WHY?
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Walking
You cut open my heart,
with the knife I put in your hand.
I'm not angry,
though I'm bleeding,
just a little sad.
I'd hoped to make my way through life,
without so deep a gash,
but life is life,
and so this happens,
and all I can do is crash.
I'll limp away from this reck,
and walk again, you'll see.
I might be sad, and I will be hurt,
but I'll always be ok.
I've made myself to survive,
and that's what I shall do.
Jagged wound and shattered heart,
I'll walk along without you.
And keep on going till Death comes looking,
and claims my darkened soul.
with the knife I put in your hand.
I'm not angry,
though I'm bleeding,
just a little sad.
I'd hoped to make my way through life,
without so deep a gash,
but life is life,
and so this happens,
and all I can do is crash.
I'll limp away from this reck,
and walk again, you'll see.
I might be sad, and I will be hurt,
but I'll always be ok.
I've made myself to survive,
and that's what I shall do.
Jagged wound and shattered heart,
I'll walk along without you.
And keep on going till Death comes looking,
and claims my darkened soul.
Saying Goodbye
It's a strange thing: saying goodbye. It's something we can't stand doing most of the time. Everyone acts happy, as if things will be ok. At least until we're all alone and we've reached the end of the day. At that point, the feelings flow out and the pain washes in. We can't stop thinking of the ones we love and the places we've been. We think of everyone we have become accustomed to seeing every day. And everyone we say hello to when we are on our way to class or work or home or the store. We think of every goodbye we've said and wonder how many more we'll have to endure. We pretend we'll see them again, and some of them we will. But those we know we probably won't, cling more violently to our minds. And even those we may see, the seeing won't be the same. Even if we see them again, our lives are forever changed. Humans adapt to change. Our species always has, but for as long as History has recorded, we have never liked the transition period.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
If you don't mind
When someone decids that they want out of your life and they leave, why do they then deem it necessary to continue to interfere in your life after they've checked out? You don't rent a room at a hotel for three nights, pay for it, then continue staying there for another few days. You don't move out of an apartment and keep taking showers there every morning. You don't graduate from highschool and then show up every day for third period Spanish 2. (As I'm typing this I'm making an assumption of normality.) When you cut yourself out of something, when you leave something or someone behind, that's it. It's over. You can't go back to it. You should leave it be. My mother left me. She doesn't speak to me. We don't see eachother. Yet here she is making my life miserable. It isn't fair. It isn't right. She cut herself out of my life. Now she needs to get the hell out of it for good. I can live without my mother. What I can't live with is her invisible form hovering in the distance causing trouble and wishing harm. She doesn't want me as her kid. She claims I'm not her daughter. She only has one now and it isn't me. So what the hell business does she have making me miserable? If you don't mind, mom, and if you'll pardon my french, get the f*ck out of my life. Go away. Leave me alone. And learn to use the computer so I can email this to you.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Senior Project
So evil! Ugh. I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass but I'm still totally worried. It's a pain in the you know what.
GRRR!
I got to go to the Celtic Faire this weeked. OMG! And I don't use that lightly! LOVED IT!!!
GRRR!
I got to go to the Celtic Faire this weeked. OMG! And I don't use that lightly! LOVED IT!!!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Trip Down Memory Lane
No, Mark, I will not be breaking out into song.
Remember those days when we were kids around nine or ten and we just over-exaggerated EVERYTHING! The carpeting in the living room was really lava. Our parents were aliens. Our teachers were really FBI or witches out to get us. Well, I was going through some old writing stuff and came across a re-telling of one of my childhood stories. It was an assignment we did in English that required us to compare a story from our childhood to a fairy tale or myth. I chose Pandora's Box because it was the only thing I could think to even barely put against a story from my childhood. I posted it below mainly because I feel like making my page as hard to load as possible and it's nice and lengthy.
In Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman on earth. Zeus ordered Hephaestus the god of craftsmanship, to create her and he did, using water and earth. The gods endowed her with many talents; Aphrodite gave her beauty, Apollo music, Hermes persuasion, and so forth. Hence her name: Pandora, "all-gifted". When Prometheus stole fire from heaven, Zeus took vengeance by presenting Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus' brother. With her, Pandora had a jar which she was not to open under any circumstance. Impelled by her natural curiosity, Pandora opened the jar, and all evil contained escaped and spread over the earth. She hastened to close the lid, but the whole contents of the jar had escaped, except for one thing which lay at the bottom, and that was Hope.
