Southern Belle of the Tourist Type

Well, Y'all, I'm writing to you from a quaint little hotel in Missouri called the Drury Inn. The occasion for me being away from home isn't that great, being as I'm here for my aunt's funeral, but I am thoroughly enjoying the small town Southern charm. It is so different from the fast pace world of central Illinois! People talk slow, they eat slow, they laugh loud. Altogether refreshing.

My big sister, my parents, and I started on our journey South at precisely 9:00PM. Why we couldn't wait to come down tomorrow is beyond me, but then again, I'm just the passenger in the matter. By 9:30PM I was exhausted and had a blazing headache. I would have done anything for a decent Mocha Frapp! 10:00PM came and went and BEHOLD!!! The Promised Land! Exit 98B. Starbucks!! YESSS!!! Suddenly I wasn't drowsy at all, and the only thing I could think of was getting to my desperate desire as quickly as humanly possible. Being as everyone else had to go to the bathroom anyway, they consented and dived into Starbucks' parking lot. I practically jumped out of the car before I realized that all the lights were off in the building. That's funny. Must have forgotten to pay the electric. Yeah, they were freaking closed! How in the world could Starbucks be closed? Not cool.

I looked to my right for another option. Mobil station. Eh. And to the left was McDonald's. This was probably the most unappealing option that could have come into play for several reasons. Number 1: The whole building was under construction. Number 2: The particular McDonald's holds several piercing memories that are altogether too fresh. Number 3: McCafe is grody!!!

Dad had to go to the bathroom. Right then. McDonald's it is.

I go in the door, get hit with a heavy pit in my stomach, and suddenly loose all appetite for the Mocha Frapp I was craving. It took me the whole ten minutes everyone was in the bathroom for me to finally decide that memories or not, I had to eat. And what else would one order at McDonald's at almost 10:30PM? A large fry, Baby! My big sis then reminded me that I was consuming probably close to 1,000 calories. So, your point is? Thankfully, I still have a working metabolism!

The fries weren't nearly as good as I thought they were going to be, but combined with an Ibuprofen and a glass of water, they succeeded in subsiding my splitting headache.

Onward and upward we trod! We detoured straight through the heart of St. Louis. I love that city! It isn't at all as intimidating as other cities I've been through. Besides, the Arch is incredible! Before I die, I HAVE to get to the top of that thing! So beautiful, and completely enthralling.

Two hours later, after consuming some Jalapeno Cheetos, gummy Life Savers, and coasting down the biggest/longest hill I have ever encountered, we arrived at our current destination. And to think! It's only shortly after 2:00AM! Not bad at all!

Even though this was the last place on earth I had any desire to spend the end of my week and I was practically drug along, I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting few days. My father dear has many a places he has to go to get his favorite BBQ, the best coke, etc. Plus, I'm privileged to spend a few days with cousins I barely ever see and who i enjoy very much.

So in the words of our hotel concierge, "Y'all have a good night, ya hear? Breakfast ends at 9:30, now."

Yeah, soo not getting up for that :)

The "S" Trade

Have you ever ventured outside on a bitterly cold, no sunshine kind of day in central Illinois? If not, you’re lucky. They’re the worst! They are especially bad when you actually want to be out doing something, but dang it! Fuzzy socks and a cup of coffee are awfully hard to leave for chilled bones. It would be the equivalent of leaving Ryan Reynolds for Arnold Schwarzenegger. Have you seen Schwarzenegger lately? Just not appealing. Hence my reluctance to leave my fuzzies and pack up in my Carhartt.

But, I did it. Why? Because K-pony needed a ride. Love endures all things… so true!

I was on the way to the facility where I board K-pony, when A, my beautiful little sis, mentions (several times, getting increasingly louder) that she would love to ride K-pony too. If you haven’t already gathered from previous blogs, I love my sister more than life itself, and she too has a passion for riding. However, because I’ve been so preoccupied with life, she hasn’t been able ride him since the middle of September. With all of that in mind, why not let her come? Sure it’s freezing cold outside and K-pony is bound to be loony! Eh, no biggy.

