Journal Entries
It makes me sad.
Posted Jan 18, 2010
I always feel sad when I see groups and posts that haven't had any discussion for years. If the last posting was in 2009, I feel okay. 2008, and I'm feeling worried. 2007 is bad. There is something wrong with the fact that nobody had done anything in a group or said anything about a post since 2007. Anything before that is horrible. I feel terribly depressed if the last date is 2004, for an example. Sometimes, in dark hours, I will see something on which the last date is 1999. Then I start crying. (Not really, but it's close. Trust me.)
I am going to change that! From now on, if I see something with no discussion since before 2009, I will post something intelligent! Or something!
However, I'm not sure why this gets to me. Maybe it's because websites are like living organisms. Parts of them are unposted on and they seem to be dead. I suppose that the idea that part of a website dies as new parts come into existence worries me.
I've come across a few entirely dead websites in my time, and that really worries me.
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Latest reply: Jan 18, 2010
Dreams tend to be bizarre...
Posted Jan 18, 2010
I was walking through a world in which everything was painted out of water-colors. Suddenly, I realized that I was dreaming.
"I'm dreaming!" I said.
"Are you sure?" said somebody in my dream.
"Yes."
"Prove it."
"Okay. I'll... wake up." I couldn't wake up. I changed tactics and tried flying. That worked, and I enjoyed my self until I forgot I was dreaming and my subconscious got the last word.
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Latest reply: Jan 18, 2010
The adventures of a ten-year-old girl
Posted Jan 14, 2010
When I was ten and had a lighter load of daily homework than now, I used to find time every week or so to go exploring at a rock near home. It wasn't an ordinary rock; it was actually at least fifty rocks, but the main rock, The Rock, was at least sixty feet tall and a hundred feet wide. I'm not sure how many meters that is, but I'm sure it's a lot. I soon found that the smaller rocks were arranged so that they created caves and interesting climbing, and was only (being ten) slightly worried by the occasional rock that slipped out from under my foot when I was twenty-five feet above ground.
It didn't occur to me that careless rock climbing could end my time as a ten-year-old girl and make me a ten-year-old girl RIP.
So it was without worry that I decided to go exploring in one of the exciting rock caves. I looked into it. After only ten feet it branched off into two directions. I had already taken the left. It was time to try the right. I climbed up. It was a bit narrow, but that didn't matter to me.
At least, it didn't matter until I was almost at the end which, interestingly enough, led out to another part of the rock. At that point, the ground lowered a little, and I, too busy squeezing through, slipped down and got wedged, sideways, in the cave with one foot above the ground and my arms above my head hardly able to move. I was now a a stuck ten-year-old girl.
I surveyed my options. They were these:
1. Call for help and end up having some sort of emergency people get me out and make my Dad (who was somewhere around) furious.
2. Don't do anything and go missing and slowly waste away from starvation until I was thin enough to get out.
3. Try to get unstuck.
I chose option three. I struggled, pushed, and pulled, but to no avail. I tried turning my hips and feet, but nothing worked. In desperation I shoved the wall of the cave as hard as I could. That had an effect. I was now a stuck, sideways, ten-year-old girl. I was just wondering if I would ever see the light of day again when my Dad called me. I had been gone a while. I saw the end of my days as an explorer looming and, with a sudden burst of will power, found myself out of the spot where I had been wedged and heading towards the exit. Whereupon I saw a new situation. A girl even younger than me was standing on a ledge overlooking a fifteen-foot drop (enough meters to injure you. I could look it up but...) and insisting to her friend at the bottom that jumping off was perfectly safe as she had done it before, she thought she remembered.
It was my chance to save the day and I did, becoming a heroic, wiser, unstuck, ten-year-old girl.
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Latest reply: Jan 14, 2010
Senior Bowling
Posted Jan 14, 2010
At my high school (so you know I am sixteen) we have to do Physical Education (PE for short), which should be called Organized Torture (some people do call it that). It is not optional. They make us do forty-five push-ups every day. And they aren't even ordinary push-ups. Gone are the days when we were young enough to do regular push-ups like sane people. No, we have to start on the floor and push up, practically dying in the process. And if one person doesn't go up, we all have to start over. After one day when we all had to do 134 push-ups after starting over many times, I woke up the next morning unable to touch my elbows. But that was no excuse not to do push-ups the next day...
Anyway, everyone was very relieved when it was announced that we would be able to go bowling on Wednesdays and that class would be meeting at the local bowling alley. Interestingly enough, every Wednesday, at the same time as we were doing our bowling, a group of seniors were also bowling. The thought crossed my mind as I selected a bowling ball and rolled it. It went about five feet before slowly dropping into the gutter and making its way down the alley mockingly. The senior in the isle next to me yelled "Yeeha!" as she got her third strike in a row. Her senior friends using the same lane as her slapped high fives with her. My friends patted me on the back and took their turns bowling.
Things continued in exactly the same manner. Somehow, I was always up to bowl at the same time as she was, and the conversations she had with her friends were as mocking as my repeated failures.
"Watch me get a spare on this one, Teddy."
"You can't get a spare- that's a split!"
"Watch me, Teddy."
"I'm with you!"
"Yeeha!"
"Well- I'll be."
My PE teacher came to observe my failures and announced loudly that she understood the problem.
"Your arms little noodles," she said, "I'm surprised they don't break when you pick up a bowling ball." she chuckled at her own joke. The senior in the lane over reveled in her glory.
"Tell you what," said my PE teacher, "I'll ask at the front desk to see if they have anything lighter than nine pounds." My friend patted me on the back as the teacher left, and the senior in the lane over bowled a strike with a sixteen-pound bowling ball.
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Latest reply: Jan 14, 2010
My Sister: The Accurate Prophet of DOOM
Posted Jan 13, 2010
My younger sister likes to read. But she has a problem, which is this: all of her favorite characters die. Every single one of them.
I could go into a long list of times when she explained to me halfway through a book that her favorite character was [fill in the blank], only to find three chapters later that he/she dies, but I will present one case study.
Lara read the Harry Potter books at the same time I did. Around book four, she declared Sirius her favorite character. He died. Then she switched to Dumbledore. He died. Then she decided not to pick one favorite character (trying to break the curse), but to make a list of her top six. That way, she explained, the odds were that a few would be left at the end of the seventh. I agreed that it was a good plan. The seventh Harry Potter book came out, and Lara read it, noting what happened to her six favorite characters she had on her list.
They all died.
I have tried, on occasion, to figure out who is next going to die in a book I am reading by explaining a little bit about each character and telling her to pick her favorite. She knows what I am doing and tells me she won't pick a favorite character. I bribe her by offering to let her use the computer all Saturday. She picks a favorite character. It dies.
I've been trying to tell her not to pick a best friend.
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Latest reply: Jan 13, 2010
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