My Pandora’s Box did not contain all the evils of the world nor did opening it threaten to reshape the universe. Pandora, also, was not the one my box was entrusted to. My older cousin Kate kept herself a separate room in the shed behind her grandmother’s house. She was often our “sitter”. Of course, though she was supposed to have been watching us, she was, more often than not, locked up in her spare room. So, my friends and I were left to our own devices. Despite this rather wonderful freedom we’d been gifted by my cousin’s laziness, we had such deep rooted curiosity, as children often do at a young age, that we spent most of that time devising plans for breaking into her padlocked room.
Earlier that year, her boyfriend, a carpenter‘s son, had added an extra layer of wood around the outside of the shed. My aunt had complained that Kate’s music could be heard from the house and wanted the volume lowered. In addition to my cousin’s laziness, she was also stubborn, so instead of turning it down, she set Joseph to work insulating the structure. This added an extra level of difficulty to our goal because then we couldn’t tell if she was inside or not as well as excluding several of the plans we’d come up with, the likeliest to be successful being the one that included the removal of a loose board at the back end of the building.
Faced with this new dilemma, we returned to the drawing board to concoct yet another plan to access the, by then, mystical dwelling. (Imagination runs rapid in such circumstances.) It took us several weeks to develop a solution to each hindrance. Telli, our Spy, was posted behind the trees in the backyard to keep an eye on Kate’s comings and goings so we could create a schedule. Sare, our Strategist, used this information to work out our plan of action while I set to work procuring the needed supplies, including the “invitations” to Telli’s sleepover. (Telli lived next door.)
It turned out, however, that Kate inadvertently moved up our plans while simultaneously making things easier for us. On Monday of the following week after our plan had been perfected, she told us that on Tuesday night, when she would be “watching” us while all the parents went to bingo, she had a sleepover, herself. Aware in that way that older kids are, she warned us sternly to stay away from the shed. “You’ll regret getting in there, trust me,” she said. The next day, Telli reported that the padlock on the shed had broken and Mike had nailed up a thin board over the door. “Doesn’t matter,” I told her, “It shouldn’t be hard to take down. It’s only up for the night to keep us out, so it’s probably loose.”
“Okay, now what?” Sare asked. “We wait. Bingo starts at 4:30. Katie leaves at five. It gets dark at six. Our parents’ll be back at eight. We’ll meet by the shed at 6:30,” I replied. At the time, the entire thing had seemed quite simple and rational to me. After the brief exchange, Telli had returned across the yard to her own house where she intended to keep watch from an unsuspicious distance, Sare walked across the street to her house where she was to destroy our Plan Papers ( because at ten, we firmly believed the FBI would somehow find out), and I went to our own little hideout in my aunt’s garage where I finished gathering our supplies: two hammers to take down the board, a brick to place in the doorway to hold the door open, nails to nail the board back up when we left, several flashlights, and small bag with various basically useless items we had anticipated possibly needing in the case of uncontrollable incidents such as Kate’s sudden return, a random gang shootout, or an alien invasion. (Again, imagination runs rapid at that age. Believe it or not, there was even a needle and thread in that pack in case one of us was stabbed by a pirate with a sword and needed the wound sewn up.)
The only time before 6:30 that any of us went near the shed that day was at around 10, while Kate was still asleep to quickly sneak out to place the somewhat heavy load of supplies in the trees outside of the shed. By 6:25, we were all there, hiding in the trees. (Despite the fact that the only ones who could have caught us was the neighborhood boys our age that didn’t care, we acted as if we were breaking into the Pentagon.) Telli and I took the two hammers from the bag we’d borrowed from the garage, chosen for the fact that is was old and if we had to leave it, it couldn’t be identified as one of ours. (Yes, I know, silly.) As Telli and I set to work removing the four nails used to place the board diagonally across the door, Sare began a walkaround of the shed, for security purposes of course, until the sun finally sank below the horizon and we called her over to hold the flashlight.
It didn’t take long to remove the board and lower it silently into the hidyhole amongst the trees. We placed the napkin with the new nails wrapped in it on top of the board along with the two hammers. Telli shouldered the bag and the three of us prepared to open the door. But as Sare pulled on the handle, it opened only an inch or two. Peering into the crevice, I saw a chain at the top of the door.
