I am making an attempt to start a blog for two reasons.
#1) I realized during the hell hole that was freshmen English, that when I consistently write everyday, there is noticeable improvement in my writing. In lots of ways. So, I guess I have to say " Thank you, dear Faulkner, for torturing me." Perhaps there was indeed some method to your madness.
#2) I am the kind of person who carries what haleyghoover calls an 'emotional backpack', and the second best way (second only to talking to Miko) to unload that backpack a little bit is to write.

So here goes!

Today, after soccer practice, I came home and took a shower and then ate two eggs and two pancakes. They were positively delicious. After that, I layed around and read, then took a nap. I awoke from my nap to find that my mother had company, so I had to be normal and not walk around in no clothes or pee with the door open.

Shortly after I was awoken, Miko called, and we discussed hyphenated last names and making molds of my body so that we could bake cakes in a pan designed in my naked, curvy, likeness. It would be a very large and shapely cake, but since we both love cake that would be okay. I decided that I would start eating such a cake by sawing off my boobs and scarfing them down. I don't know what caused us to decide on a cake pan mold of me, but who cares?! All around, it was a fabulous conversation. It ended when I had to go eat ratatouille. I am sure glad that kid is around.

More recently, my mother and I just got into an argument which is rare for us. Also, it's funny, because when she fights with me she makes no sense and I have to go round and round in circles restating the same points. Before long, I don't even know why I'm fighting, but whatev.
I am pretty sure that she only bitches like that because I'm the one she takes all of her emotions out on--good/bad, logical/crazy. This idea is restated by the fact that she always apologizes. And besides that, sometimes, she just needs someone to bitch at. Don't we all.

I am convinced that my little wiener dog is sick or something. She keeps running around rubbing her head on the floor and hiding in blankets. She's a weird dog anyway, but why in God's name would you run your head into the floor.

I'm sleepy now, so I'm gonna go wait for my lover to call upon me and remind that he cares about me because maybe I need someone outside of my family to tell me that sometimes. Perhaps that makes me a typical damsel in distress, but I don't care. Not when it comes to that.
: )

P.S. Sarah Dessen makes me feel reflective, nostalgic, and enlightened. She's a special person.