like my main character. She's tough, she's smart, she endures a lot of "stuff" [no details, you cheaters]... She's a lot like the person I wish I was.

But by the time you reach page fifty of Book III, you hate her. A lot. From her daughter's point of view, she's a mildly psychotic mother, and every flaw in her character floats up to the surface.

It bothers me a little to have to recognize these flaws. I thought I'd created this invincible woman, one who can do everything and fears nothing. I was wrong, though; I'd created a normal human being, one who has flaws you wouldn't have expected after reading Book II.

She's controlling, defensive, and irrational. She keeps secrets from her children and refuses to listen to the logic that her friends and family present. Her life was turned upside down, it's true, but she takes the trauma and turns it into something bad.

Can I change her? No. No, I can't. She's done. I've said before how my characters control me, how they dictate where my stories go; this character is no exception. Flaws or no flaws, her personality is set in stone.

But she's not alone in the flawed category. Her daughter, too, is ridden with mistake-making tendencies that I can't correct. She's stubborn, impulsive, and begrudging. She forgets about her responsibilities and refuses to grow up. Her sister is her foil--quiet, patient, thoughtful--but even that character makes mistakes: she overthinks EVERYTHING and can't see the blatant evil in the villains she encounters.

And then there are the others! The cousin, with her naivety and wonder at the world; the uncle, strong but always terrified of upheaval; the visitors, too secretive and distrusting for their own good; the great-grandmother, her traditions interfering with the flow of the current world... Even the characters who are long dead have left their flaws etched into the world--their mistakes, however minor, haunt my living characters and change their paths accordingly.

Maybe this is what stories are supposed to be about, the flaws in human nature. It wasn't my intention--hell, I just wanted to write a book--but it has worked out in my favor, I suppose. These "people" can't change, because real people don't, but in the course of their lives I guess it's my job to show them how to cope with their own befuddling personalities.

Maybe these characters reflect my own flaws, too. Maybe this is me trying to explain myself. I'm just as crazy as the next person, but maybe I don't want to be...

Gah. So much to think about. Who would have thought that weaving my own little world would have such a great effect on me?

Wishes, Wonder, Worries, and Wants.

I blew out a candle on a cake today, in celebration of my so-soon birthday. I actually made a wish, too--a real, genuine wish.

But you wouldn't know about wishes, would you? Either you wouldn't know or you wouldn't care. Wishing isn't for the perfect people, the people like you.

Ha. What could you possibly have to wish for, anyway?

I don't want to think about you anymore. I don't want you in my head, in my dreams, in my life... I want you to leave. Kind of ironic, because before, I just wanted you to stay.

Your family was gathered today, weren't they? Gathered without you. But you wouldn't know, and you wouldn't care.

I sometimes wonder--mostly in the early hours of the morning--if you miss anything. If there are any pieces of your life that now feel like vacant holes. Can you remember me? Do you even try? Does my face bring you as much pain as yours brings me?

Part of me hopes that there's nothing you miss. I actually want you to be happy, you know. I don't want you to suffer. Making choices like the ones you've made can either end in total bliss or total sorrow; for your sake, I hope you're content where you are.

Even though you chose what I could never choose, part of me really hopes that you're at peace with it.

But then there's this other part of me--of equal size--that prays you're miserable. That you've woken up to find that your perfect world isn't as beautiful as it seemed, that the flowers have all died and the ocean's frozen over. I want you to pay for the hurt you've caused, and misery is probably the best sort of payment. It only seems fair, right?

I know these two desires are impossible to reconcile. I know that. Logic still does have some bearing on my life; I'm not entirely irrational. I can still think in this fog you've cast upon us.

That ability--to process information when no one else can--is what makes me the strong one. The glue that holds them all together. I can't fail in this, because if I were to falter, they all would come apart. This fortress that we've built is covered in weak holes, and the only thing keeping the patchwork together is me.

So thanks. Thanks for making me responsible for so many more lives. Thanks for putting me in a position I neither wanted nor deserved. Thanks for raining on so many fires.

Oh, and thanks for teaching me how to bear the weight of the world. I needed that little lesson, right? I needed to know how to carry the universe and all its cruelty. I needed to be forced just a bit more into the adult world. I needed to be shattered a little more thoroughly.

I needed it all, right? That's the only justification I can come up with. The only reason that makes any sense whatsoever.

Because I certainly didn't want any of it. Not a single bit.

Eggscellent...

Aw, ick. Egg puns. You know I've spent way too much time writing scripts for DI when I start using bad puns as post titles...

But anyway--happy Easter, everybody. I spent yesterday with one family, and I'll spend today with another. Much ham [not my favorite] and potato product, and twice as many laughs.

We're also celebrating my birthday today with the family, as well as my aunt's and my Gothsister's [she's my cousin, guys]. As you can see, this is quite the occasion for us all.

It's so strange to sit back and think about the fact that I'm going to be seventeen in just ten days. How weird! That's seventeen birthdays, Easters, Christmases, Thanksgivings...

I just can't get over it. I know that seventeen really isn't an important birthday, and that I still have a lot of life left to live, but it's shocking to think that I've been alive for almost two decades. So weird. It still feels like I'm five years old, like I can count all my birthdays on one hand and then run out to play.

