You Don't Hate Me

I still chuckle every time I type in our password. It is nice to still laugh at something even after you should be used to it. Like burping. Or cuss words. Or sometimes even Ben's "that's what she said!" jokes.

It is fascinating to think about the world that way. Sometimes when the sky is all dark and starry, I think about how everyone is everyone, kind of like what you said. The feeling that we all feel each other's pain is comforting, though depressing.

I think that video games are wasting your time, but some time has to be wasted. You are right. Enjoying yourself isn't wasting your time. My mom thinks that I sit around and listen to music all day wasting my time, but I'm always thinking about something, so I don't consider this a waste. Definitions of waste vary, I guess.

Once upon a time, there lived a lonely ragpicker that sold her stolen goods on the corner of Broadway and Mhmmmmnah Street. Everyday, a ticketmaster who might actually have been dirtier than the ragpicker (though she had a home, so there was no excuse) walked past the cummy old cart on her way to the theater, where she sold tickets at the window for all of the upcoming musicals.

To be continued, possibly...you can write the next paragraph

You put a large number of the ounces of heart you hold (which, let me tell you, is not a lot) into Invisible Children. Just because, at that moment, you did not feel like crying or trying to save the world, you aren't a horrible person.

My poor nose. I look like Rudolf.

So you are basically saying that I should act like you for a day? You know I'm only kidding. I've never heard you scream the "F" word at the top of your lungs. Good golly, I wish I could breathe! I would certainly love cool band-aids. YOU don't make things worse than they already are--I do. I'm the awkward one, and no matter what you say, I will forever be the same awkward me. There is no chaning it. Just like my large pupils, I think I would miss this part of me if it were to disappear.

You know what else is weird? Dancing lights on the computer that I have never noticed before. And when one of the three holes in a paper is ripped--just one. And this unknown Fiery Furnaces song you burnt me. I am pretty sure it is the theme song of my life, though I'm not exactly sure what they are saying.

I think that no chaos would mean no entertainment, though I tend to love stangely unorganized things. Our school, for example. Really. I love how the floor slants and how we never have things done on time and how kids sing in the hallways. Truly. Though organization for a quick second, just to catch up with myself, would be possibly nice. I think you should be sick tomorrow, too, and we can watch movies. Good movies. Not stressful ones. And there will be absolutely nothing else to think about. Nothing. Except for possibly brownies with nuts. What am I doing, trying to tell you to be sick? Nope. You have things to do. The school needs you. Though I really think life is moving much too quickly. Sometimes, I just want to scream at it to stop, which sounds cliche, but it is so true. I like how in the Kite Runner, he supports cliches. People wouldn't use them so often if they didn't accurately describe how they are feeling. It would be an honor to be a cliche because it means that others understand you. Who needs originality if no one understands it? Depth can be such a curse. Not to say that I am deep, but those who are are so rarely understood when they have magnificent points to get across.

I've never spent much time trying to do something or learn something. I think it would be nice, having something to be that proud of. But I can't just say, "hey, I'm going to pick something randomly that I am going to put all of my heart and soul into!" It has to be something I am truly passionate about. Nothing has exactly come along at this moment.

Phone rings. Scary.

I think that we are ourselves all the time, and that everything can be changed to us personally, but the view people have of us can't be so easily dropped. The outlook others have is the important part, though that isn't right. If only we could decide who we are at one moment and everyone else would understand it.

You have only done one of three health essays?! By goodness, Abby, get to work! We are going to raise this grade (you can tell me when you are sick of my obsession with your grade; as long as you do it nicely, I will not be offended).

Oh, blog buddies. Postsecret is saddening.

I would never say everything I think. It would make me feel like a horrible person. Do you think, possibly, that we are all the same part evil, but it is out ability to keep this evil inside that determines whether or not we are good? Like, people who say rude things could have the same scale of negative thoughts as a kind person has, but the kind person doesn't necessarily speak these horrible things or make them known, which makes them "better"? Maybe deep down, we are all horrible, but we manage to keep some ounce of good in the world by controlling ourselves.

The Kleenex are gone. I have just taken two pills and should be out within the next hour. That doesn't sound good.

It is impossible to accurately describe the way we are feeling at this exact moment. I envy writers who make it seem that you are grieving when the character is grieving or that you are overjoyed when something splendid happens.

Deadlines define us. There is no way around it. If I had no deadlines, I wouldn't do anything. If you decide to drop out of high school, I will kill you and that will be the end of the Ragpicker and the Ticketmaster.

I bet I am in five hundred million different pictures. One time last year, Rachel and I were singing a duet of "Baby, it's cold outside!" and we turned around and some guy was videotaping us. It was humorous.

Can I help it that I need an extra sleeve to put snot on?

I love spacing out. I love this separate universe we can escape to.

Good ol' Jan 24th. You were way off when you told Sarah's mom.

Right now I am talking to you and you are very mad at me because I made fun of you. I will never, even be truly mean to you. "YOu are the sunshine of my life...that's why I'll always stay around!"

Minds are crazy. Why do we think the things we think? Really. Madness.

Goodbye, Abby.
You are still mad and on the phone. Now you are playing your guitar.