To My Friend,

I'm sick of being scared of my words. That's why I'm being so honest with you. This is why, despite that I know I can't trust you longer than a fish can live in the dead sea, I tell you the truth. All of it.

Shocker, isn't it? It is for me. You weren't there so you wouldn't know, but I was silenced for a long time.

Or do you know? Because ever since everything changed, we've found more in common than we had in the past so many months. Maybe you do know, maybe you know how it feels. Maybe it happened to you. Maybe it's this thoughtline that unlocks my words.

Anyone else, I'd have acted shocked that you didn't consider me as a best friend anymore. Anyone else. Maybe. But when you told me, I just nodded. I didn't lie, I didn't deny. I said "I know. Me neither."

And you didn't fight it. Because, I think, we are both sick of shadows. No more being half sick of shadows. We are. We've had too much of them, like having too much sugar over years and years.

The only snag is that we wish the shadows were the light- that the lies and the dreams and the horrible longing of things were all true, real, and here. I think we'd give anything to change it all around, to push the things in the light into the shadows, and drag the shadows into the sunshine, kicking and screaming. Flip the world around. It'd be easier. It'd be happier.

It'd be lovely.

But it's not how this world works, and we both know it. So we hold the pictures of the past to the candle flame and watch it burn with sad smiles.

I want you to know, because one day it will be too late and we'll have moved further and further apart, that I don't regret having met you. I don't regret the fights, the injuries, the words said and taken. I don't regret it.

The only thing I regret is not being what you need, but even that comes with ifs and buts.

So this is good bye, even though we shan't part for months now. Because I know nothing will be the same, and good bye now just seems all the more proper.I'll understand why in the future, I'm sure. And so will you. One day.

NYC+Fan= Painted Walls

I think what may piss me off more than idiots (and if you know me, you know idiots piss me off considerably) are those who try to control me, or think they have control over me. I don't even like it if I think they think they have control over me. I will not be controlled like a little puppet. I refuse to be. And those who try do not get anywhere.

The shit hit the fan today. I canceled my involvement in the New York City trip happening in May. Why? Because I'd share a room with 2 of my ex-friends-now-enemies as well as one of their sheep. There'd be only one person I could talk to, and she promised to talk and hang out with me more than the others as she has been on the sharp end of their sword for a long while, but she can't be trusted. Never could. She's gone and said such things and then turned her back, and at the mention of it has twisted it around and in the end, my trust in her has been chipped away.

So, after much thought and encouragement from those who I could trust, and who knew the situation, I decided I would back out. I couldn't get all the money back, but I think I can get a good amount. Plus, what was the point of going to new york, spending 650$ to go, and 300$ extra to shop/eat/etc. when I'd not have much fun? It all added up to Not Worth It.

It all happened quite quickly. I told the teacher in charge yesterday, and everything came down today. This morning. I thought I'd have a week or more, but this is HP for you. I'm sure my teacher meant all the best.

I got a surprised and whiny e-mail from the friend who was supposed to stick with me the entire trip. I asked her where she heard that. Guess who? Rachel. So I told Rachel it wasn't nice to gossip and talk about me behind my back. She argued the point. Came to my door, actually, and said I shouldn't not go to New York. Didn't I say I wasn't going to let them affect me? Didn't I say I was going? How could I?!

Oh boy. Lauren (sheep #1) had her opinion too, about the same lines. So now I've got people who haven't talked to me in months telling me how I should run my life and what I should do and that I can't change my mind???

Yeah. Not the best thing to try pulling with me. So I told them basically that. To butt out, and who were they to have an opinion on my life when they hadn't said a nice word to me in two months.

Guess what? Rachel, at least, has finally butted out. She refused to before. She sent me a scathing text (yes, most of this was over text because they didn't have any balls) saying that I was off her phone and I wasn't to text anymore, and she'd stop butting in.

What did I do?

Said "THANK YOU! That's ALL I'VE WANTED in these past TWO MONTHS."

All in all, a pretty good end to the shit spewing everywhere.

Now I've just got to break the news to my "friend" as I haven't exactly told her the complete truth because she began to make up her own lies to put me in the bad light.

I did inform her that Rachel had simply used her for information, though. She seemed quite pissed about that.