I want to grow up so, so bad, but I... don't. I want to stay here. I want to stay in this exact time, where everything is good and stable and whole. I want this for the rest of my life.

Have a happy Easter, and so much more. Have a happy life.

Excited Exclamation!

So now my sisters have blogs... again. Definitely makes me very, very happy. Is this how a heroin addict feels when they get somebody else addicted? Sort of a sick pleasure?

Just kidding, I'm not that weird. But this is definitely cool. Cassie just told me about hers via comment, and I had a small spaz attack on my chair... Lol you're awesome, hon. :]

Here are the links. You want to check them out:

Cassie [my hilarious big sis]: http://anunknownfairytale.blogspot.com/
Maddy [my very silly twin sis]: http://liivelaughhlovve.blogspot.com/

Now I've just got to get little sister Kailey and big sister Barbie hooked, and we'll have the whole family on the Internet. Well, excluding the boys, anyway... ;]

Amazing. Simply amazing. How in the world did I end up with siblings this great? :D




*Quick reality check: By the way, Cassie and Thena are the same person, as are Aphrie and Barbie. Long story, but they're going back to regular names now. Tia's back to Debbie, and Seph's back to Lyrika [if that's normal?]. Just thought you'd like to know. :P

Trembled Fault

This is a shake down.
What once was stable has been shattered
You can't imagine how it feels
There's a hole in the fabric across your bed
The hole's that you're not in it.
You can't fathom what I think
I'm shaking, shivering, wondering
How and why and so many other clichés
If this is a shake down
I'm the one shaken
And down's the only way to go.

Last Glance

In the movie Elizabethtown, the character portrayed by Orlando Bloom calls himself a "collector of last looks." He memorizes the expressions on each person's face as they walk away from him for the last time.

I wish I had that talent. I wish I had some sort of internal alarm, something that alerted me as to when I was seeing someone I would never see again.

It would keep me just a little bit more sane if I could remember your last look. I wish I could recall it. But all I seem to recollect are the looks you gave me long before our final meeting.

There's something tastefully tragic about a lost cause, something so artistically appealing that I can't help but think about you. You are the most disappointing thing that's ever entered my life, and yet, at the same time, you're also the most intriguing.

God, I so want to remember the last face! The last look! But I can't make up memories, can I? I can't recreate the past, no matter how hard I try.

I've made it a goal from this point forward to commit parting expressions to memory. To never forget the way someone's eyes stared at mine before they got into their car, or the way their mouth curved up into a half-smile as we said our goodbyes. There's nothing now that I want more than to hold those images in my heart.

I guess I did learn something from you after all.

My Own Jazz Age

Colored shapes sprawled on the icy floor
They are the law that we nine obey
I align myself between their fixed places
And hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Counts flow through the silent air
A few shouts from the crowd, but I'm not listening
Feet, hands, shoulders back
Blues and blacks and reds across our pale faces
Seduce the crowd, they say
Make them shout your name!
I'm spinning through the colors on the floor
And holding my breath
And closing my eyes
And smiling
The music is so, so sweet.

I could live in this paradise
This tumultuous, ever-moving, oddly blissful
Wonderland of a place and time
Minutes only, but hours still
The moves are in a foreign tongue
French name, familiar step
Don't need to know the meaning to understand
I'm twisting, curling, flying through the air
Not weightless, but smaller when contrasted
Air and space are nothing.

I am what they said I'd never be
Floating in the ocean they swore would drag me down
And I'm not afraid
To hold my breath
And close my eyes
And smile
Confident
The practice has made me stronger, faster
Lighter, happier
I find my final colors on the floor
And stand between their enduring spots
Knowing they'll be there tomorrow night
When we all return to finish
What we started. We pose, and
The stage light vanishes.

One More Justification for Crying

I forgot one reason. Kind of an important one.

4. I will undeniably shed a few tears when I'm overloaded with emotional, mental, social, and physical stress... either all together simulatenously or in any combination of those four. When I hit rock bottom--when I cannot function because every single aspect of my life is crumbling and nobody seems to notice and the work and pressure just keep piling on--I will, without any shred of doubt, cry. Part of it is the exhaustion; self-control can't be perfect when you're running yourself ragged. The other half is anger--which we've already discussed--because it's all too easy to be angry with myself, when I'm wearing down, and with others, for the pressure they put on me.

I had to add that one. It's a bit of a complex reason, but hey, it works.

Why I'd Cry...And Why I'd Not.

I have to admit, I'm a moderate crier. I don't sit around and sob incessantly without reason--sorry, guys, I'm a little bit stronger than that--but I'm also not the type who sits and laughs when a dog gets shot [Old Yeller, anyone?].

There are only a few reasons why I start the waterworks. I'm pretty sure they're legitimate...

1. Because I'm furiously, fire-spittingly angry. You know you've pissed me off [yes, I said "pissed"] when I start to cry. It may be the most ridiculous response, but I can't really do much about it. If I try to stop crying when I'm already fuming, I just get angrier at myself and it starts a vicious cycle of fury and sobbing. Grr.

