Wendy's kids meal

If you do not call soon, I will surely be trying to contact you to see how your appointment went, but for now, I will work on this blog, which has been neglected for ONE WEEK. I really feel quite awful about this.

I ate Chinese food today! It made me so extremely happy. Also, Project Runway is on, and I have had to read, practice my cello, e-mail Rachel, and talk to Eileen. It doesn't take much to make me happy. AND Jesus Christ just came on iTunes. Life is good, I think.

Two peanut butter sandwiches! Look at you! Aw, Abby. You should get started on Madeline tomorrow so that we can have intellectual conversations about my favortie piece of literature of all time.

Did you change your schedule yet? You probably should get right on that, as the actual deadline was yesterday.

Man, it really has been a long, long time since I have written. This is a record, definitely. But, I have been sick, and you have been sick, and I have been over (twice), so I think we KIND of have an excuse. Not really, though.

I would probably still like you if you killed someone, because it doesn't change you, really, because a person is a lot deeper than their actions every once in a while. But maybe we are always defined by our actions. How else could we be defined? Do we need to be defined? I just confused myself to the extreme. So I put on some Beyonce. There is a difference in not paying a parking ticket and killing someone, Abby. In one, you are stealing somebody's life. There is not normally an excuse for this. Though there is usually. I guess, if somebody didn't pay a parking ticket for some elaborate reason that involves darting the law and avoiding paying money to the government because they don't want to support homeless people and people with bad medical incurance, this could be worse than someone killing somebody as self defense because they are about to be raped and shot. That was nice. I don't think we CAN put crimes on different "levels" because they go into way too much depth and reasoning. We can't put anything on any level, because there is always more thinking to be involved.

Why did your soul temporarily die? This is not something to kid about, Abigail. I am going to try to bring you spaghetti tomorrow, in hopes that you will consume it. You love spaghetti, remember?

Don't tell me that people always leave, because I don't want to believe it, and you can be quite convincing. I just don't want to fall under the category of your greatest fear.

Nobody ever gets the timing right. Right timing does not exist.

It isn't that we never meet worthwhile people, Abby. But why do we need to know who likes us, and who doesn't? People will at least usually ACT like they do, so why can't we be content with this? Why do I feel the need to question whether or not people agree with me, or find me funny, or interesting. This is saddening. We should all be content liking ourselves. If we do, nothing else should matter. But it does, and we can't change that, and we rely on others to make us happy, and we feel the need to be loved, or appreciated, and then we do things we wouldn't normally do to make other people happy, and that's wrong. And not wanting to tell every single detail of your life, and maybe wanting to keep some things to yourself, shouldn't really be an issue, but maybe this drives people away, keeping secrets? But, secrets are what we keep to make people like us. I really want to watch 10 Things I Hate About You now. It seems like a positive time.

Abigail, you are a good person. And this alone is an admirable trait. If it makes you feel better, I will say that you are the scum of the earth and refuse to think highly of anything you do, but only to your face. Secretly, I will I-DOL-IZE you. Well, not idolize, but I will continue thinking you have good qualities that you do not seem to be aware of. And quit folding. And hiding. But I can't just tell you to do that. I fold. I hide. Everybody folds and hides. That's what we do, as people. You have the same flaws as everybody else, just maybe to a different extent. We all share the same problems, but some of us have them more extremely than others. I still don't understand guilt, and never will.

The Ragpicker smiled and nodded, without thinking of where she was headed. So they stood up, stretched, and walked down, the Ragpicker leading the overly-excited Ticketmaster. As she strolled the familiar path, she realized the difference it made to be with someone else. How greener the leaves looked. How less disgusting the dirty puddles appeared. How lovely those street hot dogs smelled at ten in the morning. She looked sideways at her glowing acquaintance and grinned, asking what the Ticketmaster would enjoy for breakfast, hoping that the Ticketmaster would eat SOMETHING.

Three Things I Wish I Were Really Good At
1. The cello. I can play it, but not well, and I would really, really, really like to be successful at it, because I like it oh-so-much. If not the cello, I really enjoy the harmonica.
2. Conversations. One day, I will drop all awkwardness behind me, and people will be amazed.
3. Advice. People need it, and I would like to be able to give it. But only good, non-controlling advice. There is nothing worse than receiving advice that gives you only one option.