Ha. I sneer at my own stupidity.

I arrived at the barn, saddled up, avoided as much conversation with fellow boarders as possible, and wasted no time in getting on the horse. My fingers were about three seconds from falling off when I finally got K-pony moving. Yep, he was indeed a fruit loop. Why, oh, why do horses always pick the worst days to be stupid? Don’t answer that.

It took about ten minutes until he settled into his gaits, and after that he was fantastic! I’m not over exaggerating when I say that we had one of the best rides that we’ve had in weeks! He was so good that I momentarily forgot the fact that I couldn’t feel my face. Lovely, I tell you, lovely.

We finished our dressage work exactly fifteen minutes before my sister was supposed to return, and I had no desire to walk around in circles when K-pony had all of this wonderfulness to show off. So I thought that I would just set up one jump and do some practice sets. Nothing big, nothing hard. Just fun.

Ha. Again with the sneering.

I set up a little cross rail. We could do that in our sleep, and we practically did! He was marvelous, as to be expected. Within five minutes, I had bored with our practice and so had he. It never ends well when K-pony gets bored. With ten minutes to spare, I set the jump higher and into a three-foot vertical. Eek!

Ha.

K-pony flew over it the first time. Distance could have been better, but it was good. We practiced our simple exercise a couple more times until a thought crosses my mind.

Why is my head freezing and my hair in my eyes? (Gasp) I have no helmet on. ****!!!!!

But it was too late then! I was already within feet of the jump and turning away wasn’t really an option. Oops. Big, huge, monumental oops.

You think I fell off dear K-pony? Please. I don’t really see falling off as an option. Ungraceful emergency dismounting, yes. Falling, never! We cleared and landed immaculately, but I wasted no time in retrieving my helmet. I would prefer not to die, as my bucket list is far from complete!

By that time A arrived, along with our brother, G, and my mother. My siblings were heatedly engaged in a “ME FIRST!” “NO ME FIRST!” discussion. All Mom had to do was see K-pony’s and my Good God, there’s two of them expression, and she quickly ended their sibling’s quarrel. A was to go first.

A is eight, but I am far from trusting her on the beloved K-pony alone. I put her in the saddle, and then swung up and onto his buttox. (Yes, I just wrote buttox.) Her excitement was inspiring! She giggled the entire time, and all we did was walk! It makes me appreciate the little things that I often take for granted with K-pony. I was busy teaching her to sit up, hold her hands in the proper position (thumbs up!), and not to kick poor K-pony for no reason, when G called over that it was his turn now. Only because A truly had spent a reasonable amount of time on K-pony’s back did I comply.

G’s reaction to K-pony’s worn out gaits were quite different. He wanted to “drive,” as he calls it, and why couldn’t we run again? He inherited my desperate need for speed. Poor kid. He quickly figured out, much to K-pony’s dismay, that he could, what’s that word again? TROT!!! In his six year old language: "This is the coolest thing ever!!! Except for maybe that new holster Grandpa got me." :)

K-pony then parked himself in front of the three-foot vertical, and G then wanted to not only “run”, but “hop over” that “white thing!”

Ha. No, child.

But, K-pony seemed to have a different opinion when he knocked it over and literally “hopped over” the ground poles. If you would have asked me directly before the take off, I would have said that G was sure to fall, but he maintained his balance and the only danger he was in of falling off was from laughing too hard. I was stunned in to giggles myself out of shear amazement! A horse, my previously western pleasure horse, just knocked over a jump so that he could “hop” over it! Priceless!

I guess the point of this rather lengthy account is that sometimes trading Reynolds for Schwarzenegger can turn out decent enough. Just make sure you throw in a horse and a couple of munchkins. 

Stabbed

I am such a wimp. I pride myself on being able to fall off a 1300lb animal and get up laughing and more determined than ever, but today I was a wimp. But, I do have a reason, as you will see. I was stabbed in the arm… Okay, maybe stabbed is a little dramatic. It was more like poked, stuck, or “pinched,” as they call it, they being the dreaded nurses.

