Note to all students who have been corrupted with the idea that telling an adult who you trust is the answer: TELLING AN ADULT IS NEVER THE ANSWER

I can't keep my own secrets - 6 word memoirs by teens

I can't keep my own secrets is a book. It is full of 6 word memois by teens. I'm in it!!!!! yay...but here are some of my favorites....WRITE YOUR OWN....smithteens.com!!!!!!!!! oh...and bye the book :)

I never got my Hogwarts letter
- Deanna H

Athiest. So much for Hebrew school.
-Zachary R

My status messages are about you.
-Elissa S

Googled ehat he called me. Ouch.
-Emily L

My mom had my boyfriend deported.
-Candra T

Life's full of akward turtle moments.
-Anna S.

What could have happened

I'm sorry things had to be this way. I'm sorry that i didn't take the time to get to know you, and that you didn't take the time to get to know me. If i could do it again, i'd do it right. I'm sorry i didn't. Because honestly, i think you're a very interesting person, i think you're a very wonderful person. You're smart, you're talented, you're nice. But these are the things i only notice from the outside. I wonder what else I'd be able to see from a different point of veiw. So I'm sorry that things had to be this way, and I'm sorry we cant just hit replay. I wonder why it ended up like this, probably because of fifth grade. And if i asked to put that behind us, i wonder what you'd say. There are so many things that could of happened, that should of happened. And when i look back on you in the future, ill still be sorry. It should have been different.

Facing the end

Death. It is what we make it, and we make it a cruel and terrible thing. But is it really? Death is sad. It is distruction. It is the end. But it is what it is. Death can also be a beautiful thing. When we look at death from a different percpective, it is almost amazing. I don't mean to be all sick and depressing, but think about it. All endings mean new beginnings. Im not reffering to an after life or anything, but more to a new life. Think of births. For every death there is a birth. For every ending there is a beginning. We all must die. Instead of fearing death, we should live to the fullest. Every moment is a breath of air, every moment is special. And when it comes time to die, we must face it. Head on. Death is the last part of life. It is every bit as beatutiful as every moment of life. The only difference is knowing that there will not be another.

Some random stuff

Hey
Hypocracy is what makes this world the disgusting place it is. Not just hypocracy, but when you are a hypocrite to your own mind. Don't be proud of your hypocracy.....it's making me sick.

On another note.
Maritza, hey. Im really sorry. i have made a policy for myself not to talk to people i don't know personally online. You know...my mom would kill me if she knew. But thanks, and i really appreciate all your comments. You are welcome to still comment.
Sorry! Thanks!

I have this thing. I have an extreme admiration for those who can explain a lot in few words. Not like they leave an annoyed you to digure it out. More that they know the right words to say something. I am not one of these people. I want to be. Another thing these people do, is they don;t talk a lot. They talk when they have something to say. they are careful with their words. They pluck them out carefully, they arrange them in an order, then they let them flow out of their mouths. one by one. i really wish i could be that person.

Why people shouldn't dwell.

Hello again!
Sorry for not posting.
People like to gloat and dwell. They do it all the time. They dwell on the smallest of their problems, on the smallest mistakes, made by themselfs and others. I cannot not say i don't do this. I am as guilty of it an anyone. However, i don't think we should do this. If we let small things pass by us, we can think about the big things. I was in a yoga class once and my teacher was talking about a simular thing. She was talking about things like, when the guy next to you is breathing to hard, and you let it annoy you. Now i don't mean that, because when people breath to loud it is VERY annoying. What i mean is more in a personal way. For one, pick your arguments. Not everything matters. There is not a book saying what does matter, because it is different for everybody. But i can say this much: it doesn't all matter. Another thing is, don't dwell on the past. The past in unimportant and once it becomes past the only thing it can do is destroy you. After you do all the stupid things you did, forget them. Otherwise they will eat you alive. Also it is about other people. The people who you care about i should say (not the breathers) You should obviously think about the people you care about, but again dont dwell. Don't dwell on the stupid things they've said, or the mean things that they did, or the really nice things either. Try to be nice, try to be heard, and don't be afraid to say sorry even if you dont mean it. I mean, if you want an rgument, dont say sorry. Arguments can be fun. But if you don't, or know that its gonna be a stupid mistake to start one, just apologize. Make them happy, so you can be at peace and relax. So what if you don't mean it????? If youre happy and theyre happy, then its all good!
By the way, i know this sounds like a command and like "i know better then you." Its not supposed to. This is all my faulty opinions.

The Girl Who was In Love with the Sky

There once was a girl who was in love with the sky. Everynigh she'd go out into an open field, the breeze from the west would blow her silver hair back, and her bare feet would slide on the grass as she ran out into the open. And every night this girl would yell "Hello." And the sky would back back at her "HELLO,
hello,
hello,
hello,
hello." And the girl felt welcomed. And then the girl would yell to the black shiny gleaming sky, "I love you!" And the sky would echo back,
"I LOVE YOU!
I love you!
I love you,
i love you,
i love you." And the girl felt so icredably loved. But after months and days and years of screaming, the girl who was in love with the sky had a sore throat. The earth pityedher so he biult her steps to climp up so she could reach the sky and whisper to him. But when she got to the top she whispered "i love you" to the sky, and the sky didn't whisper back. So the sad girl climbed down the stairs and cried, because the sky didn't think she was pretty up close.

