Escritora

i feel like benjamin button today

2011-05-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

I got a class ring a couple days ago. Apparently I've finished enough hours to earn one. And after Friday, I will be 3/4 done with my undergraduate career. This summer, I start looking in earnest at grad schools. Several of my friends have gotten and are getting married this year.

I'm 19.

Hence the Benjamin Button feeling. I am finally older than almost all the freshmen (there are still a few, darn them), and I'm about to be a senior. In college.

Where did it go? This semester was the first one that flew by. Seriously. I cannot believe there are only a few days left. It helps I have a tight group of friends here, which is a first. I'm actually in the group, not floating on the coattails of several groups. I've been asked out, almost kissed, driven thirteen hours round-trip into another state for a weekend, driven a friend to the hospital, slept in a hospital (twice), signed an apartment lease, turned in a writing portfolio. All in the past seven months.

Ever older and ever younger. I think that's going to be my life.

hella weird day.

2011-04-26T15:32:00.001-07:00

Well, it's been a helluva day. My eleven o'clock was cancelled, due to the professor's being out of town. I planned to sleep. And then sleep some more. I woke up around 8:15, stretched, planned to go back to sleep, but saw my phone blinking. A text from one friend saying, "Whoever gets up first, call me", and then from another friend saying, "You up?"

This was unusually early (yes, on a college schedule, it is) for anyone to be texting me. I texted back, "Yeah, what's up?" The next text received read, "I just took [friend's name] to the hospital."

The adrenaline spike launched me out of bed. I got dressed, cracked open a can of Vanilla Coke and down half it, grabbed some notebooks and booked it to the ER. I've been here before, about three months ago when a different friend whacked her head against the arm of a sofa and got a concussion (yeah, not even kidding). I spent the next four hours in alternating states of a brightly lit room, a very dark room with only this pale bluish light from the vitals monitor, being wide awake, nodding off, wondering when exactly I'd finish studying for my final at 3.

But it's amazing how things like exams get kicked back in their place when you're holding a girl's hair out of her face as she throws up for the fifth time into a bedpan, when her head's pressed against your chest as she turns death-pale and whispers "make it stop", when you're sitting there trying not to cry along with her.

It's been a long day. It's not over yet. Another friend (there are five or six of us in this pretty tight circle) showed up in time for me to run to my first class, make it to my exam, and now I'm back here. They've admitted her (after trying to discharge her, for which I was not present) and moved her out of the ER to an actual suite. It's amazing the effect a big window and a picture of bluebonnets have on a room. It's also amazing the effect the right anti-nausea medication will have. She's sleeping now, which is good. Better than good. I can't imagine she's really slept in almost a full day now.

I'm having one of those odd moments where I feel fragile and invincible all at once. I've never seen someone in so much pain, much less someone who hates showing pain. But this - this being here for someone, it's one of the few things in my life I've never questioned. I was made for it. Yeah, sure, it's rough sometimes, but this is what I am supposed to do. By supposed to, I do not mean obligated to morally, I mean designed to. It's...it's a reassuring thing on a day like this.

Bonus: the nurse for this new room remembers us from the last time we were here with the other friend, the one with the concussion. What is it with this town? The nurses recognize me on sight now, apparently, and some of the baristas by name.

*EDIT**SUPER BONUS*

About an hour after I wrote this, a round of bad storms swept through town, bringing with them tornado warnings and sirens. Everyone in the hospital got moved into the hallways for safety's sake. For an entire hour. Then apparently really honest conversations happen late at night in hospital rooms, and things get said I never expected to, and good grief I've reached the point of sheer disbelief today could actually happen in real life.

Excelsior

2011-04-25T21:16:00.000-07:00

I'd love to write something sweet and beautiful and heartwarming right now. I would. So desperately. But life doesn't give us that all the time. That's why I write fiction sometimes. I'd love to say I write for the beauty of the words and the impact I can have on lives. But sometimes I don't. I'm not that altruistic. Sometimes I write because I'm hurting. Because friends are hurting. If I were as spiritually advanced as some, I could just submerge myself in prayer and scripture. I'm not there, though. Sometimes the words I write form another world, a fragile sphere only lasting as long as I create it, as long as I can read it.

Sometimes writing keeps me sane, gives me hope, gives me an escape hatch into some different place for a few minutes. But those few minutes help. Maybe it's just like imagining warmth in a snowstorm. It isn't real, but the thought of a fire can make me feel warmer and give me another glimmer at the end of the tunnel.

I wrote this a couple days ago. Or re-wrote it, really. And as I read it again, it does help. I hope it might help you too, or if you don't need help right now, that it'll at least make you smile.

http://www.fictionpress.com/s/2788982/1/Crazy_Love

sleep

2011-04-17T16:00:00.001-07:00

It doesn't often occur you watch someone sleep, not least because 'watching someone sleep' now has the unfortunate association with certain pale and glittery not-young man who has a penchant for being abusively over-protective. But sleep does something to people - not the sleep of bad dreams, running away or drifting lost at sea - but an ordinary, healthy sleep, or even the quiet drifting into oblivion of an exhausted person. Hands folded over waist, bare feet propped on a table, sleep's gentle hand smoothing away forehead worry lines. There's a certain enforced peacefulness, silence, vulnerability even. One becomes like a small child again, cradled in sleep and lost to the world.

love and vulnerability and bruised hearts

2011-04-12T22:52:00.000-07:00

I had such clear-cut view of love when I was a little kid. I was supposed to love everyone because Jesus loved everyone, but I didn't have to like everyone (a point which brought me no small relief), and there were two kinds of love. There was the love I had for friends and family, and then the kind of love my parents had, that forever romantic love in sappy movies, that force permeating the air in churches and bride-walked aisles.

The older I get, the more I see love isn't one thing but a whole genus with so many different species. That love thing, the one we all look for, that undying unfaltering devotion and starry-eyedness, it's such a rare bird I don't know if it exists. I'd like to say it does. I think I've seen it. I have to believe it does in order to keep going some days.

Then you get those kinds of love that start as friend-love then move beyond that into some kind of 'real' love (because somehow our culture thinks friend-love is rarely 'real') and then...you can lose it. You can fall out of *that* kind of love. Maybe sometimes it does last. I know once you choose to care about someone, some part of you can never really quit. But that kind of deeper love? Losing that or being forced to give it up is so damn hard. It plays with you in ways you never imagined capable.

But don't tell me it doesn't exist. It exists in those moments between time, the spaces between seconds when you see a man and a woman create their fragile own world as they look into each other's eyes. Whether it lasts? That is a question too great for me. I'm too young, too inexperienced to even attempt an answer. Perhaps I always will be, perhaps I'm always destined to chase the answer.

The one thing I know is that Love exists, and He is perfect, the Form of love, if you will. And some days that knowledge doesn't feel like enough. It is, though. It is enough. Because if we had that perfect love now, we would have nothing to anticipate, for which to hope, in which to have faith.

Bit of a change here

2011-04-08T09:01:00.001-07:00

Lately I've run out of things to say that aren't too revelatory, shocking, or deeply personal. But I've also had a few experiences lately, seemingly born of pure chance, or fate, if you will, that make me query whether being deeply personal is all that bad.

Straight-up, intimacy terrifies me. Not the physical kind (not even in that stage of life yet), but of thought, of belief. I have opinions and beliefs so much stronger than most people know, and they don't know either because I don't want to offend or to be judged. At least, that's the way it's been most of my life. I've had a few moments of to-hell-with-it where I've given my uncensored opinion, or, more frightening, in a particularly vulnerable moment told someone exactly how I felt about a matter than affected me emotionally. These occasions are the exceptions. It's reassuringly safe to be the person always listening, never venting, to hide insecurity behind a wall of sarcasm. It's also a terrifying prospect when someone recognizes and hits the wall with a battering ram, and you realize it wasn't made of reinforced concrete all along, and try to hold together all the pieces in your arms.

That's something I want to change. Maybe need to change. Some might call it being too personal. Maybe it's just having nothing to hide. It's not a change that can happen overnight. I'll screw up, I'll hide my less-than-shiny aspects of my personality, I might offend someone. It's a risk we all run. And to be honest, part of me isn't doing it because the body of Christ is called to community, and that entails people knowing who you actually are, encouraging you on your good days and slapping you upside the head on your bad ones. The adrenaline junkie in me likes that thrill of stepping off the edge, the part of me that grins like a maniac on twisting rollercoasters and trying to see exactly how fast my CR-V goes.

So this is me. I'm Maddee. I'm nineteen going on either thirteen or thirty, depending on the day. I love good books and great books. I love Augustine because he was the master philosopher-theologian. I like dark chocolate (milk chocolate is a great evil that must be expunged from the universe). I cried when Tinkerbell died. Ultimate Frisbee is one of my greatest passions, but if I had to choose between it and running, I'd have to choose running, because I've been running since I was seven, and it keeps me sane. I have a PC but want a Mac. I've somehow never broken a bone. I love to write, because I love words, and there are so many beautiful ones, like beatific and pulchritudinous and mellifluous. I someday want to marry someone who is passionate about Jesus, because what could be better about loving Jesus with someone who's on fire for him?

I think this blog may be not so much about writing anymore, but actual writing, probably about stuff that matters sometimes, quite of a bit of theology, sarcasm, and who knows what else. And you know, whether anyone reads it is not a concern. I hope if someone does, it'll be useful, or at least, a tiny bit thought-provoking or a little amusing.

2011-02-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

what is it that attracts the eyes of those to whom a beautiful object is presented, and calls them, lures them toward it, and fills them with joy at the sight?

is there some One Principle from which all take their grace?

beauty addresses itself chiefly to sight; but there is a beauty for the hearing too, as in certain combinations of words and in all kinds of music, for melodies and cadences are beautiful...

crazy little thing

2011-01-01T11:37:00.000-08:00

do you know it? the whirlwind of butterflies in your stomach? that nervous, giggling half-smile haunting the edges of your mouth? and everyone just gives you a flash of an odd look, and you see them thinking well she's odder than usual today, but you can't help the electricity under your skin. it doesn't burn, most of the time, it just hums there with persistent warmth, not forcing you to do a thing but tugging you in that direction. that thing that paints safety and insanity as your only choices, so do you throw yourself off the cliff with the hopes there's a net or pose forever on the edge?

Wow.

2010-12-28T19:03:00.000-08:00

Finals happened. Life happened. I'm still here. Bewildered and confused? (To borrow from Shannon Hale) Like an unsteady Jenga tower in relation to sanity? Yeah. But I am here, darn it!

(And now to borrow from Cuil)

Things That are Making Me Happy:

- The smell of sandalwood

- Capital Letters

- Shannon Hale's posts about her twins (Go read those posts and try not to squeal/cry.)

- My seester :) She's pretty awesome. Besides, we have a practical joke going down tomorrow, and there just aren't many other people with whom I could plan such things.

- My blogger twins :)

- Guys' jackets

- Neon-colored socks for Christmas (they're so darn happy)

- Whipped cream (seriously, that stuff is amazing)

- Being able to revise some writing/add to it - it's the first time I've worked on any project of any length in ages, and for a few hours, I was able to just write without thinking about it.

- Little compliments (it's amazing how nice it feels to know someone noticed you doing something well. Makes me want to pass the compliments along. :)

- In the midst of a lot of uncertainty, being able to stumble into a few moments of undiluted peace.

Things I Have Discovered

2010-11-25T17:34:00.000-08:00

(Mostly in the past six months)

- Standing up for something is simple if you believe in it.

- Enjoy life. Be passionate.

- I am worth waiting for. And whoever I'll end up with is too.

- Sometimes when someone dumps their responsibilities on you and runs, you don't have to be all happy and polite about it. You don't have to be nasty, but when those words like 'please' and 'thank you' drop from terse emails, it's a subtle indication that was a crap thing to do to me.

- There is so much to life. So much.

- Sometimes, hanging out with guys who have girlfriends is a great thing, because then there are no ridiculous expectations that come with singles being in the same room.

- Related, there's the Apartment of Safe Guys on campus. One's in a relationship, one probably won't be until he's graduated. Both great guys, and best of all, zero awkwardness. (Also, I bring them cookies, so we're tight.)

- I have a good angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other sometimes, leaving me stuck in indecision, right where I was before they showed up.

- I will end up in the oddball situations, just because I'm like a magnet for them. I now expect things to not go as planned.

- Some people have hearts of gold under class clown exteriors. Find these people and don't let go of them.

Linked

2010-11-13T22:06:00.000-08:00

The ring consisted of a simple ebony circle set in the dirt, and it contained two combatants. The first was a man, about twenty-five years old and six feet tall, lanky enough to be languid. He rolled one wrist in a circle, then the other, and repeated the motion with his shoulders. He proceeded to crack each knuckle systematically, not the half-conscious habit of someone filled with nerves. Most lazy bystanders would peg him as a playboy European, or even American, just talented enough a fighter to try his luck in the ring. The only indications otherwise were the way he moved, and the outlines of weapons sheathed on his back, hidden by his black duster. A few raindrops fell, striking and rolling from the jacket, which had the discreet shimmer of expensive fabric.

Mae stood directly opposite him, motionless save for the rise and fall of her chest. She looked almost native, except for her eyes. One hazel, one brown, they weren't enough different to capture immediate attention, but they marked her as having mixed heritage. Her long coat resembled a kimono, pale blue with abstract patterns of silver thread. It was held shut by bone pegs, and the black belt supporting a sheath, the bottom of which tapped the side of her calf.

The officiator coughed once, looking at her. She nodded, tracing the patterns on the katana's hilt. She remembered her father doing the same, years ago, his sizable index finger sliding over the loops and whorls.

The European shrugged his coat off, folded it once, and tossed it outside the ring. A dirt-faced boy ran towards it, hands nearly closing around the collar, when he made the mistake of looking at its owner. The European didn't move, or make a threatening gesture, but Mae saw his eyes. The boy jerked his hand away from the coat and scampered backwards, not taking his eyes away as if he believed the man would curse him when his back was turned. It was a foolish villager's superstition, and God knew there were enough foolish villagers around here. Mae's opponent probably viewed her the same way. Better trained and stupider, to challenge him, but he'd blatantly slighted her village elder's honor. In his world, the idea of dueling for honor died several centuries ago. The law still stood here. Man-to-man combat in this circle, with few rules and no outside interference.

He turned and bowed to her, almost mockingly. "Best of luck."

She returned the gesture, stiffly. He'd read up on dueling customs, then.

The officiator rang the gong once. Mae still felt the vibrations in the air as she unsheathed her katana. The steel slid free, gleaming despite the overcast skies. Holding the sword downward with her left hand, she unstrapped the belt with her right and tossed it from the ring. She made the mistake of entering a duel wearing it only once, and nearly taken a knife to the ribs as a result. It was an easy handhold for an opponent using a short-range weapon.

Her opponent looked her up and down once. The left corner of his mouth tipped up, and he tossed one of his swords, still sheathed, out of the ring. The other he drew from the scabbard on his back. Mae had known it was a katana from the first glance, and now she noted the way his hand closed around the grip. Comfortably. He'd used this sword before. It was an odd choice for a European. Or American. She leaned toward the latter, but his accent was fluid, shifting with each word.

And he'd thrown one of his weapons from the ring, making it unaccessible for the fight. It could have been an American sense of fair play, or the American gift of patronization/infuriation. He didn't think she could handle him using two weapons versus her one? So be it.

Their blades met, and she had to step back with her left foot. He put more strength into the blow than she anticipated. And the next. And the next after that. She would have to play on speed now. The next strike, she waited until the last moment and leaped back. His sword sliced into the ground, and she darted around him, slapping his back with the flat of her blade. Their eyes met as he spun. The casual arrogance melted from his eyes, leaving cold fury.

The battle continued for a half-hour, a flurry of strike and counterstrike. She grazed the side of his leg, and he nicked the top of her shoulder. Neither were serious wounds. And neither she nor him would give this up. Unfortunately, she was tiring, and he didn't seem to be. She didn't want to employ her last resort, but unless she made a lucky strike soon, she would lose. He swung, she dodged, and threw her sword out of the ring.

He paused mid-strike. "You concede?"

The rules stated one could use whatever weapon one brought into the ring. He had to know that. She brought herself, and that was the only weapon she truly needed. Mae closed her eyes for half a second, finding that spark in the back of her mind, and then she let it ignite. When she looked up, she was a girl with fire in her hands, slender lancets of flame dancing on her outstretched fingertips. Some of the villagers gasped, muttering fire demon, the epithet she'd lived with her entire life. They thought she was possessed, not simply genetically gifted. The talents didn't develop in Asians, or hadn't yet, only those with mixed blood.

He got half a curse out his mouth before she extended her hands and let the flame wash over his sword blade. She didn't make the flame hot enough to melt it, though she could. She just needed him to drop the katana. It hit the ground with a clank, and she darted forward, kicking it by the hilt from the ring. Three steps more, and she knocked his ankles from under him, pinning him on his back with a knee to his chest. She swept her tanto from the concealed sheath on her calf and wedged it neatly under his chin. It was her grandfather's weapon, a ninja's preferred weapon, lightweight and perfect for assassinations.

She felt his heart hammering beneath her knee. Mae let the traces of a smile edge her lips. He hadn't expected it because he'd thought it impossible she had a gift like that. "Do you concede?"

He laid there for a moment. She felt his pulse drop. The next time she met his eyes, they were iron-blue, fixed on hers.

He gave her a skeleton grin. All teeth, no humor."I don't lose."

She opened her mouth to retort, but found her throat closed. Her left hand trembled, and lifted the knife from his throat. Mae watched, eyes wide, as she brought the dagger through the air, towards herself. She tried to push away, to shake free the deadness in her limbs. The tanto came closer. A moment later, she felt the keen edge scrape her throat, the tip resting at that sensitive spot just under her ear. She felt herself press the knife closer, almost enough to break the skin.

He smiled and flicked two fingers. She found herself lifting the knee from his chest and scooting away. He rolled to his feet in one movement, like a cat, standing above her.

Mae felt her knees digging into the ground as she stared at his shoes. Black. Lace-up. Steel-toed. More, she felt the sting as the knife slipped through her skin, her hand shaking on the handle. A trickle of blood started down her throat, trailing toward her collarbone. Of all the people in the world to challenge, she found a puppetmaster. They were notorious for...creative deaths. They could be. All they had to do was command it. And the officiator could do nothing about it. Nothing happening in the ring was against the rules.

He squatted down, knees on his elbows, eyes glinting. "If you're going to use your talent, it's only fair I use mine."

She couldn't choke out an answer. She was too occupied with the smell of her own blood.

"So, it would be completely within my rights to kill you right here and now. That is in the rules, is it not?"

She managed one terse nod.

"But thankfully for you, I have more of a heart than that. I just want one thing from you."

She couldn't keep the anger from her voice. "What?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Temper, temper. I just want your sword."

Mae stilled. She heard the officiator pull a breath through closed teeth. That sword was her link to her father. A blood link. Yet, as she felt her own knife scraping her throat, she realized it was the sword or her life. She pushed the words through gritted teeth. "I concede it."

"That's a smart girl." He flicked his fingers again, and she inhaled sharply as feeling flooded into her limbs. She dropped her knife into the dirt, one hand running over the split skin at her throat. Collecting herself, Mae turned, watched him stride out of the ring and pick up her katana.

The officiator shot a look her way, questioning. She kept her face blank. He took a few respectful steps toward her opponent, speaking with the slow cadence of one unaccustomed to English. "Sir. Is there not another prize you would desire?"

He lifted one sandy eyebrow, swirling the katana in a few lazy circles. "No. This blade is remarkably balanced."

The officiator smoothed the wisps of his beard, dark eyes troubled. "I must say with all respect that I believe you should not take that weapon."

He picked up Mae's scabbard and sheathed the sword with a snap. "What are you trying to say, man?"

Mae rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her jacket, and walked from the ring. "Try to strike me with it."

Half the spectators went silent, probably because only half of them understood English. The officiator paled, but nodded approvingly at her. He knew.