Due to the fact that my body has decided to take up a number of abnormal activities that are rather alarming, my doctor, wonderful man that he is, ordered every blood test in the book, which led to the stabbing incident. (Thanks, Doctor. I really appreciated your thoughtfulness after the seventh, yes seventh, vial!)

As my father dear drove me to the hospital, I suddenly felt shooting pains running up and down my left arm. I looked down and saw the spot, the spot where they always get me. I have two prominent veins that are apparently full of life, for every time I need any type of treatment, that is the first place the nurse looks and subsequently stabs. Oh, how my arm did cramp! It was as if my muscles were going into rebellious spasms against the impending event.

It did not help my nervousness when I saw that the nurse who called my name had crazy eyes. Only the looniest of people would choose human stabbing as a profession, of that I was sure. She tried to distract me by talking about what seems to be on everyone’s mind: Christmas. I think she got the message that I really just wanted her to shut up and get it over with when I stopped talking altogether.

Just kidding.

Me having a very hard time being rude to strangers + my talkative nature= me talking to her about what I am planning on doing over my winter break. Sadly I was not even to the interesting part when I felt a horrible pain in my arm. My heart stopped beating. My lungs felt paralyzed. The room swirled out of control. Nothing was clear.

And then the nurse’s face was before me just as it had always been. Wait, I wasn’t fainting at all. I was fine. She asked me to continue my story. I looked down and saw the number of vials filled was less than the vials empty. Great, the worst is yet to come! But I respectfully continued my story, speaking of everything and nothing at the same time, and before I knew it, her work was done, and there was a gaping hole in my arm. I shuttered. She put a piece of tape over the bandage and told me I was good to go, but to leave the bandage on so as not to contract any viruses. Oh, gee! Thanks! So if I’m not already, I’m sure to die from a virus that I contract through the gaping hole in my arm. Comforting, to say the least.

I walked to the lobby to find, and Father Dear laughed at the sight of me carrying my arm in my right hand, being careful not to bump it against any obstacles that I may have encountered. What can I say? I told you I was a wimp!

Throughout the whole night I would randomly get a cramp in my arm and have to stretch it out a few times before it would release its grip on my nerves. Oh, the horror. A, my little sister, saw my “owie,” and she just stared over the now bruised hole that the needle left behind like I was the biggest hero in the world. I had endured a great feat in her eyes, being as she hates getting her blood drawn even more than I do. So I suppose something good came of it, but still. Stabbing? Isn’t there another way to test someone’s healthiness rather than completely invading not only their bubble but literally, their BUBBLE?

I’m thinking that maybe, since I am so impassioned by this issue at the moment, that instead of becoming a best selling novelist, I should perhaps be the renowned inventor that comes up with a new way of drawing blood, one that involves no stabbing whatsoever. I presented my idea to a good friend and her response was as follows: Hahahahahahaha. Yeah right. Stick to writing. Haha.

Sniff, sniff. Okay :( So I remain an incredibly wimpy, almost novelist, flat broke student that will have to forever endure the moors of stabbdom.  

Inspired by a Snowy Night's Drive

Heart

  

There’s something in the air.

Literally.

There is hate.

Malediction hanging and falling in slates of ice.

It is ruthless.

Mean.

Destructive.

Children call it snow.

Fools.

The loathing trials haven’t even begun

Until it hits the ground.

The first flake.

Signals reproach and shame

Upon the skies above.

Painfully beautiful.

Roads coated with vengeance.

Slick.

Deceptive.

Unclear.

Where to drive

What to see

What to know

Places you’ve traveled before.

Unrecognizable in its grip.

Betrayed.

Hurtful.

No one stops.

No one cares.

No one looks.

Before the crash.

Flashing lights,

Red,

White,

Blue,

Everywhere.

Dodge the scene.

Can’t look away.

Calling loved ones.

They’re okay.

Breathing.

Waiting.

Rushing thoughts.

Nervous beating.

Heart.

Slow.

Steady.

Persevere.

The night will end.

Gone.

