Hi, My Name's Autumn.

I've resisted the urge to write something like this for awhile now. But the music I'm listening to [regina spektor] and the current time [12:27 as of right now] I suppose would be the cause of this post.
So Friday night, after going all over the place in my little black car, like practice, cate orientation, and l&l's to eat mahi mahi by myself, I wanted to curl up on the couch and dissapear for a little while. I was tired. But I had plans. Plans that turned out to be good.
Actually. They were great.
I love the Angelika for two reasons:
1) Because of where it's located. I mean, COME ON. The Shops at Legacy are gorgeous. Who doesn't love that place, huh? I didn't take my freshman year homecoming pictures there for no reason. And the stores, resturants, and houses are fantastic. Completely amazing.
and
2) The fuzzy seats. And the high glass windows on the outside. OH! And all the films they show. Some of the stuff you can't catch at StonebriarAMC. Hm. And the price of a student ticket too. I haven't shelled out less than nine bucks a ticket since I was probably, like, eight.
So maybe that was more than two. But that doesn't matter. The thing is, I love the Shops at Legacy. It holds first to my heart, Watters Crossing taking second. downtowns of Plano and McKinney, and Dallas's arts district taking the following places.
But I digress.
Jacob and I arrived there just in time to catch some dinner before we saw our movie. I had never been into Sal's Pizzaria. I've always eaten in Potbelly, