To Heaven with America!

Okay. I'm writing this in response to Matt's blog. If you don't know what I'm talking about, whatever. Go read his blog.


Okay. So, Matt.

Have you ever seen pictures of the dying people in Africa? They are happy. And it's because they don't realize how bad they have it. To them, it's just another normal day. Oh, my brother died? Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later! Whatever! Off to grow some food! They don't know what it's like here. So they don't realize what they're missing.

I personally feel bad for the poor homeless people here in America. They know what it'd be like to live in a nice fancy house, to have nice TV, to have clean water, to have a home, to eat food every day, to have money to spare. Hell! It's all around them! They see everyone walking by with a bulking wallet full of money and there they are, sitting freezing cold o0n the streets. They don't have a home or clean water or anything else that you mentioned. And the worst part is, no one is willing to help them.

Missionaries and other nice people are going over to Africa Hella lots. They are bringing them clean water and food. They are building them homes. They are building them schools sop that maybe the kids there can get an education and not meet the same fate as their parents.

Here in America, if we see someone suffering, we kick them, spit at them, and run. We make fun of them. We are evil and cruel to them. We don't give them water or food. We don't give them money. We don't give them hope. Do you ever wonder what percentage of those statistics are homeless people? You have no right to say that.

Also. You must have an awesome life. You know, there are a lot of people here, In America, who have sucky lives. I'd personally rather move out of America. I don' t like being lied to and being told that everything is okay. Everything is not okay. America is not a happy place. Have you ever thought for two seconds that maybe the people commiting suicide in America have problems in their lives? Have you ever thought for two seconds that maybe, just maybe, their parents/ siblings/ close friend was murdered and they were the only thing keeping their life together? And MAYBE the people commiting suicide were being abused by their parents and if they hadn't have killed themselves, their parents would have killed them? Ever think that maybe everyone was against them, nobody loved them, nobody even KNEW them and they no purpose for living? No? I didn't think so.

Suicide is a serious thing. It's not fun and games. People actually feel the need to do that every day. America is not a happy place. Everything isn't always sugar and candy for everyone. If you are one of the lucky people who have never expirienced real hurt, I envy you. I WISH I was stupid and ignorant like you. I WISH I thought that life was great and nothing bad ever happens in America. I WISH I had nothing to worry about. But I know better. I'm not stupid and ignorant like you. Maybe if you could open your eyes, you could see that something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong.

So yeah. You are wrong, Matt. And maybe, you should start realizing that everything isn't rainbows and butterflies, okay?

Okay.

New blog. Yes, I'll still write in this one. The other one is just for my songs, poems, and stories. (and anyone else's songs poems and stories that they ask me to add.)

The URL thingy is:: beauty--from--pain.blogspot.com


have fun.

More Story....

“Annabelle?” His voice snapped me out of my memory. I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “Um. This is gonna hurt. A lot. Just, uh. You know. Warning you. And uh, think of something happier, okay? Something before that happened alright? Like, when Jenny was born, or something.” I smiled a little. I wasn’t exactly sure why. I guess I found it a little funny that a vampire was warning me that he was about to hurt me. I sighed.

“Okay,” I said as I closed my eyes once again. I concentrated hard on my little sister’s birth. I was so happy. Why couldn’t I be happier all the time?

I felt him moving closer to me. His breath was warm against my neck. I closed my eyes tighter and tried to remember every single detail. It wasn’t really working. Okay Annabelle. What time was it? I couldn’t remember. All I knew at that moment in time was that I felt the tips of his fangs just barely touching my neck. I had to think of something happier. What was happier than that, though? I racked my brain.

I remembered in the nick of time. The day when I first met him. I was four years old. It was probably a couple of years before Jenny was born. I was running down the street trying to escape the war that had just went on in my house. I couldn’t stand to see my father beating Mom like that. It was almost worse than being beaten, myself.

I ran as fast as I could. My feet falling in rhythm. One after the other, after the other, after the other. All the way to the end of Rookcork Ave. He was standing under the lamppost with his arms folded across his chest. He was staring at me as I ran. I didn’t notice. I was too busy concentrating on getting as far away as possible.

“Hey!” he shouted out. “Where’re you goin’?” I stopped running and looked at him funny. He just kept staring. I picked up my foot to start running again.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “Come here. What’s wrong? Yer all beated up!” I put my foot back down and headed in the other direction; towards him.

