… … … … … … … ... … … … … … … … … … … … … … ...

I was stuck, half standing/half sitting. Knees pressed forward by the edge of the seat. I was panicked, what if I never got out of here?

Rows and rows of people stuck in this grimy tube were crammed around me. We were all smelly and matted because of our journey. Is this how it ends? The one aisle that led to the one exit was blocked with sad humans who had tried to escape and were now caught in the throngs.

Every where I looked people were yelling, screaming, shoving, cursing, sneering. The one person I knew, who stood behind me was sighing deeply. I think she is my sister. Fear had clouded my knowledge, my memory.

All I knew was survival.

I had to get out of here.

Finally the aisle began to move, a slow trudging journey, in a despicable straight line. Belongings dragged behind, or carried on backs. Children looked with wonder around them, some cried, I agreed with them.

As my possible relative and I stepped into the mob we kept our heads low and voices quiet. Authorities lurked behind us, ready to tear us to shreds or throw us in a different prison if we got to suspicious. We passed a slightly better looking section of cages. Perhaps people who were good got a better choice in their imprisonment.

At last we reached the front of the cylinder death space. The prison ward smiled, no sneered, at us. Her teeth gleaming, so white that I couldn't look at it. How did something so clean end up in a place like this? Her blue hat tilted sideways, and she patted me on the back as walked past.

I froze, what now? Would she throw me into a worse place than this? Would she eat me? I turned around slowly to face her, to face death.

She smiled again, wider if it was possible and said,

"I hope you had a wonderful flight!"

Through the snow.

She wasn't there.

Good, no explanation was needed. I scribbled on a sticky note and laid it on her desk, letting her know that I would be in the library way past when she went to bed. She wouldn't question that. I had been going more and more often so that this wouldn't look suspicious. Just another study night.

I went to my closet, got my thinnest coat and boots then walked back out the door.

I left my keys and my phone sitting on the desk.

I walked down the stairs and out the back door. It was freezing outside. The snow was blowing in my direction and my boots slumped through a foot of snow.

I walked till I couldn't see anymore, the snow was too thick and at 12 p.m. all the lights had been shut off.

So I sat down in the snow.

My thin sweat pants were instantly freezing, and my hands, that were laying on the soft powdery covering, began to lose feeling.

I took my snow boots off and laid them next to me. My toes lost feeling soon after.

I laid on my back and waited till the snow seeped through my sweatshirt, then I started crying. My tears froze almost instantly and my face became numb from the constant snow fall that I would not brush off.

After about 7 minutes I could not feel my arms or legs that were laying on each side of me. Only my torso moved and held warmth.

I felt each heart beat. Each terrified thump of the small red organ that realized its owner had given up. It rhythm sped up, trying to force the blood through the hardened veins in my limbs. Now my stomach was numb, and it was getting harder to breath. My lungs were getting stiffer from the cold air I was breathing in.

Again my heart kicked it up a notch, faster and hotter than before. Or maybe it just felt hot because every where else I felt nothing.

I replayed the day, found nothing that I enjoyed, or had caught my attention. Except that poster. That damn poster in the education building. The crisis center had put it up on their bulletin board and it read:

"You as a teacher and educator can change a life!

Come by the Crisis Center to learn how to help children in their time of need!

Suicide, Depression, ADHD, Addictions, Abuse, Money Issues.

You Can Help!

Depression is not something a hug can fix, but it sure can help!

"Suicide is a permanent Solution to a Temporary problem!"

A person who is Addicted to a substance can become free with your help!

Money should not be a reason for Divorce!

Abuse of any kind is Wrong! Find out Your rights!"

But I wasn't a teacher, and I hadn't gone to the center and it didn't feel like a temporary problem.

My heart started to give, its frantic beat gave way to hard lurches, and then to softer thumps, then to a cold slog.

Was this something I would regret?

It didn't feel like it now. The numbness was welcome, I liked that my heart was slowly giving in. It can only last so long when the brain keeps telling it to give up hope.

Give up Hope.

To lay down ones belief, or faith in something to come, or someone.

That's what I was doing.

Giving up my life, because my hopes had been lost.

A fresh burst of sobs tore from my throat, starting my heart up again in its frantic motion.

The tears froze with the others on her face, but they just kept coming.

