Happy Halloween.

Trick or Treat, Boo, Happy Halloween, and other cliches.

pppppppppppppppppppppp9o0
[mo says hello.]

RIP James and Lily Potter.  Your ultimate sacrifice caused the eventual end of something terrible...and some really great reading for us Muggles.

To those who didn't dress up today:
you're dumb.

Now everyone go write a medium-long length blog post about anything so I have something to do.  Clearly, it doesn't even have to be quality writing for me to accept it...
love always, laura.

Too late to be awake but too early to fall asleep.

Bear with me through this next post, please.

Imagine this with me, for a moment:

You're in a room with a big present.  It's shiny and awesome and just the size and shape of something you really really want.  So you grab hold of it with both hands and keep it there for a while.  However, you're not completely sure what's inside, and it won't ...tell you...what it is... [stay with me here].  Nevertheless, you keep holding on because you're pretty sure it's what you want.

Then, for three days, you put it down and forget about it.  You go into a new room with a couple new presents that are very different than the first one, but really great too.  There's one in particular that really catches your eye and all the other presents are urging you to choose it instead of the first present [suspend your disbelief a little longer].  You're not sure, because you remember how great you think the first one is, even though you're a little distracted now because of this new present.  So you sort of kick it along back with you after the three days are up and you have to go back to the original room, which is same as always, with that big shiny present... Except now, there's a new present in there with you.

Anyway.  You take back hold of the first present, though very hesitantly this time.  In fact, one hand remains off and possibly stretched slightly towards the new present.  You stay like this, in this uncertain lingo of sorts, for another couple of weeks.  Finally, you tell the first present that it needs to make up it's mind and tell you what it is.  So finally it says that it isn't REALLY what you thought it was, it was just making itself up as it went along.  Also, it said that it didn't really want anyone opening it for a while.

You would expect yourself to feel disappointed, right?  You know you would've been if it hadn't been for those three days without it.  Suddenly you realize it isn't the only present in the house, and there's this other really great one.  This present that's probably too good for you anyway, that you don't deserve.  Anyway, the point is, it was a lot easier for you to let go of the present when you only had one hesitant hand holding on, than it would've been if you still had both hands firmly placed around it.  Do you see what I mean?

Guys, it's fine.  The first present is a really great present and we can still be...um, friends.  I just sort of have my attention on a new present now.  It's fine.  I'm fine.

love always, laura.

Sometimes, it's okay to have dessert for breakfast.

As of today, to be honest, I feel a little bit more about ripped-up toenail than I do about...

-the waste of four weeks, worrying and wondering

-the hopes of four weeks, wishing and hoping

-the lingering feelings for someone that doesn't want anything

-our conversation on Friday

-....maybe even him, now.

Because, let's be real here.  This has been a long time coming.  Since Shakespeare Festival, really.  When I got to be better friends with more people and realized that there are other good guys besides him, especially one; the one that was completely there for me and still is.  Today, there's a quote running through my head: "If you have two guys to choose, pick the second one.  If the first guy really had you, you wouldn't have fallen for someone else."
Let's be real here too.  I have been falling for a couple weeks now, for someone who is probably too good for me.  I see myself as having next to no chance with him, because why me?  The only reason I've heard lately is "why not?" and I'm not going to live that way.  We'll see.  We'll see.
In real life, if you ask anyone I'm close with, they'll tell you that I really did say these next few words:  "The more I hang out with my new drama friends, the further away I get from him."  This past fall break has been full of these new friends, with minimum contact with him.  The contrast is shocking, really.  How comfortable and how happy I am with Kristen and Davis and Connor and Suzie and [almost] Benjamin and Elizabeth and everyone else that I missed, contrasted with how stressed and uncertain I was around him.  It's time to move on.
Mitchell, you were a good chapter in my life.  You introduced me to highschool and you helped me through the initial everything.  Unfortunately, you have a lot to learn.  Now was not the time but I'm glad I was your first kiss.  I'm glad you kissed me, I'm glad I took the risks with you, I'm glad I've known you and I have no regrets.  As was the way in round one with me, you've moved on faster and I'm struggling to catch up.  It'll be fine and it'll be okay.  You're a good guy and I hope you get everything you deserve.

Also... Sorry, but all the drama kids hate you now.  My bad.

Sometimes, it's okay to eat dessert for lunch, too.
love always, laura.

In Hell we starve; In Heaven, we feed each other.

"Laura, what happened?"

"Nothing happened.  Nothing has happened.  Nothing has been said and nothing has been done and nothing is precisely the problem."

"Nothing happens and nothing matters."

I re-read what I said to that lovely, lovely boy and then I re-re-read it.  And then read it thinking of nothing as an actual thing [which may be contradictory, but oh well. It's fine].  And suddenly it was a much happier sentence.
Nothing happens because things can't always be happening, but nothing is a thing too so maybe they can.  Nothing may mean nothing good, but nothing can always mean nothing bad too.
Nothing matters because without nothing, we wouldn't appreciate the somethings.