How I know

How do I know I made the right choice?

Because those I made friends with by leaving you do things you never did, and it makes me smile days after. And it will keep me smiling for weeks more.

It might not be the same, and it won't ever be the same as before. But it's better.

That's how I know I made the right decision. Despite everything wrong that's happened so far, it's still better than before.

I can smile without tears now.

And smile with them, if I want.

Disappointment= Writing

People sometimes wonder why I write so much. They look at me strangely when I enter something like NaNoWriMo because how could I possibly have that many words in me? How can I possibly have a story in me that can keep going for so many words in so little time, and that isn't filled with the same word repeated thousands of times.

They hear of me writing stories on the side, long stories. If they join me for a car ride, I'll often say, out of nowhere, "I have a new story idea," and they laugh. I'm like an impossibility. Maybe they think I'm faking it. Really, I'm not. I do have that many story ideas, and more, because I'll have some I don't even know where to take, or how to do, but the idea is there. It's for someone else, but it's there.

I'm a dreamer, I guess. More so, I fail at expectations. I think it's the failure that really brings out the writing. Being a dreamer might induce a lot of ideas, but I find it's the disappointment that I always seem to produce in others that sparks the dreamer in me.

It's great how I'm always a disappointment to at least one of my parents all the time. If I'm lucky, both. And then there's the people not my parents. My teachers (though I get awesome marks, I do procrastinate and that seems to be the devil-word), the rest of my family, my friends. I'm nothing like anyone expects me to be. Except maybe me.

Oh well. At least I'm not disappointed in me. I'm usually on my side. Even if I'm the only one standing there. More iced tea and petit fours for me.

The perfect recipe for a cacophony of story ideas.

Why It Doesn't Matter To Me

I think one of the things I like the most about helping others is that I find out something more about myself.

Like just how lazy I am when it comes to changing myself.

If someone says to me that I'm ugly and stupid, usually I laugh. O-kay there. Whatever.

And then if it does happen to bug me (hm... it does happen sometimes, if it's a so-called friend saying it, usually, or if it's me) I might wonder what I can do about it. Sometimes I make a list in my head of all the things I could do to change myself to be pretty and smart.

And if I get to this list stage, I usually end up chucking it (usually the list is in my head, I don't think I've ever written it out, so I chuck it in my head). Why? Because I look at the list and think "Do I really want to do all this?"

No. I don't. I don't want to spend more time than is absolutely necessary in the morning getting myself ready. Honestly, I love my sleep. If it's sleep vs. beauty, sleep will always win.

I don't even want to spend that much effort on dolling myself up at any time of the day. Furthermore, it would probably include something like going out, getting the stuff, spending money that I could spend on books/horses/something actually worth my time, then going through the effort of learning how to do whatever it is, and then doing it for the rest of my life, or even for a few days.

No matter what, it's just too much effort. Way too much effort. And for what? To please someone who either A) doesn't know me, and doesn't really matter, or B) A so-called friend who really shouldn't care if I don't look like a supermodel? or C) A parent (coughmomcough) who is constantly trying to live vicariously through me, and is always criticizing me anyways?


I'm much too lazy to do any such thing, so I disregard it all. I'm also too lazy to dwell on it, so I do something productive with my time. Or not productive, but fun. Like reading, or playing Animal Crossing (my newest addiction) or even just sitting around staring at nothing. Or, even better, Sleeping.

And as for the stupid/smart thing, I know I'm brilliant. I just have to apply myself more. Which I do, just at the last minute. I could and should fix that for my own benefit, but it takes a lot of effort. I'm slowly doing it though.

Like lately, I've STARTED things before the last day. I might not finish them till the last day at midnight, but I start them earlier! :D It makes me feel like I should continue, as I've already started and have something to go on.

Yup. This, all from trying to help my kind-of-friend Michelle feel better about herself.

Ah, gotta love being me.

The Impossible Career

I have a talent for cheering people up. I also have a talent for making sense. And no sense at all (when I want to).

I also hate the human race as a whole, can't talk to people well, and am not a people person.

How is someone so good with stringing together words and ideas on paper (and computer) so horrible at actually talking to people and making relations with people.

