Somehow,

some way.

Break, in t-minus two days.

Audrey, I know you didn't let him down. He was probably just surprised you didn't practice, really. Audrey, this doesn't mean anything. That you're slipping, no, that you are losing something or becoming less of a person, no. Audrey, I've never met anyone so consistent and you know, you shouldn't feel guilty about this. I know I'm not helping at all, but really, Audrey. I get the same way though. So I don't understand why I am saying anything, but I really mean it.

Is the cello your passion? That sounds so corny, but I mean it.

She's happy, really she is. It's just she's getting older and she's thinking more and is knowing more and her eyes are being opened, and for her, it's just so cruel. I just want to take care of her. I want her to be happy, really.

Crashing is the worst. I am so ready for break. It's kind of like a padding for this stage of my crash, really. Actually, I feel more like a sinking ship. Gar.

Forts, soup, and head rubs. What else could you ever ask for?!? I am excited, really. I just 'finished' a horrible painting. That's the one thing I don't like about art classes. Assigned projects and deadlines. I know it's all for the better, though. I need to get used to it. Aren't we told not to do that, though?

I shall change our picture tonight. DUNDUNDUN There really are so many possibilities for this thing.

Yes, I am being very clean. Although I am covered in paint and snot (running out of tissues is so ugly) at the moment. It look very, er, viscious.

I have many emotional explosions. I've only had maybe one or two at school though, thank God. I usually can keep it at bay untill I get home. Sometimes, well, I don't even know.

No one would ever judge me? Auds, no! That is the biggest lie. That's what I'm terrified of. That's what puts me where I get sometimes. I'm not saying it's not my fault, or it is, but I don't know, I'm confusing myself. Auds, I am judged just as everyone else. Everything anyone says is analyzed by someone. It's all being picked at. We are all being picked apart, and some people will not be finished untill you are picked clean, and they leave you with absolutely nothing, not even an explanation. Just a smirk and a signal they've gone on and I'm ranting. End.

I don't like waiting either. I know you are suppost to rouse to action if something moves you to do so, but I don't. Failure.

"Your busy head provides insight to the mind of geniuses, truly." I do not understand this, and isn't there a rule for ending sentences with adverbs? Are you not suppost to put them before what it is describing? I'm just saying, and cracking myself up that I was so serious for four seconds.

After hearing her name, the Ticketmaster could barely stand it. She stood, head levying to the side, her eyes fixed on her moccasins. Her hands were shaking, and trying to casually put them around her neck. An obvious cover-up for the nerves taking over. This was not suppost to happen, why was this happening? With all this in her head, she did not notice at first when the Ragpicker spoke again. "Abigail, Abigail. You and I both know closure will never happen. It will never be over." At that, the Ticketmaster sighed. Not this, not now, not ever again. But once again, her heart spoke before her head and she replied "Yes, I know."

Always comparing. Why is it so difficult to find good in oneself? Or the opposite for other people? Why is everything becoming so difficult? Maybe it's just me? I don't think so, though. Well, sometimes I do. We were talking in English, Elizabeth, Drew and I, and to be honest, with everything that is going on, our generation has so much to do, it's just, insane. Arg. I just don't know what to do.

At all.

Maybe go to bed? Hm.