It was cold again today, but with less snow on the ground. The house smells like burning plastic because the thermostat got blown out while the repairmen were working on the heater. At least, I think that's why. My family and I hope that we'll be able to notice if something else starts burning now.
I watched Persuasion with my Mom, and I liked it. Sometimes she had to explain what was going on, but I understood most of it. Jane Austen writes the most amazing marriage proposals ever, whether they're good or bad. This one was very good, and very satisfying. Throughout the movie I wanted Anne to yell, "Shut up! You are all idiots and I don't like you! Now, excuse me while I go marry my sexy sailor man!"
Anne, of course, would never say things like this. She is much too soft-spoken.

It was cold today, bitterly, painfully cold. I did not enjoy the drive to school. My hands began to hurt. I'm still way behind on my homework for some classes. I did get some stuff done for the production of Pride & Prejudice, though. Well, I reserved the auditorium for auditions, anyway. Ally, my co-director thinks we should set in the 1950's. That would be so cool, and the costumes would be fun without being too difficult, like they would if we set it in the right time period. I can just see the dastardly Mr. Wickham in army greens, and Mr. Darcy with his hair slicked back. I need to read the book again, to remember plot and how the characters are supposed to act. I'm so excited, it will be so much fun!

I actually really like my job. It pays well, is fairly simple, has flexible hours and my boss is really nice and actually pretty cool. I make no bones about it, she's cooler than me. (Not that it takes much to accomplish that.) I even like the parking in the parking garage across the street! It's right next to the hospital so a lot of doctors park there also. Once I parked across the aisle from the surgeon who had operated on my arm. It's nice how egalitarian that is, how I, with my beat up, old Mazda, can park right next to a surgeon's shiny new car. (Not all of the doctor's cars are shiny, of course, some are even older than mine!)
Right now I'm depersonalizing the surveys from a clinical trial. I get to take a big sharpie and cross out people's names and stuff. It makes me feel like I'm part of some big government conspiracy, even though it's really just for their privacy.
Well, I'm going to try to write every day in this thing, since it's easier to remember than a paper journal. Right now I've got Government homework to catch up on. I've been blowing it off for over two weeks. Oops!

I have a cold. I do not like it. It makes it difficult to sleep and even harder to wake up. I am always thirsty because I can't breath through my nose. I do not like sneezing. I went to fanfiction.net for the first time in at least a year today. They still have very few Borderland stories, which is surprising. The books practically encourage you to write your own.
Watched Death Note last night. Is it bad that I watch it because I think it's funny? (It's just so over-dramatic.) Maybe that's why I don't find Misa so annoying. My friend hates her. I like her stuffed animals, they are so cute! She also brings out the evil manipulator in Light (like it needed help) and that's always fun to see.
I don't like writing about myself to much. It's so much easier to write about other things. I should start applying to scholarships. If I don't I'll be crushed by debt. Eek!

My Doll
I just thought this was cute. I tried to make it look as much like me as I could, I think I did a decent job. It helps, on these anime-style doll makers, that my eyes are close to unnaturaly big in real life. Actually, I think it's really just my pupils. Apparently their like twice the size of the average persons. Hah, it gives me cat-like vision, bitches. (Or, maybe not.)

Blind Melon was the first band that I remember knowing the name of, I think I was about four. The song was "No Rain" known to me as the bumblebee song, from the girl in the video who dressed like one. It may or may not be a coincidence that I dressed as a bumblebee for one of my first Haloweens. My dad played the song all the time (it was he who was actually the fan of the band, I just liked the song) and it was my second favorite song after Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. It was years before I heard the full song played by the original artists but I knew most of the lyrics by heart. And all I can do is just pour some tea for two, and speak my point of view though it's not sane. The words would jump into my head as if from nowhere and I would be cheered up. How could I not be? It's the bumblebee song.