Her opponent stilled, scarcely tilting his head. "What did you say?"

She spread both hands, face serene. "Afraid to hit a girl?"

He shrugged. "If you insist." Before she blinked, he unsheathed the katana and swung it toward her side in one smooth motion. Mae waited for him to double over in pain, blade falling from his hands as his face turned blue. It didn't happen. At the last second, she dove, hitting the ground and rolling toward his second sword, the one he'd thrown from the ring before the fight. She rolled over it, catching it on the next revolution with her left hand and pulling it free from the scabbard. Standing and swinging on instinct, she slammed her blade into his, inches from her face.

They stood there, blades locked. Mae could only imagine the look on his face matched hers - brow furrowed, lips cracked, eyes pinched.

He pressed his lips together before speaking. "Who are you?"

"I could ask the same," said Mae. "That sword in your hands was worked on by a Charmer four generations ago. If someone not in the direct bloodline of my ancestor tries to use it against one of my family, he or she will perish, rapidly."

He eyed the katana she held. "It's the same with that blade."

They lowered swords at the same time. Mae held hers lightly by her side. It felt right in a way her father's never quite had. She'd grown accustomed to its weight, slightly too much for her, but she wouldn't fight with anything else. Mae twirled the blade experimentally. It felt like she was holding a stick of bamboo, lightweight and sturdy. "I like it."

He did the same, moving through a few fencing positions. "This is perfect. That one's always been a bit too light."

She looked at him, really looked at him for the first time. He had a defined chin and sandy hair, but the eyes. They were her father's eyes. Hazel with gold circles around the pupils. "Who were your parents?"

He shrugged. "No idea. I barely remember my father. I got abandoned in London when I was five or six and made my way from there."

"He told me he came out here to hide," said Mae. "He died five years ago." They were dancing around his key identifying mark.

"He was mildly telekinetic," he said. "I remember that much."

Mae exhaled. They were silent for a moment. "He never told me I had a brother."

"He probably thought I was dead. I should have been." He looked her over again, as if seeing her for the first time. "So. Firebomb?"

She lit her right hand, just because she enjoyed the flames dancing against her skin. "Yes. Puppetmaster?"

"Yup." He said it without a trace of shame. Maybe even pride. "And yes, I am an evil genius like the rest of them."

Mae smiled a little. He was joking. Maybe. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Chance," he said. "Chance Real. And you're Mae."

"Yes."

"Last name?"

"Depends on which passport I'm using."

He studied her face. "You meant that."

She gave an enigmatic smile. "Just because I look like I'm fifteen years old doesn't mean I don't have a fairly complicated job."

He tipped back his head and laughed. "It sounds like we're in a vaguely similar line of business, then. You here for the G12 conference in Hong Kong and just stop back in here?"

"I live here. But yes, I am traveling there." There were choice bits of information waiting to be gathered there. The job would pay well.

"Well," he said. "We should meet up sometime then. You know. Catch up. Get to know each other, I guess."

She fought to keep the edges of her mouth immobile. "I'd like that."

They exchanged contact information as the spectators dispersed, probably wondering how Chance and Mae went from attacking each other outside the ring to chatting.

Chance looked at his wristwatch. "As much as I hate to say it, I have a plane to catch."

"Best of luck," said Mae. She hugged him, on the wings of some impulse she couldn't explain.

He stiffened for a moment before pulling her into his chest. "I'm glad I didn't kill you before I found out who you were."

"I'm happy about that too," she said.

Safe?

2010-11-08T22:52:00.000-08:00

She emptied the cup of flour into the bowl, watching the residual cloud rise like vapor. He sat at the table, snickering at some meme-based website, probably. It shouldn't bother her he assumed control of her computer, she told herself as she shook powdered cinnamon into the bowl. Picking up a fork, she began pressing the flour and cinnamon into the butter-egg-sugar confection at the bottom of the bowl, mixing it in slow, circular motions. It did, though, a silly little thought nagging the corner of her mind.

A few minutes later, as she poured the chocolate chips into the mix, she felt him standing behind her, a few steps to the left. "How're they coming?" he said.

"About to throw them in the oven." She blinked. "Which isn't on. Turn it to 350, would you?"

"Sure." He pressed the display buttons as she reached into the bowl and scooped out an unshaped lump of dough. She rolled it over in her hands once, forming a neat sphere and setting it on the pan. Despite the slick of dough clinging to her hands, something about the simple act of creation soothed her.

He was still standing there, watching. Not close enough to radiate body heat, but in arm's-reach.

There was nothing wrong here. Two of her suitemates were in their rooms, doing homework, nonetheless, but almost present. He was a nice guy. Tried to kiss her once after their one date, but she wasn't ready. Never would be, for him. When she looked at him she saw a guy about her height, blond hair curling under his ears and pale blue eyes under the rim of a battered red baseball cap, jeans ripped at the knees and chewed-up brown Cons. Nice. That was all. She felt no fire or flutter or even spark.

She set the last ball of dough on the tray a moment later. "And done." She kept her voice casual, self-deprecatory, friendly but uninterested in that way. The pan went in the oven, the bowl in the dishwasher, and when she turned from the sink, crumpling a paper towel between her hands, she saw something.

She saw him grabbing her by the shoulders, spinning her into the far wall, hands sliding down her arms to trap her elbows against the wall, her eyes widening, mouth opening to protest, scream, him silencing her with his mouth on hers and her struggling, head pinned to the wall, unable to move.

It was a glimpse, a moment, but she knew her reactions flashed across her face, because he took a step back. "You alright?"

It was stupid. He'd never do something like that. If anything he'd be the guy who sort of forced a kiss in the heat of the moment then fell over apologizing in horror. It wasn't the future she saw. Couldn't be. Just an overactive imagination. Right? She realized she was still standing there, sliver of paper towel poking through her closed palms. She forced a smile. "Yeah. Just spaced out for a moment."

He tried a smile. "Okay. You looked kinda freaked out."

Though nothing had happened, nothing would, she felt a whispering sense of dread creeping into her gut, a black mist at the edge of her senses, lingering. Not enough to legitimately panic, not even close, but a feeling that shouldn't be there, a weed. She shrugged and stepped past him to the trash can, popping the lid and dropping in the towel.

She made an excuse about a study group almost as soon as the cookies were finished. Grabbed her keys, let him show himself out, took off across the road. She shivered as she paced down the next few blocks, feet crunching leaves. She hadn't thought of a jacket. Her black thermal was long-sleeved, waffle-textured, but thin, only warm where it overlapped her jeans. She made it to the right house a few moments later. The streetlight cast her as silhouette, thin and indistinct. She gathered her courage and knocked.

A dog barked inside, and she heard nails scrabbling against floor. A man ordered the dog back, and the porch door swung open a minute later. He was wearing a pair of stonewashed blue jeans and nothing else, bent over, grabbing the retriever's collar as he pushed open the swing door. "Sorry about Loki, he's hyperactive as heck today."

"It's okay." She bent down, let the dog sniff her hands, give her an enthusiastic lick across the face. Eventually he calmed and ran towards the back of the house, probably to fetch a tennis ball. He loved to play.

"So, what's up? Wasn't expecting you to stop by." He stood, and she realized, again, he wasn't wearing a shirt, and flecks of water danced from his hair. Fresh out of the shower. He was taller than her by a few inches. She always forgot that until she saw him.

"I just...." What? Panicked from an overactive imagination? Ran out of her house because of a premonition? She didn't know what to say, so she just walked over the threshold and wrapped her arms around him, bare chest and all.

She felt him tense for an instant before carefully pulling her in with one arm across her back. His voice softened. "Hey, what's going on?"

Her breath shuddered. "I...Kale was over, I was making cookies, and I just...God, this sounds so stupid, but I don't know, it just felt really weird."

"I thought you two weren't going out?"

"We aren't. But I think he still wants to. And...I don't know, he was just kind of standing over my shoulder and it really freaked me out, and I don't get why."

"Yet you're jumping me when I'm not wearing a shirt and that isn't freaking you out?"

She felt her face flame, and stepped back. "Um. Sorry, geeze, I wasn't thinking-" She caught the glimmer in his eyes and flushed again. "Dadgum you."

He laughed. "I get that a lot." He pointed at the couch. "Take a seat, let me grab a shirt before I freeze, and I'll be right there."

She sat. He disappeared up the stairs. Loki trotted over and rested his head on her knee, slobbering. She sighed and sank into the worn leather, idly massaging Loki's ears.

Stairs creaked, and he reappeared in a blue and black plaid. It looked soft. Slapping Loki's rump, he sat at the other end of the couch and turned towards her. "So."

"I...I don't know. I mean, nothing happened. I don't think anything would have, but...something just felt wrong and I got freaked out." She pushed an errant bang behind her ears. "He's a nice guy, he'd never do anything, but I just got this weird feeling...and now I'm not making any sense."

He lifted a shoulder. "It makes enough sense. My question is, why'd you come to me?"

She bit the edge of her lip. "I mean, this sounds stupid, but you've stood that close to me a million times, and like, I can be in a crowd and know exactly where you're standing in relation to me, every time. It's weird, and I don't even get that, but not once did I ever get weirded out by it. It's just..." She released a breath. She didn't do this spill-your-guts thing well. "I guess I just started thinking that if you'd been standing there instead of him I'd've felt perfectly safe."

He blinked, rubbed his jaw. "Well. Thanks."

She knew he meant it, was just surprised by her saying that. She was too. "Yeah." She shrugged. "That's about it." Now she felt like a class-A moron, filed away in his mind as a silly girl. She stood. "Sorry, I didn't mean to barge in, I'd better be heading back."

He blocked her path to the door in half a heartbeat, eyes fixed on hers. Carefully, he placed his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry it turned out that way with him. But I'm not him, and, well, I guess I'm here for you. You're an amazing girl and no one should freak you out like that."

She could feel Loki sniffing the back of her knees. Mostly, she felt his hands on her shoulders. "Thanks." She blinked. "I'm not crying, I promise."

"There's nothing wrong with that even if you were. Which you aren't. Of course."

She half-laughed, half-coughed, and he pulled her into a real hug, one where she wrapped her arms around him, closing her right hand around her left wrist and letting herself relax, cheek rubbing against his shirt. It was soft. And she was right. She did feel safe.

Chick-flick narrative voice!

2010-10-26T08:24:00.000-07:00

It's one of those days where I feel I should put a modicum of effort into my appearance (why exactly, I don't know, it's not like today will probably be any different than the average three-class Tuesday), but will probably end up wearing these ridiculously comfortable Under Armour men's soccer shorts and a Nike T-shirt instead. (To my credit, the shirt is new, yellow-orange, and has the word 'Nike' in pink script. Thass right, y'all, PINK. By technicality, I will be wearing pink. Contain your shock to a few respectful gasps.) I've recently fallen in love with fitted Nike T-shirts, because they are made for those of athletic persuasion, and actually make me look like I have a waist without being Spandex-like and clinging to every inch of my body (in which case, I would also be wearing pink, on my face, from embarrassment).

And they're guys shorts because I got them for Frisbee, because having long shorts really helps those of the kamikaze persuasion who like making wild dives for the disc when it's out of normal reach (I am not claiming to be one of those people. But I think you all know I am.) I tried finding women's shorts long enough, but I have freakishly long femur bones (approximately fifty percent of my height is between my hip and knee). The only shorts that came past my knees were basketball shorts. They were extremely comfortable, pajama-like, even, but disturbingly see-through. (My conspiracy theory is that men designed them.)

So that is how I ended up with men's shorts. And holy crap, they are the most comfortable shorts EVER. Besides, like a good pair of high heels, they nicely show off my calves, one part of my body in which I do take pride.

_____________

I'm not sure why I'm blogging about incredible randomness of my life, but I have been reading this fantastic blog for about an hour now (warning, there is a bit of language, but if you push past that, prepare to laugh out loud, possibly scaring any other occupants in the room). Hopefully that explains. Plus, this post gives me a chance to ramble in my chick-flick first-person narrative voice, one I usually don't use, because it's pure fluff, but really fun to let loose now and then.

2010-10-19T15:16:00.000-07:00

Rafe leaned over his chocolate milkshake, voice low. "It's all a conspiracy, you know."

Shara's expression blanked out, and she looked at me, hands freezing around her paper-cupped latte.

I shrugged. This was Rafe. According to him, there were not one, two, but seven conspirators in the JFK assassination, the world was made of tiny elephant-shaped particles in lieu of atoms, and - my personal favorite - Steve Jobs and the Google crew were teaming up to overthrow the government. "What is?" I said.

"Your parents being out of town so much, travelling around the world. They're spies." He calmly adjusted his black beanie. Edges of tin foil poked from the hem, and he tucked them back in.

"I thought that too, when I was seven." I said this in a matter-of-fact tone. Not that a patronizing tone would offend Rafe. Nothing offended Rafe. He'd been called a nut, looney, maniac, oddball, and loser. All the names bounced off him like tennis balls, probably scared senseless by his grin.

He leaned back in his wrought-iron chair and winked. "Trust me, sugar. You'll see the light one day."

I sighed. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?"

"I have a name."

"Meh. I like Sugar better than Emily." Rafe tilted his head, eyes gleaming. "Yup. Sugar."

"Geeze, cut it out." I couldn't say it with much irritation. Mostly because I liked the nickname the same way I liked peppermint mochas - far too much. I mean, Rafe was mind-meltingly droolingly heart-beating-like-a-helicopter gorgeous. Lanky limbs, caffe latte skin, soulful brown eyes, swishy black hair, a face of subtle angles, and a smile that made girls swoon, until they realized it was...well, Rafe. He thought the Titanic was an early German U-boat attack, for heaven's sake. Did I like him? As a friend. Did I want to like him as something more? Yes, if he weren't batcrap crazy.

Rafe took a languid sip from his milkshake. "I only do it because of the irony."

I wadded a napkin and threw it at him. It nicked his left ear before falling to the ground. "Okay, Quixote." That was my retaliatory nickname for him. Pretty darn fitting, too. I checked my watch, did a double-take, and pushed my chair back so fast the legs scraped the concrete. "Holy crap, it's almost five."

"Erk." Shara winced at her sound of dismay, and started sweeping a collection of pink Post-it notes, sharpies, and notebooks into her purse. I don't know how it all fit. Rafe theorized she mugged Mary Poppins.

He took another long draw of milkshake, watching Shara and I clean up our studying supplies, none of which we'd actually touched in the last hour, except to re-enact a particularly good play in yesterday's soccer game. "You're actually going to class?"

"Yeah," I said, shoving my laptop into my backpack. "You should too. For once."

He lifted his shoulders enigmatically. "I do alright without."

Truth was, he had a better grade than I did, and I worked my butt off in that class. I sighed. Cute, ridiculously smart, and completely insane. I always fell for the impossible cases. My phone buzzed, and I snatched it off the table. "Huh. Thought Mom and Dad were still on the plane to Beijing." I aimed a finger at Rafe, who raised his eyebrows with a smirk. "Don't even start." I flipped the phone open. "Hello?"

"Emily, where are you right now?"

I frowned. At first, I thought my mother sounded controlled and angry, voice tight like a rubber band. "Heading over to Psych. What's up? I thought you were still-"

"You need to get out of town, now."

Rafe leaned in, mirth dropping from his face. I tried to glare at him, but that failed when I recognized the exact emotion in my mother's voice.

It was fear.

"Okay," I said. I slung my backpack over my shoulders. "What's going on?"

She released a breath. "There's a lot I can't go into right now, but you're in danger, and you need to run."

Across the table, Shara tilted her head. I shrugged, shaking my head. "That's pretty vague."

Rafe swore under his breath, standing, milkshake tipping sideways on the table. "Fantastic."

"Is that Rafe?" said my mother.

"Yeah," I said. "Look, what the heck's-"

"Just tell-"the line went dead.

I stood immobile, phone in my head. "Mom?"

The bell on the front door jingled, and two men entered. They looked like a couple young professionals in business casual attire, stopping in for coffee after work, except for the way they moved. The dark-haired one got in line to order, and the blond walked our way, casually. Something about it seemed rehearsed, like they'd done this a million times.

Rafe took my hand in his, and started walking toward the side door to the patio. "Come on."

I followed, bewildered. "What's-"

"You too, Shara. Leave the notebook, it doesn't matter right now." He dropped my hand and settled an arm over my shoulders as Shara trotted to catch up. "Don't look back, just keep walking. We just have to get to the car."

My breath lodged in my throat. I looked at Rafe as he pushed the door open with one hand. He looked no different for a moment, smiling like a loon, but his gaze was both a million miles away and assessing every detail of our surroundings. "You weren't kidding about-"

"No," he said. "Sometimes the windmills really do come alive, Sugar."

______________

Sorry. No real ending here, and this is not my best writing by any stretch, just a bit of a creative exercise.

the one with the dusty rose lips

2010-10-16T11:30:00.000-07:00

and sway in her hips, long california legs and swoop of blond hair, coy pout and golden fingernails dancing on the table, the girl who walks through the room, eyes serene and straight-ahead as the boys stop to stare. the corners of those full lips turn up as she reaches the door because oh yes i got the power, but it's only in the quiet moments when she gazes out the window you catch the sadness in her eyes.

Because my brain is dead as a doornail (or doorknob, or doorknocker!)

2010-10-14T21:22:00.000-07:00

I had two midterms this week, and a 8-10 page paper (it clocked in at 8.5 total). I did not go to bed before 1 am any day this week. I am exhausted. But this week is done! :D So, I will hopefully write something soon that is not drivel from the dregs of my brain. Here is some freewriting. I hope it is not atrocious. Please...don't hate too much :P

_______________

he smiled. oh, god. it was the adonis smile. 'nice to see you out here. you should come more often.'

i lean casually against my car to disguise the fact my knees are butter left in the microwave for three minutes on high. 'yeah, hopefully i'll be able to. it was fun watching y'all play.' i sound so horribly drawling and texan, but my options were 'y'all' and 'you', which could be rightly taken as 'you' in the singular form, which would just be kind of weird since i've only known him for a couple months.

'it was a pretty good game.' he shifts, and the parking lot light falls over his chest, which, thanks to the delightful resurgence of summer weather, is deliciously bare.

i smile and tilt my head a little, getting a quick glimpse. six-pack. just as i suspected. thank you, summer, i know i was cursing you this morning, but i grudgingly concede you have your benefits. 'for sure.' crap. this conversation is racing toward awkward silence. 'i mean, except for the part when matt took a soccer ball to the face.'

he half-snorts. yes, i'm hopelessly biased, but the man makes snorting sexy. 'i always get on him for flirting with the sidelines and not paying attention. i think he learned his lesson tonight.'

i rub the side of my mouth, hiding a grin. 'yeah, he and my roommate seem to be hitting it off.'

'i'm sorry. have fun with that when they start dating.'

i groan. 'noooo, please no, i always manage to walk in on the most awkward couple moments ever. it makes me want to run off to a nunnery for the rest of my life.'

'well that'd suck, especially because i was gonna see if you wanted to get coffee or something tonight.'

my breath latches in my throat, and i make a flattering 'urk' sound. adonis just asked me out for coffee? i cough to clear my throat. 'excuse my frog imitations. i've been practicing them in the hopes of luring the frogs out of the swamp by my apartment so i can eternally shut them up and then use their entrails to tell the future.'

he blinks. to my eternal humiliation, an actual frog croaks from the pond behind the fields.

i feel heat bleeding into my cheeks. what was that crap that just spewed from my mouth? thank you, macbeth, for that inspiration.

he grins and start laughing. my face is on fire. 'you know, i've heard you say some weird things, but that just topped them all.'

'i try to exceed expectations,' i mumble. mumble? i don't mumble! what is wrong with me? now he thinks i'm sort of incoherent freaky frog-whisperer!

he gets a hold of himself. 'um. anyway, coffee?'

i nod tentatively.

'well, that was enthusiastic.'