It has started snowing, at which I was so joyful. Not because of the snow day, for which I am not that excited, but because I realized that this means I will get to go snowing. And I love sledding. So, hooray for snow. This is the, what, 18th post for the month of January? Out of 45? It's okay. Life's still good.

Good-bye, Abigail Rose. Smile. Like the Nat King Cole song.

"If you need to picture me naked,

it's cool." BEST COMMERCIAL EVER! I love, love, love this commercial. I think I laugh times eighty million every time. Oh, man. Commercials really aren't that bad. I don't see why people complain. On the whole, I like them.

I had two peanut butter sandwiches. Also, I realized I think Amanda Bynes is really funny and she is cracking me up on What I Like About You. Oh, man. Too, too much. Can not take it, haha. I don't know what is going on with me. I am laughing almost constantly. Guess who might be going to Elizabeth's! Me!

My schedule is weird. I don't know how much it will change because they accidentally put me in Latin 1. We shall see.

I have the same dream a lot.

I just don't like being compared to the ugly cat. I don't understand. Hurts my feelings. Oh, well.

Not many people look for the reason behind why people did things. They just look at the fact that they did it. And sure, that may be wrong, but it still happens. So that's that, and people leave, and sure they were never really that close if they left in the first place, but I would rather have someone not get so close and stay than get that close and leave.

You need to call me because Andrea has informed me of the plans tomorrow and I called your telephono but got no answer and I'm about to be picked up to go to Elizabethan's so I shall talk to you then!

I just got back from my grandma's house. It was nice. I got over there about eight o'clock and I read a bit and we watched Notting Hill and it was really good as always and then I read more and went to bed around midnight, and best part, I slept for ten hours and thirty minutes. I woke up this morning about ten thirty. I woke up a couple of times during the night but nothing at all and I just fell back asleep. It was nice. Anyways, today my grandma and I went and saw Juno. It was really good. I liked it. So did Memaw. I've been wearing the same thing since Thursday. I should probably change. Oh, well.

I hope you are feeling better. Memaw gives you her best wishes too and asked if you needed to sleep in her water bed, and it made me laugh really hard and she hit my shoulder and called me unsympathetic. Lies! I am very sympathetic to your condition and I hope you get well soon. Which you will. All in good time.

I wonder if we are going to end up keeping Diego. Weird.

So if I do kill someone for no reason, you wouldn't like me. But aren't I still me? If I kill someone, that doesn't change you. Or does it? I think it just changes how people percieve you. When someone finds out something about you, no matter how big or small it is, their view of you changes. You can't stop that. I just think that's weird. If you murdered someone, I don't think I would really care that much. That sounds really heartless, I suppose. I don't really know how to put it. I'd still be your friend. I'd still invite you over and ask your sister to get on Webkinz. It wouldn't change anything for me. But you said you wouldn't be my biggest fan. I don't understand why. Because I did something bad? Well, isn't a sin is a sin is a sin? But not really, because we put degrees to them. Hence two years in jail for not paying your parking tickets versus the death penalty for murdering some guy. I just don't get it. Murderers aren't bad people, I don't think. I don't think anyone is a bad person. I just think there are bad things. Bad experiences leading to bad feelings which can lead to illogical actions. I just don't get it. Arg.

Your dad knows what he's talking about. He seems reasonably successful and he certainly isn't stupid. I'm not an artist. I'm just myself. I'd never call myself anything, so I don't really know, actually. Maybe Herron isn't that great. You probably are better than what it is. Sure our scores aren't impressive, but everyone is doing better than they were, and that counts for something, surely? I'm as proud of my improvement as much as my lack of self-confidence allows. I do know for a fact I'm glad to not be where I was two/three years ago, especially in the academic sense. I know I'm not where I could be, maybe even where I should be, but it's more than I was and I think that should be considered. For everyone. Maybe you aren't improving. But it isn't all about academics, it's about you and taking what you are and improving on that, or becoming more of what you are. I think that's more of what high school should be about than grades. But I'm only sixteen, who knows if I'll still think that ten years down the road.

My soul has temporarily died. Kidding.

I'll be alright, Audrey.