1. Dances aren't that fun when there are only 35 people.
2. When there are only 35 people it is actually less scary to start dancing on the table than the dance (gym) floor.
3. Realizing that everybody at the dance just had aa perfect view of you and your cohort clumsily dancing on the table isn't as embarrasing as it seems.
4. Cafeteria tables are surprisingly sturdy, but they make your shoues sticky.
5. IHOP with ten people is fun, and seems busy. (It's all about concentration, not actual mass.)
6. The endless pot of coffee, while tasty and economical, is not to be ordered at 10 p.m.
7. Splenda shots may actually raise your blood sugar. (Though that could have been the tortilla chips.)
8. Always make sure to drive on the right side of the road. If you realize that you are not, correct this as soon as possible.
9. 28 sugars can fit into four cups of coffee. (I didn't do this personally, I just counted the results.)
10. It's useless to try to go to sleep if you can't remember how many cups of coffee you drank.
11. Gogaia.com puzzles and games roughly approximate the sensation of REM sleep.
12. If driving roughly 18 hours after the formentioned visit to IHOP, without having slept, keep an eye on the road.
13. If you hit a curb keep while driving the explanation simple. i.e. "I hit a curb." Going into more detail will make you sound stoned.

Well, that's what I learned this weekend. The dance wasn't that fun, but afterwards was. And Sunday I got to see SHS's "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying", which was fun. I actually stayed awake, the show was really good! (It also contained two moments of Borat quotes, "Very nice, how much?")

I keep adding "e"s to my words. Like randome. I do it when I write and when I type. It's kind of weird. I feel like a total waste. I had a half day today and I didn't do anything that even resembled being productive. Whatever.
I really just wanted to show off my new icon. I think it's cute. His name is Clyde. He is from a web-comic called Vampirates, which is Canadian.
Sometimes my own geekiness amazes me.
Going to exercise now so I won't have to take any insulin with dinner. That's something productive. Yay! Maybe I'll even do my homework later.

I like toast, but I don't have it very often. It takes to long to make most mornings, so I have cereal instead. Cereal is sweet, yummy, and more easily formatted into a 45 carb diabetic friendly breakfast. Toast is only really good with jelly or jam, and the no-sugar added jam I tastes like crap. We do have some really awesome strawberry preserves that leaps over my sugar limit. It's like someone mushed up strawberries with sugar.... it's ambrosia in a jar.
I'm kind of a toast snob. I don't like other people to make my toast because they leave it in the toaster to long. I like it browned and warm, but still squishy on the inside. Like a marshmallow. I also love whole wheat toast. The more grains the merrier! I started eating it a few years ago and now white bread tastes way to bland to me. Though it's still good for pb&js and grilled cheese.
I also think toast can be really cute. I think I saw a person dressed up in a toast costume once. It was adorable. Then there's Liz's coin purse. It's a plushie loaf of toast/bread with a smily face on it, and it's polka-dotty on the inside, like the wonderbread labels. Everytime I see it I feel my spirits lifted, because if a toast purse exists in this world than at least something is going right.

I need to sleep. I hate having to wake up early. I am definitely not a morning person, I'm barely a noon person. Whatever, school would suck no matter what. Fucking social anxiety. Fucking paranoia inducing gossipy bithces. Fucking AP exams... especially chemistry... that skank-whore.
But at least there is a toast purse out there, so it's really not all that bad.

In a sudden blinding light of realization I have finally come to see that epiphanies are total crap. That moment when things finally click, and the light bulb turns on. (Or the candle is lit, if you happen to be opposed to global modernization.) In my experiance this moment has never been a life changing experiance.
It is possible that this is because I am 17, and I don't yet have the maturity or tools that it takes to really change my life. I've barely established it in the first place, so any changes can easily be encorporated into the few things that have already been designed. However, I have had moments where I suddenly grasp something. I would at first believe this to be some turning point, where I would assert myself as not just another sheep, but show that I was someone who would try thier darndest to change the world. I would see that my current life, school, television, friends, all that, was pointless and mundane. I was identical to millions of other people my age. This would be reaffirmed whenever I saw a show that included a shy, bookish, possibly sarcastic character. My quick identification with these characters was bittersweet. I liked them instantly, which would make the show more interesting, but I would often try to measure myself up to these archetypes, and I would fall short. I wasn't that smart, or useful, and it would take a lot more than just contacts and a makeover for me to get noticed. (I've tried.) I had the negatives without as many positives.
My favorite of any of these characters was George (short for Georgia) on the Shotime program, Dead Like Me. She was introverted, uncertain, apathetic, and lost, often ending up messing things up horribly because of these things. I liked her, and the show, immensly, but it made me have to own up to something; I am not unique. I was a freshman when I started watching, and I thought that no one had been through quite what I was going through. Logically I knew this wasn't true, and had quite a few epiphanies about it, but I still felt like I was alone. One of these lightbulbs was triggered by an episode of Dead Like Me, where George is complaining about her recent demise and all that it entails, and is essentially told to deal with it. However the actual understanding of this concept came slowly, despite counseling. Eventually I just had to grow into it.
What I'm trying to say, or was trying to say before I got distracted by examples, is that things normally don't just shift and reverse, they change gradually in a series of realizations and slow changes. Many epiphanies aren't followed through, like my sudden decision one day to join a hippie commune in the hill of the Rocky Mountains, where I would knit and read books to children.

