I want a can of Coca-Cola so bad right now, you have no idea.

I also can't have one.

Because then I 1. will never sleep,and 2. My heart might just explode.

But I'm tempted to anyways.

Our Happy Place

No. I get it. I really do. I get it, because I've sat in that exact same chair as you. Comfy, isn't it? So soft, yet firm. Cozy enough that you could bury yourself in it and bring a book along, and you wouldn't mind to stay there all night, day and night again. It's bright enough there, too. Right under the sunny lamp, that you can change to the soft glow of a candle with a clap of your hands. Beside you, you've got your favorite beverage. An iced tea, perhaps. Or a hot chocolate with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Or your favorite can of cola.

It's comfortable where you are. And I don't blame you for staying there. Not one bit. Because I would have, in a flash. I would never have left, even if my legs slept and became pin-prickly.

Why did I leave?

You. I left for you. I put down my book with a sigh, knowing that I'd not flip the page again, I'd never find out what happened, or how it ended. Then I grabbed hold of the high arms of the chair, and pushed myself out of my comfortable, dream-like world.

I knocked on your door, you know? Did you hear? Did you hear that echo of a knock from your comfortable chair? What did you think when you heard it? Did you even look up from your book to see me standing there, getting drenched in the pouring rain, hoping, praying I wouldn't be making a fool out of myself, hoping, praying that maybe this time getting out of my comfy chair would be worth it?

Did you care?

It might seem like I'm mad at you, and sometimes I wish I was. But I'm not. Despite everything I gave up, I don't hate you the tiniest bit. I am not even hurt by you. I can't be.

Because I know how you were, how you felt. I brought the unknown to your door, and you didn't answer the door. How could I expect you to? For, when you brought your very own unknown to my door, I did much the same thing.

I know what kind of situation your in. I just wish we had decided to push ourselves from our comfortable chairs with our half-read books and reach out to the unknown brought by each other at the same time.


We're all changing. Every second of the day, we're changing. The us of today will be different than the us of tomorrow.

And we tend to forget this. We think that things will never change. We mourn it. Things that are always bad will always be bad. And on the other hand, we try to hold onto the happy times, believe they will always be there, always be happy. And then, we mourn the loss of that.

Because if we change every second of the day, everything changes every second of the day.

So we can never get too comfortable in the way it is now.

And I don't know where I'm going with this anymore.

Held Up High

The one thing I can't let go of, the one thing that keeps me holding my head up high. It's like the very last string holding this puppet upright.

It is that I once was a Queen, I ruled my friends, I was their leader. I gave them guidance, I gave them power. I was the thing to be. I was strong despite everything, I was smart, too.

And then my castle came tumbling down. I pushed and pulled the stones out of the mortar. I threw vases filled with wilting flowers at the wall and watched the glass glimmer and the flowers gasp as they drowned in air

I tore my castle apart, I couldn't stand the look of the walls looking to enclose me like a tomb, the steepness of the stairs that always seemed to want me to tumble to my death, the sad reminder in pictures of once was compared to what is now hanging on the same wall, trying to strangle me with grief.

And more and more, I couldn't stand the people who lived in my castle with me. Those who faked smiles, who seeked to hurt me, who wanted my kingdom to turn to ash. Who wanted to control me in the worst of ways.

I was once Queen. I once held my head high. I once believed in the power of myself, with my friends by my side.

Now my crown is gone, stolen by someone who doesn't deserve it. The weight of the missing crown threatens to bend my chin towards the floor, but I can't, I won't, allow it. I now have to believe in the power of myself, without my friends by my side. I have to build my very own castle from the ground up.

Despite all this, I know I am still a Queen. I know that I still rule- though it may be of myself rather than others. I guide myself through treacherous seas, and I do a pretty good job of it still.

So I'll find a new crown to hold upon my head, and I'll wear it with pride.

And with that, everyone will know that, though disposed and my throne stolen, I am still Queen. There's not a second guess.

It's Not A Nightmare if You're Not Sleeping

I'm determined to not hit the wall. I'm determined to keep on the track. I'm determined to stop, but that isn't at the top of the list. It's hidden under a bunch of other things I'm determined to do, and in all honesty, I don't have any doubt in my mind that I can stop. I mean, I've done it before, so why not again?