The Thing in The Sky

Today, i was out biking in the park when a neighbor bumpbed into me. He stopped me and told me about this thing happening in the sky at exactly 7:40. He told me what it was, but i didn't remember. So i go home, and tell the rest of my family, and at 7:30 we troop outside to see this unknow thing. The sky, it a remarkable shade of blue in the center. And even a more remarkable shade of turqouis around the edges (yes, i know the sky doesn't have edges.) But besides this there was nothing. We waited a while and our neighbor and his two children come dow. They tell us that the thing were going to see is a spaceshuttle atached to a space station that is orbiting te earth. Now, this thing is always orbiting the earth, well the station is, but tonight for multiple reasons, it is possible to see. There are three astronaughts (yes...i am a creative speller) in this thing orbiting the earth. So we wait, admirng the sky's color, feeling the breeze against out faces. It is a special feeling, one that rarely hits. It is the feeling of cool breeze on a summer night. it is the feeling of unknow space. It is the feeling of camping in the wilderness. And then we see it. It is like a brights star moving throught the sky. It is a beautiful contrast to the sky. But it's nothing to see besides a star really. My brother said "space is overrated" but i don't think so. I think we are overrating something that is part of something very underrated. Space, and the sky, is very underrated. There is a magic in it that is undefined and beautiful. It is the unknown.

A great story by Roald Dahl

Hello
Today, i did not come here with something very interesting to say. In fact, i didn't come here with anything to say at all. (Not that anything i have to say is very interesting) I'm trying to find as peice of interesting thought to share, but none is coming to me. So instead i will post this story written by one of my favorite authors: Roald Dahl. I got this story at http://www.classicshorts.com/stories which is a great site. You don'thave to read this, but it is very good. I know, blogging is not for sharng stories others have written, and im very sorry. Again you don't have to read this.



Lamb To The Slaughter
The room was warm and clean, the curtains drawn, the two table lamps alight-hers and the one by the empty chair opposite. On the sideboard behind her, two tall glasses, soda water, whiskey. Fresh ice cubes in the Thermos bucket.

Mary Maloney was waiting for her husband to come him from work.

Now and again she would glance up at the clock, but without anxiety, merely to please herself with the thought that each minute gone by made it nearer the time when he would come. There was a slow smiling air about her, and about everything she did. The drop of a head as she bent over her sewing was curiously tranquil. Her skin -for this was her sixth month with child-had acquired a wonderful translucent quality, the mouth was soft, and the eyes, with their new placid look, seemed larger darker than before. When the clock said ten minutes to five, she began to listen, and a few moments later, punctually as always, she heard the tires on the gravel outside, and the car door slamming, the footsteps passing the window, the key turning in the lock. She laid aside her sewing, stood up, and went forward to kiss him as he came in.

“Hullo darling,” she said.

“Hullo darling,” he answered.

She took his coat and hung it in the closer. Then she walked over and made the drinks, a strongish one for him, a weak one for herself; and soon she was back again in her chair with the sewing, and he in the other, opposite, holding the tall glass with both hands, rocking it so the ice cubes tinkled against the side.

For her, this was always a blissful time of day. She knew he didn’t want to speak much until the first drink was finished, and she, on her side, was content to sit quietly, enjoying his company after the long hours alone in the house. She loved to luxuriate in the presence of this man, and to feel-almost as a sunbather feels the sun-that warm male glow that came out of him to her when they were alone together. She loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, for the way he came in a door, or moved slowly across the room with long strides. She loved intent, far look in his eyes when they rested in her, the funny shape of the mouth, and especially the way he remained silent about his tiredness, sitting still with himself until the whiskey had taken some of it away.

“Tired darling?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m tired,” And as he spoke, he did an unusual thing. He lifted his glass and drained it in one swallow although there was still half of it, at least half of it left.. She wasn’t really watching him, but she knew what he had done because she heard the ice cubes falling back against the bottom of the empty glass when he lowered his arm. He paused a moment, leaning forward in the chair, then he got up and went slowly over to fetch himself another.

“I’ll get it!” she cried, jumping up.

“Sit down,” he said.

When he came back, she noticed that the new drink was dark amber with the quantity of whiskey in it.

“Darling, shall I get your slippers?”

“No.”

She watched him as he began to sip the dark yellow drink, and she could see little oily swirls in the liquid because it was so strong.

“I think it’s a shame,” she said, “that when a policeman gets to be as senior as you, they keep him walking about on his feet all day long.”

He didn’t answer, so she bent her head again and went on with her sewing; bet each time he lifted the drink to his lips, she heard the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass.

“Darling,” she said. “Would you like me to get you some cheese? I haven’t made any supper because it’s Thursday.”

“No,” he said.

“If you’re too tired to eat out,” she went on, “it’s still not too late. There’s plenty of meat and stuff in the freezer, and you can have it right here and not even move out of the chair.”

Her eyes waited on him for an answer, a smile, a little nod, but he made no sign.“Anyway,” she went on, “I’ll get you some cheese and crackers first.”

“I don’t want it,” he said.

She moved uneasily in her chair, the large eyes still watching his face. “But you must eat! I’ll fix it anyway, and then you can have it or not, as you like.”

She stood up and placed her sewing on the table by the lamp.

“Sit down,” he said. “Just for a minute, sit down.”

It wasn’t till then that she began to get frightened.

“Go on,” he said. “Sit down.”