“Yeah? So? So what if I’m beated up?” I asked. I knew the answer to that. But I was not the nicest four-year-old. He looked at me with those sad green eyes and replied, “Well, it’s bad to be beated up. Who did it? I’ll kill ‘em. Nobody should be makin’ you all beated up.” I took a step forwards.

“My daddy. He did it. But you can’t tell nobody! You can’t. ‘Cause Daddy would get real mad. And it would just happen some more. You can’t tell.” He looked at me with such pity in his eyes, I almost burst out crying. And saying that I was four at the time, I’m surprised I didn’t.
“I won’t tell nobody. I promise. So, what’s yer name?” he said putting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m Annabelle. And you are?” He smiled. “I like that name. Annabelle. It’s pretty.” I smiled too, for the first time in ages. “Well, Annabelle, my name is Jake.”

And suddenly I felt the venom rushing through my veins. I didn’t feel him do it, I just felt the after affect. It felt like I was dying. I felt my whole body go stiff. I clung onto the windowsill for dear life.



“Jake!” I cried out. I don’t remember doing it. But he said I did, so I believed him. He held me close as my body wrestled with the demon that he had injected in me. Apparently, I had been shaking violently, but that was another thing I’d have to take his word for. He stroked my hair.

“I like that name. Annabelle. It’s pretty.” He laughed. “Well, Annabelle, everything is going to be okay. After this is over, you and I will live for ages and ages to come. Won’t that be nice, Annabelle? We’ll live forever! Just like in those books I gave you. The ones with the vampires and stuff?” He laughed again. I willed him to keep talking with all the strength that I had left. I needed to hear his voice.

“Nobody should be makin’ you all beated up,” he said in voice almost identical to his four-year-old self. “Not even me, Annabelle. This is terrible what I’m doing to you. But you’ll live through it. I lived through it. And once it’s done, you can take a nice long nap. It’s going to so nice. You can get through this, okay? You can get through anything. You’re my warrior. You can do this.”

I don’t know how long that lasted. It was terrible. All I knew was that he started the process with the moon still high in the sky and now, with a last shudder, the sun was lighting the heavens above. I curled up into a ball with my head on his shoulder. The sun hurt. The sun was not supposed to hurt.

He looked down at me and smiled. “See? We got through that part. Now, time for the nap I promised you. You can have my bed. I’ll sleep under my parent’s bed. They’re away for two weeks, as I think I’ve mentioned before. No, don’t worry. None of the guys are here. Here. Let me help you,” he said holding out his hand. I took it, not failing to notice the black nail polish that had taken house there.

He helped me into the bed and underneath the sheets. He helped me position myself so that my face was facing as far away from the window as possible. One I was settled, he walked over and shut the window mumbling something about unnecessary sunlight. He then closed the curtain around it and put and extra sheet in front of it to keep out all of the sun. Then, he walked over to my bed and knelt to the ground. He swept my hair aside and kissed my cheek. “Goodnight, Annabelle,” he whispered. And with that, I fell asleep.

More of my story

When I came to, I was lying face-up on his bed. I knew it from the smell of the place. I did not dare open my eyes. They couldn’t know I was conscious. At least not yet.
I heard him enter the room and close the door. He came to the bedside and knelt down, so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Come on, Annabelle,” he whispered. “Get up. I have to talk to you.” I could just feel the grin on his face. I didn’t move.
“Okay, then. I’ll talk. You just lie there and listen.” He chuckled. “So, Annabelle. You do realize that we did this for your own good, right? Once you start the process, you can’t stop. It’s impossible. Now. You need to rid of the garlic in your pocket, my dear. Come on, Annabelle. I know you can hear me.” I winced. How did he know? I opened my eyes slowly and glared at him. He laughed. I almost smiled. I didn’t.
“That’s it. Now. Take out the garlic and throw it out the window, so I can finish my job.” I sat up. What are you doing, stupid? Resist him! I watched him closely as I pulled the garlic out of the front pocket in my jeans.
“What happens then? You kill me? Why on Earth would I get rid of my only chance of survival?” I snapped. He laughed. I wished he would stop doing that.
“Kill you? Why would I kill you, Annabelle? I would never! Who do you think I am? This is me you’re talking to! You know I wouldn’t even hurt a fly! I just want to help. If I don’t continue the process, you will have but a few days left to live. This way, your life will last for hundreds of year to come! Come on, Annabelle. Trust me.” There was such sorrow in the last sentence he said to me, it was hard not to cry.
I put my feet over the side of the bed and stepped onto the familiar carpet. My feet found their way over to the window, somehow. I have no idea how they got there. My arm also took a mind of it’s own and chucked the garlic as far as I could. As soon as it did, I collapsed to the floor crying, one hand still clinging to the windowsill.
The next thing I knew, he was sitting there against the wall beside me with his arm around my waist. I leaned my head on his shoulder as I burst out into more tears. He twisted my long blonde hair in his fingers.
“It’s alright, Annabelle. It’s going to be fine,” he whispered in my ear. I nodded my head. I wasn’t quite sure I believed it, though. He sighed.
I’m not sure how long we sat there like that, but eventually, I stopped crying. I picked my head up off his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. And then, before I could stop myself, those fateful words were out of my mouth. I still wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t have said those two stupid words. “I’m ready.”