Everyone does leave, Audrey, and I'll continue to argue this with you. Sometimes they come back, sometimes they don't. Sometimes they come back and leave fifty million times, sometimes they don't. All in good time, everyone leaves. Whether because of you or for themselves. I just want to meet two people, friends, lovers, whatevers, that have stayed together for fifty years and are still happy. I don't understand why it's so hard. I don't understand why people leave. I've never met anyone and felt like I wanted to give up on them. I've been weary of people, sure, but never to that point. It just makes me sad.

I don't understand love at all. Not at all. Why question it? Why try to explain it? That might make who you love leave. I think love is real when you just know it. I think that's really it. I think people fall in love a lot more than they think they do. Or they know they have, but they just don't consider it. It's in the back of their mind. Or you don't want to know that you have so you completely block it out, but you still know it. It's still there. I don't know if this makes sense to you, but that's what I think about love.

Who knew that matches were called lucifers? We did, as of yesterday.

People are so strange. Life is so strange. Music is so strange. Good job to people who can get the timing right.

But why would you want to know who loves you and who doesn't when you could very well end up alone? To me the prospects are too scary. Sure, no one will ever get the full you, because you'll always be too scared, and maybe that's holding a lot back and not good at all, but I'd rather not be fully extroverted and alone than introverted and with someone. Maybe that's a huge issue, but that's that.

I don't really think I have a problem being forgiving. I have a problem of not knowing what's good for me. I wish I thought well enough of myself to know what is good for me. I don't really understand myself, or anything for that matter when it comes down to it. So I just kind of fold where people tell me to fold and hide when I don't feel like facing anything. I know that's not admirable in any form, and I wish people wouldn't admire me. Sure, I may be a likeable person, but I'm not admirable. I'm not brave, I'm not honest. I just say what I feel like I can say at the time and move on. Except not move on, it all kind of stays in my head, all the time. Once I heard someone say a good person is not measured upon how many good things they do, but how much guilt they feel. I don't think that's right. I don't think if you don't feel guilty you are worse off than anyone else. I think you are quite alright, and I admire you for being able to do that, because guilt controls a lot of me, and it'd be nice to be free from that.

"You see, I, uh, well, I, just..." the Ticketmaster tried to find an excuse as to why her wallpaper on her cell phone was still the Ragpicker's face. It was really obvious, but who wants to admit to the truth. "Well, you see, I just, I forgot how to change it." The Ragpicker saw right through this and smiled. "Okay." "Do you have anything to do today?" the Ticketmaster asked, obviously hinting at hoping they'd get to spend more time together. "Yes," the Ragpicker replied, but in a regretful tone that made the Ticketmaster take the rejection a bit easier. The Ticketmaster decided to go ahead and take the chance of being annoying and around to much and asked, in an obviously eager tone, "Well, can I come?"

Okay, new list. How about three things you wish you were really good at. They can be whatever, of course, no restrictions. Go on, now. I hope your day has been well. I'll probably be calling you later to ask about Algebra, but I'm kind of scared to do this because I don't want you to be sleeping. I have to go fix Memaw's phone and buy some art supplies but then I shall be home to work on my homework. I thought your Adidas pants were mine and I was really confused because they felt so different, then I remembered you had left your things here and they were yours. So that's the end of my fun story.

Good day, Audrey Elizabeth.

I have quite fancy socks on.

MP Shorty? Peppy B?

I have eaten an abnormally large amount of junk food today. For some reason, only junk food sounds appealing, and everything else makes me want to barf up everything in the inner systems of my body. Also, I am constantly tired and hungry, which is not a good combination, especially when I can't sleep, so I've just eaten. A lot.

Other than that, I'm good.
My nose is scabby, however.

Ah, I'm proud of you and your honors self. How is your schedule? Since you know we have Algebra together, I assume that we have it today, and I know that I also have History and Latin on A days, which, together, could be quite overwhelming.

I had a dream about a pet store last night. There were fish involved. And pie? Or cake? I don't remember.

I am sorry that you didn't take that comparison as a compliment. Sure, you're kind of scrawny, but I have never noticed you having strange ears, so I think you're safe. I bet he is an adorable cat, really. I'm glad you don't have to continue on with sports names. That would be awful.

Sure, there are things people can do to make others not like you. If you killed someone for no reason, Abby, I would probably not be your biggest fan. Though there usually seems to be some sort of reason when people do not-so-good things.

My father does not think you are stupid. He said you are rather smart and was impressed with your knowledge of literature. He is just unsure because he isn't a big fan of artists in general. But, he's an accountant, so what can you do? He doesn't mean half of the negative things he says about Herron, or he does mean them, but he has no clue, really.