2. Because I'm hungry. I know, you're thinking that that sounds really, really pathetic. But you've got to understand, my blood sugar goes CRAZY when I get hungry, and I slip into a state of shock with which only diabetics or hypoglycemics like myself can sympathize. Ask my DI team, they'll tell you what happens when I go more than five/six hours without protein [I am so sorry, guys]. I turn into a superbitch [yes, I said "bitch"... If there were ANY other proper word, I would use it, wouldn't I?], the tunnel vision clicks in, and my limbs and face start to go numb. So I start to cry. Pathetic, yes, but not really my fault. Self-control seems to escape me when I can't feel my arms and my vision's blotchy.

3. Because something terrible, horrible, or otherwise severely depressing has just occurred. Death has a funny way of making me cry, you know? And other kinds of awful situations. I don't really feel the need--or the desire--to elaborate.

That's pretty much it. I don't cry a lot. It's too embarrassing and, much worse, totally sissy. I'm tough, not a wuss. I've got enough control most of the time to make sure you don't know I'm upset.

Yet you can't forget that I am indeed human. I feel, you know. Being everyone else's support hotline doesn't make me invulnerable. And carrying the weight of the world doesn't make me any stronger than the average person.

I feel. I just don't always let you see it.

To Forget is to Forfeit, Isn't It?

Maybe I'm a little bit sentimental. Maybe I've spent too many hours wondering where you are and where you've been.

Or maybe I'm just as human as the next lost soul.

I'm having a hard time finding an emotion that I'm not familiar with. Nothing surprises me anymore, nothing. You cured me of any curiosity I may had felt toward emotional experiences.

I suppose, maybe, it's about endurance. Maybe I'm just supposed to push through whatever comes my way.

But what if there's no precedent for me to follow? Nobody to emulate, no preset path to wander down... I'm gasping for air in a vacuum and trying to swim through solid glass. It's not easy. So few people have done this before me; it's not what everyone thinks.

I can only blame you for part of it, but it's enough. Enough to make me angry with you.

Suppose, for a minute, that someone did that to you. Oh, wait... You can't suppose anything, can you? I remember, now.

I'm not weak. I'm not perfect. But I am fed up. I'm going to endure from now until the end of time, and you're never going to know how much my endurance has cost me.

So forget you. In reality, I may never be able to, but it helps to say it. Forget you. Forget you. Forget you.

Or, I guess... Love you. Tell me, why is that so much easier to say?

Lyrically Inspired

So I found this new band that I really, really like. Well, I didn't find them, exactly. I was told a thousand times by multiple people to check them out.

They're called Secondhand Serenade, and I really, really, really like them. I bought four songs by them so far--three of which are in the playlist on this blog--and I'm debating whether or not I should just go and buy the whole album right now. It's tempting.

But the lyrics I want to share with you are from the song "Goodbye." I put an excerpt from it on the page already, but I want to put the whole song out there, simply because it matches my current [strange] mood and is just, well, good.

So here's "Goodbye," by Secondhand Serenade:

It's a shame that it had to be this way
It's not enough to say I'm sorry
It's not enough to say I'm sorry
Maybe I'm to blame
Or maybe we're the same
But either way, I can't breathe
Either way, I can't breathe

All I had to say is goodbye
We're better off this way
We're better off this way

I'm alive, but I'm losing all my drive
'Cause everything we've been through
And everything about you
Seemed to be a lie
A guiltless, twisted lie
It made me learn to hate you
Or hate myself for letting it pass by

All I had to say is goodbye
We're better off this way
We're better off this way...

And every, everything isn't only
What it seemed, so hold these
Words that you never told me
It's time to say goodbye
It's time to say goodbye
It's time to say goodbye
Goodbye
Bye

Take my hand away
Spell it out
Tell me I was wrong
Tell me I was wrong



Definitely one of my new favorite songs. I'm not sure why it stuck with me like it did, but I can't shake it.

Musical rule to live by: If you can't get it out of your head, get it stuck in someone else's. :]

Talk About a Flashback...

For Thena and Aphrie. Perhaps, someday, with this lucid hindsight, we'll make sense of this:

Summer after ninth grade. Weather's hotter than the pits of hell. We're still in that "walk everywhere" phase of life, so we're walking, naturally, along the busy road that flows just beyond my house.

The convenience store is just a block away, and we're determined to be outside as much as possible today. In the open air. On display for the entire world, so they won't miss us somehow.

"They'll come. I'm sure they will. They have to come. They promised..." I smile and nod, trying to believe your words with every fiber of my being.

We spent two whole nights together, the three of us, just to be sure that we wouldn't miss a single moment of that sacred day. First midnight to the next midnight, we hoped and prayed that our insights weren't wrong.

But they never came. Neither of them showed. We wore the colors that we'd said we'd wear and even did our hair despite the wretched heat, but there was no tangible sign of the two who'd promised to arrive that day.

Disappointment was a cloudy daze. None of us could see through the mist that now shrouded over us, and our wildest dreams began to unravel.

But you guys and me, well, we weren't going to give in that easily. The summer ended, as summers always do, and the fall soon rolled into view. We dreaded the start of school--not because of what would begin, but because of the adventures we knew would end.

