Writing

I stared out at the bridge, both fascinated and terrified about it. It's paint didn't match and it was so iconic that it was almost laughable in it's lack of coordination. Random boats are to the left out of the corner of my eyes, and a remarkably odd-shaped building sits on the horizon. Pigeons fly around, those "rats with wings" actually beautiful in my own opinion, and land mere feet from humans. Different colors shimmer around their necks and I never see the ugliness in them, only the beauty of avian creatures. Birds have always fascinated me.

I dig my toes through my socks and shoes into the cobblestones beneath my feet, thinking of the hundreds of years of people who may have done the same. Kings, Queens, peasants, and everyone between has walked these same roads. From the famous, to the infamous, to the forgotten, so many lives have passed through this area. The ground is rich with history; the river in front of me reeks of the past; the castle behind me protects me from it's terrors.




London is always fun.

And so....

So I finally got what I want, and I'm not all that sure I want it right now.
I'm finally here with him, yet it all feels like a dream, not even sure if this is happening to me.
How did I get wrapped up in this? I love him so much, yet is he all there is for me in life? There are more things I want, yet I don't deserve them. Hell, I don't deserve him. I love him, but is there another? Am I even the person I'm gonna be yet? How can I be so sure when I'm still changing?
Part of me sees the way I act here and hates it, yet it comes so naturally that I don't know how to stop it. I settle back and just let things go, falling into my hole.
I said that I was going to change. I said that I was going to make a difference. But here I am... keeping a big bad secret from everyone, not sure how to accept it myself. Why does it seem that when everyone else gets their shit together, mine falls apart?

And here I am. All alone. I have to learn how to deal.
But I'm scared. I just don't want to grow up.
I never have.
Let's go live in neverneverland, where I can be the kid I wanna be forever, with my stuffed animals and my video games and my books. To hell with the rest.

And so it begins.

I'm waiting. I will be there in about twelve hours. I just have to wait a little longer.

I'm nervous and scared and uneasy.
But it's worth it.

I hate flying.

Seventh

It's been a while. I've been busy, I think.
Today I went to my old best friend's baby shower. That's right. BABY shower. I am only 20, and this friend is the same age as me. It was a disaster, and made me pretty miserable. There were people there that I intentionally avoided and disliked, and they all buddied up with me as I followed my mom around like a lost puppy, tail down. I got no recognition for showing up from my friend until I forced my way into her secluding group of friends, and only then so my mom could get a hug. My mom loved her like a daughter.

Here I thought I used to be someone important in her life, worthy of at least a five minute conversation and maybe even an invitation to sit down by her, but I was flat out ignored by her for the majority of the time my mother and I were there. Not only that, but she ignored my mom too, which hurt my heart so bad. My mom went so far out of her way to do something nice for this friend, to get her good presents and to show up at her party, and she was ignored. My mom deserved more than that. We left after being there an hour, and I wanted to leave after being there five minutes. The food sucked, people were off in cliques, and I either disliked or didn't know everyone around me.

My bubbly, hyper self was gone today. I was this somber, serious, depressed creature who was angry beyond belief. I understand we're not close like we once were, but both my mother and I deserved a little bit of credit for going.

We became best friends in sixth grade. I was drifting from my shy friends and trying to be more outgoing, and here was this absolutely beautiful girl who was funny and enjoyed my company. I was never very sure of myself when I was younger, and having someone so pretty around made me feel better about myself. I was the fat, ugly friend, but at least I was smarter.

She had problems. Her dad was a douche and her step-mom a bitch, and here I was--the perfect friend; a goody two shoes who never did anything wrong--and they hated me. They hated me; they hated my family. All because we loved this friend of mine. I would walk blocks and blocks out of my way to walk her home to her grandma's and spend more time with her, talking and laughing, since her grandma accepted me sometimes. I did not deserve that hate. She ran away multiple times, but always to some other friend, never to me and my family, even though we loved her as our own and would have tried to help her. She got mixed up with the wrong group of people, the deadbeats, and I wasn't going to follow her there.