My cello temporarily died.

Abby, you cannot force me to be happy, just as I cannot force you to eat or enjoy life at the moment. I'll read you a story, okay? I'll make you spaghetti, I'll give you a head rub, and I'll say "I love you, too" instead of "thanks" when you say, "I love you." So, YOU be happy. The world is glorious. Think of leaves. And warm rain. And laying on the hot driveway in summer after it has soaked up the sun's heat (this is one of my favorite things ever, but no one shares this love). Good times. "We've got a lot, don't ever forget that." BAM! Smashed with your own lyrics! And Margot isn't sounding like she's got a lot, really, in this song. I mean, snorting crack in the bathroom while her boyfriend picks up chicks? She's hanging from a rope, actually. And yet, she still remembers (or should remember) that she's got a lot. Good ol' Margot. She's always got her nuclear so-and-so's.

Not everyone leaves, Abigail, and I really wish you could smoosh this tidbit of information into your overworking brain.

The definition of love in the dictionary nearest to me is one of the longest I have ever seen. I think it is like on a test, when you don't know the answer, so you go on and on and on about things you are unsure about, hoping to sound smarter, or wishing that somewhere in that lengthy explanation sits the answer, waiting to be read. And, boy do these definitions vary. Woah.
1.a. An intense affection for another person based on familial or personal ties.
1b. A strong affection for or attachment to another person based on regard or shared experiences or interests.
2. An expression of one's affection.
3.a. An intense attraction to another person based largely on sexual desire.
3.b. The deep affection, tenderness, and concern felt for a person with whom one has or wishes to have a relationship based on sexual attraction.
5. (I skipped some) And intense emotional attachment, as for a pet or treasured object.
6. A strong enthusiasm.
10. A zero score in tennis.

Okay. Never does it ever say how to achieve this, what to do when achieved, and how to tell whether or not love is real.

Sidetracked. Who knew that the planet Venus in its appearance as the morning star is called Lucifer? Not I.

Dictionaries are so strange.

I wish I had the ability to be more forgiving. To not automatically judge people for their pasts or their presents. To accept and not show any disgust or disapproval. People who back out that easily on a single flaw, or even multiple flaws, don't love you. Or maybe they did believe they loved you, and you thought they loved you, but they couldn't love the real you, past and all, because you didn't make it apparant, and now that it is out, you are a different person in their eyes, and they don't feel like starting over and loving someone else. They just want YOU back, the one they knew. They want the one they loved back. So they could love you, and they could really, really, extremely want to love you, but you don't exist any more. Not the you they had "an intense affection for based on familial or personal ties" for, but this new you, which is really the old you.

"Christ!" The Ragpicker shouted, shielding her eyes from the unbelievable bright sun and awakening the Ticketmaster, who sat up slowly, aching for more sleep now that she had finally achieved some. "What?" She said, lowering herself back down, unfazed by the blaring rays of yellow. At this the Ragpicker laughed and looked down at the vibrating phone next to them, knowing it was the Ticketmaster's before even glancing down because of that recognizable and constant noise it released. "Running out of battery." She said, and opened it to check the time. Her own face, though several years younger, smiled up at her. "Really?" She asked, and the Ticketmaster grabbed the phone, a definite red creeping up her cheeks.

Pet Peeves
1. Mispelling "your" and "you're". Drives me insane. It shouldn't. I am not english teacher. Still, I always want to edit this on people's papers.
2. Drugs. Really. I try to be sympathetic with most things. Understanding, maybe. Be drugs, I just cannot understand. I try to read about people overcoming addictions and stuff, to better my understanding I guess, but I can never feel sorry for the person. That movie we watched at Stephanie's bugged me to no end. And yet, I still cried, which was weird, because I didn't like any of the characters.
3. When people flip their eyelids inside out. Creepy. Uncomfortable.

How has your day been? Not well, it seems. I guess I can call you, since you won't call me. Loser.
Oh.
A blanket.
Finally.

Bones collide.

Audrey, I'm fine, really, and if I'm not, will be. "Possibly later, possible not," but in this case, it will be eventual. We do have Algebra 2 together. Also, I am taking honors this time around. We will see how that goes.