September brought about a fresh wave of unfulfilled hopes. They never showed, again. They'd swore up and down that they would come in some way...

March, too, proved to us that all dreams must die. And yet, we still believe we're right. The world doesn't know what we've done, what we've seen and felt and touched--it can't be us who are wrong. It's all of them.

The last shred of proof that I will hold on to is that we know they're here. Every chill, every bizarre feeling, every violent dream that merges with reality--it's all part of this. It is this.

We have to learn to live in this new world, full of contradicting facts and baffling coincidences. Puzzles always make sense until they're torn apart, don't they? Maybe we just need to realign the pieces.

Maybe it's just as simple as opening one more door. One more midnight. One more dream.

Maybe.

Mehh...

I'm tired. That's the only word I can use to describe my condition today. Lethargic isn't right, because I don't feel lazy, and exhausted isn't true because I actually got a ton of sleep last night. So I'm just tired.

I didn't get up until 10:20, and it felt really nice. I debated sleeping longer--much longer--but my five subjects of homework had begun to summon me from my bed. Yes, five subjects [out of a possible six]. Sort of disgusting.

I couldn't fit all of my needed books/folders in my backpack on Friday, so Maddy and I split up the job and each brought home different books. We got together today to complete the task.

Physics, Politics, English, Trig, and Spanish. Ick. You know your Sunday is going to royally suck when your locker is almost empty upon Friday's departure.

But we endured [four hours isn't all that bad for us], and now I'm tired. Just tired. I'm considering writing for a bit, but I don't know if the writer's block is gone yet. If it is, then writing will make me wake up some; if it's not, writing will just knock me out. Then again, a nap wouldn't be too bad...

Sigh. I don't know. Maybe... Nah. Who knows.

[D]I've Got This Wonderful Feeling Inside my Heart

I've yet to find any emotion that can compare to the ones I felt today. There is no substitute for pure satisfaction, for the tingly feeling in the pit of your stomach when you finally complete an exponentially difficult task. A few examples from my DI past:

-Winning a medal at States for the very first time in fifth grade and crying when you realize that you get to go to GLOBALS.

-Performing at Globals for the very first time while nearly convulsing from the anxiety.

-Watching in apprehension--and excitement--as officials add folding chairs to the enormous gym bleachers because the audience that came to see YOUR seventh grade team's performance has filled the entire gym.

-Staring with a gaping jaw as officials have to kick people out of your eighth grade performance room because it's already down to standing room only and it's a fire hazard to have that many people in the room.

-Being stopped by unknown kids in the hallway to be congratulated, applauded, and hugged, because YOUR team has forever impacted their lives [and because they absolutely love you... This one can sometimes border on "creepy" but mostly it's just the best feeling in the world :D].

-Gathering a "band of followers" over the years, and feeling so loved when they come to almost all of your performances simply because they want to.

-Spraying your hair violently bright colors in a secluded alcove or hallway [and then suffocating underneath the protective face towel when the fumes begin to fill your lungs]

-Sitting on the floor at CMU, only to be called up for an amazing award and then to be told that you've also conveniently won first place.

-Eating Pixie Sticks and drinking Amp before Global Instant Challenge with an optimistic smile on your face [even though you know it's going to be really, really difficult and nearly impossible to solve]

-Dorm parties [I'm not going into details on that one] and nine-hour caravan road trips--that almost always involve somebody sleeping on somebody else [and yet we don't care?].

-And finally, squeezing hands with your team members as the announcer calls off the winning places in your Challenge... and screaming like little girls when they call your school name and team number.

I can't find anything that compares to those. Nothing. DI has become a passion for us, something that we curse and complain about from December to February and then celebrate at Regionals, States, and sometimes Globals.

This is my eighth year in DI, but only the seventh time I've come home from Regionals and completed my little ritual: I take all of my medals off their hook, lay them out on the floor by year, and use Sharpie to retrace the year I wrote on the back of every one.

I was shocked this year to see how many medals we've accumulated. Four Regional golds, three Regional silvers, three State golds, one State silver, and two State bronzes. That's almost ridiculous, but not in a bad way, I suppose.

We also have three State trophies [they come with the first-place medals], but I can only vouch for the whereabouts of two of them. One is sitting on my bedroom floor, waiting to be taken back to our DI HQ. Another rests atop a proud shelf in our old elementary school, since we won it in sixth grade. But the third--and don't quote me on this--is most likely at our high school, but it's just a guess. Nobody's sure where that one is, so we're hoping we gave it to the school in ninth grade and that it's not lying in a gutter somewhere.

What a world we've created for ourselves. What a past we've established, and only at sixteen and seventeen. Since my first year--fourth grade--I've had twelve different team members [only seven max on a team at once... we gained/lost some over time; that's just what happens in life], nineteen competitions, thirty-two official performances [give or take], hundreds of meetings and dress rehearsals, and eight completely unique skits, with scripts, costumes, roles, Challenges, sets, and props that reflected the work we put in from October to May.