She lowered herself back slowly into the chair, watching him all the time with those large, bewildered eyes. He had finished the second drink and was staring down into the glass, frowning.

“Listen,” he said. “I’ve got something to tell you.”

“What is it, darling? What’s the matter?”

He had now become absolutely motionless, and he kept his head down so that the light from the lamp beside him fell across the upper part of his face, leaving the chin and mouth in shadow. She noticed there was a little muscle moving near the corner of his left eye.“This is going to be a bit of a shock to you, I’m afraid,” he said. “But I’ve thought about it a good deal and I’ve decided the only thing to do is tell you right away. I hope you won’t blame me too much.”

And he told her. It didn’t take long, four or five minutes at most, and she say very still through it all, watching him with a kind of dazed horror as he went further and further away from her with each word.

“So there it is,” he added. “And I know it’s kind of a bad time to be telling you, bet there simply wasn’t any other way. Of course I’ll give you money and see you’re looked after. But there needn’t really be any fuss. I hope not anyway. It wouldn’t be very good for my job.”

Her first instinct was not to believe any of it, to reject it all. It occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t even spoken, that she herself had imagined the whole thing. Maybe, if she went about her business and acted as though she hadn’t been listening, then later, when she sort of woke up again, she might find none of it had ever happened.“I’ll get the supper,” she managed to whisper, and this time he didn’t stop her.

When she walked across the room she couldn’t feel her feet touching the floor. She couldn’t feel anything at all- except a slight nausea and a desire to vomit. Everything was automatic now-down the steps to the cellar, the light switch, the deep freeze, the hand inside the cabinet taking hold of the first object it met. She lifted it out, and looked at it. It was wrapped in paper, so she took off the paper and looked at it again.

A leg of lamb.

All right then, they would have lamb for supper. She carried it upstairs, holding the thin bone-end of it with both her hands, and as she went through the living-room, she saw him standing over by the window with his back to her, and she stopped.

“For God’s sake,” he said, hearing her, but not turning round. “Don’t make supper for me. I’m going out.”

At that point, Mary Maloney simply walked up behind him and without any pause she swung the big frozen leg of lamb high in the air and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head.

She might just as well have hit him with a steel club.

She stepped back a pace, waiting, and the funny thing was that he remained standing there for at least four or five seconds, gently swaying. Then he crashed to the carpet.The violence of the crash, the noise, the small table overturning, helped bring her out of he shock. She came out slowly, feeling cold and surprised, and she stood for a while blinking at the body, still holding the ridiculous piece of meat tight with both hands.

All right, she told herself. So I’ve killed him.

It was extraordinary, now, how clear her mind became all of a sudden. She began thinking very fast. As the wife of a detective, she knew quite well what the penalty would be. That was fine. It made no difference to her. In fact, it would be a relief. On the other hand, what about the child? What were the laws about murderers with unborn children? Did they kill then both-mother and child? Or did they wait until the tenth month? What did they do?

Mary Maloney didn’t know. And she certainly wasn’t prepared to take a chance.

She carried the meat into the kitchen, placed it in a pan, turned the oven on high, and shoved t inside. Then she washed her hands and ran upstairs to the bedroom. She sat down before the mirror, tidied her hair, touched up her lops and face. She tried a smile. It came out rather peculiar. She tried again.

“Hullo Sam,” she said brightly, aloud.

The voice sounded peculiar too.

“I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.”

That was better. Both the smile and the voice were coming out better now. She rehearsed it several times more. Then she ran downstairs, took her coat, went out the back door, down the garden, into the street.

It wasn’t six o’clock yet and the lights were still on in the grocery shop.

“Hullo Sam,” she said brightly, smiling at the man behind the counter.

“Why, good evening, Mrs. Maloney. How’re you?”

“I want some potatoes please, Sam. Yes, and I think a can of peas.”

The man turned and reached up behind him on the shelf for the peas.

“Patrick’s decided he’s tired and doesn’t want to eat out tonight,” she told him. “We usually go out Thursdays, you know, and now he’s caught me without any vegetables in the house.”

“Then how about meat, Mrs. Maloney?”

“No, I’ve got meat, thanks. I got a nice leg of lamb from the freezer.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t know much like cooking it frozen, Sam, but I’m taking a chance on it this time. You think it’ll be all right?”

“Personally,” the grocer said, “I don’t believe it makes any difference. You want these Idaho potatoes?”

“Oh yes, that’ll be fine. Two of those.”

“Anything else?” The grocer cocked his head on one side, looking at her pleasantly. “How about afterwards? What you going to give him for afterwards?”

“Well-what would you suggest, Sam?”

The man glanced around his shop. “How about a nice big slice of cheesecake? I know he likes that.”

“Perfect,” she said. “He loves it.”

And when it was all wrapped and she had paid, she put on her brightest smile and said, “Thank you, Sam. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Maloney. And thank you.”

And now, she told herself as she hurried back, all she was doing now, she was returning home to her husband and he was waiting for his supper; and she must cook it good, and make it as tasty as possible because the poor man was tired; and if, when she entered the house, she happened to find anything unusual, or tragic, or terrible, then naturally it would be a shock and she’d become frantic with grief and horror. Mind you, she wasn’t expecting to find anything. She was just going home with the vegetables. Mrs. Patrick Maloney going home with the vegetables on Thursday evening to cook supper for her husband.

That’s the way, she told herself. Do everything right and natural. Keep things absolutely natural and there’ll be no need for any acting at all.

Therefore, when she entered the kitchen by the back door, she was humming a little tune to herself and smiling.

“Patrick!” she called. “How are you, darling?”

She put the parcel down on the table and went through into the living room; and when she saw him lying there on the floor with his legs doubled up and one arm twisted back underneath his body, it really was rather a shock. All the old love and longing for him welled up inside her, and she ran over to him, knelt down beside him, and began to cry her heart out. It was easy. No acting was necessary.

A few minutes later she got up and went to the phone. She know the number of the police station, and when the man at the other end answered, she cried to him, “Quick! Come quick! Patrick’s dead!”

“Who’s speaking?”

“Mrs. Maloney. Mrs. Patrick Maloney.”

“You mean Patrick Maloney’s dead?”

“I think so,” she sobbed. “He’s lying on the floor and I think he’s dead.”

“Be right over,” the man said.

The car came very quickly, and when she opened the front door, two policeman walked in. She know them both-she know nearly all the man at that precinct-and she fell right into a chair, then went over to join the other one, who was called O’Malley, kneeling by the body.

“Is he dead?” she cried.

“I’m afraid he is. What happened?”

Briefly, she told her story about going out to the grocer and coming back to find him on the floor. While she was talking, crying and talking, Noonan discovered a small patch of congealed blood on the dead man’s head. He showed it to O’Malley who got up at once and hurried to the phone.

Soon, other men began to come into the house. First a doctor, then two detectives, one of whom she know by name. Later, a police photographer arrived and took pictures, and a man who know about fingerprints. There was a great deal of whispering and muttering beside the corpse, and the detectives kept asking her a lot of questions. But they always treated her kindly. She told her story again, this time right from the beginning, when Patrick had come in, and she was sewing, and he was tired, so tired he hadn’t wanted to go out for supper. She told how she’d put the meat in the oven-”it’s there now, cooking”- and how she’d slopped out to the grocer for vegetables, and come back to find him lying on the floor.

Which grocer?” one of the detectives asked.

She told him, and he turned and whispered something to the other detective who immediately went outside into the street.

In fifteen minutes he was back with a page of notes, and there was more whispering, and through her sobbing she heard a few of the whispered phrases-”...acted quite normal...very cheerful...wanted to give him a good supper…peas...cheesecake...impossible that she...”

After a while, the photographer and the doctor departed and two other men came in and took the corpse away on a stretcher. Then the fingerprint man went away. The two detectives remained, and so did the two policeman. They were exceptionally nice to her, and Jack Noonan asked if she wouldn’t rather go somewhere else, to her sister’s house perhaps, or to his own wife who would take care of her and put her up for the night.

No, she said. She didn’t feel she could move even a yard at the moment. Would they mind awfully of she stayed just where she was until she felt better. She didn’t feel too good at the moment, she really didn’t.

Then hadn’t she better lie down on the bed? Jack Noonan asked.

No, she said. She’d like to stay right where she was, in this chair. A little later, perhaps, when she felt better, she would move.

So they left her there while they went about their business, searching the house. Occasionally on of the detectives asked her another question. Sometimes Jack Noonan spoke at her gently as he passed by. Her husband, he told her, had been killed by a blow on the back of the head administered with a heavy blunt instrument, almost certainly a large piece of metal. They were looking for the weapon. The murderer may have taken it with him, but on the other hand he may have thrown it away or hidden it somewhere on the premises.

“It’s the old story,” he said. “Get the weapon, and you’ve got the man.”

Later, one of the detectives came up and sat beside her. Did she know, he asked, of anything in the house that could’ve been used as the weapon? Would she mind having a look around to see if anything was missing-a very big spanner, for example, or a heavy metal vase.

They didn’t have any heavy metal vases, she said.

“Or a big spanner?”

She didn’t think they had a big spanner. But there might be some things like that in the garage.

The search went on. She knew that there were other policemen in the garden all around the house. She could hear their footsteps on the gravel outside, and sometimes she saw a flash of a torch through a chink in the curtains. It began to get late, nearly nine she noticed by the clock on the mantle. The four men searching the rooms seemed to be growing weary, a trifle exasperated.

“Jack,” she said, the next tome Sergeant Noonan went by. “Would you mind giving me a drink?”

“Sure I’ll give you a drink. You mean this whiskey?”

“Yes please. But just a small one. It might make me feel better.”

He handed her the glass.

“Why don’t you have one yourself,” she said. “You must be awfully tired. Please do. You’ve been very good to me.”

“Well,” he answered. “It’s not strictly allowed, but I might take just a drop to keep me going.”

One by one the others came in and were persuaded to take a little nip of whiskey. They stood around rather awkwardly with the drinks in their hands, uncomfortable in her presence, trying to say consoling things to her. Sergeant Noonan wandered into the kitchen, come out quickly and said, “Look, Mrs. Maloney. You know that oven of yours is still on, and the meat still inside.”

“Oh dear me!” she cried. “So it is!”

“I better turn it off for you, hadn’t I?”

“Will you do that, Jack. Thank you so much.”

When the sergeant returned the second time, she looked at him with her large, dark tearful eyes. “Jack Noonan,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Would you do me a small favor-you and these others?”

“We can try, Mrs. Maloney.”