If you have happened to have an actual epiphany recently and would like to devote you're life to fixing a problem may I offer a few suggestions?
Darfur, Guantanamo Bay.... Don't you hate when you forget something really, really, important. Maybe this is why epiphanies don't work for me, I forget them... and I'm lazy. Oh! Child labor standards, especially for domestics. They get crap treatment, normally they don't have any government protection at all. Also children who are illegal immigrants, but raised in the US can't get college degrees. There's this thing that some people are trying to get passed the Dream Act, that would let them go, and get funding and on campus job, and then a green card when they get their diploma.

I listened to... 5 1/2 hours of This American Life this weekend. Saturday was my first time sitting through an entire program, that was the one that included the thing about the Dream Act. I need to do some research into it. See what it says and stuff. There was another one that I listened to on the website about Guantanamo Bay, Habeus Schmabeus, about this guy who was held in there for five years. The official charge was that a friend of his had been a suicide bomber. Said friend currently lives in Germany. The guy thinks he was there because he angered some officials through a satirical magazine. Either way from age 18 to 23 he was put through hell until they finally decided that no, he wasn't a terrorist, and let him go. Dammit, now I'm pissed again. It's to late to be angry. I hate that it's happening. I hate that I feel powerless. I hate that I'm putting off looking for ways to help until later, and I spent the last few hours playing videogames. However, that's how I am, along with millions of others, and I can only hope that I will slowly improve. Maybe one day I'll be at a point where I can have an epiphany and actually do something about it.

Yes, that's right, I resorted to violence, and am quite pleased with myself.
I'm sure you know people, and probably have at least one friend that makes you think, on occasion, "I would really like to hit this bitch across the face right now." I have such a friend, whom I see pretty much every day, and pretty much every day she annoys me. Often it's not her problem. Since she drives me to school in the morning, and I am far, far off from being a morning person. She, however, likes to talk, and talk, and listens to the same radio station that I don't care for all that much. These differences are normal, and generally don't anger me too badly, though they make me see the benefits of getting my own car.
There are, of course, occasions when she says or does things that do bother me very much. Normally she's being extensively silly about a boy, and while the temptation is great, I am able to restrain myself. Last Friday she crossed the line. She voiced that she was worried because she now weighed more then, I suggest you prepare yourself for the astonishing figure, 100 pounds! Not having weighed that much myself since the fifth grade, at least, and considering the prior strikes against her, I believe that I was perfectly justifies in semi-jokeingly smacking that bitch. (A term I use with all due respect, as she really isn't that bad of a person, just... silly sometimes.) She complained a bit that it hurt, as she was wearing glasses at the time, but I really don't care.
I am not a good person to complain to about small things. It is unlikely to happen again, but it is possible, so don't complain to me about your weight, or that you pricked you finger, or can't chose a prom date. If you do I may, once again, have to smack a bitch.

I'm tired, and sick, and possibly coming down with a flu, but I feel like writing something and I'm to lazy to open up a new document, so I'll write it here.

I think that if my cats were people they'd be in the Italian mafia, both trying to fight their way to the top. Only not doing so well because Cici's a crack addict and Carter is a lazy stoner. They'd each have their own gang of thugs, which would fight each other (possibly to music), even though they both work for the same don. (Who is their biological father.)

Bleh. I feel like crap. I don't want to go to school tomorrow. Maybe I won't.