Today we got second place at Regionals. We placed first in Instant Challenge and Central Challenge, but we got second in Side Trips [parts of your skit that are of particular merit and are scored separately for their creativity and innovation]. The closest team was just enough ahead of us in Side Trips and just enough behind us in the other two that they got bumped to first and we got put in second. Altogether, our total scores were less than 2 points apart.

States is in four weeks, and we know what we need to do in that time. We've got costumes to fix, problems to correct, props to re-caulk [Year of the Caulk!] and a million other memories to mold and shape.

And now, I'm going to sleep, because I've been up since 4:45 this morning and the team nap we took at HQ was not nearly long enough. Goodnight, my favorites and my friends. :]

Culinary Catharsis and Regional Ruckus

Ha. Alliteration. Makes life so much more worthwhile.

You know what's really sad? I have to be up at 4:45 tomorrow [AM, not PM].

You know what's even more sad? The thought of only getting 5ish hours of sleep isn't all that menacing to me anymore.

Welcome to reality. Get up early, go to bed late, kick my own bum every second in between. That's how it goes.

But tomorrow is the Regional competition for Destination Imagination, the organization that owned my soul eight years ago and still keeps the deed. This is my eighth Regional day--eighth!--and it's probably THE most ridiculous one my team and I have ever encountered.

We perform at 7:36. Yes, that's AM, again. I've said it once, I'll say it again: 7:36 AM.

So tonight, before I crawl into bed and hope like crazy that all goes well tomorrow, I decided to bake a cake.

Don't be so shocked. I actually can bake. In fact, it's my backup stress reliever; when I can't write because I'm stuck in the muck of writer's block, I turn to the wonder of the culinary arts to save me.

The cake turned out... okay, I guess. I've never made a cake from scratch before, so I knew it wouldn't be perfect. I did kind of hope that it would go a little bit more smoothly, but hey, it works for me. :] At least Maddy came over to assist me in my daring scheme.

It was supposed to be a marble layer cake. No baking cocoa, so it became a vanilla layer cake. Then the second layer vanished, so it became a very small vanilla cake. Half of the bottom fell out when I flipped it, making it an even smaller vanilla cake.

Our original "White Mountain Frosting" [I definitely did not name that] hardened on the mixer, literally becoming a tasteless--but most assuredly not odorless--form of a homemade Jolly Rancher. That certainly was fun, let me tell you.

So we went with powdered sugar icing. The cake didn't cool enough before we frosted it, so the icing melted down the sides and created a pretty little moat around the edges. Eventually I got to use the colored stuff to make the DI symbol and write the year.

Of course I'm giving it to my DI team. I'm the unofficial second mother to four perpetually hungry teenage boys [and Kailey, who likes to be just as goofy as them :P]. Who else would I make a cake for?

You know what, though? I love my DI team. We're so different from each other, and yet so very similar sometimes. After working with the same people for so long, you form bonds that can't be shattered. You can't beat that kind of camaraderie and support.

They've been there for me, and I'll be there for them. And that is why I went through all the trouble to bake a flipping cake the night before competition. :]

"To Being an 'Us' for Once, Instead of a 'Them'"

There are people in your life, and then there are people. Friends versus friends. And though the terminology is a bit baffling, the concept itself is so natural that it's actually easy to comprehend.

I'm not talking about "best friends," or "BFFs" [for those who speak in txt]. No, I mean those people that are so important in your life, so influential on everything you do, that there isn't even a word to describe them.

These are the people who you share Oreos with. Not by opening up a box and chowing down--no, that's for the regular people. These people help you eat your Oreos by licking out the cream and giving you the cookies. Or vice versa. And if you're really in a silly mood, you'll peel off all the creams, throw away the cookies, and make a giant tower.

The people who pick you up on your absolute worst day and force you to have fun. [You eventually forgive them for dragging you across the concrete, because all those awesome times totally outweigh the initial humiliation...]

The same people who know exactly where to find food, pans, silverware, etc. in your house, because they've helped you make dinner/dessert/3am-snacks so many times. In some cases, they're even the ones who helped you ALMOST burn your house down in the process of making said desserts.

They also know that Ragu Alfredo takes only seconds to make, and that Ping Pong is the cure for most homework frustrations. And working together on that homework is always better than doing it alone.

They know where every spare key is, and they know your car's full name. They also know what size you wear for every article of clothing [and when I say every, I really mean it].

These are the people you call in the wee hours of the morning, the last hours of the night, and every available minute in between on Saturday because you know they'll rush to assist you in cleaning your bedroom. And they'll be there before your mother is tempted to kill you for letting the room get so messy in the first place. They also know better than to ever expect to see the carpet of your bedroom floor [I don't even know if I have a floor? I suppose all the stuff must be resting on something...].

You accidentally call them your siblings in front of teachers. You use them as an excuse to get things from your locker that you forgot ["Oh, my sister has my book!"]. And when those few hilarious teachers say something unintentionally funny, your eyes automatically hit theirs and it takes a vast amount of effort to contain the laughter.

They laugh at you--not with you, at you--and it's perfectly okay, because you've spent a good deal of time laughing at them, too. You know when they're lying and they can read your face just as easily. When you fall and smack your head against a wall, they nearly pee in their paroxysms of laughter, and you quickly forget the pain and start to crack up with them.

