10 Things You Probably Didn't Know... Nor Cared About

1. When I'm talking to you, I'm more than likely looking into your right eye.

2. When I drive, I make funny faces in the rear view mirror at red lights. It simply brightens my day as well as the drivers passing me.

3. If I'm thinking about somebody, odds are my face takes the emotion of how I feel about the person.

4. I LOVE Chex Mix.

5. I refer to everything to everything good in my life as "Kitty".

6. I've developed a habit of whenever I walk through a door with a light switch by it, I self conscientiously try to flip it. If you watch me walk through a door, my right arm fidgets.

7. If I text you, even just to let you know that I got your message, I more than likely want to hold a conversation. Even if I simply reply, "OK".

8. I secretly want to learn how to play the piano.

9. Every song reminds me of somebody I know. Even the bad ones.

10. I know who has hat box M60. I'm watching you.

Halloween Tale

I just got back from the most… terrifying night of my life; or at least one of them…

We went to spend the day with the West family to go do a scary trail in ‘honor’ of Halloween. I was pumped in the beginning, because it’s been a while since we’ve done something like this. Now I know why.

We went to some woodsy trail on Look Out Mountain. The fear started when I found out I had NO service. NONE. ZIP. NADA! They could have killed us on the spot and nobody would have known or cared.

When we got out of the truck, Hunter West carried me around. Then he dropped me. I hurt my foot. Like, it’s still sore. We also saw a shooting star. Naturally, I made a wish… It somewhat came true, though; it wasn’t at all what I was expecting. *sigh*

Then some guy came up and he was pretty old. He looked really ragged and crazy. He was petting a pine cone. For real. He called it his pet and explained why he doesn’t take showers with it anymore. Eventually, some lady came and said: “Let’s go show Morgan you’re pine cone…”

He reluctantly gave it to her and a little girl came out. I hate to be discriminating in any way, and I don’t intend this to be, but she was a two-foot tall adult. She said that he is allowed out of the mental ward for a few hours every day. He said it was just the medicine he didn’t like and that he wanted his pine cone back.

At this point, I was getting pretty freaked out. When we finally went into the woods, I was choking Hunter (West). I was so terrified. I hid my face and some guy followed me and yelled.

“LOOK AT ME!”

“*sobs* Go away, please.”

“SHELLY!”

One of the scariest parts was that they knew my name. They knew everybody else’s, but it was MINE that they called the most often.

“Shelly… I have something for you!”

“Shelly! I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m going to get you, Shelly!”

Eventually, they broke out the chainsaws. I could feel the wind through my jacket. I hid my face again. Apparently I was the only one that was deathly scarred. I mean, through the WHOLE THING; BOTH Hunters were making childish replies. For example:

“Shelly! I’m going to get you!”

“Here, just take her.”

or

“HUNTER!”

“Hey.”

“I see you!”

“That’s nice.”

And it just went ON and ON.

The worst part for me was the end. They all crowded around the house. Our line broke and I thought they would pull of their masks and be all like: “Hey! You didn’t pee yourself!”

No. They attacked ME! I ran around EVERYBODY. Hunter (West) ran the other direction; Becky went toward the trees; Mom followed Becky; Hunter (brother) was nowhere to be found; and Paul was in front of me. I ran to Paul and used him as a shield. Apparently I almost tore his arm off.

They kept getting in my face and yelling. I slapped one of them and (accidentally) stepped on the foot of another. (The funny thing is that we were asked not to attack them in any form or fashion. I feel I had every right.)

When they wouldn’t stop, I ran to the truck and got in the driver’s seat. I slammed the door in the face of one of those demonic, fear-seeking, freaks and locked it. I couldn’t find the button and another climbed into the passenger seat. I yelled: “GET OUT!” Then something tapped my shoulder.

Yea. One climbed through the trunk. What did I think to do? Throw something.

There was NOTHING hard and heavy to throw, so I grabbed the closest thing to me. Paper. I chucked it at his face and he didn’t go anywhere. Just kept yelling at me. I then threw a glove. What good did that do? None.

I got out of the car and hid behind Paul again. He pointed out that I wasn’t running to my Mom. Know why? She would push me toward them. Eventually Paul did make them stop.

They (my group) won’t leave me alone about it. Paul scared the crap out of me when we got to their house by hiding behind my door. I kicked him and he limped to the front door of the house.

I was quite proud of myself…

So… Who wants to go with me next year?

I'm in that "mood" again...

Since we returned from Wal-Mart this morning, I've decided to clean the kitchen a little. Even though I rarely come downstairs over the weekend, it was a disaster. I'm currently waiting on the dishwasher to finish so I can return the spices to their rack...

