I'm Ridiculously Proud of Myself :D

I gave blood for the first time today! :] :]

Of course, I did pass out twice--first time right after the donation, second time in my sixth hour class--but it was worth it.

I saved three lives. Me, insignificant little Abby, saved three people. I also repaid the debt I owe to the blood bank [I've been a receiver]. This is something I've wanted to do ever since I knew the opportunity existed, and I'm proud to say I did it.

Will I do it again? Probably not for awhile. I feel like crap. But inside my head--where the physical aches and pains can't reach me--I am soaring.

I gave blood. I saved lives. I, Abigail Morgan, am someone to be proud of.

Sorry, I Don't Hang with Addicts. :]

Very few sights disturb me more than that of an intelligent person doing something incredibly stupid. Watching a smart person destroy their life is never easy, and it's a little bit depressing.

Like sitting in my school parking lot. Tons of kids who have potential, right? Well, they won't have that potential much longer if they don't get the drugs out of their systems. They smoke their happy substances--legal and otherwise--while I sit in Pinks's car and shake my sorrowed head.

It's not like we haven't heard the warnings a thousand times. Heck, one of my favorite clothing stores actually sells a no-smoking shirt that reads, "There are cooler ways to die." We all know that it's bad, and yet some of the idiots can't quite get it.

My question: What's there to get? It's stupid. Very stupid. And there's nothing to be gained from it, nothing at all.

If you're going to do something dangerous, at least make it worth your while.

Scream My Lungs Out

It's hard to accept that I won't ever be something great, but it's harder to wrap my head around the concept that I won't ever be great to anyone. I'm as boring and as average as they come, and not much else. I lead a very mediocre life--wrought with the mundane perils of suburban life--and it's kind of depressing.

I don't want fame and fortune and all that ridiculous stuff. I just want to mean something to somebody. I want to stand out for just one person, and have them recognize me for the few differences I possess.

I don't think like other people. I don't act like other people. I don't even dream like other people, and yet it's nowhere near enough to earn a spot in someone's mind.

I'm sick of being considered dangerous and crazy. It's annoying, if nothing else. I'm not a danger to anyone, including myself, and well, I might just be crazy, but it's not always a bad thing. I'm not a demon; at least, I try not to be...

It's days like these that make me want to crawl into a hole and cry for awhile, to turn my back on the entire world and tell them all to screw it.

Scratch what I said before. I am a demon. At least I know it, though, right? At least I have that to fall back on.

If all else fails, I can be evil. Great.

I'm Doing Research on Researching Research

So my ideas about life after high school have changed so many times in the past few months that I don't exactly know what to think.

First I was absolutely sure that I wanted to go into physics. Theoretical physics, actually. Then I wanted engineering--first chemical, then mechanical.

And now I want to go into neuropsychology.

I can tell that this is frustrating for the people around me, because they certainly can't keep us with my constantly changing attitude. My mother just laments that she "had the kid who always knew what she wanted," and now I'm less sure than the majority of my friends.

Awful.

I think this time, though, I'm pretty sure. Maybe. Psychology has always interested me, long before I even took the class in high school. It seems natural, right? I'm always in other people's heads, always trying to understand the world around me... Short of majoring in philosophy, I'll be doing everything I can to continue that curiosity. Neuropsych seems like a good place for me.

I think. I hope. Argh.

You, My Friend, Are NOT My Friend.

The whining is starting to get to me. The constant complaining, the way people can never seem to have anything good to say. You're all driving me nuts.

Not that I'm perfect and I never whine. I'm actually a big whiner--a big baby, to be entirely honest. But at least I'm conscious of it and I try to hold some of it back...

You all just moan and groan until my ears want to scream in agony. Cut it out. Seriously. Suck it up a little, at least until you have something real to complain about.

Argh. Frustration. Grr. Abby's out.

Indecisively Decided

I wish I knew what to think. How to feel. How to function. But I'm in so deep that there's no escape, and I'm getting sick of the lies.

The deceit is mind-boggling. I can't quite... Wait, that's a lie, too, so I'll just stop myself. I can comprehend it.

I'm a good liar. A rather spectacular one, actually. It's nothing to be proud of. In fact, it's downright shameful. The only reason I've come to realize it is because I've needed lies.

People used to ask if I was "okay," and I would say yes. That, of course, was back when I certainly was not. But I lied. Every day.

Now I'm just really good at it, even though things really are "okay" now. I don't have to lie to other people. My situation no longer necessitates lying.

Does circumstance create deceit, or does deceit create circumstance? Chicken or egg? I wish I knew. I wish I could understand myself.

Oops. Another lie. I do understand myself. I just don't always like what I see. So I lie to myself to fix it.

Endless cycle, right? Vicious, eternal circle. I guess I should be used to it. Or maybe just get used to it, anyway.

