The Road

I'm walking on a road. It's a good road, one I've been on for quite a while now. I'm not sure where it goes or when it will end, but I know that it keeps on going for a long time. So I keep walking.

But there's a problem. Occasionally, a path will branch off from the main road. A long time ago I used to go down these paths. Just for a little while. Then I'd realize that I didn't really want to go down it anymore. And that I needed to stay on the road. So now I try my best to stay away from the paths.

I have kept to the road for a few years now. The paths have been sparse, and easy to ignore. But now...

I am faced with another path. What's the problem with that? I've ignored paths before. It shouldn't be an issue. And it almost isn't. But...

I think it might become one. I keep slipping toward this path. And every time, I turn my feet deliberately back to the road and try to walk. But then I slip again. It's frustrating. It's not a bad path, but I can't go down it. I need to keep to the road.

I know that in time I will get by the path and continue along the road. It's just difficult at the moment.

It Is Not The End

So, with the beginning of school, a whole new era also begins. The question is: is this year going to be different? Are lessons that were learned during the golden age bright enough to last through the dark? Is the tender new growth strong enough to weather the winds?
The incredible coruscation that was my summer hopes that yes, yes, forever yes! I can never be the same.
But I fear.
I fear that apathy and doubt will once again pull me under. I can't live with apathy. It is the furthest thing from my being. Yet perpetually it draws me into it. Simply because I lack either courage or knowledge to act. And without action, the slow paralysis of this cursed anathema takes control.
"There will be pain for us all; but it will not be all pain, nor will this pain be the last."

My hair.

Yes, I know it's sideways. And a weird pose.
I have synthetic dreadlocks braided into my real hair which you can see at the top of my head. They are not the best quality, as they are manufactured instead of handmade, but I like them.

A secret now told to the world:

Hmmm.... I have decided to let you in on a secret. Lean in a little closer, and listen to my tale. No, that's too close, I have personal space issues. That's better. I once had a love, and a year or two past, this is what occurred in relation to the one called Jerry Walllace:
It was a fair day, not too sunny, not too otherwise, and I had taken it upon myself to investigate a mysterious auditory sensory perception that had caught my attention outside the mansion that belongs to the family Prince. A bird of prey (perhaps a falcon or gosling) had taken flight high above, and in traveling, dropped some item on the ground. What I saw caused me to almost faint dead away, from the sheer un-logic and horror that lay before my unbelieving eyes. A crumpled form lay on the dirt, gasping, vision orbs glazed in pain and shock. My tender heart could not stand there as one crueler might have done, declining to help the poor fellow. As soon as my voice re-entered the region of my vocal chords, I let out a cry to all who could hear. Help me save him, I bade them, and a great multitude gathered 'round his prone form. Comprehending the tragedy that was dying there on the ground, they and I exploded into action, calling for bandages, sterilized water to wash the dirt away, oxygen for his failing lungs to breathe, and a stretcher to lay him in. Some time during the frenzy, his eyes and mine interlocked for a moment, exchanging meaning and gratitude. We knew, amidst the chaos, that love had brought us together. The moment did not last long, for he was still near death. We took him upon the stretcher and carried him gently and with haste to the nearest hospital. The nurses said that there was not much to be done for him there, the hospice was far too small and ill-equipped to handle a case such as this. He was taken away to a more professional place by helicopter, and as tears stung my wind-whipped eyes, we said our farewells, hoping against every fate that would keep us away from each other for eternity. I loved this Jerry Walllace, but, it breaks my heart to say, I never saw him again, and, as I had to return to my own homeland, could not wait for him at the property of the grand family Prince.
"You came from the sky, and landed in my heart. I love thee, Jerry Walllace."

.

The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance makes me feel like someone is digging a grave in my heart.
I..... don't really know any other way to explain it.
And this post doesn't really have any other point.

Iraqi spotlight?

My saturday was almost wasted. My dad decided to have me re-arrange leaves one the front lawn for four hours. And then cart them all the way to the back yard. My back yard and front yard are pretty far apart.
Alexa had a German Spotlight party. It was amazing. I love that game. It's like flashlight tag and capture the flag, without a flag. It was dark and there were cupcakes.
I got a beautiful skeleton zip-up hoodie. Sammy was saying something about me swimming in acid and it ate away all my flesh, and another girl thought she said I was doing acid.
I'm going to Vegas. For spring break. My dad just decided that. I don't really know what we're going to do there.
My hair is very purple. But now this random patch is fading. And I don't want it to turn pinky-yellow or whatever it fades to. So I need to touch it up.

Showbread, purple hair, and coffee.

If Jason had waited five minutes, Emily and I wouldn't be stuck at home. It's really boring here. I wish I could drive. Or at least go questing on the trails. But my mom's scared of them and won't let me go. She's showing my aunt and uncle houses. I want coffee. And a Showbread CD. And a book. Preferably one by Andrew Schwab. I'm going to dye my hair purple. All of it. And I might do this cool horizontal stripe-thing called a coontail. I really want to dye my sister's hair burgundy. And I want to dye Lauren's hair blue. She's got perfect hair for it. I think dying your hair is addictive. But it's so fun! I made a mocha. But I can't listen to Mouth Like a Magazine because Emily's watching tv. Showbread reminds me of Family Force 5, but with more makeup, less crunk, and less ego. And not southern. All good things in my book. I like guys in makeup. Unless they look like a girl. There's a fine line. Between eyeliner and guyliner. Just no sparkles, please. And NO HANNAH MONTANNA, EMILY! Oh, my bad, it's Miley Cyrus. Like it makes a difference. I saw Pirates Who Don't Do Anything on Sunday. It was fun. We're walking rocks, we're walking rocks, we don't wear any shoes or socks. I'm going to just randomly sing that. In public. I like it when people think I'm psychotic. I've always suspected that I am.