a baffling thought


Something has

been on my mind…


one of those things

I wish I could block out

of my memory


one of those things

that confuses me

one of those things

I wonder why

I ever think about at all


one of those things

I think about all the time


one of those things

I know I shouldn’t think about


…but I’m afraid to give it up.





First of all, I want to apologize for taking so DANG long to post something new.

I know I’ve got a lot of followers, and you guys are counting on me, and my friends keep emailing me and posting comments telling me to post something new.  Sorry.  Sincerely, I am.  I’m gonna try to frequently post stuff.  It’s been REALLY hard, what with a whole family issue that’s going on, and my dad found something bad on a WordPress site and started up a whole argument (jeez, WHY do people have to post bad stuff online anyway?!  Ugh).

So, anyway, here’s an excerpt from a pretty awesome story I’m writing (not named yet).  It turned out pretty interesting, so here it is:

The thing about secrets is that one secret, especially a big one, affects everything.

And if it’s related to a topic everybody likes to talk about, you’re put in an awkward situation in which you have to pretend you’re sleeping, or zoning out, or listening to music, in order to avoid the conversation.

Or if it’s a topic people like to joke about, your heart breaks a little every time they joke.  And you wish you could scream at them that they’ve no clue what they’re saying, but you can’t.  Because that would blow your cover.

It gets especially bad when somebody asks you a direct question about it — serious or not.

That’s when you have to lie.


And again.

Your lies become a whole network, a web, that traps you.  And it makes you a liar.  Even if you’re the only one who knows.  You’re still a liar.  And that turns into yet another reason you could never tell anybody your secret.  If you did, they would know you were a liar.  And even if you knew they would probably understand why you lied, they still wouldn’t trust you.  Not completely.

And so your web of lies grows ever stronger.

And no one knows.

Just you.

Just you.


Picture courtesy myinnergoddess.blogspot.com


Daydreaming is a strange thing.  In hard situations, a daydream can come as an odd comfort.  To imagine a better scene, in a better place, is painful as well as strangely peaceful.

In an imaginary scene, I can control what happens.  I can’t exactly do this in real life.  And while I am bold in my fantasies, and fearless, in real life I am anything but.  In a daydream, I say the right thing, look the right way, know what to do and do not hesitate to do it.  I wish I were like that in real life.  A daydream is predictable.  It’s like a story, written in my mind.  Real life is unpredictable.  I worry too much for my daydreams to come alive.

Because of that, though, daydreams can be discouraging.  I can be completely caught up in my perfect world, where everything is at its finest at my command; yet as soon as I snap out of it, reality kicks in and I know my life can never be so ideal.

I wonder if there is any long-term benefit from a daydreamt fantasy.  It’s not as if I’ll suddenly become beautiful, with clear skin and nonfrizzy hair, if I daydream it long enough.  Pigs won’t fly, no matter how long I envision myself riding one.

And no, sorry to break it to you, Emilino, but just because you pictured it for so long does NOT mean he is going to kiss you.  Or even hold your hand.

But really, IS there any good that comes from a daydream?  How about this — you picture yourself walking through school.  You see a girl who is sitting alone.  Great, ’cause you’re used to sitting alone as well.  You approach her, and get a conversation going.  You’ve replayed the words you’ll start it with in your head.

And suppose the next week, this really DOES happen.  Maybe not exactly as you’d planned, but because you’d daydreamed this, you knew good might come of it, and so you give it a try.  And it works.

Can that happen?  Has that happened to you?

I sure can’t think of any such personal occurrance.

But I still wonder.

Can daydreams come true?



Pictures courtesy:




being smart can be annoying

I’m a person people often call “smart.”

It’s an odd thing to be smart, or at least thought of as smart.

Really, what I think when I hear that is, “Well. I like to write. I like to think. Does that make me smart? Doesn’t everyone like to think?”