While I move around the house doing random tasks, I started messing things up... Like, I busted a drawer trying to fix it. Then, I thought of THIS:
Yes, I walked through the flow chart to see if I was in any bit of trouble.

Did the drawer work?
No.
Did I mess with it?
I sure did.
I'm a fool.
Does anyone know?
Considering I was screaming at the darn thing, I'm sure at least ONE person knows...
I'm a poor fool.
Can I blame somebody else?
Eh... I can blame the past Shelly for being so careless as to when it came to the proper care of our lovely drawers.

On the up side, I fixed it. I sealed my victory with a yell of satisfaction and accomplishment. That drawer has been broken for the longest time. Now I sit here stupidly laughing at my amazing achievement.

I think the best part about cleaning involves the little things. For instance, later, when somebody tries to cook something or use the bathroom I can say smugly "Don't forget to clean up your mess, I worked hard in there!"

Truth is, I don't mind cleaning as long as I have my iPod handy. I listen to it on random and get lost in the lyrics as I run on autopilot. So, basically, my brain shuts down while I'm still productive.

This is really, depressingly sad. I mean, we had a long weekend... The most exciting thing was my dream about a demonic hat box out to kill me. Other than that I've been in my room reading, taking notes, and watching Lilly run around my room. And here I am, writing a blog about CLEANING...

My social life is very lugubrious.

Oasis

I've been listening to a lot from Oasis lately and I've discovered a few songs that have really jumped out at me and have be trapped on repeat on countless occasions.



I love this song for multiple reasons. I love it because it plainly states that you can be who you want to be. The world is your oyster and you can live life the way you choose to. Make your own choices and be unique. You're free.




This one kind of just keeps me thinking that I can't look back at my mistakes. I think it means that you can't dwell on the bad things that happened in the past, but you shouldn't be angry they happened. If anything, be happy. There's a benefit from it, I suppose.



This one is just comforting. In all honesty, this song has made me feel better on some of my worst days. It just proves the power music has over the human mind.

I'm Paranoid of the Paranormal

I've been pondering the paranormal a lot since I woke up about two hours ago. It just may be from all the sinus medication I've taken or I'm going crazy. I can't tell.

Upon arriving home at about 1, I immediately went to bed and slept until I was awoken by a blood curling scream coming from the television. I was angry about being brought back to conscientiousness in such a rude and terrifying manner. Of course, once I got over my grogginess, I was captured into the show.

It was about the most haunted places in America. They were, at the time, talking about children during the industrial revolution. They started working as early as the age of seven. I was drawn to the idea, that they, innocent souls, would want to stick around after death.

Yes, I do believe in the paranormal... I occasionally think there's a ghost in my house. Actually, last week, I was laying in bed and I saw a shadow of a man glide across the far wall of my room. It was about 3 in the morning. Let me be the first to say, yes. I'm losing hope in my own sanity.

Anyway, the haunted places got freakier and freakier. I had to turn on my light and, regardless how hot it was in my room, hide under the sheets. I couldn't turn off the TV, because I'm deathly afraid that something is waiting under my bed... And I lost the remote.

I know that since Halloween is drawing near, that more shows on the paranormal will be coming on; but am I the only one who thinks that there is a world in between? That you can actually get stuck in the middle?

Another tale was on a woman who spent the night out with her boyfriend. Resurrection Mary. She then got into an argument with him and left. On her way home, she was then killed by a hit and run driver. Mary is said to be seen walking up and down the road by Resurrection Cemetery. Maybe I'm the only one that finds the name ironic....

Also, let me throw in that I live near a alleged haunted area. Ever hear of Cry Baby Holler? Yea. I could walk there if the road wasn't grown over... I've heard countless stories about it. I even found it in a book. It was the FIRST story in a book on the most haunted places in Alabama.

I guess I'm just proving that I'm an idiot and have so little of a life that I have to waste my time thinking that there is something not there out to get me. Maybe I'm trapped in my own fear that every time a breeze of cool air brushes my arm that something else is there.

I wish I wasn't so disturbed over everything that I'd possibly imagine things to be afraid of...

If any of this made sense, you're probably going crazy too. Congratulations.

This is Strange.

Life is funny in an odd way.

Today, we were sitting in English, reading our sentences for Mrs. Monroe. I was completely zoned out and thinking about something else when I heard, "The streets in Boone are bustling during the winter."

Hearing the word "Boone" I turned around and blurted, "You know about Boone?!".

Jack, the fellow student who wrote that sentence, looked at me and said, "Yes, we have a house up there."