'after the frog rant, i'm kind of scared of what might come out of my mouth, honestly.'

he starts laughing again. 'i'm kind of curious what's going to happen once we get you on some caffeine. ten o'clock?'

i smile. it's a little hesitant but happy. could be worse, it could be super-bashful and blushing, or one of those stupid grins smearing itself across my face. 'see you there.'

and what is it anyway, this crazy little thing

2010-10-06T20:27:00.001-07:00

it does funny things to us, and i don't mean comical-larry-curly-and-moe. that bittersweet curl in your stomach and that dime-sized hollow spot in your chest that pulses like a negative heart. and the knife and the poison in the tomb with silent stone angels only witnesses. the need to give, not receive it to feel whole again. the hitch in your breath when you see them under the soft light of the lamp absorbed in a book with a half-smile, and you feel your own lips curve because their happiness is yours and they don't know it.

they don't know. maybe they never will. but for now you can't help it. maybe you'll never be able to. maybe staying silent and hanging on to that scrap of time you share, just you two, is worth it than speaking and risking the ruination.

A Distinctly Prosaic Update

2010-10-05T16:30:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, I tried out for the men's club Ultimate Frisbee team at my university. They decided to keep it an all-male team, so I decided to start a women's team. It's been mostly paperwork so far, and difficult to recruit, since we can't use official channels to spread the word since we are not yet an approved organization. So, I turned in the paperwork today, and who did I run into (almost literally) on the stairs but the captain of the guys' team? He sent me a shortlist of names of other women interested in playing. Three of four of them are in, and one of them sent out an email to her sorority.

Within one hour, the tentative roster has doubled from six people to twelve. I am literally on the edge of tears out of sheer happiness. Now I'm waiting for number 13. See, I have this weird love of the number 13. Mostly because it's conventionally unlucky. And for the last two weeks, I've been brainstorming team names, and for whatever bizarre reason, the name 'Lucky' has lodged itself in my mind. I can't figure out a logical reason to save my life, which is rare for me. So, I have this weird hope we have 13 people on the team, and call it Lucky. (I've also been seeing shamrocks everywhere the last two weeks. They're stalking me.)

So, in conclusion, God is so, so good. Now I'm just waiting for number 13 to show up, and then my night shall be complete.

stop making the eyes at me and i'll stop making the eyes at you

2010-09-30T15:10:00.000-07:00

but the thing that surprises me is i don't really want you to. it's a day of 'i bet you look good on the dancefloor' on repeat because it's the ambivalence and terror and sass and flicker of excitement eating through your veins. the god-i-miss-you feeling that crushes you like a freak wave but leaves you untouched and shaken five minutes later. the sheer recklessness of to-hell-with-it that usually wears off like perfume, but what does it mean when it clings to you for days, no longer on your skin but melding into it. and secretly you like it, the way it holds your hand and lets you walk the tightrope edge, with that dangerous smile saying you'll have to find out if your parachute works all on your own, princess. and then in the moment, the only one that matters, you become icarus or peter pan, or you become atlas always wondering what if.

A Night With Hesiod, Euripides, and Sophocles

2010-09-26T21:36:00.001-07:00

My increasingly incoherent and snarky thoughts:

- Yes, Oedipus. She is your mom, he was your dad, you're a hot-tempered idiot, but really, blinding yourself with your wife/mother's broach pins? Overkill much?

- From 'Hymn to Demeter': "Yet, goddess, cease your loud lament...Aidoneus [Hades], the Ruler of

Many, is no unfitting husband among the deathless gods for your child, being your own brother..."

Me: That seems like a pretty good reason to lament right there.

- Oooooh, another prophecy! Let me guess - it applies directly to the main character!

- And then Zeus fathered Persephone by...I did not need to know that, Hesiod, thankyouverymuch.

- Mental bleach, anyone?

- Apollo is a jerk.

- "and tell Metaneira, our deep-bosomed mother, all this matter fully..." Um...anyone else finding the particular adjective used disturbing?

- yeahhhh, the gorgeous godlike woman out in the fields just happens to know exactly who you are. Anchises, you have a brain, please use it.

- "take me now, stainless and unproved in love..." Yeah, Aphrodite. That's a hysterical line from you.

- I don't even want to know what my subconscious is going to do with all this mythology once I finally sleep.

- Goodnight world!

wishes

2010-09-22T22:14:00.000-07:00

i am the hard rock underground electronic back-in-black girl, the one tearing up the field and tackling homework, but when the books pile up and scraps of paper fly, a barricade and tornado around me, all i want, really, is a hot bath. a wide six-foot-long tub with claw feet, with bubbles and jasmine salts and steam swirling from the surface. low lights and silence save for the lapping of the water. i can sink into it and let it steam away the stress, relax the sprain in my ankle, calm the goosebumps on my arms. lay there up to my shoulders, listening to wachet auf and lullaby for my favorite insomniac or aurora borealis, and not thinking. then have a heater on in the room and step out and into an oversized cream towel, new and thick and soft, feet sinking into a rug. bundling myself into blue pajamas with christmas trees and turquoise-striped fuzzy socks, sitting up against my wall with a mug of earl grey and a guilty pleasure book for half an hour until i take off my glasses and sleep.

Fall

2010-09-19T15:34:00.000-07:00

oh god. kelly?

just forget you saw me here, martin.

what the hell are you-

what the crap are you doing out here? it's freezing.

yeah, no effing duh-

leave it, martin. just go.

damn, just get down from there, don't do this, kell, you've got so much to live for-

like what? like going home to a masoleum? or trudging through a degree i hate because my father wants me to be a lawyer like him? or putting up with the hell i'm going through?

there's your sister-

she's a backstabbing fiend.

sharon-

thinks i'll be her golden ticket to wealth.

there's rick-

rick? you don't know the first thing about rick.

kells. kelly, what'd he do?

nothing i didn't ask for, apparently.

don't say that! i don't know what the hell's going on there but don't even try to defend him.

what are you even doing out here, martin? you barely know me.

doesn't mean i don't care.

yeah, i've heard that one before.

you have no idea.

what?

i know your favorite color is really green, even though you don't say so because people make fun of you and your name.

kelly green.

yeah. i know you liked the aeneid better than the odyssey because odysseus was a douche, you have a silver pair of high heels you never wear because sharon said they looked slutty, which is a shame, they're perfect, and you like canadian bacon and pineapple on your pizza. you've got ridiculous ways with math i can only dream of, you make awesome puns no one ever catches, and you think the whole oh-my-god-i-ate-a-carb-i-must-puke diet stuff is bull.

what the crap have you been doing, stalking me?

i have a photographic memory, remember? it's why i remember what you were wearing at that sorority dance a few weeks back.

it was a hot pink gown, kind of hard not to remember, genius.

no, not that. i mean, don't get me wrong, you were gorgeous. but i remember afterward. i think you and monica must have been going to get coffee and study. you had your hair down and you were wearing painted-splattered jeans and a white t-shirt, and you were barefoot...i don't know. it was dark and one of the lights framed you and you looked free. and i've give about anything to see you like that again.

i didn't - wait, martin, what are you doing?

this is a pretty nice spot. i mean, it is a long way down, but i never thought this parking garage had such a good skyline view. not a very comfortable seat, though. they should install cushioning.

martin, you might fall-

i already did. wasn't really planning on ever telling you, but life's a bitch, and here we are.

i'm pregnant. didn't know that, did you?

no.

and that doesn't change your mind at all?

my mother had me her senior year of college. her boyfriend at the time didn't understand the concept of 'no' being an acceptable answer either.

my dad's going to kill me.

if he had any sense of decency, he'd kill rick.

oh, no, it'll be my fault. everything is. i'm never quite good enough for daddy dearest.

well screw what he thinks.

it's pretty cold up here.

yeah. damn october for being cold. want my jacket?

yeah. thanks.

man. i could go for some hot chocolate right about now.

me too.

dark chocolate with hardcore marshmallows you can sink your teeth into. not that milk-chocolate-with-little-white-pellets swiss miss garbage.

best kind.

let me give you a hand down.

thanks, martin.

anything for you, kells.

2010-09-13T12:48:00.000-07:00

My handler stepped into her office, gaze touching on me, sitting in her office chair, and landing almost audibly on the Glock laid sideways on her desk. The iron goddess herself drew a small breath before speaking, visible testament to just how unsettled she was. "Aries, I understand it has been a trying week, but you have worked through worse than this. It can be settled in a diplomatic manner-"

"I have to kill you to get out," I said.

Lita stilled. As few rules governed our work, she knew this was no test. Her superiors, few as they may be, did not use her agents against her. For the most part, her superiors tried to avoid her agents altogether. "Who told you this?"

I savored it for a moment, her not quite able to keep her gaze from slipping to the gun, barrel gleaming in the lamplight. "It's over, Lita. Even the godless are having trouble ignoring the evidence."

"There is no evidence. You know that as well as I."

"There wasn't until I gave it to them."

The cords of her neck pulsed, and I saw it in her eyes. She knew I wasn't lying. Her lips moved soundlessly for a moment. "How could you do this? Do you not realize how many lives we have saved and conspiracies we have stopped?"

"Yes, Lita." I stood, setting both hands on the desk. "I do. But they don't haunt me like every person we've killed or lives we've destroyed."

"Sometimes there is an acceptable margin of loss-"

"No," I said. "That's where you went wrong."

Lita narrowed her eyes, and her voice lowered to a hiss. "By utilizing this philosophy, I have personally saved the lives of two presidents and four other heads of state, and you dare to call me wrong?"

"You went wrong when you believed yourself capable of defining that margin of loss."

Lita looked pointedly at the gun, and back at me. "Now you would do the same?"

I picked up the gun in my left hand, and pulled a silencer from my right pocket, never taking my eyes off her. "You took away my life and taught me to kill. You tell me."

Light glinted on the sweat tracing her hairline. "Aries-"

"Aries," I said, screwing the silencer onto the barrel, "is not my name." The cylinder clicked into place.

"Wait - surely -"

I tilted my head. "Surely what?"

"Jessica, listen to me-"

The edges of my mouth turned up, and I laughed, silently. "You think my birth name is a failsafe? It's unfortunate, really. You did your job too well. I'm not Jessica anymore either."

She sagged into the wall. "That is it, then. You're just going to kill me and leave."

I aimed and pulled the trigger three times. The movies are inaccurate. Silencers suppress the sound, true, but bullets fired at such velocities still make sound. Enough that I'd have to run.

Lita opened her eyes, slowly, and turned to the wall. She touched one of the holes torn in the wallpaper with shaking fingers.

"I'm finishing the game on my terms, not yours." I shot out the light and threw the window open as the bulbs tinkled against the desk.

Five minutes later, I stepped into the black Mercedes at the front of the building, and closed the door as the driver accelerated. "I'm done."

Chandler looked at me, head tilted. "You left her alive, didn't you?"

I handed him the gun, peeling off my gloves. "You don't sound surprised."

"I should be, but I'm not."

I blinked at the tears burning the back of my eyes. He tipped my chin up. "Why tears?"

"I can't remember the last time someone believed in me because of who I am instead of what I can do."

He pulled me across the back seat and into his arms. "You can start now. You can start over now."

The first tear broke over my eyelid. "I don't even know my name anymore."

"But you know who you are."

I drew a shaky breath. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Gee whillikers.

2010-09-10T20:30:00.000-07:00

I don't even know where to start with real life, because it has turned into a series of bizarre events. I won't even say 'unfortunate', although there have been several of those, including a rather nastily sprained ankle (the brace totally looks like a corset. I have started referring to the process of getting into it as 'lacing up my ankle's corset.). Blogging about this would simply be a rehash of the oddness, so I shan't. I have no idea what I'll be saying this fall, so I think mainly I shall try to do a bit of freewriting on here. Maybe just a paragraph or two. They might not even make sense, but I finally wrote a (longish) short a couple days ago, and being creative just feels so good. So bear with me, and hopefully I'll free-write some interesting things over the next few weeks.

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

2010-08-30T09:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a day of Murphy's Law kicking my butt. And it's only 11. Today so far: I go to switch class sections (for chapel, which is a required class for transfers) because I know someone in the next section, and it'd be more fun than going in and sitting by myself amidst a ton of freshmen. I am informed I can't switch, due to that class being tied to 'transfer orientation' class (which is the biggest waste of time, in which some faculty guy talks to us about tutoring and getting help with our grades. It's totally catered to freshmen, which none of us are, and frankly, downright insulting. I mean, I totally have my bad areas, but grades are my specialty and strength. I've been in college for two years, please, quit treating me like a clueless freshman. I say clueless freshman because I know some freshmen who are incredibly clued in, and do not wish to generalize that much :P).

Then I try to pay for my parking pass. The office only takes cash and check, information not posted anywhere online or in the building. I drive back to campus (the big admin building is a couple miles away) and then spend 30 minutes trying to get a parking space back on campus. I get one at 9:07. My section of chapel starts at 9:05. They close the doors at 9:08.

I'm not caught up on sleep from this weekend (which was completely fabulous, complete with seeing the fam, Inception, awesome food, and lotsa frisbee, so this is not an fml/mylifesucks post, more just a rant, because eventually I will laugh over today), so I'm super tired, which makes all this seem so much worse than it is. Rawr.

In lieu of an actual post

2010-08-25T12:35:00.000-07:00

‎A quote from my World Lit professor, on day one: "So just grab that if it's something that turns you on."

I looked down at the floor with eyes closed for a long time. He was talking about paper topics presented in class. Also mentioned was "groping" toward a clear thesis in one's papers. It's going to be an interesting semester.

How are things going with you?

Things that are making me happy

2010-08-18T13:29:00.000-07:00

- Love

- Chai tea for sore throats

- Two awesome layouts at frisbee last night

- A last-minute game today (since I leave for school tomorrow)

- Embarking on a new adventure to Waco tomorrow

- Collarbones

- Figuring out my eyeliner so it looks just right

- Sister dates to Sonic (lemon-berry slush!)

- My beautiful friends

- My handsome friends

- Giggling over old Facebook photos

- Lunch with one of my besties

- The smell of Old Spice

- Hearts of gold

- Minimalist packing

- Getting okayed to try out for the men's Ultimate Frisbee club team at Baylor since there isn't a women's team (!!!)

- Realizing how this summer turned out so entirely differently than I thought it would, and excitement for this fall.

What is making you happy?

Home Sweet Home...

2010-08-08T11:58:00.000-07:00

I've had a fantastic four weeks here. Amazing classes, great group of people, beautiful country and architecture. And not nearly enough sleep. I totally brought that one on myself. But wow. I am ready to be home for a few days and sleeeeeeeeeep. And write a decent blog entry. And post some photos. I have so many, and so few remaining brain cells.

I'm off to finish a paper now. Wish me luck. These are the days I question my choice of major...

There's something in the air...

2010-08-01T02:37:00.000-07:00

Two of my friends have gotten engaged in the last few days. I found out about both of them yesterday (well, technically, three of my friends got engaged, but two of them were engaged to each other...). It's exciting. I am thrilled for them. Still, two in one day? That is too much for my little brain. They're all juniors in college, and that seems so, so young. But then again, it's entirely probable this will still be happening when I'm graduated, and they will still seem so young. Wow.

Hehehehe

2010-07-26T14:03:00.000-07:00

I know there's an eternal debate about the tastefulness of buying a book from another country when it's not yet released in your own (the States, in my case). Well, I was in a bookstore yesterday, and what did I see on the walls that nearly caused me to burst into song? The long-awaited seventh Artemis Fowl book. On sale. For six pounds (roughly nine dollars.) It doesn't come out in the States until August 3. My theory: I didn't order it from Amazon UK. I bought it in-country, and won't have it in the States until it's come out there. In other words, SO MUCH WIN :) (And the UK cover is pretty awesome - and the words are in glorious UK English, with all those extra 'u's in words :D)

That is all. :) I am just happy.

you're something beautiful, a contradiction

2010-07-22T03:01:00.000-07:00

listening to the mixtape, wry voices over the airwaves and trying to write studiously, thoughtfully, but the words spill out in a rush of color, uncontained, unbounded. feet bare, fingers ringed as i type, my nails, enameled an impossible color between red and pink, bubbles sparkling in my water, back-breaking anthology closed on the desk, buses rumbling outside the window in complaint of the tourists, smoke drifting through the window on the breeze and tickling my bare shoulders. thinking of the girl with the delicious words that sip and slip cherry red lips into each other and the one with the music and pictures of far away icy places and near, warm forests and the one with the james-bond mystery name and her stories and heart. all these words, beautiful bittersweet words for a season of contradiction, the almost-summer romance and sweet heartbreak, the lightness on the breeze and terrible cathedral solemnity and power and awe and laughter and all

this mixture of life.

The Wisdom Teeth Strike Again

2010-07-20T12:16:00.000-07:00

After chatting with my parents, who chatted with my dentist, we concluded (on his advice) that wisdom tooth socket probably just had something stuck in it, and was irritated, not infected. My problem was finding a syringe with which to wash the socket. Over the course of the entire day, I became well acquainted know a decent section of London and four pharmacies. No syringe. I went in to the dental centre at Imperial College, where we were staying, and asked if there was any chance I could get in that day, as my mouth was really beginning to swell and hurt.

The dentist concluded it was an infection, and not irritation, because there was nothing to clean out - I was completely healed over. So she gave me antibiotics. And didn't charge me for the prescription. The antibiotics cost about 15 pounds, or 22 dollars. I don't know where I stand on socialized medicine at the moment, but that was an excellent display.

So the meds are working, and also making me incredibly lethargic. I only have four more days left! Yay! Then perhaps I will actually be entirely awake! But I'm not complaining. God was very gracious.

Oh, the timing.

2010-07-15T01:59:00.000-07:00

I would like to be on here raving about such-and-such cathedral or seeing the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum, but I am actually here with a prayer request. Remember those wisdom teeth I got out over a month ago? Well, one of the sockets, apparently aggrieved at losing its tooth, has decided to act up. I'm unsure whether it's just irritation, or an infection, but it's dreadfully poor timing. So...please pray I get in touch with mis padres and they get in touch with my dentist today, and he gets in touch with the local London Boots Pharmacy (UK equivalent of Walgreens or CVS), and I get some antibiotics today or tomorrow.

Oh, and please pray for my temper...I would like to say I am handling this with great dignity, but really, I am royally hacked off. Thanks, y'all.

My Mind Is Blown From Sheer Awesomeness

2010-07-10T14:50:00.000-07:00

Just a shortie here. I'm alive, the plane to Dublin was delayed three hours, so I got to know some of my fellow students playing Mafia and card games on a floor in the Chicago airport. It was fairly epic. In three days, I have eaten in two pubs, wandered in the world's absolute coolest and most amazing library EVER (yes, adjective build-up required), tiptoed through Christ Church cathedral, gone for a run in Dublin, had fantastic conversations about movie scores and Harry Potter and Twilight (everyone loves HP and hates Twilight!), navigated the streets, and felt slightly less evil for stereotyping sorority girls.

When I get some decent (and free) internet, and some sleep, I hope to post pictures.

How are you all doing?

God Save the Queen

2010-07-06T17:58:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I'm off! Well, technically, I won't get to the UK until Thursday, what with the dratted long flights. I do meet up with my group at the airport tomorrow, though, something about which I'm excited and a bit nervous, since I don't know a single person I'll be traveling with. They'll be great company, I'm sure, though - this isn't one of those trips you'd want to take or classes you'd want to take if you weren't rather interested in the subject matter. I think my plan is this: see how long I can bluff until everyone realizes no one knows who I am. I am the infiltrator. Ha! Well, that mindset helps me quit being pointlessly nervous.

I shall try to post photos - will depend on time free and my motivation. There's going to be so much fantastic architecture though! I think I'll be posting mostly photos the next few weeks. Or, perhaps, if I"m lucky, there will be some excellent true-life stories upcoming.

Til then!

Stolen Moments

2010-06-28T21:41:00.000-07:00

It is atrociously late (my Muse is far more nocturnal than I), so I apologize for any stupid typos or grammatical mistakes, and the general weirdness of the idea. It wouldn't let me alone til I'd finished it.