So I go, I've got fifteen minutes to make this all go down the way I want it to. We both want this, but it isn't in the same way. He wants freedom, and I want to learn to fly.

So we move. I'm doing everything right. And then we begin to take off, and I'm not going to hit the wall this time. I'm not going to allow it. I won't let him get away with me.

But we're going too fast. Soon everything is out of my control. I'm flying, yes, but I'm being pulled along at an alarming rate. I'm not learning to fly, I am simply being dragged through the air by my fragile wings. I'm being dragged through the air towards the wall, and no matter what I do I can't stop.

So I scream, even though I shouldn't, I can't, I won't. I scream, and the second it's out I'm ashamed and defeated. We slow, we stop, and I can't help but cry. It's a shameful thing. I've never been so scared of a thing that could fly. And yet, now I am.

And the scene replays, again and again. I don't even have a scratch on me to show the fight I had. I don't have anything to show that I had reason to be scared. I've only a bruised ego from failure, and the shot-down hope that maybe, maybe I was ready to learn how to fly.

And I think, maybe I should have let him throw me into the wall, because then I'd have something to tell instead of a bunch of words that just can't be told for shame.

Turn Left Here

I think I know, more than most people I know, that life cannot be planned. Or, rather, you can plan it all you want, but life doesn't follow plans. It doesn't follow a map you create, it does it's own thing, and you have to deal with it.

Oh, if life played out how I planned it, I don't even know how I'd be right now. Probably would have had a broken leg once, and a broken arm once, I would be studying to become a vet, or a fairy, and I'd have so many friends.

Or something like that.

I don't know. And it's no good to imagine it, because it gives me a headache and does no good.

Really, I'm okay with my life right now. It's not perfect, it's not horrible either. It's just.. life. And I'm not too concerned about it. Things will happen, and eventually, hopefully, I'll end up okay.

The Value of a Dollar

You know what got me really excited just now?

By the end of next week, if all goes well, I'll have 30$ in my pocket in cash. This means I'll finally have enough for next month's riding (I need 12$ more), as well as my half of my mom's present (17$), which leaves me with????

A dollar =D

You guys are either laughing, or staring incredulously. I know it. Yeah. A dollar. That's what made me happy.

Actually, I did the math thinking 15$ was for half of my mom's present, but then I realized that it's actually 17.50. I'm gunna get my brother to pay the 15 cents extra, hehe.

But you know what a dollar is? A dollar is almost enough to buy a packet of Nerds candy, which is about 1.50$ I think (I should know, shouldn't I? Since I love them and all, but I don't.) And I should have enough small change (dimes and under, which I don't count into my riding fund) to make my dollar into 1.50, which will buy me a pack of Nerds.

This makes me extremely happy, as I realized a couple of weeks ago I couldn't buy ANYTHING at all. Nothing. Because I didn't have the riding money yet, and no sure fire way of getting it. As it is, I'm scraping by. But a 1.50$ is enough to make me smile and jump and wiggle in my seat now!

Funny how things change, huh? One day, 1.50 isn't all that much, but then you realize you don't even have 1.50, not even a fraction of that. So when you finally get that much, it's enough excitement for a celebration, if celebrations generally cost more than 1.50...

I can taste those Nerds now, and I don't want to, because it makes it ever so hard to wait!

Stars and Firecrackers

Let me tell you- waking up at 4 AM gets old fast. I don't know which is worse, though- getting up voluntarily or involuntarily. I think it's the latter, but I'll leave it up to you.

I was feeling good today, despite the early wake up. Put on a shirt I never wore before in a color I don't usually wear, in a style I don't usually wear. Put my hair up in a weird way I've only done late at night when I'm working on something and only have my fingers and wayward hair accessories to work with.

A firecracker. That's what I felt like. I was feeling good- the news and discoveries from last night combined with 3 1/2 hour sleep giggly-ness. I was going to go to my one class and... I don't know, rock it?

Except my teacher wasn't there, so that fizzled.