I attended a homeschool co-op for five years. In other words, from 3rd grade till 8th, I’ve been surrounded by smart people. So I learned to take smartness for granted. I figured everyone must be smart, and people only called me smart to compliment me. Or maybe I’m just well-spoken, is that it? They just want to compliment me. And I just seem smarter than most.

But I’m in eighth grade, now, and attend a public school. And gradually, over this past semester (over in four days, thank God) I have learned that, well, not everybody is too smart.

And I’m not saying this because I’m so selfish, by the way. I’m saying it because it’s true. I am making a casual observation on my daily life. That’s what this blog is for, after all. So seriously, don’t be offended or anything by what I say. I’m telling what is, to me, the truth.

Yeah, not everyone’s too bright at my school. Just normal things like more homework than usual causes havoc. I mean, homework is not that difficult, people. Honestly. In Junior High, homework isn’t too much of a burden. At least, not in public school.

At my homeschool co-op (let’s call it JB, from now on. I’m not telling you its full name), I worked two grades ahead of me. Which, to be honest, really sucked. I got high school level homework (and classwork) in seventh grade. It took me a while; that’s not a surprise. I procrastinated, yeah, and I often didn’t finish my homework (nobody really minded too much if I didn’t; I mean, hey, I was homeschooled and doing high school classes that were seriously difficult even for the high schoolers. Clearly, it wasn’t a good thing that I didn’t finish. But it wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing, either.), but it was still very difficult work. Without procrastination, my History homework alone took me somewhere between 3 and 4 hours.

We went to school twice a week, Mondays and Thursdays, where our teachers assigned us homework and we debated and discussed some pretty deep stuff. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and the weekend, we completed our homework.


The challenging things we discussed fed my overactive and “smart” imagination. If I hadn’t had that education, I certainly wouldn’t be so smart as I am now.

However, I would prefer to just call myself a thinker.

I don’t like to take things for granted.

I like to think about the things people take for granted.

I like to pry apart every little metaphor, examine every piece of art and writing until I understand it. Some people might call me a perfectionist. I’m not a perfectionist. I just want to get it. And whatever I do, I want other people to get it as well.

I am a thinker.

I think about everything.

In some ways, perhaps, being a smart person is a difficult person to be. We wonder and ponder and think and observe and we enjoy it. Well, most of the time.

It’s HARD to be smart. It’s difficult to live when I am not challenged.

We (smart people, I mean – thinkers) think all the time, and sometimes we think too hard about things that aren’t meant to be thought very hard about.

Sometimes we miss the joy of taking things for granted.

Sometimes we think too much about what we’ve said, or what others have said, and we take it to a much-too-extreme level of “understanding.” Meaning, when we have a conversation, we think and think and think and think about what the other person said when the other person’s remark was just passive, just a little nothing statement.

But because we think so much, we think about the little nothing statements as though they were big something statements.

If you know what I mean.

There are a lot of smart people out there.

There are a lot of not-very-smart people out there.

My classmates freak out over extra homework when, in comparison to JB homework, three times the average public school homework is seriously easy.

I mean, really? We haven’t even written a formal essay (excepting an unfinished in-class one) once in our advanced English class all semester. REALLY?! We should be writing essays in advanced English like a snap of the fingers! At JB, we wrote a four-page essay rough draft over the weekend like lickety-split, no problem. Easy homework.

This dilemma can really annoy me.

Maybe that’s the hardest part of being smart.

When you’re smart, non-smart people annoy the heck out of you.

Not like we want to be annoyed by them. Really, we want to like them. We envy them, even, at times.

We don’t always want to be smart.

We don’t always want to think about stuff all the time.

Sometimes we want to take things for granted.

Only, at the same time, we do. We want to not want to take things for granted.

We don’t like to forget. We don’t like it when other people forget. We want to know everything. We don’t like it when other people choose not to know things. Basic things.


While I know it’s a privilege to be “smart”, and I am grateful for this, I wouldn’t call myself smart. I am a thinker, and sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I weren’t.




Pictures courtesy: