In an Airport

     Sleep is overrated.  It's 5:45 am, and except for a brief (1.5 hour) nap, I've been awake for almost 24 hours now.  I somehow manage to survive on as little as 3 hours of sleep in a night, although if I'm lucky I'll get 5.  I'd go to sleep now, but I'm sitting in an airport rocking chair, and I hate sleeping sitting up in a public place.  Although it is before 6 am, so there's no one here.  Might as well sleep while I can, because when I get home it's going to be crazy busy.  I have shopping and parties and things to do.  Not to mention I've got an old friend whom I haven't seen in a while who's requested to have dinner or something while I'm in town.  It's been anywhere from several weeks to 6 years since I've seen these guys, and I can't wait to catch up with all of them.
      I've stopped questioning the way my brain works, so I recommend you do the same.  Following a train of thought can be productive and even fun in some cases, but not here.  Here you need to just let your mind wander.  If I've done my job right, and you're letting go properly, your train of thought should follow mine; if not exactly, then close enough for you to understand me.  I think most of you have mastered the trick.  The ones who haven't probably aren't reading this, and if you're new, start at the beginning.  That's the only place to start with something like this.  Tell the story from its genesis, and hope that your listener/reader will be able to latch on firmly enough to follow it to its cessation.


Castles in the Air

     I'm a bad blogger.  I've stopped posting entirely, and I feel really bad about it, but every time I sit down and start to write something for this, I begin wandering aimlessly through my mind palace and I forget all about writing.  Or worse, I can't write because I can't think of anything interesting to write about.  Which, considering the fact that I'm exploring my mind palace while not writing, is somewhat odd.
     For those of you who don't recognize the term 'mind palace', let me explain.  It is a Sherlock reference that alludes to a system of memory wherein one mentally stores particles of information in a metaphysical location such as a house or palace.  When one requires a certain piece of data, one simply enters the location and retrieves the data.
     Going into my mind palace is somewhat of a meditative state, requiring little to no external stimulus, or a controlled input.  Country music is a prime example.  I have no objection to most country music under ordinary circumstances, but almost nothing can bring me out of my mind palace faster than country or bluegrass music.  Loud, pounding bass will also do it, as will noisy crowds.  Football games are great, but not at all conducive to a visit to the mind palace.  Conversely, one of the best things to put me in my mind palace is a bit of Yiruma or some electric violin.  The Piano Guys are also good.
     But the "mind palace" is different for everyone.  For some it may be Buckingham Palace stocked with tidbits of interesting information.  For some it's the "American Dream", complete with white picket fence and full of all their hopes and dreams.  For some it's a haunted house, inhabited by the things that frighten them, but with a pull that is too strong to resist.  It is a very personal thing, and no two people's mind palaces are exactly the same.  My mind palace is somewhat of a cross between the picket fence and the haunted house variety.  It is where I store all of the beautiful things I encounter, and where I keep my nightmares.  It's where I go for inspiration when I write, and where I curl up and dream about the future.
     I spend a lot--probably too much--time in my mind, but it's not exactly a bad thing.  I think a lot of people are going to laugh at this, but my personal opinion is that not enough people take the time to 'decorate' their minds.  They fill them, certainly, but they don't bother to organize, to care for, and to love the things they put in.  These people slowly stuff their brains with useless information and don't even care.  A mind is a shameful thing to waste, yet so many people don't care for the gift they've been given.  So take some time.  Tomorrow is Sunday, so use it.  Get up, make breakfast, go to church, and take some time just to yourself to do some spring cleaning in your mind.  Get rid of the useless things, and lavish affection on the things you deem worth keeping.  Build your castles in the air.