It's much too hot indoors. But it's much too cold outdoors. No matter where I go, its one or the other, and sometimes it's boiling outside and cool inside. I think I'm getting my dad's cold (which he got from me, then passed it on, then got it again, gosh I don't want to be out for another week...), and with it the fever.

So I go to the park to swing. And I wonder how long it takes for a swing to stop if I stop pumping. So I stop pumping and try making myself as unhelpful as possible without actually doing anything.

It doesn't take very long.

And I wonder, how long would it take for my life to fall to pieces if I stopped trying to keep it together. Not very long at all.

I might be being a little harsh to the swing.

And I wonder about me, being a firecracker. A firecracker bursts up in an amazing illumination of light, and then fades into oblivion only to be remembered by a few who want nostalgia. Even then, the specific firecracker might not be remembered at all, for there's almost always many others along with it.

I don't want to be a firecracker, but I am. I flare up, then fade into the night sky without even a spark to keep me remembered. Only smoke, which quickly dissipates.

I want to be a star, always shining, always there. Written about in poetry and hymns. I want to be something everyone can look at and marvel for days, weeks, years on end.

I don't want to spark and fade.

So I come to a conclusion; I have to keep trying, no matter what, and maybe someday I'll become more than a firecracker.

Castles in the Sand

I've been thinking as I only really, successfully do at 4 AM, sacrificing sleep and sanity for my thoughts that are too abstract for the daylight.

Today's lucky wonder? I wonder if we make everything out of sand.

We dig in the sand with our plastic buckets and shovels and we make extravagant sand castles to hold each of our friendships. Filled with rooms of secrets, corridors of laughter, and gardens of joy, we cultivate it, adding more of everything. At the same time, we strive to keep the tide from lapping away at the walls and base, making the foundation unstable. We strive to protect the castles, the houses, and the promises inside from the waves that want to tear it all down and take it away. As we spend more time building and protecting, we feel a need to keep doing so.

But how long can we keep the something we made out of nothing from becoming that which it once was? Are we going against nature in trying? It seems we are doomed to forever dig trenches and moats, make protective barriers out of driftwood and twigs, and, as a last-ditch effort, fling ourselves into the path of the incoming tides.

And even then it isn't enough.

The moats and trenches overflow, the driftwood drifts again, and our bodies become too battered to be flung again. Damage is done. Walls are torn down, sometimes a whole wing of the castle, and the promises, secrets and laughter escape, never to be caught again.

We can rebuild it if we try, but it will never be the same. Sometimes we decide it's not even worth it. For who wants to brave another wave and taste the sickening sea water as it flows down our throats? Who wants to spend such a long time finding wood to make a wall, while the threat of another wave lingers near? Who wants to keep digging when no hole seems deep enough?

So we let the waves claim what they decide they own. We split up the decorations that litter the castle- friendship necklaces, knick-knacks, written notes- or we toss them into the sea to join their fallen home. And finally, we glare at each other over the remains of the castle, remains that seem soon to be taken away as well, give one last kick to the rubble of nothing-that-was-something, and turn our backs to walk away.

A sand castle on two beaches has been destroyed, claimed by the waves. Waves that will forever live on and destroy again, just as we live on to build again.

And maybe one day, one day, we'll build something actually worth protecting from the waves.

Spiders=No Sleep

Oh, giggle-worthy. Saturday night/Sunday morning, 2:30 AM, I'm getting ready to say good night to Abir and Julia and actually sleep when I look up above my bed, and in the night sky of the castle plastered there is a HU-MON-GOUS spider.

I rush to my brother's room, but he's not there. I hesitate, hating to wake my mom up because she goes into panic mode- "WHAT WHAT? FIRE? WHERE! THEIF? WHERE! SOMEONE DIED? WHERE OMG AHHHH!" and it's really not worth it when she's probably going to tell me to do it myself. So there's one person left, the one that is easily awoken and probably needs sleep more than even I do. I get my sleeping problems from my dad, people. Yup. Messed up on BOTH sides of my family, and I'm the deformed baby of it.

So I go up to his door. "Daaaad?" silence. "Daaaaddy?" silence. I debate not waking him up after all, but I can't sleep with a spider in my room, let alone one hanging out RIGHT OVER MY BED. So I open the door. "Daaaadddy???"