He told me to close my eyes and pretend I was in a happier place in a better time. I imagined us on that road ten years ago. We were seven , small, ignorant, and out way too late. We were laying in the middle of the street looking at the stars. I looked over at him. He was crying.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. He was supposed to be happy. This was supposed to be fun. He closed his eyes.
“I didn’t tell you before. I thought it would ruin your night.” I grew frustrated. “What is it?” He looked over at me, his green eyes big and shining. “I have cancer.” I blinked. It couldn’t be true. Not him. Never him. Not my best friend.
“What are you talking about? No. You’re lying. Stop it.” Now I was crying. He had to be lying right? He had to be.
“Annabelle. When have I been known to lie? I’m serious. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry.” I kept my eyes on him. “Can they fix it? They can fix it, right?” He looked up to the sky saying nothing. “Answer me! Please. They can fix it, right? Please. Answer me.” He closed his eyes and sighed.
“They caught it too late. There’s only one way. Only one way,” he trailed off. I sat up. “So let them do it! Let them fix you! You have to get better! You can’t leave me here! You can’t leave me in that house!” More tears from his direction. “I can’t do it, Annabelle. I can’t do this to you.”
“Do what? Can’t you see that it will only be worse for me if you don’t get help? Please. What can they do?” He sighed again and looked at me.
“Do you remember those books I gave you? All the ones about those vampires and stuff? You know how they live for a very long time? Well…” I blinked again. “What are you talking about? Those weren’t true? What are you talking about?” He sat up too.
“It is true. And that’s what they want to do to me. But, I don’t know.” It was impossible. Those were just stories, right? It couldn’t be real. But maybe…
“Do it. Do whatever you have to do. You can’t leave me. Let them. Let them turn you. Please. For me?” He looked down at his feet. “Okay. I will.” Relieved, I lay down again. He didn’t. I looked up at him.
“I have to go,” he said, distracted. I furrowed my eyebrows. “Good-night, Annabelle.” And then he was gone.

Heaven Help Us Now.

I love that song. :) It's the best. I memorized it so that I would know it for Projekt Revolution. They didn't play it. I was dissapointed. Oh, well. Whatever. I think I'm gonna go to sleep soon. I don't think I can take this much longer. I need to make a difference. I need to. I need to change at least one person's life. I neeed to. I feel so incomplete. Please, if anyone has any idea as to how I can do this, let me know. Kay. Thanks.

Wow.

Life just sucks, doesn't it? Maybe I just wasn't supposed to live. It sure seems like it. God. I wish that I didn't have to stop cutting. I mean, everyone is expecting that the only reason I told was to get help. It wasn't. I just wanted to stop lying to everyone. And do you know what it got me into? It made me start lying MORE. Now everyone thinks that I've stopped. Well, screw them. I'm not stopping. Which scares me. Because it's getting more serious. It's so tempting to just take it all the way down my wrists. The other day, I was standing next to all of our cooking stuff, and I saw the handle of a knife sticking up. And I picked it up. It took all of my will power to put it down before I did anything stupid. And it wasn't because I could've ended up killing myself or because it'd be even worse to do it with a knife cuz it'd go deeper and what not, but it was because who wants to cut their food with a bloody knife? And how could I wash it off good enough without someone hearing the water running and walking up behind me and asking why I was washing a butcher knife? That's what scares me. God. What has happened to me? What happened to the happy little girl running around the house with her big sissy on all fours? What the hel happened? It seems like I was never t hat girl at all. It just seems like another story I made up. Was it? So much has changed. What's real and what's fake? Does anyone know? If you do, please help me.

