My skin is clear, and you can see what I'm thinking.

It's been an eventful last week here on Lake Woebegone.

I can't even begin, begin to tell you about your judgement, so I'll stop, I won't let you win.

The college clock is ticking down.

The concert was spectacular. Thank God for friends.

I'll be running along to work soon.

They keep telling me not to grow up, and then other people tell me to grow up. Surely there's a Goldilocks zone? Not too hot, not too cold.

Just right.

Too cool for Mondays, since it is Tuesday

I haven't meaked out any music in nearly ages.
But, I've been trying to put together an enjoyable fall car listening, driving through leaves as they crunch, goldenrod afternoon, orange haze, pumpkin seeds in the oven, playlist.

you've got the love- The xx
jacksonville- brandon flowers
sometimes- miami horror
casimir pulasi day- sufjan stevens
heartbeats- the knife
spanish pipedream- the avett brothers
tightrope- yeasayer
once in a lifetime- the talking heads
feel it all around- washed out
you'll see it- washed out
see the leaves- flaming lips
mrs. robinson- simon & garfunkle

i'd also just like to address, for the sake of addressing, one of my dear friends and her responses in conversation with me

"Sorry I can't hang out, I have a visitation to go to"
Her:"Oh, that bums."
--yeah, it bums cause I called the man my uncle for my whole life

**we were talking about our parent's marriages, or something along the lines of that topic
Her: "Yes, my mom has taught me how good wives should be submissive to their husbands"
--My mom skipped that lesson

**And when the topic of religion comes up, all Hell breaks loose
Her: "Christianity is not a religion! It's a way of life!"
Me: "Uhmmm, right? How about those dinosaurs..."
--Actually, it is a recognized Religion by all those faiths you can't force to convert, if it was a way of life, well... wouldn't we all be Christlike?

There was a man in the front in Oakleys and work boots playing the cello with his six other identical sisters and brothers.

A small child in a backpack decided to rub theapple that was on my table. That backpack was attacted to a leash. She kept petting the apple. I lost my patience.

All around was the sound of PAWP PAWP, from the pop guns and pop explosives and popping gum.

The noise echoed up and down and around the town as I ran my way through the opening booths, the first gyro stands opening up, the smell of grease and peppers hot in the ten-o-clock air.

Lost Highway and their cowboy yodels as I squeezed lemon after lemon, like doing a fist pump over and over until all the lemony goodness was out.

Haggling with vendors.

Getting extra apples for being sweet to the farm vendors.

Feeling like a zombie as I eat my chicken on a stick and wander down through the streets, emptying their crowds as the vendors close up.

Watching the fireworks through the front windows as the street dance blared dance music and the train flew by.

Eating too many scones.

Going to the Texas Inn for the first time. I don't care how gross the cooks look, it's so awesome to sit at a counter in a real diner where they have their own language. "Cheesy plain with a Denver and an Apple" (pie), that is.

The marching band at the Teddy Bear parade.

Coming home, and sleeping it off.

"That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever."

Running and racing are two different things.

So today, we had a tri meet against Nelson and WC and we have a double meet week, one Monday and one Wednesday, and it's pretty killer on the whole homework and staying warm and sleeping along with working a ton this week because of railroad.

But this is inconsequential.

In comparison to the fact that I MUST BEAT NELSON. They are a plague to Appomattox and our rivals in all sports and because half of their girls cross country team is composed of soccer players, it's just too easy for me to hate them. Tri meets just make it acute how close I am to them without actually being able to finish them off, like seeing how everything plays out in front of you and all you can do is run to see it sooner. Since it's just me trying to get points even though the middle schoolers beast up all the time I WANT TO KICK THEIR ASSES SO BADLY.

So, that means dropping time really fast at the end of the season, which.... hurts when I'm not properly prepared. But pain wins over seeing the dejected faces of Nelson runners ANYTIME.

