You are on the verge of death. Now stare at the wall.

Having an idiot for a doctor is worse than having an idiot for a teacher.

The teacher will not say "Yes, it does usually kill people" and be serious about it.

AND THEN LOCK YOU IN A ROOM!

The the doctor’s office - just more comforting than the one I was in


Okay. Maybe I should explain.

I was feeling like Death - or how he feels in something I wrote for school - and if my temperature went any higher my brain would explode and then die. As in it would be even lamer than it already is. So, after much yelling at my father (he was telling me brains don't fry) I got my way and went to the doctor.

After waiting for an hour and falling asleep in the waiting room, the person finally called my name. Like a good little Death I shuffled and moaned my way into the room and sat on the table thing.

And sat.

And sat.

Until a thermometer was shoved in my face. 104.2. That means the brain I like was about to EXPLODE!!!

So, the good doctor left me in there for half an hour. Thank you so much. I just love being Death and feeling my brain die.

Then I began crying. My mother began laughing. Yes, I am a drama queen and was faking it. The crying. not the being Death.

Finally, the doctor showed up. She began digging her bony, cold fingers into my disgruntled abdomen. AND ASKED IF IT HURT. Then yelled at me because I kept saying "Of course it hurts!"

Turning to my mother she says, "The only thing I can think of is meningitis."

I sat up as fast as I possibly could and screamed "That kills people!"

"Yes. It does."

Then she walked out and left me in that stupid white room for another thirty minutes. I couldn't even pee!

So I began thinking about my death. And flipping out because I was working on Elaine's story now and I felt guilty enough about leaving Cleodentri and Dave in the dust. What would happen to my stories? What about all the one's I had yet to sketch out.

Dude! I need to get home to write!

So I was crying and frantic when the doctor sent me to the hospital. Not because I was dying.

Because I have characters that would haunt me as I haunt people myself.

Yes. I am a nutcase. But I am a writer. I write about people no one else had ever met before.

The good thing about my being told I would die is I now know who gets which book to finish.

Letter to a Non-existent Being

This is to a character who I have been having... issues with, for, I don't know, a good six months. She has been in a closet (my mind is set up like an old abandoned house with surprisingly stable locks) for the past two months. And so... here it goes.

Luna,
My apologies (yes, I know I got that from Dave). I now understand why you are so hung up over a certain someone and I should not be mad at you for being your girly self. Even if you tend to be the complete opposite of me, and so having you make comments is rather annoying.
But I can not release you from your confinement in the closet. I am going to change the lightbulb though! Won't that be great?
I can not deal with you being in love with Obadiah right now. Thanks to spending some time with him (for your story! I promise. Don't get mad.) I am now... I get your point. So, I have to get back to merely putting up with his weird behavior before releasing you.
Please feel free to pass me notes through the crack under the door. Or even have Zipporah visit you. Then maybe I won't want to puke with the lovely romance you let ebb through your words.
Well, before I am tempted to let you go on and on about "your" Obadiah (and how you secretly wish Scotch would fall in a well) , I must flee this section of the "house" for the part with weapons and warring wizards.
Good-bye.
I hope to free you soon, patient prisoner.
Me

Yup. I just wrote a letter to someone who lives in my head and notebooks. At least she can't kill me...

Mental Health now means Writing

I can not help it. I am secretly trying my best to squirm my way out of school.

By squirm I mean coming down in the morning with a pitiful look on my face complaining that my stummy hurts. Okay, not really. I only did that once and I did feel sick. But, still. I managed to avoid school for two days.

And I got to write.

Yeah, I know, this is all boring. Why would anyone care? Actually, that applies to everything I write. Especially my stories.

But I don't care.

I would go insane without them.

I am unsure how exactly this is insane, but, okay. I'll listen to Google.

Not that I am not insane with them, just it would be a whole lot worse.

If I am not writing, those little creeps will begin to nudge my mind. By nudging I mean I might randomly begin flirting with the guy ringing up my crackers or trying my best to act "normal" and smart whilst descending some stairs with my friend. In other words, my characters let me know they need to be written about.

And yes, I realize I am already psychotic and should go see a psychiatrist. I don't think so.

Why? Because I am perfectly fine if I write.

So, I have squirmed my way out of a week of school for Mental Health issues. I am going to write. and Write. and Write. But, I will be making myself more mentally stable.

Which, by the way, is really hard to explain to teachers.

"Are you distressed?"

Uh... how exactly do you tell your teacher that it is the characters in your head that are distressed and you really don't want to be crying over your cup being dirty because it reminds Luna of Obadiah?

"No. I just, um, yeah. I'm also going on vacation!" *runs away*

Yup.

PSAT. Write an essay about how a book that truthfully sucks rocks. Then... lalala la! Writing!!!

And mentally stabilizing myself. Ah...