____________________

She sat on the park bench, the edges of her sneakers touching the grass. Each blade stooped, washed of its vibrancy by the rolling clouds, nursing imminent rain. The wind bit through her coat. She drew it close around her, the silk inside brushing her neck. She should have worn something thicker than an old mouse-colored trench. November chased out the remnants of Indian summer weeks ago. November, the greyest month, the death of warmth without the vitality of holidays, which laughed at the with cider and fruitcake. November, somber, solemn, too cold to be somnolent, cheerless enough to be sordid.

A young couple walked past, too absorbed in each other’s eyes to notice her. She sat like a statue, like the cathedral’s angels, forever weeping into their crumbling hands. The girl loosened her white wool scarf and pressed into the boy’s side. He smiled and stretched an arm over her shoulder, drawing her in. They fit like puzzle pieces.

She didn’t have to close her eyes anymore; she’d learned how to do it without. All it took was a sketch of the event in her mind, the pencil outlines, and her subconscious would fill in with color and shadow. The boy, the girl, their posture and warmth, a dash of a ponytail for her, a fine fuzz of a close-cut for him, parkas, scarves, gloves. Before five seconds past, the deed was done. The boy and girl halted, simultaneously, looking at each other with confusion . She could see the instant they shrugged that they didn’t know, decided to write it off as mutual déjà vu of some sort. It was the opposite, really, but they’d never realize it.

She scarcely heard the footfalls on the pale grass before the voice accompanying them. “Cute couple, really.” He said it jovially, with a European flair, reh-a-lly, a twist of English? Scottish? “Too bad they’re missing those few seconds you took just then. Very neatly done, too, scarcely a, oh, what-do-you-callit, a hiccup of time there.”

Her spine chilled from the bottom up, and she turned on the bench, driving her knees into the iron armrest. “I’m sorry?”

He grinned down at her, benevolently. He was wearing a tan overcoat, of quality fabric but well-scuffed, navy trousers, and a pair of off-white trainers. His hair was the color of dark chocolate, and spiked a thousand directions, as if he’d remembered to gel it but not comb it up straight. “Y’mind if I sit? Fantastic, thanks.” He strode around and sat on the other side of the bench, tails of his shamrock green scarf flipping up with the impact.

She twisted back around a moment later, knees pointed straight toward the lake again. She didn’t like talking, and even if she did, what could she possibly say?

“Sorry, that was a bit of an abrupt introduction there, but I’m a shameless ham.” He rubbed his chin, pensively. “Have been since birth, now that I think about it.” He turned toward her, his breath forming a cloud of vapor, floating towards its massive cousins in the sky. “Now, ordinarily, I wouldn’t bother trying to find someone who’s been stealing time, but there were a few things that interested me. First, you’re bloody good at it, I haven’t found a soul who was aware they were missing a single tick of the watch. Second, you’re very young to be taking so much time, and third – well, you’re just so bloody good at it.”

She stared at the lake. Edges of ice circled the rim, growing into a fragile crust. “I didn’t know there was anyone else like me.”

He leaned into the bench, crossing one leg, dropping an arm over the back of the frame. “Oh, well, I’m not exactly like you, but close enough. Y’see, when anyone takes times, there are these…imprints, for lack of a better word, like wax paper rubbings of the taken moments. For example, right there-” he pointed towards the path ringing the lake, “there are these ghosts of that boy and girl all cozied up. I can see right through them, they aren’t real by any means. A dozen people will walk right through them before the day’s over without so much as getting a chill or smelling a thing.

“That’s how I find them, you see, if I don’t see them first. They all have a sort of smell. Moments like that one you just snitched are a lot like a cinnamon sticky, all warm and saccharine and heartwarming. If it’s a family around a dinner table, it usually smells like roast turkey. Or meatloaf, on occasion. Not sure why meatloaf, I really can’t stand the stuff. Public display of affection, or PDA as I suppose it’s called nowadays, now that depends, holding hands is like cotton candy, cuddling like pastries, first kisses –” he broke off, gaze in the past. “Different for every person.”

The roar started in her head, the migraine coming in like the tide. She pressed the bridge of her nose in hopes of lifting the pressure, even for an instant. “What was yours like?”

“Don’t know,” he said. “Someone took that moment from me.” He looked sideways at her. “After all that rambling, and you only have a single question. You really are a quiet one, aren’t you? I suppose it could be worse, there could be two of us wittering about. What I’m mostly curious about is why. You’re not nearly old enough that you need these moments to keep you young. My best guess, and I’m a fantastic guesser, is that you’re one of those who can relive the moments, like memories, and they never fade. It’s addictive, feeling the thrill of jumping out a plane or getting a promotion or proposed to, without it ever affecting your real life.”

She shook her head, slowly. “I can relive them, but that isn’t why.” Though she had her moments, her dark days when she needed someone holding her. Since she had no one, she borrowed another’s for a heartbeat, a blink in time. Her nose ached, and she felt moisture rolling from it. She touched her hand to her face and withdrew it, a single splash of blood filling the lines of her fingertip.

“Oh, that looks nasty.” He withdrew a spotless handkerchief from his coat and handed it to her. “Go ahead, I’ve got loads of these. Allergies?”

She pressed it to her nose. “Reaction to the chemotherapy.”

He stilled, face settling into blankness.

“I’m dying,” she said. The breeze blew in her ear and fingered her collar before skating on, leaving her chilled. “That’s why I’ve taken so much. I hate being a thief, but it’s kept me alive six months past the first prognosis. It counteracts the cancer in some way, but it’s adapting. It’s taken so much time to give me even another day. I took a whole night’s sleep from my dog just to give me the hour to come out here.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t have family. Friends…they stopped coming by not long after I should have been dead. This is all I have. Even at that, I don’t have much longer. I’ll start declining within a few weeks. If I stop taking these moments entirely, I’ll be gone in a few days.” She shed her last tear over it months ago. But now as she sat here, even in the cruelest month, with iron skies and cold water and fading earth, she was still alive, and the world held the smallest beauties to take her breath.

“But?” he said gently.

“I’m not ready.” She drew her knees up against her. “I’m not ready,” she whispered. She hadn’t admitted it until now. The ache in her chest rose, and tears spilled over her eyes, hot on her frozen skin.

“Ah, come here, love.” He shifted closer and let her fall into his shoulder.

She was finest glass, poised on the edge of the mantle, trying not to fall and shatter. His coat smelled like soap. Clean, lemony soap, citronella with no bitter aftertaste. A wholesome smell that worked into her and halted the tears. She stayed there for a moment, cheek pressed into his chest. It was so warm. With a shiver, she felt the ache in her head dissolve. Her nose stopped bleeding, and she felt a lazy glimmer of energy in her chest, as if life was seeping through him into her. She wanted the moment to last.

She drew a sharp breath, and the air stung her throat. Why the thought hadn’t occurred years before puzzled her. Perhaps she’d merely had no moments rich enough or worth remembering in color. Carefully, she sketched the moment, this moment, drew it with color pencils she didn’t know she had. The clouds, the bench, the grass, a lanky figure with a long coat and fabulous hair, supporting a wisp of a person with a streak of a black braid, all bones and pale skin and mouse-colored coat. What she wanted to draw was the warmth, the safety, but all she could do was pencil in her closed eyes and relaxed mouth.

“That’s a girl,” he said. “Although, is my hair really that out of control again?”

She jerked back against her edge of the bench, eyes wide.

“Oh, didn’t I mention that? Must have forgot, I can get a general sense of moments being drawn up. You did have the colored pencils after all. Not many people do.” He gave that silly grin again. “Zounds, I can’t wait ‘til you get to the watercolors.”

“It took me twenty-five years to get to the colored pencils. I don’t have the time left for paint.” She felt that cold ache in her chest again.

“Now, see, I don’t think that’s exactly the case.” He held up a hand, chin tilted imperiously. “Ah, don’t interrupt, let me finish. Pushy Americans, the lot of you. Where was I? Oh, right, time. Your own memories and moments are the strongest to you. The trouble is, they’re deucedly tricky to capture. That one you just took, give reliving it a go.”

She closed her eyes, and felt time tick back, and she was leaning against him again with the subtle soap in her nostrils and warmth in her heart. The memory finished, and she opened her eyes. The little flicker of life in her chest stretched a half-inch and maintained itself.

“That gave you another week,” he said. “Relive it two or three more times, you might get a couple days more. That’s the thing about memories, especially your own. They fade.”

A week. Seven full days of life. She knew it wouldn’t last forever. If she so much as caught a cold from this insane jaunt outside, those seven days would evaporate to one as the stolen time fought off the added sickness. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You have so much left to live. Ah, to hell with it, you’re going to live.”

She blinked. “For how long?”

He stood, throwing his arms out. “Years and years. I don’t know why, but there’s so much more you need to be alive for, so I can’t just very well let you catch cold and die in a hospital a few weeks from now.”

“But what can you do about it?” She did not let herself hope.

He began pacing. “You know that bit in Scripture about God giving man dominion over the earth after He talked the whole darn thing into existence? Well, that dominion bit included a few things we lost when Eve trusted a snake of all things. Like dominion over words. Language, to be precise. You always hear about how there’s so much power in a name and how important names used to be, not just some label you got courtesy of your parents.”

“Yeah?” she said.

“Well, there are a few of us out there who have a bit more power over words than the rest. Shakespeare for one. Man was a genius. Knew just what to say and when, and we all know he did pretty well for himself. Me, I’m no literary genius, I just use words with a bit more zip than the average person.”

“What does that mean?”

He stopped pacing and looked up. “Let’s just say time isn’t the only thing that heals.”

She felt a flush of anger in her cheeks. “Look, I hate to be rude, but would you quit blathering-”

“What’s your name?” he said. “Your full name.”

“Rose Elizabeth Scott,” she said, through clenched teeth.

“Rose,” he said, as if testing the feel of it in his mouth, tasting it. “Perfect. Rose Elizabeth Scott, you aren’t getting out of here for a long, long time, so you might consider being a bit nicer.”

Her head roared, but it was not a headache. It was joy. White exploded in her vision, and when she could see again, she felt vigor rush through her veins. She drew a careful breath. “What…was that?”

He was grinning like a loon, hands tucked in his pockets. “Much better, isn’t it? Names have so much more power than you’d think. Especially when said with intention.”

She could feel the cancer cells shrinking, shriveling, curling into nothing. “Am I-”

“In full remission. It might come back in a few years, but ‘til then, you’ve got plenty to do.”

“Like what?” she said.

“Well, for starters, there are a few time-thieves out there who are taking crucial
moments, like a politician whispering secrets, or a mother telling the babysitter where she set the house key. I could use some help flushing them out. You’ve got all the makings of finding imprints, I’d just have to teach you how. It’d beat a secretarial position. Be more dangerous, sure, and the company’d be a little odd and charming, but indubitably handsome with a porcupine haircut, and I do eat the strangest mix of food, I love curry, and pizza, and fish and chips, and chocolate, and biscuits, and-”

“Yes,” she said. It was insane, walking away from everything she knew, but she had life restored and positively rolling through her. Even if it were only for a few years – yes.

He clapped his hands together. “Brilliant! Only thing you’d have to do is keep an eye on that cancer, and even if it came back, you’d have the chance to catch it early, and maybe by then I’d have something cooked up to get rid of it for decades.”

She stood, and they started walking along the path. “I don’t even know your name.”

“William,” he said. “William Keats. A distinguished literary name, if I say so myself.”

“Bright star, were I stedfast as thou,” breathed Rose.

“No, no, that was that my great-great-great-great-great-however-many-great-grandfather’s poetry. I don’t write much, I just read it.”

She turned to him, as a drop of moisture stung her cheek. She looked up, and falling from the sky were not raindrops, but white flakes the size of her thumbnail, feathery and evanescent. “Snow.”

He glanced up as well, nose crinkled. “Now that’s what the end of a good day should look like.”

“You said you didn’t remember your first kiss,” she said. “What about the second?”

“Ah, Rose Scott, you are such a girl, asking about kissing. But in answer, I’ll let you know when it happens. I keep hoping I’ll get a bit of a redo, since everyone else’s first is the most delightful memory-”

Rose stood on her toes, placed a hand on his neck, and kissed him. She’d only planned to give him a peck on the lips, but it turned into a long moment, with the snow falling around them.

Some time later, they both stepped back. She felt her face glowing, and touched it. Her fingertips nearly sizzled. “I…”

Will blinked before throwing his head back and roaring. “Who knew you had that in you? You look so polite and unassuming, and that…straight-up and all around, I did get a bloody second first kiss.”

“You were right,” she said. “First kisses do taste.” She traced her teeth with her tongue, as if she could bring back the taste. “Dark chocolate with cocoa nibs.”

He tilted his head, wonderingly. “You don’t mean to tell me-”

She flushed again. “Sweet twenty-five and never been kissed, yes.”

The corners of his mouth worked slowly upward. “Well, Rose Scott, you surprise me again. I have to tell you, though, I’m deadly curious to see what a second kiss tastes like. But,” he said, checking his watch, “we have all the time in the world for that. Let’s be off, shall we?”

“Give me a minute first,” said Rose. She closed her eyes, smiling.

“Ah, yes, this is a moment to save, isn’t it?” he said, sounding pensive. “Although, do go for more of an umber pencil this time for my hair, would you?”

Her smile broadened, and she opened her eyes. “Not a chance. I’m using watercolors
now, you see.”

He grinned back without a word. She finished the painting and saved it in a special place, and they walked off together into the snow.

Charlie Brown's favorite exclamation

2010-06-27T09:06:00.000-07:00

Good grief.

I'm in Colorado with the family for the next six days. It was a long drive up. Seventeen hours, I think. It's beautiful, though. I'll try to get some pictures posts, but no promises, as I do not have my own camera with me (this negligence caused by yours truly not packing until the night before). It's close to 10,000 feet altitude here, and I feel it, like a wimpy girl who lives at sea level most of the year. Quite honestly, I could sit in the living room of this little house re-reading the Mitford books for hours and be content with just resting. Part of me is sad there's internet, but another part of me rejoices I don't want to be on much. There's a little mountain with patches of snow out the big windows, and it's so foreign from Houston suburbia's culdesacs and suburbans it makes me happy.

I had the oddest sensation driving up yesterday, through a valley with gently rolling grass surrounded by pine-crested hills. I had a vision for a moment I was twenty, and I was rambling through the hills in a pair of old jeans rolled at the cuffs and old tennis shoes, next to a man I loved, with a black Lab dashing out and back and around us. The sky was cloudy, and one of us had a red Chevy Avalanche pickup, or had borrowed it, and we were just being together, and it was so simple and so lovely I'm hoping it wasn't idle imagination and will come to pass someday.

And then I think, Oh my, I'm going to Oxford in nine days. England. Out of the country without my family, which is a glorious thought with a sense of freedom like I'm a bird free from the nest. And then I realize again (the thought repeats) I am going with a group of people, none of whom I know from Adam. They're all from Baylor and should be excellent travel companions. The bold side of me, roaring with adventure and confidence plans to play along like I've been at Baylor my entire collegiate career. But the timid side of me, the one I've tried so hard and succeeded decently in muffling over the past year is frightened to death.

Oddly, with all this trouncing about in my mind, I'm not anxious. Perhaps that elusive process of growing-up truly has visited me in some small way.

EDIT: prayers for a quick resolution much appreciated - Baylor has apparently cancelled my housing request, something I did NOT want them to do, and now they're saying they're out of rooms on-campus...

The Actor and the Housewife, thoughts.

2010-06-22T10:01:00.000-07:00

I've fallen in love with The Actor and the Housewife again. (This is by Shannon Hale, and if you have not read it, for the love of every good book, go find a copy and read it. Now.) Few books have ever brought me to tears (Harry Potter the sixth did, twice), and this is one. It resonates with me, because a huge theme is love between a man and woman as best friends, without romance. I wish there was more love like that in the world. It seems we must either be very casual friends or in love, and that's stupid. Your thoughts?

I live!

2010-06-18T15:39:00.001-07:00

Sort of. I've been out in Nascar country for a few days, helping renovate my uncle's house. Well, paint, mostly. Lots of ceiling paint. I am still high on the fumes. I am also sleep-deprived, because...well, most of you know of my small addiction to that sport called Ultimate Frisbee. There's a tournament tomorrow on the beach (well, if you can call it a beach. It's the substitute beach for Texans who don't have real beaches.), and I really wanted to play, but wasn't supposed to get back until tomorrow. So...the only flight option was a 5:20 red-eye out of Chattanooga. I woke up at 3:30 this morning. I have never woken up that early. Stayed up that late? Yes, to my great shame. So I am rather sleep-deprived and yawning now, but tomorrow should be a fantastic day.

I can't get My First Kiss by 3OH!3 or that other Keith Urban song (I Want To Kiss A Girl?) out of my head. I don't know what my subconscious is trying to tell me, but I am bothered by and am fiercely scolding it. Catchy pop songs. We love and hate them.

I think I have stopped making sense, so I am going to go watch Dr. Who or something that doesn't involve higher brain function. Peace, y'all.

I have awesome friends

2010-06-13T12:59:00.000-07:00

Okay. So a friend of mine was recently sort-of stalked/repeatedly asked out by this girl he'd only met once. This is an excerpt of the IM conversation. It is hysterical. And hopefully will give you hope there are still guys out there with standards. And spelling. ('Theji' is the girl, just fyi, and 'Me' is my guy friend).

3:36amTheji
u need 2 kno 1 thng is tht if a gurl wants 2 b wid u than u should b wid her
u understand tht
3:43amTheji
hey wat happend
3:43amMe
sorry just distracted by my game.
anyway
3:44amTheji
so wat video game
3:44amMe
thats BS. i mean yeah if a girl wants to be with you thats cool, but that doesn't mean you should just be like OH MY GOD shes into me lets give up all forms of standards and be with her.
3:44amTheji
if she hot a guy would rite?
plz jst try it and see wat happens plz
3:45amMe
WHY
WHY ARE YOU SO INTERESTED IN ME?!
I DONT UNDERSTAND IT
3:46amTheji
i thnk tht ur nice and gud looking and kind 2 a gurl and i never had tht in my life
r u angry wid me
?
3:46amMe
okay honestly, I'm not mad at you, slightly flattered at best.
But it would never work because you can't spell to save your life.

That last line. Best reason to not date someone EVER. *wipes tear of happiness from eye*

Pray with me?

2010-06-08T11:38:00.000-07:00

Friend of mine is so close to knowing Jesus but doesn't yet, and it pretty much breaks my heart every time I see him. So I'm asking anyone who's willing to send up a prayer or two for him, that God would just break through to him in a miraculous way. Thanks, y'all! :)

oh hai thar

2010-06-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

I got my wisdom teeth out this morning. The whole experience thus far has been decent but strange. But, on the other hand, I see how some artists and authors came up with what they did while consuming large doses of drugs. Vicodin is some strong stuff, as was whatever they put in the IV drip to knock me out before surgery.

So now I am sporting this awesome non-sexy chipmunk-face librarian look with my glasses (which I never wear), hair in a mess, wads of gauze in my mouth, and ice wrap around my head (it looks something like the bandage about Jacob Marley's head, for those of you who have watched A Christmas Carol). The drool has not been to big an issue, as I regained feeling in my lips a few hours ago. I think. Time has been a blur of floatiness, sleepiness, quite a bit of pain, pills eating away at the pain, some lovely piano music (google Ludovico Einaudi and listen. Yes, it's a command), and very little food.

I am, unfortunately, craving pizza. Rawr. That is going to be what I eat in a few days. After I play frisbee. I am supposed to wait five to seven days before any strenuous activity. Frisbee is on Tuesday night. That's four and a half days. Close enough in my book ;)

First sentences

2010-06-01T07:20:00.000-07:00

Her grandfather was a preacher, and he named her Grace.