I waited for five minutes before my body had cried all the tears that were left in my system.

My heart continued to beat.

Stop it. STOP that. We're done here.

What about your birthday? It asked. It's today. In fact in 2 hours it will be official that you have been breathing for 19 years. 19 years. You ready to give up now?

Shut up. It doesn't matter. Let me go. Stop trying.

Fine. It says. Tell me one more time. Tell me you've truly given up hope, tell me there is nothing left for you. Then I will quiet my beating forever. And we will be silenced.

I've truly given up hope. There is nothing left for me. I'm Done.

Oh. It remarked sadly. Well your decision is made. I will keep up my end of the bargain. Just know that I Loved you. And I would have been happy if you stayed alive.

Then it pumped one last time and fell quiet.

I drifted off, regretting that I hadn't asked its opinion first.

Scars

I just wanted to post about scars because today as I was avoiding studying I counted the scars on my hands. On

my left hand I had five. On my right hand I had Twenty-three. Twenty-Three!

That is an 18 number difference!

To me that was astonishing. I chalked it up to my right hand dominance, how since my right hand did all the work it went through all the pain as well. Then as I was wrapping my dorm door in christmas paper, my right hand (which was, unfortunately, holding scissors) slipped too far down and sliced into to top of my left hand, middle finger.

Now this may not look like a very harsh cut. But let me tell that this little sucker can bleed, and it was also quite painful.

I figured this happened because my right arm was subconsciously jealous of my left hands' smoother features.

About two hours later I forgot about it and rubbed my face with the back of my knuckles for a couple minutes(It's a habit when I'm studying). It stung, so I looked at my hand and I had reopened the cut.

My exact response was, "Stupid Thrombocytes! Do your job!"

Now it's healing, and I hope it leaves a scar, because I really do like the look of them. It shows me I've been through some crap and I wasn't perfect at it.

Whether it was the sharp hanger hook backstage in high school, or the knife I was playing with that got a little out of hand. Literally. Maybe the fork I dropped on my foot that bled like a madman, or the time my elbow knocked the clock to the ground and as I picked up the shards of glass my thumb got an unwelcome visitor.

It truly doesn't matter what the occasion, only the fact that I've had the experience of pain and I know I can survive.

Because I'm a tough girl. Covered in Disney Princess Bandaids. :D

What is it about

Toy Story 3?

Every single time I watch that movie, every time, I cry. At the beginning where the mom is recording Andy play, where the toys almost die in the landfill, and when Andy is describing each of his toys to Bonnie, I cry.

Not a loud sobbing.

The type of crying where you just stare at the screen, and your chest aches. Tears leak quietly out of your eyes one at a time for minutes on end, and your breathing becomes more ragged. And you can't seem to stop crying until the part completely finishes or something else distracts you. Yet even so when you think back on those moments your breath catches, your heart skips a beat, and you feel your eyes get red.

When I first saw the movie, at midnight, June 18th 2010, the night I graduated from high school it was even more profound.

It was as if I was watching myself in Andy's shoes. What do I keep? What can I use? What is useless? What to I want to give to my kids?

The internal struggle was brought to life through animated characters on a screen, and as pitiful as it may seem it touched me.

And so, I cry.

I hope I continue to weep, (for being a movie fanatic) I believe that movie was truly worth a good snivel. It was a coming of age story told in three parts.

If you haven't seen it you should, but you must start from number 1. Starting at number three does not give you the base knowledge that you need to love the characters, nor does it give you a close enough connection where you feel the urge to cry.

So start at the beginning, for no story, toy or otherwise, is without one.

Today I saw Tangled

I saw the brand new Disney today. It was very enjoyable, that is my decision.

It had good characters, good dialogue, the songs were catchy and understandable. Also the songs were simple and cute/scary/funny/beautiful. Nothing was lost in translation.

There were a couple ways they resolved issues that I thought, "Really? That's how you're going to fix it?" Like the original Pokemon movie, where when ash dies all the tears healed him, and even as an 8 year old I was disappointed, "Come on? Magical tears?!"

But other than that it was a good movie, well worth my 7.50.

I do recommend you see it, but I'm also not that picky about my movies. (Contradicting my earlier complaints.)

But I truly did enjoy it, and the animation was great. Not to mention that I loved the main guy he was hilarious! Also the little chameleon, and the horse.