Notebooks, Grapes, and Faces

The man who adopted my mother and the woman he has been married to since before my birth, made their way down from Buffalo to visit their lowly "granddaughter" (I use those marks due to the status of adopted and step.) and then took her out for dinner. Whilst there, happily enjoying my fancy Chinese - Ahem. Sorry. Asian - food, the one I call Grandma bent down and came up holding a little bag.
"This is for you." she said.
Well, obviously. I figured it was not for the waiter who was standing there, a twinkle in his eye. (I'd just like to say that surprising people with the staff singing you a song as you make yourself a fat little piggy and gorge yourself will not make them like you very much. In fact, it just might have the opposite effect. Anypoodle, back to the "story") So, being a normal teenager, I took the little bag and opened it.
I got a notebook! It's really pretty and it's blue and green and purple and I LOVE that combination.

that set up, just prettier. and not... that.

There was also this amazing pen that writes on all the paper I tried it on and looks really pretty and I had so much fun with it.

Oh. And I got fifty dollars and a little purse thing that cost a ton of money. But, who cares? I got a notebook!!!!!!!
This is why we don't keep the reason for our insanity wholly a secret.

Until your mother begins making fun of you because you excited about a bunch of paper gathered together. Whatever. She just doesn't understand.

Which is why instead of saying I wanted little bottles of cinnamon and calamuse at the party I was forced into, I went with grapes. Aren't they delicious, though? I could eat them all day.

yummmmm....

And, they are perfect for throwing at people. If they are nearby and someone bothers you (as in his nose looks really obnoxious now that all the hair is chopped off from the head attached to the nose), all one must do is take a grape, grin maliciously (maybe this is just me though) and chuck it at their face.

Sekhmet. (and other goddesses of the Ancients)

One of my all time favorite parts of writing is the messing with history part.

Still wondering about why Hitler did what he did to the Hebrews? Psha. I have the answer (but that takes a while to explain, so I will not record it.).

Not entirely sure what story to believe about Anastasia, the Russian Czar's daughter?

Look! It's her! So... Innocent.



Well, she's dead by the way. She did not try to escape. She was forced to escape. By a Spake. (If you do not know what that is, just sit there and mope or head on over to the blog belonging to Naomi, the big enchilada in our creation of them). The Spake killed her. In private. Thus her bones being so far away from that of her family.

Currently though, I am working on figuring out which gods and goddesses my lovely little Spake personali - uh, characters - have influenced. It is rather amusing. I am learning a lot about them, too, which really helps seeing as how I am hoping to get into their heads (yeah, that's it. Because I will be the one taking over minds. Not the other way around.).

So... here are a few that reminded me of the Ancient Spakes.

Sekhmet.

It's scary. She looks like Zippy!


War, hunting, mummification, and vengeance are what this Egyptian goddess are in charge of. Guess what. Lovely Zipporah just so happens to be a good representative of them.

The best part is that Sekhmet became calmed by ale. Yup. That's what my little creep does. Freaky.

Isis.


Responsible For : Motherhood Marriage Love Sexuality Health & Healing Immortality Magic

Beastly Crepes. Could she be more like the Egyptian Zipporah?

Taweret

Hehe. Heehee. Okay, ahem. Taweret takes on the form of a hippo.

Needless to say, that alone is enough to incite giggles.

But then Solomon (who techinically is not mine) LOVES LOVES LOVES hippos. So, I just had to add this.

Amun

So, I can't find much on him momentarily, but he gets the head of a ram. He is here because on Saturday, my darling friend and I were saying that Jedediah was a goat. Amun has the head of a ram!

Or apparently, according to Google, the body of a Penguin.

Hermes


This would be Jedediah. This Greek god liked to travel, like Jedediah who bothered almost all of the Middle East and Europe with his pretty constant moping. Also, he liked sheep. And Jedediah apparently likes sheep. (Why, though? Sheep are so stupid!)

Whoa. Look at those horns. Dangerous.

So, yup. Hey, you learned something about the Ancient gods. Whether or not it's useful... Well, you decide.

Untitled (Due to a blocking of wrods to the brain)

I am in school. Obviously, the people in charge do not realize how hard it is to focus on what a+b squared equals when, just moments before, I was happily attacking someone with a sharp knife. So, pretty much, when the teacher asked me what the answer to problem eleven was, and I miraculously answered correctly with "3", I was not talking about what "a" stood for. I meant how many people my wonderful antagonist had killed "today".

Whenever I can, due to this, I am actually writing - not just living in my head.

It's entertaining. The reactions I get, I mean. I guess the writing is, too, but that's another story. A few minutes left in class - left to boredom - and I whip out my handy-dandy notebook and begin writing away. The girl in front of me turns around.

"Whatcha writing?"

"Nothing."

"Oh. So schoolwork?"

"Nope." Really? Why would I be passionately bent over my schoolwork, making faces at the non-dialogue happening? "I just like to write.

Then comes a whole conversation about me writing, how someone else loved my poem's I was forced into reading out loud to the class last year, and how I plan on finding someway to write for a living.

The best part? I have two people who claim they will read a book I write. And I know for sure BSmith will.

Which is good. Except my ego needed to be deflated.

So I tried to get my father to read something I wrote.

It worked.

Now, back to writing something that does not happen in this reality.

Strange Things I Tell You...

