About A Bird

So for my English class we have to write two papers. The paper grade makes up 50% of our grade, so making a good grade on it is crucial if i want an A in this class. The first paper topic was easy for me to write about...give me a scary movie and a scary book to write about and you can almost guarantee I'll work hard on it.


Hard work paid off and I got a 96 on the paper, the highest in the class(which is huge because grammar and MLA format are not my thing). After that grade i was like "bring on the next paper"...but...yeah i might have gotten a little over my head. The next paper turned out to be more analytical than creative, and when i turned in my rough draft, i knew my paper sucked more than the suckiest suck in the whole world. NO LIE.

I picked a hard concept to write about (freedom) and tried endlessly to wrap my head around the subject which means so many things, to so many different people. So needless to say when i got my rough draft back, my teacher expressed concern about the paper. But i didn't need her to tell me that, i spent all Sunday(after spending the weekend at home) writing that crap filled paper, and when i was done with it at midnight, i scorned it with disgust. But i was tired, so i thought "what the hell I'm going to bed, horrible or not"


After she expressed concern with my paper, i went to her office to talk about what i should do. "How i should approach my paper, can i really talk about freedom? maybe it's too abstract? That's a nice picture in the corner. Any suggestions?"

45 minutes later and she had convinced me to write a paper about birds. Go Figure
Birds have shown up a lot in the short stories we have read, and she wants me to write about their significance. When i showed hesitancy at writing about birds, she kept going on about it so much that by the end of the 45 minutes all i could think about were birds.


2 days later and i actually like the paper. Go figure. I have to turn it in Monday, and then on Tuesday i have my final exam for both English and History.

Summer Session 1 is almost over, and i feel like i have accomplished something. My English teacher may like me enough to write a recommendation( she even gave me a book to keep which will help me with my writing) and Latin American History is awesome, I've even talked in my English class from time to time. These may seem like small feats, but it is one giant leap in my anxiety filled life.


Unfortunately I have made another nemesis in a person who probably does not deserve it.

My new nemesis is in my English class. She has some exotic name(though she is probably from some small town in Ohio), is really tall, and is the only other writing major in the class. If this doesn't call for rivalry than...well i don't know what does.

I must talk about my jealousy in therapy in the fall, but until then i will revel in despising this girl. I am not the only one who does not take a liking to her. The first day of class she showed up, and then for the next 3 days she was MIA. Now in a class that only last a month, missing three days is horrible. The 9 of us left got accustomed to our small group and when she made a surprise entrance a week later we felt like an intruder had entered.

Not only did she show up and disrupt the group, but she turned out to be this eloquent(sometimes pompous) English chic. She knows a lot about books, she is apparently a writing major, and did i mention she was tall, like model tall. My competitive bone set in when she mentioned she was a writing major, and i instantly thought "Sh*T I have to compete with Angelina Jolie over here when i apply to an MFA program...GREAT"

When i do speak up in class, she always makes a point of correcting my statement. It's pretty annoying. I imagine that we will be in a class next year, and because i am beginning to see that competition sometimes creates inspiration...I'm up for the challenge.

Time to study. This week was crazy and stressful and i imagine next week will be too. Two test, a book to read, Fourth of July, and then Summer Session 2.

I feel tired already and the week hasn't even started yet.

The White Heron

Writing a paper about birds is harder than i thought. It's going to be a long brutal night and i don't even have any coffee to keep me awake.

Damn.

Better Luck Today...

I woke up in a bad mood today, listening to "To Be Alone with You", and making up some excuse to myself why i shouldn't go to class today. I don't deal with embarrassment well, and i felt utterly defeated after yesterday.

Of course, logically i knew it wasn't a big deal. Being drilled about poetry, pausing for 5 minutes struggling for an answer(which in my mind is like an hour) and then shrugging and going "I have no idea" several times... is of course no big deal...Logically. Emotionally it was like "WTF was that, God i am so embarrassed, where is a pillow, i can't possible go back tomorrow after i made an idiot of myself. ATTICA!!! (for some reason Al Pacino always comes out at those moments)..."

I thought sleeping it off would help, but it didn't. I cursed at the clock this morning, began doing the "Wow I'm not feeling so well" thing and finally downloaded a pity song to put on my "Sad day" playlist before heading to class.

But then i remembered something from therapy...