“Ah, the unanticipated inner lock,” I hissed. “Telli, fish into that bag and grab a pencil. Sare, go and get me that crate up against the fence between Telli’s house and this one. Oh, take a flashlight.”
The plot was clear-cut, simple. I just had to stand on the crate and work the chain free with the pencil. It went quite smoothly and after a few minutes of poking and grumbling, the chain slipped off with a tiny clang. Climbing down, I moved the box aside and we prepared, once again, to enter the room. “First thing first girls, weapons,” we heard a voice say quite suddenly.
You’ve got to be kidding, we thought, caught before we even went inside.
I recognized the voice. It was my cousin, Greg. He was a few years older than Kate. Telli pointed him out, standing on the other side of the shed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I don’t care if you break into my sister’s getaway. I’m jus’ warning you to be careful.” That was all he said before walking off down the street. We stared after him. Streetlights made the road visible. Several of his highschool friends waited there, beers in hand.
“Okay,” I said, “ready?”
“What if he’s right?” Telli asked urgently.
“Jeez, Telli,” Sare griped, “you know he’s just a jerk.”
“What do you think’s in there anyway?” I laughed.
“The Boogie man?” Sare joined.
Arrogantly, she and I reached for the handle again, this time the door swinging open swiftly. The moment it opened, we looked into the dark room and a low, harsh-sounding growl rose as if from the floorboards and something lunged at us. We slammed the door , screamed and took off in three separate directions. (All of us ran for our own houses, I found out the next day when we all spoke.)
It’s safe to assume that Kate found out what we’d done, since we ran off without putting the board back and leaving not only the nails and hammers on the ground, but Telli went only a few feet before she dropped the bag to run faster. Laughing hysterically, Kate told us the next day that the “beast” inside the shed was a stray dog and it had only lunged at us because it was guarding a litter of four puppies.
Oh, btw. My life sucks right now. Thought I'd add that in somewhere. Like Hell in a Handbasket sucky too.
Remember those days when we were kids around nine or ten and we just over-exaggerated EVERYTHING! The carpeting in the living room was really lava. Our parents were aliens. Our teachers were really FBI or witches out to get us. Well, I was going through some old writing stuff and came across a re-telling of one of my childhood stories. It was an assignment we did in English that required us to compare a story from our childhood to a fairy tale or myth. I chose Pandora's Box because it was the only thing I could think to even barely put against a story from my childhood. I posted it below mainly because I feel like making my page as hard to load as possible and it's nice and lengthy.
In Greek mythology, Pandora was the first woman on earth. Zeus ordered Hephaestus the god of craftsmanship, to create her and he did, using water and earth. The gods endowed her with many talents; Aphrodite gave her beauty, Apollo music, Hermes persuasion, and so forth. Hence her name: Pandora, "all-gifted". When Prometheus stole fire from heaven, Zeus took vengeance by presenting Pandora to Epimetheus, Prometheus' brother. With her, Pandora had a jar which she was not to open under any circumstance. Impelled by her natural curiosity, Pandora opened the jar, and all evil contained escaped and spread over the earth. She hastened to close the lid, but the whole contents of the jar had escaped, except for one thing which lay at the bottom, and that was Hope.
My Pandora’s Box did not contain all the evils of the world nor did opening it threaten to reshape the universe. Pandora, also, was not the one my box was entrusted to. My older cousin Kate kept herself a separate room in the shed behind her grandmother’s house. She was often our “sitter”. Of course, though she was supposed to have been watching us, she was, more often than not, locked up in her spare room. So, my friends and I were left to our own devices. Despite this rather wonderful freedom we’d been gifted by my cousin’s laziness, we had such deep rooted curiosity, as children often do at a young age, that we spent most of that time devising plans for breaking into her padlocked room.
Earlier that year, her boyfriend, a carpenter‘s son, had added an extra layer of wood around the outside of the shed. My aunt had complained that Kate’s music could be heard from the house and wanted the volume lowered. In addition to my cousin’s laziness, she was also stubborn, so instead of turning it down, she set Joseph to work insulating the structure. This added an extra level of difficulty to our goal because then we couldn’t tell if she was inside or not as well as excluding several of the plans we’d come up with, the likeliest to be successful being the one that included the removal of a loose board at the back end of the building.
