Abigail Darnay?

Anyone who's read my profile on this site knows that one of my favorite books is Tale of Two Cities. If I could have highlighted it in bold, put it in italics, and underlined it in my profile, I would have, because it is my favorite of them all. Nothing can compare.

Anyone who is literate should read it in their lifetime. That is not a request, but an order. I love it.

Why do I like it so much?

Well...

I kind of fell in love with one of the main characters.

Literally, in love.

He was the kind of man that you'd never find in real life--courageous, caring, strong yet sensitive. As I read on, I found myself wishing I was his wife Lucie, or even his daughter Lucie, because he loved them with all his heart. I wanted him to love ME.

Pathetic? A bit.

It's not as pathetic as I originally thought, though. I've seen others fall in love with fictional characters. It's easy to become emotionally attached when you read their every thought, their every desire, their deep-down beliefs and dreams. When you know everything about someone and that everything is something you love, it's only natural to love them (even if they don't actually exist...).

So though my name on this blog is Abigail Morgan, it's only because Lucie beat me to Charles. Stupid whore stole my man...

:P Au revoir ♥

It's not just a city... It's MY city.

I finally made some plans for after college! :D

They are, however, not what you are probably thinking.

Here it is: A good friend of mine (we'll call him Bob) asked me to be his roommate in Detroit. We both love the city and its good side, and it wouldn't hurt, would it? So yesterday he sent me pictures of possible living spaces and I leafed through them to see what I was interested in.

I can't wait.

Detroit, despite its reputation, is a place I don't mind calling "home." Sure, I'm not really from Detroit... Eastpointe, actually, wayyy back... But I live in metro Detroit and it's all right to call it my home city.

Not just that, but Detroit's history is MY history. Being a descendent of the Cadillac line, the history we learn in school of the founding of Detroit and the creation of an urban "auto empire" is my history as well. I am Detroit.

And for those of you who think it's nothing more than slums, eat your words. Every city has its downside... You just hear about Detroit's more than others. I won't deny that there are parts of the city I wouldn't wander through, but you can't say that it's ALL horrible. That's stereotyping- something I have come to hate with a burning, fiery passion.

So that's today's "big deal." An apartment in Detroit with a friend or two and a chance to experience city life that I have never known. Thanks, "Bob"... lol :P

Abbsigail <3

Pseudonyms: Part II

I'm going to make a brief post while I have a few minutes, specifically to mention the fact that I finally chose a middle name for my pseudonym.

How exciting.

It's Christine, in case you can't read the sidebar (to your left... nope, other left... up a bit... yeah, there-- by the picture). Simply stating, the main character in Phantom of the Opera is named Christine. And I can't sing and I'm not strikingly pretty, but she kind of reminds me of myself.

So it's my new middle name.

Plus, it sounds good. And for those of you know me, it's very close to my real name, another reason why I can connect so well with the character in the first place.

So Abigail Christine Morgan finally got herself a middle name. Three cheers for an identity crisis.

<3abbs

The Perfect Season :D

After my dear friends' amazing performances at Saturday's Division meet, I would like to make a short comment on the perfect season our swim team has just completed.

Our titles include:
Undefeated 10-0
Romeo Relay Champs
Tower Relay Champs
County Champs
MAC White Dual Meet Champs
MAC White Division Champs

Yeah... Defeated by NO ONE. (happy sigh)

Oh, and I would also like to add that a certain swimmer came up with the ideal response to Tower's "2, 4, 6, 8- We got more than you can take!" cheer.

Her reply: "7, 8, 9, 10- We're hot."

:D With that being said, I'm out.

~Abbs<3

I'm wet. There's something wrong with that.

I have noticed that within the past several months, I've developed a drinking problem.

I saw your face when you read that, and I am laughing at you. I don't mean alcohol... I mean the actual act of raising a cup to your face and swallowing liquid.

This is becoming a real issue, so try not to laugh.

Sometimes I make it into my mouth, sometimes I don't. Most of the time I just spill my Gatorade down my face (or my swimsuit at practice) and feel really stupid because I totally just missed my mouth in front of a bunch of people. Humiliating, right? That's not even the worst part.

Every day in first hour, I eat a protein bar and drink from a water bottle. Correction: I attempt to drink from a water bottle. The very second I feel the seal break on the cap, it pours down the bottle edges, along the desk, and all over my pants. Yeah. Every single day.

I'm not sure what the issue is. I could blame it on the asthma steroids, they make me shaky... I could blame being tired, but still, tired people manage to get a water bottle to their face without spilling it... I suppose I really have no excuse. I'm just a klutz.