The Small Things

     After watching the film American Beauty for my sociology class, I have begun more and more to notice the beautiful things I am surrounded by.  Especially here, to quote Ricky, "Sometimes there's just so much beauty in the world, I feel like I can't take it.  Like my heart is just going to cave in."  Beauty is everywhere in the Shenandoah Valley right now, and even though it's going to get wet and cold and miserable over the next couple of days, it will still be there.  Beauty can be found in almost anything, not just the obvious.  You only have to look for it, and more than that, you have to be able to feel it.  The sensation is hard to describe, even to someone who is familiar with it.  You have to have felt it to understand, and you have to understand to feel.  So pretty much, if you weren't born with it, you're out of luck.  But most people are born with it, so you're not hopeless.  Sometimes it just gets buried inside of you, under all of the superficial things that make up our lives.  You have to get past the makeup and the clothes and the friends and the relationships.  The fad diets and workouts so that your body can be what society considers beautiful.  Your own insecurities.  You have to let all of that go, at least for a moment, and just allow what is around you to wash over and around and through you like an ocean.  Let yourself drown in it, because when you get to the other side, you will not be the same, and that's a good thing.  Surround yourself with beauty, with encouragement, with joy and love.  But let yourself feel.  Not just the good feels, either.  Feel joy and love and happiness and success, but also feel pain and remorse and sorrow and despair.  Let yourself go, just for a little bit, and explore those feelings.  If you don't know what it's like to truly hurt, then you cannot know true healing.  If you keep pulling yourself out without letting yourself go down, you can never really get away from it.
     I saw something beautiful today.  Actually, I saw many beautiful things today, but the one that struck me the most was a little girl.  She sat in the row behind me at church, and I heard her 7-year-old voice singing the hymns and reciting the prayers as if she'd known them for years.  Then, when the pastor called for the children to come forward, she got up and marched to the front of the church for the piece of the sermon that, for today, was entirely her own.  She was the only child in the entire congregation, and I wondered if perhaps Rev. Bolin would simply deliver his usual message, ignoring the fact that there was only one small girl sitting in the front row.  But he didn't.  He sat down in front of her and proceeded to tell her about the coming storm, and how Jesus was her rock in all of life's storms.  He reminded her of the story of the two houses, one built on sand, and the other on rock.  By now, he was talking to her and her alone, and we were merely observers.  But what fascinated observers we were.  I know I was not the only one who leaned forward to catch every one of the living, breathing, hope-filled words he uttered to that little girl.  He shared with her, but we drank it in as well. And perhaps we also got something a little more.  By watching not only him, as he shared the gospel in words the child would understand, but also by watching her, young as she is, listening and loving and believing them.  It was beautiful on so many different levels.
      I can only hope I've painted the picture well enough for you to see what I saw, and feel what I felt, and know what I knew.  For that is the ultimate goal of a writer, is it not?  To impart to others through their words a picture or an emotion or a sensation.  Preferably all three, so that the reader is part of a story not their own.  To offer up a piece of their soul in hopes that someone will understand.  It takes a lot of insight, to create something that hundreds, maybe thousands of people will relate to.  It takes a lot of hope to put something out there not knowing how it will be received, but knowing that, whatever happens, you have put your all on the line and created something that is irreparably part of you, and will become a part of someone else.


Nothing Else Matters

   Listening to my moody rock music isn't helping my strange and sudden case of depression.  Metallica is great, but it can't cure homesickness.  I don't know why I feel this way.  I just do, okay?  That's how it goes sometimes, isn't it?  You feel things that you know you shouldn't, but the feeling won't go away and there's nothing you can do about it.  It lingers like a bad hangover, heavy like an elephant on your chest.  Sleep cannot alleviate the sense of loss, that inexplicable feeling of being torn in two.  Drugs might make you forget for a little while, alcohol might, partying might, but you will always end up back in the same place.  So I go to the music.  At least then I can know that someone else has also felt this way, and someone was able to put their feelings on paper so that they could be imparted to us without words.  I have found, actually, that music is one of the most effective ways of conveying an emotion without losing it through explanation.  That's why my taste in music is so diverse, but tends to be colored towards the sorrowful or emotionally deep.  I like everything from Mozart to Metallica, from One Republic to Owl City, and Five Finger Death Punch to Fleetwood Mac.  '70's light rock, '80's hair bands,  '90's boy bands, heavy rock and classical, electronic pop and christian contemporary.  It all depends on: a) what I'm feeling at the time, and b) what I'd like to be feeling.  Sometimes I don't care, but mostly my music is mood-based.  Other times, however, the converse is true: my mood can change depending on what I'm listening to.  Classical and Owl City calm me down, while Metallica and 5FDP make me moody.  Fall Out Boy and Journey get me singing along (loudly and off-key), while James Taylor and the Beatles make me happy in a subdued sort of way.  My emotions go all over the place when they can.......  I know this is so random, but I felt that it needed to be said.   Just because I'm insane like that.


