Sorry, Everyone

I think my dad hates me writing.  I was ok writing, but I lost something along the way.  The gift of writing.  Now I think he hates me writing.  (I almost capitalized that "he."  Now you know what's wrong.  My dad thinks he's god.  Not just a god.  God over certain people.  That is so demented.

You can't tell a person not to write.  That's like telling someone you can't speak. Oh wait, he told me that, too, when I was a kid.  

Anyway, I'm totally over him.  And I mean that like I really hate him.  He says that I looked better with acne.

Sorry, everyone who receives my blog.  But he is horrible and not willing to sacrifice to help people.  He wants to do big things and rule over every part of certain people's lives.  Not cool.

Revision #4

Englishious

You are so well written
Your parenthesis brows
Compliment the main idea
Coming from your "i's"
Everything is alliterated, from
Your lungs, to your larynx, to your luscious lips

You are so well written
Simply single-syllabled
I prefix my eyes on your lovely face
And sweet-tailed suffix
Bringing up the rear
No fragments in your fluent lines.

You are so well written
Will you spell it out for me?
Though your sentence structure is complete
The vocabulary is new
Can you read me?
I anecdote on you.

The computer screen is larger than a ten by ten, silvery little PC moniter, menu, left and right arrow, and select buttons marching along the bottom. That little green indicator light situated next to the line-stabbed circle button, that I suppose is to indicate that the circuit is closed and the power is On. A little cube is in the left-hand corner, cow-marked, as it seems. EV700 is on the right-hand side. "700 what?" I ask myself.

Then to the right of the moniter is two stacks of CD's, one balanced precariously on top of the other, a crumpled yellow strip of paper, a highliter-yellow "hard" plastic water bottle with a blue screw-on lid, a floppy disc, a Ben Harper sticker, a tape, a standing white fan, with dust on the fan cage, a plastic gatorade bottle, some headphones, both speakers, a blue ceramic mug with a spoon in it, and a small purple paper.

It's 5:09 and I should be reading history, and instead I'm talking to Oliver online and checking my mail and basically goofing off, like a little muggle that I am...

If our Christian life is a Little Debbie Snack Cake, then we need to constantly ask, "Where's the Creme Filling?"

Revision of the Poem

You are so well written
Your parenthesis brows
Compliment the main idea
Coming from your "i's"
Everything is alliterated, from
Your lungs, to your larynx, to your luscious lips

You are so well written
Healthy: I'm impressed by your colon usage
I prefix my eyes on your lovely face
And sweet-tailed suffix
Bringing up the rear
No fragments in your fluent lines.

You are so well written
I sound out the words
Will you spell it out for me?
Though your sentence structure is complete
The vocabulary is new
Can you read me?

Revision of the Poem

You are so well written
Your parenthesis brows
Compliment the main idea
Coming from your "i's"
Everything is alliterated, from
Your lungs, to your larynx, to your lovely lips

You are so well written
Healthy: I'm impressed by your colon usage
I prefix my eyes on your lovely face
And sweet-tailed suffix
Bringing up the rear
No fragments in your fluent lines.

You are so well written
I sound out the words
Will you spell it out for me?
Though your sentence structure is complete
The vocabulary is new
Can you read me?

I don't feel like writing a darned thing.

I don't like being home. Too many things come to mind. Such as past loves and lingering feelings. Thankfully, time is not a pool, but a river. It keeps on flowing, and things keep growing, and living and dying, passing, while I'm sighing.

I feel beautiful again for some reason. My family loves me, and needs me, while no-one seems to need me alone in my little dorm room, except for Mary, lovely Mary.

Which puts me in another frame of mind. Having groupies is absolutely one of the best feelings in the world. Chai tea hits the spot when it's chilly, and when it's not. The sliption of "smoking a bowl" in the midst, whips a warning at me, though, perhaps.

I wonder why my feelings and thoughts feel more smothered here than they do when I'm alone in my dorm room. Though I speak to few about my deepest thoughts and ideas, they are free, not controlled by the thoughts, moods, emotions, or whims of my guardian and sibling. I learn to speak in a different way and I like it. No more of this, petty arguing, but placid agreement. No forcing, even though that is my personality. Just letting go of things. The ability to disagree instead of smothering one another's opinions.

Chickens.

Clean, clear guitar plaints out of my roomate's speakers, the sky is a tinkly blue, slippery wind, tangling with the treetops, talked to a cat today, Shadows, she listened to my chicken argument, and ignored the persuasive fries, flicked beckoningly by me at the creature.

This was from awhile ago:

A missed bus today saved me from soakage, from a misplaced summer storm. Soft, then hard, then soft, water slipped out of clouds, falling, falling, falling, to splash uncommitingly on my window.

You are written well so
Your parenthesis brows
Compliment the main idea
Coming from your "i's"
Everything is alliterated, from
Your lips, to your lungs, to your lovely, luscious legs

You are written so well
Healthy: I'm impressed by your colon usage
I prefix my eyes on your lovely face
And sweet-tailed suffix
Bringing up the rear
No fragments in your well-written lines.