While i was in therapy my therapist gave me a Wonder Woman address book. It's very small/bright red/ and has a million images of wonder woman. It's suppose to represent me, when i am strong and brave and fearless. I'm not a person who wears her heart on her sleeve, i keep it in a locked safe place where no one can see it. The problem with keeping my heart shielded is that i am keeping myself hidden from others. I am not letting anyone in to the wonder of a person i know i am.

So she made me walk around with this thing every where. To let people see my "heart", so i would learn not to be ashamed of it. That it was cool, and nice, and funny, and that i shouldn't keep it hidden where no one could get to it. It's suppose to symbolize me putting myself out there, because that is the beauty and experience of life.

When i found out that she wouldn't be my therapist in the fall, the wonder woman book became more of a strength, i keep it with me to remind myself that when and if i get scared, i shouldn't be. I am strong, and brave, and fearless not only because someone believes in me but because i believe in me.

So after a short anxiety freak out, i grabbed my Wonder Woman book and headed to class.

Thank god for Wonder Woman because today was way better. WAY BETTER. I talked and was interesting, and i wasn't scared(well not that much), it made up for yesterday's disaster and i felt a whole lot better after class.

I kind of need to do good in this class for a sweet recommendation from my professor. Joining the English game a little late, i feel a little pressure to make some sort of impression on my current and future professors, including this one.

I guess yesterday was kind of a realization that anxiety is holding something back from me, i can't even talk(or a least BS a semi answer) without this overwhelming fear of embarrassment. I need at least three recommendations for writing school, and i can count 1...tentatively. I feel like my inability to talk is simply the only thing holding me back from having three strong recommendations to my name, along with a lot of other things. So i guess it wasn't only about my frustration with Emily Dickinson(though i still blame her) it was more my frustration with myself.

I'm working on it. Slowly, but I'm working on it.

In other news

I'm going home this weekend to get a new cell phone!!! I think i simply want more friends so i have more people to call my phone. I mean I'd at least like to put the new thing to use, more then i do now anyway.

Time to study and write a paper.

I'm nobody! Who are You?

Yesterday i had a pretty amazing day. I so rarely get those that when i don't take it for granted. I roll in the amazing day, skip and hop with the amazing day, cause I'm the kind of person who knows that feeling/day will not remain long.



It's not that i have a bundle of bad days. My days are good and well, but for the most part, especially during summer session...very uneventful. Summer session means less people, less events going around campus for me to be a surveyor of. And the loneliness is at an all time high



Anyway, back to yesterday. After a couple of bland days, full of 2 hour classes, drooling during my then 2 hour break, and then walking in the blazing heat back to my far as hell dorm, i was in need of a good day.

Last week or so, we had to write a paper for English. She gave us a list of topics we could choose from and i decided to write my paper on the similarities between the movie the Sixth Sense ("I see dead people") and a novel we read in class called "Wieland" ("I hear voices"). Even though class participation is a part of our grade, i still find it hard to do. Everyone seems so knowledgeable about stuff and i know nothing, so i don't say anything.

Everyone in my class seems to know some deeper meaning about the things we read. They give historical, political and economic evidence, while i sit completely confused as to which hat they pulled this information from. There arguments are completely logical and come from a purely academic place...i am jealous

When teachers give me compliments on my writing it never is about how "logical" my paper is. I don't use elements of history, big termed English motifs, and crap like that. I am unfortunately totally "feeling" based, which means most of my evidence to back up my argument is on a psychological type things. Emotional arguments, naturey(not a word) arguments, and nothing more.

Because i don't talk in class I knew that my paper had to make up for that. And it totally did, i guess she wasn't expecting much from me (seeing that i don't say much), but when she handed back my paper she was besides herself with great things to say about it. Not only did i totally surprise her in my "amazing" paper(as she put it) but i got a HUGE 96!!! on it. I waited till i was out sight to dance and shake at my really good grade, and then regained composure for the rest of the day, with a goofy smile on my face.

The good news did not only stop there, i made a 94 on my history exam, and finally got my DVD (featuring my husband) from amazon.com. I felt on top of the academic world, if i only had a hat and the Mary Tyler Moore theme song, it would have been perfect.

And then...Today happened.

Kryptonite:Superman::Poetry:Me

Everyone has their weak spots, and poetry is definitely mine. I hate poetry, i don't get it, don't like it, and would have no problem if i never read it again. Some contemporary stuff is okay, but that's about it for me and poetry. I cringe when it is discussed in class, and was devastated when we had to talk about Emily Dickinson today. After my paper, my teacher keeps looking to me for answers to her questions, today was no exception, except i didn't have any answers. I fumbled at Dickinson's meaning, guessed not so intelligently at what she was getting at, and literally said "i liked this poem cause it sounds pretty". And then after enough embarassment, she made me read the poem "I'm Nobody! Who are You?" Just because i'm quiet, doesn't mean i have to like Emily Dickinson, i bet if Emily Dickinson was alive today she would look at some of her work and go "what the hell was i thinking here".