Just go see it.

Some haikus for you.

I sat on the bench

Underneath the rainy clouds

I did not get wet.

Some haikus are great

Some are very ridiculous

hippopotamus

Telepathically

I interviewed the little

Snuffleupagus

I'm done writing now

I hope you enjoyed these poems

Austin Grube Logs Off

Never a Good day.

Axel ran down the walk to the street, she could hear the bus, but she knew it had already passed her stop.

“Guess it’s not my day after all.” She kicked the stop sign that sat in front of her corner house. She braced for the pain, there was always pain, because she always forgot that kicking the sign in sandals (just because she missed the bus) was very painful. Yet there was none. She looked down and saw the slightly now scuffed top of her Converse.

“Huh.” Was all she could say. At least now she wouldn’t have to walk to school in pain. She licked her thumb and rubbed the black mark off the rubber top.

She walked three blocks north, and two towards the West. She walked into the alley that was a shortcut to her best friend Oli’s house. His real name was Tolip, but he was teased because everyone had called him ‘Tulip’, and he did not like being compared to “some wimpy flower.”

A couple of loud footsteps caused her to reach into her leather jacket pocket. Two men appeared in front of her, and she could sense the one behind. She pulled her switch knife from her pocket. She flipped it open, the metal reflecting what little light the alley had. She twisted the knife upside down, just like her dad taught her, so that the blade was facing towards the ground, but the actual serrated edge was facing towards the men in front of her. “Better to slice upwards with” her dad had said. “Then just flip it around, stab and slash back down.”

“Axel.” said the tallest man in front of her.

“Mac.” She replied with a smile. He always met her here in the mornings. Most of the time they had a short standoff, then they left her alone, but sometimes they tried to steal what little money was hidden on her. Most of the time it was inside her jacket in a small hidden pocket; but today it was tucked in her shoe.

“Is that Nad with you? And I’m assuming the one behind me is Ret. I’m guessing from the stink though, so it could be any number of your goons.” She heard the one behind her take a couple lunges forward. She tightened her grip on the knife, she wouldn’t like it, but if need be she could take him without turning around. ‘Never turn your back on Mac.’ She had learned that the hard way.

“Ret. Stop.” The footsteps ceased. Mac turned to her, “So how much do you have today?” He asked her so normally, as if they were good friends, and this was going to end well.

“Twenty seven.” She said smirking, she was carrying more money than usual. She had forty, but the other thirteen was hidden in her left shoe, she never told him the true amount of how much she had. That way some days she would still have some money left. Mac smiled,

“Hmm, seems today is our lucky day.” He took a step forward and the light caught his face. There on the bridge of his nose, running down his cheek were three jagged lines. Axel smiled again, which bugged her, why was she so happy to have caused those scars? But she was happy, and he deserved them. The two closest to his lips were caused the same day. Axel had swung the knife down, flipped the blade around, and then back up, trying to get away from him. He had still tried to take the money that had been clenched in her hand, but the pain disoriented him, so she shoved him backwards and ran as fast as she could.

That was her second encounter with him, and she had been eleven. Her first run-in had been three months prior, he had caught her in the alley unaware, and pulled his own knife. She had turned her back and tried to run away, but the knife caught her on the back of her neck, and she herself had a raised, curving line from the back of her ear to the bottom of her right shoulder blade. When she had walked home, very slowly bleeding to death, her parents took her to one of seven hospitals in their town and had her sown up. The doctor had tried to make the scar look nicer, but nothing had worked, the jagged edge of the blade had caused too much damage to the skin for it to look normal again.

After she was healed, she asked her dad for a knife and then asked him how to use it. He hadn’t been too pleased about teaching an eleven year old how to fight, but he couldn’t deny that she had to know. He didn’t want her to get hurt again because he was to stubborn to teach his daughter how to defend herself. So he brought down his great great grandfathers knife, from World War II, from the attic and taught her how to handle the weapon.

Three months later she was prepared when he attacked her, and now he was sporting his own marks of their ongoing battle. After their second fight, she didn’t see him for 3 years. Licking his wounds, she supposed. Then one day he showed up again, and she was ready. They had grappled a little, she was lucky he wasn’t one of the bigger guys that picked on weaklings, but he was strong enough, and she gained a new scar from her jaw to her collarbone that weaved like a snake. Then the next year he tried again, and the third scar appeared right under his eye.