My brother celebrated his birthday over the weekend. Now he is a teenager. Guess who is having this drilled into her head. Yup. Me. Guess who is having it drilled into his head she ain't driving him anywhere. Ever. Unless a Zombie eats his brains and thus steals his ability to talk. NO. Not him. Sadly. The correct answer is Dave. Who some claim is non-existent and I should stop talking to. Whatever.

But, that is beside the point (whatever that means. Honestly, I think that is so far away from the point that you would think they hate each other. Can points hate each other?).

The point is, I got dragged around everywhere on Saturday and learned and few things.

Such as...

Constitution Island is a whole lot of fun. Especially when I am sitting on a rock dangling precariously over the Hudson River while writing a story I abandoned due to an over-whiny, pain in the rear, super romantic character. Oh, and getting lost while climbing humongous rocks that dwarf an average sized person is enough to make me smile at the creepy random people I see.

There was this really weird trail there that began in the middle of the woods, so I decided to follow it, seeing as I had managed to get lost. Out of nowhere, in the middle of the flippin island, it disappeared. It was sooo weird. I was tempted to begin talking to the trees, asking for directions. Then I realized this is Reality. Reality sucks. (In other, more "normal" words, trees here, do not, of course, talk. And, if they do, it certainly is not the English language.)

Never jet-ski with loose pants on. You crash, they fall off and you are stranded in the middle of the Hudson with your bare-naked rear. (Then little people on passing ferries get really excited and bite their older sister who is not letting them see the naked man in the river. She begins screaming about creeps and someone named Zipporah and how naked men are a curse upon the world and in the end screams "Mydearfuzzywuzzybunnyslippers, you're a creep!")

Apparently, if you hint to a slightly awkward guy that you are writing a story in hopes of it becoming a book, he becomes really interested in you. And then, if you tell him that it's about somewhat vampire-like creatures that you created and then your amazing friend (*cough* Naomi *cough*) made it something new and then it just became this big thing that haunts your dreams and invades your mind and thoughts and lurks around every corner he then decides to stick himself at your trying-to-write feet and question you and question you. And then you feel all weird because, once again, there is a guy who seems to like you and you want to throw something at his face and scream "I'm a major psychopath! Leave me alone!" Except, you are wayyy too nice and are enjoying explaining this world and leaving Luna in thee dust.

But, see, that's the problem. The wayyy too nice part. I am not way too nice. I beat this kid up a million times in the past, slapped his face in the morning, and told him I would rather eat fish scales than look at his face.

Oh, and, get this, as I explain the whole thing to him (while trying not to randomly get up, kick him in the side and begin screaming at him in "nonexistent" languages) another guy comes over. And then two more. And I am sitting there wondering how Miss. Anti-social-I-Hate-The-World-Can't-All-The-Idiots-Die! end up with a host (to her messed up mind) of guys literally at her feet, listening intently to her ramblings.

They were all a few years younger than me (this person I keep changing the perspective on). And it was CREEPY!

Why doesn't insanity scare people away? Why does it attract them?? AAH! *runs, jumps down a hole, looks for a white rabbit, can't find it, gives up, and curls up in a ball with notebook cradled in arms, writing furiously*

(I now wonder if this made any sense. Well, whatever.)

Heehee. I Play with t.v. shows

Somehow my brother and I have decided that Veggie Tales should totally do a NCIS episode. We would pee our pants in laughter and cry a million amused tears.

Here's the cast:

Larry - Dinozzo

Bob - Mcgee

The Cucumber who played Nebuchadnezzar - Gibbs

Madame Blueberry - Kate

The Carrot girl - Abbey

Junior Asparagus - Palmer

ah! who did we have as Duckie?

oh, yes.

Junior's Father who played the Professor on the Gilligan's Island episode - Duckie.

My brother's only objection to this odd idea:

How do they hold their guns and handcuff the bad guys?

What about the DNA?

Or, if they found a piece of a body?

A Writer - what?!

You know what I've been hearing? Apparently, being a Writer, I am supposed both be a people person and understand people.

Woo! Is that off! Me? Understand people? Hahaha! I don't even know why I do things, forget anyone else!

Well, as a Writer, one knows their characters, gets in their heads. To do that, one must know people well.

Yeah. Okay. I wish. I can't get my characters to shut up and I have no clue why certain ones (Luna!) are so whiny and romantic. Yeah. I know my characters.

And, out of order of course, I am supposed to be a people person.

Ha. Haha. When it comes to guys, half the time I want to throw them down a well and then ask a bird to attack their head (have you ever had that happen to you? It is a weird experience...). Forget the rest of the female population. Outside of most of my friends, I want to lock them up and teach them how to... well, uh... just lock them up. I don't care how nice your butt is. Cover it! Grr...

Oh, yes, total people person. That's me all right.

Which brings me back to knowing people. If I "knew people", would I be as confused by them as I am half the time?

(I prefer being able to at least punish my uncontrollable, un-understandable characters.)

So, I'd just like to say...

Writers have no special powers! Well, besides going to alternate realities without other people. Which, is amazing!!