Faced with this new dilemma, we returned to the drawing board to concoct yet another plan to access the, by then, mystical dwelling. (Imagination runs rapid in such circumstances.) It took us several weeks to develop a solution to each hindrance. Telli, our Spy, was posted behind the trees in the backyard to keep an eye on Kate’s comings and goings so we could create a schedule. Sare, our Strategist, used this information to work out our plan of action while I set to work procuring the needed supplies, including the “invitations” to Telli’s sleepover. (Telli lived next door.)
It turned out, however, that Kate inadvertently moved up our plans while simultaneously making things easier for us. On Monday of the following week after our plan had been perfected, she told us that on Tuesday night, when she would be “watching” us while all the parents went to bingo, she had a sleepover, herself. Aware in that way that older kids are, she warned us sternly to stay away from the shed. “You’ll regret getting in there, trust me,” she said. The next day, Telli reported that the padlock on the shed had broken and Mike had nailed up a thin board over the door. “Doesn’t matter,” I told her, “It shouldn’t be hard to take down. It’s only up for the night to keep us out, so it’s probably loose.”
“Okay, now what?” Sare asked. “We wait. Bingo starts at 4:30. Katie leaves at five. It gets dark at six. Our parents’ll be back at eight. We’ll meet by the shed at 6:30,” I replied. At the time, the entire thing had seemed quite simple and rational to me. After the brief exchange, Telli had returned across the yard to her own house where she intended to keep watch from an unsuspicious distance, Sare walked across the street to her house where she was to destroy our Plan Papers ( because at ten, we firmly believed the FBI would somehow find out), and I went to our own little hideout in my aunt’s garage where I finished gathering our supplies: two hammers to take down the board, a brick to place in the doorway to hold the door open, nails to nail the board back up when we left, several flashlights, and small bag with various basically useless items we had anticipated possibly needing in the case of uncontrollable incidents such as Kate’s sudden return, a random gang shootout, or an alien invasion. (Again, imagination runs rapid at that age. Believe it or not, there was even a needle and thread in that pack in case one of us was stabbed by a pirate with a sword and needed the wound sewn up.)
The only time before 6:30 that any of us went near the shed that day was at around 10, while Kate was still asleep to quickly sneak out to place the somewhat heavy load of supplies in the trees outside of the shed. By 6:25, we were all there, hiding in the trees. (Despite the fact that the only ones who could have caught us was the neighborhood boys our age that didn’t care, we acted as if we were breaking into the Pentagon.) Telli and I took the two hammers from the bag we’d borrowed from the garage, chosen for the fact that is was old and if we had to leave it, it couldn’t be identified as one of ours. (Yes, I know, silly.) As Telli and I set to work removing the four nails used to place the board diagonally across the door, Sare began a walkaround of the shed, for security purposes of course, until the sun finally sank below the horizon and we called her over to hold the flashlight.
It didn’t take long to remove the board and lower it silently into the hidyhole amongst the trees. We placed the napkin with the new nails wrapped in it on top of the board along with the two hammers. Telli shouldered the bag and the three of us prepared to open the door. But as Sare pulled on the handle, it opened only an inch or two. Peering into the crevice, I saw a chain at the top of the door.
“Ah, the unanticipated inner lock,” I hissed. “Telli, fish into that bag and grab a pencil. Sare, go and get me that crate up against the fence between Telli’s house and this one. Oh, take a flashlight.”
The plot was clear-cut, simple. I just had to stand on the crate and work the chain free with the pencil. It went quite smoothly and after a few minutes of poking and grumbling, the chain slipped off with a tiny clang. Climbing down, I moved the box aside and we prepared, once again, to enter the room. “First thing first girls, weapons,” we heard a voice say quite suddenly.
You’ve got to be kidding, we thought, caught before we even went inside.
I recognized the voice. It was my cousin, Greg. He was a few years older than Kate. Telli pointed him out, standing on the other side of the shed.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I don’t care if you break into my sister’s getaway. I’m jus’ warning you to be careful.” That was all he said before walking off down the street. We stared after him. Streetlights made the road visible. Several of his highschool friends waited there, beers in hand.
“Okay,” I said, “ready?”
“What if he’s right?” Telli asked urgently.
“Jeez, Telli,” Sare griped, “you know he’s just a jerk.”
“What do you think’s in there anyway?” I laughed.
“The Boogie man?” Sare joined.