You are so well written,
Will you spell it out for me?
Can I sound out the words?
Though your sentence structure is complete
The vocabulary is new
Can you read me?

I miss someone. And I'm really scared about next year. And am really excited about taking Physics classes. And am too involved with my "predictions" of what the Lord might do, or should do. Just have to give it ta' the Lord. He knows.

Well, everything's gravy, guys. I'm going to register for classes tomorrow. Physics, Calculus, U.S History, Speech (?) and Canoeing, I think. If Nicole doesn't take canoeing I think take a dance class for a PFW.

I'm talking to my step-cuz. She's awesome! Much love ta' Belinda.

Well, I was thinking of trying a little experiment because I'm such a whiny baby and can't handle it when people don't like me or offend me...but then at the same time, I don't have a problem...I don't get it. Never mind, if I don't understand I definitely can't make you guys understand.

Well, I'm eating leftover spagetti, and I almost cried again in the meeting tonight, but I...didn't let it happen. I suppose it was a hardening, but at least I didn't bust out. Gee, you'd think that I'd be over the whole dumb crying thing by now. That's a whole lot of weekends to cry randomly.

You know it's weird...I feel most comfy around those families that nag and stuff...it's just more like home, I guess, and I never, ever, in my whole life thought that I would miss that, but then I run into it, and I just want to get into this massive pillow fight and beat all of my frustrations away.

Would you believe I can barely walk without total pain jolting through my legs and butt? Or that I turn but a half a centimeter and my torso is wracked with conversive torture? Well, that's the price you pay for not working out and then going randomly one Saturday and helping win the PowderPuff football tournament. Nobody else seems to think it's important, but my body won't let me forget my triumph.

Friday night meeting.
It's a Friday...
I revel in the spent week, little moments of glory
Golden-toned
Recieved because I made it through

The taste of Halloween chocolate on my lips,
I recollect the uncomfortable feeling
"What are you going to do tonight?"
Probably nothing, I answer.

I wish I had said...
I am a Christian.

God doesn't want us to celebrate a bunch of holiday's in His name. He wants us to know Him personally as He knows each one of us. Don't you want to know Him? Just call on His name.

But then...
I don't want people to think...
That I am some sort of fanatic...
Which I am.

Sorry, when you fall in love,
That's what happens.

Well, I have a test tomorrow and two tests on thursday, but instead of studying like I should be I'm chatting with Meggie Hunter and attempting to hold a conversation with my brother which goes like this....

spikywires: Hey, are you going to talk to me today?
Derosian: yes
spikywires: K, cool beans. Shoo.
spikywires: i mean shoot.
Derosian: shoo?
Derosian: oh
spikywires: Well?
spikywires: Speak up boy, I can't hear ya'

I'm curious about things back home and he doesn't tend to care or something. Dang it! That hurts my feelings...but oh well...

Fort Stockton was the best conference I have been to ever in my whole life. I loved it and it snowed and everything. Can't think of anything else to tlak about.

Hee hee....except for John. Why isn't he curious about my life whatsoever? I'm his sister, you think he'd be a little bit interested, geez. Most people don't care what thier little brother thinks of them, and I do, dang it! and I wish I didn't. So now that I'm done venting about that I think I'll leave you with a happy thought...

"Old Iron Sides" was a nickname for the U.S.S. Constitution, which was instrumental in fighting on the American Side during the War of 1812.

Weekend again. I just finished this *ugh + shudder* essay. No comment. I'm going to the meeting tonight which is awesome. I hope Sayward found out about the meeting, because I didn't call her. Oh Lord Jesus, I just realized that. Sorry, Say. I keep forgeting things...It's horrible. Maybe because now I have to remember all these things that I used to let my mom mess with. It's all gravy. I'm yearning to go shopping. But I want to be frugal. Maybe Mi-mi can take me shopping at Thrift stores. We can always hope. And YAH! Cookies at Mandy's on Wednesday. I'm sooooo looking foward to that. One more essay to write this weekend. I think I'll write it on Monday. Yah! for weekends and cold weather and making cookies!!!!! And especially Fort Stockton! Hurray!

This weekend... I'm going to Nicole's and the Friday night meeting... then to my dad's to visit with him and John, and Michelle and Eric...and hopefully sign up for the Fort Stockton conference, Lord's-day evening, which I haven't been to in ages, 4 years to be exact. My dad wants to go to the Renassiance (sp?) Festival on Saturday, so that's where I'll be... still one of the kiddos. Hopefully some tennis shoes, a light bulb, a rug, and grocceries will come my way...we can only hope.

(Then when I get to Fort Stockton, I can do a happy dance around a palm tree. It will be good chickens.)

I'm mad at everyone. Why? Because I'm not a part of anyone. I feel so... outside everything. And the things I am in, I'm not satisfied with.

Why is that? Why do I want everything? Sometimes I just want... something. Everything. I just want everything. I want noncholance, I want people to be happy when I walk in the door. I want my own group of people that I can just hang with. I want my own website. I want to erase mistakes. I want to try things and come out unscathed. I want God. I want good grades. I want the food I want, when I want it. I want...

I'm so self-absorbed.