If anyone has ever read The Goose Girl by Shannon Hale, it's kind of like this: My mom, and a number of people around me, are like the Queen and Selia- People-speakers. And they easily glide through conversations, and if they wish, turn people against me. Not just me either, other people too, like Jenni. Rick is a people speaker, and has dispelled all Jenni's accusations against him (which were the truth) with his abilities as a smooth-talker.

And then there's me- Princess Anidori-Kiladra Talianna Isilee, just without the long name, the princess status, or the magical ability to talk to the wind and understand birds. Socially awkward, fighting against those with the ability of people-speaking, and never seemingly good enough for the people around her.

And we might as well throw in a bit of Cassandra from Greek legend.

I'm getting used to it though. All of this. It doesn't bother me as it once did.

I'm just wondering what kind of career I can have that is based around making people happy, telling the truth, and... not speaking to people? Or at least not idiot or annoying people?

Yeah. I think I'll stick with baking.

Ah, College Acceptance Letters

I got accepted into the Hotel Management program at GBC.

It wasn't the program I wanted. It was more of a back-up program, to make the 95$ worth it, I guess. An option, but does it really matter?

And if you're reading this, you're probably the... third person to know. You'd be the first, but for the fact that my mother is a complete snoop (and freaked out about it, till she realized that it wasn't the program we were hoping for). She has probably told my dad, so he's the second. So, yep, you're the third.

It's not that I don't have anyone at all to tell. It's kind of that way, but it's also that I just forget about it. It's not the most exciting thing. Not what I expected. And I've been getting almost nowhere with the Pastry Arts program, what with the math mix-up and now an English qualifier (I got 85% in English. I shouldn't need to take it. But I do. How does that work?). Even then, who knows?

It all seems quite hopeless. Even if I take the test, there's no guarantee. Still, I have to complete math either way.

Maybe I should tell someone quick, before everyone gets mad at me. Like Jenni. Chances are, if she finds out I haven't told her and it's been days, she'll just get terribly upset. I can't even remember when I got the letter. Who cares? Not I.

Anti-climatic, indeed.

Party, Yay. (/sarcasm)

I'm not a party person. Had I been, maybe nothing would have happened. Maybe history would have been changed, and therefore the future would be too. But oh well, I don't like parties and I don't think I ever will. And I don't have much of a problem with that.

Except everyone keeps thinking that I do like parties. Another problem that arose. No one decided to listen when I said "I don't want to have a party. I don't want to have bunches of people at my birthday drinking and dancing and making me feel out of place. Can't we just hang out? Watch a movie or two?" (And by the way, I'm not a fan of watching movie after movie, but it's better than partying).

But that's all another story.

I've been invited to a St. Patrick's day party. I thought it was a good idea when I first agreed to it. My mistake here. And I thought "Hey, only a few people, and it's not even for sure."

Now there's a lot of people coming, most of which I don't know (I only talk to the person who invited me on a regular basis, everyone else I've said five words or less to). I'd much rather just stay home. I won't even be there till late because I have riding tonight, and he's expressed his opinion of me smelling like a horse so I need to take a shower beforehand. And I'm helping pay for pizza that I might not even be there for, since they might order it long before I get there (Though I should only be an hour and a half late, maybe two hours).

Oh well. A sacrifice for having not to stay for that long. It runs till 11, though, so that's a good three to three and a half hours I have to be social. Sigh. Well, it might be fun... And if it's not, I'm going to make sure I say no next time, XD.


The Hermit Lifestyle

It bugs my mom to no end that I am once again borderline social-outcast. It bugs her more that I seem to be enjoying it.

There's the difference between my mom and dad. But if you compare them, you'd find similarities that just happen to come out in different situations. Right now though, my dad is letting me be a "hermit" and do my own thing, even if it means not going out places, not being social. He's scared I'm going to become depressed or suicidal, but he's letting me do whatever I want.

My mom, on the other hand, wants to butt in and criticize me, as if it will encourage me to go out there and find more friends who will probably betray me too.

I wonder how many suicide watches I've been on in the past month and a half. At least four. I might still be on a couple.