I almost won't read a book if I don't like the first sentence. I know, perhaps a silly reason to set a book back on the shelf, but there's such an art to the first sentence. There are a few of my own I rather like (Biased much? :P). That first bit in italics is one I wrote last night (I know, I actually started something. It's a shock to me as well).

Edward Taravella loathed hostages.

That's an older of mine.

Anyways. As you might tell, I'm feeling a bit random. I've been reading so much C.S. Lewis for summer school I'm thinking half in British English. Not sure if that's good or bad.

What are some of your favourite first sentences? Please share.

Drama

2010-05-31T18:23:00.000-07:00

Could it just be methodically hunted down and exterminated? Who shall join me in this task?

There was almost a boy

2010-05-25T14:56:00.000-07:00

but I couldn't date him in good conscience, because we don't believe the same things, and I couldn't stand hurting him later on down the road, instead of just saying something now. The good: for the first time, I feel I actually handled the entire thing without any stupid mistakes. I'm thanking God for that, because I have made some completely idiotic decisions in the past regarding boys, even just in the way I thought about certain boys. And this whole thing went down in a pretty chill manner. And God guarded my heart, and I was so much smarter about the whole thing.

The bad: were this guy a Christian, I'd date him in a heartbeat. I am now, belatedly, realizing how much I wanted things to work out. And I'm tired, and it all sort of just happened, and I will probably cry myself to sleep.

I know it will all work out. God has it all in control, because he's omnipotent like that. I'll be okay after not too long. It just sort of hit a couple hours ago. Prayers much appreciated. I just feel kind of numb and stinging at the same time.

Oy criminy

2010-05-24T13:56:00.000-07:00

I moved back home on Saturday, and should be here about six weeks. I thought this would be a rather sedate six weeks, punctuated by frisbee games.

Oh, right, except life can't be that normal, can it?

(The answer is no. It has been the craziest last three days of my life, involving frisbee, boys, insanely hot weather, gingers, a stolen car, and not enough sleep. Should I be able to clarify some details later, I shall. That remains to be seen. For now, prayers for my sanity greatly welcome!)

Change

2010-05-19T22:50:00.000-07:00

Leaving. Heartache, closing doors. Arriving. Dread. New beginnings. All my emotions tangled like a ball of yarn attacked by a sadistic kitten. Exhaustion. The need to cry, while utterly dry-eyed. Missing someone I've never met. Wishing. Hoping. Praying.

Yearning.

Ugh.

2010-05-18T10:24:00.000-07:00

There is a new realm of thought. I call it the queasy borderline. Where you aren't quite yet fantastically imagining things you shouldn't be, because later those imaginings will come bite you in the butt when they don't happen, but you want to imagine so badly. And little glimpses of potential, yet unlikely futures, sneak in, and are so tantalizing, but you must resist anyway?

Yes. I am in the queasy borderline today, and I do NOT like it. Rawr.

Pals Award!

2010-05-16T18:26:00.001-07:00

I have been given a Pals Award from the magnanimous Q! :D I therefore am happy to bestow it on the lovely Miss Erin, Cuil, and Twinkiesaregross!

_________________

On another note entirely -- I have watched some of the nation's best frisbee players for hours over the last two days. Fan-freaking-tastic. (I also hung out with an [awesome] friend who says 'fantastic' a lot, so it has been slipping into my own vocabulary...) I also danced the night away (and part of the early morning) in heels that I should have broken my ankle in simply walking to the floor from my car. I did not, and proceeded to dance for four hours in them. My calves hate me, but the shoes forced me to stay on the balls of my feet, and I danced the best I ever have. Plus, my hair is looking more like a semi-natural shade of red. *Cheers!*

All in all, fantastic weekend. I'm off to scrub layers (yes, literally) of dirt, sweat, and sunscreen from myself.

Things Making Me Happy

2010-05-14T16:44:00.000-07:00

(idea shamelessly stolen from Cuil)

- two friends I haven't seen in months and years, respectively, coming to town all in the same weekend, before I move home

- realizing God is gracious, despite my idiocy

- my atomically red hair, which shall fade to a more manageable shade within a few days

- Nordstrom rack, sassy Chinese Laundry heels on sale, a $350 dress for $50.

- letting myself have a girly side after three or four years of strident refusal

- running out of text messages and having beautiful silence for a few days

- blogger twins :D

- lazy naps on cloudy days

- roses and saved petals :)

Pensées

2010-05-10T09:44:00.000-07:00

Have you ever looked in the mirror and realized your face has changed? Not from a blemish or scar, but from the march of time, from simply growing older? I mean, I probably look in a mirror every day - I do in fact, to get my contacts in - but now and then, every few months, I see the shape of my face has subtly, irrevocably shifted.

_______________

Having a guy who is a friend in an older-brother way is fantastic.

______________

I've had an odd series of dreams the past few days, and their auras have lingered with me hours later. That doesn't usually happen.

______________

End ramblings of the day.

Brilliance and Wonderfulness

2010-05-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

So, I get to go to Oxford and London this summer. I am psyched beyond belief. As cultural preparation, a well-meaning friend suggested I watch Dr. Who, as it's apparently a British cultural icon. The well-meaning interwebs found me a website that has the episodes playing on a roll-over basis, from one episode to the next and so on. I have currently chewed through a season and a half.

In three days.

Usually, watching more than four episodes of a show gives me burn-out. Not so. The show really is brilliant. It's much smarter than most American television shows, objectionable content is rather low (granted, there is a fair number of explosions, but mostly fire, smoke and noise, not gore, and there is a tiny bit of language, but mild swearing always sounds better in a British accent. Don't deny it.) There's continuity, and both actors who play Dr. Who are fantastic. The show bounces between futuristic planets (very convincingly created) and Earth's past. The futuristic technology is fantastic. The humor is so British, and amazing.

Plus, there are a plethora of British and Scottish accents.

Wipe up my drool, please.

Just...no, don't, actually, go watch. I believe Netflix has the episodes available for online viewing, should you have Netflix service. If not, the eps are online multiple places. I know a bunch of you have finals coming up, so save this for your summer reward.

*fangirls out*

it's a bittersweet symphony (this life)

2010-04-28T20:30:00.000-07:00

or carousel at the carnival, horseback, eating

sticky pink fluff, sweet and insubstantial

all beautiful in the sunset

(but don't let the clowns catch you after dark)

and the sights and sounds of a month can swirl together

flavors of vanilla and chocolate and licorice (which i don't much like, the bitter smack of disappointment)

and how do you separate them all but by savouring the lingering flavour and distinguishing?

the swoop of dancing, a belled skirt twirling around my legs in a brush of silk

coy smile over my shoulder breaking into a laugh

(i can't be sexy to save my life)

the sensuous ridge of collarbone under my hand

crisp Dove-soap cotton against my cheek

and i lean there in the slow song, lingering in the warmth

and connection and rhythm

the little things, the birds chirping in the last crisp morning before the heat

sway of bluebonnets in wind, spoon slipping into creamy flesh of yogurt

dog grinning half-cocked, tongue out

the dreamy gleam in certain eyes when fiancees come to mind

the warm weight of a child asleep in my lap, silk hair falling over my arm,

rocking her and myself to sleep in a classroom nursery

the bitter chocolate emptiness of crying out until the makeup raccoons me

the heartache of decisions and wondering why i'm never quite good enough for you

and wondering, knowing you love me but not feeling it

frustration of people not listening or trying to understand

the flavours of life, the taste of change, the sound of heartbreak, the sight of sunset

mingle, tangle, struggle

white-robed glory and cloud-clothed pain kiss

and beneath it all the broken, steady heartbeat of love

Stuck

2010-04-27T09:01:00.000-07:00

It's one of those days upon which I wish to write something touching, beautiful, profound -

but the words won't come out right.

Perhaps tomorrow. I cannot control the Muse.

Pure Sap Condensed In A Story

2010-04-24T11:00:00.001-07:00

She stood at the edge of the park, back to a tree, fingers twisting the strap of her bag. She saw children traipsing about on scooters, eating ice cream, throwing mud at each other, clouds like sails billowing in the sky, a flurry of pigeon feathers. She heard the grackles squawking above, young shouts, giggles from the young couple entwined on the bench to her right.

The text from the unavailable number said to meet at ‘the usual haunt’. She knew what that meant, even if the usual died six years ago. It seemed impossible, that he was still alive. He’d been declared missing in action. Since he’d worked intelligence, she doubted it for a while, but so much later, she let hope fade. Even now, she tried to deny hope existence, but she couldn’t ignore its spark in the back of her mind.

They looked at each other in precisely the same moment, as if a puppetmaster turned their heads in synch. She felt her other senses dull. The tang of citronella bug spray faded, the background traffic died to white noise. He stood in the middle of the park. Open. Exposed. An unlikely tactical position for someone so well trained. Or perhaps that was the point, to give her a clear view of everything around him before moving in. He knew her shades of paranoia six years ago. They hadn’t changed. If anything, they’d darkened.

She stood there, barely breathing, taking him in. All six-feet and two-inches of lean muscle, creases around his eyes from laughter and loss, dark hair shaved close, sleeves rolled, chocolate eyes rich and swirling with all emotion he kept from his face.

He took a step towards her as she took two towards him. She didn’t want to believe her eyes. It couldn’t be real. She had to be ensconced in her bed, under the influence of Nyquil or something stronger. Another step. Two more. She found her breaths grounding, growing shallow. They stood arm’s-length away, in the centre of the park, the birds chirping and children shouting.

She surprised herself by finding her voice, or a remnant of it. “You – you can’t be real.”

“But I am,” he said.

His face was expressionless, the model of a poker player, but she could see the emotions roiling in his eyes. She looked him over once more. Black lace-up shoes, a pair of black jeans, an off-white dress shirt rolled past his elbows to reveal muscled forearms. The vine tattoo snaked around his left arm, ending at the wrist. No one could fake all the details like that. Brooke held one hand over her mouth. Her whisper shook. “I want to believe it.”

He held out his hand. She held her breath. She thought he might have swept her into a hug, at which she might have panicked. Would have. Physical touch spooked her these days. But no, one hand, palm up, steady, capable fingers tipped toward the sky. The same gesture she’d seem him make toward a dozen frightened horses, when they rode.

After a moment, she held out her hand the opposite way, palm down. She inched it forward, until the tips of their fingers touched. An electric shock buzzed through her arm, into her spine. She slid her fingers onto his, tiny and white against solid and tan. He closed his fingers gently around hers. Then she was leaning into his chest, cheek pressed against his shoulder, feeling the crisp linen of his shirt against her skin. It smelled right, clean and sharp, pine and cedar cologne.

“God, I missed you,” he said into her hair, voice rough.

She closed her eyes and wrapped both arms around his waist, feeling his encircle her back. “You have no idea,” she whispered.

Dancing fool

2010-04-19T11:12:00.000-07:00

So, there was a blues dancing festival in town this weekend. Four days of social dancing, lessons, and more social dancing. I am exhausted. I don't think I was in bed until 5. This-morning-5-am. Latest I've ever stayed up. But goodness. It was so much fun, and included dancing with a Nathan-Fillion-look-alike (I need a Shamwow to mop up the drool here). I'll write a decent post later, I promise!

the other me

2010-04-11T15:35:00.000-07:00

the one under my skin, the stranger has come to life, taking over and wreaking havoc before i knew i was no longer in control. the elusive one i know is in my chest but cannot find to kill, the one whose actions have me - real me (i think) - skipping church and slinging a red suitcase on the bed, listening to british pop (lyrics: wake me up/stop my fall). the one i hate for making me cry, the one whose existence i curse as i finger the flushed marks around my right knuckle. the one i want gone, forever, the one i plead with to just leave me along.

My Rectangles of the World

2010-04-10T15:50:00.001-07:00

In Awe

2010-04-07T07:12:00.001-07:00

http://www.tangerine-eater.com/2010/04/your-surrender-is-significant.html

Go read this, if you haven't. Go read it again, if you have. Especially given how many bloggers are female, this is so, so...perfect.

http://www.pinkapplecore.com/2010/04/broken-moon.html

This picture is just as perfect. Both the post above and this picture have pretty equal levels of perfection.

Love Bites (Or How It Should Have Happened)

2010-04-05T11:42:00.000-07:00

The scientist watched his computer intently, pushing up his wire-rimmed glasses with his index finger. The camera feed flickered before splashing across his screen in vibrant color. Pine trees swayed in the wind, needles falling to the ground. Today was the day, the proving day for his work.

On screen, the girl and the boy stood in the middle of the meadow. The breeze blew wisps of the girl's hair around her face, but her eyes remained fixed on the boy, as if she couldn't look away. He, likewise, gazed into her eyes, but retained more animation, raking his hands through his copper-colored hair.

The boy flung his hands down. "Don't you see? It's not safe for you to be around me."

The girl didn't blink, or form an expression of any kind. "It doesn't matter. We're in love."

The left side of the scientist's mouth curled up as the two gazed at each other a moment longer before kissing ravenously. It was a necessary side effect of the experiment.

The boy leaned back, hands up defensively, eyes glinting feverishly. "You don't understand. I could lose control at any moment and kill you."

"It doesn't matter. We're in love." She said this with the same inflection as before.

The boy frowned, creases appearing in his marble forehead. "The idea of a horrifically bloody death doesn't bother you?"

"It doesn't matter. We're in love."

The boy stared at her. She stared back, unblinking.

The scientist swore and began pounding his keyboard. She wasn't supposed to keep repeating the exact phrase, just the sentiment. How had he commanded that incorrectly? He'd programmed out the glitches. He knew he had. Who would have sabotaged this? He gave up and watched, head in hands, as the boy inched closer to the girl, pulling her hair away from her neck to expose the shining metal button at the base of her skull. Hands trembling, the boy pressed the board. Her head split open to reveal a mass of wiring and circuit boards.

The boy stepped back and fell to his knees, looking up at the sky. "Damn you, fiends! She was the only one I ever loved!" The clouds roiled, and thunder cracked as he began sobbing into his hands.

The scientist calmly took remote control of the girl, using a joystick to pivot her, glassy-eyed, so she was facing the boy's back. He pressed a key, and her hand fell off, revealing a sharpened fence post. He smiled, and he pushed the red button on the joystick. The stake shot from the girl's hand and through the boy's back, into his heart. He collapsed, soundlessly, before shriveling into a pile of ash. There was no blood.

The robot blinked as he released it from the remote control. She glanced around, looked at the ground, and saw the ash, and the stake. In the same place, she collapsed, sobbing. "Edward! No! What have I done? I loved you!"

The scientist touched her face on the screen. "I'm sorry, Isabella. It had to be this way." Laughing to himself, he turned in his chair and stood as the head of the department came in.

"Excellent work, Dr. Van Helsing," the woman said. She handed him a tablet PC. "We just need your signature to release certain details of your experiment to the public."

Dr. Van Helsing grinned, and signed. "Certainly, Dr. Meyers. Feel free to embellish to your heart's content."

Resolved:

2010-03-31T18:56:00.001-07:00

To take a handful of photos every day. They don't have to be of anything in particular. They don't even have to be that good. I just want to get into the habit, and then share some.

My Today, and Before

2010-03-28T21:02:00.001-07:00

burning sunset as i drive far

far into the west, leaving behind heartache

though the leaving is half the pain

the girl in the white dress thinking perhaps

maybe

she could be the floating free spirit

the dress belongs to

but clinging stubbornly to the insistence she couldn't be

I am...posting again? + Freewrite/short!

2010-03-23T12:26:00.000-07:00

I do believe I'm getting back into this blogging thing. This is my third post within the last two weeks. Part of my motivation may be the new layout, all credit due to the loverly Q, who is genius. It's a total departure from my previous layouts, and I love the change.

I may free-write a little here, as I've also started actually working on a novel again. It's been a long time. While I have this semester off, I might as well start up again. I may not have the time next semester. But perhaps I shall. My life is up in the air.

_________________

"I don't understand it," she said. She looked across the path, where pigeons fluttered around a toddler and his heavily pregnant mother, tossing breadcrumbs onto the sidewalk. "What they call love is so clearly a biological function, designed for survival of the specie. A potent mix of chemicals."

Rob laughed, leaning into the wrought-iron bench. "You're such a skeptic, Cin."

She crossed her ankles and looked over at him. "Forgive me for bringing up Laurie, but her professed love for you had more to do with your looks. She was a beautiful girl, and innately, wanted a mate whose qualities resembled her own. It's scientific fact the better-looking are evolutionarily more suited for survival."

He grinned at her. "You're saying I'm good-looking?"

She felt the tops of her cheeks warm. "I was stating a fact established by current societal definitions of good-looking. It's a terribly vague term. In her day, Marilyn Monroe was considered a paragon of beauty. Today, she'd probably be told to lose weight."

Rob shrugged easily. "Eh, Marilyn Monroe. Blondes aren't my type."

"Hypocrite."

"Hey, I already get called the blond-haired blue-eyed American poster child. I won't submit my future children to the same indignity."

"But that would be-" She shook her head. "Never mind."

"Let me guess, evolutionarily responsible?" Rob drawled.

She straightened her spine, so it wasn't touching the slanted back of the bench. "It's not nice to make fun of people."

Rob's smirk softened into a smile. "Sorry, Cin. It's just - I can't figure out why you're so insistent on denying the existence of love outside biology."

The pigeons fluttered, catching her gaze again. "Chemistry, actually," she said absently. "I suppose it's both. Biology can't exist without chemistry." She watched the birds primping and pecking, battling for bread crumbs. Evolution at its basics, the need for sustenance, the bigger birds bullying the weaklings to the edges of the crowd. Over the years, she supposed, the birds developed an odd symbiotic relationship with humans. It made sense. Homo sapiens provided an easy source of food.

The left corner of Rob's mouth lifted. "There you go into your own head. I can only imagine what's going on in there. A discussion about mating pigeons?"

She blinked. "Close enough. How'd you know?"

"As insistent as the rest of the team is about your being impossible to read, I find it an interesting challenge."

"Ah," she said.

"It wasn't that hard, once I got past your tripwires and land mines."

She looked sideways at him, finding it hard to suppress the smile breaking her glower.

The pigeons broke and scattered, iridescent feathers loose and floating on the breeze. She looked up to see the toddler stampeding after them, a hunter and prey - no. Not a hunter and prey. She watched as the boy ran past the birds, into the arms of a man wearing a suit jacket a size too large and short in the ankles. The man swung the boy up and around until he was squealing with delight, before tossing him onto his shoulders and walking back towards the pregnant woman.

She watched, heart constricting as the family walked off together. "I kind of wish it were real," she whispered. Ashamed she'd said it out loud, she lifted her chin. "Doesn't really matter, though. Anyway, I heard someone from our group got a promotion to Blue line. Didn't hear the name, but I guess we'll know soon enough when someone's gone next week."

"Maybe," said Rob. He gazed at the lake as stray raindrops danced on the surface.

She looked askance at him. "Why wouldn't we? I figure that's pretty much the dream of anyone in the group, so someone's saying sayonara come Monday."

"Nah," said Rob. "Won't happen."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

He shrugged casually. "Because I turned down the offer."

She looked at him, mouth cracked open. "What? Why in the world would you not take a promotion?" He was the golden boy of graphic design, and she'd honestly expected him to get promoted sooner.

"It would entail a move to D.C.," he said.

"So? You love D.C. It's a great city."

He still wasn't looking at her. "Love makes people do crazy things."

She "Oh, god, tell me you're not staying for Laurie. She already hurt you so badly-"

Rob turned and looked her square in the eye. "I'm not going to D.C. because you aren't there."

The tirade died on her lips. "What - what do you mean?"

"You can go on all you want about love being a jumble of chemicals and crap, but tell me what evolutionary sense this makes."

Her mind whirred. This decision of his disregarded the instinct to move up the food chain, be it literal or metaphorical, and saying she was the reason - perhaps because their IQs were on the average, high - but that entirely threw the most attractive mate theory out the window, because she was so plain, and while he was a little on the nerd side, he was darling.