In an instant, all of yesterday's goodness faded away, and i think i may have literally shrunk in my seat. During the break i almost debated not going back to class, planning to make up some excuse tomorrow that i was "dwelling in the house of Possibility" and i just got lost, or whatever crap poem it was called that we had to read today. I think it was the first time in a while i have ever felt embarassed, all i needed was some random kid in the hallway to pop his head in the door, point at me and go "HA HA" to put the icing on the cake.

I may be stretching it...

...but i think Emily Dickinson hates my f*cking guts.

More on this later

Catching Up.

In high school i hung out with my history professor.

It was never in a Mary Kay Letourneau way, but a totally friendship kind of thing. He was the coolest teacher at my high school, everyone loved him. He kind of resembled Santa Claus, said hey by saying "greetings and salutations" and was absolutely brilliant.

In the 11th grade Marie and I had him for American History. We had previously heard about him from friends, and he frequently stopped in to other teachers classes to talk about current news. So we were more than excited when we found out he would be our History teacher for the semester.

The class was interesting, he made us participants in history rather than observers. He would implement games and movies to keep us interested. After a few weeks class, i began asking him questions in the hall when i saw. I was generally intrigued with history, and he was a man he knew everything about everything.

I generally have an interest in people who know useless information. It's because i am a curious person, so anyone who can provide me with answers when i have questions, is on the top of my favorite people list.

Talking to him in the hallway soon led to hanging out in his classroom during lunch. I wouldn't stay for long, but just long enough to catch up on current news and share peanut butter cookies with him before heading to the library.

Soon 12th grade came and i wasn't in his class anymore. I still talked to him when i saw him, but our afternoon lunch Q & A's stopped. I went to him for my college recommendation, and he and my advisor both talked to me about colleges and things like that.

Even though me and the history teacher talked frequently I never thought much about the extent of our relationship. Marie went on to take AP History with him, and because she is much more assertive than i am, i assumed their relationship was much closer. I assumed everyone else's relationship was much closer to him, because i was simply just a cliche high school wallflower.

So i was a little surprised on Saturday when my mom called me and told me she spoke to one of my old friends. I instantly thought it was "Peter?, Aric?, the other Eric?, Brianna?, Alana?, ", But no...it was HISTORY TEACHER.

My mom said they talked for a pretty long time, and he kept gushing about me. That I was his favorite student, that he missed our lunch Q & A's and that he wonders what i am doing. By this point even my mom was a little flattered 1) because i had never mentioned him before 2) she internally began to take all the credit for me turning out so well.

My mom was taking in all the praises until he indirectly asked for my phone number.

WTF Mr. History Professor.

While they were talking he said something on the line of "I wish i could call her sometimes".

Knowing my mother she probably made a "what the hell" face but then politely continued on with their discussion. She said she wouldn't give him my phone number, but that she would make sure i came to visit before i headed back to school in August.

She then began questioning me all about what the hell me and MR. History Teacher were talking about during our lunch Q & A's.

I swear up and down it was nothing more than peanut butter cookies and the US Government. Pinky Promise.

This wasn't the first awkward moment someone gushed about me(like the time the MAYTAG man came over to fix the washer machine for the 2nd time(the first time was during the summer when i was home) , and kept asking my mom were her "VERY VERY VERY nice daughter was". She and I were both freaked out by this, seeing the first time he was there i didn't say much to him, except when he asked me about my computer)

If and when i go back I'll have to drag Marie with me. I sure as hell am not going back alone.

Inquisition.

I had my first test for summer session. I think it went okay. I hope it went okay. I love history, or mainly i like learning about the past. I have my favorite decades down pact from fashion trends to writers...i love HISTORY. But the history classes aren't as interesting as Documentaries or books, and my excitement for history usually dies down within minutes of sitting in class.

My history teacher is pretty cool though. He makes Latin American history interesting, and plus he always moves his hands when he talks which makes things interesting. It's like hand puppets, and because i sometimes have the humor of a 3 year old marveling at the simplest of things, i pay attention.

Spanish is going a little easier than English. I once again am having problems with this talking in class thing. I do well one on one, and when we have to partner up i speak and have some sort of input in discussion, but as soon as we move into our group of 10 people, i say absolutely nothing.