Diego is the one Emily said looks like me. I find that kind of mean because he is the ugliest of them all. He's scrawny and has weird ears. Thanks? We have to give them names that have to do with the Super Bowl because the animal shelter is having this event in two weeks called the Puppy Bowl and everything (including the animals) has to be Super Bowl themed. This is the only time it will be like that.

Audrey I think you're great just because most everything you do is great, or you atleast put 83832 hours of effort into it. I wouldn't stop thinking you were great if you got an F, or if you decided to take a nap for a week instead of doing something. I don't expect anything out of you (if that sounds mean it's not supposed to). I just, I don't know. Don't feel pressured because I think highly of you, I guess. But then again, I always do, so what I suppose I can't really say anything.

I hate when people say there is nothing you could do that would get me to not like you. Wrong. I know plenty of things I could do to have people not like me. It's just all about self-control I guess.

But your dad thinks I'm stupid. I guess he's kind of right, though. I barely have any common sense or book knowledge. I'm proud of B's, what is that? It's not like I can prove otherwise.

I've eaten. Stop worrying about me, really. I'm fantastic.

I'm sorry my last post was so hateful and sarcastic. I've had a problem admiring the world lately. But you, you need to admire the world and all it's glory. So you be happy, okay?

I don't think Heath Ledger killed himself. I don't think suicide is easy. I think it's easy for people to say it's easy, but really, I think that'd be the hardest thing to do.

We were mocked in theatre class. Stephanie and Taylor did an interpretation of us. Taylor (me) told Stephanie (you) she loved her and was nuzzling and then all Stephanie (you) said in return was "Thanks." The hearthache.

I feel hate because I don't want to hate. I just hate getting so involved that it hurts, and I hate being hurt, and I hate showing I'm hurt but I'm a horrible liar and I'm horrible at being indifferent. I want to yell. I want to sleep easy. I want to stop staring at the same spot of my ceiling when I lie down and I want things, once I think them, to go away just for a little bit. I want things to get better and easier, just for a little bit. I want someone to hold my hand and my head and let me sleep for a couple of hours. I want someone to stay. That's what I want. Instead I will organize my math binder.

I don't know what keeps me caring. Love? But who even knows what that is? Not I, not I. The human mind is very complex. Certainly makes for a good story.

It's hard that nothing is refutable. It's scary, really. You can't go back on anything. Should you tell people about your past? Is it necessary? What if it's bad? Sure, if they love you regardless, that's good, that's really good. But, you know, they could very well leave. They could think you're weird and crazy and not see what's worth sticking around and what do you do with that? I suppose what you do with everything, pick up and move on, but what if that's what keeps you right at the line of okay, these people that stay. Maybe you know they don't love you unconditionally, but that's better than having no one.

The Ticketmaster layed her head on the Ragpicker's conversationable stomach and smiled as she listened to it's odd gurgles and babbles. They found the regular constellations like Orion's Belt and The Big/Little Dipper, and made up there own, like the Space Heater, and the St. Bernard. The Ticketmaster didn't speak for awhile and she heard the familiar snoring of the Ragpicker. The Ragpicker hadn't taken her Zyrtec, so although she couldn't breathe, she didn't turn far away. The Ticketmaster fell into the best sleep she had since the last time they had been together.

My Pet Peeves
1. Repetitive Noise - like when people continuously knock or bang on something, over and over. It kills me.
2. Pacifiers - They make my teeth hurt and make me shudder.
3. Really Loud Noises - That just make you cringe and hurt your head.

Now you go, Auds.

I got a bunch of posters for Schools 4 Schools and such today. We are going to have a meeting next week, the day is undecided. Friday, if you aren't doing anything, I think I'm going ice skating and stuff with Andrea and Sara Swan and you are supposed to come along, if you want. I'm going to go organize my math binder now. Do something. I hope you are feeling better. I would call you and ask you personally, but I don't want to wake you up (again). Hope you are doing well, or atleast better. Good night.

Don't worry about me smiling, Auds. You smile.

Maybe you will take a moment out of your sorrow

and read this?

I hope you are okay, Abby. Actually, I am going to call you. Right...now.

Is Diego the one Emily said looked like you? Do you see the resemblance? Why do you have to give them names that have to do with the Super Bowl? That's no fun. Are they always going to be themed.

