Once every few days I'll write something

I never know where or when to begin, where and when to end, what on Earth to write about or why on Earth write period. I spend a bunch of time thinking just to have a title that should be my first sentence. I should just quit writing because I definitely don’t have the imagination, or the creativity, or whatever other form of fuel the great authors and my poo ying use to make their creative juices flow and power up their writing hands and begin their marvelous tales.

I wish writing was my calling sometimes. Not just any writing. I wouldn’t want to write some epic, or book, or fan fiction, or poem, or legend, or anything specific really that gets its fame solely from how awesome it is. If I ever were to write something that was to get read by millions, I really hope it would be because it made them smile. I think that is what I love doing most. Making people laugh, or even just seeing a nice little smirk, that I made or help make, even on their most downtrodden days. I would give a billion dollars to see a mopey man smile or a crying lady laugh.

It’s what I love doing the most. The greatest rewards I have ever received were the feelings I’d get after seeing I made someone go on a laughing fit. It’s just so awesome! It is better than that feeling you get after you see someone REALLY enjoyed the gift you made or bought just for them! And that’s a pretty good feeling, too. I guess I should just come to the conclusion that I just love making people happy. Especially via laughter. If only I was funny enough to be a comedian. I’m so envious of my funny friends and those funny people in general that have the gift to make everything they say humorous. One of my close friends, Kris Verdecia, had that gift. Too bad we’ve gotten alienated these last few months. I really do miss all the crazy good times we had. Not so much because of all the not-so-good behavior and activities we engaged in but moreso because of all the good laughs we shared. That’s definitely one of my favorite past-times come to think of it. Laughing like an idiot over retarded things.

My poo ying and I know how to do that very well. In fact, I think moreso than with Kris, her and I have laughed over things I’m -positive- not another soul living or ever to have lived would have laughed at. I remember this one time, not at band camp, we were at my house and we started going on a ‘laugh attack’ because of absolutely no reason. I think the words that came out of my mouth were ‘Were we recording? Oh! HAHA I was waiting for this thing to start!” Next thing you know we’re rolling on the floor laughing at what I know for a fact that if you’re not Easter reading this right now (which I bet is only smirking or let loose one of those short giggles that she’d cover her mouth for if anyone was looking, and if she hasn’t yet this is her cue) you probably think I’m ludicrously whack for even mentioning such an incredibly not funny memory. Anyways, I digressed, Kris did have that gift. I don’t know if it was just his voice or if he managed to just perfect the way to use inflections in his tone to produce humor as if it were a skill, but he did it. I promise you everything out of his mouth was hilarious.

Hanging out with him was like going to a comedy show, I was ready- anticipating the next funny thing that would come out of his mouth. I’m slightly jealous of people like him. I wish I had that skill. But I know better than to throw my own virtues out the window. I know that I’m gonna bring the right set of smiles and the right set of frowns, the right set of laughter and the right set of tears to the people God sees fit. Because he has a plan for me that as long as I have faith in Him I could never escape. And I trust his plan for me will at the very least, if not bring me happiness, bring other people joy, and if not bring other people joy, it will most definitely bring Him joy. And I want to make it my personal mission to make Him happy, because he deserves it. The same way an orphan deserves to be loved by a family, and the same way someone’s cry for  help never deserves to go unheard, it is right for us to return the love of someone who loves us more than we could ever fathom. To me it is unquestionable, that’s just how it goes, that’s just what feels right.

Jon Foreman kicks ass.

More like a greeting to armpit sweat, since that is all I’ll be knowing a week from now and for the three months following that sweet Monday. A new chapter of life is going to open for me in the near future. A chapter filled with the sweat of my brow and the blood of my hands. I’m going to begin the hike up an uncharted mountain that stretches to the Heavens. Where I will head, and if I will ever reach its peak will remain a mystery until it happens. I’m excited. I finally feel like the gears and clockwork have begun to turn (again) and I’m finally moving forward. Soon I will begin to do everything I’ve been anticipating.