Cara Trudeau.

Cara Trudeau was another friend from kindergarten.

I had never really noticed her. She was a small quite girl. Hardly noticable. But one day, we were standing next to each other for some reason. And I look down at my feet. We were wearing the same shoes. I think she noticed first. But somehow, it turned into some huge deal. A big dramatic scene that ended with us tying our shoes to each other. My right shoe to her left. And somehow, that led to us being best friends.

I honestly couldn't tell you how this tradition came abut, but Cara and I loved to make "world records." It ws our "thing." We would do things like "the youngest people to put the world puzzle together," (we never finished) "most hearts on one sheet of paper," (we got in a fight because she drew a heart on my side. We ended up giving the paper to the substitute), and other lame things like that. It linked us together. We were similar only in that way. We made world records.

I used to wear key chains on my belt loops. Not the cool kind of key chain. The Winnie the Pooh kind you get from a McDonald's happy meal. I wore them all the time. I thought I was the coolest thing ever. Cara had apparently always been jealous of my decorated belt loops. She only just recently told me. She asked to wear one once. I gave one of the back ones to her. She snapped it on her belt loop and beamed.

After kindergarten, we basically lost touch. It didn't stay that way, though. But that's another story for another time. For now, I'm tired. Good-night.

Sarah Freeman.

So. Along with Amanda and Micheal, Sarah Freeman was my friend. Her cubbie was the one to the left of me. This section is about her.

Sarah and I thought it was the neatest thing that our last names both started with the letters "F" and "R". We liked it so much, that we created our own little club of it. We called it the "F.R." club. And the only way to get in it was to have your last name start with "Fr"

Sarah liked a boy. His name was Brandon. Brandon Madison. Or at least I thing that's how it's spelled. We dedicated our time to trying to get his attention. It was a good waste of time. But anyways. One day, Sarah decided to put a note in the smaller section of his cubbie; the one that you kept paper in. The note said "I love you." What silly words for a kindergartener to throw around. Anyways. She put it in their.

At the end of the day, when we went to go home, Brandon took his papers out of the smaller cubbie. He found the note. He went up to the teacher and showed her the note. He said "Mrs. Kenney! I found this note in my cubbie! I think someone put it in there by mistake..." and Mrs. Kenney addressed the class. "Did someone accidently put a note to their mom or dad in Brandon's cubbie?" She held up the note high in the air.

I looked at Sarah. Sarah looked at me. Mrs. Kenney gave the note back to Brandon. "Nobody's claiming it," she said. "Just throw it away." I start cracking up. Sarah joins in with me. The teacher looks at us funny. We stop. We never talked about that day after that. We just talked about other stuff.

I remember one time, I went to her house. We went up into her bedroom and gave each other make overs and played dress up. Then, we went down to her basement and played with Play Dough. She had one of those cool people with all the holes in their head. The ones where you put the Play Dough up what would be it's butt and it's hair grows. It was the first time I ever saw one of those. I don't remember what else we did.

When kindergarten ended, we lost touch. I went to Nelson Prairie and she went to Tyler. Her mom was the milk lady at Nelson Prairie, though, so for a while, we would communicate through her mom. But we both made new friends and stopped talking.

Yay!

My birthday is in 17 days! I can't wait. I'm getting a skateboard and a guitar. :) happyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappyhappy!


Me bored now. BOW DOWN TO QWERTY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So....