This poem was inspired by last night’s snow storm, an approximated three inches! I was driving home with my father dear, and suddenly poetic thoughts streamed through my mind. They forced their way out altogether by themselves, and this is what became of it! Funny how you become a tool to your imagination.

Time

Uh oh… it’s happening again.  My life is starting to spin uncontrollably into the future, and things are moving forward at an alarming pace. I’m determining what route in life I want to pursue and meeting all sorts of people that will most likely have a significant impact of my future. It’s overall quite exciting, but then again it’s frightening. The years when I can say, “I don’t know yet, but I’ve got a few more years to decide,” are slipping away. Suddenly I have decisions that no one else can make for me, and I have responsibilities that only I can tend to. How’s a girl supposed to handle that?

Just the other day I went to one of my nine cousins basketball game, and it’s amazing how much we’ve all changed! With the oldest cousin off to college and the rest of us following close behind, something doesn’t feel right. We are leaving our puerile ways! To any person that has grown into venerable senescence, our ages would seem only to be the very beginning of the callow stages. But to us, it feels as though we have conquered major levels in the game called life. Sometimes I know we all feel invincible, and the thought that someday we will have to experience the superannuated life that others around me cope with daily is unreal. Then again, I remember thinking 2010 would never start, and here it is almost over! Before I get a chance to stop and establish where I am, I’m a year older and with that come many more expectations from those around me.

 I look back to when my cousins and I were little and our whole obligation in life was to enjoy a good game of hide and seek and a freezer treat. Those days were nearly perfect, but it didn’t seem like it at the time. A scraped knee felt like the end of the world, and believe me, I got those A LOT! The times when we were so carefree are forever lost in history, and then I stop to think about today. Will I look back at this very moment and wish I could be back in my childhood room writing a blog instead of paying bills? What are the “scraped knees” in my life now? Everything seems much bigger than that, but I’m sure to someone older and wiser my issues would seem minute.

Ugh… Time changes everything and cannot be stopped. What next? Only time itself will tell.

Our Version of the Utopian World

Snow. Ice. Everywhere. Winter wonderland? Hardly! From about three o’clock this morning until almost noon, the world outside my windows was swarmed with a milky shade of snowflakes. Once in a while I could catch a clear glimpse of some familiar object, such as the driveway, and to my surprise, nothing was even close to being covered! “Impossible,” I thought. The weather had been so treacherous that almost every community event had been cancelled, and I hadn’t been able to see ten feet in front of my face all morning and there’s barely any more snow? What? Very confusing, you see. As it turns out the advisories set out by our local weather stations were for forty to fifty mile an hour winds. All that time I had spent imagining walking into a shimmering white paradise was wasted!

After the reality that we were in for another dreary Illinois wintery day, the inevitable question was set before me: What is one to do with oneself on a day when you’re almost snowed in?

Read a book! Duh!

Unfortunately for me, becoming engrossed in my fun nighttime thriller was not an option, as I’m slightly behind on the reading for one of my classes due to my own procrastinating ways. So instead I began again on Brave New World, written by Aldous Huxley. A few weeks ago, when I had originally started reading the piece of fantasy fiction, my reaction was made up of pure repulsion. Put simply, it is a creepy book! There is nothing about it that makes you want to curl up with a blanket and a mocha to spend a winter day in soothing relaxation.

To give you a better idea about what this book is all about, here’s the synopsis found on the back cover:

“Aldous Huxley’s tour de force, Brave New World is a darkly satiric vision of a  “utopian” future—where humans are genetically bred and pharmaceutically anesthetized to passively serve a ruling order. A powerful work of speculative fiction that has enthralled and terrified readers for generations, it remains remarkably relevant to this day as both a warning to be heeded as we head into tomorrow and as thought-provoking, satisfying entertainment.” 

As you can probably imagine, I was not particularly looking forward to catching up on what I’ve missed, but it was one of those “laundry tasks.” It must be done or else we would all end up walking around naked.