I sat dumbfounded. I've been going to Boone ever since I was a baby.

My great grandfather built a house up there and his son (my grandpa) recently purchased it for my grandma and himself.

On a side note, my great grandmother sold it. The house has always been in the family. Above, you should see the house. It's a large blue house by the golf course. I love how the rug is always vacuumed and that it's always quiet... And there's always a possible chance of getting mauled by a bear... Not that I've ever seen it happen.

Back on subject. I'm now afraid to go on vacation up there. What if I run into Jack at the Mast or even in Banner Elk?

That's where I go to get away from you people... Not that I don't love my friends or anything... But I'm sure you enjoy the break from me as well.

I just thought it was strange...

Also, I was there first. Let it be known.

I feel like a machine.

I've been home for approximately an hour. So far, this is the longest I've sat down since then.

I've cleaned the kitchen. This consists of wiping down counters, starting the dishwasher, sweeping, taking out the garbage, and watering the plants.

I've also started cleaning my room. Changed the sheets on my bed, started laundry, throw out my waste basket, ect.

I also took the opportunity to count how many pillows I sleep with at night...

10 and a half...

Wow.

Anyway. Occasionally, I fall into vehement cleaning moods. I clean until I can't clean anymore. Like the lady in the picture... Only I don't dress like a marshmallow.

Normally, I would be sitting on Facebook or Twitter socializing with the few people willing to talk to me. Instead, I'm cleaning.

I hate falling into this 'mode'.

I feel like a machine.

Miss Havisham

To those who took Honors English with me... Do you remember this woman?

I do... all too well... When I saved her image to my desktop, I was afraid my computer would crash.



I hated reading Great Expectations.

Hated. It.

Like, I wanted to claw my eyes out. Rarely do I say that about a book.



Anyway, I was going to use the image of her on fire... But I couldn't find it, sadly.

I remember we watched Miss Havisham's death three times...

I'm certain it was our English teacher's favorite part as well.


Though, I would have read the book again if I knew for a fact that Pip and that girl, who's name escapes me, died a painful death. One that would make me laugh more than Miss Havisham's.

That was harsh...

But I really hated that book...

I don't know why I thought of it...

Telephone? Telephone.

Normally, I love getting phone calls from people I WANT to talk to...

Unfortunately, everybody that call the house always wants to talk to my mom or brother.

Though, I get plenty of text messages, but it's nice to know that somebody wants to focus on one conversation with you. When you text, odds are that the person you're messaging is texing 5 other people.

Depressing, right?

This is why I hate answering the phone unless I know who it is and I'm willing to talk to them.

Sadly, I was forced to take a call...

Like I couldn't have made a bigger fool of myself.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is this Hunter?"

Stop. You mistook me for my brother? Ow.

"Um. No. This is Shelly..."

*Awkward silence*

"Oh. I have the wrong number."

"Are you sure? I have a brother named Hunter..."

"No, I got the number completely wrong."

"OK."

Then I hung up.

Hunter then walked into the room and said, "WHY DID YOU DO THAT!?"

"He said he had the wrong number...", I responded.

"That was Hunter."

At this point, I'm was confused out of my mind!

Hunter was asking for Hunter.

Then it clicked.

Hunter had a friend named Hunter...

So I just hung up on one of his friends.

Oops.

Eventually, my brother called him back and they got everything worked out.

But I still feel like an idiot.

I wish people I wanted to talk to would call just to talk to me or even just say 'Hi'. It makes me feel special. Ha ha.

The Answer is P...

Today was our last day of Heath.

YES.

Come Monday, I will be taking Art with the band director.

Though, today was our final.

I failed it miserably.

Only ONE person passed with a perfect score.

It wasn't me!

Out of 49 questions, I had only gotten 15 correct...

Anyway, when he was passing out the answer sheet, I received it upside down.

I looked at it and looked up.

Then I looked at it again.

I turned to Juan and I said, "Since when do we have 'P' for an answer choice?"

I must have turned it over three times at LEAST until I figured out which side was up...

And I have the audacity to call myself an honor student...

Grammar and Football

Friday. This means football.

YES.

I had a blast tonight. I got an AMAZING two hours of sleep last night and I loaded up on caffeine, so I was bouncing off the walls... Though, now, I'm about to crash...

Apparently, our school has not been able to defeat Plainview since 1985. So, we were unbelievably pumped when we saw we were tied at half time.

Well, I'm not proud of my performance, but I'm confident about tomorrow.

After halftime, I pulled Jacob and Matt's hair up.

The saxophone section is now up to FIVE girls. Yes! Finally.

They were pretty... I wish I'd gotten a picture... I will tomorrow.