She couldn't find most of her voice. "But - why me?"

He leaned over and kissed her, slowly. She felt her eyes close of their own accord, and something stirring in her chest she hadn't felt since she was a child, safe with her parents, before their accident.

A moment later, Rob pulled back, still cupping her face in his hands, his beautiful, capable hands. "Because, despite all your minefields and massive resistance to the very idea of the sentiment, I love you."

She felt the first tear break, a hot streak down her face. He wiped it away with his thumb. The stirring in her chest bloomed, and it hurt, but she felt it like she hadn't felt anything in so long.

"I -" she faltered. How could it be true? But perhaps it didn't matter, because it just was. "I love you too."

Musics!

2010-03-20T15:32:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling tired and uninspired (look, a rhyme!), so I shall post some linkage to songs I'm currently enjoying, and think you should too.

Nightbook - Ludovico Einaudi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezSq5Vq8G88&feature=related

Lady Labyrinth - Ludovico Einaudi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zq1hPXJPtto&feature=related

The Tower - Ludovico Einaudi: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PsI3X4TdB6U&feature=related

All these are GREAT writing songs - based on a piano lead, instrumental, but The Tower, especially, is intense.

Birthright - Celldweller: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hmwYcVUMjXw . This is rock/electronic awesomeness. Epic stuff. Celldweller on the whole (disregard the morbid name, it came from one of the artist's friends joking that his studio was like a cell, because he never left it) equals amazing music.

Regret - Blue Stahli - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bKlTxJa1HQs . Ear candy. Undeniably ear candy. (Shotgun Senorita and Throw Away by the same artist are good too).

Trailer music from Clash of the Titans trailer - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0TdLf2_YA6M&feature=related . One word: EPIC.

Satellites - September http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rP7X_7s2aPo&feature=related. Totally Europop dance music. But so fun!

Hide and Seek - Imogen Heap - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4OLQB7ON9w . Part of this song will sound rather familiar. A certain artist *coughcough* Jason DeRulo *coughcough* used part of the song in his current hit. I present the original. Which kicks butt. Because Imogen Heap rocks.

Well, that's all, kids. Sayonara!

Ache

2010-03-17T18:47:00.000-07:00

it stretches in my chest

a cat with claws

when you talk talk

and talk

and won't listen

ever

when you change your mind

constantly

an indecisive bumblebee

with equal sting

when you must always be right

damn the consequences

and the consequences come

as i curl myself away

into the shell of my mind

where you cannot enter

i know you too well

(the pain of saying that)

but to you -

i am a stranger. alone (while with you).

passive (words boiling inside).

aching (wishing you knew).

watching. (others also helpless).

yet you believe you know me.

i am sorry i cannot be perfect. i am sorry, because if i were

i would know you

and you me

and i would not suffer the stupid

silly

eternal

pain

of never being quite good enough.

The craziness

2010-03-10T08:41:00.000-08:00

So, here's what's happened in my life over the last six weeks.

*I decided not to return to the university I attended for the past three semesters.

*It was too late to transfer, so I am taking this semester off.

*I moved from Houston to Austin, three hours away from my family.

*I am volunteering more than part-time but not quite full-time at a church office.

*I am playing frisbee.

*I am running.

*I have gotten into the world of ballroom/more classic dance (blues is my favorite so far - swing isn't bad, but there are a million variations on it, few of which I know...)

*I have unearthed an old, old writing project (Novel the First), and a character I had trouble making truly frightening IS really a scary guy now. :-)

*I have gotten back in touch with a friend from school who moved here a year ago, and I feel like I'm getting some of those teenage girl experiences like sitting in her car after dancing and talking for hours about life and guys. I didn't get that in high school, so it's nice to have it now.

*I know where I"m going this fall.

*I don't know what I'm majoring in, or if I'm going to take an extra semester in order to do a particular honors program.

*It doesn't matter now, though. I have time, and God is good.

Makeover

2010-02-22T08:20:00.001-08:00

This blog needs one. Don't get me wrong, I still love my Mustangs, but it needs a cleaner, maybe lighter look. I should probably actually blog more too. And not make every post an apology for not blogging. But I haz linkage to make up for that! http://www.fictionpress.com/~schradez007

Yesh. Fictionpress. It was the easiest way for me to post some of my writings online. Let me know whatcha think!

Percy Jackson Movie Rant

2010-02-12T18:24:00.000-08:00

NOTE: SPOILERS. READ AT OWN RISK.

There. I warned you.

I saw The Lightning Thief today. I had such high hopes. I was jumping in my theater seat going mildly fangirl during its past previews.

I walked out of the theater, ranting to my mother (who's not read the books) about how the movie killed the book. How the book was eight million times better. The movie was not...bad, per se. But AGH, the book had PLOTS, one self-contained within the book, and an over-arching plot that extends through all five books. Granted, I don't believe anyone signed on to do all five books as movies. I'm relatively sure they didn't, because the whole Kronos-reforming-to-take-over-the-world plot did not exist in the movie at all.

Still, given that. They cut out Ares from the movie entirely. ARES. Some of the best dialogue of the entire book! And Ares was a great character. I'll admit, I was skeptical of Alexandra Daddarios being Annabeth. While she did not portray Annabeth as in the book much at all, she did a good job. So I will grant points there. The guy who played Grover? The parts he did well, he did really well. The rest was whatever. And then they all looked like they were sixteen, instead of twelve.

A couple pros: Luke was cute. But he was supposed to be EVIL darnit, not some disgruntled teenager who wants to take over. And they drive a Maserati out of the Lotus Casino, and it sounds amazing.

Oh yeah, then my other minor beef. Hades...supposed to be one scary dude. Like black pits of eyes suck-your-soul-despair. In the movie, when he wasn't in his true-divine-fiery-dragon-monster-thing-form, he resembled some 70s rocker. Eccentric, yes, scary, only if his costume counts. I was disappointed.

That sums it up. I was just disappointed. But the books remain awesome. Rick Riordan FTW :D

2010-01-30T18:05:00.000-08:00

He keeps talking. Just talking. Words pouring out of his mouth, and I've heard half of them before. I want to blank it all out, just nod vaguely, but my mind has a perverse need to listen sharply, to catch every word. He thinks he's being helpful. You keep repeating yourself! I want to say. Over and over. Same words. Same thoughts. He wonders why I seem so unstable in decisions, so contradictory, but when he poses question after question after question, I begin to question everything myself. I interlace my fingers and hold them over my mouth, biting into the knuckle of my thumb, increasing the pressure until I can't take it, and then I re-lace my fingers and latch onto the other thumb.

Finally, he quits speaking, distracted. I take my moment and slip away into the dark. When I'm safe, for now, I stare at the rough oval of red marks around my knuckles. It is this pain or avoiding the anger following my outburst. For now, I have chosen this.

2010-01-20T06:34:00.001-08:00

I had slam poetry running through my head yesterday. I don't write slam poetry, rarely ever read it, but I don't know what else I could call it. It was more prose-y than poetry, but it was not quite prose either. I don't know if I could re-create it now - I was in a strange, strange mood. It was cool though, because words were just coming to me. Even some rhyme, which never happens. If I hadn't needed to rush off to an appointment, I would have just written it down while it was happening. Maybe, just maybe, I can try it again later today.

On another note, I started a fictionpress account yesterday. I can't post on it til tomorrow, but when I do, I'll put the link up here. There are a few things I wrote for and outside of class that I'll post. It should be easier reading than reading it all in a blog post.

My life is changing a lot right now. I'm taking this semester off, in the hopes of moving to Austin for the next few months to work at the church office I used to attend last time I lived in Austin (I've moved a lot.) Right now, I have been reassured there is work for me, but I have yet to find somewhere to live. It's really only been a couple weeks since I made this decision, but it feels like forever, and I have to keep myself from freaking out, because I'm not in school, and most of my friends have started this semester. I don't know at all what God has planned for me right now. At all. But yesterday, while I was driving down the road, I had sudden conviction that this is where I'm supposed to be. Right here, right now. I don't know why. I'm just praying I figure that out.

Dear You

2010-01-15T19:37:00.000-08:00

Dear You: Thank you for being my blogger twin.

Dear You: Thank you for being my other blogger twin. I love you both.

Dear You: I think I've only hugged you once before. You are a good hugger. And your jacket smelled really good in the rain. Thanks for knowing just what to say. I don't know how you possibly knew that's what I was stressing about, but you did. Thank you. I have high respect for you.

Dear You: I liked you once, and then we didn't talk for quite some time, and I realized how much of a friend you are. I cried more than a little. And then suddenly we were friends again, and things were normal. Someday I will work up the courage to tell you I love you.

Dear You: I am sorry you have become an ass. You have so much potential. I hope someday you'll realize it, but I don't have my hopes up. I don't hate you, though. I promise.

Dear You: you are amazing and beautiful and talented. Maybe some people wouldn't call you beautiful. Your smile and your spirit make you more so than so many others.

Dear You: So much I could say here. You are one of my best friends. You are so beautiful when you start defending someone else, and you forget to be self-conscious. Be you. Strong and bold, and beautiful.

Dear You: You have the cutest shy grin ever.

Dear You: In an alternate world, I would be head-over-heels for you. Alternate world. Key phrase. You are still a thoroughly loveable, very talented dork.

Dear You: I love you, but it would be great if you would maybe not be quite as focused on yourself. When that's what you want to talk about and ignore what other people are saying, it's really annoying.

Dear You: I'm not sure how all of a sudden we became better friends. I think maybe subconsciously we realized how alike we are, because we are. You are the biggest teddy bear of a guy, and I love ya. I really love how you can give bear hugs and no one thinks it's weird!

Dear You: Thank you for being my Honors partner in crime. XD

No. Life...is not supposed to be a chick flick.

2009-12-30T18:23:00.000-08:00

It's not my life I'm talking about. It's someone else's. But really. It just isn't right.

So yes. I have been absent a long time. I want to be better about posting once a week, at least. Even if it's just a little snippet of something interesting.

I have no concerted brain function tonight. So here is my random:

Right now I'm listening to John Mayer. One of my suitemates loves his music. I've never really listened. It's pretty mellow acoustic stuff. I like it, but Five Times August is better. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7RL-MYJatk . Let me know what you think of that. (The funny thing is, I know the red-head kid who plays the bully in this video. It's kind of funny. Because in real life, he is a cross-country kid who weighs about 130 pounds, and is so not a bully. He does a good enough job at being obnoxious though... :P)

Boys can be so stupid.

So, so stupid.

Like, I want to slap the whole lot of them multiple times stupid.

I am going to try to graduate a semester early. Yay! Not that I don't like college, I do. But it's a small school, and it's such a big world, and I am ready to not be in school, or at least, doing a more self-guided master's program. Possibly creative writing master's at Seattle Pacific University. :)

Chick flicks

2009-12-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

(I am at a friend's apartment with five other girls. I am forced to watch While You Were Sleeping. Total chick flick. Have I expressed my opinions on chick flicks? 98% of them should be burned. Banned. At the very least, not elaborated upon in my presence. Don't ask me why I think most chick flicks are unrealistic, yet I will happily watch LOTR or Star Trek. It's that LOTR and Star Trek never pretend to be realistic or in this world. They are admittedly IN different worlds. Maybe chick flicks are too, but arghughblah).

Friend 1: we should watch another movie.

Friends 2-5 + me: Sure! (Me: *recalling friend 1 talking about watching Eagle Eye after WYWS, and thinking 'thank you, Jesus, an action movie to purge my system of the unrealism!*)

(about an hour later)

Friend 2: we should watch another movie!

Friends 1-5 + me: Awesome! Put one in! (We are all brain-dead, haven't you guessed? It's finals week.)

Friend 1: *starts digging through massive collection of movies* Let me get out The Holiday.

Me: *swears under breath*
*okay, not literally*

Friend 1: *still digging* "Aw, rats, did I take that home?"

Me: *looking studiously at facebook and praying she took it home*

Friend 1: "Well, I guess I"ll put in Eagle Eye."

Me: *cheers!cheers!cheers!* *all silently*

Friend 1: "Oh, look! Here The Holiday is! I don't know how I missed it!"

Me: *SWEARS*
*again, not really*
*searches in Google*
*loads Underworld in second window of Firefox*
*thanks the Lord for movies with guns, action, and unrealism that knows it is unrealism and does not masquerade as realism*
*types blog post ranting against chick flicks while Underworld loads*

reading into short stories

2009-11-19T13:04:00.001-08:00

I think it's hysterical. For instance, my short(ish) story came up in my creative writing class today. I read the whole thing out loud (thirteen cursed pages), and then had to sit in silence while the class and teacher critiqued it. Some of my thoughts:

The corset as symbolism of that society I wrote about being rigid and restricting? I mean, it sounds gloriously deep and thoughtful. I'm glad people think I'm that deep, because I totally didn't mean that as symbolism.

Red as the color of passion and fire...um, no, actually, I just made the paint in the story red because I really like red.

There's a lot of romantic heat between David and Aphrodite...um, okay? If you say so? Totally not how I intended it, but whatever...

No, I didn't think about 'David' being a highly appropriate name for an artist. At least, not consciously.

The conclusion I have come to: my subconscious is brilliant.

Proof that I am 1. very tired, 2. deprived of writing, and 3. generally crazy

2009-11-15T14:53:00.000-08:00

Sarah:

i need to do something b4 my brain splodes

4:34pm Edge

lol\

4:36pmSarah

too late

4:36pm Edge

your brain...exploded?

so basically i need to go call walter and peter and see what happened [reference to the J.J. Abrams show, Fringe]

4:37pmSarah

ha ha ha ha ha ah ah ah

4:37pm Edge

so...since you're at a computer i'm guessing it was the freaky video which melted your brain

or excess radiation in your blood...ew.

rachel is not gonna be happy

4:41pmEdge

omg you're not responding

it's true then

4:42pmSarah

.....

4:42pmMaddee

she's aliveeee!@

sigh

of relief

4:42pmSarah

4:42pmMaddee

you're...not alive?

4:42pmSarah

4:43pmMaddee

then...your consciousness...give me as ec here

*a sec

aha!

it has somehow entered your computer

oh my gosh

4:43pmSarah

777 ,zgtfdcfshghkadfggddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddd

4:44pmMaddee

...*tries to decode*

wait

I think I have it

"It was the tomato sauce"

I KNEW IT

the redness of the sauce

it was really...unicorn blood

so on the plus side, unicorns then exist

but...on the minus side, you're kind of dead

'kind of' being defined as your consciousness being trapped in your computer

dude, it's probably a vista operating system too

sucks to be you

4:48pmMaddee

oh my gosh, i just re-read what i typed...i didn't realize how many issues i had until just how

Maddee

but wait. unicorn blood is silver.

so...

4:51pmSarah

we's gonna get pizza

4:51pmMaddee

...you follow that brilliant unraveling of your death with 'we's gonna get pizza'?!?!

hahahaha jk jkj jk

Gold heartbreak

2009-11-08T20:05:00.000-08:00

heartbreak
has a color
two now
from springtime past
shimmering Aztec gold
burnished in the sun

the other appeared
yesterday
pale burgundy
shade of a dying leaf
cut off from life
color of a bleeding heart

(it's a little better this time. i'll be okay. i don't know when.)

Amazingness

2009-10-27T21:24:00.000-07:00

is hanging out with three friends who help me sarcastically tear apart obnoxious RAs, and all of us being on computers and facebook and less than three feet apart, and trying to figure out who is saying what to one another. They are awesome. :D

WARNING

2009-10-14T13:28:00.000-07:00

My fail of the day:

I was in the little common room of my suite. One of my suitemates was happily doing dishes in our little kitchen. It was a blissful domestic scene, quiet and only broken by the occasional sounds of my coughing (darn allergies), and Sarah Michelle Gellar stabbing a demon from my computer. This beautiful tranquility was broken by the sound of the world's most obnoxious RA rambling through the door (open due to some oven fumes). I was told I was a fail at answering my phone.

So as this RA casually strolled into another suitemate's room to get her computer charger (Mac snobs...well, she's not a Mac snob. He is.), I put down my computer and went to grab my phone. Because it's not necessarily that I didn't believe he'd called, but he is one of those people who would mess with me like that. So I walked into the kitchen area, which is floored with some kind of linoleum stuff.

Four steps later, I found out up-close and personal that the floor had been mopped.

My suitemate gasped and asked if I was okay. From a beautiful hands-and-knees position on the floor, I started laughing hysterically. The highly obnoxious RA also started laughing from the other suitemate's bedroom and said, "Fail!" I fell back on my natural response to obnoxious guys: "Shut up, Griffin!" (Oh, look, did I mention a name? Drat.)

I don't think this particularly obnoxious RA has been in the suite this semester. Ever. And I don't recall anyone mopping this semester either. What are the odds........

Part 2.

2009-10-06T22:09:00.000-07:00

Me:
lol cool. If you're up here on a Tuesday or Thursday night, let me know, you might drop by one of the Ultimate frisbee games on campus those nights. It's pretty much my primary sport after running, lol

Guy:
wow, you run and play ultimate frisbee? i love both those things. ultimate would be hella fun, but i wouldnt mind just going running with you.

Me:
well there's a game tomorrow night at 9:30 at the soccer fields here, same for thursday, every week if you wanna come.

Guy:
the soccer field, huh? i think i can make it, could i get your number so i can text or call you tomorrow?

Me:
yah . It'll really start around 9:45...frisbee players are classically dilatory. Haven't figured out why yet lol

Guy:
dilatory! lol i can tell youre home schooled. but yeah it sounds like fun, i'll see ya there! :)

Me:
haha well, I'm also a writing major, and my mom was an English teacher...I didn't have a chance lol

Guy:
wow, what do you like to write? im taking creative writing this semester, and i really like it, its like my favorite class haha

_________________

So. 9:30 came. 9:45 came. The entire game (which was an AWESOME game) passed. No text, no call, no show.

Strike 1: He never showed, texted, or called. Major no-nos.

Strike 2: He never showed at Ultimate Frisbee. That is a SIN.

Strike 3: He and his bff are cussing each other out on Facebook.

So I am totally single again. And lovin' it. Easy decisions rock!!!!! =)

whimpers and covers head

2009-10-05T12:34:00.000-07:00

Facebook thread:

Guy:

im not in high school, im in college

Me:

Yeahhh, J. M. informed me of that =p. You have to admit though, there were a million high school kids swarming the campus at that point, and there aren't usually, so... logical conclusion =P

Guy:

i dont exactly look like a high school kid though. hell, i shaved before i went to that karaoke thing. maybe that was it?

Me:

Lol maybe...I'm gonna chalk it up to the fact that I was really tired and should have been asleep an hour ago. I def was not picking up on details lol.

Guy:

oh, i heard somewhere that people look younger when you're tired... but yeah definitely not in high school. you're a freshman i'm guessing?

Me:

Haha you must have been tired too, I'm a sophomore =P

Guy:

haha i think i was, so that would make sense. have you gone to (name of university) this whole time? i visit campus pretty often but i dont think ive seen you before

Me:

Haha yeah, I've been here the whole time. I didn't have the blond in my hair last year tho, so I look different...maybe that's it lol.

Guy:

haha maybe. well i hope i didnt freak you out too bad when i talked to you, you looked good in your dress and i wanted to get to know you

Me: Haha thanks =P See, the thing is, I am an ex-homeschooler...so that hopefully explains a lot haha.

Guy: lol not at all. you dont like compliments? or people?

Me:

Hahaha no, both are fine, I'm just not as used to the compliments...it's a random homeschooler thing lol

Guy:

ah, ill keep that in mind. what do you say we hang out sometime?

..............I haven't answered yet.

Le Story

2009-09-23T20:01:00.000-07:00

I smiled as the flickering strobe lights touched Dante’s head, for an instant, igniting it a weird shade of atomic red. He was never hard to find. I leaned forward in the booth as he and his cluster of friends worked their way through the throng. There was Irina, hair twisted up in a stylish Gordian knot, single pearl strand wrapped around her neck. She had interesting stories, and I liked hearing her talk just for her faint accent.