I hate when people think you're great. Or good even. Because then, whatever you do, it will never be good enough. Ever. At least when people dislike you, or don't know you, or kind of think you are a loser, you can do something impress them. But when people like you, you're screwed. Because then, you'll NOT impress them, and they'll stop thinking highly of you, and then they won't like you.

Which stinks, pretty much.

My dad sends his love. And, I quote, "I like anyone who makes my daughter happy. Even if they dress funny." Hmm...plaid pants, anyone?

Have you eaten recently? The worry.

That congratulations sounded pretty sarcastic. Actually, your entire post sounded slightly hateful. It is worrying me to no end. I need to sleep. I need to stop.

RIP, Heath Ledger. Poor guy had some problems that could have been solved, I bet. This whole killing yourself is taking the easy way out in most cases. Then again, I don't think I could ever do it.

Kleenex.
Needed.
Immediately.

I hate this. Whatever this is. I am unsure. But I want to hate. Isn't that awful? Do you ever feel like this? Like you just absolutely need to hate something? It truly is awful. I shouldn't be writing when I feel hateful. I promise I will try to not say anything too horrid.

The minds of others are probably just as confusing as yours or mine. Or Heath Ledger. Or Queen Elizabeth. Or Hank. They're all insane, really. It's the insanity that makes things interesting. It's the insanity that makes things worth caring about or thinking about.

Just because people die doesn't mean you shouldn't care about them or feel anything toward them. That would result in an entire world of cold. Everyone dies, but we've managed to get over this fear so that we can be happy. Or at least okay. And we make mistakes. We always so things that could have been done differently, or better, but we keep on going, because we can't do anything else. If we stop to think about it, the world isn't going to stop, and we'll just miss more of the future taking our own sweet time dwelling in our hated past, and then we'll dislike that new past that was once the present because we didn't take the time to enjoy it or gain anything from it.

Kleenex with lotion! Yes!

"Why do I always have to make the decisions? You know that I am awful at deciding things!" the Ragpicker said, though at the same time, she grabbed hold of the Ticketmaster's sweaty palm and led her down the not-so-busy street. They walked for what seemed to be five hundred miles (though they sang that song, so it wasn't quite so bad) until they stood facing a dark silhouette of a large pile of dirt, weathered only slightly from the years that passed. They trudged upwards until they found a comfortable place at the top where they could sit and view the stars, which were abundant, making the night slightly chilly.

Nope. You were first for the pet peeves. I decided on the list topic, you comply. Unless you don't want to, which should then result in your coming up with a new topic. Why did Marc Anthony just come on my iPod? I am so cool, and you definitely know it.

Good-bye, Abigail.
Smile.

"I'm staring at the asphalt wondering,

what's buried underneath, where I am?"

Today was very weird. I slept a lot, but in the way I got what I needed but it doesn't feel any different. So I don't really feel all that rested but at the same time I'm not tired. Indifference.

I've bonded with Diego, a cat with stick-straight ears, one curled, and a cow-esque hair pattern. I woke up and he was curled in my legs and now he is exploring my room. He's alright. We have to give all of the kittens names to do with the Super Bowl. They leave in two weeks, and then we get new kittens. Emily loves them, so I'm fine with it now.

I do wear clothing. Just not when not necessary. Who knew he would be coming over? No one did. So why would I wear clothes for a visitor I did not know would be showing up? I refuse.

I don't understand my stomach. My mom tried to make the day better by ordering Chinese and pizza and hot wings but that just made me feel even more sick. Ah, whatever.

I'm so glad finals are over.

I wish it were summer. I feel like swimming.

I can't believe "Angry Kitten" is spreading. Definitley the new phenomenon.

I love the number of constellations I can make with the dots in my ceiling. That's what I love.

You succceeded at bolding and italicizing. Congratulations, really.

I always say things before I think. Except not really always. There are a lot of things I don't say. Or that I'm going to say, but by the time it gets to my mouth I'm out of courage to say it. I think with the things I just let out I'm getting better at, though. At least giving more thought to. I don't know.

I bet they do have sparkling lemonade. They should at least. March New Year's will be good.

"Saved by the grace of Elizabeth." I have yet to listen to my St. Rose CD. I will do that tomorrow.

Your past is a part of who you are and what you become. It's unavoidable, obviously. Sometimes I try to avoid it anyways. You can't get away from your past because it's in you.

That Jesus song is insane, really.