Whilst this was happening, we discussed commas.

We talked about how we would have to yell "LET'S GO COMMA PEE!"

Because, you see, if we were to yell "LET'S GO, PEE!" nobody would know if we were begging the director to go to the bathroom or cheering for the football player.

Because the comma is silent.

Like the "X" in my name.

ShelXly.

Another classic example is the "LET'S EAT, GRANDPA!" The comma is silent. SO, my conclusion is that commas should be expressed as an interjection.

Oh! Wow! COMMA!

It could work, though it would be weird to have an interjection in the middle of a sentence...

Anyway... When the game ended, we fled to Pizza Hut. There, we met a former SBM.

He was on the drum line and loved it. I thought he would know my English teacher considering she was in the band back in the day.

She's my favorite teacher.

We talked about how much the school had changed and all that.

I really need to start taking pictures...

CANANANADA!

I've been feeling rather... intelligent today. Seriously.

You know how you rub your hands together and it causes them to warm up? I'm talking about friction. Well, we know that particles and atoms are CONSTANTLY moving. Even in solid substances. But in a liquid, they have more flow to them.

SO. I started thinking.

There are many different kinds of particles in coffee. The sugar, creamer, ect. Well, if all those particles bounced off of each other FAST enough, don't you think friction would take it's course and cause the coffee to warm up?

I thought so...

So I grabbed what coffee I had left from this morning and I took it to lunch with me.

I shook it all the way down the hall.

Now, before you go off and start calling me crazy, I'm going to tell you a secret.

It worked.

I got to the lunch room and my coffee was warm-ish. Not hot like it is supposed to be, but it wasn't room temperature. It was WARM.

Amazing, right?

Well, somebody had the audacity to tell me that it was just because it was in a thermos.

I forgot about that part.

So I inspected my coffee...

It was cold....

I sat like an idiot shaking my coffee trying to make it warm up.

Didn't work...

BUT, in theory, it should. You just have to shake it fast enough, I suppose....



On another completely unrelated note... Did you know the lady that sings "My Heart Will Go On" is CANADIAN?

I didn't.... Somebody told me 3rd block... only his exact words were....

"Yea, she is from Canananana... Cananana... Canana..."

I looked at my friend and we busted laughing.

OK, now imagine a two-year-old... Do you know how they shake their head and wrinkle their nose when you try to give them vegetables?

Now... Do that whilst saying "Canananada!"

Great fun.

Our new "obsession" is...
"Squirrels have big fluffy tails that go WOOSH *insert funky hand gesture here* and they live in *shakes head like a two-year-old* CANANADA!"

STOP BREATHING! You're fogging my window...

Since I failed to grab my iPod this morning, I was forced to sit and think for about 30-45 minutes on the bus.

Normally, this would scare me. I tend to think of things that bring out the worst in me.

But today, I thought of a few interesting things.

1. Do you remember when having a backpack with your favorite cartoon character was the “bomb-shiz”? I do… Though, I never had a backpack with Zaboomafu on the back. I can recall two that I’ve had in the past.

The first one I remember was kind of a dark, war-ish, green. “FRANCES” was written on the back in orange marker with dots on every point or corner.

Like this…

Why this picture is sideways is beyond me. I tried to fix it, but I failed…

And yes. I do keep paper by me at all times while I’m on the computer. I like to take notes on ways to improve my blog or something… And I’m never together, psh!

Anyway. That was my first backpack. I still have it. It’s in my loft, probably under the bean bag.

The second backpack I remember was black. It was a one strap, over the shoulder bag. I liked it. Though, I never wore it right and it threw off my shoulder; which, with time, went back to normal. I also had a lot of key chains on this one.

I don’t remember what I did with this bag, nor do I care. My green one has more memories to be be cherished.

2. I’ve never been so ashamed of my general generation (K-12 today).

I’m referring more to the younger kids. It’s to be understandable that they don’t fully understand or have to fully respect everything like older, more mature people do.

But would it kill you to leave your shirt ON when you get off the bus? Please? Nobody wants to see you jiggle in the rain whilst twirling your shirt around your head like a poorly paid stripper.

COME ON! I was young once too, but NEVER did I even consider to stoop so low. It’s not funny. It’s stupid.

Also, don’t assume a “Auburn fan died and the lights are flashing on the ambulance and they are doing it for his memory”. Really?

Grow up.

I did some research because I was curious as to what it meant and if there had been, in fact, a death.

From the little I cared to read, I’ve come to the conclusion that it wasn’t critical, they forgot to turn them off, or they were trying to keep the passengers blood pressure from spiking.