Now, off and on he would come, always bringing two partners.

“You want me to add a fourth line, to that pretty little face of yours?” She sneered at him, and raised her eyebrows, an invitation to begin. She shouldn’t be pressing her luck, no matter how skilled of a fight she had become three to one was no easy task. But today just felt like she couldn’t lose, today she was bold.

“Come now Axel, let’s be friendly.” He had found out her name during one morning when they had talked for over an hour. She had been scared out of her wits the whole time, but at the end he had just melted back into the shadows like he always did. She almost relaxed, but the twitch of his fingers sent her knife arm sailing back. The blade connected with soft flesh and a sharp slice was heard. She jerked her arm upwards into an awkward position. Then pulled forward, successfully releasing the knife from Ret’s torso. She heard the body collapse behind her, she really hoped he wasn’t dead.

People died constantly in Downtown, car accidents, diseases, muggings, fires, but Axel had sworn she wouldn’t be a part of it. Mac stood there shaking his head in amusement.

“Always ready.” He then glanced up and smiled at her, a cold smile. “I really hate that.” He snapped his fingers and Nad lunged towards her, she sidestepped and swung her arm backwards again, but he had been told to avoid this because he wasn’t there. She ducked on instinct, hearing the whistle, and a knife flew above her head.

Downtown sucked.

She rolled forward, always trying to keep her back away from Mac, she knew that if he got a shot she was done for. Nad appeared in front of her and she took a swing, bringing her arm upwards across her body from right to left. She waited long enough till he believed that was the action she was going for, and then he changed footing to avoid the cut. She then flipped the blade around so the point was headed away from her thumb. Then she jammed her forearm down until it pierced through his button-up shirt. She was lucky today was warmer than usual or the knife would not have gone through his jacket. He gasped in pain and fell backwards. Axel tried to take the knife out quickly but it was stuck, and she to was pulled towards the ground.

She fell on top of Nad and hurriedly jumped up, crouched, in case Mac was waiting behind her, but he wasn’t. She couldn’t see him anywhere, probably took off, the chicken. She struggled to pull the knife out, and when she succeeded she head a sickening crunch and his chest fell sharply.

“Well thats just great!” She screamed angrily. She looked back at where Ret’s body laid. She got up and looked at both of them, then sighed and bent back over Nad searching his pockets. She felt a small metal device in his front pocket and pulled

out the phone.

“911.” She said out loud “And fast.” She waited for three-seconds, and then a small hologram of a woman appeared.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Two men are hurt, stab wounds it looks like.” Then she clicked the End button and dropped the phone back to the bodies. They could trace where the call had come from, then they would find these two along with the phone. She looked at the grown men left helpless in the alley way,

“I’m sorry” she said quietly, “I didn’t want to.” This happened every time, she ended up hurting someone in some way and she hated it, but it was survival, what was she supposed to do? She stalked away towards the end of the alley that she had been heading towards before this fiasco had happened. At the corner she glance back then turned away, and as she walked away her eyes pricked with tears.

Little Green Book

I couldn't let another day pass without posting, so here is my very short sermon.

As I walked into the student center, the Gideons (Yes the Bible in every hotel Gideons) handed me a small bible that was green and contained the New Testament along with Psalms and Proverbs. As I hesitated to take it, the older gentleman said,

"Don't worry it's free!"

I had only hesitated because they had surprised me, not because I had qualms about taking a Bible. But that small phrase kept echoing in my head.

"Don't worry it's free!"

"Don't worry it's free!"

"Don't worry it's free!"

The man didn't know how right he was. Or maybe he did, but it struck a chord in my heart at just the right moment. The little green Bible that I will now cherish forever brought to the forefront of my mind just how easy it is to forget how much God truly loves me.

Me.

Austin McKenzie Grube.

Sinner Extraordinaire.

The ripple textured front under my fingers reminds me that all it takes is one small prayer. Not an arm and a leg, not some huge big sacrifice, not the life of your family. Just a prayer.

"God, forgive me, for I am sinner and a sucky Christian. I need you."

Amen.

I talk about

Myself. A lot.