Surprisingly enough, I’m more than 75% through with the book, and I no longer agree with my preconceived idea that the story is merely “creepy.” It moved me to think as I learned more and more about the surrogates’ life style and the way they are bred to think. In their world there are no such things as mothers and fathers; in fact, they are bred to believe that giving birth is a repulsive cycle. Instead the humans are manufactured in their own test tubes and then conditioned by subconscious sleep repetitions. Each class of society is conditioned differently so that they learn to only accept a certain way of life and not to disrupt society. “Everyone belongs to everyone else,” is one of their most commonly stated phrases and so their moral code is nonexistent. Life in their world goes on in perfect harmony until a “savage” arrives.

His name is John, and although he is 100% made of surrogate blood, his mother actually gave birth to him on an Indian reservation, the last remainder of the previous life where there was disease, love, and the belief in God. His mother had been abandoned accidently after a temporary vacation to the reservation, and so he was raised within the Indian community, spending every moment he could reading from his only book, that of Shakespeare. At last, a member of the “new world” returned, also for a vacation, and took both John and his mother back to the surrogate world.

John expected to find some great land where he would finally fit in, but is sorely disappointed to find that the code of living is so drastically different from what he had learned was acceptable from his Shakespearean obsession. Everyone around him looked at his time spent absorbed in his book as insanity, for solitary thought was forbidden. Even the woman John loves cannot understand his reasons for not submitting to the immoral ways around them, and he must use every inch of self control to stick to his standards.

I would gladly tell you the end, as I am not much for keeping secrets, but now you know about as much as I do. The real reason why I am no longer repulsed by the theme itself is because it is incredibly thought provoking. The world that Huxley portrays is an appallingly realistic view of today’s world. In my generation especially the moral code is lowering itself day by day, and if you think about it, how many youths actually spend time in solitary thought, sorting out their own feelings? A world of video games and television has made entertainment so accessible and attractive that plain and simple meditation is rare.

We are conditioned, whether we admit it or not, but the people who raise us and the things that we experience in our early childhoods. Those are the things that trigger reactions in us later in life, just like the surrogates’ immediate repudiation for sick things.  We are also conditioned by the people who surround us later in life, and oddly enough, a universal acceptance of instinctively disgusting practices is prevalent everywhere… Just like the surrogates…. Ok, now I’m starting to creep myself out again…

Anyway, Brave New World is a book worth reading or rereading just for the pure social value. It’s as sparkling, as provocative, as brilliant, as impressible as the day it was published, and even more applicable. I need someone to compare notes with and see if my connections to the utopian world and ours are even remotely accurate. If you have thoughts on the matter or if I somehow inspired you to read this great piece of fiction, let me know!

A Prayer

Dear God,

You have a wicked sense of humor. In my deepest thoughts, I asked you for a tall, blond, blued eyed Irishman…. And low and behold, you provided one!!! His only issue is that he isn’t particularly Irish, but then again we are in America. However, judging from the day’s events, I suppose you misunderstood me. When I prayed for a Blondie, I meant for me!

You already know what happened but let me tell you again:

My six year old brother, my eight year old sister, my timeless mother, and I arrived at the salon a few minutes early, a rare feat. For most of us humans, getting a haircut is no big deal, but for sweet A, my sister, it is quite a traumatic event. She has Down Syndrome, and many people look at her phobia of haircuts with criticizing eyes, but let me point out the not so obvious: Exactly how many people do the rest of us allow anywhere near our faces with sharp objects? Needless to say, we saved her cut for last, hoping for the best, when who shows up but the tall, blond, blued eyed, MLB candidate, son of the hairdresser! “Oh my, my, my,” was all I could say, thanking you the entire time. I sat in silence, reserving my flirtatious powers, listening to him explain his reason for being there at that particular moment to my mother and his.

Then out of the corner of my ear, I hear a small voice in the background. “Hi,” it said over and over again, grasping for attention. I recognized it as A’s and saw her beaming in his direction.

It wasn’t long before he noticed it too, and to my surprise answered her greeting with a kind, gentle, “Hi!”