On the bright side, I learned something new.

3. A saxophone would beat a drum if there were to be a battle of instruments.

Juan and I argued this for the past 24 hours. He claims his drums would melt my saxophone once the drum consumed the sax.

It goes on and on… I still think a saxophone would win…

More than color?

They say the eyes are the window into the soul.

Every countless time I've heard this, I always felt the need to look for a mirror to see what everybody sees through my eyes.

Normally, I can't see past the color...

Sometimes I think I see things when I look through other people's eyes. Maybe it's just a self conscious thing my mind does to put me down. Like I have no soul.

I've been thinking terribly deep for someone with such a dull personality.

What do you see when you look in my eyes? I'm curious to know...

Homecoming confession.

This week is Homecoming.

Just the thought makes my head scream in agony.

I've never liked this time of year...

Never.

Even as an innocent 8th grader, I never cared for it.

Now, I have my reasons.

I'm not saying I don't have school spirit; though, I'm seriously lacking it.

But is it really a crime just to say "No, I don't want anything to do with this."

I guess it's just the stress.

Being in band, I need to worry about memorizing music and another place on the field that I will never have to think about again.

That should give me comfort, but it doesn't.

What if I screw up that ONE thing I need to do?

Eh.

No big deal, right?

WRONG.

It would haunt me for the rest of the year. I still have awful visions of the last two years.

I failed both times to memorize my music and it was just for the simple miracle of follow the leader did I ever find my place on the field.

As if I don't have to put up with enough on a regular week.

Let's get this straight.

I don't like pep rallies.

I've come to realize I don't enjoy being in a hot gym surrounded by overjoyed, loud teenagers.

There is no possible way I can blame them for being pumped for a game, but I don't like unnecessary noise.

It aggravates me on a level I can not explain. It's just kind of part of who I am. The funny thing about is is that I love my music loud, but there's something about random yelling and whistles that just rubs me the wrong way.

It's like a little blue monster gnawing on my brain. It's uncomfortable.

I seriously am considering hiding in the bathroom this Friday.

Like anybody would notice.

Ha.

Secondly, I see no point in a 'Homecoming Court'.

What exactly do they do after? I've never heard anything about them beyond the night they get crowned and what not...

Personally, I think it's just a popularity contest.

Again, I choose to take no part in the voting or anything.

My ideal Homecoming would be of something a little different.

Change the themes. It's gotten old using the same ones every year. I am only a Sophomore, but c'mon. I'M bored of them.

Now, I'm a lazy bum. If I were to choose an IDEAL theme, it would be PJ week. I would participate EVERY day.

While I'm on the topic of themes, let me tell you WHY the ones they have chosen have gotten boring.

Monday was camo day. Original or not, you decide. But that's nothing extreme. There is no rule against not wearing camo to school. I've seen kids wear full out head to toe hunting camo gear crap and it's perfectly OK. There is nothing special about it.

Tuesday, or today, was 80's, mix and match, and crazy hair day. I went to school in just normal 'I-don't-really-give-a-crap' outfit... When I saw everybody in the hall, I felt I needed to take a trip to the ER for hallucinating. I saw somebody with a mullet and a LOT of colors. Just... odd. Now, it's WAY better than camo, but this theme has been used every year since I've been in 7th grade. Be a little more original.

Tomorrow is rock star day, but there are too many restrictions to really make it fun. Jesse and Aaron were planning on coming to school with their faces painted like Kiss, but NO. Somebody must have been listening to the conversations and just had to crush the dreams of young children. Also, why would you refuse to let the students to spike their hair? We were allowed to do it in the past and I don't remember it ever really being a problem. Besides, it's just ONE day.

Thursday is class shirt day. Boring. I think it's like setting the school into cliques. Like, I KNOW all the different colors won't merge. They will all float around the halls together like multiple rainbow-colored tumors. I try to associate myself with people at all different classes, but I'd be intimidated if I wasn't wearing the same color shirt. For a day I'll be part of the small tumor that kind of just floats around the veins of the school being my boring self.

And finally, Friday is red and white day. This kind of has the same tiredness as camo day. We can wear red and white any day. Just because we will look like red and white blood cells (I really need to stop listening to Mrs. Johnson...) doesn't mean a thing. At least not to me. Supposedly, red is the color of a killer. That may be why the school chose it, but I was reading a book and the students were restricted from wearing red because the staff was afraid that they were part of a gang or something that would attempt to kill them all... Dumb, yes. But some kid was killed because of a red ribbon she wore.

Completely off topic.

I just wish it could be mixed up a little more.