I wish I knew what was in everyone else's head. Just for a little bit atleast. I'm tired of mine. Diego is snoring in my lap.

I should think highly of you Auds, and I do. And I will.

I believe everyone is a good person, when you get all the way to the bottom of it. There are just a lot of bad things. I have a lot of those.

Your father is right. It's okay.

I wish everyone's voices cracked forever. The puberty packets you get in middle school are amazing. I wish we got them every year of our lives. They make me laugh.

Thank you for that spontaneous tidbit that rhymes. I wonder what in our brains recognizes other people's voices. Or them, for that matter.

This doesn't happen to be the one where you match people's voices with other's portraits, is it? It is that one, and no, I haven't finished it, that's why I need help.

Waiting is the most frustrating thing, really. It makes things better sometimes. Sometimes it makes things worse. But that's life.

I can't see you being very intentionally rude to anyone other than me, really.

I'm tired of knowing people. I like how The Painted Veil put it. Something along the lines of everything ends up dying regardless. You can't stop it, or if you pretend it's not happening your just going to wake up one morning and they'll be gone and you'll feel even worse because you didn't make the best of the time they had left and that's extremely selfish of you and you didn't even say goodbye but how could you because you couldn't get over there but they are a part of you and you should have been able too, atleast call or something, but somehow you can block out things like that. Too bad it all comes back anyway. It's weird when you look at your present a couple of days ago, and how in retrospect you wish you would have changed them. But that's that.

Things do get better. I just forgot that often they get a lot worse first.

As she heard the noises of the pizza parlor closing up, the skin on the Ticketmaster's forehead turned into the infamous washboard and she looked across at the Ragpicker. "Well, what now?"

The only other dictionary name I can think of is Roget. That's a good idea.

I can't really think of my pet peeves at the moment. You go first. I'm going to go lie down and read or something. This is relatively short, and I apologize, I just don't have much to say. I hope your night is going well. Goodnight.

The Scholarship Book (eleventh edition)

Crank it up, we have thrirty-five more posts to complete this month to reach our goal for January. Get read-ay!

You were naked in front of your male old neighbor?
Abigail.
We don't do that.
Time to start wearing clothing.

Oh, Lordy, you and your sick stomach that comes at the worst possible times. Ribs? Tacos? Get sick when you don't have the rare joy of being presented with anything edible.

I may scream soon. Physics. What is this?

It is a mermaid color! Right on with your noun/adverb comparison! Crazy. Hello, Ariel, welcome to land. I hope you are happy here.

I had taco salad. It was good, but for some reason, saying that made me want to barf it all up. I need to run, but I'm so full that I'm sure it is physically possible. Ugh. Beef. Not so good. I need some water. I got to ride in Alison's car! It isn't the same without Rachel and Katie and warmth, though. I just want it to be Spring! It is killing me deep inside. I looked at the leafless trees and became so sad. Tell Emily that her "Agry Kitten" video is spreading. I showed my sister, who showed my dad, who showed some woman at work. Where is this going to spread? Insane.

Degrassi! I forgot for a couple of hours there. That will lift me from these gloomy spirits. At least I no longer have to worry about writing a concerto.

I love globes.
And old paperbacks.
And polka-dot cups.
And cowboy pants.
And ladders.
That's what I love.

Bold.. Italic. I hope this works.

How has your day BEEN so far? I don't know how long this will last. Maybe a while.

Done.

People should spend five minutes on constructing one sentence. Sentences are important. I wish I thought for a minute for each sentence that will come from my mouth. Instead, I say stupid things.

Add March New Year's to our list. We can have sparkling lemonaide? Do they make this? It sounds more spring-y than sparkling grape juice.

I just purchased a song entitled, "Jesus Christ" on iTunes. Hmmm...has Elizabeth influenced me so greatly that I am now buying gospel music?

You can't forget your past. Or, you can yourself, but somebody or something will ALWAYS be there to remind you. The whole escaping-your-past thing never, ever works in the books or the movies, which I'm not saying are always right, but I think they are. You have to cope with the crap you've done and make the best of it. You can remake yourself, but not what's around you. There's never total control.

You seriously have to listen to this Jesus song. It may be my new favorite, ever. I am bringing my iPod tomorrow to share.

Everything starts out "just being in your head", so I figure that the stuff that's all in your head could quite possibly be some of the most valuable information there is.

