Yeah. I got tagged 10 times. I'm not tagging anybody, but... I've got nothing better to do. But what about your nov- I SAID NOTHING!

25 Things You Can't Possibly Know About Me Just By Reading My Blog (Until Now)

1. My eyes change color, and they are the most green in the morning. So I've been told.

2. My voice is low for a girl's. Not manly, really, but not high. Though I can sing up to soprano 1 parts. And down to high tenor, now that I think about it. I prefer alto though.
But no. I won't sing for you. (Uek)

3. Clayton says I bounce when I walk.

4. I crack my fingers like it's my job, and I can dislocate both my shoulders from their sockets. It doesn't hurt. In fact, it feels like stretching.

5. I have no piercings or tattoos, and I don't want them. I've got enough holes in my head, thanks.

6. My older sister is shorter than me. My younger sister is taller than me.

7. I bounce my feet.

8. I shake when I'm nervous. And stutter. And talk very, very quickly.

9. I bite things. My lip, my necklace, the tips of my fingers, random things sitting around me, people... but nice bites. Just nibbling. =)

10. I never blush. I can count on one hand the amount of times that I've actually gotten red in the face. Instead I usually just smile sheepishly when I'm embarrassed or flattered.

11. According to Scott, I talk with periods where there should be commas.

12. I'm a very messy eater. I get crumbs and such all over me.

13. I cannot ever be a comedian. I laugh at everything. I can't do anything with a straight face.

14. I curl up when I sit. My teachers used to yell at me to sit with my feet on the floor, but five minutes later they'd be back underneath me. I think it's because I was always so short that I would have to in order to reach everything on my desk.

15. Because of my contacts constantly itching, my eyes don't water when I cry (well... I guess it's sobbing in that case, not really crying...). I have to be very, very upset about something for my eyes to water. Or I have to actually touch my eyeball, which I don't like doing. Mostly because it freaks people out - though it doesn't really bother me.

16. I mostly wear jeans, screen tees, and big, soft sweaters. =)

17. I will ask you questions incessantly.

18. I am always cold. I hate hate hate the cold.

19. My paleness can be seen from space.

20. I arrange things in parallels and triangles without even really thinking about it. Actually, my best friend Holly had to point it out to me when I did it with my pencils in French class.

21. Apparently I sleep talk sometimes - I've never done that before this year, but my roommate Mary has informed me that I do. But only in French. And honestly. I think it's just that apartment fucking with my mind...

22. Speaking of sleep, I can fall asleep in less than four minutes. And Will tells me I've done it while speaking before. Mid-sentences. It was a completely nonsensical sentence, but it was still mid-sentence. I do not personally remember this, but he says it's true.

23. My back hurts constantly. It probably wouldn't if I had better posture.

24. I itch my neck and shoulders even though they're not ever itchy. Nervous habit.

25. I look like my dad, except for my freckles and my dimples, which are my mother's.

I

Hate

Writing

I hate every word I've ever written. None of them are right.

I don't think I'm any good at this. I think I'm pretentious and maybe just good at pretending that I've got something to say.

I hate writing. I hate this feeling of complete inadequacy. I hate looking at what I've just done and knowing that it's a waste of time. I hate reading a book and thinking that I'll never do that. That I'll never do anything that well.

I hate when people read my words and say I've got something.
No. No no no no. Don't encourage this. It's destructive behavior, this constant introspection. Someone tell me to quit. Someone tell me it's okay if I stop because I'm not getting anywhere anyway.

I haven't got anything left. And everybody's right. It's not important and it's not even real.

I honestly think I'm going a bit crazy.











And I swear on ALL THAT IS HOLY, if I am EVER equated to Stephanie Meyer again, I'm going to kill myself, because I will not unleash such a thing upon the world ever. But that's a different story for a different day.

Now. Okay. I realize I am not in school. In fact, I probably realize it more than anybody else. I don't feel bad about it, I don't regret it, but I realize it. You know how I know? When I wake up in the morning, I spend my whole day going to not-school. You see, I'm there throughout my own day. I know when I am in school and when I am not. For instance, this entire morning, I have NOT been in school. So, because I'm fuckin clever, I put two and two together.

HOWEVER
That does not mean that I'm not trying to do something to better my life. So why is it that because I'm not getting graded on the shit I do, it matters less than everyone else's problems?

School is hard. I get that. I'm willing to bend over backwards for my roommates when they're studying. In fact, I'm never in my own bedroom because Mary is literally always studying. In fact, I don't even sleep there anymore because she has to get up at 7:00 every morning and I was usually rockin' the close shifts at work and didn't want to wake her getting in and out of bed. For the longest time I was the one who did all the cleaning around the apartment because my roommates didn't have time and I wasn't employed and even after I was employed I pulled my own weight. They did, too, when they had the time. It was lovely and I didn't mind it a bit.

But this month, I've been attempting to write a novel, something I've wanted to do for... well. Since I first learned what a book was. I want this to be my future. Mary wants to be a teacher, Dan wants to be... Um. Something, I'm sure. But because I do not have finals and grades and professors to impress, I don't get cut any slack at all.

Yes. You're right. I forgot to do the dishes today. I also forgot to eat. But I did write four thousand words.
Oh. I'm sorry. I actually slept in my own bed tonight. I did wake you. But I stayed up till one thirty trying to get these words written and I need some actual, non-couch sleep.
Pardon me for not listening to you talk about your day (this one I actually feel bad about... I like listening to people's days...) but my brain is completely elsewhere. In fact, it's in a place that's scaring me a bit. It's a place I don't understand and in which I am completely absorbed. I'm getting nightmares and I'm tired and I'm disoriented and the only reason I'm still going is because I have to.

Gah. I hate this, pretending I'm misunderstood. I'm not, not really. I just wish... someone would pretend like maybe me writing a novel is worth something?