But even the klutziest (is that even a word???) people I know manage to quench their thirst without making a mess. It's really hindering me, making it difficult to get the fluids I need to get healthier (yes... I'm sick again lol). Don't laugh- I'm sure one day you'll completely miss your whole face in an attempt to take a drink and you won't find it so funny then.

Never mind. It's hilarious. Go ahead, laugh.

A final thought: Would coffee be a good idea?

Goodnight :)
~Abbs<3

Oh dear...

Today is October 18, 2006. Mark this day down in history, because I'm going to answer one of life's biggest questions... in this post. Be prepared.

What is love?

Ahh, such a tricky phrase. Only one who is young and innocent could truly answer this question.

Ha, innocent. Right. But I'll do my best anyway.

Love comes in many different forms, as I'm sure anyone with half a brain could tell you. But to make things logical, we'll say that there are 4 kinds of love:

First, there's blood-related family love. This is USUALLY the strongest kind of love that exists. Undying, unbending, and unbreakable, love for those with similar DNA has withstood the tests of time and never, ever dies. Just because you don't particularly like someone in your family for awhile does not mean that you don't love them. In the most extreme (and sad) cases, a blood relative could possibly distance themselves so much in morals or physical location that you lose your family ties over time. But that is rare.

Type II: Friend/family love. Some say there is a fine line between friends and family, but I disagree. There is a certain point in a friendly, non-intimate relationship where you virtually become family and the roles of brothers, sisters, or other relatives can be filled. These are not just come-and-go friends who take your clothes and never return them; these are the everlasting, 'til death, by your side forever, your "brother from another mother" friends. The kind that jump to your aid when someone's messing with you in school, or call you when they know you're down. In sad actuality, these kinds of relationships can also fade, but they are never forgotten and I'm positive that years down the road, if indeed a "brother" or "sister" is distant, they'd still love to hear from you.

A third kind would be love for abstract ideas, or emotions. Hard to describe, this kind of love falls in line with obsessions, habits, traditions, and thought. The rush from skydiving- borderline obsession, yet has that lingering love to it. That "butterflies in your stomach" feeling just before a swim meet or a DI competition- that's love for me. I love to feel that way and there's no better word to use to describe it. It is love. It is a desire to feel that particular way, and the need to feel it. The love to have emotion. The love to get a hug from a friend. Love to be on a stage. Love to ride on the water. Etcetera.

And finally, the kind of love that I know ran through your mind first when I put that BIG QUESTION on the top of this post. The fourth kind. The biggest, most dangerous yet most rewarding kind of love.

"True" love.

The giddy, high-on-life feeling one gets when they're around someone they care about deeply. Not puppy love- that's more Type II. Real love. Now, I'm not saying I've been in love... I'm just a kid. But you never know, eh? It could happen. But true love is deep. It is real, after all. There are more dimensions to love than there are to the universe (and trust me, I've looked into those too). I'm finding it difficult to put into words exactly what this kind of love is, so maybe some examples would be better.

The tingly feeling in your hand when it happens to brush theirs. That stupid grin you get when you meet their eyes and it's just so funny you can't stand it. The laughing. The smiling. The day-to-day knowledge that somebody cares and there's nothing you have to do for it. You don't have to change, you don't have to be someone else... You love them, despite their defects, and you know deep down that maybe, just maybe, they love you too. It's different than the other three kinds of love, because unlike the others, this one hits you by surprise and comes on strong. It's overwhelming and intoxicating, the perfect combination to make each and every day seem like a good one.

If you're wondering, I'm not "in love." I'm a kid, remember? But I was thinking about all of this, and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. The more I think, the more I want to share it with the world (or my world, anyway... aka the readers of this blog). So if any of these ideas strike you as juvenile, that's just too bad. It's a collection of my thoughts, MY answer to the BIG QUESTION.

Love to you all-
Abby<3

Pseudonyms

As a writer, I have come to respect the value of pseudonyms for an author (and anyone else who wishes to remain anonymous).

But does everyone else understand?

In this post, I shall explain why I chose my pseudonym and what it stands for. I will also explain why I used a pseudonym in the first place.

As expected, my real name is not Abigail Morgan. Shocking, eh? Alas, I refuse to put my real name in this blog. For multiple reasons.

First, safety. Internet is now its own world, with its own liabilities. My name stays off of this.

Second, detachment. If I was to put my own name in here, it would be just like journaling, and I've grown sick of the normal "diary" scenario when writing. I wanted something new. Now when I type, I can become Abby Morgan. I am Abby. Not in a schizophrenic way... It's just like becoming your actual self instead of what everyone else sees.