It's not that i don't want to say something, because i do, and in my mind i feel like i have interesting things to say. But as soon as i am about to say something...absolutely nothing comes out. Nothing at all, and i just let someone else speak.

My teacher grades participation, which sucks, because i listen and pay attention, and take mad notes, but as soon as it comes to the speaking part i freeze up. She does call on me from time to time, and sometimes intelligent things come out, but most times i am mumbling mid yawn as she gives me the evil eye. I think she believes i am a slacker.

I wish i had some excuse like i am "terribly driven by fear to say something" but it just isn't the case. I can talk in front of people, I've done it before. With friends and family I talk freely, but in class i completely and utterly silent, hell maybe i am "terribly driven by fear".

Who knows, i have to start speaking though or my participation grade is going to be really low.

Time to study. Trust me i don't want to but someones got to do it.

Oh...and my 1st choice for writing School is this glorious school and place of study. Word of mouth is my not so secret crush went here(though i seriously didn't figure that out till after i began checking it out).

Playing Detective

This morning i headed to the gym. I am making a valid effort to get my butt to the gym at least three times a week. I like working out, i mean in an air conditioned room with tv's hooked up to the machines, i am an exercising monster. I only do about 45 minutes a dat, but afterwards, despite the sweat and thirst, i am amazed at how far i can push myself on those machines.

So this morning i was decked out in my gym clothes, ready to embark on another exercise routine. My dorm is pretty far from the actual gym. My dorm is pretty much far from everything, so i have to plan my trips on campus wisely. We literally have to cross some sort of bridge/cross way to get to campus. It's a flipping long cross way, that only leads to this huge stairs we have to climb, to only get to another cross way, and then finally i am at least halfway to class.

Because my dorm is so far i have pretty much come to a conclusion that if i forget something i am pretty much shit out of luck, because there is no turning back. Along with the "no turning back" thing, i rarely make treks up to heart of campus, unless i have to, so i try to make sure that i get everything i need during the times i am near everything, because there is no way in hell i am walking too and from things all day.

This summer has proven to be a hot one, and being one who doesn't do well in the heat, i can't imagine walking all day with the sun beating me into the ground. NO WAY.

So back to my gym thing...i was heading to the gym with all my stuff in tow, no turning back on my agenda, and ready for my 45 minutes of intense working out. As i was minding my own business listening to my Ipod, i hear and fell a noise come crashing at my feet. I was at first stunned, jumping a little because i had no clue what it was. I looked up to see a window open on the 4th floor, and then wiped what felt like water off of my face.

SOMEONE THREW A F*CKING WATER BALLON MY WAY!!!!

Luckily i was not deterred and continued walking like nothing had come shooting may way. I wasn't going to let that F*cker see panic or fear on my face. So i kept on strutting, pissed as hell of course, but strutting.

It wasn't until i got the gym that i realized the "water ballon" hurled at me, was no other than FRUIT. Someone is hurling Fruits out the window, and i was almost a casualty of it. I had noticed this past week a number of fruit laying across the walkway, i thought nothing of it, until today as i wiped the apple/banana leftovers from my clothes.

Luckily i was able figure out what window the fruit was thrown from, and along with studying for exams, i plan on fingering the apple thrower at all cost. I've already reported the incident, but i still want to see the punks and at least glare at them from a distance as they are carted away, with fruit in tow.

I Drove to Chicago.

There is no doubt that i am completely and utterly in love with Sufjan Stevens.

I don't know what the attraction is..okay i do know what the attraction is: He's talented, older, kind of sensitive, mysterious, and has the physical characteristics that i am a sucker for(cool colored eyes, disheveled hair thing going on). But most importantly he is fantastic writer, lyrically anyway.

His lyrics, though they make references to god a lot, are amazing, and he researches things like crazy. I pretty much admire his writing abilities, and the painstaking research he does in preparation for his material.

I heard, via an interview he did with WNYC radio, that he spent hours researching material for his Illinoise album. Locked up in his room, he discovered things about the magical state of Illinoise,and he cranked out by far his most popular song "Chicago" due to his research and own experience living near Chicago.

Beside wanting to be his babies mama(Maury style) i greatly appreciate the man, and his craft...and would also love to make sweet sweet...music with him.

But me and Sufjan do not share the same familiarity with the Midwest. I have and always will be an East Coast girl. And though now lives in Brooklyn, he may hold a certain love for his home state, and major city, that i do not quite have.