You've shared so many books that it's really, really hard to remember which ones were yours in the first place. Some have even disappeared over time, only to wind up in the strangest places. It's the same with sweatshirts, PJ pants, CDs, and Tupperware.

And of course, you fight like Spartans every now and then--brutally, taking no prisoners--but you get so sick of not seeing them that the ridiculous arguments don't last long. In fact, it's more strenuous for you to fight than it is for you to get along.

All of this, and there's still no name for them. I've searched the dictionary for some long-forgotten synonym, some ancient word that spells out what I've been trying to say. They're not just friends, and they're not best friends; those terms are used much too loosely to carry any meaning anymore. You can call them brothers and sisters, but eventually people start to wonder why you have so many siblings in the same grade.

For now, they're my people. No matter the name, I don't think I could love them any more.

To my people, for my people. It's always, always, always for them. :]

Afternoon Meander

Fake, flowery scents floating in the frozen air
I walk on by, my shoes skidding
Spritz of slush onto the dying grass
Travelers heading home, their miles
Outranking those of any pilot
Go heard, but unseen
My face is forward. I walk on by.

Small karats spilling across forgotten footfalls
Pools of shimmering, shining misapprehension
That will come and then will go
And they'll still be here, staring blankly
Into vague tricks and traps of reflection
Of ignorant comprehension
Beneath sensible words. I walk on by.

There may have been sound, perhaps not
I walk on by, not knowing either way
I will not turn my head to see the sidewalk
Sprawling behind me. I will not regress
And when the road, the path, the trail
Finally comes to its inevitable end
No lost hopes, no forgotten sorrows left
The memories will be forever engraved
In shallow concrete and fake, flowery, floating scents
That swirl and tumble and twist and whirl
Around the next who walks on by.

You Even Haunt My Sleep...

Last night, amongst less important dreams of inexplicable, vivid strangeness, I was blessed and cursed enough to see your face again.

I've dreamt about you twice now. Twice. I don't understand how this keeps happening.

You and I were little girls, wearing those pink hats we loved so much. Our clothes matched, as they often did, and we were playing on the slide. You know, the slide. The red and blue and yellow one that every single one of us kids adored.

The others were there, too, but they didn't play. No, they stayed off in the distance, barely watching us, their own lives consumed by more important things. But I was entranced by your words--though I can't remember them now--and I tried my best to emulate your every move. That's the way it always was, back when we were little.

Maybe if I'd listened to you more when we got older, you'd still be with me.

And I know all my mimicking irritated you. I wanted to be just like you. I wanted everything you had, because you were bright and perfect and beautiful. Even as a kid, I could see the differences between us.

We played with Playdough in the dream, too. Your hands never shook as you created thousands of tiny, intricate designs, but my fingers trembled and my work was never quite as good. My hands still shake, did you know?

No, you wouldn't know. What a stupid question.

Throughout the dream, I watched in horror as we aged, each era of my life spiraling by. Childhood, awkward middle years, adolescence--you handled every epoch with a grace I couldn't have ever achieved. I crawled into my own skin, determined to endure those darker days and emerge from the tunnel with a smile on my face.

Your smile, on the other hand, lit up your tunnel, and you didn't just endure hard times. You skipped and sang your way through them.

No one was immune to your charm. Adults who barely knew you bragged of your successes, and we looked at you with pride in our eyes. A step above the rest was always your position and the ambitions they had for you were designed only for people of your particular caliber.

I was jealous. I was resentful. I've already said that such feelings were a waste of time, and my opinion on that has not changed.

The dream went on. I dreaded its end, knowing exactly where it would take me. I eventually reached this age, this time, and you did too--but we were no longer connected. The ties once forged between us were severed; nothing was left of the relationships you'd spent a lifetime creating.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was dreaming. I knew that I'd already felt this pain, that as soon as I woke up I would be free to live without the chains of your betrayal on my wrists.

Ha. There is no escaping these chains. I can flip your picture and scribble out your name, but nothing is strong enough to remove your face from my memory. It's as if the image had been deeply etched into a chalkboard. I can't erase it, and if I try to scratch it out, the only result is a terrible, torturous, unforgiving screech.

The kind no one can stand to hear without feeling pain, anger, and fear.

Sigma Dance:

That title is a really lame physics pun, by the way. Yeah, I didn't think you'd get it. But Maddy and my other physics nerds will when they read this. ;]

The dance last night was fun. Although it wasn't very packed--probably less than 200 kids out of the 2000ish at my school--and someone needed to alter the DJ's taste in music, we had a really, really good time.

Maddy, Seph, and RedIrish were there, as were Thena and Aphrie [they took me by complete surprise and came!]. We forgot about the real world for awhile, and when Cuaderno dropped me off at my house, I was still smiling. :D

After putting on regular-people clothes, Aphrie and I camped out at Thena's for the night--we watched Dogma, lmao--and I got the most sleep I've gotten in awhile [yay! 9 hours!]. Thena and I even ate TOASTER STRUDELS this morning, a food from my long-lost childhood. The funny part is that the entire time I was eating mine, my mind was filled with the distinct memory of wolfing one down while watching Power Rangers and Lambchop before elementary school.