(COUGH COUGH PJ'S COUGH COUGH)

Or what about Hawaiian day? Nothing says "partay" like a large, sweaty guy in a hula skirt...

Maybe a ninja day? That would be fun to dress in black sweats and run around the school hallway like nobody can see you while randomly stabbing somebody with your pencil... Just a thought.

Or a stereotype change. The band dresses like their idea of football players, the cheerleaders can dress in their idea of a the band, the football players can dress like nerds, the average students dress as who they please. You know, just kind of a world gone upside down. It would give students a chance to laugh at themselves.

I would have a blast if there were a game day... Like we can dress as our favorite video game character. I would be Pac Man. Just saying....

I know these ideas are rather... sad, but they were just something I came up with on the spot.

Another thing I would do to make Homecoming a little more pleasant would be if we were given more time to prepare.

This is the band side of me talking. I don't have the time to sit down and memorize music. It's a hassle for me to bring my horn home. It's anything but convenient to throw a sheet of music at me 3 days before I need to know it. I'm at the band room from 3-5 after school on Tuesday and Thursday and I try to take Wednesday as a unwind/catch up on homework kind of day. It's part of what keeps me partially sane.

Right now, I stand somewhere between I don't want to quit band, but I don't want to participate when I need to. I'd rather be sleeping with my fluffy pillow and fuzzy comfort blanket than standing outside in the heat trying to figure out what I'm doing wrong. It's just frustrating. It has gotten better, though.

Anyway, I just wish I could request the weekend before the Monday of Homecoming to memorize the music. I could do it on my own time and I would still have my time of solitude.

Now, like I said, I'm only a Sophomore. I don't know what Homecoming means to the Seniors. Maybe it means the world to them or maybe they could care less. Maybe you should let them be more involved in what gets to be done. After all, it is their last year. Why not give them the opportunity to express what they want to do? I would take advantage of that two years from now.

Yes, I'm referring to the PJ's.

As for the Spirit Olympics, (A 'sporting' event where all the classes compete against each other in some... weird competitions) I feel obligated to say that I think it the ones in the past have been poorly planed. That's all I can say on the subject.

Another band thing- the parade Thursday. I don't mind this one as much as the crowning thing Friday. There are way worse things than marching around the school for about 20-ish minutes. I just think too much while it goes on. I wonder if those watching notice when I mess up and what not. Just something I over think, I suppose.

The floats just kind of... irk me. Every class does it's own float. I've never participated on any of the ones in the past. If I do ever work on one, It'll be the class of 2013's senior float. Even then, I wouldn't want to take a big part. It would just be a guilt thing that I'd be afraid would haunt me if I didn't take part in it at all.

ANYWAY.

Homecoming isn't a pleasant time for me.

Like Dusty said, there's more to it than just the football players, but I think it goes deeper than that. The themes, the small things people do to make it the best it can be that many people take for granted, and the noticeably poor work of others who play a large part.

It's like a conflict, almost, if you think about it.

We're fighting each other without even knowing it.

That's how I see it, anyway.

Think what you wish.

Teachers...

Teachers fill so many young minds with the things they need to help become what they want to be in the future.

They supply help and support.

There are always some giggles or great moments that will always be remembered in a class room.

Except one.

Every time I walk into this room, I feel as if my soul is drained of all energy and joy.

It's a trap this teacher sets every day. She takes joy out of our pain, I'm sure.

She laughs behind those creepily glazed, beady eyes.

We cower in fear when she slaps her hands like a retarded seal...

But laugh when she turns around.

Because it's really is quite funny.

Anyway....

I have yet to learn a thing in her class.

Not only that, I feel I'm failing it for the very fact she isn't teaching it.

It's like she's leaving it a mystery to be figured out on our free time.

I don't have any of that.

(As if I'm not wasting it typing this post...)

Everyday, after we endure an hour and a half rant, I run out to the hall.

Usually rolling my eyes and restraining myself from bashing my head to a bloody pulp against the nearest wall.

I see the same vision every day...

I see myself dropping out of high school.

Because of her.

I see myself working at McDonald's.

Because of her.

I see myself having no life.

Because of her.

I see myself pondering what went wrong in my sad little mobile home.

Because of her.

I'm put on medication.

Because of her.

I die alone.

Because of her.

Dear Teacher,

Congratulations. You have killed my mental image for the future.

Because you can't teach.

You should have stayed away from those drugs.

You're messed up.

You're murdering my brain.

Stop it.

Retire.

Die.

I don't care.

I have hope of a life before me.

Leave before you kill whatever little chance it has left.

...

Please?

Possibly the BEST Monday EVER

Today was great. Enough said.