“Well,” she said. “Here you all are, and good friends of dear Patrick’s too, and helping to catch the man who killed him. You must be terrible hungry by now because it’s long past your suppertime, and I know Patrick would never forgive me, God bless his soul, if I allowed you to remain in his house without offering you decent hospitality. Why don’t you eat up that lamb that’s in the oven. It’ll be cooked just right by now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sergeant Noonan said.

“Please,” she begged. “Please eat it. Personally I couldn’t tough a thing, certainly not what’s been in the house when he was here. But it’s all right for you. It’d be a favor to me if you’d eat it up. Then you can go on with your work again afterwards.”

There was a good deal of hesitating among the four policemen, but they were clearly hungry, and in the end they were persuaded to go into the kitchen and help themselves. The woman stayed where she was, listening to them speaking among themselves, their voices thick and sloppy because their mouths were full of meat.

“Have some more, Charlie?”

“No. Better not finish it.”

“She wants us to finish it. She said so. Be doing her a favor.”

“Okay then. Give me some more.”

“That’s the hell of a big club the gut must’ve used to hit poor Patrick,” one of them was saying. “The doc says his skull was smashed all to pieces just like from a sledgehammer.”

“That’s why it ought to be easy to find.”

“Exactly what I say.”

“Whoever done it, they’re not going to be carrying a thing like that around with them longer than they need.”

One of them belched.

“Personally, I think it’s right here on the premises.”

“Probably right under our very noses. What you think, Jack?”

And in the other room, Mary Maloney began to giggle.

-Roald Dahl

"The Real Me"

I'm scared. See, I'm no longer me. I kept on chsnging untill i was somhing i didn't ever wwanna be. maybe this is the real me. but i wish the old me was the "Real me." That me, was creative and smart, and understanding, aand gracful. This me, is not. I dont like it. all of me, my creaticity my aitlity, my kindness, my thoughtffulness ran out. i have no more. And i can't go back, because ive gone to far forward. I cant go froward because forward is worse, however i will continue drifting that way. slowly slowly. untill i wount even remember the me i started out as. Ahhhhh....im stuck!

Climing out

They say if you can climp over the fence, you can diffinetely get out. Well, i completely disagree. Once your in, your stuck. You traped. You cant climb out. Its like addiction. Becoming addicted is easy, however, stopping, is hard. Its like falling into the void. Getting out is much harder. and yes, you can always climb out. But its to hard, it will suck everything out of you, and leave you different. So try not to climb in.

Im SO SORRRRRRRY

Have you ever done a stupid thing that you later regreted. Well i do, every day. More then once every day, i say something stupid to this person. And i regret it nd hate myself for it. And then i say another thing, a stupid thing, a mean thing, and i regret it. I am an addict. I AM ADDICTED TO BEING MEAN AND TORTURING THIS PERSON. IT IS CRUEL. IT IS MY ADDICTION. IT IS SICK. I NEED TO STOP. I CANT GO ON LIKE THIS. HOWEVER, I WILL NEVER STOP. I CANT. IT IS IMPOSSIBLE.

Human Behaivor

I find, that people as a whole, have a lot of similarities. Now this is not to say that all people are the same, or even that all people are simular, or even that all people have a thing or two in common. What i truely mean by this is that a large amount of people, maybe 60%, are the same in some ways. Now, this is a statement that many of you disagree with, i am sure. And yes, we are all extraordinarily different. We each have a character so diferent from everyone elses. Yes, there are no two people in this wworld who are the same, or even simular. However, have you ever though something, maybe a thought that made you feel guilty, that then you realized many people around you also think? I have. I have many times. It is not always a thought necassarily. It is sometimes a reaction, a feeling, a action. It can be anything. But there are some fundimental human responses. For instance, when confronted with a dangerous topic, a large percent of people like to avoid it. Now, there are the people who like to vear at it head on, but most people like to avoid thing that may be dangerous.
I could go on and on about htis opic for years. However, i would like to let this stew a bit before i shove more ununderstandable words into you head. More on this later!

Saturday

Saturdays are lazy. They are tired. They are endless. Saturdays means sitting in front of the computer doing nothing, waitng for people to geet online. Saturdays mean homework. It means unthoughtful homework. Saturdays mean movies. It means watching chick flicks. They mean inviting frineds over to live saturday with you. Saturday means big leftover lunch and small cheese and cracker dinner. It means eggleonbegle breakfast and lots of snack. Saturdays means park. It means organize. It means be bored. Saturdays are tiring. It is a sleepy day. And this is to say that the day itself is sleepy. It is tired and wants you to give it a break. Ahhhh saturday!

I can't think

I can't think. My mnd is going in circles. It is revolving around it. It is the worst thing ever. It is killing me. It is stoping me from thinking. I hate it. I hate it. I can't think. I can't think. I need it. I don't want it. I can't breath. My mind is fogged. IT IT IT!!!! IT It it.... ITTTTTTTTTTT! I've never felt so confused. So unsure. I've never had two oposite thing colide at strongly a they are now. IT IT IT!!!! IT It it.... ITTTTTTTTTT! Im circling. I can't live. I can't breath. IT. IT. it. IT. it. It is evil. It is destruction. It is It is It is. ****

If i could see the world from your eyes

Have you ever wondered how another person sees the world. i always do. i wonder if i were you, would blue be blue? I wonder if i were you, would this be this and that be that? If i were you, what would i be thinking? What would i say? And there is no way to find the answer to these questions. Because i am not you. And i never will be. This is a very wierd idea. See i have always wondered what if i had been born someone else? The funny thing is, i could not have been born someone else. I am me....in this body. I had only one cghance of being me. It is a hard concept to grasp.....how close mind and body are.