I want people to know what is going on in my life and I want them to talk about me, back. The irony of this post is that as I'm trying to tell you that I talk about myself a lot and try to fix that problem I'm actually talking more about myself. Again.

Oh well, it can't be helped.

If you have ever read The Five Love Languages you will understand the words I'm about to type.

Words of Affirmation. - Actions don’t always speak louder than words. If this is your love language, unsolicited compliments mean the world to you. Hearing the words, “I love you,” are important—hearing the reasons behind that love sends your spirits skyward. Insults can leave you shattered and are not easily forgotten.

That's me. I'm all about being told that I rock. Even on the days that I don't rock I want people to say it. I also like to be hugged and to have quality time with my 'loved ones'. (Those were my next highest scores)

If you have no idea what I'm talking about then you should look up the book.

The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman

Every comment on Facebook or myspace (Back when we all still used both or just myspace)

Every praise of my schoolwork, every compliment on my clothes, made me happier and now I knew why. It made me realize why I talked about myself so much because that's how I was shown love.

I then began to realize how helpful this knowledge was. I discovered that my mothers Love Language is Acts of Service, she was always so much happier when she came home to a clean house or when I would do the dishes for her.

My older sister, Audrey, was definitely not touch! As I studied her more I realized she was gifts. She loved to receive gifts, whether they were bought for $100 or made for $3, the gift itself didn't really matter but she just loved to unwrap things, and fell that you cared enough to get it for her.

Amanda was a little different she was a mixture of touch, words and acts. Which makes her a little easier to show love because with any of those she was happy.

April was a hard one to crack, and I'm still not sure I have her 100% right. I realized she was all five. But she had higher language scores for each person. I think she enjoys being hugged or kissed by her boyfriend, but she is not particularly touchy with her family. (Mainly she hates when I try to hug her, which hurts my feelings but I don't tell her that, I just try to remember her boundaries!) She likes acts of service and quality time from close friends, people who are willing to drive places instead of making her drive or who make plans and then keep them. People who make plans and then cancel them less than 48 before the event, are not ok. Flaky people should stay away from her at all costs. She's not a big gift person but if you find just the right one then you can get a good response. I also think she is an in the closet words of affirmation. I'll keep working at her, till I get it just right.

But the real puzzle is my dad. He is not gifts, or touch. He doesn't mind if you do chores for him, but it doesn't get him excited like it does my mom. I'm sure he likes to be told that he looks snazzy in his tux but other than that he isn't much for words. He is one of those quiet observers. That only leaves one thing. Quality Time. Maybe that's it… It kind of has to be! He never asks for anything. In fact for christmas, birthdays and fathers day he is the hardest to buy for. He doesn't asks me to wash the dishes everyday, he doesn't ask if he looks good in his work clothes, and he only hugs me when I'm leaving for somewhere or holidays or just for fun, but it's not an everyday thing. It has to be quality time, but I love my dad and maybe for him that's enough. Especially now that I'm in college and holidays in the only time I really will see him… Well I'll keep searching.

I wasn't sure about this Love Language post, it felt kind of awkward but now I'm glad. Writing about these out loud helps me remember them and be able to put them in practice. Hopefully everyone takes the time to find out what their own language is, and also care enough to learn their loved ones.

It really will help, knowing that your husband/wife/friend/parent would rather you give them a hug then say he/she is handsome/beautiful or vice versa.

That sounded better in my head.

Enough is enough

I love food.

I love sweet foods.

I love salty foods.

I love liquid foods.

I like wet foods and dry foods.

low foods and high foods.

fat foods and skinny foods.

I prefer cold foods to hot food. (Aka cold pie over warm, chocolate milk to hot chocolate, and I really just don't like soup at all…)

I may like a lot of things but I still have some standards, and you, my dear cafeteria, are not meeting those qualifications. You have comfort food like a diner, and salad that has sat at olive garden for a week before being shuttled to us.

I like diner food for a week. Maybe a week and a half. But 9 months is unacceptable.

And no it did not appease me when you put scoop-able ice cream in either.

Even though I do like Ice cream.

Please don't try to bribe us.

But would you mind adding Cookie Dough?

Thanks.

I'm really bad at November Blog Fest

I really thought I could do this and it would be easy but it's not….

I struggle with things that are worth talking about, I also struggle with remembering that I do have to write about something. Yet I haven't for the past couple days and that's a very horrific thing.