We were close throughout junior high, but then high school came. It wasn't a big change to me, being in the same building and around the same people, but to her something changed. Maybe because I was in all those stupid advanced classes and was never around her and the only people she could spend time with were those idiotic, stupid deadbeats, she chose them instead. She drifted, and I chased after her, but she never tried to catch me. I let her go and I found new friends, my parents always giving me shit that I let her go, but I don't fight on a one way street.

She moved, and we lost major touch for a while. We tried to reconnect last year, but it failed--we are just two too different people these days. Our friendship was in a past life for each of us, being almost ten years ago. I know I have changed since then greatly, and so has she. She's married, pregnant, and having a baby boy. She barely graduated and smokes cigarettes. I'm struggling through post secondary school, madly in love but not ready for marriage, let alone children. She always did like kids, I suppose.

Everyone around me is having babies, and my sister wants to have one so badly she isn't going to renew her birth control come august. She still lives at home--which is a disaster area and no place for a baby, has no real job, is extremely unhealthy, is not married, is only 23, and has no insurance. Sounds like a grand idea to have a baby, sis. Get your own shit in order before you bring more shit into this world.

People are idiots.

Eleven more days, and I will be gone. No more worrying about bankruptcy or losing the house or school or stupid friends. Just me and my boy and our house and the kind of happiness I only get when I am in his arms.

Sixth

I went dancing last night, at a nightclub. My second time ever doing so. Not only did we have trouble getting there, oh lordy, but we got lost trying to walk to the club, then we stayed way longer than I wanted because I love my friend so much, and now my toes are literally numb because I wore 3" heels the whole night, which my feet are not used to.

But it wasn't bad. I felt pretty hot, although slightly sluttish as I was walking through downtown in a halter and heels with all these guys starin' at me. We walked around and around, here and there, for about 7-8 blocks, picking up free entrance cards for clubs. We finally made it there, but my feet were already throbbing.

I had an okay time, was sore for so much of it that I was unhappy a lot of the time. I think my favorite part of the night was when I would stand still in the middle of the dance floor while everyone else around me was moving. It was an interesting experience.


So I have been trying to write this blog for two days. I think I have writer's block, and have it pretty bad. I just can't think of how to word things. England has consumed my mind--I can think of little else.

Fifth?

So the semester is coming to an end. Less than three weeks and I will be in England, with my Rob again. These last nine months have been so extremely hard, and so extremely lonely. I hope I can convince him that nine months is way too long for us ever to go without seeing each other again.

My Social Science teacher gave me a one day extension on my paper. Whoo! I needed it, ever since I wrote that story about my dad I have just had major writer's block. =[ It sucks. Now to get this four page paper written and turned in within eleven hours. But I need sleep at some point. Dangit.

I'm stressed. It's pullin' down on my happiness, I can definitely tell. Which sucks because the weather has been beautiful and I should be soaking up my vitamin D.

My friend is taking me to a club tomorrow night. It will be fun to get to try out my new shirt and shoes. I'm kinda sorta excited. Kinda not. Wish Rob would dance with me like that, because I don't want to be that close to any guy but him =\ Guess I will just dance with E.

I need to write a story this summer. I will post some of my ideas at a later point in time, I need to work on my paper currently.

Story End

I have no choice. I'm terrified. I dial 911 and push talk, bringing my phone to my ear. One mile to the exit.

"This is 911, what is your emergency?" says a kind voice on the other end and I have no idea what to say.

"Yeah, my dad is diabetic, type one the juvenile one, and we think he is having a severe low blood sugar because he's acting weird and we're in the middle of nowhere in Indiana and I can't get him to check his blood sugar and I don't know what to do," rushes out of my mouth, my heart pounding.

"Is he being hostile? Where are you?"

"Uh, kind of," I say, thinking of how angry he was and how my sister had to manhandle him out of the truck. I look around and tell them the exit we are coming up to, just a little ways away, and the gas station I see there.
"I'll send an ambulance to that gas station. I'll stay on with you until the paramedics get there."

I thank them profusely, asking their distracting questions as my sister blinks the big truck to get off the highway. I turn on the blinker too, trying to convince my dad to check his blood sugar as well. I slow as we get up to the top of the exit, ready to follow the truck and my sister as she turns left.