Matthew ambled behind Dante, twisting sideways to pass a group of girls, most of which twisted to look him over. I rolled my eyes. The guy couldn’t help having an aristoi father and a model mother, but the least he could do was take advantage of it. He turned into a Michelangelo statue when cute girls talked to him. Reportedly good to look at, but a conversational dead end.

Dante glanced up at me, waved, got his feet tangled and vanished into a thick clump of dancers. Matt glanced at Irina, laughed, and reached down, fishing Dante out by his collar. Dante reappeared, swatting Matt off. They vanished into the shadows of the stairs and reappeared a moment later at my booth.

I smirked at Dante. “Nice move, twinkletoes.”

He slid into the other side of the curved booth and shot me a death look. “Shut up, Chance.” He held up one hand and let flames dance on his fingertips. The smoke curled to the ceiling, melding with cigarette fumes already inhabiting the space.

Irina glided in next to Dante, setting her purse on the table. “Now boys, play nice.”

Dante extended the flame on his pointer finger. “I will, in a minute.”

She merely smiled, an enigmatic curve of her lips. Dangling her hand above his, she let water emerge from her skin and roll down her fingertips. The drops hit the flames and sizzled.

Dante slanted a glance at her and nixed the flames. “Killjoy.”

I whistled. “Wow, what did Joy ever do to you?”

Dante slugged my shoulder. “Shut up and be a gentleman.”

“Ouch.” I rubbed my arm. For being not more than a living skeleton, Dante packed a punch. “I am one.”

Another female joined the conversation. “Really? I’ve yet to see that side of you.”

Dante usually tried not to grin, because his incisors gave him the look of an emerging vampire, but I don’t think he could help himself this time. “Hey, Vani.”

Jovani Cortez, the current bane of my existence, strode into sight. She was porcelain beauty. Black curls streaming down her back, perfect figure, pale skin. I could only figure somewhere in her making, God slipped up, because she had the personality of a bulldog. She smiled back at Dante. “Sorry I’m late.”

Dante kept smiling. Smirking, really. “No worries, the rest of us just got here, except Chance, since the lazy bum has nothing better to do but wait around for us.”

I let that one pass. Half the afternoon I spent forging a passport for myself. Due to exploits like that, I tried to tell Dante as little as possible about what I did. He was legit, much unlike me, and I didn’t want to drag him down to my level. As it was, my time in this town was an hourglass running low.

Vani cocked an eyebrow as she pulled a slim cigarette from her purse. “That does not surprise me.” She sat next to Irina and extended the cigarette to Dante, widening her eyes like an expectant schoolgirl.

“What am I, the human lighter?” Dante sighed and ignited a flame on his thumb, touching it to the end of the cigarette.

Vani smiled prettily and took a drag. “This is the clean version of friends with benefits.”

“Cigarettes are terrible for your health,” I said.

She looked me over with an air of boredom, as if I hadn’t spoken. “Except for you, because snark does not count as a gift.”

I shrugged. “Third children are always sketchy. Some are lucky, some aren’t.”

She smiled. “Hence your appropriate name, Chance.”

I gave a skeleton grin in return, all teeth, no humor. “Cute. I’ve never heard that one before.” It was her favorite joke.

Vani waved her hand at me. “I know, I am adorable.”

Dante took the moment to snort. “You two are pathetic.” He glanced at Irina. “Dance?”

She tilted her head, running a finger along her strand of pearls. “Maybe.”

He adopted his best little-boy face. “Pretty please?”

She smiled, the dim lights shading her cheekbones. “Convince me.”

I grimaced and looked away as Dante laughed, threaded his fingers into her hair, and kissed her solidly. “Oh, for the love, Vani, let them out before I hurl.”

She practically tumbled from the booth as Irina and Dante slid out, bodies indistinguishable as they melted into the shadows.

Matthew, who’d been sitting silently, trailed out behind them. “Since Dante’s distracted, I’m gonna slip out of here.” He nodded me. “Night, Chance. Vani. Have fun with the lovebirds.”

Vani shuddered. “Sweet Jesu, save us.”

I studied her as she slid back into the booth. “That creeps you out?”

Her lips puckered as if she’d bitten into an unsugared lemon. “Of course it does. They’re gifted aristoi, sickeningly in love, and will go on to have gorgeous, gifted children. If we’re lucky, we’ll get married, maybe, and go on living mundane lives.”

Her bleak version of the future was what I hoped for. Actually, I’d be pretty happy with living through the age of thirty.

Vani looked sharply at me. “What, no snarky comment?”

I shrugged. “Look at that, we agree on something.”

She eyed me with suspicion. “The world just stood still.”

“Maybe.” We sat in silence for a few minutes. I started to relax, letting the beat in the music pound in my mind, drowning out my worries.

“Well, I am going to go dance.” Vani set her purse on the table and looked at me. “Don’t go snooping.”

I kept my eyes half-closed. “Don’t worry, princess, if I need lipstick I’ll go get it off someone else.”

She huffed and turned, scarlet dress swirling around her knees. She really was a beautiful girl, but prickly as a cactus. I slouched further and lapsed into a half-doze, musing on how odd it was that a dead quiet room scared me too much to sleep, yet I could fall asleep to four-on-the-floor music pulsing loud enough to blow my eardrums. The blame probably fell on my erratic upbringing.

Someone stopped by the booth. “Evening, Chance.”

I jolted straight up and got pinned to the booth with a flash of blue electricity. By the time I got enough breath to swear, Luke Jenkins was staring me down, mouth creased in a half-smile. “You knew I’d catch up with you.”

The only words screaming through my mind were censor-worthy. I lifted my right hand a couple inches out of pure reflex, just to see another flicker of electricity leave Luke’s fingers and slam into my shoulder. The bolt shot down my arm, leaving it tingling and paralyzed. I clutched the edge of the booth with my left hand, gritting my teeth as my stomach threatened to eject my dinner.

Luke shook his head. “Come on, kid, you know better than that. You start getting fancy with your mind tricks, and I go crazy and kill some people.” He shrugged, as if genuinely sorry. “I can’t help it, it’s reflex.”

I conquered my nausea for the moment. “Not mind tricks.” The first time we met, he was hunting me. I was a cocky brat and used my gift on him. His electrical system went nuts, and I woke up with a splitting headache and most of the hair burned off my body.

“Mind tricks, puppet tricks, same difference.” He jerked his head toward the stairs. “Come on.”

I paused for a moment, scanning the table for available weapons. My choices came down to a glass of water, or Vani’s doll-sized purse. Crap. I took my time standing. The trick with these situations was to stretch the enemy’s patience to the edge of the cliff, and no further. If I moved too slowly, Luke would move me along with his cattle-prod fingers.

“Good,” said Luke. He clamped one hand on my shoulder. “Keep moving. You know the drill. Back door.”

Devoid of options, I started down the stairs. A girl in a short pink dress giggled as I walked by, careening sideways into me. I placed my hands on her shoulders and carefully edged her away. If the idea I was trying to trick him even dallied at the edge of Luke’s mind, I would wake up in a lot of pain and probably the responsibility for some citizen deaths.

We reached the floor, packed with a mass of bodies. Sweat, cigarette smoke and perfume mingled in the warm air as I pushed through the crowd. I could feel my pulse throbbing in my wrists. I’d escaped Luke twice before, but I had a feeling he wasn’t operating solo this time. As much as it hurt his pride to have partners, letting me slip through his fingers again might be deadly. Some of the less charitably inclined aristoi paying him to bring me in had a three-strikes-you’re-out policy, and out meant six feet under.

Crimson silk flashed on the dance floor. Vani twirled a few yards away, eyes closed in rapture. I stopped and absorbed the sight of her for a moment. “Let me say good bye to her.”

Luke laughed. “You think I care whether your girlfriend ever sees you again?”

I turned to look at him. “I know you know all the aristoi in the area, so you know she isn’t one, and doesn’t pose a threat. I’m screwed, I know it, and I’m trying to make my way toward accepting it, so for God’s sake-”

He released my shoulder. “Hurry up.”

I didn’t let my surprise stall me. Three steps later I touched Vani’s elbow, pouring regret into
my voice. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry, I have to leave early. My sister just went into labor and it’s a month too soon, I need to be at the hospital.”

She stared at me, eyes blank. “What?”

I nodded and kept rambling before she could say something pithy. “I know, I wasn’t expecting it either.” When she opened her mouth, I pulled her into my arms, certain she could feel my heart about to split through my chest. Her hair was soft on my chin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When she pulled back a moment later, I saw the comprehension in her eyes. “I’ll let Dante know,” she murmured.

I winced. “Don’t worry about it, no need to bother him.”

She frowned. “Alright then, see you soon.”

“G’night.” I looked at her for a moment, as if memorizing her before turning back to Luke. I
realized how out of place he looked in blue jeans and a plaid shirt.

An amused smile creased his face. “Touching.”

“That’s funny coming from you, considering the Grinch’s heart rivals yours in size.”

“Cute, kid, I thought you’d outgrown Dr. Seuss by now.” He kept one hand on my back, steering me toward the dark corner exit.

I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say as I pushed into the crash bar and stepped outside. It wasn’t right to be marching towards interrogation and death on a night with a velvet sky and silk breeze. I never knew how I felt about God until these crucial moments, and now I hoped with all my might he would step in.

A black suburban idled in the middle of the parking lot. From the engine note, I’d say Luke had retrofitted it with a killer engine. He liked his vehicles to haul. I estimated I had sixty seconds left before I was in my effective hearse. Come on, Vani. I didn’t know why I was pinning my hopes on a girl who hated my guts. She was my last chance. Forty-five seconds. I felt my shirt trapping beads of sweat and sticking to my back.

As we threaded between a Lexus and Mercedes SUV, I heard a crunch behind me. Luke stumbled and swore, shoving me to the ground. Glass shattered, clear shards scattering across the cement. I rolled out from between the vehicles and pushed to my feet, facing the club.
Vani stood in the doorway, shadow streaming in front of her. She flicked her hand to the right, and the door of the Mercedes swung into Luke’s chest. He fell backwards, head connecting with the ground. That’s when people started shouting, and a bullet punched into the Lexus’ bumper. I swore and dropped, spinning to face the suburban.

A man with a handgun leapt from the driver’s side, aiming at me. “Put your hands on your head!”

I stood, slowly, as he ran toward me. With Luke unconscious, the world was mine.

He stopped a few feet away, both hands on the gun. “I said put your hands on your head!”

I smiled. “And I say drop the gun.” Pain seared my arm as he fired once. I bit back a curse and contained my grimace the best I could. Wasn’t expecting a warning shot.

He jerked his head at me. “Next one goes in your skull.”

I kept my eyes on his and kept smiling.

His gaze flickered to both sides of my head. His hands trembled once. “Fine, I warned you-”

I let my smile turn feral. “So did I.”

Something whizzed by my left ear and nailed him in the forehead. Eyes blanking, he sank to the
ground. Two other armed men spilled from the car, neither making it more than five feet before keeling over backwards. Bottle caps fell to the ground with them. I heard heels clicking behind me, and turned.

Vani was actually running, eyes huge. “Oh my God, Chance.” She stopped, stared at my arm. “You’re bleeding.” She took a deep breath. “Oh you’re bleeding-”

“It’s shallow,” I said. “Warning shot. I’m alright.”

Unhearing, she touched my bloody sleeve, fingers coming away crimson. Her voice shook. “Oh, God.”

“Vani,” I said, more sharply than I meant to. “I’m fine. It’s a scratch.”

She looked at me for a long moment before throwing her arms around me, effectively shocking
me more than one of Luke’s bolts. One of the last firing synapses in my brain told me to put my arms around her. I did, and held her there. “You really must be in shock.”

She stepped back, faint tears glimmering on her skin. “Don’t you get it, you idiot? I liked you basically from the first argument, but I couldn’t do anything about it since-” She stopped herself, eyes hardening. “Well, you know now.”

“Metal bender,” I said. “Not an uncommon gift.”

She shook her head. “Yeah, for aristoi.” She scrubbed a tear hard enough to take a layer of skin from her face. “Sorry.”

“I wouldn’t be sorry. Heck, you just saved my butt by knocking out three thugs with bottle caps.”

“How wonderful for me. It doesn’t change the fact we have no future, because I’m illegit.” She glanced to the left and stiffened. “Chance-”

I spun and pointed two fingers at one of the gunmen, who aimed at me. I smiled, and he twitched, frozen in place. “See, Vani, there’d be a problem if you were trying to match up with an aristoi.” I flicked my fingers, and the gunman swung the butt of the revolver into his own skull.
“The thing is, I’m not an untalented third son. I’m just as illegit as you.”

She took a half-step back, voice rising. “You’re a puppetmaster?”

“Well, give the lady a gold star. The secret’s out. Now you know why electric boy here was after me.”

Vani tilted her chin up. “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

“Well, maybe it’s never occurred to you that being a metal bender doesn’t inspire the same terror being a puppetmaster does. It’s not my fault some of the worst villains in history were sadistic freaks who took advantage of people with their gifts.”

She opened her mouth, blinked, and closed it for a moment. “Look, I’m not trying to fight.”

A long pause ensued as I choked back my ego. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I overreacted.”

“Well, look at this, the lion and the…well, the other lion are agreeing for once.” Dante sauntered out the back door. “The apocalypse is upon us.” He stopped short, gaze flashing across Luke, the henchmen, and the bottlecaps. “What did I just miss?”

“I’ve got to skip town,” I said. “Luke caught up with me.”

Dante nodded slowly. “And how did Vani get mixed up in this?”

I started to speak, but Vani cut me off. “Someone had to save his sorry behind.”

“Still confused,” said Dante.

Vani held her hand toward him, and coins started drifting out of his pocket, glinting in the
moonlight.

Dante mouthed a few words as the coins hovered mid-air. “Holy crap. Two of you? You do attract trouble, Chance.”

I shrugged. “I know. Believe me. I’ve got to peel out of here before these thugs wake up. I’d like to be in the next state before morning.”

Dante fished a set of keys from his pocket and walked over. “Dang it, you just stole my car.” He slapped them into my palm. “You’re bleeding.”

“So I’ve heard.” I looked him square in the eye. “I don’t know when I can be in touch again.”

Dante shrugged. “You’re Chance. You’ll find a way. I will miss spreading hell through the
neighborhood with you, though.”

“Same here.” I turned to Vani. “You’re still safe here. There’s no way anyone got a good look at
you. If you lay low for a couple of days, you should be out of danger.”

She delicately chewed at her bottom lip. I could see her internal war.

“Vani,” I said. “It’s okay. It makes no sense for you to leave here.”

She nodded and blinked a few times. I almost wanted to laugh. Tough-it-out Jovani Diaz was about to start crying.

Dante coughed and shot me another death look, jerking his head at Vani. I rolled my eyes at him before embracing her. “I’ll get back in touch.”

“Okay,” she said into my shirt. “Do that.”

I said my goodbyes and strode off toward Dante’s Corvette. And thus my life continued, a series of strange gifts and unfulfilled possibilities.

Layout

2009-09-21T09:15:00.000-07:00

I like my current layout. But not enough. I've done Converse and cars (twice)...and now I'm not sure what I want to do. And there are so many possibilities! All suggestions are welcome. I wish I were experienced enough with HTML to build my own, but alas, I am not.

I'm in a creative writing class, and had to write a short story (well, 'short' being ten pages. It was supposed to be five! I promise! It just needed more time to develop!). That said, should I post it? I'm still harboring an intense fear it's sloppy and rambling, since I'm accustomed to writing much longer fiction (i.e. novel length).

The Difference

2009-09-15T22:06:00.001-07:00

I'm realizing it right now. The gulf between safe and protected. They sound kinda the same. Unable to be harmed. I feel the difference now. Don't get me wrong. I feel 'safe' here in my dorm. I don't worry about creepy people getting in or the thing burning down. Safe is such a physical term.

After the last two days, though, I do not feel protected. Over the last two days, I've had two nightmares. Bad ones. Not general bogey-man monsters with snakes crawling from their mouths. Specific dreams that make me panic. It takes a lot to make me panic. The first night, I dreamed there was poison gas in the dorm, and I was having a major asthma attack like one I've never actually had. It felt so real. My chest refusing to lift more than an inch. I stumbled down five flights of stairs, trying to make it around the lake to the school apartments. I almost made it, but I collapsed in the parking lot. Black asphalt. Cue end.

Dream two: a close family member was dying of some disease. Leukemia, maybe. Three weeks to live. I recounted every stupid thing I'd said and reiterated how much I loved her. That dream I try not to think about. The asthma one is just creepy to think about. If I think of the second one for more than thirty seconds, I feel my pulse beat faster and tears forming in my eyes.

Tonight, a girl did something to her knee. Pretty sure she didn't tear the ACL, because she'd be in more pain, but I ended up driving to the hospital with a couple others to make sure her mom was there. It was a continuation of the last two days. It feels dark. I 'know' life is a battle. I feel it now. I will keep fighting. I just need a moment for the tears to coalesce and fall.

This is when I crave protection. I wonder if it's how some crave alcohol. It's almost like I need it. I know I don't. I've gotten through nights like this before. But I want it so much. It's a physical ache. What I want sounds silly, perhaps. Simple, but so complex. I want someone to talk to me on the phone til I fall asleep. To just...hold me. Doesn't even have to speak. Just understands. Just doesn't let go. Just is there.

That is protection.

Some quick rambles

2009-09-13T17:51:00.000-07:00

Homework. Is. Evil. I want to shoot it all. With an AK-47. And then I want to burn the shreds. And then I want to take the ashes, seal them in a lockbox, and drop them in the middle of the Atlantic.

Love is weird. I'm really not sure what to do with some of it. For the rest, I'm just enjoying the ride.

Ultimate Frisbee is the most amazing sport on earth. Now, playing it for three hours after racing earlier in the morning may not have been the smartest idea, but dang was it fun.

And now...I will be in bed at 9:30. 5:30 wake up for practice. Woooooot. Hear the enthusiasm in my voice. The only good thing about practice being that early is it's really dark. Makes the time go by faster.

Hasta luego!

Scraps and Rambles

2009-09-10T21:49:00.000-07:00

It's pretty late. Nearing midnight. Today started at 5:30. I've taken a couple short naps, and am now on benadryl and close to crashing. I just have too many thoughts brewing in my head, and I'm too tired to do a poem about them. Perhaps tomorrow?

But anyway.

Love. Curious beast. I've learned a lot in that area over the last year. Most of it was painful. Now that I'm farther along, I can see it was necessary. Kind of sucks, but it was. Now, second time around (well, vaguely second-time around) I'm doing things a lot differently. As a very wise friend of mine put it, guys fall into trouble cause they are extremely visual. Girls aren't so much different - we just get in trouble with our imaginations and get emotionally wrapped up to an unhealthy level in possibilities and dreams.

I used to think vaguely, at some point, love was something that just kind of happened. I mean, I thought you could vary degrees of love of your own choice, but 'falling in love' was a happening you had little control over. Now, I see it differently. I believe it's much, much more of a conscious choice. And - I don't even know if it's this way for everyone, so this is sort of not really a generalization - I think love, romantic love, really should work like this: boy meets girl. They're friends for a time. Just regular, good friends. No romantic thoughts even involved. And eventually, they just love each other. It may grow into romantic love, but even if it doesn't, it's a good friendship based on love.

Did that make any sense? I hope so. It's late, as I've said, and the rambling is ceasing...now. G'night!

...huh?

2009-09-07T09:09:00.000-07:00

So I just logged into blogger, and it was in a foreign language. Not even something I could read, like Spanish or Italian. Heck, I could probably even read enough French to figure out how to change it back to English. So after messing around, I found out my settings were for the Netherlands. How in the world did that one happen?