Zombie Kittens - or, For Mia's contest.

Zombies - and a pretty darn awesome blogger

So, thanks to two people (Er... I don't know if I can put their real names. But, they are writing sisters!) I always have an amazing time with, over the course of a day, I had two revolutionary things happen.

1) I was introduced to a quirky blog that makes me smile and deals with writing. And zombies. Aren't combinations like those the best? My Literary Jam and Toast. That's the blog. The one I will read in a short while and enjoy.

2) I helped make a video for a contest. First contest I have allowed myself to participate in since sixth grade. I am a little older by now. OH! and guess what! It is being held by that amazing person - Mia. I don't actually know the last name because i am a horrible person. (You should be able to tell that by my lack of proper capitalization due to laziness when typing.) My apologies.



See! That's it. And apparently, my attempt to blog about it until the cows come home. Yeeeaaaahhh. Epic. Fail.

Hopefully, I shall be able to put up the video (computers and technology HATE my writing guts) and I will be on time (time and a certain person are out to get me. Both are against my reading blogs - especially with zombies - and my writing. Thankfully, I have ways of tying them up and dropping them in wells =]).

Oh, look. It is making me do it separately. Fools.

But... there is the writing part. Heh. And My apologies to her to not being able to promote it. I hang my head in shame and wish upon a magic star I had the internet more readily available and time on my side. But, Alas! I do not. What I do have is a knack for stringing words together. Though, the attempt will reek. So, my dear contest judge and lover of zombies, here is my attempt...

I escaped from the clutches of the Wicked Witch. My freedom was costly and it took much courage. Ok. Fine. I didn't escape. Dorothy came trotting along with her little friends and anyone who read her story knows how it goes. Anyway, the point is, I am no longer under her control.

Which is bad. Being a flying monkey, I am curious and have the ability to fly. Great combination. See, that wonderful mix caused me to find a way out of my world and into a world with strange creatures called vampires.

A strange old man told me I had entered the "Twilight Zone" and then laughed. Apparently, he had made a joke. My non-laughing response was to eat a flea that was climbing up his nose.

So, these "vampires" eat blood. Or drink it - whatever! Humans have been scared of them for a long time. I was a little scared too. Being a monkey, I was able to talk to the creatures roaming the forest I was in, and talked to a little kitten. The thing was decrepit looking and smelled something awful like dead flesh. But, this odd little creature, was my link to the vampires. From him I learned what they were.

I was shaking in my little boots (Sigh. Yes, boots. I had to wear them while being a slave and got used to them. Okay?) as we walked through the shadowy forest. Talk about a horrible time. Well, then the little kitten, Kitty (of all the obvious things to name a creature), gave a little snarl. I turned to look, curious as ever and saw a man.

Not really, I found out. "Vampire!" My little companion gasped. Sure enough, it was pale and looked like a bowl of limp noodles. Then, it stepped out into a patch of sunlight. I nearly died of laughter. He was sparkling! I was scared of a thing that sparkled! Oh, the fun of it.

Little Kitty went running towards him, his mangled tail up in the air. "Sparkles..." He whispered, enchanted. Of all the things I have ever seen, this was one of the weirdest ones. A kitten, whispering in scared tones about how deadly vampires are only minutes before, was calmly staring as if under a spell at this blood-sucking, sparkling man.

Wondering what was up with Kitty, but not wanting to have my blood sucked, I went looking for the nearest willow tree. Those trees are the easiest to hide under, with their long, dangling branches. I wanted to hide. I found one, by a beautiful little pond, and curled up in some lower branches.

So, here I am, hoping that sparkling thing does not find me and I can find a way out of this world. This strange, strange world with vampires and falling apart kittens who love to stare at the sparkling death-bringers. Oh why was I ever freed? If I had never been, this Flying Monkey would be happily at home, nice and snug and secure. Not huddled in a willow tree.

Attackers and Killers

Writing. Ah... sit down in front of a sheet of clean paper, or a blank computer screen that is annoying me with it's dinosaur bone quality, take a deep breath, and begin furiously putting my words out of my head and into public viewing. halfway through I have a little breakdown and curl up on the big comfy chair and cry. Why do my people like to have tragic things happen when the world is so good for me? Uh, yeah. Apparently I forget who I write about. Creatures that are on the verge of having no soul. Obviously, they don't care.

Oh, and they don't just have tragic moments where a beloved dies and leaves me crying. NOO! They have to attack me as I am walking home, already freaked out. Why? Because it is dark and I am in the head of a wimp. They think attacking me at those moments is just a barrel of fun.

To make matters worse, they kill me, too. I am happily trying not to fall in love with my Innocent as Cleodentri as I stand in the dark near woods and then wham! I am attacked (this time it is a different attack) and get killed.

And people wonder why I have a growing hatred for night time when I am by myself.

Tonight, with the best of luck, I will curl myself up by the computer, with some tissues just in case, and pound furiously on the keyboard just to see how many times I can wound a certain pain that won't stop attacking me.

This is why I avoid the doctors that deal with mental health.

I rather like this odd system...

