Wow.

Sorry, y'all. I have been super-spotty with my blog reading and updating. It's the college life - 16 credit hours on top of track, which easily occupies the space another class would, homework and all. So basically, I'm taking a very full load, and yet somehow finding time to write these happy little poems. That time is usually past midnight, when I should definitely be in bed, but those stupid things called emotions keep me up.

The bad news: I have realized I am about six feet in over my head, and have an insane amount of homework.

The good news: I'm emotionally stable, and therefore able to (mostly) logically deal with it.

The best news: It's Friday. As soon as I'm done with the workout of death (to which I am headed in exactly three minutes), I have nothing else scheduled for the weekend except a birthday party and church. Happy days. The unscheduled time, though, really is scheduled. Homework is a demanding taskmaster.

Hasta luego...

Theo's Views on Today

Theo yawned as she snuggled into her very favorite chair, the green butterfly one tucked into the back corner of the living room. Last night, she planned to stay up until 10 or a bit later to finish off an evil paper/powerpoint duo. Really, were both necessary? Would not the merits of a good paper present her authorial skills better than a speech? But that is digression. She received a text message at 9:30 pm, from her cross-country coach, stating she had practice in the morning.

6:30 in the morning.

Rather furious, Theo stormed to her room, laptop and a stack of books in arm, brushed her teeth, removed her contacts, washed her face, and with a huff, crawled under her bed and tried to sleep. Her simmering anger prevented her from having a marvelous sleep, although she did have an odd dream in which her father (in the dream, this man was her father, at least) was the head of a small-time criminal enterprise, and she secretly informed two policemen of his evil doings. Oddly enough, she met these cops at a donut shop, which was completely unintentional of her, and rather amusing once she woke up. It was rather interesting to be this other girl in the dream; she did not have the same strict moral code as Theo. Although she did not call anyone names as she did in another dream...

The bells of Satan (or her alarm) woke her at 6:10. She stubbornly lay in bed until 6:15, when she convinced herself she should be a dutiful girl and go to practice. Wonderfully enough, she felt fantastic, and not like she had been eating 5000 calories a day and not exercising for the past year. It was wonderful to realize she was in good shape, rather good shape, actually, and the awfulness of the past two weeks was due entirely to chest gunk, sitting too much, a pollen overload, and entirely too much smog. Oh, sweet Houston.

Theo finished proofreading a friend's paper, and, instead of finishing her Powerpoint, decided to dither awhile in the decidedly more alluring pages of the Internet. She made herself a cup of milk tea (a brand she'd not tried before), added a healthy dose of chocolate caramel creamer, and took a sip. Her eyes widened, and she set the mug down in alarm.

It tasted like a glazed donut.

__________

Curiously enough, as I began to type this post, Bach's "Double Allegro" randomly came on iTunes - the same song to which I wrote the first Theo. Odd...

Huh?

I had an interesting morning. Let me explain. My XC team was supposed to have practice at 6:30 this morning. I did not get to bed until 11:30 last night, exceedingly late for me. Alright, rather late. Exceedingly late is past midnight. I mentally slapped myself about eight times when my alarm went off at 6:10. I laid in bed for another minute, debating whether I should say to heck with it and purposefully skip practice for the first time. I decided that, since this was the first official practice since the season ended a couple weeks ago, I should drag myself out of bed.

Berating myself for staying up so late, I crawled out of bed (technically, out from under my bed, but that's another story), and turned my phone on as I slouched into the bathroom. My phone beeped. I checked the text message.

"Practice has been cancelled because of the rain, if you're on campus, you can meet to run at 6:30."

Operative word: can. Not 'will' or 'should' or 'must'. I said a prayer of thanksgiving, shut the lights off, crawled back into bed, drew up the covers, and promptly fell asleep.

And had a rather odd dream.

In this dream, the father (who I've never met) of one of my classmate's had the codes to set off nuclear weapons, and planned to direct them at some other country to start a war between that country and the US. I somehow knew about all this and got scrambled copies of all the control codes. Somehow my grandfather used an old military cipher to find out the code that would disable the bombs.

Now the part that still makes me grit my teeth a little. I thought that this classmate was clueless to his father's evil scheme, and was in some kind of danger. In real life, this person is rather intelligent, and he was in the dream too...perhaps just naive. So I tried protecting him, only to find out later he was freaking working for his dad the whole time. The only reason he was being my friend was to find out if I was the person who intercepted those codes.

So...um, at this point I punched him. Knocked him out, actually. And called him something I've never said in real life. Perhaps it was a bit like this dream, because most times in dreams, something weird always happens, and I can't do what I want to. Nope. I totally knocked this kid's lights out. Eventually I managed to defuse the bombs or something like that, and I woke up, wondering what the heck I just dreamed, and what it meant, if anything.

