i just finished writing mine.
and, after a few hundred rounds of editing,
i really want to get it published.
and i don't mean a private publishing.
i mean random house, get it in barnes and noble type publishing.
help?

really?
i'm allergic to sulfur.
any more than four matches in a small room,
and i pass out.

this game must be easy when you have google.

i'll watch miami when there's nothing else on,
but i hate new york.
vegas will always be my one true love.

oh please.
get over the whole 'scripted' thing.
most of them are based on real cases.
and i'm not just talking about the concept.
a lot of specifics are good too.
i.e. good casting, good writing, etc.

a pinnacle in american television,
no?

i mean,
a friend of mine and i just told each other how we felt.
and we've felt like that for eight years now.
we just never could tell each other until he moved to vegas.

you can go for forever being really close to someone,
and never realize their your soul mate until they're hundreds of miles
away.

schools.

haha.
i know how that is.
growing up,
my stepbrother decided that he would argue with everything.
he even stopped eating meat for two years just because my stepdad came
home with steak,
and he wanted chicken.
from what i heard,
he was just busted for possession of graffiti paraphenalia on school
grounds.

i just never know when something's going to happen.
i used to drink,
which just made things really fuzzy and gave me a migrane.
so i'm not sure how straight my path is to my father's fate.
but there's always the fear...

hey hey hey don't insult the eighteen year olds.
insult the apathetic, arrogant loser who considers boredom poetic.

thanks.

he's not gone.
he's still alive.
i just wish things were different.
because it's bound to happen again.

i keep switching from feeling guilty for not trying to help him,
and being thankful that i wasn't there.

yes.
like 'my chemical romance.'

i actually could never figure out why i didn't sleep well.
i think i finally found the reason.

it's funny.
that happened so many years ago.
and i'm just now telling myself that it did happen,
and it did happen to me.

more of a reflective essay than anything:
so i was at school,
(yes, i'm a senior,)
and i went into the locker room to work on a book i'm writing.
it's quiet in there,
very private.
and, as i wrote yet another page of the prologue,
the ideas came into my head,
and a story began to form:

the character was a little girl,
only about eleven,
and she was at a friend's house.
suddenly,
her mom called.
said nothing but 'i'm picking you up. now.'
the girl knew better than to argue with her mother's tone.
it was nervous,
almost robotic.
when she got in the car,
she was greeted by tension that could've been cut with a knife.
her sisters were in the back seat,
tear-streaked cheeks stony-faced.
her mom was staring at the street in front of her,
entranced by the light rain beginning to fall.
she asked frantically what was going on, why weren't they going home?
and piece by piece,
the story was put together for her.
her father was playing his out of control game of doctor jekyll and
mister hyde.
from Daddy to the Thing.
the Thing came out and started to scream at her sisters,
telling them how worthless they were.
then locked Itself in her father's room.
then Daddy came out,
hugged her sister,
and gave her ten dollars for ice cream.
and went back into his room.
he called her mother,
slurring his words,
her mother screaming 'how many pills did you take?! how many?!'
It said 'i wouldn't do it that way.'
he wanted help.
It wanted to kill him.
her mother was scared,
told him she was going to take them out to ice cream.
which was when she picked the girl up.
as the girl watched the rain patter against the windshield,
she just wished it would be over soon.
that she would be in bed,
safe and sound.
she watched as her mother absently drove,
calling him,
and hanging up.
calling him,
and hanging up.
at twelve thirty, they stopped at a hotel.
the girl and her sisters stood outside the car,
not caring about the ice daggers falling from the sky.
she knew it would happen soon.
the Thing would take over.
and now,
It was going to kill Daddy.
It was going to kill the same silly dad that gave funny voices to their
pets.
It was going to kill the same loving father that took great care
tightening the cinches in the horses' saddles,
then swinging them up onto the magnificent creatures with secure, safe
strength, and a smile she'd never forget.
It was going to take him away from her.
forever.
the girl sat there,
and wished it would all just stop.
all just go away.
and she pretended it wasn't happening to her.
they didn't sleep at the hotel,
instead they went to her mother's best friend's house.
and while her mother braved into the house the girl had called home for
so long,
she tried to sleep.
she tried to make it go away.
she was tired,
so tired.
but sleep was impossible.
and a long way off.
so she waited,
afraid she'd never see the promising rays of her mother's headlights
through the rain.
ever again.
when finally, after what seemed like forever,
she came.
holding the shadow of two long, scarily familiar shapes.
she had somehow saved Daddy from the Thing.
at least,
for now.

then the ideas stopped,
and the tears began.
because i realized:
they weren't ideas.
they were memories, long repressed, of a horrible vendetta between my
fate and i.
and the story wasn't a story at all,
but the worst night of my life.
and,
after all those years of never letting myself believe it,
the girl was me.
and the Thing was his daily mixture of alchohol and anti-depressants.
and then i felt the fear.
the fear that, one day,
i may fall under the spell
of my father's attempted murderer.

so my this guy came up to my friend and invited her to his band's gig.
she was really excited,
and the next day she invited him to the mall.
he agreed.
now, tonight, he stood her up.
only to come with a mulititude of his friends.
she tried to approach him,
but he seemed to avoid her.
finally she entered a store,
and i caught him running out.
saying 'oh ****. she's coming.'
what do you think,
should he get hit by a car or what?