Ode to the Awesomeness of Owls

     I wish I was an owl. I really mean it. I’ve always been a night person, and I hate mornings. (Just ask my dad. He gets me up.) I think it would be cool to have wings, to be able to fly. And also, owls have great eyesight. I, sadly, don’t. Which means I have to wear geek glasses when I’m driving. If I was an owl, I wouldn’t have to drive, and my vision would be 20-20 anyway. So I could see small animals from far away in the dark. The only thing is, most owls are bulimic. Meaning they swallow small animals whole, then regurgitate the inedible parts. Which is gross, but at the same time cool. A lot of people think that owl pellets are owl poop, but that’s not true. They’re really owl puke. Not like that’s any better. They are also prone to insomnia, probably because they sleep during the day, and if they’re in a bad spot, the sunlight hurts their sensitive and amazing eyes. I’d still love to be an owl. Plus owls are pretty. They have gorgeous soft feathers and humongous eyes. I’ve always wished for distinctive eyes. Mine are just this nondescript gray-blue-green color. I like to imagine myself as a creamy white owl, with gray feather tips fading to black at the ends of my wings. In summary, my top 10 11 reasons for wishing to be an owl(inpo):

*Owls are night creatures. Night is my favorite time of day. If I can say that without sounding stupid. *Owls can fly. I’ve always wanted to be able to fly.
*Owls have really soft feathers. It’s like wearing a super-light down coat, that’s cool in the summer and warm in the winter.
*Owls have great vision. Theirs is almost as good as an eagle’s, until you factor in the part about being able to see in the dark. Then it’s WAY cooler.
*Owls always know what they had for dinner the night before. If someone I didn’t like asked me, “So, what’d you have for breakfast?” I’d say “Wanna see?”
*Owls are insomniacs. I think I’d like being an insomniac. I love my weirdness.
*Owls get to annoy people and get away with it. “Who, who?”
*Owls also scare people’s pants off on a dark road at night. (See “Who, who?” above.)
*Owls are pretty. Much prettier than I am as a human.
*Owls don’t go to school. They are naturally smart creatures.
*Owls can turn their heads almost 180 degrees. I really wish I could do that. It’d be almost as good as having eyes in the back of my head.



     Do you know that feeling, when you've admired someone for a while, and then something happens that makes you realize that they're not what you thought they were?  I had that happen to me recently.  I will never again be able to look that person in the face without remembering that moment of realization.   I'm not angry with them; we all sin.  But it very nearly broke my heart to know that someone I looked up to is exactly like every other sinner in the world.  Everybody does this, you know?  We all have at least one person that we 'pedestal', so to speak, and create an idol out of.  For many, it's a parent, a sibling, a crush, a boyfriend/girlfriend, a teacher, a pastor.  Someone that we look up to as a role model, as perfect, as worthy of the unspotted love and affection we give them.  But, no one is perfect, so we are all fated to have that dreadful moment of discovery, of disappointment, of disillusionment.  It hurts like hell to go through, but we all will at some point (probably multiple ones) in our lives.  It helps to have someone you trust to take into confidence, to offer a shoulder to cry on, or to buy you ice cream and tell you everything will be alright.
     I know these things were sent to make me stronger, so I have a thought: If we all have at least one someone that we look up to, then what are the odds of each of us being that someone, for someone else?  Quite high, in my opinion.  So what if we all took that into consideration every time we get into a compromising situation.  If thinking of your mother being there doesn't phase you, think about the fact that there is probably someone watching to whom you mean the world, and who desperately wants you to make the right choice.  When you do, they cheer for you silently, and continue to watch and admire you.  When you don't, however, the heartbreak is immense and oppressive.  They may despise you afterwards.  They may mourn for the person they thought existed but is now gone forever.  They may go on with their life pretending like it never happened.  But any way they choose to deal with it, you have lost their full confidence and admiration forever.  Let that be a warning to all of us in situations where we think no one is watching.


Run For Your Wife

     So, I unexpectedly made the first school play of the semester when a friend had to drop out because of other commitments.  I got a call from the producer a day after finding out that I didn't make it.  Best phone call of my life!  I've been working with a great group of actors and crew ever since, and it has been one of the neatest experiences of my life.  It's a fairly small theatre, but there's only 8 cast members, so it's just cozy.  Small cast and crew is nothing new for me, but black box theatre is.  It's a really cool way to do theatre, because it means you can set up the staging any way you like: proscenium, thrust, in the round.  For this show we've got it set up proscenium, but it's different than a traditional theatre in that the audience is closer to the stage, and on the same level.  It's an intimate experience, but not in the way that the Blackfriars Playhouse is.
     The crew is absolutely amazing.  Last night, the set was bare, patchy, and mismatched.  This evening at rehearsal, it had all been painted.  The walls, the doors, the baseboards, the trim, the floor!  There were matching chairs and a large rug.  The doors opened into halls and rooms, instead of black spaces.  It was all dry, all coordinated, all lovely.  The doors slam and the props are organized.  The publicity team is doing a great job of getting the word out (*le me helping them....*), and the actors are fantastic.  I am so blessed to be a part of this production....  You guys all need to come see it!