Because I have to say, if there was any person I might want to punch at some point in the future, it would be him.

I just reviewed the whole post to make sure that if this person decided, after this long, to read my blog, he would not be able to tell to whom I am referring. 'Cause that could just be bad, you know?

I'm back!

The cross-country team went to Orem, Utah (about thirty minutes outside Salt Lake City) for the last meet of the year. And oh, oh, my stars, it was beautiful. I mean, the trees there? Get this - they turn colors in fall. In Houston? The trees do this painful molt of leaves that go straight from green to brown. And when they're piled on the ground, they don't make that beautiful papery whisper when the wind blows or crunch under your feet. No. It's humid here. The soggy leaves cling to the ground. And that's not accounting for the pine trees, which are green year-round.

And the sky...yes, there were mountains, but I could see so much sky. The buildings/trees suppress it here. Clouds rolled across the sky. Cumulus clouds, and then over the mountains, some of those amazing pancake-flat clouds I don't get to see very often. The breeze this morning made me shiver, but what a wonderful shiver!

Enough raving about the beautifulness. (Or beauty, if I must be grammatically correct). The race was 6k (almost four miles), I'm only used to 5Ks (a tad over three miles), Houston is at 279.4 feet altitude (approximation), and Orem is 4500. I'm okay with how I did, but it hurt so badly to finish that race. Enough said. It's over. Next year the conference meet is in New Jersey. Not sure about the elevation there.

So, this is all I have written on Moonlight. Please be satisfied. I haven't had doodly-squat time to write this last week. Maybe tomorrow...

____________________________


I run into the building, the main hall ceiling stretching two stories above me. The hall itself is ominously empty, with muffled sounds seeping through the theatre doors to the left. My backpack jounces my spine as I tug at one of the doors. My watch’s tiny electric soul chose today to depart its metal body. Hence, my nap intended for a half-hour tripled. And now I’m late for convocation, which I must attend for my freshman orientation class.

The door gives, and I slide into a dimly lit passageway that runs along the left side of the theatre. People stand on the stage, dressed in floor-length robes like something out of a Presbyterian choir. One that can’t afford matching robes. Not sure what that’s about. In the back row, a flash of red fabric catches my eye amidst various colors of T-shirt backs. An empty seat. I force a smile and slip into the aisle, murmuring apologies as I try not to break any toes. If you’re short and want to be tall, let me warn you, size ten feet are curses.

I let my backpack hit the floor as I turn and sit. And now I feel paranoid that everyone is looking at me. No one is, actually. At least, not on this level. I’m sure the people in the upper level enjoyed my fumbling. Yawning, I slouch in my seat. Bad habit, but this is a new building, and these are – I snuggle a little deeper – oh yes, nice seats. The only thing keeping me awake is the air conditioning. September in Houston is just an extension of summer, and it is hot outside. The cold air on my face keeps me from nodding off.

A guy starts on the piano, playing some funky piece I’ve never heard before. I nod, eyelids drooping. Not my favorite kind of music, but better than the organ I could hear through the –

A scream blasts through the speakers, and I sit bolt upright. My heart slams against my chest, and it takes me a minute to realize the sound comes from the woman standing center stage. Her periwinkle robe ends a few inches above her ample ankles, and her mouth forms an O. I suck in a breath. Apparently the opera woman of last week has returned. “Oh my God,” I mutter.

Some guy to my right glances my way and whispers. “I don’t think you’re supposed to say that in church.”

The Hispanic voice catches my interest just as much as the comment. I send my gaze his direction. He has a half-smirk, but the rest of his expression says he’s also recovering from the operatic shock. I roll my eyes, and he returns his attention back to his Bible. Oh. My bad. To the
Sports Illustrated in his hands.

I endure the performance by glancing around. Most people look befuddled, as if they aren’t sure whether to be awed or laugh. I’m frankly bewildered as to why anyone thinks opera would interest college students. And the speakers are cranked so high my head is beginning to throb.

As the singer holds onto one last high note, I hear someone cuss further down the row. I tilt my head to the right. The Hispanic guy has one hand on his head, or, rather, the flat-brimmed gangsta hat on his head, and one clutching a tennis ball. “What the hell?” He twists in his seat and glares at the upper seats, searching each row. His eyes narrow on a particular point.

I can’t help it. I lean that way and whisper, “I know you’re not supposed to say that in church.”
By the time he looks my way, I’m focused on the speaker, my eyes wide. I didn’t realize convo could be this entertaining.