Because people don't change. Trust me, I know they don't. I spend my days feeling everything they feel, and even when they lie, their emotions betray them. They're always the same.

And since I'm a person--last time I checked, anyway--it is certain that I won't change, either.

Hello, Fading Heart

Trembling does no good for me
It's a waste of breath
And thought
But you wouldn't see me shake for you.

Lean in to catch your soft scent
For once, neither of us backs down
And it's comforting to be this close
To someone
I'm not used to attachment.

Tomorrow will be better for us both
And worse
No more leaning, closeness, kind words
At least, not for awhile
You're exactly what I should know to avoid
Yet I don't think I would survive.

Too much trust went into this
Too much hope and love
I'll miss you when we're gone
And you, me
So take my hand and let me believe in this.

Let me believe in something
Even if you're just a lie.

"Destinate and Imaginate"... Globally.

States was this weekend for me and my DI team. We left in staggered intervals on Friday [Kailey and I left school at 10:20...definitely a great feeling...] and met up later, after dinner.

Until late that night, the six of us set up the sales booths [our team manager is the sales director for MICA] and then went to Coldstone to be paid for our labour. We laughed together, talked together, and had a good time; Kailey and I were subjected to hours and hours of hearing how the boys had eaten bison burgers and should now be considered "men."

She and I just laughed, because no matter how many burgers those four eat, they're still always going to be our boys, and we're always going to take care of them.

Saturday morning was an early rise. We kids went and watched my brother's team perform, and they did an excellent job. From that point on we only had an hour and a half to unload our props, get into costume [much easier said than done], run over the script, double check EVERY portion of our skit, and squeeze through the door to the prep area.

It was then that the world stopped. Our other TM left us in the little room, wishing us all the luck he could. We waited for the other door to open, for the official to grant us permission to enter the launch area and begin. After what felt like hours, our chance came.

We performed our Central Challenge at 10:06. It was a good run, I must say--we hit the right time mark, we nailed our new lines, and made the audience laugh with the humour we'd provided. We took risks. We put ourselves on the line.

Overall, it went rather well. :] Our score ended up being 179 out of 240. Not spectacular, but apparently good enough...

I can't discuss Instant Challenge, but I can tell you that we got a 99 out of 100, something that's probably unheard of in all DI history. We were very... ecstatic, I think is the word. We've always struggled with IC, and FINALLY we did well.

After breaking down the sales booths, we attended the awards ceremony, eagerly awaiting the outcome.

The called sixth, fifth, fourth... Then they called our biggest competition [from Regionals] in third. My jaw dropped. Either we managed to beat them, or we'd gotten seventh...

Second place, going on to Globals. The announcer's voice was already lost in the talking around us, but not so lost that we couldn't hear him yell our school name in the microphone. We jumped up, shouted, ran and got our medals, and took a bunch of pictures. Our parents smiled and other DIers shook our hands.

It was another one of the State moments that I will remember for the rest of my life.

So we're going to Global Finals again, down in Knoxville. Third year in a row that we'll be visiting the good ol' UT campus. Fifth time--for me--that we'll compete against teams from all around the world.

I must say, it feels pretty darn good to know that we're good enough to be global. Feels even better to know that meeting people from so many nations will turn me into someone cultured, someone who can better understand this world.

But it feels the best to know that I've got five people on my team who will always, always keep me grounded.

To Get You Through the Weekend

I leave tomorrow for DI States. I'm excited, of course, but my current mood is a bit... odd.

So here's some lyrics to keep you thinking. "Disenchanted" by My Chemical Romance:

Well, I was there on the day
They sold the cause for the queen
And when the lights all went out
We watched our lives on the screen
I hate the ending myself
But it started with an all right scene

It was the roar of the crowd
That gave me heartache to sing
It was a lie when they smiled
And said, "You won't feel a thing"
And as we ran from the cops
We laughed so hard it would sting

If I'm so wrong
How can you listen all night long?
Now, will it matter after I'm gone?
Because you never learned a goddamn thing

You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a lifelong wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you

I spent my high school career
Spit on and shoved to agree
So I could watch all my heroes
Sell a car on TV
Bring out the old guillotine
We'll show 'em what we all mean

If I'm so wrong
How can you listen all night long?
Now, will it matter after I'm gone?
Because you never learned a goddamn thing

You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a lifelong wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you

So go, go away
Just go, run, run away
But where did you run to? And where did you hide?
Go find another way, price you pay

You're just a sad song with nothing to say
About a lifelong wait for a hospital stay
And if you think that I'm wrong
This never meant nothing to you.

I'll Be Your Defender, and Your Victim, Too.

You're a ruiner.

You swoop in, take what remains, and destroy it.

I've spent my whole life fighting ruiners. Fighting destruction, fighting to maintain my very being. It's an uphill battle, you know?