I'm writing a book. It's about some vampire and some chick and yadayadayadayada. Whatever. Here's what I have so far:



I stood by the lamppost waiting. What if he didn’t come? What would happen then? The rhythm of my feet running down Rookcork Ave. was still banging through my head. I would not last long on this cold night. What was I to do?
That’s when I heard it. The sound of a large car driving slowly, the gravel crunching under its weight. That’s when I knew that I had made the wrong decision. It was probably too late to turn back. Probably too late to give it up. But I had faith. I spun on my heel in the opposite direction of the oncoming car and ran. I ran faster than I ever remember running before. The moon was my energy. The stars were my guide.
Before I had gotten past one row of houses, I heard a car. It was going fast. I let out a sigh of relief, for I knew that he wouldn’t drive any faster than 10 miles an hour. I was safe for the moment. Then, the car slowed. And more cars followed it. In fact, they were coming from all different directions. And suddenly, I was surrounded by cars. I couldn’t move. There was nowhere to turn.
He got out of his car. The biggest one there. The jet black one. The one with the symbol of death painted so boldly on the side. He approached me slowly. Don’t look him in the eyes, I told myself. Don’t look him in the eyes. He snickered. I looked up. Damn it! Why are you so stupid? But there he was. Standing before me, his mouth curled into a smile, his eyes flashing a violent shade of green, his skin ghostly pale.
“So, you thought you could escape me? Annabelle?” I shivered at the sound of my name. There was such venom in his voice. I heard laughter from behind me. I turned around and saw the rest of them coming out of their cars, forming a circle around him and me. I turned back to face him. He looked so different now. So much different than the little boy my mother had once babysat. I spat at him.
“Why escape you? There is no need to escape,” I replied, trying to hide the fear in my voice. Laughter erupted on all sides. He came closer to me. He grabbed my arm, his nails digging into me, drawing blood. I nearly cried out as I saw the first drop of glistening blood fall to the pavement. He laughed. I loved his laugh. His smile faded when he saw the look in my eyes. He looked up towards the full moon.
“And here we stand again, Annabelle. Same exact day, ten years later. So much has changed in that time,” he whispered. The smirk came back. “Although, some things never change.” A tear dripped down my face. I missed who he used to be. I wished I could erase everything.
He raised his arms to the heavens and face his head skyward. Then, his voice morphing into something inhuman, he shouted the oh so familiar words, “Good-night Annabelle!” Laughter swept unanimously around the circle. Cold evil laughter. All coming from the faces that I had once known. The moon seemed to be spinning, the stars would not rest in their rightful places, everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. And then blackness.



Sucks, right? Wow. I'm tired. Hah. Comments please. Not stupid fake "oh, it's good!" comments. Comments like "Um. This sentence sounds weird and this word is spelled wrong and you used the wrong puncuation here and you should get rid of this part and you should add more detail to that part and you repeat this word a lot and anything else you can find" kind. So yeah. Get to it.

Micheal Sommers and Amanda Hozzian.

Don't start laughing. I don't know how to spell her last name. Anyways.

I don't remember exactly when it was, but sometime in between the first and second day of school, Gina introduced me to Amanda and Micheal. They were cousins and they lived right next to each other. I recognized Micheal from Mrs. Kenney's class. Their houses were kitty corner from Gina's. All I know, is that I never went on the bus stop with Emily again.

I started going to their bus stop on the second day. We started talking and playing and pretty soon, I was going over to their houses before and after school. Everyone thought I had a crush on Micheal. But I didn't. He was just a friend. Just like Jerry and Brice. (Brice is a less significant childhood friend.)

I soon found myself sitting nest to Amanda on the bus instead of Emily. We would sit together with Sean and Micheal in the seat across the isle. They were one of my best friends during kindergarten. They came to my birthday parties, I went to their houses, we (sometimes) played at recess together. It was fun.

DonDonDon!

School. SchoolSchoolSchoolSchoolSchool. That's what my life has been like for the past seven years. That's over half of my life. You usually hear people going "I was so nervous!" and things like that when they talk about their first day of school. Well, I'm not them. And this is my story. So I'll tell it like it actually was.

I went over to Gina's. I was in the P.M. class, which basically meant that I came to school after I had already eaten lunch. So. I waited at Gina's in my school clothes with Kelsey and Max. We watched Dora the explorer, played with a pet shop thing, and ate lunchables. Finally, Gina said it was time to go get on the bus.

I wasn't nervous. I had been practicing for school all of my life and it also helped that I had visited the school a few days before with my grandma. So, I got on the bus with the one other person at my bus stop; Emily.

I had known Emily Leddin for a while, so it wasn't like we were complete strangers, but we weren't exactly friends either. We knew each other from going outside every day the previous year to see off our older friends to school. Her friend was J.J. and he rode the same bus as Megan and Sara. So we would play together and they would talk and it was all good.