For all you 6 possibly lucky readers, I present to you:

1) A very funny Glados quote of the week: Good news. I figured what that thing you just incinerated did. It was a morality core they installed after I flooded the Enrichment Center with a deadly neurotoxin, to make me stop flooding the Enrichment Center with a deadly neurotoxin. So get comfortable while I warm up the neurotoxin emitters.

2) A nice song for all of you to enjoy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RW3Y4OuTPHQ

Jorge tomorrow! trouble doing this poopy since- the smart thing. It is not that I do not know  it is not that I do not know how to do  and it is not that (although, I suppose you can ).  so happens that my  (or maybe  is never said smart thing, for my mind, my heart what the smart thing to do is, always gets the Will be more than okay. because right now I last say when manages to make I somehow manage same effect on to get some sleep, that  even after. it comes to doing think of it anything. explain. behavior for such a better in the morning, I know. Hopefully, it makes my mind it out  where my heart is at).

I hope I feel  (if  is)  do not think I have felt  It just so happens I can not After a lot of figurin’, seem to think of a And unfortunately time I felt this poopy! Come to reason it out that I do. , I might be quite the bitter

Glad, however I purposefully act stupid , for because I have my mind is at always had  Hope has the . Can not heart is never where Such reckless  Mean every fragile thing word tell. Will be okay.  Cannot stay with on mind.  Lol. I figured that it just unscathed.

My writing is SHEEEET. And that I should probably just give up. It seems no matter how hard I try, it ends up sucking! Begone ye awful demon! Stop creating such terrible pieces of what could have been writing! Begone!

Now that I got that out of the way, I have one more message: I SUCK.

That is all.

Short and powerful, short and powerful, short and powerful, short and powerful. The beauty of the English Language is that, as a writer, you can do whatever you want. Sure there are rules and regulations which you should follow, but you really have a lot of freedom when it comes down to it. You can follow all those rules loosely if you it makes your boat float better. The point is, you have room. You have room to paint the horse a different color, and you wouldn’t be any less right for doing it! That’s the beauty of it. The freedom you have to bend it as you see fit. The main problem with that, however, is your final product. It might be the prettiest thing ever written. And that might very well be because of your lack of adherence to the rules. However, it may also be a complete massacre of the language we hold so dear. And that too, would be because of your decision to play with semantics.

Falling in love is like being sucked into a vortex, much like a black hole, with no way out. The deeper you fall, the harder it sucks you in until you have become a different person altogether. At least that is how it feels to me right now. I can’t even recognize myself with some of the things I do and say. I drive at least 40 miles a day to see her, my thoughts are effortlessly devoted to her, my plans are happily catered toward her day. Whenever I am deciding on doing anything, she is easily thrown, automatically—in a manner as if to say I were helpless in the fact—, to the top of my noggin for consideration. I don’t know if this is healthy or not. In fact, I don’t know much of anything that’s going on anymore when it comes to things that concern my overall attitude and demeanor recently. I caught myself today. Talking to someone that wasn’t her, a very peculiar and odd situation as of late, I felt like myself again. It was like breathing that first wisp of air you inhale after resurfacing from the murky depths of your neighborhood pool. Why do I feel less like myself when I’m with her? Is that a good thing? I mean, has my life really become so Ashley-centric that I lose myself around her? However, you must understand that, while I’ve probably made everything sound really negative in the manner I’ve explained it, I’m not unhappy. It’s quite the opposite, actually. I’m very happy. I’m elated. I’m ecstatic. I feel better lost than found, drowned than breathing, sucked than free because I don’t feel like a slave, I feel like I’ve given myself to something more important than anything I could be. I have always felt that I’ve existed for others, rather than myself. I’ve always felt like I was meant to concern myself more with the happiness of others and in doing so, I’d find it for myself. Tomorrow I may be serving another purpose, but today I exist for her. And I exist for her well-being and her happiness. Armed with the feeling that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, doing exactly what I am supposed to be doing, I charge toward the future.

