One of my favorite reading memories is 7th grade. I was sitting in Mrs. B's class, sharing a table with Ansley, and Jeremy. This was before I had broken my shell. I was trying to fight the tears of anxiety, watching them as they talk back and forth, flirting. I had no idea what to do. I was never much of a reader, but I had teen section of the books. I had gotten the book Frogs and French Kisses by Sarah Mlynowski. (This was the second book in the series Magic in Manhattan, but I hadn't known that at the time.) I shuffled through my bag, hoping that I had it. As soon as I started reading it, I couldn't put it down. I finished it that night, begging my mom to take me to the library to get the rest of the series. This book is the only reason I love reading like I do. This book truly opened my eyes and heart to reading,
remembered my mom and I had gone to the library the night before. This had been the first time I had been taken to the

When I finished reading The Glass Menagerie, I was sad because Tom just left his life. His mom was crazy and his sister has been beaten down to become the shriveled low self esteem girl she is. As much as Tom deserved his own life, his family needed him. They would always need him. But he ran away, rather than being a man. He ran away like his father and I just felt sad that he would be alone because of that choice.

My favorite things to write are probably a slice of life/romance. I don't know why but writing about the every day person just peeks my interest. I just love the idea of inserting myself into someone else's life, even if it isn't exciting to them, just being apart of something that I didn't know about before intrigues me. I am also a hopeless romantic so I can read romances for hours. I adore the chase of love.

I am sure I have written 10 books so far. Its all horrible. I hate making the pieces fit together so I am sure someday you wont see my name on the cover of a book. If I did write a book, it would probably be angsty and romantic and it would get inside your head. In the about me section, I honestly never know what to say so I always just write "is good" as a filler. Thats probably what would end up in print.

The first book I ever read was Put Me in the Zoo. I have written about this book many times but here it is again. Its just a great book. If you want to know more on my feelings on this book, refer to my other blog post Put Me in the Zoo.

"But
you should not
be in the zoo.
No. You should NOT
be in the zoo.

With all the things
that you can do,
the circus
is the pace
for you!

Yes!
This is where
I want to be.
The circus is the place for me!"

This short book is simple yet is incredibly insightful for years to come. Put Me in the Zoo by Robert Lopshire is actually an early reader book. This is too long to be a quote yet to short to be a story. But this part means so much to me. It is basically telling you you may think you know what you want, yet in reality you belong where you are accepted. I don't think I am explaining this well but this honestly gave me chills when I reread it a few nights ago. I may just be emotional but this just gives me such a warm feeling in my heart. We can all relate to the spotted animal in this story one way or another. Having your dreams crushed can be devastating but once you truly find your place, you are set. Let go of your sadness and welcome the happiness with open arms.

"Your mom goes to college" - Kip (Napoleon Dynamite)

"Strength is being able to crush a tomato.
Dexterity is being able to dodge a tomato.
Constitution is being able to eat a bad tomato.
Intelligence is knowing a tomato is a fruit.
Wisdom is knowing not to put a tomato in a fruit salad.
Charisma is being able to sell a tomato based fruit salad." -Anonymous

"I wouldn't want you to starve while we eat our ham." -My Nana

Flying away from __________. What am I flying away from? 

I know I am not flying towards anything 

But then wouldn't that mean I am flying away from something?

I suppose not.

This realization makes me stop. 

I freeze in time.

I look around and I take in  what I have been missing.

I missed so much as I flew without a purpose.

If I am not to fly to or from anything, then what is my purpose?

Is my purpose to look for my purpose or is it to live without one?

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Death is a funny thing. Tonight is the first night in my entire 17 years that I have dealt with it. I sit here, crying, trying to understand it. But there is nothing to understand. This is the reality we must live. We must always say goodbye. I feel like my tears are invalid as it wasn't direct loved one. Yet... I loved him. I loved that dopey looking cat. His long vampire-like teeth to his nub of a tail. The black silky fur made his light green eyes pop. Soots. That's what his name was.

My friend, texted me in a panic. She had found him, lying in a puddle of his own piss. When she tried to clean him, he went limp, submerging himself in the water, taking it in as if he didn't care anymore. By the time I pulled into the drive way, it was too late. He had died in her arms. I have never truly seen anyone so physically broken until I ran in and my friend clutched the limp body to her, screaming, bawling for help. For the next thirty minutes we cried. I tried to be strong but the cat I had once been so amazed with staring at me with cold lifeless eyes. Once her mother burst into the house, she sat with us. Yet no words could seem to comfort my friend. I felt as though I had to be strong. For her sake and my own. As my phone lost charge, we frantically looked for any hospital who would take away our precious boy. Once we found the only open vet in Springfield, we got in the car. You would expect the ride to be quiet but no. We tried to ignore the truth by telling stories about something else, laughing, ignoring the dead feline in my best friends arms. When we finally found our way to the vet, we sat there for a long while, crying. Then we started telling more silly stories. Until it was time to give up Soots. We were quiet when he finally left. Once he was gone though, it seemed less real. Like we didn't have to face it anymore. The part that put me most at ease was probably the car ride home. We talked of some silly stories of our beloved Soots. The dopey vampire cat. After a few minutes of sitting in their driveway, I left. Driving home, I began to cry again. I could finally cry as I wanted to. I had to pull over, more than once because I couldn't see through the tears. I got home and laid with my dog and parents, sobbing. I have never mourned in my life so I felt as though my feelings were invalid.

After crying until I felt as though my head would explode, I came to bed. Which is where I am now. Writing this story. Crying. It still doesn't feel real, but I hope my mom is right. "This feeling will go away in time. It will just become your reality."

Cold winter night. I look around, standing in front of a large house, two cars in the driveway. At my side, Dude. (Dude is my french bulldog). It is quiet all around me. Until I hear the faint sound of bustling people inside the strange house in front of us. Dude and I approach the house. Cautious with every step. The door opening with a faint push of Dude's nose. We step inside warmth engulfing our chilled fingers. People walk all around us, to busy to notice us, yet we are not invisible. The two of us move about the house, looking at things, watching the "family". Watching as the get ready for something important. A family gathering perhaps? Dude heads up the stairs and I follow, not wanting to lose sight of my precious pup in this strange house. I find a girl, we are similar in age from what I can tell by her features. She sits in the bathroom, struggling to do her hair. When I offer assistance, she gladly accepts, handing over the curling iron. I watch as dude jumps on the toilet. He watches as I curl the girls hair. Once I finish, she hugs me with a thank you. We drag ourselves from the overly kind girl. I wake my way back down the stairs, we hear a shrill scream from what can only be assumed to be a little boy. Blood can be seen, a flooding puddle seeping into our sight. All we can see is the dead boys little hand, pale and lifeless. I panic, looking around, then I blink.  look around, standing in front of a large house, two cars in the driveway. At my side, Dude.*





*TO BE CONTINUED

Thoughts on the Artwork:
This piece reminds me that realism will be/is the death of me. However, it is actually an amazing piece. You can tell the person tossed and turned, dreaming a very lively dream. As if it was real.

Haiku:
Tossing and Turning
Sleeping every day away
Never waking up