I love melodramatic moments.
Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
So, the main reason I made this blog was to write a little bit. I figure I should probably get the public humiliation over quickly and just start.
I just thought of this as a kind of funny idea to write about. I have not been working on it, so there will be typos and sloppiness abound. I apologize in advance and ask ye, my fair readers, to have mercy on my humble scribblings.
Every morning when I wake up, I go to war.
Well, not really.
That was stupid. I bet some people take that offensively. I’m not making fun of the soldiers! Really, I promise! I just…I just…
So let’s start over. When I wake up, there is always a battle taking place inside my mind. One part of me (the same part that loves chocolate cookies, coincidentally) says that I should stay in bed. The other part of me says I need to wake up. I”m not schitzophrnic, though.
Oh, damn. I bet people find that offensive too.
Well, I’m sorry. From now on, if I say anything offensive, just assume I have apologized. Okay? Okay.
The battle takes place between the two ends of my body. My feet, warm and snug in the blanket, are fighting a defensive battle (giving them a major advantage) against my mind. It’s two against one really. My mind has no chance.
It’s kind of like the Revolutionary war. My feet have it all won like the British, but then America calls France in. France is in the form of my mother.
She comes into my room and does the horrific: she turns the lights on. She’s knows it’s my weak spot. I’m like a vampire (and not the wimpy Twilight kind). I can hear her go into my sister’s room and have to practically pull her out of bed. But, cunning and manipulative as she is, she knows I will not be able to sleep with the light on.
Whoever thought that light was a good thing, had the wrong idea. Light is supposed to bring truth because you can see things clearly. WRONG. I can’t see anything. The light from my ceiling fan is burning a hole inside my retinas. In my morning mentality, I think I shall be blind forevermore and wonder if I could sue my mother for that.
However, my eyes eventually adjust and I swing my no longer toasty feet off the bed.
I wish my life was like a movie. I’m an actress, I think about these things a lot. Many times, I have visions of what a part of my life would be like played out in a scene. For example, the morning.
My morning is always a montage in my brain. Nothing really important happens. I envision it showing the various stages of my morning like brushing my teeth and the car ride to school with credits flashing by. The background music depends on what I feel like that particular morning. If I have something to look foward to on that day, I can almost hear the upbeat obscure indie song. On bad days, I can feel Three Days Grace pounding in my eardrums.
But my life isn’t a movie.
My real morning progresses like so: I wake up, almost unfailingly bump into my door on the way to the bathroom, perform a series of boring hygenic tasks, put on the same make-up I do everytday, run downstairs, scarf down my breakfast, hop in the car and hurriedly do homework I should have done the previous life. But the worst part is…no background music. Seriously, if my life had an album, it would be so much better.
But hey, this is real life, not a movie.
= My Life
There is nothing that I want more than to go to London.
It is better to keep your mouth shut and let people think you are a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt.
I felt it was neccessary to make this post because there are random posts on my page that I suppose are just automatic. I do not know how to get rid of them. Thus, my plan is to take over my own blog via a secret coup. The prewritten posts will never see it coming.