When the service ends, I file out and walk diagonally across the parking lot to The Lake House. Don’t get any ideas. This sounds like a high-class blue-blood dorm, or the name of some MTV series that involves a wealthy private school and rich demoralized students. Sorry to get your hopes up, people, but this is a Baptist school. (Or Babtist, as some call it.) My guess is I just haven’t heard about the stuff that goes on past midnight. No one’s gotten busted for having alcohol on campus – yet.

Anyway, The Lake House is the newest dorm. My home now. I walk through two sets of glass doors, which appear to be working today, and to the elevators, both of which also appear to be functioning. A miracle. For a new building, The Lake House has some reoccurring technical issues. They must still be working the kinks out. I join the edge of the little crowd waiting to board the next elevator. The red arrow flashes, something dings, and the doors slide open. I shuffle in, placing myself in the right corner near the control panel. Someone’s already punched six, so I check to see if I know anyone here.

A male voice outside the elevators sounds as the doors slide shut. “Hold it!”

I thrust my hand between the doors, which shudder and reverse course. Through the widening gap, I see dark jeans and a white polo shirt. Ironed, if I’m not mistaken. Some of these guys know how to dress themselves and oh, how I appreciate the effort.

He jerks his head in a nod as he slides in. “Thanks.” He presses two.

I cough as the doors clang shut. “Second floor? I risked amputation so you could go up one lousy floor?” I get a good look at the ungrateful wretch.

Wowza. A hot ungrateful wretch. I know others who would think he just looked pale. But the whole combination of white skin, dark hair, and dark blue eyes I personally find attractive. (You. The ones who got stuck on ‘hot’ and ‘pale skin’. Get your minds out of the best-seller list and quit thinking about the hot vampire. I refuse to mention his name, because every teenage female in the United States knows it. Many of them dream about that name, often attached to their own.)

Now that I look, he totally spent some quality time and gel on that hair. I’m interested. Unfortunately, he looks like an upperclassman. Maybe I look like a sophomore. I could. If I’d bothered to put on a speck of makeup this morning. I curse my broken alarm.

The doors opened on the second floor as he answers, with zero interest in the aforementioned dark blue eyes. “Not when I have shoes.”

I frown and glance at his socked feet. Real black socks, not athletic socks. (Confession: I wear athletic socks with nice shoes when I’m wearing pants and boots. It drives my mother crazy.) “Why don’t you have-”

The doors close before he can answer.

“Shoes,” I say, feeling like I’m delivering the punch line to a lame joke.

The girl on my left catches my eyes and laughs. “Okay, so that wasn’t weird.”

I shake my head. “Who knows?" I would like to find out.

Insomniac?

Maybe not. The thing is, I'm tired, but I don't want to sleep. I do, in a way...am I just rambling here? Something in me doesn't want to surrender the day yet. *siiighs*. It's been a long week. Highs. Naps. Lows. Naps. Laundry. Study. The Iliad. A Presocratic reader.

Right, the Iliad. It's the next assignment for one of my classes. I wasn't sure what to expect - I've read Rick Riordan's modern-day take on the Greek gods/goddesses, so I do have a background, in a way :-) (If you haven't read the Percy Jackson books, get to a library. Or a bookstore. They aren't super-high reading level, but they are so fun.) The Iliad is interesting in that it's Greek poetry translated into English. It has a completely different feel to it; alien, almost, but beautiful. In sometimes a violent sort of way.

I am so sore. It hasn't been an easy week on the cross-country team. At least tomorrow is an easy run, but it's followed by weight lifting, which does something to nix the 'easy' part. Ugh. That's another 6 am wakeup. How about 9? or 10? What a lovely thought. As it is, I'll be squeezing in a 45 min nap between Spanish IV and Shakespeare (grooooan! Julius Caesar is a favorite play, but we're covering a play a week...) If I skip lunch, I could make it a bit over an hour nap, but food is just one of those things runners do poorly without. *passes out, nailing forehead against Norton's Shakespeare Anthology*

Hmm...tempting, except the book's already a headache.

My eyelids keep sinking, and I'm typing this sentence blind. Not too hard, actually. In a strange way, I can picture the screen and the words dancing across the page as I type them into existence.

Wow. I am tired. As I drifted toward sleep last night, I started playing with a vague concept I've had for a while, about music and instruments and the rainbow. If I get the time, and the sleep, there will be a forthcoming story. Maybe not even a short - probably a wee bit longer.

Buenas noches!

I think I'm going to give up now. On being the queen of smooth, poise, etc. It's not that I ever was; perhaps I harbored the idea that going to college would enact an immediate change in my personality.

Hah (or as one of my suitemates likes to write, ‘hahahahahaha’). I have stuck my foot in my mouth more times than I care to think about in the last few days. And believe me, with Houston weather, my shoes are nasty.

