Definitely not a silent night, nor a holy one

It is Christmas Break. AND you are already studying. Ah, good ol' Abigail Braughton. Always over-achievin'.

I don't know if the cello is my passion, and the fact that I don't know makes me think that it probably isn't. I love it dearly, but I don't know if something I am not good at can be my passion. If so, I am only opening myself for disappointment, which I already do too often.

What do you mean, crashing? Don't you go having an emotional breakdown on me, Abby. I don't know what I would do. I was already afraid you were having one last night when you were talking in your sleep, and I was about to flip out. Goodness, ahh, I don't want you to be upset over anything, which is pointless in saying, since you aren't going to be like, "Auds doesn't want me sad, I better cheer up immediately." Didn't we just talk about this? Hmm...

Snot and paint. It is sad how easy this is to imagine. With the snot that is usually on my face and the paint that is always on you, I can see it clearly.

I got home and watched a bunch of IC videos so that I will no longer feel, err, "inexperienced".

The humping reindeer have been parted. I felt sad, really, driving by the non-loving Christmas decorations.

Woah. All right, everyone will judge you. Always. No matter what. Because that is how people are. Which is why, for me, it is impossible to love them. You are too forgiving.

I don't think you are too lazy to "rouse to action" when something moves you. Invisible Children, anyone?

So after spending a lovely time with you are your grandmother, I found that your sarcasm had rubbed off on me for a time period afterwords. My grandmother read my newspaper article and turned to me and said, "You wrote this?" And I said, without hesitation, "Nope. I told one of my friends to do it and put my name on the article." She gave me this confused expression until my mom turned around and told me not to be a smart-ass.

Whoop, sorry English freak. I will never end a sentence with an adverb ever again. I read that and was actually quite terrified.

She gazed up at the Ragpicker's serious, though dirty, face and felt a sadness inside her that could only be caused by those for which feelings were true and deep. The Ragpicker in return tried to smile, but the shaky and lopsided grin that crossed was in no way reassuring to the terrifyed Ticketmaster. She dropped whatever stolen item she had been holding and reached out a single, small hand that would perfectly clasp that of the Ticketmaster, and they both knew of this from previous experience. The Ticketmaster released all inhibitions, dropping all thoughts of the slow and disappointing life she had led for the past few years, and grabbed the offered hand with a sturdier grin. The world closed in around the pair, whose affections had not changed as time swept by.

To be continued...

Our generation has a lot to do, but I like to believe that we have the determination and energy, as well as the large population, to make it happen. I think it is easier to point out flaws in yourself, but I don't understand why. Why is everyone so perfect in comparison to the loser that each of us is inside?

Night. Sleep well, which I have found be now is impossible for you. IT IS ALMOST CHRISTMAS! (too bad this will be the most awkward holiday ever...)