We had a "boy's side" and a "girl's side" of the bus. I ended up sitting with Emily on the girl's side near the middle of the bus. We talked. It was fun.

When we finally got to school, they let everyone out of the bussses and we all went to find our places in front of the school. I looked down at my necklace of a red triangle to remind myself which section of the building I was going in. So, I stood in front of the red triangle section and Emily went off to the yellow square.

They finally let us in to go get into our classrooms. Mine was the one on the left, closest to the door. I had Mrs. Kenney. I walked into the room with the rest of my new classmates and found the cubby that said my name on it. I took a mental note of the people next to me. Then, Mrs. Kenney told us to take a seat at one of the round tables in the classroom. I ended up sitting at the one closest to the door with a couple other girls.

I don't remember what else we did that day. I remember we went out to recess and that we had milk, but that's about it. I'll tell you more about kindergarten in a different entry.

इ अब्सोलुतेली दिस्पिसे पीपुल

इ हटे पीपुल! थे अल टॉक अबाउट सुसाईड लिके आईटी'एस फुन्न्य. आईटी'एस नॉट फुन्न्य! इ'म नॉट गोंना राइट अन्य्मोरे कज माय फिन्गेर्स अरे तिरेड अल्रेअद्य. बह-बाय.

Translation:

I HATE PEOPLE! They all talk about suicide like it's funny. IT'S NOT FUNNY! I'm not gonna write anymore cuz my fingers are tired already. Buh-bye.

Taking a Break.

I don't feel like writing about my life right now. Too late at night. I can't think straight. Whatevs.

Okay. So I didn't go to school today. No, I wasn't sick. I just didn't wake up. Again. Wow. I have sleeping issues. god. Nothing matters these days. I dunno what I'm talking about any more. Whatever. You can stop me at any time. No? Okay then.

I have a stupid band concert tomorrow. I really don't want to go. But it's either that or the councelor's. I choose band. My councelor is a nutjob. She's crazy. Wow. I really shouldn't be talking bad about some one who's trying to save me from this bottomless pit I've been digging myself in. She has good intentions, but I don't see how she's helping. Sure. I haven't been cutting for a while. But what else? It's only the guilt that I have a bunch of people worrying about me and pitying me that makes me even want to quit. Gawd. I sound like I'm an alchoholic or something. I guess what I do is bad too, though. Right? Or is everybody just feeding me lies? I don't see the harm in what I'm doing, really. I'm not in it for suicide. I'm really not. If I was, the cuts would be deep and on my wrists. Not small little things resembling paper cuts on my shoulder. Whatevs.

I'm sorry for creeping you out, Matt. Andi's fine with me talking about all of this stuff because she's used to it by now. But you're not. And I'm sorry for bringing it up again. But I can't help it. It's my life. Take it or leave it. Whatever. But yeah. Sorry. Sorry for being a creepy emo cutter girl. Whatevs. That's all I have to say. Buh-bye now.

Taking a step back.

I forgot to mention a big part in my childhood. So I'm skipping back to tell you.



My grandpa and I had been really close in the few months that we lived with them. We would sit on my living room floor together. Sometimes he would read to me and sometimes I would "teach him how to color". It was great. When my sisters would be taking naps or whatever, I'd be with Grandpa.

Then they decided to leave us. They moved to all the way to the big thunderstorms and snow-less winters that made up Florida. We went to visit them almost every single summer. The summers we didn't go see them, they came to see us. I don't remember much about going down to their house except for sitting on their couch listening to my grandpa read Brear Rabbit and the Tar Baby and eating "barbecue" and Grandma's famous blueberry pancakes. The memories of their visits up here, though, I remember clearly.

They would come and park their red pickup truck in the grass behind our basketball hoop. The tradition soon came that my grandma, Megan, and me would sit down at the kitchen table and color. I always admired my grandma's pictures and wished that some day I could color as good as she could. She told me that her secret was that she colored in small circles instead of lines.

Then, Megan and I would go into the living room where Grandpa would be sitting, waiting for us. We would sit next to him on the couch. My grandpa always had this bit of neck that hung off and resembled a turkey. He would always wiggle it back and forth with his hand and gobble. He occasionally let us wiggle it. Then, we'd use both hands to help him get up and off the couch. We would then bring him into our bedroom where we would sit. He would sometimes read us stories, but mostly he would tell us what it was like in Florida and what was happening with our various aunts and uncles and cousins who live down there with them. We would tell him how it's been in Illinois and tell him about our friends and other stuff that would happen.