I thought of posting another poem but that felt like a cop out. So here is my post. A post about how I'm not posting. Or at least that I'm not posting anything worth reading.

Ss don't read on, because I am stopping this now. And hopefully I will post something that will interest you later. But maybe not, I really am bad at this posting thing.

A Selfish Post.

This is a selfish post. I had to take a personality test to enter college and these are my results. When I read them I felt good about myself, then I felt slightly stung, then good, then stung again. So I know this probably won't interest you all that much, but if you want to know about me. Here it is...

Understanding Austin

People like Austin are independent, curious, and creative. She is very private and needs plenty of time alone to think things through or tinker with the subjects and projects that really interest her. Austin tends to have a very small cluster of close, trusted friends and rarely initiates social activities. She needs lots of space and doesn't like to be crowded or pressured to participate in social activities that are too hectic or superficial. She may have a real passion for science or the arts and enjoy learning new things. Inventive and imaginative, she makes quick and insightful connections, and enjoys coming up with original solutions to problems. But Austin gets bored quickly, dislikes repetition, and may struggle to explain her ideas simply and clearly to other people.

Austin is also a super logical person and is able to remain calm and cool in almost any situation. Because she is bothered by unfairness and inconsistency, and is rarely influenced by other people's opinions, she can speak her mind honestly, if sometimes a bit bluntly. Above all, Austin strives to meet or exceed her own high standards rather than worry about trying to please others. But even her family and closest friends may not know how much she cares about them because she rarely shares her most private feelings. She easily sees both sides of issues so she may enjoy debating, and she is great at finding the flaws in other people's arguments. Casual and unpredictable, Austin is highly adaptable and spontaneous. But her relaxed attitude about deadlines and neatness can make her run late or fail to follow through on commitments.

Austin's strengths may include:

Seeing possibilities that don't yet exist

Looking down the road and having vision of where she may want to go

Designing a new program that meets her specific needs

Analyzing her choices objectively

Keeping her options open

Austin's blindspots may include:

Moving her plans from the "thinking" stage to the "doing" stage

Establishing realistic and achievable goals

Appearing overly confident or arrogant to people

Not following through on important details

Avoiding making decisions while she collects even more information

Comeptition

I'm really quite competitive

I really hate to lose

To pick between a win or loss,

I know which one I'd choose.

I really will get angry

I really will start to cry

To see my score fall under par

Or see my character die.

I really tried to win it

I really tried too hard

I couldn't see the uselessness

of playing the wrong card

I really try to stop

I really try to see

that winning isn't everything

It only is to me.

Now I'm really stopping

Now I'm really done

Because if winning is my everything

The game just isn't fun.

Written by me in 5 minutes. That's why it's so terrible! But as someone once said "Sometime you write crap"

It's called Respect people.

Here is a short blog about respect.

Don't play your frickin' music in a study lobby.

It's a STUDY lobby, not your own personal dance club; And your music choice sucks any ways.

Where did the Days go?

So It's the seventh. Which officially means I'm two days behind, not forgetting that I must also post for today. So I am going to poem you out. Ok?

You don't have to answer that.

There's something very fascinating to death. Not the I'd-love-to-jump-off-a-bridge-and-experience-it-myself kind of fascinating. But after love, death is the next most written about subject. (I don't actually know that, I'm just giving you facts to impress you.)

So while this poem is about death, please don't worry for my sanity!

Onwards!

Flower Pot

Gentle, fragile, flower pot.

While I lay here, while I'm shot.

Laying bleeding on the ground

See your vase small and round.

Glimmering in the monotone sky

Slowly, fading, in blurry eye.

Out kicks my foot, with a spasm

You tip forwards toward the chasm.

Between the space of table and chair

Flowers spilling our with flair.

Shaking breaths I try to take.

While your glass begins to break.

Final beatings of my heart,

Quieter now then at the start

And at last, still I lie,

Water spreading without Goodbye.

Sorry about the excessive coma's, punctuation really is not my strong suit!

The Only White Girl

It's True. I am.

In my Silent Praise group that is. A couple weeks ago I saw a flyer advertising auditions for a silent praise group. I was really interested because I love sign language and I was even in a beginners ASL class; plus I wanted to do some extracurricular activity.

