Never Have I Ever

Forget that. Do you want to know what I have done?
As of a half-hour ago, I officially told a joke that was not in any way funny. A serious joke. One that hurt the feelings of a very dear friend of mine.
What to do?
Well, the right thing, I suppose. I ran after him and apologized.
Now I'm sitting in my dorm room, staring at a computer screen, typing a blog, and wondering why I don't think before I speak more often.

And why a joke that earns a few laughs is somehow worth a friendship to some people.

And how a game of Risk can turn personal more quickly than the dice can be rolled.

And finally how writing these black, stringy words into a blank box can send my thoughts across the world and into someone's living room, where you're sitting in the sunlight of a day I haven't seen yet.

The Silent, 1 A.M. Victory Dance

Truthfully, (warning: I will pointedly ignore my enticing post title for a few minutes. Bear with me.) I have stayed away from this blog for a few days on purpose; I felt like it was getting desperate. When I start posting bits of stories that I wrote when I was sixteen, things are getting desperate.

Like most things in life, blogs are better done when inspiration hits (in my opinion, at least).
If you'd prefer advice from a sage-like, well-seasoned author (and yes, I'm aware of the spice puns (and the double hyphen)), you can always go to Jack London, who said, "You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club."

Unfortunately, club violence is banned in most states. Why oh why didn't I go to school out West???

As for the title:
I'm at home because I'm interviewing for a summer job tomorrow at 4 p.m. (everybody pray)
I decided about 15 minutes ago to check my email before hopping in the shower
There was an email
I clicked 'open'
I read it
I got into the Honors Program at Morris!!!!!!!

Pardon the ecstaticity, but I'm just so happy! I feel like this is another step towards my successful college experience. Getting into a prestigious academic program is a great big check off my list of goals.

As for the title:
Everyone's asleep here, so I had to scream silently, pump my fists in the air silently, run into the kitchen silently, hop the gate silently, smooch the dog on top of her head silently, come back here silently and blog silently.

That's a lot of silence for one piece of big, exciting news.

Now I think I'll take that shower after all. Goodnight sweet world.
Stay gold.

The Things I Used To Like I Don't Like Anymore

Here's a bit of a story I wrote a few years ago. It's not anything really, but it was supposed to be about a teenager trying to cope with her mentally handicapped uncle (whom she's never known about) moving in with her family.


Cheek mashed against my pillow, I watched the lights under my bedroom door move back and forth. Someone was walking around, murmuring quietly. I could barely make out my father’s voice.
“She’s seventeen, Margaret. She can handle it. He’s her uncle, for God’s sake.”
Mom sounded tired when she replied. “I don’t know, Jim. He’s been living with your mother for his whole life. How is he supposed to cope with the real world? With a teenager?”
I was on the carpet now, crouched in front of my door in order to hear their conversation better. What uncle? Uncle Harold I knew. He was married and living in Utah.
Before I could ponder further, I felt something cold under my left foot. Turning around, I saw a penny, the light from under the door glinting off its red surface. Out of habit, I looked at the date etched into the copper. 1955. The year I was born. I slowly straightened up until I was level with my dresser. Groping sightlessly in the dark, I located the jar. I released the penny and heard the small cling as it settled on top of all the other pennies inside. All 1955’s. Lucky pennies.
There was another voice in the kitchen now, a loud, whiny voice begging for a glass of water. Then Mom. “Sshhh, Leo. It’s all right,” she crooned. “Here’s your water. Now you just make yourself comfortable and drift off to sleep. Okay? Goodnight.”
I heard my parents’ bedroom door snap shut.
Very slowly I opened my own door and stepped out into the hallway. Peering around the corner, I could barely make out the couch in the slatted moonlight. A blonde head was poking out from under Great Grandma Blanche’s afghan. As I stepped onto the cold tile of the kitchen, the head stirred, then turned to look at me.

Please Don't Read This

Go outside instead. It's lovely.

A Dog Named Oscar

Do you want to know the thing I miss the most about home while I'm away at college? It's not my family, my dog, or even my books. It's my bed. Or more specifically, my ability to jump unto my bed whilst I'm at home.