Smelling Spices and Sniffing Closets

Mmmm. Spices. Cinnamon. Oregano. Nutmeg. Cumin. Paprika. And Tarragon. (There are a whole bunch more, but like I am going to list them all.) I saw tarragon in the spice cabinet and hopped on it. (not literally. But that would have been amusing.) Then, tearing through the little containers, I found nutmeg. I wanted to compare the smells. Yeah, great idea. Nutmeg reminded me of pie. Then, tarragon reminded me of hippies. Because it flew up my nose, I spazzed, and my mother began laughing and crowing about how no one has ever been known to snort tarragon before. Being so mature, I let her know (sarcastically) nutmeg does not snort well, so tarragon had to do. Then I got yelled at by a cranky, woken up father. I mean, it's not my fault I write better at night.

Yes, the blame falls on my writing. Cleodentri's story involves tarragon. So, of course I was smelling it. How is that not obvious. Unfortunately, my nose has still not recovered from being attacked by demon leaves.

Somehow, I have been cursed into sniffing a lot more than just food. A skit for my youth group has someone sniffing in a closet. Well, the guy doing this has always reminded me of a dog. As I am supposed to be bored and slightly embarrassed, I am secretly suppressing a great case of the sillies. At one point last night, I ended up joking around and sniffing. As if I don't make a fool of myself already.

My sisters, with their oddness, pulled me into their room and had me sniff around looking for the cat. Do I look like a dog? I think not! (more like a mouse or a mole, I always thought.) So, I am crawling around sniffing, when the closet door flies open in front of my face and I must sniff. Every. Single. Piece of. Clothing.

They need an air freshener.

Now, I have an old abandoned building to creep around. And sniff. For my writing, of course. =]

The Tents of GAW! Mwahaha!

Okay, do not tell me the Tents of Gaw does not sound menacing or like it belongs in some fantasy novel. The Tents of GAW, a little celebration the neighboring town hosted, were very beneficial to me. There were tents (if you did not figure this out go find an emu, squawk at it, then stuff a whole apple pie in its mouth. have fun running! Ahem...) and a large quantity of them were super cool and had... wait for it... rocks!

Yes. Rocks. Aren't I a loser. Actually, I am a loser writer, thank you very much. I practically attacked those poor people in my search for Amethysts and something from Onyx. There was this really pretty onyx ring. And it looked very scary at the same time. My lovely friend (I am actually not being sarcastic) had to drag me away as I pouted, due to my status as a poor little girl who was at a five dollar loss. Finally, I found this little tent with rocks and rocks and rock jewelry and had a blast.

Some lovely person asked what amethyst means. It's the stone of royalty. I let out a little squeal of happiness and began jumping around. Jedediah told this story I made up about amethysts and it fit perfectly! Then I asked what onyx meant, as I have Cleodentri (who is fully aware she sounds like a cat with clean teeth and a pet tree) wear onyx so she doesn't eat people. It means strength and a bunch of other things that I could associate with my use of the rock. I was so happy!

I got a pair of onyx earrings and, being the dork I am, have not taken them out of my ears except to shower. They are nice and do not stab me. =].

My Dork moment:

Ohmydearmuffins! Look it's Egyptian. haha. I am totally not a dor - Oh! *pounces on thing* It's the secret symbol of Solomon! Hippos!

Sam: How many times are you going to completely contradict yourself?

me: I don't know. Amethyst! Look! A knife!

Sam: *Shakes head and laughs* You are so lucky I love you or I would call a big man with a net.

That was not at all random. What are you talking about?

Writing Goals and Wells

After babysitting Tuesday and writing while the two cuties played with crayons, I got home and sat in front of the computer, waiting to think of something. All I could think of was the weekend and the discussions I had with my friend concerning goals and writing. So, then came this stupid dialogue of sorts.

Me:Hmm... a goal sounds like a good thing to come up with. One that is much more solid than have something done by the start of school.

Mom: What are you doing with your face?

Me: Thinking. (continues on to myself) Yeah. I can have a revolutionary summer for me by having goals. Mwaha - who are you?

Thing: Goals! You seem to need me. You write. I can make do for a writer!

Me: (making a face. I much prefer talking to my characters than things other people can converse with too. Yup. I'm insane.) That's lovely. I can handle this myself.

Mom: Stop giving me dirty looks!

Me: I'm not giving YOU dirty looks! Go away! I mean... aha... I love you very much. Please go into the kitchen. Where I will be free of you.

Goals: She's gone! How about you finish that chapter you started by Friday and then begin working with Drell again? Isn't that a great idea!

Me: Hmm... I guess it is. I'll do it.


Hahaha! Yup. I got that done. It is now Friday and I have not touched a piece of paper or my computer unless it was reading a book or playing on the Internet. Yes, a wonderful idea. I am now at the point where I want to find a well, introduce Well to Goals and then push Goals down Well!

But, life isn't like that. I can't get rid of my disappointment and some emotion close to anger by pushing my insanity down a well. *Sigh*... if only.

