A real blog?!

lover, lover.

Every time I sit down at my computer to blog I get half way through and then quit. I can't do it, I really can't. I don't know why! I love to talk, it's what I do best. Well, some people might disagree on that one, but that's because they just don't appreciate a good conversation. And I'd like to think that I do have interesting things to say. Whenever I talk to people I never see them rolling their eyes, yawning, looking away, etc. In fact, I've had people tell me I'm fun to talk to. I just can't quite... But I will do it! I'm going to finish this blog, post it, and NOT delete it. I promise.

Okay. After many minutes of brainstorming I think I've got it.

After many years of sitting around in my bedroom (friend's bedrooms) complaining about how it sucks to be fifteen (fourteen, thirteen, etc.) I've finally reached my junior year in high school. We're sixteen, yeah baby! I'm not going to say it's different than I expected it to be, because it's totally not. So far, (I say so far because I've only been sixteen for four months) it's been pretty much as I dreamed it would be. Not completely though, nothings ever EXACTLY the way you think it is. But then again it is different. There was this girl who I'd been friends with ever since I started at my school way back in the fifth grade. We knew everything about each other. I honestly don't think there was one thing about my life she didn't know, and vice versa. And then one day everything just, changed. All right, not one day. Looking back now I see that it was slowly happening over time. The way those things usually do. I started doing more things with other people, time began to escape my fingers, I heard she was saying stuff about me, and then silence. Nothingness. It was like there was this wall built between us that neither of us could breach. Basically, it fell apart. It's sad, it truly is. I loved this girl as my own sister. It's also sad because I don't feel anger, hatred, hurt. All those things that show you still have emotion for the person. I feel indifference, the opposite of love. I've changed, or grown up rather, and she's different too. We just don't mesh anymore. As I said it's sad, but sort of a release. I don't feel like I have to pretend anymore, which is worse in a ways.

It's weird, realizing this. I'm growing up. Just a few months ago I would have been all over this drama like a mouse on cheese. I mean I LIVED for drama, it was like the air I breathed. And now I just try to avoid it like the plague. Really, though, who has time for it? There's just too much to do and see to worry about who said what, she did this, I didn't do that. I can feel myself crossing the threshold from infinite childhood. I say crossing because I know I haven't crossed it. I do things I maybe shouldn't, I act a certain way that really isn't acceptable sometimes. Maybe that's a good thing though, I don't think I want to ever really be fully grown up. To me, it sounds awfully dull. I love my adventuresomeness, my spontaneity, my drive. I hope to God I never lose these. I like that I've grown up, matured, yet I still know how to have fun and let loose. For some people it's one or the other: either they have a stick up their butt or they just don't know how to act mature when the situation calls for it. I like to think I'm somewhere in between, and I hope to stay there once I reach my full maturity.

Words of Wisdom: Never buy torn up jeans. Cheap jeans, sand paper, and a washing machine will do.

(I did it! Woooooo!)

Every twist and turn will lead to you.

 This course that I've chosen is the hardest one. Full of obstacles meant to discourage the lion-hearted. A dragon to breathe fire and lies, an army of gnomes to block the path and protect the keeper. The wide mouth of the clown is only a distraction, a hidden tunnel will help to avoid this irrelevant character. But I know what lies at the end of the course, into the windmill and up the tower. I will battle my way through, just to get to you.

Adieu.

It's sad to say, but I've come to the realization that some friendships just aren't meant to last. They call friendship a flower, it's a beautiful thing. It blossoms and flourishes to become a colorful, magnificent flower. But like most flowers, it will wither and die. Maybe that's just how they are, but I find it hard to believe that it's meant to be that way. Once it withers, though, there's no going back. Things are said, looks are exchanged, that you can never take back.

People grow and change. I had always been told that as I grow older I would most likely grow apart from people I called my best friends. I never listened to them, I thought they were wrong. There was no way that could happen to us. This wouldn't be the first time I'm wrong. As a matter of fact we did change. I, for the better, all though I know she disagrees. We no longer see eye-to-eye, she thrives on the drama she denies she created. I leave my seeds of secrets to people now closer to my heart and mind. I know she resents that, but how should I trust someone who talks behind my back?

I don't want to lay the blame on either side, I know that isn't fair. But I think that if she really had wanted to save the friendship we had, she should have came to me. It is not all right to talk to others, without talking to me, and tell how it's all my fault. It is not okay to go to Facebook and make an accusatory status about me. It may not have been direct, but everyone was aware of whom it was about. Come to me first, if you really wanted to fix it. I cannot honestly believe you cared all that much.

I've come to the conclusion that this flower is dead. The petals are shed, the stem is dry, and the colors have faded. I never thought that I would say this, but it's kind of a relief. I know where I stand. I know who I am. I think she should know that I've moved on from our friendship. After all that's happened I don't think it could ever be the same. So let's just part ways and leave things be. We're older now and I really don't find all this drama worth the hassle. I smile at the thought of all the good times we had, and, in the end, that's what I'll remember most.

