So much

There is still so much homework to do and so much to think about, but when you do start thinking about it you realize that there isn't really a lot to say. Not many details, not a lot to talk about-- and that's the hardest part, really, is thinking and wondering if I did something wrong or if I messed things up with that last message that ended the conversation for today. 

And I know I need to say more, but what? What will I say? What will I write about? 

I promise to do better tomorrow.   

At 4 am on Friday

Sane people are sleeping right now. Then again, sane people are missing out on some hilarious shopping experiences.

Cupcakes will destroy society

And my face, apparently. Apparently, operating an oven is extremely dangerous and I should not put my face anywhere near one. Because apparently, I was totally going to do that. Just ask my mother.

 

Would you believe that I have never worked an oven on my own before? Seriously-- I decided to make cupcakes for Thanksgiving tomorrow (the oven just started bleating to let me know that Batch #2 is done) and did it all by myself. I and all twelve of my little orange and brown sprinkled cupcakes are fully intact. 

So here's the schedule: tomorrow is Thanksgiving at The Zoo, featuring monkey cousins and poisonous old frogs. I'm serious-- some of these Cubans are like perfectly innocent looking frogs, just sitting there on their lily pads and making nice conversation until they start prying and probing for the one thing  they want: gossip. 

And I will happily deny them of anything good. 

Then it's Friday, Black Friday, which means that my mother and I will probably drag my dad out of his comfortable sleep at 4:30 a.m. to carry bags for us while we literally shop till we drop. I will walk out of the house carrying hot chocolate/coffee in a little Starbucks travel mug thing and demand more when I run out. I feel bad for any baristas who will be at work early in the morning-- they'll have to deal with a lot of annoyingly haggard people who just HAVE to get their shopping done at FIVE IN THE MORNING, even though most of the sales will be around ALL DAY. 

And then Saturday, or Sunday, or possibly even Friday night, I'm going on a date. You have no idea how weird it is to actually be typing that, so I'll leave the subject alone for now. 

Somewhere in between are APUSH terms and essay writing and hair curling goop and cleaning the entire house in a crazy effort to make the thing spotless and as immaculate as Mary herself. 

Honestly though, this is going to be fun. Stressful, crazy, but fun. I mean, how many times a year do you do crazy things like run around the house with munchkin cousins on a pumpkin pie and cupcake induced high, go to sleep for a few hours, and shop at five a.m.? 

Current Events

Flute notes echoed off the walls in the hallway, two silvery things producing less than silvery notes-- notes that slid and slipped down the scale. Sharp. Flat. Very flat. And laughter. High pitched and roaring all at once, the crazy laughter that fits right in between the measures and sits right where it should. It's more perfect than the silver.

A discovery occured in period 4: I have more friends than I think. There are more people who want the exact same things I do and will do the exact same things to get there than I expected. Boston, here we come! BC and Quincy have been given fair warning.

And then there was a phone call. After the flutes but before the pumpkin pie, a pink cell phone rang.One anxious voice answered, another repied, and by the end of it things were still a little ambiguous. But with a promise to call back later both cell phones snapped shut and two faces started smiling, and it's very likely that I was not the only one jumping up and down/dancing/feeling AMAZINGLY HAPPY.

Somewhere in between all of the good stuff there were tests and talkings and post-its and pencils, but none of that matters really. Today is comprised of three different events, each seperate and still whole.

Puddle Jumping 101

By now you see that nothing here makes sense.

But that's just how jumping into a puddle is, whether it's made of water or words. I look at a puddle and I wonder, "Should I really do it? I mean, I'll make a mess and get all wet, but wouldn't it be fun? To jump with abandon into something murky and undefined, the consequences uncertain." It's just a puddle-- just a little puddle sitting calmly on the sidewalk until someone like me decides to start a revolution. I don't know what'll happen, but I know some of the possibilities. I know that I want to jump right in and see. It's the only way to do things properly,as far as I'm concerned.

And so the Savage sits in his room in the Brave New World and reads Shakespeare, not sure of why people act the way they do or what's going to happen to him now that he's jumped but willing to find out all the same.

I make no sense. I try to explain things and I muddle them up, but that's ok. It's the first time in a while that I've enjoyed the sound of keys clicking and words appearing without any regard to being verbs and proper paragraph form. I just talk without thinking.