I was shocked! Almost everyone to whom she dares to speak out loud either doesn’t respond at all or is very reserved and mechanical. R, on the other hand, answered, looking straight into her eyes, actually caring for her response.

I couldn’t help but notice her ivory cheeks turn rosy, and she covered her face in playfulness. She would peek around her fingers once every few seconds, and R would be waiting for her giggly reaction. Suddenly, she no longer yelled at the suggestion of a haircut, but gently said, “No cut cut, Mamma.” It only took one proposal from R, and she was willing for anything. You should have seen the display of bravery! She covered her eyes and held back the tears with valiant effort! Within minutes a good inch and a half of her hair had been trimmed, and she stood up, looking more beautiful than ever. “Where’s R?” were the first words out of her mouth. 

“Oh, boy,” I thought, as she swaggered towards him, with her hands behind her back. “Pretty,” she chirped as she flipped the ends of her newly trimmed hair. A ridiculous case of eight year old flirting, if you ask me! She spent the next several minutes playing peek-a-boo with him around nearest corner, and the most amazing thing of all was that he was able to carry on a conversation with G, my brother, at the same time! Not an easy task and truly impressive! I haven’t heard my sister laugh like she did today more than a dozen times in her entire existence, and it is the most beautiful sound in the world, nor have I seen her connect with someone that fast, especially with a guy! The three talked sports until it was time to go, and I sat back and watched in fascination.

It warmed my heart to see someone care that much about her feelings. Anyone who knows me is well of my attitude about my sister: If you’ve got a problem with her, I’ve got a problem with you. If you can’t accept her, than you better just walk away. (Oh yeah, I can be like that. ;)

A few hours later, as we sat in front of Sam’s Club, waiting for G, Mom, and the groceries, A talked up a storm about wanting to go see R play baseball. She must have told me a hundred different ways. It was the sweetest thing.

So, dear God, in reviewing all of this, I see your point. I learned something today. I learned that the people that can accept her and love her immediately for who she is are few and far between. She deserves all of them she can get! Besides, how could I steal her first crush? Despite all of the logic, your humor is really quite ironic, and because you have teased me so, I’m going to assume that there truly is an Irishman waiting for me, right around the corner ;) Maybe today was just practice.

Cleaning, Movie, Game

After an altogether depressing morning, I got up and embarked on a rather daunting task: cleaning the garage. Yes, a seemingly mundane task, but my garage is unlike any other. It is full of multiple boxes, shriveled up leaves, old furniture, and junk. It is also the home of S-Dog, your friendly neighborhood golden retriever, and H-Cat, who is very much under the impression that he is king of the forest… nuff said.

Since this area of my home is not one that I spend much time in, its state has not particularly bothered me up until now. The fact of the matter is, the snowy weather is 100% here, and I do not like scraping windshields when I know there’s another option… hence the afternoon being spent outside making trips to and from my garage to the shed, sorting through boxes. Ah, but the transformation was far from complete. I had yet to sweep out the piles of cat hair, dust, and half way rotten leaves, mixed with a blend of dog food and nails. I found myself asking the walls around me, “How in the world did all of this stuff get here?” It was absolutely DISGUSTING and then I thought about the last time I actually swept out the garage… yeah, I can’t remember. Sad, very sad.

The good news is I eventually and single handedly, I might add, liberated the garage’s spirit and triumphantly parked not only one car, but TWO! Inside!!! I was rather proud of myself.

Then, chilled to the bone, exhausted, and still slightly disheartened, I lied down in front of my favorite movie of all time, P.S. I Love You. While it is fantastically romantic, it is also very telling. Some refuse to watch it, claiming it to be too sad, but when you have pent up emotions, repudiating every urge to come out, it is the perfect fix. It is one of those movies that has you in tears one minute, and the next you’re giggling at the characters’ plight. My only question is where are all of these cute, singing Irishmen, waiting for their true love to come along? If you happen to find one sitting on the street, preferably blond, blued eyed, and 6” tall, send him my way!!! :) And now, sitting here pontificating that wonderful piece of Hollywood fiction, I can’t help but share with you the line that always sticks with me: “Alone or not, you’ve got to walk ahead. The thing you’ve got to remember is if we’re all alone, we’re together in that too.” So see, we are truly never alone.

And then we have the Chicago Bulls, for which I have previously been just a “tolerater”, not so much a fan. But then they turn around and BEAT the LA Lakers, who I have a strong disliking for, by four points and guess what? Suddenly I’m a Bulls fan! They literally played their hearts out, and defying all odds, won against the Lakers for the first time in four years! In my opinion Derek Rose is one of the best athletic point guards in the entirety of the NBA. And DANG, Deng!!! They’re amazing!

As you can tell, I’m a girl with strong opinions and a nighttime obsession with basketball. Thank you, Dad, for teaching me to love this sport. And now for the Heat! Let’s go, LeBron!

A Small Piece of Humorous Fiction...

The Princess and the Frog

       Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a very ugly princess. Now this particular princess was getting older, but because of her looks, could not capture the attentions of a suitable prince. It would be a great tragedy to the people of the land if their future queen did not marry, and so the princess decided that there was nothing else to do but to start kissing frogs in the hope of one evolving into her true love. Determined to succeed, she flounced out to the pond, looking for her first victim. 

       "Mr. Frog Prince Sir! Oh, where are you?" 

       The floating frogs heard her calls, and gathered from her expressions that she was up to no good. They were all very well aware of her hideous looks, and none of them wanted to be touched by her, let alone kissed by her! As soon as she came into view, the frogs leaped into the water, and a great SPLASH sent the lily pads swirling. The princess saw the water's vigorous movements and thought to herself how strange indeed it was for the water to be so tumultuous on such a still day. 

       Undeterred, she scanned the abandoned waters a single frog, and finally her eyes came upon one very old frog. He himself was know for being very ugly, and a person with any sense at all would have recognized that he was certainly no prince. However, the princess was not as sharp in the area of mental skills as most others. Accordingly she waded into the pond, and picked him up. "Can I kiss you?" she said bluntly.

       He looked up at her from his beady eyes. "I don't know. Can you?" he croaked hoarsely.

       "Well you see," the princess began to explain, "I'm trying to find a prince. So before do this, kiss you I mean, let me ask: Are you a prince?"

       The old frog took a moment to think by furrowing his slimy brows before he answered, "I do not know. I very well might be. Kiss me and you'll find out."

       The princess' face crinkled, for now she realized how ugly this frog truly was. "Please do not fool me," she said innocently. Her face contorted in a very unflattering way. "You are rather ugly, and I do not truly love you," she paused dramatically and it was as if a great revelation had come across her thoughts. She snapped her fingers and exclaimed, "Maybe the transformation would not be complete if I did not love you!"

       "Just do it!" The frog winked grotesquely. "I have much hopping around to do today, and I can't wait much longer!"

       The thought of her opportunity slipping away was unbearable, and she sighed heavily. "Okay, then, here it goes!" She puckered her lips and delivered the ugly frog the best kiss she could muster, despite her apparent disgust. Her eyes remained closed for a few seconds afterward, and her lips began to quiver and to move up and down slowly. 

       "What are you doing?" the frog asked confusedly.

       "I am praying that when I open my eyes you will be my handsome prince."

       The frog rolled his eyes, "Would I still be in your hand if I was a prince?"

       "Good point." Her eyes shot open. Sure enough, he remained just as ugly of an old frog as he was before.

       Suddenly, the frog gasped and leaped from her hand. Disheartened, the princess sighed and sat upon a log. "I even repulse the frogs!" she whispered.

       There was a giggle from within the woods. 

       The princess' senses were exhilarated by embarrassment, and she meagerly said, "HELLO? Whose there?" 

       Again there was a giggle.

      Her eyes skimmed the outskirts of the forest, searching for any sign of life. Before she could locate the giggle's source, out of the trees stepped the most handsome prince her eyes had ever come across. She immediately began to blush and noticed his cheeks turn rosy too. 

       "Uh, hi!" said the prince amicably. 