Third, fun. I like being called Abby because it's different and just fun. It's like an adventure, changing your name and adopting a personality.

Now about the name itself:

A dear friend of mine and I were once just kidding around and we changed our names. I was Abby. Now it has stuck, and there's no way it will ever change. Inside, I feel like an Abby. Kinda like meeting a little kid named Theodore. It's hard to call a little boy Theodore, so in your head, he's Teddy. It sounds strange, but you probably do it too, subconciously.

And Morgan? In one of my favorite movies, "The Prince & Me" (yes, I know, chick flick), the main character is Paige Morgan. After watching her life unfold in the film so perfectly, I decided to take on her last name so maybe I'll be a princess too...

So there you have it. Abigail Morgan, aspiring scientist, author, and young thinker, creator of an online post that you apparently read. Now you understand. :D

~Abbs♥

ESTOY TOSIENDO!!! AHH!!!

I. HATE. COUGHING.

I thought I'd just put that out there for all to read. As I sit here, in this computer chair, I am hacking up a lung.

I do not want pity. I WANT AN ANSWER.

The question: Why am I sick?

I suppose a doctor will tell me it's because of bacteria or a virus or asfklgjsdh¿huh?lfgksdfgd etc.

A priest will tell me that God is trying to get me to slow down in life.

A teacher would hand me Purell and blame it on the janitors for not sanitizing the desks the day before.

A techy would launch into a speech about computer viruses and make lots of stupid puns and I'd walk away.

A Trekkie would blame something extraterrestrial and once again, I'd walk away.

The Rite Aid lady behind the counter will make a sad face, totally avoid my question, and recommend I buy another fifty bags of cough drops. "Try the expensive ones!"

A swim coach would blame it on the chlorine level and ask that I please not cough on my fellow swimmers (or drink from their Gatorade).

A D.I. coach would turn this one into an Instant Challenge and I'd get some really bizarre answers.

And finally, my favorite... My mom would tell me it's a virus, I need to slow down and rest more, Purell could help me avoid more viruses, it has nothing to do with computers or extraterrestrials, I don't need the really expensive Halls, the chlorine is not to blame but I shouldn't share Gatorade, and the answers I got at D.I. are way off. Then I'd get put to bed and I'd be able to sleep soundly, knowing that I finally understand why I'm sick.

I love you, Mom. I'm going to bed. :)

~Abby (*cough)

"What happened today?"

I'd just like to take a moment to announce that our high school swim team is still undefeated.

And today, we became county champions.

The closest competitor was 40 points below us.

It was AWESOME.

I wasn't swimming (didn't qualify this year) but it was possibly the most intense, nerve-racking meet I've ever attended. And we WON!

So after we went out to dinner, we all took nice naps and then had a bonfire/party. And every time we'd start lapsing into normal conversation that had little to do with our win, one of the parents or our coach would lean out the back door and yell, "What happened today, girls?"

And their question would be met with a fierce "WE WON COUNTIES!!!" followed by much dancing and rejoicing.

I love my Lady Falcons :D Long live our memories from this amazing season...

Abbs <3

Play with the Hand(s) You're Dealt

That title is meant to be taken literally and figuratively.

Figuratively, it's another "take life's challenges" quote.

Literally, it's my life story.

Unfortunately, I was cursed with incredibly short fingers. Abnormally short. I mean, I'm short height-wise too, but this is just another extreme.

But, unlike most short-fingered people, I play the piano.

It has taken me years to get to the range I'm at today. 9 keys comfortably, 10 at a stretch. It's kind of pitiful, but considering that I have dwarf hands, I find it funny.

About hands... they're really interesting. Often times I find myself watching my own hands play the piano when I'm going through a song I know well enough to not have to think about. It's amazing to see my own hands, my own fingers, thinking for themselves.

Each finger has a personality. The thumb is like the commander of them all, short and in charge. It is the strongest finger and the one I can always count on to land a particularly hard jump to a note.

The index finger is the big, oafish outcast who tends to fall on the wrong notes all too often and make things sound bad. I really don't like it.

The middle finger is second in command, the second-strongest. It usually dictates my direction and flow in a piece.

Ring finger is the third strongest, but kind of shaky. I have to actually warm this one up before I play, or else he's useless.

Pinky? The weak runt. It is completely useless if I am tired or caffeinated; it seems as if exhaustion and stimulation reside within him, making anything I attempt to play highly disturbing and odd. In the first book I ever learned from, there was a song called Crack the Whip that was meant to strengthen the little finger. Let's just say I battled that song for too long and eventually just moved on.

