Needles and Keys

It's impossible to just have a normal night in my family, apparently.

My dad just has to do something. Yell at someone. Get pissed about something.

Fun night out at a pizza joint?

Yell at his daughter and storm out, leaving his wife to pay for the pizza and ask for a to-go box.

Casual night at home?

Yell at his wife (Instead of his daughter? Oooh, variety!) and swig beer, leaving his wife to go out on the front porch with tears in her eyes, waiting for the daughter to come home.

Leaving me to go outside, do my (pathetic) attempt at comforting her, text my sister informing her of the situation, telling her to "be careful when you come home" and then retreating into my room with note book, laptop, typewriter and my new National Novel Writing Month Young Writer's Program work book. And so to the soundtrack of Sky Sailing, I'll leave this monochromatic world and enter one of my own; still monochromatic, but perhaps with a few pastels thrown in to encourage hope.

And with that melodramatic sentence, I'll see you all. . . Well, when I see you.

Welcome to Life

I found myself wondering if I'm a psychopath this evening.

Wow. What a stellar way to open an entry, huh?

But my dad is acing the whole "testosterone raging bull" act, my mother is being annoyingly docile, my sister is. . . well, being my sister. And I'm feeling oddly unaffected by the entire situation. While my dad stormed off without us, I just hoped he'd come home soon, because I left my yarn and needles in his truck for a knitting project.

So why am I being favored? Why do I feel oddly unattached and emotionally neutral about all of this? I don't know. It's rather queer, really. I'm just sitting here, knitting and typing this. I don't really care.

Please Wipe that Look Out of Your Eyes

"It's driving me to doubt myself,

simply, it's tiring."

~First Love, Adele

I shudder to think of how people would react if they could read my mind, if they knew everything I do in a day. Thats not because I'm paranoid, but because I am, in a certain sense of the word, pathetic. The mere idea of anyone knowing what I do, what I think, makes me want to curl up into a hole and just stay there forevermore.

Not to say I do particularly atrocious or undignified things. It's not like I'm some sort of prostitute, druggie or alcoholic; far from it.
I'm not proud of things I've thought of, dreamed of.

50 Little Known Facts

1. I have 3 freckles in a diagonal line on my right cheek. I also have 3 more in a horizontal line above them. The only person who's ever noticed this is my mother.

2. If someone bought me chocolates from a tiny sweets shop hours away from my house, I would love them unconditionally for the rest of my life.

3. I've broken my arms 3 times; 1 time left and 2 times my right.

4. I've had my dream college picked out since I was 8.

5. I have a penchant for going out in the middle of the street with my dad's camera and taking pictures of the sunset in my robe in the evenings.

Romance vs. Companionship

"It kinda pokes fun at being romantic for the sake of avoiding being lonely."
~Adam Young, talking about "Deer in the Headlights"

When I watched the above video, and heard that part, I froze for a second.

There's a line I have on a profile somewhere, "I am a hopeless romantic with a cynical outlook on love, but at night I fall asleep to dreams of charming smiles and twirling on star-lit beaches." I am constantly daydreaming of romantic situations and dashing, modern-day Prince Charmings.

Is the only reason I do so. . . beacuse I'm simply lonely?
It makes a lot of sense.

I love to sleep.

And thats not me being the stereotypical teenager, who clings to the headboard like it's their only hope of salvation when their parents exasperatedly come storming into their bedroom and whack them over their heads with pillows. (i.e, Freaky Friday)

Nope, its my extreme love for dreams.

I mean, if you think about it, sleeping in general is a pretty sweet activity. You lie down on a comfy bed, wearing comfy clothes, pull on a cover/duvet/blanket/sheet and then, technically, you go visit other worlds within the confines of your mind, without even leaving your bedroom. If you seriously sit down and think it over for a while, you may realize how awesome it is.

Somewhere better.

There's a girl in some big city somewhere, who falls asleep to screaming sirens and honking cars, too-loud laughter and clinking wine glasses.

In a small town somewhere else, there's a boy who drifts off every night to the chorus of frogs and crickets, wind-rustled leaves and old floor boards creaking.