And you were the worst. The very worst ruiner I'd ever encountered. Because you didn't even try to ruin anything, and the damage in your wake was beyond the realm of average ruin. You were the best, without any effort--just like always. Perfection without blinking, right?

I have endured the wreckage. I have endured the pain you've caused. I've dealt with the ruin, the blinding effects of a top-notch ruiner.

But I guess... Well, I guess the worst part is that you aren't a ruiner. You never were. Not even a little bit.

And I just can't figure out how a perfectly good person could be ruined like you were.

The Average

The hardest part, for me, is the realization that it's not going to change.

This is life, as I've recently come to discover. The norm is, well, normal. This is it. "It" as in "all there is." As in "all-encompassing, everything."

It's not going to be different for me.

I have not led an extraordinary life. I am not an extraordinary person. I am normal, another number on a chart, and it's not going to get any more exciting from here.

There will be no rising action, no moment of suspense, no secret to reveal. There is no plot. This is life, and it is every bit as boring as I hoped it wouldn't be.

I will grow up. I will start a career. I will get married and raise children. I will live in a decent-sized house with a dog and cat and a fence around the yard. My biggest adventures will be to the corner grocery store and the pediatrician's office. I will pay bills every month and struggle for extra cash. My children--forever cursed to be like me--will do exactly as I do, and the legacy shall continue.

No dreams. No quests. Nothing even close to the stories I write.

Will I even have my stories? My books and characters? They're the most sane part of my life, as crazy as they all are. But will screaming toddlers and bickering adolescents allow me to maintain that little piece of sanity?

I'm not wishing away my life. I'm being realistic. Honestly, there's no chance that I'll be the kind of hero that I create in fiction. This time is not one for heroes and adventures...

So the hardest part, I suppose, is settling for "normal." For what life will be, instead of what I've always dreamt it would.

And it's harder than I ever thought it could be.

Day in my Shoes

Wake up, pretend the clock doesn't actually have a five in the hour slot. Smack your alarm so hard it won't dare to ring again.

Find something--anything--to wear. Try to do something--anything--with the crazy, fluffy curls that are somehow attached to your head.

Breathe.

Survive the school parking lot. Make it to class on time. Carry heavy books all day. Walk back and forth through the same hallway a thousand times.

If you're lucky, see your sister Cassie sometime in the morning. If you're not lucky, get followed by that random kid whose last name you still haven't learned.

See your twin sister in third hour and chuckle to yourself when you realize that the teacher still hasn't figured it out. Wake up completely sometime during fourth hour.

Go to fifth hour--your favorite--and see your sister Kailey. Enjoy the feeling of circadian accomplishment when you reach sixth hour and see your twin again. Greet Debbie and Cuaderno and all your other friends that aren't in any of your other classes. Feel loved and mildly stressed--simultaneously.

Count down the seconds until the last bell rings. The day is over.


Pretty boring when you look at my days like that, right? But I forgot to mention the parts that other people can't see. I'll start over:


Wake up, get ready, etc. Get to school.

Feel the tension in the commons as you walk to your locker. Sense the way so many of those kids don't want to be there.

Reach first hour and feel the emotions of your table mates. Hold your tongue if they're upset, and make little jokes if they're not. Repeat the process in second hour.

Further process the people around you during third hour. Check on your sister periodically, just to make sure that she really is having a good day. Let the emotions in the room surround you, fill you, become you, because almost all of these kids mean a great deal to you. You care more for them because they've so often cared for you; it's your self-assigned duty to make sure none of them are unhappy.

Partially shut off the emotional sensor before you reach fourth hour, because there's too much unpleasantness there. Too much stress and tension. You happen to enjoy that class [sometimes, anyway] and you can't stand it when other people's anger ruins it for you.

Completely tune out others' emotions during lunch. Too much insanity in one room. Too many shades, hues, and tones to decipher and sort... It's easier just to relax and enjoy these twenty-five minutes.

Ease back into the swing of things in fifth hour; again, these kids are the ones that mean so much to you. Check on them. Smile for them. Be whatever they need you to be, because when they're happy, you're happy.

Doing this makes you happy. This is what you were born to do.

Keep tabs on the people in sixth hour with just as much intensity as fifth hour. Same kids, same level of care.

Leave school. Try to tune out the road rage in the parking lot. Revel in the silence of your empty house and then blare the music just to keep the corners of your brain occupied.


This is more how my day goes. Deeper than just classes and schoolwork. More than just books and lockers.

And I don't think I would want it any other way, really.

Hello, Week. Goodbye, Sanity.

I hate homework. Hate, hate, hate, hate it. It's only Monday, and I already feel like I'm overwhelmed with work to do by Friday.

Ridiculous!

Can I keep up? Do I have a choice? Not really. It's do the work or fail, and I'm too much of a perfectionist to allow the latter.