I bring this up because on Monday or Sunday i talked to Marie. It was the first time she had heard my plans to become a writer instead of doctor. Marie is totally science driven, she has known what she wanted to do since she was a born, but she totally didn't put down my new career venture even giving me some names of schools in which have great MFA programs.

On her list was Northwestern. I have heard of Northwestern before, but never had an interest in it. I'm totally big on traveling, and visiting a million places, but i always planned that my education and where i live would be rooted somewhere in the East Coast.

I love the East Coast. I love the North East. I have accent and the scars to prove that this is my humble home. It's pretty much where i plan to live when i get older, and way down the line where i plan to raise my family. I plan on working in the Big City, Summers at the Shore or in Boston, Trips to Florida and maybe Savannah. The East Coast is amazing, and not just because i have been on this side my whole life, but because it simply is the place to be. It's lovely.

I daydream a lot. Of escaping to magical places, with men like Sufjan Stevens, but at the end of that daydream i always return to my lovely imgained castle on the East Coast.

But after Marie mentioned Northwestern i was curious to see what there MFA program offered. And to my great disappointment, it is FLIPPING AMAZING, their writing program is the most exciting thing i have ever seen in my whole entire life. Zach Braff went to school here, it's only a year long program(i believe) and it seems to be everything i am looking for. I'm relatively new at this and the seem to want students who are willing to grow and develop in their program. NO GRE is required, and all i need is recommendations, writing sample, a mission statement of sorts, and that's about it.

But it's in Chicago. CHICAGO?!

I have no problem with Chicago, but it's the not the East Coast. I don't know how i feel about being so far away from the comforts of home. Away from accents, and Nathans, and a NEW YORK state of mind. Sure i can take being 4 hours away or even more on the coast, but i don't know how i would feel being that far away.

But then again it is only a year. I could learn a lot in a year. Plus Oprah is in Chicago. That's got to be a plus somewhere.

I have some thinking to do. I mean it's not a done deal or anything. But it's something to think about.

I'm surprised to learn...

That i am not the only one who has no idea what they want to do with their life.

Interesting revelation.

Benjamin Franklin Can Suck It.

Today was the first day of summer classes, and lets say my course load is looking pretty crazy.

American Lit is not as fun as i thought it would be, after a embarassing "lets introduce each other" Q & A, I was a little disappointed to learnt that i would be spending the majority of summer school struggling with boring readings by our founding fathers.

Listen i love Benjamin Franklin like everyone else, but i really cannot comprehend reading +50 pages of yadda. I literally spent the last 2 hours staring at a big ass book, almost drooling from boredom at the words before me. What the F*ck are we reading Benjamin Franklin for anyway. Sure he's American, sure he's an important figure, but come on..he's not the ONLY American who has written a book.

My class is really small, only 14 of us, 2 of whom are boys. I usually find a boy in my English class to crush on from a distance, so i have a reason to come everyday. Unfortunately the 2 boys in my class are A) a heavy set biker, with several painful looking piercings and tattoos. His head is shaved except for a small braided piece of hair that falls past his neck. Along with the rat tail, he has a long pointed beard, to cover his missing front teeth. Obviously not crush worthy, I'm just not into the whole biker toothless thing.

B)The other boy...Oh the other boy talks like Mickey Mouse. His name is Clayton, he wore shorts with sandals and socks. Did i mention that he talks like Mickey Mouse, i thought i had joined Kids Incorporated every time he spoke. He was uber nice though, in that cartoon kind of way.

Even my crushing options are pretty slim.

My teacher is also a little odd. She sounds surprised by everything, which can be grating. She also expects us to talk in class, which i suck at, but now have no choice because participation is taken in to account in our grades.

After the embarrassing "Lets introduce ourselves with the game 2 lies and a truth" moment and feeling like everyone thought i was a criminal( Lets just say 911 + a curious me in kindergarten= a call that i regret making, but one that I have never done since. I was in kindergarten for goodness sakes, it's not like i KILLED anybody...sorry i got a little carried away), i became a little reluctant to speak in class, except when she called on me.

It was the longest 2 hours and 15 minutes of my life, and as soon as it was over i think i may have ran out of there, into an elevator where i had the strangest conversation with a hot dude. I felt we had crossed Elevator Etiquette by discussing such a banal topic like the weather.

So after escaping the cutie in the elevator and his weather conversation, i sat in a corner and "tried" to read the readings for tomorrow. I only ended up skipping the whole "reading" thing and played in the computer lab until History started.