Funny thing is, if I should have been on such a list, it should have been before the shit hit the fan. That's when life was really bad. Somewhere between Christmas and end of the semester. I think that was the worst time. Before it all snapped, not when.

The Fragments Still In The Wind

I don't think it's anger or restlessness that has brought me here.

I'm just tired. Tired of trying to please everyone, and disappointing. And being disappointed.

But it's a lot better than it was. Before I tore as much apart as I possibly could. Back when I was trying helplessly to please so many more people. Back when I was failing even when I put everything before myself, and getting no acknowledgment the rare times I did succeed. And then being looked over and past as I struggled to gain my footing on ice.

It's a lot better now, but I still have that feeling. Is it the hint of it that gets me antsy? The memory of what was, and what could happen? The possibility of the past not staying the past?

I don't want to lose my footing again. I don't want to end up on ice.

The Truth Is... We Don't Know It

It amuses me, really, how everyone thinks they know what happened. Or, at least, that's how they go around acting.

They tell me what I did, which I may or may not have done, and they tell me that it was either wrong or right, when they don't even know my reasons (or lack of?) behind having done it (or, not having done it, in the other case). Even if they listened to me list the reasons why behind all my actions, they'd still get it wrong. It's the human way.

And then there are those who have no business in this, or have too much business, and we want it to stay that way, so we tell them the barest amount- the facts we pull and merge into a few simple words so they get the jist. Enough so they can fill in the blanks, and whatever they come up with is sufficient, unless they really aren't getting it, then we nudge them back on the path we want them on.

Truth is, no one, and I repeat for anyone in disbelief, no one, knows what really happened. Not even those without-a-doubt involved 100%. They don't know why I did it, I don't know why they did it. We don't know why each other suddenly shot the gun and broke everything, and why we're both letting it rot on the ground. We don't know why we each fed the flame, or how or where we got the stuff to do it.

Heck, I think it's pretty safe to say that we ourselves don't 100% know why we did what we did.

But even knowing this myself, I'm not any closer to welcoming them back with open arms. And I doubt they've even come to this conclusion. If they have, they're not doing anything about it either- and even if they were to, it's not happening.

I might not know why the fight happened, I might not know the whole story, but I'm sick of the story already. I paid the down-payment for my freedom, I'm not about to risk it all. I'm not much of a gambler anyways- I rock at Cheat because of the few gambles I play.

I don't think I need to know the rest of the story behind the ending to see that it was one story that doesn't need a sequel. Not a sequel with me in it.

There's too much Yogurt and not enough Fruit...

I have decided I do not like eating bacteria cultures. I can hear them screaming in agony as they slide down my throat to their doom. But apparently that’s part of their work description, like fire fighters going into flaming buildings to help people. Except this is on both a larger, and smaller, scale.

Larger because there’s probably billions of these poor, unfortunate bacteria dudes and dudettes going down my throat all suped up in the creamy-strawberry-ness of the decided flavoring by people too big to care about them (wait, is every bit of yogurt a bacteria, or only parts of it??). Smaller because, well, it’s me! Over here! One person, no longer burning since my fever went down.

Yes, I’m very close to being all better, but I still have to keep up with these screaming little guys and gals for another…7 and a half days, I believe.

It’s blackening my conscience. It’s turning me evil. I will soon be fit to be an evil overlord. I even have the laugh coming along: MUWAHAHAHAHA *insert coughing here*

Can you squish bacteria between your tongue and the roof of your mouth/spoon? If you can, please don’t tell me, I’m feeling sick enough right now...

The Memory-Pictures

Twelve years isn't easy to erase. Everyone knows that. I do. And I know that the memories will stick with me, the good and the bad.

They're like photos, most of them. Nothing moving. No, there are things moving, the little things. The windshield wipers on a car. Our mouths, laughing. The rain falling. Sometimes us. Not always. Rarely us. As if we're stuck there as the world moves along. Stuck in the moment, the memory.

There's us, in my brother's car. Wet day, not sure whether its rain or snow outside. Dark- it's nighttime. We're laughing.

Trying on my new jeans, and my new top. You two come in, ready to go. We all look fabulous. We're going to a party I don't really want to go to but for my new jeans to show. I don't have a fun time. But it's for a friend. So there I am.