"What??" A bit panicked, but not the end of the world thing waking my mom up would be.

"There's a HUGE spider in my room above my bed..."

Now I'm waiting for something to make me feel like the worst daughter in the world. I think my dad's told me to kill a spider myself all of three times. All of which I've never done. Any spider I've killed has been on my own, usually when no one was there to help me, with a lot of tears, screaming, pleading and something long and blunt- a shoe, or a barbie, or a box of cookies.

My dad's also the one who had to calm me when I woke up screaming and crying, pretty much hysterical, as a kid cause I had a nightmare about spiders. Usually brought on by my brother's Reptile&Arachnids book that had actual PICTURES of the cursed beasts. Which he liked to shove in my face.

Yeah. Gotta love my brother.

So instead of groaning or anything, all I hear is a quiet "...Okay." and the bed creaking as he gets up and stumbles around getting a paper towel and finally killing that eight-legged creep.

"Thanks daddy."

"Mhm." and he goes back to bed.

Good-Bye Sane Me

It just hit me now, (I made this decision last night, around 1-ish, when already sleep deprived) that I am going to be, every day, writing at least 1000 words on my novel (so it can be done before July 1st), which I haven't written in since I got frustrated sometime in February, and writing my Roma/Gypsy story, which doesn't exactly have a number of words due, but I'm hoping to get a lot more chapters out.

In addition, I'm going to *try* picking Trapped Inside back up, but it's still on hiatus. And to imagine, I thought it'd be done now, or at least by summer. I only have 2 arcs left, both of which are small, but it's just... Not writing itself! XD

sigh. Good grief. This, added onto everything else. Oh, and I'm supposed to be editing my novel before July 1st too. And doing my homework, and a ba-zillion other things.

Oh well. It should keep me busy, though I think a different hobby would be less... sanity-threatening?

Trust. Again.

It's getting harder and harder to deal with myself.

Whoever is reading this blog is probably getting pretty sick of all these waves coming from the sole event of two and a half months ago. It's like the ripples never die. And you wanna know the truth? I'm sick of it too, but honestly nothing happening right now that isn't connected to The End of My Life as I Knew It is very interesting.

So bear with me? Or leave. That's okay too.

I hate not having people to trust. I hate not being able to trust people. Are these two things the same? Are they tied together or are broken apart? I hope it's something like; I can't trust anyone because there's no one I'm able to trust for very good and logical reasons. Not something like; I can't trust ever again, no matter how true blue someone is.

I guess I'll find out later on in life. This could become a pain if it's the latter.

For one reason or another, I cannot tell people I know things. I can't tell Jenni or Michelle about my suspicions about a certain person because they'll no doubt tell persons involved with that person and it will just explode. Yes, it sounds complicated without names, but it's quite simple. I cannot tell others the same thing because either A) they don't/won't care, or they'll do something along the lines of what Jenni and Michelle would do. Or B) They'll just go straight to the source of the problem, which is as equally bad as the J/M result, worse because it's possible the GOOD things that could come out of it, won't.

Gosh. Complex. Without details, this could be anything.

And then there's people I probably could trust, but have turned into people I don't care to talk to. Or I'm just sick of talking to period.

If I go down the list, no one is available for consultation. So I'm stuck here, on my own, passing the days twiddling my thumbs as secrets, suspicions and confessions pile up and up in my gut until I burst. Or just collapse like an accordion.


Well... There's one place to go...

Why I Smile

Oftentimes, my only real and true smiles are when I'm in the company of horses.

It has been a long time since this was not the case.

Lady of Shalott

Terrible, this fear.

What I want to be versus what would make me ever so happy.

But in the end, does one lie in the other?

Or rather than being what I want to be (who?), what about if we replace it with Who I Am.

Maybe I'm scared because the crumbling of my castle, my realm, has finally slowed. There's not much falling to the ground, only the debris from the past couple of months. Weird, you probably think. I should be happy that nothing is really getting worse for me.

But when everything was in chaos, when my castle was crumbling (no, no... when it began to crumble, I didn't know what was happening)falling to pieces, I knew that I was changing, I was becoming me, and I was on the right path. I was improving more and more as my castle was reduced less and less.