Throwing myself on my bed (often after a running start down the hallway) is a long-standing tradition for me. I do it when I'm sad, mad, silly, or just tired.
And though these feelings are present even when I'm in my dorm room, I find that I can't relieve them in the same way. Why not, you ask?

Because of the darn loft bed.

Though I'd like to end on that resounding note, I think I should probably explain the post title. My family has been planning for a while now to get a puppy in the spring. Our current dog, Annie, is 8 years old (which is pretty old for a large dog), and we want to get another dog while Annie's still around so that the puppy can learn from her (though it kills me (no pun intended) to even think of Annie dying...).

Anyway, earlier today, while watching my sister's volleyball tournament, I started to think of possible dog names. My all-time favorite is Atticus. Isn't that just the greatest name for a dog, or for a German Shepherd, more specifically? (All of our dogs have been that breed; they're the best.)

My family unfortunately doesn't like the name Atticus (apparently they don't love To Kill A Mockingbird like I do), so I kept brainstorming. I know I want the dog to be named after something, preferably a book character or a Beatles song. I'm currently reading The Brief Wondrous Life Of Oscar Wao. "Oscar!" I thought, "What a cool name for a puppy!" Everyone loved it until my parents decided that we would be getting a female dog because they're less aggressive than males.

Darn it.

Well, here's the female name list so far (though I'm still a tad bent out of shape about the loss of Oscar):
Juno or Juneau (May fly with Mom and Dad-they haven't seen the movie, but they love Alaska)
Jude (Hey Jude-think about it)
Mina (From Dracula-read it!)
Saoirse (An actress I like. Pronounced Seer-sha. No offense to the person, but her name is also great for a dog.)
Farrah (I'm kidding. Mostly.)
Lucy (Though I think this name is already fairly popular for dogs, and I want something original.)
Yoko (Hahahaha)
Liesl (Very German. Appropriate?)
Rosie (Yes, I had to sneak in some Neil Diamond.)

Okay, that's all I've got. Maybe you have some suggestions? Props for allusive names.

Cheer Up, Sleepy Jean

Daydream Believer is my ballad of the day. Actually, I suppose it's the ballad of my life, in a way. The only thing that could possibly make that song better would be if Paul McCartney did a rendition of it...

Anyway, what have I been doing all day? Oh, reading mostly. Still engrossed in Dracula. How wonderful it is to really be able to submerge in a book without the constant nudge of schoolwork against my brain. Well, scratch that. I actually have a paper for Anthropology that I should be working on right now, but I've proven once again that I'm rather a successful procrastinator. Cape and tights always, always optional (depends on the weather).

Despite the vampire scare last night (see previous post), I think I fell asleep the minute I turned out my lamp; I didn't even wake up when the dog started barking madly at 6 a.m. because the smoke alarm was chirping. And I'm a light sleeper.

The point of this post, I've decided, besides updating you about the goings-on in my life, is to cheer you up a bit. The glorious few weeks of spring we had seem to have been eclipsed by today's cold, gloomy weather, and I'm afraid that everyone around here has been down about it. Don't worry, dear readers. Now that spring has tainted the air and reduced the ice to dirty slush, it cannot be surpressed for long.

Keep your chin up.

The Nineteen-Year-Old Scared Witless By A Book

I just started reading Dracula. About an hour ago, honestly.
It's early evening. The sun is not even down yet.
And I'm scared! Page 42, and I'm scared!
Dracula was a random choice for me, as well; I just plucked it off my bookshelf from among dozens of other options. I finished a rather fluffy Judy Blume earlier today, and thought that I would alternate with something darker.
For those of you who know the story, I'm at the part where Jonathan Harker has just woken up after falling asleep in the room with the lady vampires.
I know the story myself, at least a little bit. I know that Dracula's a vampire. But as to the rest of it, the important, creepy details, I am at the mercy of this slight paperback from Half Price Books.
We'll see if Jonathan and I make it out alive.