Friday

A lot has gone on since my last blog post.

I think the biggest thing that happened was on Friday.

I had KNOWN Friday was going to bite.

Like, I tried to talking to somebody about it to help make it better, or to at least make me feel better. Nothing was accomplished.

Nada.

Zip.

If anything, I felt worse. The guy I had talked to about it kind of dropped the subject like it was some form of deformed kitten with spider eyes.

I cried that night. It was terrible.

I woke up the next morning, still feeling like poo, but still managed to put on a happy face and went to school.

It wasn't too bad at all to begin with.

It was impossible to keep a straight face in Mrs. Monroe's class. Even Dalton couldn't help but laugh. It was great.

We did a lab second block, and it was rather nice. Madison was my partner. Our chemicals did exactly what they were supposed to do. Poor Toby and Jesse had to start over like... 3 times, that I recall... Not to be mean, but I found it funny. They weren't doing anything wrong, but Mrs. Johnson looked like she was about to have a duck. It was great.

Third block was pretty much the same as it has been everyday. Except we had to turn in our outside work. Thankfully, I had all of mine finished. Not well, but it was finished... 450 points for me!

Then it was band. *sigh* I don't understand why I always feel a sudden pressure on my mind and heart when I walk in there. Like, I suddenly feel small. Limited . Tiny. Insignificant. No matter HOW well may day may be going, it's always the same.

We went outside that day. To work on the show before the game that night. I swear, it's all a blur to me. I was angry. I was little. I was a little angry person inside a dumb, fat kid. It was a awful feeling.

Then we went inside for the pep rally. I wanted to cry. How is it the BORING part of the day was the most enjoyable for me, but when I get to the part that is supposed to be the most fun, I wanted to cry?

It was like my soul was slowly being crushed by all the bright, happy, and excited people.

HOW?!

But, it ended eventually. I left before announcements were given and I left the school so quickly, I boarded the bus with my neck strap on.

I felt like an IDIOT. I should have controlled myself in a more... reasonable manner.

While on the bus, the idea of skipping the football game bounced around in my mind. I then asked the consequences of doing so.

I really shouldn't have considered it. I should have just sucked it up, washed my face, and put on a fresh layer of make up.

But I didn't.

I took a shower to calm my nerves and called a friend.

I went outside and sat in the bed of the truck and cried as I listened to what they had to say. I was told things I would never would have guessed to be true, and still believe he made up the whole thing. But I would never tell him that...

Through all this, I was told to do what would make me happy.

I knew staying home would only make me feel guilty and would hurt my grade. I also knew I didn't want to go and suffer those hours of misery and just ruin the excitement of the first game for those around me.

I was planning on staying home, so I was completely unprepared. But when everybody else was getting in the car, I decided last minute that going to the game may be worth going to... It probably was the guilt doing the thinking at the time, but I ran inside and grabbed black socks and my shoes.

I forgot a lot of other things though. (i.e. deodorant, pony tail holder, extra change of clothes...)

But, I guess the important thing was that I went.

When I got to the school, I called the friend I called earlier to keep me company.

I went outside and sat next to the building so I could have service.

Nobody was coming, so I figured I could relax.

Then Ivy showed up and she dragged me to the bathroom where she loaned me some deodorant and talked with me.

It was really very nice what she did. And I'm glad she did it.

After she was all ready, she thought it would be a good idea to run on over to the Sardis Market and pick up some drinks.

I didn't think twice upon saying yes. I wanted out.

So we left.

I'm glad I did. It may be something many of those frown upon, leaving the band room when we really need to be getting ready, but I didn't care.

Strange. I've always cared what people have thought of me, and I still do, but this was different.

We walked all the way down to the gas station and got our drinks.

We semi-ran back to the band room, but we were also late.

Everybody was already sitting down and Mr. Whitmire was already giving a "pep talk".

And the looks were of pure hate. Like we were not welcome there.

Nobody said anything, but I could just hear what they were thinking.

Some of the things I could see them thinking were not something I'm willing to post to my blog.

But like I said. I'm GLAD I did it.

Now that I think about it, it gave me a feeling that band doesn't control my life. I do. They couldn't tell me that I couldn't go for a walk.

Though, I will never forget those looks of hate...

While Mr. Whitmire was talking, Ivy and I got our uniforms on and our instruments together.

I went through a internal panic attack when I couldn't find my flip folder and remembered I fled my house without my liar.

This brought feelings of dread. At this point, I had WISHED I stayed home.

Then I was then told Jacob got it out of my cubby and put his extra liar with it...

It calmed me down enough to where I didn't just leave.