But I won't go quietly. I won't cave submissively. I will moan, groan, complain, whine, and be angry about homework from now until the day the perpetual assignments stop flowing.

And you'd better not say an unkind word about my ranting, or you'll have something much worse--and much more painful--to complain about.

Let your imagination ponder that.

A Ghost Not From a Graveyard

I saw a picture of you the other day. Made my knees weak, did you know? Made my stomach churn and my head spin.

You don't deserve to have that effect on me.

It must have been one hell of a picture, you say. Not really. Just you, smiling like always, same exact face I remember. So how did it shake me the way it did?

It was a current photograph.

I admit, you do look okay. Pretty good, actually. Nothing that I should be worried about right now. And your smile seems more real than some of the ones I'd seen before...

But I'm nauseous. Disturbed. Violently shaken. Because there's a small part of me that never wanted to see your face ever again.

Memories are one thing. Pictures of the past, you know? But recent pictures... Oh, god. Recent pictures make the hurt come alive all over again.

I'm starting to wonder why I do this to myself. Why I go out looking for you in the most obscure places and then balk when I actually find something. Am I trying to inflict pain? I'm no masochist, I'm pretty sure of that. Am I crazy? Possibly, but this is more than any whim of insanity.

I think... Well, I guess I know. I think?

The part of me that is courageous--the brave part that fights my battles--has concocted this bizarre notion that one day I'll break down the barriers and rush to save you. That someday I'll be strong enough, bold enough, clever enough to find a way to reverse this horrid process and right the wrongs.

No need to tell me I'm wrong. I already know that. But maybe... Maybe.

Maybe my strength will be enough to free us all.

Song of the [Job] Huntress

Ballad of the Unemployed. Lyrics for the Cashless. Etc.

Clearly, I'm in the middle of job hunting. It's the worst possible thing I've ever endured. I've filled out over fifty applications, gone on three interviews, and I'm absolutely nowhere near getting a job.

Ew. Just ew! I just need somebody to hire me. At this point, I barely care where I'll be working. I just need anything.

Today was the pretzel place interview [ughhhh]. Tuesday was a clothes store at the mall. Three weeks ago was a restaurant. Nothing.

My pocket continues to empty without any source of income. My car goes as long as possible without a new tank of gas and I don't buy anything that isn't essential to my survival.

Totally sucks.

"What a Rainy Ending..."

"Cold as You" lyrics, song by Taylor Swift.

My current mood.

You have a way of coming easily to me
And when you take, you take the very best of me
So I start a fight 'cause I need to feel something
And you do you what you want 'cause I'm not what you wanted

Oh, what a shame
What a rainy ending given to a perfect day
Just walk away
Ain't no use defending words that you will never say
And now that I'm sitting here, thinking it through
I've never been anywhere cold as you

You put up walls and paint them all a shade of grey
I stood there loving you and wished them all away
And you come away with a great little story
Of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you

Oh, what a shame
What a rainy ending given to a perfect day
Just walk away
Ain't no use defending words that you will never say
And now that I'm sitting here, thinking it through
I've never been anywhere cold as you.

Ten Feet

I have known fear
In the dark corners that surround the well-lit plazas
Of warmth and radiance and gleam
I have seen the dim corridors that hold my hours of peril
The fluorescent lighting casts shadows on your face
And I have seen the panic in my eyes

I have known fear
In hearing your footsteps from behind me
The heavy, fearless tread you take
I have wandered through pointless paths to avoid you
So many faces are oblivious to my retreat
And I have seen your intentions in your eyes

I have known fear
In every word I should not have spoken
Every connection that I should not have made
I have struggled to keep you far from me
Amidst others' warnings, against others' blind hopes
And the same that see my fears in vain

But I have known fear
I have seen fear
I have felt fear
And the source, it seems
Is simply you.

So About This Birthday Thing...

Today was a pretty good day, I must say. The whole birthday thing makes it decent, you know?

So now I'm officially 17 [it was actually official at 11:41 am, but... yeah].

The sad part is that I still feel sixteen. Definitely not ready to admit that my years of freedom are coming to a close. Yes, I've still got a lot of life left, but let's be honest. Responsibility + career + all that fun stuff = ugh. Talk about ick.

I'm also down to one year to get a book published, my solitary goal since the time I could hold a pencil. Am I seriously thinking that it'll get done? Ha.

But today was good. Just plain good. I got some great birthday presents from the family--they love me!--and tons of smiles and happy wishes from friends.

It might not have really felt like my birthday on the inside, but the day was good enough for me. :]

April Seconders, Unite

Happy birthday to me. :]

Have you ever met anyone whose birthday was April second? I haven't. None. Nada. And nobody in my school shares my birthday, either [we checked... not going to explain how, but it was legit].

So I'm starting a club. April seconders, few and far between. Happy birthday to you all, and happy birthday to me.

Finally 17.