Snow Day

I remember my last snow day. Its a vague memory. I was itting (this was in second grade) looking outside my window at the beautiful white scenery and my mom came in and said "you don't have school."
That was years ago. Today was my first snow day since then. It was amazing. I played ion the snow from 11-2 and then came home and had hot chocolate and pizza with my firends, my sisters friendss, and my brothers friends. It was amazing. We sleded on a really steep hill, though i only went down that one once. We made snow angels on untouched fluf. AHH....perfection. It was like being young again (and yes i know im still young, but you know what i mean) I love the snow. I love winter. It was beautiful. It was fun. It was magical. After playing in the snow and pizza, i hung out with some friends. Then i went to have a fondue party at another friends house. It was absolutely DELICIOUS. The only thing that could have made today better would have been the absence of people. I dont mean to be all snobby, but the times where im happiest and i have the most fun are when i am by myself. Thats just me. IT WAS AMAZING THOUGH. OH....BEAUTIFUL SNOW DAY.

Doctor Zhivago

I just finnished watching Doctor Zhivago. It is my mom's favorite movie and i can see why she likes it. It isn't my favorite movie, or even close, but i thought it was very interesting. It is a sad story, and it is kinda creepy at some parts, but it is full of love to. The photography was absolutely excellent. The scenes were shot very nicely and the scenery was beautiful though also a little creepy. The story is very confusing and detailed. There are lots of characters with names that i cannot rememeber for the life of me. It is a good movie for a winter day, though make it one where you have nothing to do because the movie iS 3 hours and 20 min. Okay okay enough of my movie reveiw. Point is, good, sad movie that you should watch.

Happiness

Me and MountainSpirit were talking today. I'm a very passive person. I let things pass by me and try to stay happy and not cause trouble. MountainSpirit (sry id link you to her blog, but a. i don't know how, and b. shes the only one who reads my blog anyway) is not. She likes to fight things out and she ussually wins. Shes strong and powerful. I admire it greatly, but it just doesn't work for me. For me if somethings bothering me, i gentely confront it and then i let it pass by, and i try to remain heppy. Today somethings were pissing me off. I wasn't happy about it, but what good does being unhappy do for you? So I smiled and made myslef happy and soon i was very happy. MountainSpirit realized that i was pissed and she came up to me and said "you're pretending to be happy, but your really not" (well something like that...sorry if i have the words wrong!!!) And the truth was, i was happy. At first, i had to push away my anger to make myself happy, but at that point i was happy. I told her this and she said that it wasn't true happiness then, if it was forced. In a way i agree with this. You shouldn't have to force yourself to be happy. But i did and it made me happy. I like being happy. I like letting things go, and i enjoyed myself, even though i should have been angry and aggressive. However, i am passive.

Labeling is commiting and condeming yourself to bad things.

I try to aviod putting labels on other perople, myself, and relashonships. Some lables are okay. And they are okay when used to define. However, when i label something i find its restricting. Im going to use "best friends" as an example. Labeling someone as your best friend, esspecially when they label you as the same thing, can be comforting. However, soon you will be so atached to that comfort you will run after it. Things happen. You guys arn't so close anymore. Haing the lable "BFF" stuck to your forheads is gonna make it painful and hard. However if youre not commited to the person, you can break apart easily and slip together just as. Am i making any sence here?
Oh yeah! I know i can't spell. And i know i make a lot of typoes. Begging forgivness!

Guys

I used to be under the fulse impression that girls were nicer then guys. I used to think that men were terrible, evil, and mean. And some are. I don't like to steryotype, so im not gonna say anything about guys or girls as a whole, or at least im gonna try not to. However, mosot guys I've met are so much easier to get along with then girls. They are easy to talk to, once you get over the uncomfortableness. The ones ive met (and not all of them, just some) are friendly, they dont judge, they dont hiss and bight. Girls (or the ones ive met and known well) fight and bight, an complain and take a lot of effort to be friends with. If i could do life over again, id try to be more friendly to guys and not think they were all monsters who were mean. Id befreind them, and not have to put up with the bighting. Id be a guy girl. And sure, there are some problms to only being friends with guys, but once you get over the fact that they are guys (*omg!! guys!!!!!*) its so much easier. If only.
p.s. im not steryotyping....there are plenty of bitchy guys and tons of really nice girls!!!

Lonliness

Have you ever felt like your missing something, but you just can't place it? Well thats what i feel like now. Im deffinatly missing something. Maybe its the breeze of the cool night sky that makes you feel unbarably happy, or maybe its the love is spread through the air in spring time, or maybe its spying on cute guys with your sister, or maybe it eating icescream in the rain, or maybe its the thought of having a comforting arm wrapped around your shoulder, or maybe its the snow and the snow angels, or maybe its the birds chirpping songs that you feel like you know, or maybe its the wind wipping you face as you glide across a rink on skates, or maybe its the feeling of swinging high into the air on a beah at night looking up at the full moon, or maybe its having a lemonade stand in the park in the summer, or maybe its dancing in a sweaty class room, or maybe its running on the beach where the waves crash in the sand, or maybe it feeling content in everyway possible, or maybe its trying to grab ther stars on a starry starry night, or maybe its picking vegetables that you will later , or maybe its running in the medow catching dreams, or maybe its letting the cool rain splash your face as you stand absolutely still, or maybe its having a tea party at the bottom of a pool, or maybe its all of it.