Elsie and Pell

"Hey Elsie, why don't I ever get to drive places anymore?"
"Are you really asking me that?"
"Did you really just answer my question with a question?"
"Are we really going through this again?"
"Just answer the question."
"You don't know?"
"If you don't answer my question I'm going to--"
"Fine, fine. Well, first off you take every corner going AT LEAST thirty, you try to 'pop wheelies' at the curb when we're in a parking lot, stoplights and traffic signs clearly mean nothing to you, and if that's not good enough, you have a catch phrase you use often: I can make it! Even when you obviously can't."
"Wow."
"Exactly, Pell, exactly."
"No. I thought you enjoyed it."
"Enjoyed what?"
"The Pell Driving Experience. I mean, Elsie, you lead a pretty boring life. I figure--"
"Hey!"
"--might as well spice it up, let her experience the rush of a brush with death."
"You are a piece of work."
"You'll thank me later. Just wait for my next adventure for you..."
"What?! No. I refuse to take part. You are crazy if you think I will--hey! Don't walk away, I'm not done here!"

"And there, perched comfortably on my pillow, was Markus."
"Markus as in the spider who taunted you as a child."
"Yes, Elsie, is there any other Markus?"
"Well, there's Mar--"
"Rhetorical: meaning shut the hell up."
"Pell. That is so not what rhetorical means."
"Can I please get back to my story? Thank you. As I was saying, there was Markus. Like I hadn't taken charge so long ago and forced him from my room forever."
"Right, by killing him."
"Elsie! No! I could never--. Well, you know."
"Did I not just watch you knock out Gary Remelman in gym yesterday?"
"Yeah, but i didn't kill him! Sometimes you are so impossible. No. I asked him, kindly, to never show his feet-tickling, web-spinning, head-dangling face again. And he didn't. Until now."
"Head-dangling?"
"When I tried to sleep at night he would dangle above my head and taunt me."
"Huh. So what'd you do?"
"Captured him. Snuck him into the caf and released him--"
"How humanitarian of you."
"In Rob's milk."
"Pell!"
"Oh shush, it's not like I poisoned him. He almost got a dose of--. Well never mind."

A Trio of Poems

So here are three poems that I wrote back in January. We were doing a poetry unit in my English class and we had to write an ABC poem, an object poem (I don't actually remember what it's called), and then a free verse poem. Here there are!

ABC Poem
A nother day is about to begin
B oundless opportunities await just outside the door
C hoices are for making, just say when.
D on't let those people who are waiting for
E verything to come crashing down on you
F orce you into giving up on
G olden victory on which they wish to poo.

The Piano
A telegraph of emotions and feelings
Sends signals conveying that which I cannot say.
Those who carefully listen decipher my code.
As I hammer my dots and dashes, and get carried away.

Immune to the World
What kind of world do we live in,
where some people only care for themself.
Where people are only for the using
and friendship grows dusty on a self.

What has this world come to
when in order to survive you must take and take.
When you have to stab your friend in the back
and cause their whole world to break.

Well, I've grown stronger and wiser,
the trickery no longer works on me.
I've found a new way to survive
to which my pride and honor is the key.

I realize that these probably aren't my best. They've sort of made me realize that my poetry tends to be kind of literal. I've been trying to work on it. I know some poetry is good when it's like that, but all of my poetry is like that. You could say I've been kind of using these to base myself off of to improve. It's a work in progress and we'll see how it all turns out!

red booth diner.

I'm not quite sure how long we sat there across from each other. All I knew was that my butt was seriously starting to hurt and my brain was buzzing from trying hard not to return his gaze. I started to shift my position when it became clear that my bare skin had become stuck to the vinyl of the beat-up red booth. Wincing, I ripped my legs fast from the seat. "Just like ripping off a band-aid," Dad would say, "fast and all at once." And then we'd see who could do it the fastest. Giggling and squealing like the little girls we were.

"What is it?" he demanded softly, snapping me out of the wave of nostalgia.

"What are you talking about?"

"Your eyes--they changed. Like you were remembering something. Something that made you happy."

"It's impossible not to remember in this town." I replied. Everywhere I went something reminded me of her. Autumn was the worst with it's apple cider, mountainous leaf piles, and school starting. I remembered this one time--

"You're doing it again," he playfully warned me while tugging on at my hair, laughter in his eyes. But then suddenly his voice became softer and serious. "You know, it's okay to remember. They're part of who you are. Your past. She wouldn't want you to forget."

"It's just impossible to get on with my life when I'm constantly reminded of life before--before... it happened. Before, when there wasn't an after. Only tomorrow." As a rule, I generally didn't talk about what had happened. But on the rare occasion I did, I picked at my hangnails and avoided eye contact at all costs.

But the silence was too long, curiosity got the better of me and I looked up. I was expecting him to be looking at me with sympathy or pity, searching for the right words to "comfort" me. He knew me too well, though. He knew that's not what I needed, nor wanted. He just gravely, steadily gazed back at me. Saying nothing, but giving me exactly what I needed. He was simply there. And that was enough.