Ah, 90's TV. If you can find anything that was better, let me know. Honestly, how can you beat Legends of the Hidden Temple? Oh, that's right. You can't. And the Silver Snakes still suck...

Before I digress too far... Last night was great. It was what I wanted--and what I needed--and I'm not going to forget it. I'm done letting time slip by. I get to enjoy it now. We all do.

This time is ours.

We're Flinging Spring [Again]

Tomorrow is my school's annual "Spring Fling." Seems kind of silly to host a spring dance when there's snow on the ground and we're under a severe winter storm watch from 1 pm tomorrow until sometime Saturday...

And the student body didn't know about this dance until less than two weeks ago. Great planning, guys.

Oh, and they tried to make it cool by making it a Sadie Hawkins dance. Well, poor Sadie is rolling over in her grave, because at my school the only girls who actually ask boys to the dance [boys who aren't already their boyfriends, mind you] are extremely brave and very rare.

Like me. :D I'd like to think that I'm at least a little bit unique...

My good friend Cuaderno [I've mentioned him on here before] and I are planning on having an amazing night tomorrow. Though the vast majority of my friends have decided not to go to this dance--no matter how much I've asked them to change their minds--I daresay that the few of us who'll be in attendance will shake things up a bit [Madeline, sis, that means you. And big sis Thena, too, if she comes--please!! :D ].

My favorite part of school dances? The fact that I don't have to be serious. At all. I can be ridiculously giggly and fun and silly and not a single person will tell me off. It's hard for some people to picture me that way--giggly? What?--but those who have danced with me know it's true. I turn into a completely different person as soon as the music hits my ears.

They're not multiple personalities [or so I've told myself]. They're simply contrasting shades of the same color. Dark red versus pink, and such.

If there are any decent pictures--i.e. pictures that don't make me look absolutely awful--I will try to add an extra hour to my day to post them. If not, then I won't. Obviously.

Goodnight, sleep tight, and if your bed has bedbugs, I'm really and truly sorry to hear it.

-Abbsigail :]

Stuck.

I almost posted this as Lesson #21 [or whatever number we're on] but I decided that it deserved its own space. It's really more of something I've learned, rather than something I should "teach." The lessons are intended to be brief, anyway...

Anyone who lives in an industrial nation can tell the difference between a zipper and Velcro. Anyone. Though they're both hook-and-loop technology, they're so, so very different. To me, though, there's one distinction that stands above the rest.

How you undo them.

With Velcro, you can start anywhere and find a way to separate the two pieces. With a zipper, you're much more limited--a track of hooks guides you back the way you came. Both have their advantages and disadvantages, of course. But I'm not here to discuss the mechanics of the everyday household zipper.

Rational, forward-thinking people have a track. They hook each loop carefully, making sure that they are capable of coping with the consequences before they move on. When someone tries to undo them, it's the most recent actions that get taken apart first, and from there this "zipper" of a person has the opportunity to reflect on each step, each era of their life, to ensure they don't make the same mistake twice. Going forward again isn't difficult, either, because realigning each half is fairly simple.

The only drawback is that you must follow the track. You can't deviate. Not that there's anything wrong with following the course of your goals, but it's difficult at times to keep your eyes facing the future only.

Me? I'm Velcro. I'm haphazardly thrown together, sometimes a little bit unaligned, and able to be torn apart at any time. Any pair of capable hands can pick a part of me to destroy, and without systematically taking me back from whence I've come to allow me some reflection on the bad choices, they can rip me in half.

Is this the price I pay for straying from the path? My track became a crisscrossing pattern of intertwining hooks and loops, all leading in different directions and slowly pulling me to bits.

I used to be rational. I used to make sense when I talked. I also used to be forward-thinking, my focus lying solely on my spectacular future and all the dreams I would achieve.

Now--without any warning--I find myself erratic, scatterbrained, and desperately trying to sever my ridiculous ties to the past. Too many memories for my little mind to handle; too many far-fetched dreams and not enough accomplishment with which to create a future.

This is "me" now, I suppose. A whole lot better--trust me on that--but a little bit worse. Is it possible to be everything and nothing, all at once? Does the human mind possess the capability to think and not think simultaneously?

Either way, the zipper's broken and the Velcro's started to lose its loops. Maybe it's time to pull out the duct tape and patch what can still be patched.

March 5th! :O

Tomorrow is March 5, 2008.

Unless your name is Thena and you have a little sister you call Arty [who goes by Abby on her blog...hint...] that date has no meaning to you whatsoever.

I pity you if it doesn't. Because that means you've never had the pleasure of talking to our dear friends Paul and Ryan [who may or may not be our friends as of tomorrow at midnight]. It also means you're not me or Thena, which by default makes me pity you, just a little bit. We've done so much that so few people can claim they've done...

I'm being vague, but I don't care. This is a post for my big sis, and for me. Six months ago to the day, we stared our past and future in their faces, hoping and praying that the news we'd heard was solid truth. We found no satisfaction in that lie. But we're strong--we're fighters, Thena and I. We don't bend and we definitely don't break.