So there's this bird and it hops down on my shoulder and says, "Hey, bitch! What did you do to my bread crumbs?"
I look over at it, puzzled, "What bread crumbs?" I was a little uneasy with it sitting on my shoulder like that, definitely a violation of personal space.
"You know what I'm talking about! I saw you eat them!"
"I don't think I did," I said, shrugging my shoulder a little, hoping that she'd move, "I don't really like bread crumbs."
She seemed pretty mad, but then just flew off, squawking under her breath. That's when I remembered that birds couldn't talk. I checked my watch, thinking that for some reason it would reveal the answer, and in a way it did. Upon the clock's face were the words "Hugs Not Drugs" emblazoned in an annoying bright pink. I sighed and made a mental note that if I ever went over the Wendy's again I wouldn't have any tea.

I think the flu is spreading to my brain.

I just realized that I haven't posted this year yet, so Happy New Year! Not that anyone reads my journal, except Jaz occasionally, but I have a paper to write and I'm stalling. I thought the English prison system would be all sordid and interesting, but no. Only traitors get tortured and most of the books I've got only mention them in passing. (Whore-authors.)

On that subject, If Bush jr. didn't have a rich, prezzy, daddy he would currently be selling his body to strangers in the night for crack. (Or maybe heroin, I'm just guessing here.) Mother of Sanity, I do not like that man. Much to heavy on the God thing, and defineitely light on morality and the sanctity of human life. Can't kill unsentient fetesus, but let's go to war, killing soldiers and throwing Iraq into even more chaos! (I believe that life begins with the development of the nervous system, so I'm pro-choice on early term abortions. The later they are the more necessary to the health of mom&kid they have to be.)

All this has been said a million times, and I'm not all that well informed. (It's sad how lazy I am. I won't even take the time to see what's happening in my own country.) So this has been a pretty whiny post.

Other then that, February sucked!!!!! Not just for me (Ding! You have insuline dependent diabetes! Now listen for six hours while we tell you how to not die.) but for some of my friends to. (Which is their business to blog about.) March isn't shaping up to well either, but the weather is nicer. I also found out that I'd been wearing pants that were 2-7 sizes too big for me. I was estatic about my new, smaller pants. I'd lost a little weight over the summer and a little more to the diabetes before I knew I had it. It's shallow, but I think I'm allowed to be a little shallow right now. I'm still not happy with my appearance, but I'm closer to it.

Godness! I am such an egocentric, normal bitch! I hope this is just the adolescence and I grow out of it by the end of college. Great, now that I've mentioned that I'll go into my "OMG college. WhatwillIdowhatwillIdo. Money. Choices. Ahhhhh." mode. This will be fun. So before I can write anything else to fuel either my panic or self-loathing (dammit! More stereotypical teen feelings!) I'm going to stop and continue my research on the Assizes of Clarendon. (Yes, yes. Ha Ha.) Either that or waste some time playing net games. Probably the last one. Fuck it, my work ethic sucks, and I hate myself for it. (I also hate that I hate myself for it, yet don't change it.) I'm so freakin' whiny. I guess that's why I normally don't write about myself. No one wants to hear it.

Katrina had never been very good at math. Ask her what two times 25 was and she would stare at you quizzically, the strain of the attempt showing in her light green eyes, eventually coming the conclusion that it was 60. It wasn’t that she was stupid, far from it. She could read at three and was writing stories with complex plots by five. If teased about her utter lack of mental math skills she would squeak out this statement in her defense. In kindergarten the teacher always asked her to get up to read in front of the class. I was so jealous of her, but she couldn’t do math.

So it was probably inevitable that despite her many talents that when the devil came to call he asked her a basic math question. If she had gotten it right she would have become the first female president, known and loved throughout the world by the unfortunate, homeless, and poverty stricken. The devil knew his mark, Katrina could never refuse such a grandiose chance to help others, nor could she ever answer his question.

A fire seemed to spark in his dark eyes as he straightened his tie and flashed her a smile that almost made her heart do a back flip. It was forced to stop midway as Katrina remembered who he was, but whether she liked it or not he was devilishly handsome, and he seemed so nice as far that went. Of course, she knew that he was the farthest thing from it, he was the vilest creature in all existence, the enemy of all mankind. Some part of her mind, while acknowledging these horrible things, knew that if he asked she would love to be his in an instant, never before had she felt so much passion!