Measuring Love

    I wonder if there's any way to know whether or not you really love someone.  Can love be measured?  I mean, we all say we love someone as much as we possibly can, but is it true?  Do we spend more of our love on them as a relationship progresses, or do we simply become capable of loving more?  Perhaps it's something of both.  Having been single all my life, I wouldn't know, but can any of us really answer the question "How much do you love me?" ?  Is it enough simply to love, or must we know how much of another person's heart we have?  Can it be gauged, or is it beyond all human reckoning?  I'm asking a lot of questions here, I know, but I'm honestly curious.  Does a married couple of 50 years love each other more than they did when they had only been married 25 years?  What about ten years?  Five years?  When they were engaged?  When they first began their relationship?  Do they in fact love each other more, or is it simply a different kind of love?  What if, during the first stages of a relationship, you love someone more and more, until you can't possibly love them any more.  Then, once that one person has all of your earthly affection and devotion, what if your love simply begins to mature?  For example, when you were conceived, you were a pair of cells.  Those cells divided and multiplied and divided again, and rearranged themselves and grouped up, and then you looked like a human, and then you were born, and then you grew some more, until you were complete.  All of your bones were as large and as powerful as they were ever going to be, your muscles were fully developed, your brain told your body what to do and it did it.  Then you began another growing process, but this one was invisible.  You began to mature.  You become more and more capable of intelligent thought, of reason and logic, and of proper and decorous behavior.  This mysterious self-education began before you were fully developed physically, but once your brain no longer had to worry about directing this protein to this muscle, and this vitamin to that internal organ, and telling the bones to build themselves up and the muscles to pull this way and that way, once all of that became routine and normal, then you could focus fully on developing your mind, your intelligence, your feelings.  That's how I think it works.  There's a bit of overlap with the two processes, but for the most part it's one first and then the other.  There's my opinion, anyway.  Not that it matters.

Friday Night

So, I'm in college, right?  And college students are notorious for getting themselves in trouble on the weekends.  I have to say, I have never felt more forever alone than on a weekend at Mary Baldwin.  All of my friends are going home for the weekend.  Their boyfriends/girlfriends/families come to see them.  They go downtown in large groups and go to dinner and parties and movies together.  And here I am, sitting in the art studio, staring at a sheet of expensive paper and a selection of drawing materials as if they will somehow magically make beautiful things appear if I look long enough.  I have no life, but that's okay.
     I hate being burnt out like this on a project.  I love to draw, to create something two-dimensional that is as beautiful if not more so than the 3D object that inspired it.  There it is!  Inspired.  There's no inspiration right now.  Only a fear of failing, of not being good enough, of messing it all up and having to start over again.  That has to be it.  But why?  I know I can, I know I want to, but somehow I just can't.  And it's due Monday.  This is not good.  Will somebody please tell me what to do?  I need a studio buddy for moral support.....  Any volunteers?



.....if I made the right decision leaving home at 16.  Not because classes are an issue (they're not), but because I'm afraid I'm going to change irrevocably in ways that I'd rather not.  I don't know how the next four years are going to go, but the beginning is.....  Interesting.  I've made friends, but I have yet to find someone who's really anything much like me.  Some are party girls, some study all the time, and some are always at the gym. Some of them have sailor's mouths, some are quiet, and some are opinionated.  I had lunch one day this week with a Korean girl, a Japanese girl, and an Indian girl.  I have a friend from Northern Ireland and a friend from North Carolina.  The diversity at this school is nothing to be sneezed at.

But I have to say that there is a degree of comfort in uniformity.  That's why we tend to form groups of people who are similar to ourselves.  In my sociology class, Dr. Wells is separating us into 'communes' for our group projects.  The point is to develop a society based on a common aspect, such that it excludes those who do not share the chosen similarity.  It can be as serious as religion, or as silly as a love of fried pickles.  It can be a single attribute, or a complex combination.  I can't wait to find out who's in my group and start hashing out ideas.  Our final project will be a demonstration to the class of how our commune works through a skit, a powerpoint, an interview, a series of posters, whatever we think is the most effective way of demonstrating what holds us together.  I'm rambling again, but I thought it was rather appropriate to the subject.