       The princess searched for proper words, and when she found them she murmured, "Um, hello."

       "Are you otherwise engaged to that frog?" he asked, and she heard the familiar come from his beautiful lips. "Otherwise I would like to ask you to accompany me to the royal ball."

       "Really?" she almost screamed. There before her stood the man of her dreams, and she could not contain herself from dancing a small gig, but upon realizing how unbecoming her mother had told her tangents really were, she stopped. She straightened her form and attempted to say astutely, "I mean, um, why I'd love to!"

       It was not but a few days later that the two royals went to the ball together and danced under the moonlight, where the ugly princess' features were somewhat dulled. They lived happily ever after...

       Moral: Frogs are not a necessary tool for falling in love.

Winter's Wrath

The dreary winter's day is wasted
Upon those whose summer's warmth hath tasted.

How I long for the hot sultry days
When upon my skin the sun does blaze.

The same breezes that are welcomed in the heat
Become perils of bleakness we are forced to meet.

Imagine we escape to a bright, sandy world
Where no cutting blade of ice comes to meet us in a swirl.

There is sunshine and hope,
Making it impossible to sit home and mope.

People run and play and laugh
Enjoying every moment in the day's behalf.

Then we come back from this dream to find
The earth still cold, ruthless, and unkind.

There is nothing but another day of winter's wrath.
One day closer to the end of this season's monotonous path.

the art of losing

the art of losing

has to be overcome, has to be stopped

it's the dissipation of a world that is not complete

the squandering of a life that is not yet over

an unwilling forfeiture that has to be made

an ugly, denuded truth

a state of utter privation, a renouncement of life

leaving the bereaved to fight an elegiac reality

it is said the the art of losing isn't hard to master

i beg to differ

divesting ones you love seems an insurmountable task

it wasn't meant to be, it will not last

this is the art of loving, living, losing

it will be conquered

A Short Note to Someone Special

I never dreamed of this sorrow.
I never thought I'd have reason to lament.
I hoped I'd never know heartbreak.
How I wish I could change the way things went.
I wanted nothing but goodness.
I wanted reason to prevail,
not this bare emptiness.
I wanted days of plenty.


But I refuse to feel tragic.

I am aching for more than pain and grief.

There has got to be meaning,

Most of all when a love has been so brief. 

I have got to learn something.

How can I give you any less?

I want life to go on.

I want days of plenty.

You have to believe there was reason for us.

You have to believe that the answers will come.
You can't let this defeat you.
I won't let this defeat you.
You must fight to keep me there, within you.
So believe that we mattered,
And believe that we always will.
I will always be with you.
I'll be part of the days you've yet to fill.
I will live in your bounty.
I will live as you carry on your life.
So carry on,
Full of hope.
I'll be there
For all your days of plenty.

Return to My Life

Whew! Now that the pressure of finishing the NaNoWriMo competition has mostly subsided, I have to sit back and think of what I'm going to do with myself! Suddenly I have the flexibility to sit down and catch up with friends and family, and I can (can you believe it?) ride my horse! And the biggest plus of all is that my mind has slowed down enough that I can actually enjoy my Starbucks! It's a lovely, lovely feeling. For instance, I went to bed shortly before midnight last night, which is the earliest I have hit the hay in a LONG time, and I woke up having the frivolous craving for a peppermint mocha frappicino. What a wonderful thing to wake up to! And then, in pursuit of my waking conception, I arrived at Starbucks and immediately found out that they do indeed make peppermint mocha frapps. All I have to say is, "Yeahhah!!!" (You must try!) Then I came to the stunning realization that I now have the energy when I get home to blog! That's right, BLOG!! Very exciting, you see.


I was told at the beginning of this experience that I would walk around in a fog day and night and subconsciously be designing my plot even when in the middle of an important conversation! "No," I thought, "I'm not like that." Well, guess what? I am! Hard to believe, but incredibly true! Even though I wouldn't necessarily have to continue writing 2000+ words everyday, I can't help myself! It's a sickness that I cannot shake and have no desire to. I know someday it will all be worth it!