If i could fly

If i could fly, I'd go up high
and sore through the sky.

Spinning

In 5th grade i wrote a poem. It was for a class, and iit wasn't very good. But there is one line a like. (Sorry i can't find the poem)
The line is:
"Imagine a time when the world would spin and we would stay in line"
I like this line, because i think it explains humans in a very interesting way. The Earth spins. Its constantly going around itself. When you put omething on top of something else, and then spin the bottom somthing, the top something also spins. I think thats what happened to human kind. The earth spun and we spun with it. Thats why were so screwy. I worte a story about the Earth spinning, and why it does spin. Agian not so good, but if you want to read it, go ahead.

Mother Earth’s Fury Dance

Once upon a time, long ago, in a far away place, lived a village. The village was simple, but it was filled with a homey feeling. Travelers were welcomed and treated like the gods, men planted abundant fields of wheat, and children played about the fields helping their parents harvest crops. The women wove intricate blankets, which were scattered around their humble abodes. They cooked sweet loaves of bread, soaked with honey. The girls learned the trades of their mothers and did the same fine tasks for their diligent husbands. The officious boys learned from their fathers, eager for their praise. The luscious fields were constantly sprouting new life, and only turned to a lusterless brown in the winter. The birds gave beautiful song to the people of the village in return for the food that they scattered around their houses. The other animals came and went, always welcomed by the jovial villagers. It was a lively kind of place, one which was never disturbed by a child’s angry outburst.
That is, until a small boy about five, who looked hungry, tired, and abandoned, passed through the village. Like all other travelers, he was welcomed into the small homes of the accommodating people for a rich meal. The people, who had taken the boy in, were a young couple. They, like the rest of the town were hard-working and compassionate, but the gods had not blessed them with the comfort of a child, to carry on the family name. So after hearing of the unfortunate killing of the boy’s parents, they took the boy in, loving him more than they would their own child. But the boy bestowed upon them a few concerns. The boy had come from a town nearby, a town where the people fought to win, a town where the people had taken for granted the sun and the moon and the plentiful food. A town where the people hunted animals, so their heads could hang on the walls of their boisterous homes, flaunting the hunter’s skills. The town had few morals in common with the couple’s village. But the couple tried not to worry, hoping that the boy would learn from nurture and not nature. And so the boy grew up under his loving parents’ care, but he still showed signs of aggression. For one thing, the boy would often treat other kids as slaves, telling them to do to do his chores. For another, he took play-fighting much too seriously, often resulting in the other one’s tears. And for yet another thing, he was uncouth. He would disregard his parents’ requests, telling them he had no wish to work the fields or fetch water. But his parents’ skimmed over these appalling traits, and focused on the small portion of good in the child.
When the child had grown into an arrogant young man, he began to question the ways of his village. He had learned to have some care for the village, and wanted it to thrive even more. But much to the aversion of the village, to the young man thriving meant accumulating money and land. So the young man made a proposal to the village. He would create an army, and they together would fight and conquer other land. They would set the survivors of their attack to work on the land, and the village would become more prosperous. The villagers listened to his proposal, rage in their eyes. They did not hide their abhor of his plan and started to roar at the young man, who in return was angry at the villagers for loathing his plan. When the villagers calmed down, the young man spoke furiously, “I will then thrive on my own, and I will leave you here to be conquered by the boy you raised. I will have my own town, bigger than the country. I will have wealth and good fortune of my own! And those who come with me to build up an army will be spared when I come for revenge!” The man spoke with no regret. The man only thought of fortune.
The young man stayed true to his words. He left the village with no remorse, taking with him some other young men who looked for the good fortune he had promised. His parents watched him go, torn between their son, and their morals. The man went and settled on a bare piece of land. The man built up a village and an army, and soon was ready to do what he had set out to do. Together with his followers, he attacked village after village, killing, looting, and obliterating. The young man, who was no longer so young, kept on conquering and killing until he ruled at least half of the country.
Mother Earth watched this man, with fury bubbling inside her. She watched him kill children and families, all for his own fortune. And then she watched as the man set out to attack another village. He set out with his massive army and headed for the village where he had been raised. The small boy, who had grown into a potent man, destroyed his village. He killed his neighbors and ruined his home. And then with his eyes turned to a bolt of anger, he impassively swiped his sword though the throat of the woman who raised him. Mother Earth bellowed with rage. “This sinful man is no longer worthy of even his own life,” she thought.
Mother Earth then started spinning. She spun slowly at first but then picked up her speed. She spun and she spun, moving in circles so fast, it knocked the man’s army to the ground. The others on the earth, given warning, sat tied to trees on the twirling planet. But the man and his army were being whipped around with the earth. Faster and faster the Mother Earth revolved. The man cried out, clutching with all his might to the ground. He clung to the Earth as she whirled about. He pleaded with her, asking for forgiveness of his sins. But Mother Earth would not cease her wrath. All the other planets watched her furious dance, awed by the anger. Again and again she circled, waiting for the man to let go. But he held on firmly. So she danced faster and faster until the wind and the speed forced the wicked man to let go. He was flung off Mother Earth and he flew into the darkness. Mother Earth finally slowed down. She slowed down until her spinning was not noticeable. But she never stopped spinning. To remind us to not be greedy, she has never stopped her dance since.