Anyway, my point was.....  I forgot what my point was.   Oh, right.  Was this the right thing to do?  Or will I graduate at 20 having ruined my life by going to college before I was ready?  Am I ready?  I actually don't see how it matters now.  I'm here, and--- OMG RAINBOW!!!!!!!  Huge, bright, colorful rainbow, right outside my dorm room window. and the sky's pink in places and purple in places and orange in places and it's fabulously beautiful.  I guess it's not so bad here after all......


Wisdom and Anaesthesia

I had my wisdom teeth surgically removed yesterday.  All I remember is going to the room, having my blood pressure taken, and being given a shot.  The next think I knew, they were shaking me awake and it was all over.  I don't even remember walking out to the car.  The following is the result of me being completely unable to talk to my mother and grandmother on the way home.

I'm thinking fine, I just can't talk to you! And I have no comtrol over anything right now. My brain is fine, but nothing else works. I son'r knqo qhwere the rest of my teeth are. I don't remember anything beyond the shot in my arm. My head keeps wanting to fall backwards. But it's not any better. I'm so sorry. Ben asked if we could go out to lunch sometime this week. He and sabannah have permission to come up here at lunchtime whenever it's comvenient for me. That's what I told him. I like tha sound of that.Yeah. Now I guess I know why. I don't want to talk about last night just now. I'm sorry.I'm so glad for you. I”m h happy to have been a part of that dream.jjThank you. I'm glad I learned to touch type. Just how fat is my face? Because it feels like it's about twice it's normal size. This song will be hitting charts before long. It's not his mormal style, but it's good. My legs feel like noodles. My tounge is like cement.Default is the stupidest thing. I have to relax my shoulders, or they're going to be so sore. I can finally open my eyes. I CAN”T TALK!!!!!! Not particularly right now. My nose itches on the inside.Now I know why I don't remember the doctor. Seriously?!?!?! I really hope I didn't say anything embarrasing. Poor Grammy. It's torture for an actress not to be able to control her facial expressions. I can't move my face! Not at all. Why? I can't even nod. Poor me. I'll get it back before too long. Overachiever. I like both, but sweet tea will probably be better. Yes. She would cry if you died? That's good. Pretty place to crash. In case of emergency. That's tiny. And she probably paid a ridiculous abount for them too. How many of them are there? Those are the better ones. I never liked Little Debbie. Because it's a brand name! Everybody knows who she is. Little Debbie, I mean. Crazy yanks. Are they? Because of a certain parent who was worried about our health, I have never been a conneseuir of junk food. Not even then. THOSE ARE NASTY!!!!!!!!! I was about to say it must be a man thing, but.... My nose itches like crazy. I'm really hoping I don't inhale gauze. That's good to know. I don't like the sound of that. I wouldn't be able to find it. I am not capable of swallowing anything right now. It'll get lost somewhere. My mouth feels bigger than it's ever been. Tea. I'm really tired. That tea is really nasty. Either that or the pill. Probably. The tea is still nasty. It must have been the blood then. The left one hurts. On the bottom. Which is odd because I think that's where I was missing on already. Yeah. I'm woozy again. Okay. I think I can walk a little. I want my earbuds, though. I don't want to have to hold the ice in place. What're you reading? Ah... Can I have my cellphone? I'm sorry. I left in in here last week. The other thermos. I am in full control of all my mental capacities. I'm just tired. That's good to know. Now I do need that other cord. Thank you. I want you to hear this song. It's not his usual style, but it's good. This whole album is a deviation from his norm, and that's part of what makes it so good. I'll switch it back to the headphones whenever you want me to. I got some ice cream last night, but it's chunky. I don't like Jello, but pudding is okay. Yogurt is fine, and chocolate... I don't really care. I think so. I have like 6-7 nes notebooks, and I bought new pencils and pens. I got some little square post-its, and a bunch of paper clips. Most of the stuff on the list it would probably be better if we got once we were up there. They've both emailed me, and I answered them, but I haven't heard from them since. Not yet, but I'll do that this afternoon. She writes the ones about the amish communities, right? So what do you think of the music?

He personally is a christian, and he did put out a christian album, but most of his music is labelled electro-pop.