We then went to the stands. I was feeling rather bad because of where the section leader had put me. I was worried I was going to ruin his and the other guy's time.

I tried to stay quiet and unnoticed. Just kind of let the events go to where they normally would if I wasn't there.

But, when we left for half time, things (to me) just got stressful. Daniel was yelling, I didn't at all know what I was doing. I couldn't remember my music NOR my sets. But somehow, I ended up around where I was supposed to be.

Now, I'm going to admit and be completely honest, I did terribly. I played the wrong notes, I was constantly out of step, and for the life of me I couldn't think straight.

But after half time, things calmed down. I got around some people I really enjoy being around and I laughed and had a good time.

We went back in the stands and I felt more involved. It was nice.

After the game, I went to the dance. Only because David had promised he would go with me the next time, and Anna wanted me there.

It was enjoyable.

I got a ride home with Dusty and I went to bed.

And slept.

ALL weekend.

Well deserved.

I guess... That's it?

Oops.

I'm not a fan of this time of year...

Why?

Funny you ask.

It's like starting all over to me when I've worked so hard to get somewhere I want to be.

Just so you can get an idea, think of a toddler, who has just started to walk, trying to make his way to... Let's say a shiny new toy. Then, when he is just about to reach it, a commanding adult lifts him up and puts him in a play pen.

Now this toddler has more obstacles. Since he has grown, he has to learn to climb out of the play pen to reach his new toy. On top of that, he has to pick himself up again before he can even think about getting out of the pen.

Well, right now, I'm that toddler... Even though I haven't even learned to walk yet.

I still need to learn to pick myself up and get to where I need to go. I'm failing miserably.

I've gotten some advice. Some I've found got me thinking and others that just made me feel worse.

I want this year to be the best and yet I can't even say who I am or how to become a "social butterfly".

If you've read my past posts, you may have a vague idea of what is going on in my mind.

It's more than it looks... It's more than what's in black and white.

Now, what happened today really struck some things up.

1.) I don't think I've ever been so nervous about pass offs. I know I knew it, but I couldn't remember if my first note was a fourth line D or if it was a E... But I still "passed it off"... How? I did the worst I've ever played and I still PASSED IT OFF. I should probably be happier than I really am... But I'm not.

2.) On the same note, everybody says I'm a good sax player and a good addition to the band. I think "You're full of it." It really isn't possible. I'm not as good as I should be at this point. I could be doing way better, but yet everybody disagrees. After I screwed over my pass offs, the section leader announced my page was empty. It should have really been three pages of ever note I bashed to the ground with a big boot... Kind of like a spider, if you desire a mental image. Not only do I feel he lied and said I passed, I feel I lied for not speaking up.

And finally 3.) When I got home, I talked to the driver for a few minutes about it. He kept giving me the same advice everybody else has been. Though, what he said got me thinking. "Just talk to people." Well, for ONE that's my problem to begin with. I can't just be like "OK!" and rush over to some random kid and strike a conversation. It's hard to say how far it'd go, but I doubt it'll go past, "I'm good, too."

I keep getting told that I need to be more confident, more "me", more social, and all that fun stuff...

I don't know... I lost the whole just of this blog. Too much going on up in the attic.

One step forward... Two steps back.

Who am I?

Today was fantastic.

I conquered my fear of heels and wore huge heels just for fun... It was nice to see some people eye to eye for once.

I also busted it in first block... The ONE time I wasn't wearing them...

Oops.

As the day progressed, my feet began to hurt more and more.

Eventually, I just kicked them off in band and played in my socks.

Now, let's have a band update.

I'm going to try and keep band updates. It's not for you, as the reader, but I think it's mostly for me. Kind of like a diary, but something public... So I can have some questions answered.

Like today's, for instance.

Yesterday, I was talking to a friend about the day before. I was still upset about how bleh-ish I acted. I could have definitely handled the situation better, but at the time I didn't know how.

But I cracked open my shell a little bit and had a few discussions with a few people I wouldn't think I'd ever get a connection with.

It went fairly well. I laughed a lot until we had to get serious.

I don't know how people manage to continue talking without getting caught... I guess I'm just paranoid.

But during this time, I got to thinking to what my said friend said...

"You just don't know who you are yet."

Of course, this struck up some dusty thoughts...

I thought I knew who I was?

Then I had a mental debate...

"Who are you really?"

"You're Shelly, silly."

"Yes, but who is that?"

"Who you are."

"BUT WHO AM I?!"

It's a lot harder than it sounds... You know, they say the more you think about something the more insane you become...

It's fact.

How can you tell who you are?

Surely it's more than a identity on your birth certificate...

I'm stumped.