So far History is way cool. There is 65 people, a handful of boys to daydream about, and not that much talking unless we generally have a question.

Summer school is going to be a tad harder than i thought.

I also met my roommates for the first time yesterday. Since i have learned my lesson(some what) from freshman year, i will not say anything bad about them...

Except

They are pretty snotty.

Enough said.

Oh What A Night.

Thank God I am back at school.

Trust me i LOVED laying around all day reading books (no trashy books this time), flipping through on demand, and having the cats at my feet. It was perfect. But i needed to come back to school. No doubt about it. This last week has been the week of hell dealing with my pain in the ass brother.

I hate writing about my brother, honestly i do. I take no pleasure in calling him a: douche, ass, idiot, and psycho. But he is all of the above and more, and though i have tried to play Dr. Phil at home, last night was the craziest thing i have ever been through in my whole entire life.

Oh where do i begin:

As i mentioned last week, my mother and I picked my brother up last week after he was stranded with his semi-girlfriend, at the beach. I basically asked my mom to pick him up, mainly because i didn't want him to interrupt me moving all my stuff for summer school this Sunday.

To say he was ungrateful that we picked him up would be an understatement. This week was his birthday, and some how he felt entitled to some sort of big gift. Unfortunately, for him, that was not in the cards. My brother is the kind of person who hates everyone else's birthday besides his. My mom on the other hand is the kind of person who only gives what she thinks you deserve, by no means playing favoritism though. I got an ipod for my birthday mainly because she took in consideration that i am going to school and for the most part trying my hardest to make something out of myself. After getting a book for his birthday, he pouted the whole day, and basically started acting like a ass.

So on Friday i woke up with a bad feeling. It was like a stomach ache that i couldn't shake. It also didn't help that all of this/last week i have been having nightmares like a two year old. The dreams were of things disintegrating and i spent many nights waking up several times frustrated with my dreams and with myself.

Of course my bad feeling became an all to real bad feeling when my brother came stumbling home drunk at 6 in the afternoon yesterday. Yes, DRUNK. He later passed out on his bed, smelling heavily of whisky. Did i mention that he was driving while intoxicated. For some reason drinking and driving is not something i take lightly. I have seen enough afternoon specials with Oprah and HBO to know that that is something you just don't do. EVER.

At this point i was beyond fed up with my drunken and careless brother. As he laid on his bed, i crept in to remove the car keys from his room. I can't have that crap on my conscious. I mean, DRUNK DRIVING....no way, so i took them for everyone's safety. He slept for the majority of the night. We checked in on him periodically while we packed my things into the car.

I finally got to bed around 1, and then all hell broke loose. He woke up, mad that he had slept so long, and more frustrated that he couldn't find his key. I tried to take hold of the situation by calming him down, but of course that didn't work. It was like something out of a movie, it was raining pretty heavily as my brother runs outside to unsuccessfully open the car door. He's standing in the rain, yelling about something with our house door wide open, as i watch on in sheer confusion.

He just keeps repeating i have to "GO SOMEWHERE!"
And i kept repeating "Not with the car"

I finally get my mom, because...well i didn't know what to do. I assumed she would do something. RIGHT? Kick him out right then and there, call the cops, SOMETHING. Well that didn't happen, she instead offers to drive him wherever he needs to go, at 2am in the morning. I am standing there flabbergasted, saying "does anyone else think this is weird. Kick him out". I think i kept repeating that to no avail.

My mom takes my brother where he needs to go, and i am literally sitting in the house, all alone with the rain pounding on our roof... SPEECHLESS. I have never been so unable to say something in my whole entire life. I went mute for completely an hour, searching for words that did not come out.

That continued for the majority of today. Nothing would come out of my mouth, as if i was literally too traumatized by the night to utter any words. The more and more i searched for something to say to any one of them, nothing but a crock came out.

I don't know what is going to happen. I can't let it affect me. But that home...isn't my home anymore. It's a bizarre place, that i am more than happy to be away from. I love my mom, but there is no way that i can go back to that house, with my crazy brother running loose. At some point she has to kick him out, and until she does that...that home will never be home to me. Just some weird resemblance of a place it should be, but never can be.

See this is why Sufjan Stevens would never marry me. My family is CRAZY.

Summer School...

HERE I COME!!!!

THE GYM, NO LINES, SMALLER CLASSES, REGULAR BLOGGING, SILENCE, and FRIDAY'S OFF.

Time to pack.