"You know, I don't know what's going on and I'm just going to leave," my dad says after my pressuring him some more, and my heart jumps to my throat as he opens the door and I'm still moving.

"Oh my god! Dad!" I scream at him and lunge across the thankfully small car to pull the barely open door shut. "My dad is trying to get out of my car!" I say to the paramedics, then to my dad, "What are you doing?!" I finally come to the a stop at the top of the exit, one arm slung across at his door, fighting him for control. "Dad, no!" I slam the lock on, hoping he is disoriented enough to not know to open it. I hit the gas and turn left, also hoping the speed will make him think twice about getting out of a moving vehicle.

Somehow I get across the bridge and into the parking lot next to the big yellow truck, sighing with relief as my sister rejoins me. But he is still hostile and wants out of that tiny red car.

"Just let me out! I don't know what I am doing here!" He gets the door open but thankfully my sister is there. I grab his shoulder, trying to hold him in, and she struggles with him, blocking the door with her body. "Fine!" he gives up with a heaving sigh, once again very child-like in nature.

"Did you get him to check his blood sugar?" my sister asks me, still standing between him and the freedom of a foreign state.

I shake my head, working up the courage on what to say next. "I called mom and his sister and his mom to try and see if they could convince him to check it, but they didn't answer so I called 911. I just didn't have any choices left and it was all I could think of!" I ramble on, having never called 911 before and just plain terrified about my dad.

"Good choice," she says, "I bet they will be here soon." She turns her attention to dad, and somehow the two of us together convince him to check his blood sugar. It was 28, way too incredibly low as normal was about 80, and that was after he took the two glucose tabs.

Soon we hear the sirens and a white ambulance drives into the parking lot. Nice men surround us and a kind older man asks us questions. We got dad to eat a banana and slowly he is coming out of his haze, finally not in a hallucinatory mindset. The paramedics take another blood test, only on their machines, and my dad answers their questions coherently.

"What is your birthday?"

"February 8th, 1961."

"What year is it?"

"2009."

"Where do you live?"

He rattles off our address, obviously coming up. They look satisfied with his answers and check out his test. Already his blood sugar is coming up, about 50. Still low, but a much safer low. My dad is back, the scary, laughing, maniacal, lost in la-la land dad gone. He's quiet and subdued now, refusing a ride in to the local hospital since he is back in a safe range, and the paramedic tells us of a great breakfast place just a few exits down the highway. We thank them and go on our way, dad still in with me and my sister fighting with the huge truck.

We reach the restaurant and have a great big breakfast, knowing that food is the best thing now that he is out of the danger zone. We talk about it, my sister and I both agreeing with each other about being terrified, but none of us sure why it happened.

"I don't understand, I ate snacks while driving and took insulin for them, but I never took too much," my dad says around a bite of sausage gravy and biscuits, all of us thinking about the previous twelve hours.

"Yeah, you're always really good with how much to take," my sister says, mixing together ketchup and eggs with her hash browns. The things they learn in the South.

I grimace at her mix and turn to my french toast, ravenous after nothing but road food lately. We had stopped the night before around midnight at a convenience store and stocked up on chips and candy and pop...

"Oh, you know what I bet it was?" my dad pipes up and I bring myself out of the memories of the night before. "Those energy things we had!"

And I remember, we had each had an extra strength five hour energy shot at the gas station, chugging down the nasty tasting stuff to get a couple more hours on the road. "You know, I bet you are right!" I agree, everything falling in to place.

"I bet it boosted my metabolism so when I took the insulin for all the snacks, it made me go even lower! I bet that was it!" my dad exclaims, and we all know that it must be true, for it is the only thing that makes sense. We talk about it some more, my dad apologizing for being so scary silly and delirious. But we understand that it wasn't him, it was the diabetes.

We call my mom, who answers this time now that it is closer to 10 AM. We assure her that everything is fine now, and she says that we did everything right, even the calling 911. She says we probably saved his life; my sister noticing something was wrong and me waking him up and getting him to eat the glucose tabs. We each had a hand in saving my dad's life, and our knowledge of our dad's illness was probably our greatest ally of the day.