Arrogantly, she and I reached for the handle again, this time the door swinging open swiftly. The moment it opened, we looked into the dark room and a low, harsh-sounding growl rose as if from the floorboards and something lunged at us. We slammed the door , screamed and took off in three separate directions. (All of us ran for our own houses, I found out the next day when we all spoke.)
It’s safe to assume that Kate found out what we’d done, since we ran off without putting the board back and leaving not only the nails and hammers on the ground, but Telli went only a few feet before she dropped the bag to run faster. Laughing hysterically, Kate told us the next day that the “beast” inside the shed was a stray dog and it had only lunged at us because it was guarding a litter of four puppies.
Oh, btw. My life sucks right now. Thought I'd add that in somewhere. Like Hell in a Handbasket sucky too.
Monday, February 9, 2009
*slaps self*
Procrastination is SO bad. I know this. I'm completely and utterly aware of the fact. Tomorrow, I have part of my senior project due. What am I doing right now when none of it is done? Playing on my blog! Hell, I created a wishlist! The hours are going by pretty fast and I have all kinds of things to do today. I repeat, PROCRASTINATION is BAD!
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
What the hell, Universe?
As the great philosopher Garfield said, "I hate Mondays." This week, Tuesday isn't exactly my favorite either. Out of Midol, missing school, headache from Hell, dishes to do, homework to finish, cramps that are having a field day I like to call 'Little Katrina' going on in my poor defenseless body. What the hell, Universe? You can't spread these kicks to the teeth out over a week-long period or something? No, wait. You can't do that. You have all kinds of other crap planned for the other six days of the week I can't miss out on. So, nevermind. I'm gonna sit here, bite my tongue in an attempt to ignore the pain, skip the dishes, whine into the phone to whoever I guilt into listening to me, blog angrily to Hinder's Get Stoned, and contemplate bashing my brains in with a book. Ok, maybe not that last one, but you get the point.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
When I Was Young
Ok, so I'm not exactly getting up there in the years but the point is that I feel like it. Kinda. I miss when I used to go out on the weekends. I miss when I wasn't juggling all the cooking, housework, animals, homework and everything else like a clown playing with chainsaws. It sounds absolutely horrible to say but the only thing about my mom leaving that is really bothering me is that I'm always exhausted and weak from life. I hate it. I especially hate it because there's not a snowball's chance in hell that I'm going to show it. Anyone whose been here knows that the real backbreaker is the acting tough. Pretending to be strong is what finally kicks us in the knees and knocks us to the ground. And I am just so eagerly anticipating that. Having to play part-time mother and housewife on top of Senior Project and college prep is starting to make my head feel like a shaken up snowglobe after a three year old has discovered it and vigorously beat it to death in that way that three-year olds are prone to doing. Man, I never thought I'd agree with a commercial. Life really does come at you fast. And it goes by a hell of a lot faster. I feel like I've been chasing after a huge bus that has LIFE written on the side and about four hundred seventy three miles later, I just realized I really don't want to catch up. The only problem is that the line of people behind me chasing after it to with a big sign over their heads that reads SOCIETY won't let me stop and drag along behind. I have to keep running or get trampled to death. Stupid survival instinct. No matter how tempted I am to get trampled, I'm still running.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Freezing my-ooh, look a dead kitty!
You ever hated the world? Yep, yep. You ever hated everyone around you just for being people? Just passed that roadmarker. You ever hated the world and its damn people so much you want to be magically swept off to a secluded cabin in the middle of fricken Alaska with no other living thing but your dog and a multitude of hungry wolves and bears waiting outside to eat you? Well, if your answer was yes, welcome to the cozy little cell in Tartarus where I'm making that wish. Drafty cabin, ten minutes of sunlight, lots of books, and a companion that can't talk? Oh yeah, that's paradise. Frostbite aside, totally what I'm looking for.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Blah...
That's right. Blah.
There would be a random picture but I'm on my sister's computer which means no good pictures.
Double blah with a side of grrr and an extra sprinkle of Nieh!
There would be a random picture but I'm on my sister's computer which means no good pictures.
Double blah with a side of grrr and an extra sprinkle of Nieh!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Dear Amanda?
Seriously? What the hell? Mark, are you really going to start every posting with 'Dear Amanda'? Can't you throw in an occasional, 'Dear Sharkey' or a 'Dear Morgan'? Hey. John Lennon's available for listening. Kinda.
http://dear-amanda-central.blogspot.com
In case you don't want to scroll down far enough to see my list of blogs to follow.
http://dear-amanda-central.blogspot.com
In case you don't want to scroll down far enough to see my list of blogs to follow.