Well! I am done wallowing in Writer's misery of my own making. I think I shall now find a new book to read and then make myself some Bluffins (blueberry muffins). Or maybe i shall go hunt down Goals and yell at the perky little thing.

Don't Kill People Who annoy you... Characters on the Other Hand...

Last night. All night. Fighting and bickering and disagreeing like nobody's business. I had a headache the size of China. Do you know how hard it is to review for a chem test while characters are having a fight? Incredibly hard!

Luna, for whatever reason, is a complete brat to me. I have no clue what I did, but she insists upon not telling me anything, being in love with stupid Obadiah (who she won't let me call "Bad"), and then bugging me to write her story.

Drell, an already angry, messed-up person, has recently made her presence very known to me and my whole family. Last night, while I was studiously contemplating how far I could chuck my review book and still be able to read it, she began pestering me too.

The sweetheart who hates dark people and the dark person who hates sweethearts decided to battle over which story I should write. Then, with all the nerve they have, after I told them I had review to do, they began arguing over whether I should be doing my chem or not. Luna is getting another scene with Obadiah for backing me with that one. I think Micah is going to die sooner if Drell doesn't knock it off.

My father, lovingly, yelled at me about how important sleep is for school work and that if he ever sees me up until midnight ag - what on earth was I doing shaking my head at him? It was my unbelief that it was already midnight and I had wasted three hours with two stupid characters. I have decided that, unlike siblings, these two can die if they don't stop pestering me.

I sound insane and like I am, in fact, schizophrenic. But according to my mother's good ol' doc, I'm not. Got to love being an actress. Yes, sometimes much more than writing because acting is not having the responsibility of a million stories (okay, only a few at the moment) begging my time.

A. (because I don't feel like a title)

Regents week. No... hell week. Supposedly a term for acting. the week before opening night when you run around reciting your lines like a chicken with mad cow disease. I always find that week very nice and easy to slip into. It's like a dream; the ones where my stories come to me and I am not me anymore. That makes me happy.

Then comes this week. Regents week. Sure, I can sleep later. But what does that matter to me? I want to be typing furiously on the computer in a way that makes my parents worry. NOT sitting there like a good little schoolgirl studying the end of wars and such. You know what I what i would like to study?

1) Pre-medieval warfare and the creatures from my world. Nope. Got to study the periodic table trends.

2) ancient Greek clothing choices or I'll just let my characters run free and wild. Bring that up and I have triangles shoved down my throat.

3) My world needs a map because otherwise I will be too confused. I have a map... of Latin America. I'm almost positive there is not a country called Galsha in Latin America

4) Hi Drella! I am thinking of names for... shoot. Stupid Philosophes. (yes, I talk to my characters.)

5) the Workings of a Wizard! I mean, uh, organic molecules or something of that sort.

next week I am locking myself in my room (after spending three days cleaning the disaster) and writing writing writing reading and writing!

Come week of July 1, come!

Realizations - ones that will hold lifelong lessons to only me

6-4-10 --- *yawn* wait... underwear is a good thing to have....

6-5-10 --- 1) food is actually what keeps one from puking on the rides... 2.) a moldy loaf of bread is the worst insult out there 3) how to amuse three teenage girls... have a lightning storm

6-6-10 --- 1) little children love it when you scream oddly and/or call them chicken nuggets 2) screaming obnoxiously at an amusement park and then while watching children will leave you sounding like a duck...

6-7-10 --- ...then by the next day you sound like a man duck who smokes something... but apparently you sound adorable

6-8-10 --- 1) the special friend in the song is me. Yup, I talk to trees, thank you Chris for announcing that to the class. 2) My dad is just a little too used to me 3) ah! we're the Sacred Twins! 3) my backyard is the Forest of Wizards... and where Luna "dies"

6-9-10 --- 1)wow, Tony is graduating 2)I make awesome fudge 3)walking in the rain ruins shoes... and a good mood 4) People don't want to hear how excited you are that your friend is your twin in an alternate reality

6-10-10 --- 1) pants are a good thing to keep clean 2) Spanish should go find a hole to die in 3) creating your own language while taking a final is never a good idea... especially when it's for Spanish 4) essays are essays... not stories. 5) stupid Obadiah is being very protective and i want to off Zipporah's daughter. 6) Luna is getting much more than I ever planned

Microsoft has issues

Bring a writer and a student, I am required to use a computer on a weekly basis. I love the way typing feels and the little clicks that belong to each key my monstrous man-hands touch. Sometimes, if I could, I would spend five hours just typing away and forgetting that there is a world around that has people I do not control and I am a human so I need to eat sometime in my life. The main problem with that sort of enjoyment, besides that I would neglect myself, is that I don't really have access to a computer that I can use. Lucky me.

But, before I do get my hand son one, I need to find some program out there that has a setting just for poetry. I am not kidding, I will find one. today I have been typing up a bunch of poems and songs - things that don't really have punctuation at the end of a line and lines are not meant to be capitol. ARE NOT MEANT TO BE CAPITOL. And I think I used the wrong spelling, but I don't care. I am too lazy to check and am not too fond of that words anyway.