That came in my financial aid package. We need to cross out the one's we aren't getting and sign it and send it back. I brought it with me, and I have the rest of the package in my room if you want to look it over. MOVE Stupid. My brain isn't working well enough for this just yet.

What all's good for lunch in the Hazel Green area?

(Note:  I did leave in all of the spelling mistakes and typos.  At the very beginning, I was typing with my eyes closed.)


College and stuff

So.  I'm going to college.  Like, next month.  I'm a little bit scared, but I'm also a lot excited.  I'm so stressed, I failed my driver's license road test.  Got home, pulled up Twitter, saw this: "Life is unfair. But we better be glad. If it was fair we would get what we deserved. We deserve hell. But Jesus came and made a way<3".  God really does talk to me, and he does it through some pretty amazing people.  I'm hoping I'll find a good church up in Staunton(where I'm going to college), and that I can make Christian friends.  Just keep praying for me, and I'll be putting it in God's hands. 

I'm super excited because this is the college that I've known for a while that I want to attend.  They have a program called Early College Academy for 16- and 17-year-olds who haven't graduated from highschool yet but are ready for college.  Also, the Blackfriars Playhouse, home of the American Shakespeare Center.  For those of you who don't already know, I LOVE Shakespeare.  Like, LOVE LOVE LOVE it.  That is what I want to do for the rest of my life.  I'm going to be a Shakespearean actress.  "To be, or not to be...."


Storm Clouds

I love storms.  Like, really really love them.  There was a biggie on Thursday, and I wanted so badly to just stand outside and feel the wind beating my body and watch the clouds pouring rain.  It just makes you feel so small, doesn't it?  The power and the beauty and the anger all just gushing out at the same time.  It makes me realize maybe a little bit of the awesomeness of the God who made it.  Somehow, watching a storm rage, and knowing that beyond and behind and beside and before me walks a God powerful enough to flood our entire planet, is just a very peaceful feeling. 


The Author-Ship

So, I'm writing a book. Of course, as I said to my little brother, 'when am I not writing a book?' I think there's a little person in my brain whose job it is to tell me to write. And I do. All the time, about pretty much everything under the sun, as my blog will attest. I wish I could write for school as fluently as I write for you guys and in my journal. But, back to the book. It's really weird, and extremely odd, and I've probably broken (or will break, should it actually get published) every copyright law in existence by using Tolkein's elvish (quite liberally, I might add) throughout. Throughout the three pages that are actually written at the moment, that is. Supposedly, I'm writing a book with some people (no names, you know who you are), but that doesn't seem to be working out at the moment. I wonder why. Those of you who know what I'm talking about, we need to have a meeting to discuss this. Soon, preferably. I will see you all on Wednesday, so talk to me, Please! Nothing gets done if we don't talk to each other.

Why is it that I never can stay on the same subject for more than a few sentences? I trail off into one thing and then another, until I've covered every topic from applesauce to gallimaufry to unicorns, with various bits of elvish and British accents thrown in here and there. I just love to talk. Almost as much as I love to write. And such is the Author-Ship. I sail on from one thing to another, writing profusely about everything that crosses my path.

-Reality is a lovely place, but I wouldn't want to live there.



I'm a freelance writer, right? Meaning, I sit here at the computer and type whatever happens to pop into my head. Like, I happen to really like chocolate milk. But I can't have any 'cause it's almost my bedtime. Maybe while mom + dad aren't looking. (I don't really mean that, you know? 'Cause they read my blog. but, by the time they found out, it would be too late, right? JK, guys.) I also love panda bears. And ice cream, and my feather pillow. I wish I had a giant feather pillow for a mattress. I think I'm thinking about pillows 'cause I'm tired. And my right pinky is numb, so I'm having trouble with that side of the keyboard. If I mess up, now you know why. I am messed up. I think that's why I want to be an actress, 'cause they're all messed up, and I've got that part down already.

Green grass. Blue sky. Soft warm breezes and a long happy sigh. Stars and moons and twinkling city lights and--you. I don't know who you are yet, but I'll find you. You--nevermind. I don't really expect you to understand. Or to care. Oh well. A girl can dream, right? That's what I do best, I think. Dream. And sing. But only to myself. Not for anyone else--yet. Maybe someday. I don't really know what I'm talking about. Maybe I should go to bed. Yes, that's what I'll do. Goodnight, everybody. I'll see you when the sun rises again.