So that's my thought(s) of the day. Hands. They seem so extra (hence the word "extremities), so... not vital. But they're really just kinda cool. Like having ten little people living with you.

That was creepy. I'm stopping this madness before it gets out of hand.

Ha. Ha. Get it? Out of hand...

Somebody stop me.

Abby<3

As requested... lol.

At the request of a fellow blogger, I'd like to take this time to discuss a certain teacher of mine who had an intense influence on the way I think today. Not only because he requested it, but because I'm thinking about thinking and it's making my head hurt, so I want to type it out.

All too often, teachers are useless. They spend more time teaching students worthless information that simply goes through my head, instead of teaching us life.

That should be a class. Life.

Well, we came pretty damn close in my eighth grade SAGE history class. It wasn't history (well, it was, but whatever). It was more. We were expected to actually use our brains, instead of just writing boring dates on paper. I learned a lot about the real world, and the areas of study that I was once blind to are now clear.

He told us what it meant to be abused by government, and how to live in reality. I'm sick of teachers telling kids a bunch of lies about happy little politicians that prance around and write constitutions in their spare time. They also tell us that dreams always come true, and I can tell you firsthand that they don't. If they did, I'd be living in a much bigger house in a different country and not attending school...

Anyway, Life. It should be a class. Mr. C, keep it up. Teach them Life. Teach those blind little junior high kids Life. They need it. I did, and I'm glad today I know how to think the way I do.

Thinking about thinking. It's what I love to do. I think of how I think of how I think. Wow. My mind hurts. That could be from the music I'm blaring, though.

I've said enough, don't you think? But then again, if I typed everything that ran through my head, you'd be reading for a century or two...

Here's to the truth
Abigail<3

Told you it would be less frequent...

Yep, it's been fifteen days since I've posted. Pathetic? Yes. Excused? Most definitely.

Swim team's still very undefeated. Season's halfway over though. :( I know for a fact that I'll miss these girls when it's over.

Music's in my head right now. Many people think that I'm nuts, but it's just the jukebox in my mind. I'll get like ten songs stuck at once and they'll combine to become possibly the most interesting form of entertainment known to mankind.

For example: Take Billy Joel's "For the Longest Time" and mix that with "Pop Goes the Weasel." Now add "Sexyback" by Justin Timberlake. You get a sexy weasel singing an a capella song.

See what I mean? It's fun. Right now it's "Face Down" by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, "Me and You" by Kenny Chesney, and Nickelback's "Savin' Me." It's kind of like a love song that morphs into a story of abuse that ends with a cry for salvation. Yeah... I love this.

Time for bed. You won't see another post for maybe two weeks, so here's to life, liberty, and lots of Starbucks.

Adiós, chicos.

Abbs<3

Update

Considering that I'm back in school and the homework is piling up, it looks as if this blog will become a less frequented friend. I'll try my best to update, but you know how it goes...

So the swim team has been in 2 meets so far, and we're undefeated. We crushed one of our biggest rivals on Thursday and then beat 7 other teams in a relay meet on Friday (including that same rival). It was actually quite funny- a mistake on the scores sheet actually put them in first and us in second, but when our coach caught the mistake (after the meet) we were officially awarded first. The other team doesn't know about it yet though... This could be interesting.

Life is in full gear, and I'm doing fine.

Random thought of the day (among many unposted others): There is a mathematical conjecture entitled the Poincare Conjecture that states that you cannot take a donut shape and turn it into a sphere without ripping it. I find that interesting, and quite fun to think about. Try it.

Speaking of donuts- Dunkin' Donuts has amazed me. Maybe it's just my complete adoration of Starbucks coffee variations, but could anyone explain to me how this popular breakfast food chain can get away with their iced coffee? It's coffee with ice cubes in it. Please. It's called a blender. Even I know how to use one, and I'm culinarily (is that a word?) slow. Spare me these unending trials...

That's a Phantom of the Opera quote, by the way. "What a way to run a business! Spare me these unending trials."

Yep. I'm just typing nonsense. But hey, at least I'm not the bloke who's reading it right now...

Abby<3

Crikey!

I read today on my Yahoo homepage that Steve Irwin was killed when a stingray's poisonous barb slashed his heart.

I find it terribly sad. Not only is he leaving behind a wife and two kids, he's leaving the rest of us without a Crocodile Hunter. Every time someone says "Crikey!" or makes a joke about him now, it will cease to be funny after a few moments and will be strikingly sad.

I felt like putting a tribute to him in here, considering that I'll never be able to wrestle with a crocodile or catch a python and that's the kind of living everyone should do. The daring kind.