Don't take nothing for granted.  Don't take something for granted.  Don't take people for granted and don't take your senses for granted.

love always, laura.

"The prettiest curve on a woman's body is her smile."

Charmanders are red,

Squirtles are blue,

If you were a pokemon,

I'd choose you.

Boys,
girls are easy.
It doesn't really matter what you do, but if you do something for one, you'll have her.

I wish I could write a list of things I wish you'd do for me,
because it's all here in my head,
but then I'd never know.  So maybe you should just not read this post
but still do something nice for me.  Because I know you know me and maybe I almost know
you have feelings for me but I don't really know if you care so if you do
do something nice for me to let me know
because I can't wait forever.
You have me so tight that it's killing me; do you not even realize?
I'd like to pretend I wrote that poem up there for you, but I didn't.
I saw it while browsing pictures.  It's part of a longerish poem that
a boyfriend wrote to a girlfriend
because he cares about her.  I'm not even asking for a poem or really anything
[though that'd be pretty cool].
I'm just saying it'd be nice to know and all.  Because it's not just me that's suffering;
it's all my people that read my blog.  Do you know how long it's been since I've written a good post?
A long time and it's all because of you.
You mash my thoughts up into...mush.  And then I pour them onto the keyboard
and add in a dash of pictures
and stick it into the internet without even mixing or adding sugars and spices.

But I also decided that I don't have to write like Addy to be a good writer.
And I decided I don't have to dance like Brittany to be a good dancer.
I don't have to sing like Krista to be a good singer.
I don't have to look like Selena Gomez to be pretty and
I don't have to care to impress you because honestly,

I really doubt you even notice.

And who knows.  Maybe some day you will.
Maybe someday you'll think of me unexpectedly, without a text or a glimpse or whatever of me.
And maybe that day you'll want to brighten mine up
and bring me taco bell
or play me a favorite song
or paint me a picture
or give me a flower
or take me bowling/to a movie/to color me mine/really anywhere but here
or even just grab my hand.  That'd count too.
I'm a romantic; you don't even need to be imaginative to please me.  It's so easy
but it'd catch me off guard and I'd love you forever.
oh please, you could just tell me you think I'm beautiful.  Please?
But if you don't, that's fine too.

love always, laura.

Maybe I'll try something new, since everything else is changing.

Because I take it all back.  I'm still confused; I'm more confused.  I don't know what happened, what's happening, or what's going to happen, and you know what?
It's not fine.
I hide more than you know.  Some use pillows, some use smiles, I use words.  Lately, two words in particular. "It's fine."  But you guys.  It's not fine.  It's not always fine.  It won't always be fine.  There will be times and there have been times that I hide behind "It's fine" when it's not and can't you see?  Can't you sense the longing to be held?  I don't know what I'm doing anymore than Harry Potter did in the first half of the seventh book.  Oh Harry, remember when it was just you and me?  Remember how you used to be around any time I needed you?  But now you're collecting dust on the shelf of honor high in my room.  But that's the thing about shelves...  No matter how honorable, they'll still collect dust.
Maybe people are the same.  Maybe if we stripped away the pre-conceived notions we store endlessly about ourselves and each other, we'd see that we are all just shelves that collect dust unless we take the time to clear it away; we'd see that we are all Harry Potter wandering around the Forest of Dean, or Hester Prynn standing on the scaffolding, or even Guy Montag, wondering where on earth we went wrong.  Because who cares about the bindings, what we all care about are the words;  how caress looks like stroking and stroking sounds like love.  How jab seems to stick out and how stick jabs out as only a stick can do.  How book looks like two bookends on that shelf and how "shelves" seems to be holding the upper bit of the "h" and the "l".  Does anyone else see the meaning of a word in the word?  Does kitten look cute and cat look fat to you?  Do you see what I say, how see has two "e"s like our eyes [and so does eyes! with a "y" for a nose!] and "I" represents our id?  Because words are always what brings a story to life.  With however many letters, it not only represents but portrays an action or a description or a person!  Each word is an actor, and any mathematician [looks complicated, like complicated itself, do you see?] could tell you that things are equal on both sides of an equation so it must be true that all actors are words.
And I say it again, all actors are words.  Everyone who speaks is an actor, but everyone who doesn't is one as well.  Because who are we, but the ones portraying our own feelings?  Whether we are playing them well is not the question, but an entirely different matter together.

So Addy, I agree.  Actors are the epitome of society, but mostly just because anyone who feels and talks and writes is an actor.

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

  -As You Like It, Act 2 Scene 7

So actually, it is fine.