After some fancy steering of the big yellow moving truck in the packed restaurant parking lot, we get back on the road to go home, only half way there. My sister and I take turns riding with my dad, extra vigilant of his blood sugar and food intake. We make it home late the next night, still a little shaken from our ordeal. We go on to tell our story, and my dad steers clear of those energy shots.



Feedback, please?

Story cont.

He startles awake to my amazement, and reaches up and puts the truck in park. I sigh and take a deep breath, not noticing that I had been holding it. I glance and see my sister stop her car as well, getting out to meet up with me. I walk around the back of the moving truck and together we go and talk to my dad.

We open the door and he looks at us, his eyes slightly blank. “Dad! What happened? You fell asleep behind the wheel!” my sister cries. We stare at him expectantly while he looks around, as if lost.

“Huh?” is his simple reply, the blank look in his eyes still there. My sister and I look at each other, worried.

“You were asleep behind the wheel! Did you pass out? You almost went off the road!” my sister explains to him emphatically, while I stand by, fear freezing my heart.

“Wha’?” He is still confused, and then a crazy grin comes across the face. “Sleep?” he asks in a child-like voice, his hands and arms beginning to shake as he falls over towards the passenger side of the car.

“Dad!” we cry out together, and cram together to see what is wrong. Soon we see his shoulders quivering and we can tell he is laughing--at us. “Dad, that’s not funny!” my sister yells at him, grabbing his arm and trying to pull him out. “Is your blood sugar low?” she asks, sure of the reason behind this problem. He stares at her, his mind far away. “Get out and get in my car,” she dictates to him, pulling him upright and somehow managing to maneuver him out of the truck’s cab.

I look at her, knowing fear is plainly seen on my face. She turns to me as somehow my dad manages to get to the passenger side of my sister’s car. “Let’s get to the next exit and get off. See if you can get him to check his blood sugar,” she says to me, determination in her voice as she hands me his glucometer. Big sisters are amazing. I nod and turn back to her tiny little red car, my dad squished into the front seat.

I take a deep breath and get in, scared. I buckle up and prepare to get on the barren highway while my sister drives the large yellow moving truck for the very first time. I look at my dad and he is drooping in the chair, eyes open but mind closed. I grab his black case holding his glucometer, his so called “black thing” as we named it years ago.

“Dad, I need you to check your blood sugar,” I explain while I watch the road in front of me, nervous when I see the next exit isn’t for a few miles. He lifts his head and just kind of looks at me, as if he doesn’t even know who I am. “Please dad,” I beg.

“Why? What’s going on? I don't even know what is going on. No," he rambles, his voice not what I know and his eyes still in some far away place.

"Come on, dad, just take your blood sugar for me," I plead with him some more, not sure what is going to happen. Again he resists me, so I beg some more. "Come on, dad, just give me your finger," I say as I open up his black thing, having checked his blood sugar for years and thankfully knowing how to do it.

"I don't know what's happening..." he repeats again and again, and I fight the tears waiting in my eyes. I think and think, not sure how to get him to do this for me.

"Well, will you take some glucose tabs at least?" I pull out the jar of sugar tablets, knowing they will get his blood sugar up better than anything. I open it while fighting with the wheel and pour two into my waiting hand, holding them out to him.

He is fuming with anger by now, not sure why I am putting him through so much. He truly isn't in the car with me, even though his physical shell is there. "Why? No. I don't know what's going on. Leave me alone. No. Why?" he sounds confused and angry, and I'm glad to see the exit is in two miles. I bother him some more, pleading. He refuses, getting louder as he gets angrier. "Fine! I'll take them. Give me. Just to make you happy," he finally yells, almost like a child giving into taking gross tasting cold medicine.

I sigh and give him the glucose tabs, still not sure how to get him to check his blood sugar for me. "Dad, mom wants you to check your blood sugar, will you check it for her?" I coax around the subject, trying to keep the fear from my voice, thinking maybe he would do it for my mom--the love of his life.

"I took the tabs, aren't you happy yet?!" he rebukes, his eyes and voice still alien to me.

I give up and grab my phone, doing the only thing I can think of; I call my mom, hoping she can convince him to check her blood sugar. I dial her speed dial and count the rings, not sure why my early waking mom isn't answering. Thirty seconds later and I hear her voicemail, terror seizing me. I try again, but the same thing. I wrack my brain and hit another speed dial, calling his sister who he is close to. Riinng riinng riinng. "Hi, I don't have my phone on me right now..."