:]

They were hawking my stroller. My means of transportation! Utterly upsetting! My five year old mind could not comprehend this unfair exchange of paper for a comfy hammock with wheels. I was consoled when my dad took my hand and we went to get Superman ice cream from a stand at the Flea Market, the kind that turns the whole lower half of your face blue as you lick your lips in satisfaction. Satisfied I finished my ice cream off in an unrealized lesson in life.
I watch the old ladies dragging along their grandchildren through our maze of piled high tables and trailers full of baby clothes and watch as the kids ask for the mermaid I didn't even realize we owned until my parents pulled it out of a box for the yard sale. Two quarters for a new(to them) toy. A pittance, but the lesson is passed on to the grandchild as they clutch the half woman, half fish to their chest, and just like the Ice cream the mermaid is the vessel of the lesson this time.
Some call it recycling, some call it getting rid of old junk, but the lesson is the same. Thrift. I wish it hadn't taken so long for it to sink into me, but watching unused items that my family had stock piled for our yard sale walk away in the hands of new owners I realized that a valuable lesson had been taught to me back when I was five. Because thrift doesn't only work through Goodwill or Flea Markets, it works everywhere. Saving things for the use of other people and giving to them what can be given again. Recycling the old for the new and useful to you and me. It can be almost anything, boxes full of baby clothes being resold, newspapers being recycled, collecting leaves from you town for compost instead of a life in a landfill.
My lesson of ice cream with money from a stroller and other items we had set up at our Flea Market booth that one day when I was five will be with me through my whole life. Utterly upsetting, no, completely empowering, yes! Because thrift is transferable to anything, and if you resell in the name of thrift, than you recycle, if you recycle, than you reuse, and by reusing you reduce.
Now that calls for some Superman ice cream.

The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.

--e. e. cummings

In another title, this post would be called "My Sister is a Palindrome, or might be"

But it's raining outside.


My Sister might be a palindrome. But she might not appreciate it.
I might wear my watch right side up, so that you may read it.
I might like freshly ground coffee with only honey or only sugar and half & half. Never milk.
I'm might be reading, now, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.
I may or may not have Dyscalculia.
It might be raining outside. It might also be that my feet are FREEZING.
I might like my soup burning hot. Scalding even.
I might like you. But, I might not talk about it.
I might be in love with The Battle at Isus.
I might not be fast.
I might love the cold.
I might go puddle jumping.
I might throw Rice Krispies at you. The ones with the writable packaging.
I might sit and wonder why.

"If you want to look at my feet, say so," said the young man. "But don't be a God-damned sneak about it."

Exceedingly long title, but such a beautiful line.

Eh, eh. Being sneaky lately. Like noticing my sister's morose aura at having broken up with her 30 year old pet monkey, or, boyfriend, as he was so lovingly called. He had a five-o-clock shadow er'day, and I mean I was like "what the hell you always got to be sitting on my coach making my sister feel all loved and shit, dayyyuuummm." But love never lasts, now does it?

But let me explain about the stickers.
You see, me madre is in this Master's Program through the fine institute of ODU, which I don't actually know is fine, but they do have this fountain, which raises them up on my college application a notch. 1 or 2, actually. So, she's getting this cute little teaching degree and the teacher assigns this do-good experimental "stickers" where if we say nice things to family members like, 'nice shoes' or, 'you aren't a bitch today, it's awesome" then we get rewards! Like ponies! And carrion! And beer!
But no, we ACTUALLY have to do nice things, so that we ACTUALLY have to hang out as a family. Which is ACTUALLY always unpleasent and always ends with the oh-so-famous line (and my personal favorite)--

"Why did you have to ruin this?"

(Due to my character: a bit harsh, with overtones of sarcasm and hints of "I don't give a fuck"-especially in my earlier Kaiser Chiefs period I almost always earned this line at the end of every "trip" together (and can't you see, it makes me glow with pride))

Anyway, listening to the Pocahontas soundtrack so my running mellow isn't harshed.Peace.