It really is.  Because life is good and life is great and life is wonderful,
and someday none of it will matter.

kiss today goodbye,
the sweetness and the sorrow,
wish me luck
the same to you,
but I can't regret what I did for love.
Look, my eyes are dry,
the gift was ours to borrow;
it's as if we always knew.
And I won't forget what I did for love.

love always, laura.

Him.

  

Kelsie, to answer your question,

I do get excited when I see him now.



But I don't actively look for him,

like I do with him.

Thanks for helping me sort myself out,

even if it took this long.

love, ...wingnut.

It's fine.

Every moment before then escalated and exploded
in a whirl of
"we did it."
The sitting on the bus, staring out at the snow,
the eating licorice,
the drinking dr. pepper,
the reading scarlet letter,
the watching tangled.
The getting to Cedar City
and going immediately to
"Dial M for Murder".
The going to Taco Bell
the eating my favorite food.
The going to Winter's Tale
the leaning my head on Drew.
The falling into bed
the talking with the roommates
the exchange of stories
the falling asleep.
The waking up and going to breakfast
the seeing everyone after rolling out of bed.
The seeing those who care and
the seeing of those who wanted to get food asap.
The going and setting up Titus
the seeing titus
the chills from seeing titus
the amazement at the talent of my friends.
The going to Mickey D's
the not eating anything there.
The going to "Noises Off!" and
the laughing until everything hurts.
The looking at the one on my right
the wondering why people are trying to set us up
the wondering why I'm so interested.
The talking and ranting and
the watching "say yes to the dress"
the watching "four weddings"
the feeling of excitement that they don't really hate me.
The feeling of excited disbelief that a senior thinks I'm cutest.
The sleeping, again.
The waking up, the seeing other students.
The happiness that we are so blessed with good teachers and good actors.
The amazement at the talent of my friends, again.
The setting up of Titus, again.
The amazement at the talent of my friends, again again.
The non-eating of pizza.
The sitting in a chair.
The almost falling asleep.
The waking up, the sitting up straight, the grabbing of hands.

The moment came at last.
That moment of complete and utter victory
and suddenly I'm part of something big
and something beautiful
and something I'm meant to be a part of.

And in that one moment of complete and utter victory,
[ignore this next line that's been running through my head all day]
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers"
were all the same.
We screamed what we went to do
and we hugged and we cried and we laughed
until our voices were hoarse
and our jaws numb.
And across the enormous room,
what set me off,
was the Lone Peak Shakespeare Team
standing and cheering for us.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you for those last three days.
Thank you for including me.
Thank you for making me feel _______.


And then the bus ride home.  Whispering secrets
and saying random things, like,
"It's all fine, Addy."
and her saying,
"Obviously."
and then almost sleeping.
And then eating licorice, again.
And then thinking
thinking
thinking
thinking
and then him sitting by me
and me sitting by him
and her laying on us
and me leaning on him
and him leaning on that
and us talking about it
and then me crying on him
and him thinking it's that
and her getting up and leaving
and him seeing my face
and my looking away
and him whispering in my ear
and me shaking my head
and him holding me close
and him talking 'til I smile
and me spilling it all
and him listening to me
and him comforting me
and me saying thank you
and him falling asleep on that
and me falling asleep on him.

except not really.
in reality,
I was thinking again.
And I'm even more confused now.
But it's fine.
It's all fine.

real life has become Shakespeare,
and fake life has become...here.
It's fine that there's only three days of real life a year.

love, laura.

"already on the ground and severely cracked."

The things I don't say to you

[and, a lot of the time, the things I do say as well]

drive me crazy.


I wrote out all I wanted to say in a text
and I went to send it to him
[except not really because I'm too shy, I think]
and sent it to someone else instead.
Then I asked him if he thought I was shy.

Really though...  If I were able to go back and forth
in the time whatever-it's-called
then I would send what I want to say,
see how it works out,
decide if I approve of the outcome,
then make further decisions based on those steps.
But no...
Mankind has to be stuck in some lazy age of nondiscovery...

You know, maybe I am a little bit shy.

"I'll doze off safe and soundly
but I miss your arms around me"

love, laura.

Fluffy.

Once upon a time, there was a lonely old lady named Laura.

She lived a sad, lonely life, living in a little house. Alone.

Then one day [actually, three separate days in September],

three lovely cats were born and moved into her life

and her life wasn't lonely anymore.

Their names were Janessa, Stevie, and Kelsey.

The end.

So, maybe it doesn't make sense.  That's okay.
Happy September birthdays.  Sorry this post isn't split into three
and personal
and actually...good posts.
And sorry those hypothetical three posts
weren't posted on the actual birthdays.
And sorry I compared you to cats.
But I really like cats and I really like you guys
so I thought it worked.
Thanks for putting up with my crazy, you guys.I dunno who would if you didn't.


Also, once upon two o'clock today,
we got a little kitten.
He's probably the cutest thing on the planet, currently.
I've personally named him fluffy,
after the three headed dog.

love, laura.