Tomorrow is the day, dear, and I'm really hoping we're not wrong this time.

Because I don't think I can stand another dreamed-up disappointment.

It's a Little Bit Funny, This Feeling

Today was, like so many days have been, a very strange day. Quite peculiar, to be honest. I'm not sure if it was just a filter that I viewed it through, or if everyone felt the... sensation, I guess you could call it, that I felt. Like the air was too thick to be real, too unnaturally clouded.

It started out like any other day, with the minor exception of actually getting out of bed when my alarm screamed in my ear. That should have tipped me off to how the rest of the day would go, but for some reason, I didn't think about that.

I was also ready for school at 6:35 [instead of 6:50]. Again, I'm not sure how it happened.

The school day then progressed, each hour making me wonder if perhaps I was still dreaming. I'm telling you, it was the strangest day I've ever had, and that's including all the ones from last summer [the Paul and Ryan days, remember?].

Reality seems to have forgotten me completely. Time is passing in increments I never thought possible, and I'm watching my life fly before my eyes. All I want is for it to stand still and let me live a little.

Maybe I'm in over my head right now. Maybe I'm throwing myself in too deep, testing waters that I should probably hesitate to try. But I don't care. I'm doing what I want from now on, not what I've done before.

Shuffle the cards and pass out the hands. I'll be the dealer for this round.

Well, This Just Sucks.

So my DI [Destination Imagination] team and I found out the wonderful news today. After much, much waiting, we finally got our performance schedule for our Regional Competition.

We perform our Central Challenge solution at 7:36 AM and have our Instant Challenge at 9:20ish.

I almost cried when my mother told me. If we have to perform at 7:36, we have to be in the holding space at 7:15ish. Which means we have to have all of our props ready by 7:05. We'll have to be at the school at 6:45. We'll have to have our costumes completely done by 6:35 and we'll have to start doing face makeup around 5:45. Meeting time is tentatively set for 5:30 AM.

Meaning, of course, that I'll have to be up long before 5 AM if I want to have everything set and ready for the day. And when my wake-up time starts with a "4," my temper tends to flare. Not good.

Talk about a disgusting schedule. We're the very first team to go--never a good place to be--and we're completely and totally unprepared for this competition. There are six teams in our challenge at our age group, so it's not even a guarantee that we'll qualify for states [as it has been multiple times]. We've always gotten first or second anyway [if you don't count our first year], so it's not like we're dependent on there being only a few teams, but that security is sure nice when it's two weeks before competition and you don't even know your lines.

And having IC in the morning sucks as well. Nobody--especially kids who have been together since 5:30 AM--can function at 100% at 9:20 in the morning. I know it's not that early, but considering that we'll be coming off of such an early performance, you'd think they would have given us some time to at least relax in between challenges.

Oh, no. Definitely not. That would be convenient! Imagine that!

Today at our meeting, it was mere shock that lit my teammates' faces. There was even a suggestion that we screw sleeping and just pull an all-night practice. We've done it before, we could do it again...

But I turn into a royal [insert vulgar word of your choosing] when I don't sleep. And caffeine only makes me angrier. Yes, I would be prepared to perform, but my boys on the team would fear for their lives, and Kailey would probably be terrified, too.

This just sucks. Of all the years to be unprepared for regionals, we choose this one. Please, please, please wish us good luck in the upcoming weeks, that just maybe we'll finish everything on time and not kill ourselves [or each other] along the way.

Sleep well, world. I'll be up all night, learning my lines...

Forget Sleeping, I Guess

I dreamt about you last night. Seems like my life is revolving around you right now. We kids were all in some cottage-type place [I think it was supposed to be a hotel suite, but it... wasn't.] and at first, everything was good.

We ate together, talked together, stayed up late telling stories together. Like we would have if the dream had been real--and had taken place over a year ago.

We even played video games together, something I've never actually seen you do. This dream was a bizarre combination of multiple things on my mind--though I'm not sure where video games came from--so there were also quite a few references to Rent [Aphrie and I watched it last night].

But even those strange portions could have happened in real life. Even the most peculiar of moments stung of reality, and it was only because I saw your face that I knew I was dreaming.

Because I haven't seen your face in almost a year.

You said you'd merely left for the weekend under some bogus pretense, that you only had until Sunday before you had to disappear again. All of us enjoyed your company while we could. And then, in the end, you sat down on the floor in the dark living room and started to cry.

You were scared to go back, you told me. You whispered the words to me as if you were afraid of saying them out loud. I just sat and stared, my eyes cold and unforgiving, unable to comfort you. My only solution would have been one you would refuse.

When I could feel the dream finally coming to a close--when the startling edges of real life began to shimmer in my view, as they always do, whisking me back to the world in which I belong--the horror finally set in. I watched in agony as you packed your bags and left. Again.

The last image I'll carry with me is that of you walking away, head never turning to say goodbye. And the emotion to which I so reluctantly awoke was one of pure, unadulterated sadness.

If only I'd been able to run to you, to spin you around and force reason down your throat. Unfortunately for me--and for all of us--reason abandoned you long ago, before comprehension reached us.

By then, it was too late. I will regret that lateness for the rest of my life.