She was trying to stomp out these thoughts when he asked her the question, what was the square root of 64? There never had been much of a chance for her, I’m not even sure she knew what a square root was, but she was distracted by the sensationally beautiful creature sitting across from her. Her eyes glazed over as she searched herself for the answer, knowing that it wasn’t coming. Her mind skipped to me for a second, then a few of the other math whizzes at school, we would have told her immediately what the answer was. After half an hour she gave up and guessed,

“Six?” She smiled shyly as her pulse rose in fear, suddenly the man who called himself the Devil wasn’t so attractive anymore. It wasn’t a physical change, he still had the face of an angel, there was a difference in his smile and the way he held himself, he wasn’t trying to look safe anymore. The eyes that had excited her were now filled with insane glee, accompanied with and ear to ear smile. He stood up slowly, relishing the site of the shaking girl on the blue flannel ottoman. She flinched away as his hand brushed his cheek, and wondered why this made him chuckle. Did he know what she had once thought of him? It had been less than an hour ago that he’d made his appearance, but every second since her answer seemed like years. The Prince bent down and kissed her cheek softly. Under normal circumstances it would have been interpreted as sweet.

“You’re mine,” He whispered in her ear, it sounded just like it had in her daydream, but with an entirely different meaning. She stopped shaking, the fear had stopped. She surveyed the living room, everything seemed to be in order. The floor to ceiling bookcases were stuffed to overflowing, the overstuffed couch and ottoman set was in it’s place, and the room’s centerpiece, a baby grand piano, sat dustless and perfect on it’s oriental rug. It took her a few passes before she realized that she was looking for someone, but there was no one else at home.
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Yeah, that's definitely me narrating. I just wrote this in lieu of doing homework that still needs to be done. So "I" might even have a large part in this story. Well, it's impossible to write myself completely truthfully, but I would be jealous over something like that. This is the first time in a while I've written a semi-traditional Devil. It's fun, he's such a complete bastard/hotty! I hope I'll continue this so I can write him again! (More then one line!)
Also, I have chapter 2 of Shiny! but I have to type it up.

I didn’t think the cats were ever really watching me as I tumbled across the floor. Occasionally they would look my way, but there attention was focused on the moths that were fluttering across the window. That may be why I never really cared for cats. A dog would have come rushing up to me, licking my face, but the cats just sat and stared out the window. If I had a dog he would have attacked my assailant and protected me from further harm.
My “assailant” had actually been a coat rack, in the corner of the living room, which I had tripped over. This didn’t matter to me, it was the principal of the thing. I had been having a crummy day, and I needed to feel cared for, something that my cats just didn’t understand. They wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence, until one walked over and said, “We saw you fall, but there were moths outside,” and trotted off as if that made everything okay. God, cats piss me off.

On the other hand, I’ve always been afraid of dogs. So there’s really no reason for me to be saying how great it would be to have one, because I’d really just have a panic attack. It doesn't matter what size the dog is, even little Chihuahuas scare me. I don't know why, the same as I don't know why I keep taking in stray cats. I don't feel particularly close to them, or consider myself to have catlike traits, as many of my fellow adopters do. I guess it's just one of those things that have to be left unexplained.
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Random. I actually like cats. I'm just trying to write a short story a day. (Starting yesterday.) I'm really bad at keeping these things up, but I'm going to try. Wish me luck!

The faerie flew in circles around the sleeping boy’s head. What was he? She had to wonder. Was he a big faerie, a very special human, or some aberration of nature? The faerie giggle, aberration was such a funny word. It sounded like some sort of punctuation. She landed on his head, a mop of hair the color of baby sprouts and as soft as down feathers. She giggled again, and breathed deeply, the whole air around him smelled of magic, crisp and cool.

“He’s healing something!” She could tell from the smell, “He’s healing! But what, oh, what could it be!”

She sang in a high, tinny voice that surprised her. Normally her singing was smooth and melodic. It was praised by friends and strangers alike. What was taking her voice? The boy! She giggled again, why would such a sweet creature as this try to hurt her? She took a few steps to his forehead, sat down, and swung her feet, lightly bumping his forehead.