We would then pull out the table and bring out extra chairs and eat a nice meal. We would sit ariound the table talking for a while before they would have to get up and start their long journey back to Florida. I miss those visits. My grandparents both got too old to drive up here, and my grandma was afriad of flying, so they stopped coming up. The last time they did, I was five or six years old. I miss it so much.

Another chapter.

Before the whole "dead lion" incident happened, Megan went into preschool. No, I was not left alone. I was around two years old when she started her "schooling." And I thought it would be horrible with both of my sisters at school. But then, there was Jerry. My mom had been babysitting him for her friend for sometime now, but since he was so young, he didn't make that good of a play mate. He was a year younger than me but that didn't matter. All that mattered was that I had someone to occupy my time while my only two friends were at school.

We did everything together. We watched TV, played with his cool new Hot Wheels cars, "read" my new books, swam in my pool, and played with my two cats, Mittens and Pearl. Jerry was even the one that brought over Simba's Pride (the 2nd Lion King movie) over to our house and caused a variety to my lion play with my sisters. He was also the one that brought me into my Power Rangers obsession and we soon added "play Power Rangers" to our list of things to do. I was always the pink one, of course. We became inseparable. My least favorite time of the day was when his mom came to pick him up. I would often find us hiding in my bedroom closet hoping that he wouldn't have to go home if they couldn't find us. He was my best friend and and I was his.

I remember the first time I went to his house. It was right after he had gotten his tonsils removed. He gave me the grand tour of his house, which was rather big in comparison to mine. We sat down in his living room and played with is new castle set. I was the people inside the castle and he was the people outside of it, trying to knock it down. His mom came in and called us to come to lunch. Our lunch consisted of jello and ice cream because everything else hurt too bad for him to swallow. I was overjoyed. Jello and ice cream for lunch! I remember how he taught me "the funner way to eat jello," which. basically, was sucking it straight through the small gap in your front teeth. He was right. It was a lot funner than the ordinary way.

Looking back on our time spent together, it was a wonder that we could communicate with each other. Though his was worse than mine, we both had speech problems. I couldn't pronounce half of my consonants and he could barely talk at all. Nobody else could understand him. I became his little translator. I remember getting so frustrated with everyone because they could understand what he was saying. I now find it a miracle that I could.

Too soon, we had to be separated. I was supposed to go to preschool. On the way there, I kicked and screamed and told my mom that I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay with her at home like always. I wanted to stay with my best friend Jerry. In the end, my mom still had to go to work, but I didn't go to preschool that day or any day that year, for that matter. I was sent to a family friend's house to be babysat with Megan and Michelle. Yes, they still went to school, but they went there each day before school started so Michelle could hang out with her friend Dana and Megan could play with her friend Sara.

Before school hours, I would have to stick around the middle daughter, Gina. The age difference was unfortunate. Michelle and Dana were both the oldest children and were the same age. Then came Gina, named after her mother because the were born on the same day, who didn't share an age with anyone in the family. And finally came Sara who was the youngest, but Megan's age. So when I was four, I was being forced to play with an eight year old.

After they all left on their various buses, though, I got to spend time with two other girls Gina (the mom) babysat and a little baby boy. One of the girls, Rhiannon, was my age, the other, Kelsey, was a couple years younger and still potty training, and the boy, Max, was still just an infant. Rhiannon, Kelsey, and I would play school down in the basement and watch Dora the Explorer and Blue's Clues together upstairs. Without Jerry, the two soon became my two best friends.

Then, one day Rhiannon wasn't there. When I asked Gina where she was, she told me that she had moved to Manhattan, which was too far of a drive for the parents to bring her each day. I was never to see her again. So I was left with Kelsey and Max. It was fun helping potty train Kelsey. I remember the day when all of the stickers on her "potty chart" were filled and she was going to the bathroom on her own. She was so happy. It was also fun watching Max go from a tiny little baby to a tiny little toddler walking around the house. But I still feel sad when I think of my good friend Rhiannon.