Yes, it has been a month

2009-09-02T09:44:00.000-07:00

A very, very busy month. I'm not sure if blogging is a good idea for me right now as I've started up sophomore year. Aka, I'm not sure if I'll be posting more than a couple times a month, which somewhat defeats the purpose to me. I don't know. Thoughts?

Because I needed to write some marshmallow chick-lit for a few minutes

2009-07-28T11:16:00.000-07:00

He laughs at that. “Come here.”

Feet propped up on the coffee table, I fold my arms and tilt my head back saucily, staring him down. “Doubtful.”

He narrows his eyes. “Amy.”

I glare back at him, loving the way he turns my name into two threateningly low syllables. “I’m terrified.”

“You should be.”

My muscles almost eject me from the chair at that. So. Weak. “Careful, I might die of fright here.”

He pushes off his stool at the counter with one smooth movement, eyes dancing with mischief. “Amy. Come here.”

The thing I hate about this is he knows I’ll eventually cave. I can say ‘no’ to anyone. I’ve said no to students, children, parents, and the leader of a sorority, which took more guts than I'd need to turn down President Obama.

I think I’ve said no to the guy over there grinning at me. Twice. Ever. And the thing is, half the time I start out with the intention of saying no, but somehow I end up saying yes, knowing I’m choosing to say yes, and wishing I could do otherwise. It’s like mind control or something, and I totally don’t have the same effect on him. Not fair, anyone?

I lean my head until it rests on the back of the chair. “I hate you.”

He laughs again. “No you don’t.”

He knows that all too well, and he makes sure I know he knows. I sigh and get up, watching that irritating little grin on his face grow with each step I take. “You suck.”

He pulls me in and tips my chin up with one hand. “But you love me anyway.”

And then for a few minutes I'm not even thinking anymore. When we surface for air, my head spins like a psychotic merry-go-round as I wrap my arms around his waist. Wowzaaaaa. “You are so bossy,” I mutter, head against his chest.

His breath is warm on the side of my face, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Face it, you love it when I boss you around.”

Painfully so, and I will never admit it.

“Admit it.”

“True,” I say.

He laughs. “Told ya.”

I groan.

Fail.

___________________________

So yeah, I suck at updating. Sorry about that. Hope this made up for it :-)

you and i

2009-07-08T13:16:00.000-07:00

You and I
shall first be friends
talking of cinema and sports
over lattes in coffee-scented air,
dining with other friends
anywhere and everywhere
crunching dry leaves underfoot
sharing secrets only
you and I
and the fall trees shall know.

And someday
you and I
will drive north-side of the state
and after sun has set
drive far from town light
and through the gate
into the fields of just-cut grain
park my car
and spread the old goosedown comforter
on the packed dirt.

And as the stars rise
and we lay under the endless dome of black sky
heads propped on balled blankets
eyes adjusting
we shall talk of anything
and everything
of Vulcan and Venus
of Hera and Zeus
and I shall try to remember if Saturn is Kronos
and Neptune is Poseidon
and you shall say yes, and query
Athena’s Roman name.

And as the soft crickets sing
and thumbnail of white moon shines
I shall reminisce of my grandmother
calling satellites ‘he’
and Andromeda ‘she’
and you shall smile and point out
Orion and his belt.

And as the velvet breeze brushes our faces
soothing and dry
and the Big Dipper shines
we shall speak of dreams
I of publishing
and justice
and adventure
you of something
I know not yet
but someday will.

And as faint clouds of the Milky Way
texture the sky
and satellites flit across the black
and as the night grows cooler,
you shall smile and hand me your jacket
and I will smell the spice of your cologne on my shirt.

And as meteors shine for an instant and vanish
planes dart across the sky
constellations wheel round
shooting stars flash
I dare a wish already true
that perhaps
you and I
shall fall
in love

The Elves Steal Them

2009-06-29T11:53:00.000-07:00

The elf scampered across the vast expanse of concrete, dodging a two-person glider before shimmying up against the wall of the house. He removed his pointed hat (the one without the bell at the end) and, withdrawing a handkerchief from the pocket of his knit trousers, carefully wiped his forehead. Usually, he was closer to four feet tall, but when he shrunk himself to twelve inches, his magic could concentrate over that smaller surface area, and enable him to outrun many things. Such as the oversized Lab puppy the next yard over.

“Stupid reindeer,” he muttered, probing the back door and pushing through a plastic flap. This was the other advantage of shrinking. He fit through small spaces, such as cat doors. Squeezing through, he landed on the floor. No alarms sounded, and no lights flashed on. He snapped his fingers five times, and green lights shone softly from his fingertips, faint reflections glowing on the tile. Night burglary was his specialty before he got nailed trying to lift a prototype computer from Santa’s workshop. The head elf chewed him out, and then sent him to the main factory, on a path of honest labor.

Mrs. Claus, however, knew his criminal past. She also ran Force 7, the undercover group of elves who routinely left the North Pole and traveled the world, doing good. In this case, stealing socks. The reindeer, on the whole, were well-behaved animals. They just had a natural weakness for flowers and shrubs. Humans’ flowers and shrubs. A full fourth of Force 7 was dedicated to the task of preventing reindeer damage to shrubs. After all, the creatures were invisible to the human eye, and, as they weren’t busy most of the year, they tended to gravitate to gardens for snacks.

The elf padded through the living room, breaths slowing. It appeared the humans were asleep. He followed a humming sound toward the side of the house until he reached the utility room. Smirking, the elf closed his eyes, and wobbled as he adjusted his height to three feet. Popping the dryer open, he waited for the clothes to stop tumbling. Reindeer, over the ages, had developed a repulsion to a common item of clothing – socks. The exact cause of this repulsion was lost in history. No one was sure whether it was because they were forced to deliver so many during the Christmas season, or whether they delivered so many because Mrs. Claus and the elves pilfered loads of them every year. It was a chicken-and-egg debate.

He plunged one hand into the dryer and came out with a fistful of socks. One was white, with pale blue snowflakes dancing around the ankles. Another probably was white in a past life, until some negligent sorter dropped it into a load of reds and pinks. A yellow one with purple stars and a green knee-high joined his stash. Once he got these beauties back to the Pole, his fellow workers would unravel them and bury tiny bits of the thread in gardens around the world. The reindeer would then reject the gardens, and spare the shrubs. Just a couple more –

He gasped as he unfolded the last sock. A tiny white one with no ankle, meant to be worn with Converse and Vans. He stared at it, eyes widening. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Perhaps it was his brief experimentation with black market varieties of hallucinogenic candy canes, but he had an affinity for this kind of sock. The other ones didn’t taste right, but these…these were the crème de la crème of socks. It was why he tried to raid houses with teenagers, who were prone to wearing Vans, and therefore, these socks.

A light flicked on in the kitchen, and he froze, one hand clasping his sock collection, the other clenching around the tiny white sock. Caught? No! A shadow appeared in the doorway, and he crammed the sock into his mouth, chewing several times before swallowing. An actual person materialized, and he gulped.

The little girl stared at him, head cocked to the left. “Did you just eat my sock?”

He didn’t move, only twitching his gaze left and right. A plan of action formed in his mind. Nodding guiltily, he darted forward and touched her hand. Her eyes glazed over, and she shuffled backwards out of the utility room. He watched her move backwards up the stairs, zombie-like, and resolved to work on his spellcasting over the spring season. For now, he shrank himself to twelve inches gain, darted through the cat door, and slipped into the night, the remnants of the tiny white sock sweet on his tongue.

Challenge!

2009-06-19T11:30:00.000-07:00

So, all you writers out there (and I know there are lots of you) - I have a prompt/challenge for you.

What happens to all the socks that go missing between the washer and the drier?

You have 800 words maximum. Post your response and let me know when you have. I look forward to reading, and will post my own story too.

(There is a rumor the wonderful Miss Erin may or may not be writing a story with the opening line "I eat them." I dare you to top that!)

Hasta luego and the best cover art

2009-06-06T11:23:00.000-07:00

I shall be out for a couple weeks, pretty much sans technology, to prove to my sister I am not addicted to my computer. And now, I shall leave you with some of my favorite album cover art. These are in no particular order - they're just the ones I find artistically appealing.

1. I love the simple symmetry. (Bonus: Best song on album is 'Shattered')

2. Her hair is a little over-the-top for me personally, but I love the idea. (Best song: Miss Independent).

3. So. Darn. Cute. But there's a kind of strength under the cuteness, you know? (Best song: In My Arms).

4. So. Besides the fact this song rocks. Cool font. I like the red-black-white color scheme. As you might guess, I'm a fan of simple designs. Not simplistic. Simple. (Best Song:...uh, Let It Rock)

5. I almost hesitate to put this on here, because it indicates something connected with Twilight is a favorite of mine. I love the twilight font with all the shimmers, and the lighting is just...epic. It's just tragic Edward's mug is up front, because Emmett and James are both so close...and better looking... (Best song: Bella's Lullaby)

6. Simple yet effective. Besides, it's Michael Buble on the front. Nuff said. ;-) (Best song: Feeling Good).

7. The color is just so...yummy. Simple. Effective. Yummy.. Candy-apple red. (Best songs: Real Gone by Sheryl Crow and Life Is A Highway by Rascal Flatts)

8. This fits the album so well. I'm a big fan of flame colors. (Best song: When I'm Gone).

9. Classy. (Best song: Frigga)

10. Don't get creeped out by this one. The eyes are so. awesome. They look even greener in some versions. (Best song: Imperitum)
11. So epic. (Best song: Storm).

12. The music symbols = <3 (Best Song: Bari Improv)

13. This is funnnn. I love the artsy/sort of animated aspect. The look on the kid's face is great. Bring it.

14. This one is funky, but matches the title so well. (Best song: Kill City)
15. Futuristic and awesome. (Best song: Keep It In the Family)

16. Kind of morbid? Yes. Gothic/Emo? Definitely. Someone good designed this one. I mean, you have to have talent to keep this from just looking like a remix of a certain Tim Burton movie poster. It's...dark, but kinda cool. (Best song: Careless Whisper)

By the way, I HIGHLY recommend you check out all those best songs listed. Don't have time? Here's a shortlist of the best:

1. Imperitum - Immediate
2. Let it Rock - Kevin Rudolf
3. Bella's Lullaby - Carter Burwell
4. When I'm Gone
5. Frigga - Corner Stone Cues
6. Storm - Craig Armstrong
7. Keep It in The Family - Hybrid
8. Kill City - Hybrid

So that's it for now. See ya later.

Version 3.0

2009-06-02T15:39:00.000-07:00

I loved my first Mustang layout. And I loved my Converse layout. But a girl needs a change now and then. Whaddya think?

Thoughts on New Moon Trailer

2009-06-01T08:17:00.000-07:00

I watched it a few minutes ago. Oh, the melodrama! I'll go watch it for the fight scenes and to laugh at the wrong parts (Yes. I am one of those anti-Twilight people). My thoughts:

1. Why did that selfish, sexy (not) beast Edward Cullen interfere when Jasper leapt at Bella? He would have killed her, and we wouldn't have to suffer through three more movies'-worth of female hysteria over Robert Pattison.

2. Smart, Bella, after your super-hot immortal boyfriend (who is, beyond my comprehension, still using the same hairdresser) ditches you in the forest, without even having the decency to walk/fly you home, you curl up in the middle of the trees and sob. Don't you remember him saying (a few times) "I'm not the most dangerous thing out there"?

3. Jacob with short hair and bare torso = hot. Good move on the producer's part. The long hair wasn't cutting it for me. No pun intended.

4. Technically, Jacob is not a werewolf. According to most classic lore, werewolves are half-human, half-wolf monsters. Jacob is a shape-shifter. I have a friend whose novel is centered around werewolves, and early on, she straightened out my conception of werewolves.

5. Melodrama is not my thing.

Just goes to show

2009-05-30T18:32:00.000-07:00

Even prominent editors and authors can't predict the future. Sol Stein is a high-up editor/novelist who's written a couple books on writing. The book I'm reading was published fourteen years ago, and I found this jewel of a quote in a chapter on titles:

"Another American author, winner of the Nobel Prize, had a novel that for a while he called Twilight. Not exactly a grabber that invites you to open to the first page. The author is William Faulkner. Does Twilight conjure up the energy of The Sound and The Fury?"

No sir, it does not. It conjures up screaming crowds of teenage girls who swoon over a marble-chested undead being who reads minds and sparkles in the sun. Twilight (the SM version) may fade, and The Sound and The Fury may endure the ages, but to enhance popularity, I suggest Robert Pattison.

And after you have hired him, fire his hairdresser.

Wi-fi is lovely

2009-05-21T19:14:00.000-07:00

Especially when it comes from a consistent signal in one's own home, and not in faulty waves from...erm...the neighbors. The only downside is that the parentals go to bed earlier than me, so it gets shut off too early. Alas. Oh well, I shall have it during the day! Which means I might actually blog every few days - hurrah!

I wish I had a lovely short story to share with you, but all I can think of are a couple more emo poems in the vault of Google Docs. So either I will proceed to ramble, or freewrite a short. Or both, perhaps. My grandmother was buying the books a few days ago, so I got four. Four juicy, thick books. Yum. A quick rundown:

North of Beautiful by Justina Chen Headley: BUY IT. I don't care if you've never heard of it (though I suspect many of you have). It is one of the best books ever. Simply amazing.

Unwind - Neal Shusterman. Kind of scary, conceptually. Thought-provoking. Adventureous. The third-person present took me a bit to get used to, but I did, and enjoyed it. Excellent. Highly recommended.

The Summoning - Kelley Armstrong. Not my usual type of book. Involves teenagers with various supernatural powers. I liked the narrator. Fairly tough, but not a stereotypical tough girl at all. She has her moments. In paper back :D

Savvy - Ingrid Law. Pick the thing up and read it. The lovely Miss Erin has a great review of it. It's another one I will order you to buy. Yes. Buy. Gorgeous cover. Even better story.

Must. Freewrite. Something. First lines? Yeah.

1. He didn't like her smile.

2. My face is changing.

3. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but when he lays into the whole 'Luke-I-am-your-father' routine in the middle of the 59 diner, I usually disown him.

4. I sighed, shut off my car, and rolled down the window as the cop strode up, lights on his car still flashing. "Hey Dad."

5. If I had a real superpower, like flight or ability to manipulate metal, I might have avoided the whole bad-guy-chase scenario. But no. I ended up in a van with a sack thrown uselessly over my head because I could see in the dark.

Randomness concluded. Hasta luego!

'ello

2009-05-12T08:18:00.000-07:00

Hey, y'all!

Well, I'm done with finals, but not quite home free. My fam's moving right now, so I'm going to be in and out of internet access for a couple weeks. However, I will, over the summer, be able to keep this blog more updated!

So, for right now, I know what my quest is for the summer: to figure out who I am, and who God wants me to be. I realize that's a lifetime goal, but I want to really focus on that over the next three months. That, reading, writing, running, and playing Frisbee.

Also, if y'all would be praying for a friend of mine whose brother is having some pretty major health problems, I'd really appreciate it. I don't know a ton about the exact problems, but it's not a great situation.

Later!

Don't Trust The Squirrels

2009-04-26T17:25:00.000-07:00

I flipped the page of my Shakespeare anthology. One tiny, translucent page. Only eight-hundred ninety-two more. Oh. I rubbed my forehead and looked up for a moment. The breeze played with the grass and bent the snapdragons my way. I felt glued to the park bench, chained by the book in my lap. How cruel.

A squirrel scampered down the oak tree to my right, tail waving like a furry duster as it darted across the grass. It stopped a few feet from me, sitting upright on its little paws.

Aww, how cute. I smiled, grateful for the little break. The squirrel tilted its head, black eyes looking into mine. Like it was trying to say something. I tilted mine too. For an instant, I thought I heard someone whispering. Do it... I shook my head. Hearing things now. Great.

Do it. Listen to me.

I frowned. I could have sworn the squirrel was speaking the words to my mind.

Yes. Look at my eyes.

I did. So warm and brown and glowing. They understood me. Understood my overwrought brain, ready to crack if I had to bog through one more passage thick with 'thees' and 'thous'. Understood the throbbing in my left ankle from praactice. Understood how badly I wanted to hit Brian upside the head with my Shakespeare book. Gosh. I dwelt on the last one in silent communion with the squirrel. He was so obnoxious. Couldn't we both see how the world would be so much nicer without him?

There. He's right there. Go.

I could see it how. The corner of my Oxford anthology connecting with his head.

GO.

I picked up my book and stood, the world falling silent around me. All I saw was Brian, standing by the fountain.

He tilted his head back and laughed, iPhone pressed to his ear. "Yeah, I'll definitely be there, if they haven't closed up the gym yet." He half-turned and did a double-take as I swung the book. "Anna, what the heck are you-"

I swung.

He stood there for a moment. Silent. Eyes wide. The iPhone fell, hitting the ledge of the fountain and dropping in with a soft hiss. And then his eyes rolled back in his head as he crumpled.

Men in black burst from the bushes, running toward Brian, checking his pulse, his forehead. One of them turned to me. "What have you done? Didn't you know he's the Canadian ambassador's son?"

The fuzz in my brain dissolved, and a nasty electric pulse shot through my skin. I dropped to my knees, mouth forming a perfect Cheerio. "Oh no." I gasped. The squirrel.

I looked to the fountain, at a gargoyle with water spewing from its puckered mouth. The squirrel posed on the demon's horns, flicking its tail in serpentine patterns. It winked at me before leaping impossibly far across the fountain, landing, rolling, and dashing off.

One Year Later

I huddle in the basement, blanket curled around me as my sister plays with the television aerial. Static flickers across the screen in a buzz. A reporter flashes on. He clutches the microphone, glancing with furrowed brow toward the sky. "The latest news I've gotten is that the army is advancing from the south. We have no idea in what numbers, as communications are continually cut off. All I do know is that Canadian and U.S. forces finally signed a treaty last night, making a mutual pact to fight the now universal threat." He holds a hand to his earpiece, visibly blanching. "Oh no. I've just received word my station will soon be under attack. I-"

Something explodes, and splinters fly everywhere. The reporter gasps, eyes wide, clutching a hand to his chest, where an acorn-shaped bullet protrudes. He topples. Excited squeaks and chattering fill the room. A squirrel with a red-tipped tail jumps into the view of the camera. He looks straight at me and winks before the camera blinks out.

Orphan

2009-03-23T22:51:00.000-07:00

I am a child of the King
so says my head
crowned with glory and grace
but my heart, the stronger, tells me I am still
the orphan girl
in rags, huddling helplessly in
the dark.
Why
do I sit invisible
waiting
watching
hoping for something to happen
when I know from every other time
I have sat
watched
hoped
it won't?

Why am I invisible?
What fault of mine is it
that in crowds I am totally
silently
alone?
I know I am clumsy
sometimes in speech
and not the best talker
but am I that boring, that
tiny
and pathetic?

They don't mean to exclude me.
It just happens
and over time, I both wittingly
and unwittingly
mastered the art
of being
invisible.
Silent
observing
separate
and not present while present.
I am still the orphan girl
injured
struggling
tiny and pathetic
seeking shelter in the dark
where it is safe
and painful
and lonely
where tears dry
in rigid tracks on my skin.

How
in this state
in any state
can I possibly hope for them
to know me for who I am?
That, in the end, is all I want
to be -
me.
God's child
a princess full of mercy and love and hope.
Not the silent
retreating orphan in rags.
They do not know how much
I love them
All of them or how much that love hurts
because it stabs
deep
when I cannot express it.

Tonight
I am an orphan
Who dreams of being the princess
she knows she should be.
Tonight
they are only that
and nothing more.

Dreams.

Vivo

2009-03-20T18:54:00.000-07:00

No, the stress of college has not done me in. I am still alive! Alive, and sorely lacking in time. So many, many apologies to all the blog posts I've missed, and a poem!

Silent

The words dance and tangle in my mind
fighting in an eloquent way
to escape. But I cannot say them
say anything
without sounding so
young
and clumsy
and hopeless
and silly
so I let them all keep talking
and stand a half-step back
silent.