Rest in peace, Steve.

Hate's a bit strong of a word...

I was recently asked what exactly I have against MySpace, so I figured I'd clear things up a bit with an explanation.

I don't hate MySpace itself (as in the actual site and its affiliates); it's the frenzy that bothers me. People spend hours on these spaces, decorating them and writing their life stories and making hundreds of "friends," mostly people they don't even know. It just seems so... I don't know. Typical?

Everyone wants one to be like everyone else. Don't people want to be different anymore? Perhaps it's just my age, or my beliefs. But I feel that if I conformed and got myself a MySpace, I'd be just like every other teenager in this world.

People will tell me it's jealousy. I'm just jealous because I don't know how to make one or that I won't have as many "friends" as they do. Quite frankly, that's absurd. I do know how to make a MySpace (it's not that hard!) and I'd rather have two "friends" on MySpace than a bunch of people I don't even know trying to get into my Top 8. So jealousy isn't the cause of this feeling.

People will also tell me that I'm just being stubborn, purposely not getting a MySpace because I just want to be different to be difficult. I will admit to being stubborn, and also to wanting to be different (but not difficult). Those two factors probably have something to do with the fact that I don't like MySpace. But that's really nobody's business, don't you think? I've always been stubborn, and I've always wanted to not be like everyone else. So I didn't invent these traits because of MySpace.

So that's the explanation. I hope it cleared the air and didn't murder anyone's love for MySpace. I'd hate to get in the way of such an intimate, true relationship...

Abbs<3

Becoming "worldly," one small step at a time

So me and these four lovely chicas have a pact going that involves dinner and lunch dates at least once a month. It's a tradition I'd love to see carry on into our adult years, something that could keep us tied together for life to come. It's a great chance for us to bond and become closer, to keep our friendship strong.

And it's also freaking hilarious.

First date: Chinese restaurant. I ask for a Sunkist, and I'm promptly chastised. The conversation:

"Umm, could I please have a Sunkist? Orange pop?"
"NO! OTHER POP!" (with deep chinese accent)
"Umm... I guess I'll have a Coke then?"
"Angry mumble mumble mumble..."

Yes. So now, I'm not allowed to order orange pop. Now our meals have come, and because we're sharing our food, we ask for extra plates. There are five of us.

We get four plates.

Second date: Thai restaurant. One of our number is missing (dear god we missed her!!) so we're down to four. We order three meals and share them, as always.

One of us, who we'll call Lo, has an issue with spice. We've ordered everything mild, the lowest spice level, and though I'd love to bump it up to medium, I'm enojying myself.

Lo is trying not to laugh as she continues to battle the spices.

There's not enough water and Thai iced tea for her to handle the pressure. The rest of us are laughing as she tries to take a bite of fried rice ("kow pad") without drinking anything to soothe the "burn."

We won't be back there for awhile.

Today we discussed how worldly we're becoming, how cultured we are now that we've been to both a Chinese AND a Thai restaurant. We're trying new things, stepping out of our zones, you know? I recommended sushi for our next visit, but it may have to wait until one of us gets a license because we just can't walk that far...

Anyway, about being worldly. We're trying our wings out in the world, pushing our limits. Yet I can't help but ask myself if it's the world we're discovering, or if the world is discovering us.

If it's the latter, the world may need some time to cope...

Abigail<3>

Nine huh?

As I recently heard from multiple sources, Pluto has lost its title as a planet. This certainly upsets me, and I will explain why.

First of all, I've grown up with the comfort of knowing that there are nine planets in our solar system. Nine lovely, whirling planets that were always planets and were always there to be studied. Now I'm told that everything I've learned in science classes about Pluto is completely and utterly WRONG. WRONG WRONG WRONG. And what about that cute little phrase we learned in elementary school? My very educated mother just served us nine huh? Nine what? I suppose now they'll say "noodles" instead of "nine" but it just doesn't sound as appealing as "nine pizzas." I'd take the pizzas.

Secondly, as a young adult aspiring to become prosperous in a field of science that deals mainly with space, it is slightly upsetting to be thrown off like this. What do we call it now, Pluto the not-planet? Pluto the rock? Pluto the orbiting, spinning, almost-planet that pretty much is a planet but can't be considered one because a bunch of scientists said so? So frustrating.

And finally, aren't there black holes and fifth dimensions to think about instead of wondering if Pluto is a planet or not? I understand the need to have answers, the want to know, but still... We have so much more to discover about our universe; limiting ourselves to Pluto's classification seems a bit weak.

Rest in peace, Pluto the planet.