I hang up, wondering why all my early bird family aren't answering. I open up my contacts with one eye on the road, hitting the "G" key on my tiny keyboard. I call my grandma, my last chance who could get him to check his blood sugar. All the while I am pleading with him as he stares around and refuses. Voice mail. Again.

Story.

I am jolted out of some semblance of sleep by my sister telling me to wake up. I’m cramped against the passenger door in her compact Chevy, the smell of litter wafting around me from the cage of kittens in the backseat. Her car is stuffed to the brim, and as I blink and stretch as much as I can, I see the bright yellow moving truck in front of us. We’re driving across the country after flying to Alabama just to move her home after a failed experiment. It is about eleven hours in to our trip, and last I knew we were in Tennessee.

“Hey, I think dad is really tired ‘cause he has been driving kind of weird. I need you to wake up so he can have a chance to sleep,” my sister says to me, her eyebrows creased with worry as she focuses on the yellow truck.

“Mkaay,” I mumble and blink away the sleep, cracking my neck and sitting up straight. I readjust my glasses and look around us. It’s daylight now, although just barely, and everything is pretty flat around the highway. “Where are we now?” I ask, glancing at the clock to see it somewhere around Seven AM.

“Indiana,” is her curt reply, and I am slightly boggled. At three we had stopped at a rest stop to get some sleep, all three of us at once, but that was a whole state ago. He must have woken her up early to get started again. Dad never did like to drive alone, but I was asleep in my sister‘s car when they started, so he had no choice this morning. “I’m gonna pull in front of him and get off at this next exit so he follows us, so get ready to take a turn driving,” she explains to me.

“Mhmm,” I reply, still coming out of the time warp of sleeping while moving. My sister pulls over into the middle lane and guns it, her little red car pulling steadily in front of dad and his moving van. He looks focused as we pass, and soon my sister and I are a good ways in front of him. A quarter mile to the exit and she puts on her blinker, clearly telling him that we are going to get off.

Soon we are careening up the exit, and my eyes go to the rearview mirror to make sure he saw us. He flies past the exit, and my heart catches as I follow with my eyes to see him slumped to the side behind the wheel.
“He passed out!” I think I scream, my eyes glued to the yellow truck as it slowly goes onto the shoulder and slows down considerably. My heart is thumping.

“Shit!” my sister curses, taking her foot off the brake while I watch the truck. There is a divided highway at the top of the exit, but we ignore it and get on the exit ramp, never slowing down. I know that the knowledge of my dad’s type I diabetes is on both our minds, because it’s the only logical explanation for him passing out…a blood sugar of extreme lows.

The truck is ambling along now, probably coasting without his foot on the gas. We reach behind him, slowing to his speed. “Let me out! I’ll go wake him up!” I say, making sure my shoes are on as my adrenaline kicks me completely awake. My sister nods and comes to the tiniest stop, at which I wrench open the door. I slam it and am running along the highway, somewhere in the middle of Indiana, at seven on a Sunday morning, the night after Halloween. It’s a new experience for me.

Thankfully the truck is slow enough that I am able to run faster than it, amazing since I am out of shape and a bad runner to boot. I glance up into the passenger window of the truck, it’s shape looming at least ten feet above my head. My dad is definitely passed out, his seatbelt holding him up. I raise my hand and, summoning all my strength, knock on the glass pane of the window I can barely reach.

Secret 1

I secretly think that Draenei females are cute. I wish they were horde.

Fourth

So I am sitting here, once again battling with myself over going to my art class. I really enjoy the people in it, they are fun and I have some good friends there, but I am failing and I hate dealing with the teacher... I paid for it! Right? So why do I let it make me so miserable? I'm terrified of confrontation. I can't do the amount of work required by me. I want to drop the class so so so badly. But then so many people would get mad at me... But I can't afford it! I can't buy more art supplies, I can't buy fruit to draw! Hell, I will be lucky if I can buy some more Happy Pills, and we all know how badly I need that.