Now I have little to mark that passage. I don't see my new castle. I don't know if I'm ready to build one yet. After all, look how quickly my last one was reduced to rubble? Look how disasterous it was. I'm still looking at the pieces and wondering quietly, quietly to myself if there's a way to fix this. If what I did was the right thing. If somehow this rock can fit back into place with the other rocks and maybe a bit more mortar than before.

But it wouldn't be the same. No. It'd be worse than the same. I'd see all the cracks where they shouldn't be. Nothing would fit properly. I couldn't sleep soundly in that castle.

So I'm to abandon that castle, up high on the hill it's rested for so many years, and find a new place to build a new castle, then?

I don't know where to start. I don't know how to start. I never thought I'd say this and mean it, for I'm a very trusting person, to the extent of foolishness... But I really think my trust has been shattered. Irreparable? No, not by the right people, for I still believe in fairy tales. But shattered none the less.

And this is coming from the girl who has forgiven people for multiple back-stabbings, who has trusted someone who she's just met, and trusted someone who's hurt her more times than she can count. Multiple someones. I won't say I trust no one, but I trust very few. And the only people I trust are those who are so detached from my life that they couldn't do much to harm me if they tried. And even then, there's the echo of "What if...?"

I think there's only one person I trust, and she's gone now. I almost had her back, but no. I'm not one for hanging onto my past, and she's from my past. I want to speak to her so much, but I lost her for the second time. And... though I hope she's reading this, the person I am doesn't want to talk to her...

Because I don't know what to say.

Because I am such a inside-person, I'd just smile and push her away when I really don't mean to.

Because I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to hurt me.

And, finally, because I don't know, I don't think, she will like this new me. So far, no one really has.

Still... If by some stroke of wayward luck she's reading this, I just want to say sorry, for everything. And thank you, for everything.


The Truth Of It All

If I could, I think I'd make myself feel nothing at all for the trickles of information I get, passed from babbling brook to babbling brook until it flows by my ear as I sit soaking my feet. If I could.

But I can't. And it kills me so. The truth is, and if I'm being entirely honest, I want to go back. But not wholly. Never wholly. I could not be formed into complacency after all I've heard and seen. Besides, I don't think I've had a whole thing in my life. I even doubt that I, myself, am whole. Am I wholly me? No, I've been shaped by others like a rock is shaped by the elements.

If I lie to myself and others, I'll say that I want to go back to get the insider's view. The real behind the babbles, to see and smile as everything falls to pieces in the lives of those I once called sisters. I want to be a spy, of sorts. I want to know everything that goes on. It's all curiosity, it's all revenge.

But I think that's only a single faucet. It's not true nor a lie. It's just there.

To tell the truth that I am just beginning to uncover myself, I want to be back in that group because they seem to have more fun uncontrolled and unburdened than I have controlled.

I can only hope the grass looks greener on the other side for both groups.

There's another truth, itching at the back of my mind. But these truths are slippery. They're coated in my hopeful ignorance. I don't want to be this person. I want to be perfect, not flawed. It won't happen, but I keep trying anyways.

I know I could fix this all. I have the power, I do. But what is the power? It's the power of lies. I could say I'm sorry, that I forgive them. Or more, there's nothing for me to forgive them for. I could smile and laugh and fix this all.

I could do and say all this, and it would be a complete lie; I do not feel sorry for anything I've done, for I believe everything I've done so far has been right. I do not forgive them for what they've done, and I don't think I ever will. All I want to do is hurt them, terribly. It's a horrible thought, but there it is. Maybe, for all my improvements on my temper over these years, it's all gone inward. Into thoughts. Into plots and plans that I won't carry out because 'I'm better than that.'

And yet, it is ever so tempting. If I wasn't as straight-forward and anti-drama (which I suspect is due to mere laziness on my part- I simply do not want to put forth the effort to lie, cover up, and actually go through with plots and schemes), I could be a very, very mean and cruel girl. How do those who are like that do it? How do they find the energy? I get through the day and by the time it's eleven I'm exhausted but still have so much I should do, and one on the list being sleep.

And, as it is going onto ten o'clock and I smell of horse, I need to do numbers 1-3 on my list- Shower, Read, Sleep.