Welcome to my life

So. Since my URL thing says "Welcome to my life," I'm going to have to show you my life, ain't I? I'll start from the begging and tell you more as time goes on.


So. November 22, 1994, I was brought into the world. I was born with two loving parents, two sisters that constantly fought over me, two sets of grandparents who adored me, an aunt and an uncle that didn't live too far away, their son (my cousin) Andy, and a bunch of other aunts and uncles and cousins who I rarely ever spent time with. Let's back it up.

My parents had just moved from Texas, where they had lived for about 2 years. This is where Megan was born and Michelle, for the most part, was raised. (She was born in Florida) When they moved to Illinois, they had nowhere to stay, so they moved in with my grandma and grandpa on my dad's side to the house where my father had grown up in. They lived there for a while, and then I was born.

One of our favorite and most frequently visited memories from when I was an infant, was one in which Michelle, who was six at the time of my birth, went up to my mom and said in her cute Texan accent "I wanna hold the baby!" Megan, who had just turned two years old, replied by saying "No! No! It's mine!" This very moment was captured on film and watched on my birthday every year. Unfortunately, the last time I would ever see this video was on my 9th birthday.

I have more memories from my days before school then anyone else in my family has. I remember only the stupid insignificant moments, but these moments are the ones that I miss. For example, The Lion King was my sister's and my favorite movie. And as children with wild imaginations, we began to play lions. Yes, like every young girl, my sisters and I still loved to play house, but playing lions is what my early years revolved upon, so many of my memories are based on my time spent all four legs on the floor, pretending to claw Megan's eyes out.

One specific memory of this, was after the second movie had come out. Michelle, being four years older than Megan and six years older than me, was always bigger than us, but it had come to the point that she couldn't get down on all fours without her butt sticking high in the air. I do believe that this was the last time she played lion with us.

Michelle, as always, was playing Kiara and Megan was playing Kovu. Michelle, being the oldest, got first dibs on which character she was to be and Megan got to pick second. I never got to pick. There were several characters I could have chosen from, but they always picked for me. I still don't know why I let them boss me around. Anyways. This particular time, I was playing Simba, Kiara's dying father. But that was only the beginning. I lay on the bottom bunk bed (my bed) pretending to die as "Kiara" awkwardly ran towards me, making a big deal about my death. But after a while, they moved on to play the rest of the game without me. Of course, I would ask them every twenty seconds when I was allowed to get up and stop being dead. Each time, they would answer the same; I was dead! Dead lions couldn't just get up and roam around! And so I waited until they got bored to join them again. It was a shame that "we" stopped playing with less than a minute to my bed time.

Too soon, our little trio of lions turned to a duo. Megan and I, the remaining lions, soon adopted the kitchen as the "lake", the living room as my "house" and the bedroom Megan and I shared as her "house". We would have constant "battles" over silly things, like being at the "lake" at the same time, teaching our "cubs" how to swim. It was fun, but our little fake battles usually ended in real fights. Fights that involved hair pulling, lost breath, and nail marks dug deep into skin. Still, five minutes later, we'd be back at the "lake" teaching our stuffed animals how to doggy paddle.

Hm.

So. The police went to my dad's apartment again. I wasn't there that time, so that was fortunate. But they took all of the baby videos of my sisters and me again. And they took away the computer that had my Sims in it. So I'm out the internet and my computer game. But only when I'm at his house. At least he still has his xbox. I would die being at his house if the xbox wasn't there. And the police went up to my sister and said "Your mother had nothing to do with it" when Michelle didn't even say anything about my mom before. So obviously, it had something to do with my mother. And Michelle's boyfriend, John, got handcuffed just because they felt like handcuffing him. He didn't do anything to provoke it. They just did it. Oh well. Whatever. At least everyone's safe.

Hello Angel,

Sup. This is Qwerty. Let's get a few things straight. You do not know me. You will not judge me. If you know about this blog, you can consider yourself "special." No one is aloud to know about this blog accept those of you lucky souls that I've given permission to. If someone else finds out about it, I will know who told them. I'm not nice when it comes to punishing people. Therefore, you must never read this blog in front of anybody. I think I've made myself clear, so do not use the whole "well i didn't know" routine. You do know. So sorry. I win. Qwerty always wins. Goodbye my darlings. See you when the world swallows itself in it's own bitter despair.