I don't know why I thought an art class would be cake for me. True, I have kinda sorta learned a few things, but I'm so unhappy about it. Art is a personal thing--I have never been able to create art on demand. This is stressing me out so bad I have acne, damnit. I haven't had zits since high school! But if I drop this art class, as I so desperately want to do, many many people will be mad at me. I could just drop it and go somewhere for three hours every Thursday for the next two weeks, but I want to be truthful. I don't like to lie. But I don't like people being mad at me either. I wish my mom's phone wasn't dead so I could talk to her about it. Rob is being no help. I have the window open, Drop/Withdraw chosen, and all I have to do is click Process. But I fear the repercussions sooo much. But I don't think it is possible for me to pull and F up in two weeks, and I am so miserable there I don't want to go...and yes, I am making excuses. I am a failure, this I know. There has not been a single semester of school that I didn't drop a class, or fail a class, or both.

I wish I had more will, more gumption.

I haven't done art since high school. Sure, a thing here or there, but nothing amazing or to the same degree as I used to. I went to my high school's art show today to support some old friends, and it made me think about my lack of artsy ness. I call myself an artkid, but when was the last time I proved it? I am failing my art class. Go artkid, go! I want to paint and draw and Photograph and do all these things I used to do, but yet again, I don't do it. I sit around this computer, going from page to page, logging on wow and walking around. Since it seems I am skipping my art class, I could pull out my binder and do some art that I so miss doing, but wouldn't that just hypocrite myself up? I'm such a hypocrite. I wish that I was better. I'm sick of being moderately good at so many things. I would give up so much to be AMAZING at just one.

I strive for nothing, and it ruins me.

Third

Sittin' downstairs watching American Idol with my dad...well, as much as anyone can do anything with my dad while he is playing wow. He gets so into it, sigh... I should be doing some of my stupid art homework, but i just can't bring myself to work on it because it is sooo messy and I just don't feel like getting messy right now. But I should do it. Maybe I will do it in the morning. It's ridiculous... I'm sposed to be drawing fruit, but damnit I don't have any fruit! And I don't have the money to buy more art supplies, let alone fruit to fuckin draw. So I'm gonna draw my applesauce jar, my fruity Sobe Life Water, and maybe my container of cut up strawberries if they are still good... I do have clementines, I guess, but they are nasty! From easter and just...ugh.

My dog and my cat are cuddling on the couch. It's so entertaining sometimes, since my cat is bigger than my dog. They're both just sleeping their lives away. I wish I could do that, but I've been there before and it leads to some pretty big problems. Bigger than I am dealing with now, even. Thankfully I am only failing one class right now, instead of the many it would be if this were, say, last spring. Spring is such a rejuvenating time, but for some reason instead of making it easier for me to do things, it makes it harder. Maybe I am just so excited for summer to get here.

I finally get to see my boyfriend again, and in case I haven't mentioned yet, I'm hella lonely. I'm counting down the days and I am ready to pack my bags practically. I need to get some money so I can buy some things I need, but the weather has been crap and I have been sick and my dad has been too busy to clean out Po and get him in sellable condition. Maybe I should find a Plato's closet and take some clothes there? God knows my tax returns aren't giving me anything. And I want to have money this year. I wanna buy stuff for my boy! And I soo want to be able to get a new tattoo. I'm itching for it, hehe.

I'm going to go shower, or read, or play wow, or something...

Second

So here I am, sitting on my loveseat with my legs up on my green chest, and my boyfriend logs on skype. I'm all happy because his power went out on us yesterday so we didn't get to talk long. I miss him crazy bad, it's ridiculous sometimes. Because not only is he my boyfriend, but he is also my best friend, and my life is so lonely and hard without him. All I have left to fall back on are my family and my kind-of friends--the people I talk to and hang out with once in a blue moon....but none of them come close to being, well, close to me. My boy put on the sweatshirt of mine I sent him, and that makes me happier than it should, but I am glad to know he thinks about me.

We're gonna go play wow. I need to get up off my fat ass soon and do stuff around the house, but damnit I miss him to much to go do anything right now.

First

Well, here is my blog, as promised to a friend in my class. Not sure what I am going to do with it yet. We'll see. =]