Pitter/Patter

Rainfall.
And some have it right, there is nothing better than rain on a tin roof, and naps under said roof.
But, I don't have a roof like that. Mine is normal.
So, I'm in need of a tin roof to borrow, especially for rainy day naps.
Call me, I'll pay reasonable prices.
It's also in the agreement that I need a (somewhat clean) sofa, or bed, or perhaps shag carpeting to nap upon. I don't mind if it's a bit musty and smells like old books. I like that smell.
And I'll raise the price if you have a COPPER roof. 'Cause those are just awesome.
I haven't heard the acoustics of slate roofs, but I imagine that they sound nice as well.
I also like grilled cheese after napping. Or macaroni and cheese. Or cider.
Book reading is nice too.
Soft jazz and/or folk.
Snuggly socks.
Warm lighting.
A slight cold draft.
A view of a tree(s).
Yeah, I'd pay for that.

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me the News!

'Cause I've got a bad case of....
Gunky eyeballs.
See, there's this thing when I free my eyes of glasses and wear super awesome contacts, that my eyes turn completely bloodshot. As if I smoked a shit load of weed. An ELEPHANT shit load. And not only that, but it also feels as if a rather small fist, like a baby's, has come and given me a stiff right hook, right in the lookers. And not ONLY that, but it forms this lovely crud which I feel The Beatles summed up in this one lyric--
"Yellow matter custard, dripping from a dead dog's eye."
-I Am the Walrus
It's okay to cringe, it's pretty repulsive I'll admit.
So I'm wandering into my Optometrist's office for the billionth time this month (or the second, I'm not sure) and by this time the receptionist actually calls me on my phone (at school) to tell me that my mom has scheduled an appointment, just for me, as if I'm special. My optometrist and I are forming quite a repore, he asks me nothing about my personal life and I ask him why my eye is so mortally fucked up.
"I think my eye may be dying, right at the roots, you now, like when small inbred dogs pop their eyeballs out and it's tethered with that string thingy..."

"Your optic nerve."

"Oh, that's what that is. Crap, yeah, it's severing...at least, it feels like it is. Is there a cure to this disease, my diseased little, beautiful, blue..."

"Here's your prescription, now get the fuck out of my office."

"Okay. :["

Or something like that.

Also, all these male nudes in Art History are making it highly uncomfortable to sit next to underclassmen. Because they can't handle fuzzy ancient Hercules man balls. Just. Can't. Do It.

"In the Disney movie he wore clothes."

Punch.

Fall-lala-la-la

Fall is the worst season known to man, and be assured, man has known about it for quite some time. It's not just the acorns, and the gathering fuzzy little squirrels, or the whacked- out weather. It's the feel. The cold mornings where you jog down to the kitchen while Listerining and stare at the coffee pot in a confused stupor until you realize again that you're actually awake and not in one of those pre-morning dreams where you dream that you just brushed your teeth. But then you realize that you aren't in the mood for coffee, still swishing away with mouthwash BECAUSE of the mouthwash, and you can't drink orange juice, because eww, mint and orange war in the mouth. So you pull the stale coffee out of the pantry and make yourself a pot and you put honey and milk in it and it's too sweet and then you dash off to school where you promptly fall asleep in calculus because your body just won't let you sleep anymore.

This Fall it's like Summer got out its glock and concrete and took care of that whiny Autumn by throwing it in the Hudson. It's the no let off bow that will eventually break because the finger slips and it shatters into a million pieces, and not pieces of crisp 60 degree weather, but of snow. Or maybe it will never snow. It will just be a million degrees forever and the Fall will fade into brown grass with brown dogs laying brown turds in the lovely little piles of brown leaves you rake up.

And Fall, and running, makes me have these weird cravings. Like for more sleep, and friends, and olives and arts and crafts and college and electronic music which has this weird effect of being both slow and fast at the same time and I feel the need to run on and on and on and on with no commas. But I just wish it would be 30 degrees with a chance of blizzard conditions because I love the feeling cold air makes in your lungs as you run. Like you're being torn inside by multiple lumps of steel wool and it always makes me crave hot chocolate. Basically, I want Summer to end and Winter to begin. Fin.