The story: Until this past week, only one, maybe two people who know me have read this blog. I'm still mostly anonymous to most of my readers (although I might get to meet Raewyn soon...). One of my suitemates started reading last week. She laughs a lot when reading. (Let this serve as a hint I'm glad I'm worth at least a good laugh.

You know that last entry about the unexpected teammate? Well, while we were talking a few days ago, I foolishly mentioned I had a blog, and even more foolishly forgot the URL was on my facebook page.

An except of 'Aaron's' comment: "Charafictiphobia- The fear of becoming the inspiration for a fictional character created by a writer."

Yeah. The flavor of the day is Brooks GTS Adrenaline, model 7, color blue, size 8.5. The dirt from this morning's run is particularly crunchy. And I detect more vegetable nutrients in the grass shards from the soccer fields than I usually eat in a week. So those fire alarms you heard this morning? That was the heat rising from my ever-reddening face. (Such a character marker! Except I don't remember having quite this reaction before. Maybe being a secluded homeschooler wasn’t so bad after all. JK.)

The last two days had been good, maybe not what I'd call 'average' days, but nothing particularly bizarre/irritating/embarrassing (*clears throat, addressing ‘Aaron’* And meeting you again falls into the category of straight unbelievable). I thought the bulk of the weirdness/jaw-drop factors had passed. And therein lies my fatal mistake: I let myself get lulled into boredom. Now I shake my head at my naivety. I should have known.

A friend gave me this piece of advice before I started school: Don't get cocky.

I don't think I ever was cocky, but I am now definitely humbled. There is no possibility of me pulling any high-hat look-down-the-nose stunts now (I certainly hope and don't think I would have done that a couple weeks ago, but still). All I can do is laugh at myself now. I am past hope of being idolized as the flawless queen of cool.

________________________

I sigh, shaking my head dolefully at the computer screen. I hoped it would not come to this. But it is time. I crack my knuckles (not really) and pull up Internet Explorer. Soon enough I am slipping through the dark corners of the Web, searching for the software I need most urgently. I pass over several items as inferior. It is time for a new level of subterfuge, deeper cover of my identity. "Ah, yes," I murmur. I find my prey, a cute little program disguised as a package of Twinkies on eBay.

I know what lurks behind the innocent picture of cake tubes stuffed with white goop. Anyone who gave it a few moments thought would know as well. Twinkies have undergone the most rigorous scientific testing (i.e. being baked for hours, being dropped off a building, being submerged in water for 24 hours, etc) without suffering severe structural damage. They're nearly indestructible (not to mention indigestible). No one in their right mind would buy these from a grocery store (goes to show we have some serious problems in America), much less from eBay for twice the going rate.

I place my order, rubbing my hands together (yeah, so you all know I'm not doing that either. Just play along?). Once I hack into 'Aaron Nessick's' facebook account (shh!) and get his IP address, I will program it into this software. The instant he tries accessing my blog, the software will send the electronic equivalent of a Twinkie to his computer.

A sappy Hallmark e-card embedded with a virus.

Think about it! It looks okay from the outside, rather common, but sweet. Once it's opened - destruction! (Alright, I admit, you won't die from biting into a Twinkie. I think).

So, Aaron, you've been warned. Beware Hallmark cards.

____________________________

The rest of the day has been painfully placid. Before I would yawn. Now I am wary, checking my surroundings, waiting for the next embarrassing incident surely lurking in the shadows.

I wonder what Crocs taste like.

Am I going to be able to breathe today?

Well. As much as people have been flipping out about my age, I find it ironic I forgot today was my birthday until one of my suitemates said something about it. That may have to do with the mental exhaustion of reading an entire Presocratics book in a day, along with two acts of Julius Caesar, and two chapters of Bible commentaries. I'm not complaining, mind you. I just haven't been reading at a level of this intensity or sheer volume in a long time. I'll live. And thrive, hopefully.

I don't feel any older, really. I usually don't on birthdays, so no disappointment there. Until about three today, I have no classes, so I'll stretch, study, stretch more, organize, etc. At about two or three o'clock, I'll pack - my first cross-country race is this evening. Here's where the busy part starts: I'm following the school vans in my car. And then I'm racing. And within thirty minutes of finishing, I'll be driving down the road to my little sister's race. And I'll cheer for her, and then spend the night at my parents'.

Hopefully, I’ll remember to breathe – very well. I can’t decide whether I’m anxious or anticipatory about the race. Maybe both. The last couple years of cross-country, to put it in an ineloquent but precise way, sucked for me. I think this year might be different. I’m praying it is. That’s about all that’s gotten me the past couple years of running. Although having a rough time was good for me, in some ways. I think that’s when I discovered I had a passion for writing, and I threw myself into that (too much at times) instead of running. Maybe it’s coming full-circle, and I’m working on a balance now. I don’t know. Just my thoughts for the day.