“He doesn’t notice anything,” She tittered, “He must be really focused on…”

The faerie looked down and saw the blood trickling from the boys wrists, they were healing, but much too slowly. A hunting knife was in his left hand, the leather handle had imprints where he had gripped it tightly, but now his grip was beginning to loosen. She flew up in a panic, what should she do? She couldn’t heal something this big. It wasn’t any of her business anyway. Being around him made her feel scatterbrained, she should go. With this thought, she left him, hoping that someone else would pass by who could help.

The next day the faerie returned to the spot where she had seen the boy, and was relieved to see that he was not there, though his knife was. Someone must have come for him, she thought, someone nice, or they would have taken the knife. She sat down on the grass where the boy had sat and giggled, she could still feel his mind-boggling presence. It made her feel calm, protected, so she dropped her head to the ground and went to sleep.

The boy looked back, sensing a tickle in the back of his mind, but his savoir called for him to hurry up. He desperately wanted to return, to lie back down and let his world end. This person, who had so abruptly stepped into his life, seemed to believe that it would actually be beneficial for him to continue. They were so adamant about it that it would have been terribly rude for him to disappoint her so early. He would give it one last shot, though he didn’t expect anything would change he would try just one last time.

The fairy rolled over in her sleep and smiled, he’ll be all right, she tried to console her worried soul, it‘ll all be all right. I couldn’t have done anything by staying, it’ll all turn out fine in the end. She repeated the words over and over, but the more she said them the less truth they seemed to have.
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This is the other suicide story. The guy actually has a name, it's Josepher. This is also the name of an ex-pirate ceramic pig of mine. (Now the pig is an accountant.) I wrote the story for a contest on a forum I frequent. The topic was magic. I think I may have angst about not helping suicidal people enough. Or... maybe not. Actually, I think I do. I also have problems with writing anything much longer then a page. I can't keep a plot going for much longer, I want to write about something else then. Curse you television comercials! You gave me a short attention span! (The title is Suicide and Magical Highs.)

“I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” He shouted as he faltered in the sand. If only he had realized this before he’d jumped in. If only he hadn’t come out here so late at night, far after everyone was gone and far before anyone would come back. I was the only one who heard him scream, and all I felt was a mild surprise. I had dreamt up moments like this. In my dreams the mournful cries would awaken some type of human compassion in me, and emotion I had seldom felt even when I was alive. I would then rush in and save them, causing an epiphany for us both.
In the dream he would realize that his life had meaning. He would go home to his family, and would realize how much they meant to him, that he really loved them all very much, no matter what they did. He would try to help other people, especially his peers, who had gone through the same thing that he had. Then at last he would find that perfect someone and spend the rest of his life with them. His life would end up being a daytime movie on some crap channel, like Hallmark, or Disney. (Could Disney even mention suicide?)
In the dream I would realize that I could repent for my meaningless existence in the afterlife. I would run around saving small children from bus accidents, or some such nonsense. Then the powers that be (whatever or wherever they be) would realize that I was a truly good soul and take me to… well, wherever it is that good souls go. I think that they make it a point for souls like me to be just as confused about that whole mess as when we were alive. I always thought more about how he (or she) may end up. When I was alive I obsessed about the dead, and now I obsess about the living.
His panic had caused his sinking to speed up, the sand almost reached his neck now. If this were my dream I would have told him to calm down, that if he stayed still I could help him, and he would live. This was not a dream, and I felt no urge to help the drowning boy. I just sat on the edge of the quicksand and watched with detached curiosity as the sand crept up to his chin.
Tears streamed down his face and his voice began to grow horse as he called again and again, “I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” I though, logically, that I should help this person, that I didn’t want him to end up like me. Unfortunatly for him, and possibly for me as well, the apathy overwhelmed these shavings of good will. Absent mindedly I lifted my hand to his face and brushed away some of his tears. He gasped in shock as he saw me, then let out a sigh of relief.
“Help me, help me,” Was all he could manage through his sobs. Once again I thought about it. It would be the nice thing, the human thing to do. I should feel guilty about not saving his life, but my emotions were as solid as concrete. They did not crack as the sand filled his mouth, then his nose. The sand trembled as he struggled for the surface, then, all of a sudden, it stopped and the boy stood next to me.
“Why didn’t you help me,” He was still crying and near hysterics.
“I didn’t feel like it,” I shrugged as he dropped heavily to the ground, his body contorting in sobs. I should have helped him and told him I’d been through the same thing, that things would get better, even though they wouldn‘t. I should have at least felt guilty at this point, as he cursed both of us for letting this happen. I didn’t, of course. There was no epiphany, no dramatic turn for the better, no made-for-TV movie. The only change was that now I don’t daydream anymore.
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This is my second story in three days about someone not helping someone who's trying to kill themselves. Actually, a mostly unseen girl, not helping a male. The other guy wanted to die, but lived. (He was a main character... I kind of needed him.) This actually started when I thought, "I don't want to die. I want to finish my homework, I just don't want to do any work!" I think it was the battling feelings of apathy and panic that ended up as this story. Moral: Panic + Apathy = Nothing is accomplished. Also, don't leave isolated patches of quicksand unattended for long periods of time.