New years; minutes after midnight and everything falls apart. I'm the only one you will talk to, so we sit alone in your dark kitchen, lit only by a distant hall light. And everyone else is wondering why I'm so special. Twelve years doesn't mean as much to them as they do to us. So I see myself huddled around you, holding you as you sob out the words you do and don't want to say.

I see the dinners your dad took us on. I see the dinners you were invited to from my family. I see the movies, the DDR/anime nights, the sleepovers.

You crying on my arm because your father yelled at you, for having to come volunteer with me instead of playing Diablo with him.

I see the three of us, dressed as elves, promising to do it all again next year. I see us all around the thanks giving table at your house,loving it because at that time, we were all family, even with a few down and out. I remember deciding it would be a tradition.

All this in memory-pictures. So much more, because the ones listed here cannot possibly stretch to fit twelve years.

And that's okay. And what bits of it aren't okay, they'll come around soon.

Medicate, Medicate, Medicate.

I woke up today (for the 100th time, not kidding) hurting everywhere- arms, shoulders, lower back, upper back, and my head the most.  Headache doesn't do it justice. Forehead, sides, all the way down to my chin, between my eyes, then my mouth (probably from the braces tightening on Wednesday, then the clamping of my teeth through the night). Too hot, too cold.

Didn't sleep for more than 20 minutes at a time last night. Frustrating? Yep. To the point of tears.

Still went to work, though. Called in last minute (well, as last minute as it gets at Weil's) for today. Today is Sunday, Weil's isn't open Sundays. 640 mini cupcakes, 80 each color (of 8 specific colors) for Theatre Aquarius. Pretty, but annoying.

After, when I was waiting for my dad to come pick me up, I had to lay my head down on one of the tables. Jo asked me if I was alright, so I gave her the quick version- "I have been feeling horrible all weekend."

Her response- "You should have called in!"

They underestimate my need for money since I decided to part board Brody. Since ever, really...

And I picked up new meds. De-stress meds.But on further research of the main ingredient- Relora- apparently some people experience hair loss/thinning. So if you read a blog post saying I am losing my hair, you know why.

And soon, I'll have more meds than a pharmacy. Yay.

By the time I go to bed I'll be medicated on Advil Cold&Sinus, Ibeprofen (no-name brand, basically Advil), Melatonin and De-stress meds. I think I'll cut out the second dose of Ibeprofen since that stuff can do some serious damage (despite what my mom believes)

Oh, here's a riddle for you...

How bad does it have to be for my mom to take me to the doctors willingly?

I don't know, since I'm getting worse and worse and still she refuses to take me to the doctor, and even goes as far as to yell and get angry when I suggest.

The Factors That Make Me Like People

I saw my Great Aunt Alberta today, for maybe the 3rd time in my life. Last time I saw her would be when I was 7. 11 years ago. Roughly.

Today we were leaving my grandma's apartment and ran into her and her granddaughter (they came to visit my grandma this weekend), so we showed them how to get in. All in all it took about 1-2 minutes.

I decided I like my Great Aunt Alberta based soley on the fact that she wears fairy earrings.

It runs in the family, people. Proof right there.

Post Below Pictures

For some reason, ever since I posted the two pictures of my darling (coughcough)) kitties, I've been wanting to post more. God. It's like I'm an obsessed mother, but of cats.

I realize I have many pictures of Blossom, less of Rita. Mainly because Blossom happened to be in my room at the time I actually had a camera. Rita is less... stay-put.

I always kind of try to be someone with the camera, the one who takes pictures to make memories. The cool pictures, the memorable ones. But I'm not. I am not a picture-taking person. I like to see things for myself, and not look through a lens. Though I wish I would take pictures so I could relive the moment, I just am not that interested. Oh well. My dad takes enough pictures of everything to make up for the whole family. And my brother isn't too shabby of a shot himself.

Is it really only Wednesday?

Yes. It is really only Wednesday.

I start my Co-op tomorrow. Bus schedules are messed UP. Can't take the normal, sane person's route. Gotta take the one that I have to walk for 6 minutes, hop on the bus for 5, and then walk another 13 minutes. Why? Because the second bus I'd have to get on for the SANE route is two minutes ahead of the first one I'd have to take.