So I went, I had nothing prepared, no song (in sign) or drama piece (in sign). Just myself, a blank slate, trying to see what it was all about. When I got there I was, to put it bluntly, afraid. I was the only white person in the whole group, even the one indian girl who tried out had friends who were there. I didn't know anyone. I had never even see these girls (and the one guys) faces before.

So I texted my big sister april and complained. I wish she had let me off the hook and said, "Hey just leave then, who cares! It's no big deal." But she didn't, she stated "At least try, you don't have to do it but at least try and see what the group is all about" I grumbled to myself and learned the few motions that they were teaching us.

We went outside to practice as they called us in individually. The song they taught us is called "Praise Anthem" by Richard Smallwood. It's a pretty legit song and I enjoyed learning it, even though I kept hitting myself in the face on accident.

When they finally called my name, and I got the usual mentions of how unique my name is for a girl, which I laughed and shrugged my shoulders at. Because, seriously, after 18 years what else is there to say? They called me in and asked me what I had prepared. I remember looking at the leader confidently(Though I didn't feel so inside) and said, "Sorry, I didn't prepare anything, I just wanted to see what it was all about and I only found out about 2 days ago."

Now, If I had been the leader of the group I would have kicked myself out right there. It wasn't even the first rehearsal and I was already making excuses. I thought I was off to a bad start, but she just looked at me and smiled, said, "Ok just show us Praise Anthem then!"

So I signed the two minutes of song they had taught us, and I did all right, I messed up but I kept beat and hadn't look like too much of an idiot. She smiled at me again and held out a pencil. I took it and she said, "Ok, now you love this pencil, you REALLY Love it. But You guys just broke up. Go."

I felt like I had been thrown into a Miss. Ayotte "Freeze game", where she had just called "FREEZE" and you had to be still as a statue until someone else came up and started another scene.

I looked at the director, I looked at the pencil, then to the director again, and once back to the pencil. I noticed that the pencil was mechanical and #7 lead, it also had a red clip that was breaking and it looked as if someone had had a chewing contest on the eraser, and the eraser lost.

So I did what every sane person would do in my situation, I cried.

I whipped out tears in a matter of seconds and next thing I knew, the pencil was on the ground and I was yelling at it. Still bawling. I was almost positive that the tears came from my altogether superb acting skills and my ability to control my emotions(Insert sarcastic roll of the eyes). But I was also pretty sure that those tears were half filled with fear.

I must have blacked out for the rest of it because I have no recollection of what happened after that, or how I managed to stumble back to my dorm room. All I know is a week and a half later I had an e-mail asking me to be part of the group.

Now, I love it. It still scares me every once in a while, but thats mostly because I have no sense of rhythm so I takes me a longer time to get the flow of the signs. But it is fun being a part of something, being a unique asset of a group. Our first performance is Nov 19th, and I'm scared out of my wits, and excited at the same time.

I have more courage now I suppose, but I'm really just grateful for the support from my older sister, and strength from my God. He gave me my ability to bluff my way through acting and make people laugh. Which let me tell you, I would not be the person I am (whether that's good or bad) if not for those things.

And that's something I can be Silent about.

(Sorry for the really cheesy last line. It just was such a perfect pun I couldn't pass it up!)

I never really Intended to...

Write poetry.

I've always been more of a novel kind of girl, but something about rhyming makes me excited. I don't really believe it to be a true poem unless the finishing sounds match.

I wrote this poem over a year ago and I really liked it, but I never shared it with any one. I'm taking a leap of faith and posting it here, hoping that it entertains them as much as it did me.

The End:

Book with words from pages leap

from the mind onto the brink

Balancing precariously on the edge

Into the silence drops the Ink.

Black as Black and Blue as Blue

From the heart the meanings flew

To the reader old and wise

Meanings dancing before his eyes

Turning, absorbing, on and on

Last page flipped before the dawn

At the end his heart does break,

What else to read while it's still late?

Its short, and slightly unprofessional but it amuses me, and I hope you enjoy it as well! Hopefully I'll give a more meaningful, or philosophical blog tomorrow :D

In the Hallway.

Today I stood in a hallway.

It was after 11:30 at night and the hall lights had gone off, leaving only the dim lights, that sit along the rim of the floor, to glow by themselves.