A very short story about a silver toothbrush. It's not even really a story, but a short bit of monologue that I made up as I went. It's not very good, but it's about the level that I usually write at. I would like to say I never stole from a museum, and would not steal a silver toothbrush, but if I did, this is what it would be like.




I’m not sure why I stole the toothbrush from the dentistry exhibit. I won’t be able to sell it. I have no criminal connections, and it’s one of a kind so I couldn‘t sell it at a pawn shop. I don’t think I’m a kleptomaniac, I’ve never stolen anything before this. Maybe it just set in when I saw the sun glint off the tarnished silver handle. The sign said that it had just been for show outside a dentists office, it had never even touched the inside of a mouth.

It’s amazing that I didn’t get caught. I’m clumsy, uncoordinated, and a little large. How didn’t anyone see? I had straggled behind a little bit on the school trip as I wanted to actually read the signs that hung on the exhibits. I noticed that the case over the toothbrush was unlocked and was about to call over a tour guide when the sun hit the handle. Like most people who have grown up watching television programs tailored for short attention spans I am easily distracted by shiny things. I wondered playfully if I would be able to steal it with out setting off any alarms, and then I thought that maybe I should try.

I lifted the glass carefully and slid my hand in to grab the shiny silver scrubber. Why isn’t anyone stopping me? My hand grasped the cool metal, I heard it clang softly against the glass as I pulled it out. Why didn’t anyone hear? I stuffed it into my jacket pocket. The thin lump that it made was clearly noticeable. How could they not see it? I spent the rest of the trip trying not to dwell on my impulsive idiocy and getting caught. I failed miserably.
Now I am left with a silver toothbrush, and nothing to do with it. I can’t even display it in my room or give it to someone as a gift, in case they’ve heard about the theft. Instead I just have to keep it in my desk drawer and hope that no one finds it. Despite this I feel rather proud of myself. I actually accomplished something that no one else did, even if it didn’t take any skill or guile. It makes me feel like I might be capable of other things, like trying out for the soccer team, or asking out that cute guy in home room. (Or at least finding out his name.) It’s kind of nice to know I can act unreasonably. Normally I think everything to death before I even consider acting. I shouldn’t think so much. I might end up in prison that way, but I also might end up with a lot of shiny things, and who doesn’t love shiny things?

I was just reminded that I haven't posted in 22 weeks. This seems like a rather long time. I like the idea of journals, I just don't like keeping them. Often, once I write something on a computer it's out of my system, so I delete it. If it's about myself, that is. I restarted my LJ after about a year (or what felt like it... it was during school, so it could have been a few months) off with the entry of a fictional character. I then realized I had no plot planned for this character. (Unfortunate, I rather liked him, and hope to get back to that story eventually.) I'll try to post in the future, but it will probably be short stories, plot lines, character sketches, and the like. These will be put up for your approval. My goal in life is to be able to live as an author. I doubt this will happen, but I still want to write and improve my writing. Thus I appreciate any comments, criticism, or praise if you deem me worthy. (Not to much of the last, I won't try hard enough then.) Also, grammar correction is appreciated, because mine is rather bad. I hope to write again soon with a short story. Hopefully I'll update regularly after that.

(Note: I decided all this while I was writing this. As such, this is not a promise and you should not expect followup. I am a slacker, and a procrastinator. This is a primary reason that I don't expect to end up as an author. I've also had more caffeine today then I normally have in a week... So who knows what will happen in the next few hours.
Thanks sexything13 for reminding me to update.)