Honestly, certain poems that are not capitalized at the beginning of every line have power through the capitalization. that's how most of mine go and they lose that quality while Microsoft stubbornly refuses to stop capitalizing all my lines.

Words that I know exist also suddenly become just a figment of my imagination. Now, I use words that are not "real" all the time, but I mean English words this time. Also, what is it with the whole you spelled your name wrong. Thank you Microsoft for letting me in on the fact that apparently my whole family is a bunch of liars just trying to confuse me!



Anyway... the sun is shining, I have access to computers, and no one has stolen all my random scattered papers yet. Today is good and I will smile.

Flyleaf, Frocks, Fragments, and Fish

Flyleaf: Besides being one of my all time favorite bands, I am dwelling on them because I get to go to their concert on Monday. It happened all of a sudden. Only two weeks from the concert my father decides to tell me; ironically, the same day that I was thinking of how i was going to miss the concert I had heard of and knew was in May. Now, I am officially getting my butt carted off to a theater to see them. I hear the little voice I call Ralph scream a victorious yeas when I walk through the door and find out my tickets are secured. Only one thing left to do - figure out how to take a nap while babysitting.
Flyleaf does have an amazing sound that matches me, in my opinion, but even more so, the thing that really keeps me hooked are the lyrics. "The moonless dark meant to make me strong" is how I feel most of the time when I feel the floor disappear from underneath my feet. "Swept Away" is lyrical genius to a degree I for one will never reach. "Sorrow" and "Arise" I could (and have) replay many times and not find myself sick of. *sigh* I can't wait! And yes, I did just squeal that in my head like the typical girl would do out loud. Except I am in no way typical nor normal.
Frocks: Lacey Moseley wears the most amazing dresses, a.k.a. frocks, half the time and I want the one she wore in the "fully Alive" music video for the party I am being forced to have. The only reason I look forward to it is that I have been promised I can either look Greek, Elvish, Fae, or Renaissance. Something tells me when it's not my own party I will have a hard time explaining what exactly is up with the wings and/or arrows attached to my back... I also have a sweet sixteen to find a dress for. In honor of conversations had with the birthday girl I threaten to wear a pirated dress and claim Orlando Bloom as my soulmate just to see her reaction.
Fragments: A.K.A. my mind. So many of my thoughts are coming to me in fragments that belong to songs, poems, and stories I can't write down because I am taking a test in Spanish and must hand in the paper, or other such nonsense.
Fish: It starts with f and can also mean "girl" if you know me. I want to make a tuna melt right about now since it has been close to twelve hours since food last passed by my lips. And all because I was being kind to a friend. Darn friends and kindness!

The trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed.

C. S. Lewis (1898 - 1963)

I think he was on to something... I try to appear dumber than I am to blend in. next thing I know I can't remember "dragon" in Japanese. It's rather sad.

Writer's Block is listed as a Disease in my Medical Book

I closed my eyes tight and let my imagination take on the oddness it does every time I am bored in the class I am forced to take at seven thirty in the morning. Nothing was coming. Nothing. All I could come up with was the amount of calories in my yogurt and the likely number in my muffin. I have gym today. That means walking. I hope we don't go outside in the rain.
I forced my eyes open, scared that my imagination had finally vanished. That would mean no more turning to stone as I try to drift off to sleep because I heard a bump that could be a serial killer climbing up the side of my house. But... that would also mean no more Luna and feeling as if I am being transported to an alternate reality when I take a walk in my woods. It would mean a permanent writer's block outside of essays and no more making Mrs. Panzer laugh with the absurd comparisons I come up with. Could my spirit remain the same if my imagination disappeared.


I open my eyes and take a look around. Not even a hint of Fae here in this boring, white room. Why am I not relating Santo to some insane teacher Sage has to put up with. Oh no! i know what she is saying. Am I really paying attent... the answer is 6. that was simple. I never think math is simple! Help!
I spent the last minutes of class fretting about what I would do if this turned into a permanent problem. How would I survive.

Songwriting came and Spanish went. So did a few other classes and the whole of my day that forces learning upon me. I began freaking out; hyperventilating when the only thing that would run through my mind during satire was ninjas. I needed to be creative, actually needed to be, and here my mind was being stupid and blocked. I looked at my friend and solemnly let him know my mind was shutting down and I was going to cry tonight if it didn't restart. He laughed and said he loved my humor. ha. Ha. I am so hilarious. (He randomly just appeared over my shoulder and informed me that I did indeed appear to have a really bad case and that it was highly amusing to watch me. Yeah... i was sort of killing the cap of my pen and shaking my fist at the talent vampire sitting on my shoulder)
Then, walking in the dreary rain to make my way to the building designated for books and me, I felt the wind breathe on my neck. I spun around expecting to see Cedric. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized it was only that invisible force aforementioned. No geeky vampire was getting me today. I was safe. But,wait a minute. How was Izzy doing then? Does Jackson ever make it back to her? What does she do with a vampire and this guy with amazing eyes? Holy dear! Why on earth is jack proposing to Sage...?
I had to hold myself down to keep from jumping up and down screaming "It's back!!!" what a relief. And then, that little dark part of my imagination that enjoys the shadows and such, well, he jumped on me and put people behind the bushes. Too happy to be bothered by him, I laughed and waved to the people lying in wait.
Banana nut muffins, do I scare myself at times.

criminalistic should so be a word

Writing an essay I tried to describe an action as criminalistic. The computer has since been jumping down my throat screaming with its read squiggly line that reminds me of a psychopath near a cheek holding a knife, "You're an idiot! It's not a word! Loser!" Well, goshdarnit! it should be a word. I would love that to pieces and bake cookies for the dictionary that published it. I would be using a lot of flour then.