In an empty street, an eight-lane empty street, at just about midnight, with not a single cloud or the Moon in sight, in a black, slim, rectangular albeit curved instead of right angled car, I was making my way home from what seemed, until now, a very perfect day. Life couldn’t go better for me at this point. My heart was singing, my mind was racing through seemingly endless happy thoughts, and everything seemed to be working out perfectly for me. So well, in fact, that a mere frown seemed as far fetched of an idea to me as talking animals. I made my way down the streets, left turn after left turn, trying to figure out how to finish this wonderful day. After about 30 minutes without any luck, I decided to make my way home. Going down that very same soulless street, I would never make another left turn in that little, black car, nor would I not be getting home that night. Life, you see, had a different plan in store for me. As I looked to my right a second time, I saw something I didn’t see before. Another car, white lights, sirens, and a pale face with black eyes that screamed in shock with such power that no amount of words or songs could possibly tell me how afraid this woman was with better intensity. Before I knew it, my car was wrecked, I was covered in blood from head to toe, shards of glass that acted like shrapnel were impaled all over my body, the passenger seat’s headrest was laying on my lap and the sounds of faint ambulance sirens in the distance were getting louder and louder. I was not afraid. I wouldn’t even have been able to define that word for you that night. Tonight, however, it seems I know the word better than I ever have before. Please, whoever is listening, help me. I just want the World to be happy.

After weeks of never-ending nagging from Ash (jk. :D) I’ve finally decided to blog. She wants to see my writing in action and I have been avoiding showing her in order to avert some dissapointment on her end. This is mostly because I’m not too sure how good of a writer I am. Although I know that I can get a point across, write really cheesy things to win the hearts of clueless teachers who think they know what poetry is really all about, be somewhat funny, and seem a lot more intelligent when the words are coming out of my hand in stead of my mouth I still feel like a very subpar writer. Maybe because I don’t write enough, or because I can’t remember all the silly rules, or maybe simply because I don’t have the gift of pen. Maybe it’s all three. Anyway all in all I think I have a pretty okay list of tricks down (or is it up?) my sleeves, at least enough so that I can perhaps label my writing eloquent enough so as to not create a completely embarassing spectacle of an essay. That being said I should probably get to talking about something that will interest any wayward traveler reader that happens to, unfortunately might I add, stumble upon my tumble (Yes, I thought that was pretty funny). STEALING CHRISTMAS was no easy task. First off, you have a bunch of wannabe Christmas burglars on the prowl trying to take your glory! I had to deal with the Grinch (Longest story ever. I thought the whos would be happy seeing me drag his grimy green carcass down to whoville to put as a Christmas ornament on the very tree I would be disassembling later. Instead, however, they were very bitter and chased me I decided it was best if I get out of Whoville for now. Whatever, I’ll get my revenge later.), Don Quixote (don’t ask), Hercules (Who’da thunk he’d ever want to steal Christmas?), Zorro (Expected), and a silly little girl named Aura. As if competition wasn’t enough, it isn’t so simple stealing Christmas. You have to be prepared! Have plans! Have skills and lack a heart or (yes, OR) have disdain for Milk and Cookies. You shouldn’t have any problem guessing which category I fall under. Anyway, yes, you can’t just walk up to Christmas and tell it to come with you because you’re abducting it. Christmas is a pretty fearsome character who just so happens to have a second degree black belt and guns. Yes, you heard read right: GUNS. Christmas is fully loaded with all sorts of advanced weaponry: lasers, rockets, rocket launchers, nail guns, shotguns, assault rifles and chain chompers from Super Mario. Without the right planning you can’t possibly stand a chance. Stealing Christmas is no easy task. Sleep on that, and I’ll continue the rest of the story tomorrow.