My Way of Checking if Mark read anything
You're on the phone with me. Say "Flustered Flobberworm" or "Boo!" if you find that easier.
Stupid Boredom Fairy
There is nothing worse than being bored. Tie me up to a tree and give me ten minutes to get loose before you set the tree on fire. That would be totally preferable. At least I wouldn't be bored, now would I? Having abosolutely nothing to do is torturous. Seriously. And it makes you say stupid things. Total boredom usually ends in calling up someone you don't talk to that often and rambling on about nothing important and saying things you'll regret later just to say something. At this point in the boredom, you're usually annoyed and therefore will sound that way. The Boredom-Fairy is somewhere laughing her damn sparkly wings off at all the people suffering from her blasted fairy dust!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Valentine's Day Shopping
GRRR!!! I hate this holiday! But it is hilarious! Expensive, evil, and hilarious! I went to four different stores. For two different people! Hey, Cupid, get your arrow-shooting arse down here and give Hallmark's advantage-taking butt a piece of your mind, would ya? Geez!
Follow the damn butterflies, would ya?
You may be asking why this is relevant.
It isn't.
It's entirely random.
Haha. I win.
Why?
Because you read it.
So there.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Taking A Stab At Something New
You ever notice how sometimes you try something new just to try it and you turn out to be good at it? Or you might suck on vacuum-sucking levels but the point is that it is important to try because you might be really good at it.
So, I took a long-awaited stab at non-magical romantic comedy. According to my critic/friend, it's the best thing she's read of mine. (Which is saying something for her because not only has she read most of my stuff but she REALLY loves some of the other pieces.)
So, that's pretty cool. I think I'll keep stabbing at this one. Now as long as it doesn't bleed all over my shoes...
So, I took a long-awaited stab at non-magical romantic comedy. According to my critic/friend, it's the best thing she's read of mine. (Which is saying something for her because not only has she read most of my stuff but she REALLY loves some of the other pieces.)
So, that's pretty cool. I think I'll keep stabbing at this one. Now as long as it doesn't bleed all over my shoes...
Monday, December 29, 2008
Life Lesson
Hey there, here's a newsflash for the world. Are you aware that there is a difference between cancelling on someone and standing them up? If you don't, you'd better learn it because it's an important one. I never get angry at someone for cancelling on me, but if you don't let me know you're not showing up until after the fact, then I get a little annoyed. If, this dreaded statement, something comes up, let the person know that something came up, otherwise, YOU'RE NOT CANCELLING! THAT'S STANDING SOMEONE UP! It's past the rude line and in the sector of 'pisses people off'. Have the decency to at least leave a message or something. Don't call a day or two later and say, "Oh yeah, I forgot. Something came up." You know what I'm going to say to you then? "Uh, yeah, I kinda noticed when you didn't show up that you didn't show up. Thanks, Sherlock. What would I do without you?" It's a courtesy thing. You may have missed the manners course they fed to us in like first grade but you should have enough common sense to know that people don't like it when you make plans and break them WITHOUT ANY NOTICE! No one over the age of fifteen can honestly they say they've never seen someone get upset because they weren't informed of broken plans. If you can, you're either a monk or literally living with a troll beneath a bridge somewhere and even that I don't buy because I'm guessing that the monk, though he didn't show it, got a little peeved when monk #2 was supposed to drop by for a little bible study and never showed and the troll probably reacted like a real jerk when the goats were twenty minutes late for crossing to better pastures! (Yes, bible study actually means bible study. You know, with that big book. I don't mean monk #1 and monk #2 are off to the local pub for a round of beers.) Digressing...
Still digressing...
Breath in, breath out...
Ok, so life lesson for the day, kids. If you make plans with someone and you decide you're not showing up, LET THEM KNOW!!! Don't be rude. Our generation has enough of a bad reputation. Let's prove them wrong. Let's pretend some of us have manners.
Still digressing...
Breath in, breath out...
Ok, so life lesson for the day, kids. If you make plans with someone and you decide you're not showing up, LET THEM KNOW!!! Don't be rude. Our generation has enough of a bad reputation. Let's prove them wrong. Let's pretend some of us have manners.
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Hostess to this mad tea party:
- dark-huntress
- I'm nothing but a lone wolf, misunderstood and labeled to be dangerous.