I had my keys ready to enter the cylinder, to turn them and let me escape inside the dorm room, but I didn't. I waited as my pulse counted out the seconds that ticked by. Truth was, I really didn't want to talk to my room mate. I didn't want to listen to that BarlowGirl CD for the 7th time, or hear her chew so loud that I was sure someone would come knocking on our door asking what was wrong.

I also didn't want to complain.

My fingers slipped from the key, to the lanyard, and back down to my side. I could hear her in the room singing softly to her self and that sound alone made me take an involuntary step back. I rolled my eyes, thinking about what a jerk I was, laughing at my (not so funny) silent sarcastic remarks.

It was when a burst of light from a door being opened and shut that changed my perspective. One girl in the 400+ that lived in my dorm, left the bathroom at that moment, distracting me from my harsh pondering.

As I turned to glance at the scratching noise the door made as it clicked shut, I caught my reflection in the lone window at the end of the hall. It wasn't a pretty window, in the middle of the pane hung the A/C unit and the warped texture of the glass was a dingy yellow color from all the years of weather damage. I took a step closer and realized some girls had taken pencils and sharpies to it, mentioning how Marisa and Anna were going to be "BFF's Forever!" And M. Hearts J. with smiley faces wrapped around it.

Yet that's not what drew me. It was the reflection itself. Not in the conceited "Who is that girl in the window she is fiiiiinnne!" It was simply the fact that as I looked at the girl I had no idea who I was staring at. The face was blended into the texture of the glass too well for there to be any defining features.

The eyes didn't shine, the teeth didn't show, and the posture was terrible.

As I looked at my reflection in self pity I wondered what it would be like to look at that window and see someone I recognized. Someone who would get over their complaints about the not 100% perfect room mate, someone who would smile at the pile of homework on the desk and think not a problem! I tore my gaze from the glass and looked around me, it was almost as if this could have been a movie scene, where either the reflection shows the murderer behind her, or a friend that comes up and taps her on the shoulder and apologizes for things that were done and said.

But this was not a movie and I did not have a choice in the plot.

Laughter came from the Lobby that was set just around the corner, I glanced that way then turned back to the reflection.

As hard as I tried I couldn't find my face there anywhere.

Not the blue eyes, or the non-existent lips or the nose that swept the tiniest bit to the right because of a rogue softball. It was just a blank face, on a blank window, on another blank day of my life.

I wanted to see the girl that had been so confident her senior year of High School. Good fun, better grades, and the best of friends. That's what I wanted, what I longed for, to be the big fish in the tiny fish bowl instead of the minnow in a really cold lake.

But she wasn't there; she was lost in the pool of insecurity that came with college. I leaned back against the wall and slid to the ground. I kept glancing back, at my now, half of a reflection. The A/C cut off the left side of my face, and I felt this was an ironic point. I wanted to see more of my true self and now I was half of the measly shape I'd been before.

After allowing my self 5 minutes of wallowing, I stood up and glanced one last time at the reflection. The epiphany hit as I turned away, that maybe if I had been more set on seeing the reflection of Jesus in that window instead of the "true" me, I wouldn't even have noticed that I couldn't see "me" at all.

Now that I felt all christian-like and Godly I entered my dorm room, only to catch my reflection in the mirror. I grimaced and turned to my desk where that history book sat waiting to pounce. My room mate glanced up at me and said,

"I'm tired of listening to BarlowGirl, got any music you want to listen to?"

Today, I stood in the Hallway.

The Beginning..

I'm starting a day late on this Blog Fest. Which is probably a sin but I'm going to try any ways. One of my friends who is a blogger mentioned that this is the month where you just don't care and you blog what you can. Whether it makes sense or not! So here goes, I write stupid small poems that rhyme (I'm a big rhymer, you'll notice this as the Fest continues.) and they never usually see the light of day, but now that I have 30 days to fill up, you may see some poems that really should have been kept in the dark!

Oh well it is Blog Fest, and It can't be helped.

I wrote this in an education class, which adds a certain irony. Or at least I hope it does… It sounded better in my head.

I sat in the classroom

Watching without care

Forgetting the lessons

that were supposedly there

I sat in the classroom

Covered in dreams,

of running and writing,

of outdoors and streams

I sat in the classroom

Not hearing a word.

Which is, I admit,

What I always preferred.