Woo-Hoo! Abby Braughton gets sentimental on me! Yesh! Aw, Abby, thank you for thinking so highly of me. You probably shouldn't, but thank you. I didn't know cuddly until I met you. This really is a good thing. I have become far less, er, uptight? (I don't know if this is the correct word) from knowing you. And you are a good person, despite what you may say.

Congratulations, Adamo, on your recent coming out. We are very excited for you.

Sorry about my father. He grabbed my phone without my noticing, and then I tried to get it back but received a glare in return. He really is a good guy. Just slightly frightening to those who do not share this sense of humor. He likes my new favorite song, though, which is always good. I am very excited to make you listen to this.

I love when guy's voices crack. This is the funniest thing ever. Why don't girls get to have cool voices when going through puberty? All we get are obnoxious aunts telling us about our "breast buds" and embarrassing talks with our mothers about periods. No fun in that. I love how people have different voices. How you can hear someone and be like, "That's so-and-so, obviously". It is the greatest, really. I don't know how you sound, but if I heard your voice, I would definitely know it was you. Hmm...is this like a mating call, possibly? I heard you from across the way, and immediately I knew in my heart you would stay (spontaneous tidbits that rhyme!).

I would greatly enjoy helping you with this project. This doesn't happen to be the one where you match people's voices with other's portraits, is it? Did you ever finish that one, because it sounded quite fascinating?

I hate waiting. Isn't it weird, how patience comes with time? You have to wait to be patient, and when you finally understand the concept of time, you don't need it as much. I don't know. It just seems kind of ironic.

I'm not sure I understand your diss (which I just figured out last year was short for "dismiss"). You know you could never be intentionally cruel to me, Abby. I have decided that, as unselfish you may claim me to be, I am extremely rude to people at times and have decided to try to be better. People do not laugh at these remarks, especially when you say them in your *CRAZY* music class with no one to listen to you.

Ah, Jesus song came on again, and my heart lifted a considerable amount.

I am so, so happy that Memaw likes me again. Really, that and the Jesus song, and I am ready to go. Sure, I haven't really studied Latin. That's okay. I'm pumped for life.

That's no fun. Staying with someone and not getting to know them. That would stink. We are here to learn more about each other, I think. To learn from each other. There are SO many people to learn from. Why doesn't everyone get started?

I don't often think of people's underwear. Now I'm thinking about it. I've bought Jessie underwear. Emily's bought me underwear. Eileen's borrowed my underwear after laughing so hard she peed her pants. I wonder if Tyler wears boxers or briefs. Actually, I think we've had this discussion. I'm pretty sure it's boxers. This is interesting to think about. I know your underwear, Spiderman, and Elizabeth is always running around in her panties (I just started laughing really hard). Man. Fascinating.

I like thinking things will always, always get better. You know, I bet they will. The decline of something always brings out the best in something else, I think. I appreciate your optimism, greatly.

Being oblivious as usual, the Ragpicker did not think to wonder about the phone call, and as she was too busy picking the mushrooms off of her pizza (a ritual--she knew the Ticketmaster ordered too much gunk on her pizza, and didn't like telling her that it was disgusting) to notice the Ticketmaster's flustered expression (she never was good at lying). They lingered at their table for as long as possible, until a shout from the back was heard. "Ladies, I'm mighty glad ya'all are back, but it's twenny after 'leven, and I've got to get back home. We're leaving early tomorrow for a cross coun'ry trip on our cycles. Just me and some of the buds, traveling on the open road..." As they stayed and listened for another half an hour to the entertaining man's stories, they constantly smiled at one another. How good it was to be back.

Well, yes, he will enjoy being outside, but once it gets cold out, we are NOT forcing Francis outside. Rachel just told me about her friend (ish) who has dogs named after dictionaries. Webster and she doesn't remember the other. I like that idea. And he will be sleeping inside.

My house was on there! Now, that's love. I do like your Memaw's house. I still have to get a library card. Brownsburg is always out of books. I will feel so...guilty, though, leaving my beloved library. I won't completely go, of course. Still need to volunteer.

Okay, list three of your biggest pet peeves. I love hearing these from people, until it is something I do, and then I feel really guilty. Let it out.

I have to go do...something. Sleep? Study? Eat some more? Listen to "Jesus Christ" five hundred and seventy-three times?