"There's a tough word

on your crossword. There's a bed bug nipping a finger. There's a swallow. There's a calm. Here's a hand to lay on your open palm, today."

Yes, we should stop neglecting the blog. January is over, as is our deadling. It's February the first. Weird. It feels kind of fast but not really. Yeah, yeah, yeah. So much for forty-five. We still have failed to do a joint post and our blog will be three months old tomorrow. We should probably get on that, or something. I think regardless we had more posts than any of our blog buddies.

My laptop is fixed. My PS2 is fixed. My room is extremely messy. I'm sweating. I'll end up cleaning my room tonight, more than likely. I have a full tank of gas. I have a weird part at the moment. I slept for a couple of hours when I got home. There are a lot of empty cans in my room, and bags. What happened to the snow?

I should start reading that Madeline, true story. I'll get on that, so we can have these intellectual conversations. I'm still not done with Hemingway, sadly enough. I'll probably finish that. If I don't, I'll have to renew it for it's due the fourth.

I'm starting to get letters from colleges? I think it's via the whole PSAT form. I've got one from Evansville, Ball State, and Valparaiso? Weird. I've got a knot in my hair. Got it.

My schedule is changed. I'm excited for this 3-D project. The whole making a puzzle out of the bust. I think it'll be cool. I don't really like group art projects all that much, though. I'm over it.

Everyone's deeper than their actions, and no one really knows what's going on unless you ask and get an honest answer. Impressions are worth nothing, and I don't understand why they are still considered. Why do we need to be defined? Humans attach theirselves to familiarity because we're too scared to do anything else and, in my opinion, fear is the biggest authority of all. What's really the difference with anything, if you get the same result? Why would my sister be put into jail for serving alcohol without proper liscensing for the same amount of time a sex offender would be in jail. Is that not ridiculous? Or, do I just not know the real reason behind the time limit. Maybe it is right, I just don't know anything about the so-called justice system. Very possible. Why really think you know anything? It could be changed, or you could be wrong. There's that to consider with everything.

My soul didn't temporarily die, Audrey. Still there. It was a joke. I know I love spaghetti. I remember. It hasn't been forgotten. I haven't forgotten anything. That's not a problem.

Don't let me convince you. Fight with me. Tell me I'm wrong. Get me to believe otherwise and have some hope in something. That's okay with me. I'm open to the possibility. Just right now, at this moment, in this chapter of life, I don't believe it. People that you are told stay by you, for me, they haven't. And I'm not one to admit defeat. but it's worn me down. It's almost like it gets worse as time goes by, when I'm suppost to be getting over things. I just don't want to fall under the category of one of your worries, okay? I can be independent, I always find away, regardless of how right or whatever it is. I'm versatile. I'm resourceful. Just, in the case of people, and them leaving, I don't want to be.

Right timing is just something that is hoped. You are right. It's not there. Life is too arbitrary and spiteful to let that happen.

If someone doesn't actually like me, I just get hurt. You know, you are told how often, "Don't take it personal." It's all personal. Everything in my life gives me some sort of feeling, some sort of reaction. I'm not content with acting. Life isn't a performance or a rendition of what it's wanted to be, it's the only real thing we've got, and I don't want acting. That hurts more. It's untruthful, and we all know that's wrong.

I'm usually happier when I'm making someone else happy. I have no idea what will make me happy. I don't think that's so much wrong, just sort of dependent. Eager to please, I suppose. That's just kind of annoying.

If we keep secrets, is it okay if they are bad? Or, putting it out there, maybe that's kind of like redeeming yourselves? Can someone really like you when you have secrets? Is that, sort of, untruthful? That's what I'm wondering. Is it okay? Would someone like me if they knew everything about me? I don't think I would try. I wonder if anyone has.

I want to watch a movie.

Am I really a good person, Audrey? You have no idea, or maybe you have more of one than I do. Maybe what you think of me is more correct than what I think of myself just because it's myself and who's entitled opinion on themselves is necessarily correct? I keep secrets. I still fold, I still hide, regardless if I know whether it's good or not. Once again, fear is the greatest authority and in no way am I brave. Do we really have the same flaws? I don't think so. Sure, we've made a lot of the same mistakes in our own lives, but really, to say they are the same flaw? I don't know about that.

I do eat Audrey. Stop.

"Well, I know a certain old man who has missed your jokes," the Ticketmaster suggested, wondering if the Ragpicker would still remember their box of a favorite breakfast restaurant. "...You mean to tell me the Waffle House is STILL open? And that man is STILL alive?" The loudness of her voice was all the same and it made the Ticketmaster smile even harder. "Yes, of course. Why would you ever think it would go out of buisness?" the Ticketmaster questioned, half joking. "No, no, of course not. Just... Well, let's go," the Ragpicker sped ahead and the Ticketmaster had to jog a few steps to catch up to the quick acceleration. "My God, slow down!"

Three Things I Wish I Was Really Good At
1. Math. It'd be amazing to not struggle with it. To be just naturally gifted with numbers. It'd be nice. I need to work more for my SAT. Randomly my famile has decided I should get national merit? As to who I am and my intelligence level is unknown? Fantastic.
2. I wish I was better at guitar. I'm alright, really, but I'm not insanely good like I would want to be.
3. I wish I was a really good runner. Like, be able to run thirteen miles and still be barely sweating. In good time, too. I just think that'd be cool and I'd be in tip-top shape, but actually, I don't really need to be, seeing as Herron isn't having the tennis team.

It hasn't snowed here (it's all leftovers) but I want to go sledding regardless. Maybe I'll go on a walk. I have called you but got no answer. I smile plenty. You smile, okay?