I still need to figure out why this site hates me and won't let me do anything!

S is for snake... and slacking off

Supposedly, for the past qaurter hour, this lazy butt has been doing her current event due friday. Hahaha, that is a good one. Yeah, I have sorta been too busy scheming with myself about how to open a story and reading random stuff and playing with fonts to be doing anything productive. I take that back, the scheming was productive... If I had accomplished anything. But, no! My mind, apparently, refuses to let me open this darn story in anyway that I like. I have this whole scene mapped out in my mind and yesterday, during a softball game, I had the perfect words. This is why me and authority don't get along. Authority likes to tell me that I should not be writing my stories - when I have the perfect words!

Urgh!

Anyway... The current event I have just picked up is about this guy who used a meat hook to get electricity. The police people were all "that's stealing!" and "that's dangerous! You're gonna kill yourself!" Except, they had awsomely angry German accents and words because this happened in Berlin. I find this guy so awesome (if only because he went all MacGyver) and am happy to see we share the same blood. Which is obvious in the fact that i could come up with something absurdly genius but if I make one mistake, I die. This is why I would never trust myself to command an army that is real.

so, I said S is for snakes too, so I might as well tell the tale of the poor snake that never had the chance. I was walking my neighborhood, listening to my music (against the advice of my superior. hee hee ), when three little kids came running up, screaming my name. "Om my gosh, you have to see this!" "It was sooo cool! It's all bloody and still squirming!" "It's yucky!" "Yeah, I have to clean my favorite stick now." Yeah, when the nine year old boy with his adorable smile said this I wondered slightly how he could look so innocent while admitting to harming something.

I followed the band of young vagabonds to see what they were so desparate to show me. Ahem... not show me, but rather see the look of disgust/amusement/horror/laughter/scorn/pride that came across my face at the sight. The amazing thing? they had chopped a snake in three using a doll. No, I am not at all sure how they worked that one out, but they did. It was a hideous doll though... But, their pride was in beheading a reptile and then chopping the rest of it in half. Aren't the little kids I know just darling?

Lack of flashlight and Knives... good or bad?

After a few months of careful deliberation (ahem...) it is finally happening. The place where my Connector lives, and possibly was killed, gets to have me visit it. This place is creepy yet peaceful and either gives me shivers or makes me stand at the gate convincing myself it is not a good idea to go in by myself. You know, just in case that serial killer I believe hid out there once is still there or an evil faerie decides to drop the ceiling on my head. Not that a faerie would come to America, much less this stupid town.
I love this building and would mention it but I'm sort of not supposed to be going. But my mom gave me permission (I am a goody-two-shoes dork and also know that it is a good idea to let somebody know you plan on being stupid.) and then continued to lecture me about how when she was my age she would visit old deserted houses all the time with her friends and never once asked permission to do so. Yeah... But then, to top it all off, I was told to take my little brother along in case the cops came. See, I would send him in first and then if I was caught I could legitimately say i had to get him. So then i began contemplating my mother's sanity and whether or not she wants ME to become a Connector. oh, that is a creature I made for a book. they were once human and would explain but, ahahaha, I don't trust strangers without faces.
"Researching" this place, I discovered there is a park by the same name right outside of Hong Kong. Thank you Yahoo for your insight. Because, you know, I planned on randomly hopping on a plane to China today.
And... this blog hates me!!!!!

Introductions: from I have a plan to oh, I said that?

Today I finally got up the nerve to do something I have been trying to convince myself to do for a good three weeks now. Have a legit conversation with the guy who sits behind me in song writing. We came to the conclusion that he could be a hobo. An insanely obnoxious completely awesome hobo. And I just realized that if my teacher saw this she would have a conniption.
Well, I also accomplished talking to a new person. My introduction? "I don't care if you write a random poem about me. But, FYI, I am beyond weird, so have fun!" then I hopped to my seat like some idiotic rabbit and began writing furiously. she came over began talking about why exactly i am weird. So, even though I am afraid of a creature i came up with, I am not weird. Yeah... okay... what?
Today the debate continued and I said that if I am not weird i most certainly am a nerd and began spouting off words in Celtic and other long lost languages. By Celtic, I mean the words common to all the Celts, not Irish like some people believe. So as I continued with I love tatsus (dragon in Japanese) she just shook her head and laughed. "You're not weird. Or a dork. You're normal."
My mouth gaped open.