SHUT UP AND LISTEN!

People don't listen. They hear things. They always hear things. And they always say things. Now, when i say people, I'm included. I'm one of those people, like 99.9% of the people on this planet who don't listen enough. I do listen more then some people though. This 99.9% of people don't all love to speak. Many do love to speak, many love to think, many love to hear. Listening however is rare. Listening is when you hear something, but you don't just let it fly past your mind. Listening is when you take it in, everything about it, the way its spoken, the tone, the words, the accent, the sentance, the timing. When you think about all that, listening is understanding the reason for all those different things. And when i say this i don't mean overanilize and tell people what their thinking. I mean, try to understand where those words are coming from. And half the time, you won't really understand that, but soon you will understand more and more. Also, people do this thing called talking. And they say all these words that don't have any meaning to them. Words are amazingly precious, use them wisely. Every word you say should have some meaning, however little that meaning is. And believe it or not, the more words you say, the less sence they make. This post for example. I'm using WAY to many words. At this point your mind is probably going in crazy circles. So, i will leave it at this: Listen, understand what people are saying. Talk only when you have something to say.

Why I Blog

Why do most people blog?... i have no idea. However, i know why i blog. I don't blog for other people to read my thoughts. In fact, nobody does really read this blog, and i went to extreme efforts to make it that way. I don't want really anybody besides my friends inside of my head.I blog because it's a way to organize my thoughts. Thinking is very fun for me. I enjoy thinking and figuring out what i thnk about things. But i rarely do this, because there is no insentive for me to really figure stuff out. With blogging however, i need o think about things. And i enjoy it....so that is why i blog!

Why can't I be in two places at once!

HAPPY V-DAY EVERYONE. XOXOXO
Today, at approximetly 4 pm im leaving to connecticut. My cousins own a country house there which me and my famly are going to. Were going to ski one day while were there, but the others were gonna hang out and try not to do all the things my mom wants us to. I love connecticut. Especially in the winter. It's cold, but warm and comfortble. It's beautiful. Its the country. I'm a city girl wo loves the city, and the country. But i can't be completely happy in either one. When I'm in the country for more then a few days, i long for the bustling, disgusting city. When I'm in the city, i long for the relaxing beautiful country. I wish i could be in two places at the same time. Or i wish i could live in the country within a city. But anyway, I'm excited to go to the country for a few days. I need a break.

"Life is like a maze: most turns you make lead to dead ends" - Melli

LOVE

Valintines day is coming up soon, and I've been thinking about love. Yes, there are tons of different types of love. However, I'm talking about the one that makes your head spin, makes your life hell, and is what you live for. I could be my ussual self, and talk about how terrible love is, and how it only inflicts pain, and all about why its gonna end up making your life hell. And, half of the time, it is. But, so what! Love is the thing that keeps us alive. All of the types of love, is what keeps us alive. When we give love and when we get love, it makes us happy, makes us want to live. Love is probably the best and worst thing that can ever happen to people. I am a believer that love can't come without hate. You can't really love those people who you dont hate. (When i say hate, i don't mean detest with all of your mind. Hate might have once been a strong word, but it is no longer. We use it to much for it to be a strong word.) I guess if i was being my ussual self i would ask, "yeah, but is it worth all that hate to love?" I think it is. Love and hate are both really tiring. They leave you weak at the end of the day. It takes so much effort to love. And since hate is part of love, that takes effort to. But i wouldn't say try to love more and hate less, because once you stop hating, you stop loving.
So my advice to all of you who probably don't wanna hear it, is for this v-day, LOVE as much as possible and HATE as much as possible. And although it will take everything out of you, thats life.

Whats up with the seasons?!

Its February 1st, as you have probably noticed. February is the middle month of winter bassically. And when its 50 something degrees out on the first day of february, something is really wrong. Today i was walking with my dad in the park to go skating, (which is, by the way, a winter activity, and therfore should be done in the cold) and i was looking around me. All the ice was melting, the snow was watery and slushy. I was wearing the jacket that i reserve for those day that you feel like you should probably be wearing one even though you dont want to. It was all wrong. I didn't like it. It made me feel out of place, clostraphobic in a way. The temperature isn't supposed to go from 28 degrees to 58 in two days! What happened to WINTER!
Dont answer that, I know. Global Warming happened to winter.

Dandelions

A while ago, when i was making my first blog (which turned out to be very unsucsessful) my friend was helping me make up a title. She told me to close my eyes, shake my head, and then write down the first thing that came to mind. It didn't work. A while later i deleted the blog, which i had finally named, "Why is the sky Blue?"
Today another friend was telling me to make a blog. So i did. When it came to that page where it says to create a name for my blog, i was stuck. So i closed my eyes and shook my head... and BAM. Toppling Dandelions. That is how my blog got it's name. I love dandelions. Not so much when they're all pretty and yellow, but when they're old and they have those beautiful white snow flake petals attached to them. I love blowing those snow petals into the clear sky on a warmish day and watching them get carried away by the wind. It's beautiful. I used to think my favorite flower was a sunflower, well untill about a day ago, but now i realize it's a dandelion. The amazing thing about a dandelion, is it gets old. Most flowers are young and then they die. Not dandelions. Dandelions start young and fresh and beautiful and they grow old and white and beautiful. Mabe its like aging. Old is beautiful sometimes.
Sorry. I'll post a picture of a dandelion when i figure it out.