Just my luck.

Oh well. I'll work it out. At least I'll be able to get a ride home most days... I hope. Co-oping for anywhere between 4.5h and 6h a day though. But I get Mondays and Thursdays off for Riding, so it's not too bad.

Family will have to either adjust to late suppers or start making their own again. Or I'll have to make a series of reheatable dinners for them every weekend.

-Insert cursing here-

Night. Tired, sore throat, been up since 4, it's now 9:13. I feel kind of pathetic, but then I remember I've been up since 4 a lot lately. And up till midnight. Still. 9 PM seems so early to me, the one who used to be such a night owl.

Before insomnia ruined the whole experience.

Co-op Interview - Before

This amuses me.

I have a co-op interview in an hour and 7 minutes. I haven't been nervous until now, and even now I am not all that nervous (though I realize I am totally unprepared). Instead, I keep feeling like I need to eat, though I've eaten a lot already.

Nervousness => food.

I'm Ammie, and I just ate half a bag of Cheetos, a huge portion of McCain chocolate cake (mmmm...) and a package of bagel bites.

T'was good, though.

Now I have to find dress pants. I own 3 pairs (from Sweet Paradise days). Each of them fail in at least one way (too short, too long, pockets that are too prominent...) and hope that dryer sheets can erase the smell of horse.

Oh, and I have riding lessons again today since Terri is away Thursday. Which means my thighs will hurt tomorrow because there is no doubt that Terri will make us do no stirrup work (which I worked on for a good half hour yesterday). And I get to see my very good friend, guess who? Sara.

Now to check if my shirt has been de-horsed, since it's the only really "I want this co-op but I realize that it's not at a law firm so being too dressed up would not go in my favor" shirt that doesn't have holes in it from a certain kitty cat...

...who looks very innocent in this picture....

 ...But her sister might have something to do with it too... 

To Overthrow A King

Have you ever been a secondary character? Have you ever realized it as it was happening?

I don't know about you, but when I think of my life, I see it as me always being the main character, and I guess that translates into other situations as well. I might not think I'm the center of the world, really, but when something explosive happens I guess I always kind of thought myself as one of the main characters. That I was directly involved.

But now? Now things are exploding, and I'm no MC. I might have not even been much of a part of this novel unfolding if not for a few coincidences, and my tendency to figure out that things are happening before anyone even has the smallest of suspicions.

No, I'm not an MC. I'm a secondary character on the "good" side of things- one of the lesser-but-not-too-less sidekicks to the real Main Character. I'm helping push things towards a happy resolved ending where the MC wins, but I have some ulterior motives of my own.

Oh, things are going to explode, and people are going to get hurt. It all comes round to one last thought in my mind- I don't believe I've ever seen a book told completely from the view of a secondary character (though, I guess Feeling Sorry for Celia by Jaclyn Moriarty could be considered...)

Funny how my mind works, huh?

The Battle of The Keyboard and The Iced Tea

My god. Never spill iced tea onto a keyboard. Keyboards can take a lot of things- cola, ginger ale, water, maple syrup, being sat on by cats, being kicked off the desk by sleeping people- But they cannot, it seems, handle the great power that is iced tea. Iced tea is just too much greatness for a keyboard to handle.

Yes, I lost my wonderful (wired, grr) keyboard yesterday to The Mighty Iced Tea (can you tell I love Iced Tea?). It fritzed out, at first typing by itself, then not responding to keys, then double keying, and then settled down to not allowing me to use the right shift key (my best friend). And in the middle of the Olympics Closing Ceremony, which is to say, in the middle of me and my friend Abir's fervent "OMG MOUNTIES! THIS IS SO COOL!"s, it decided to slowly cut out my control to certain keys.

Namely d, s, e, w, and 3. Then it went totally insane and grew a fondness of the letter d and the number 6 and would often cut into anything I was trying to type (by this time I was using an on-screen keyboard with a mouse that liked to double click or not click at all) with a succession of them.

Obviously, I got a new keyboard, and with it, a new mouse. Wireless. Both of them. *happy dance*

It's quite loud, the keys on both of them. I hope it dulls down with use...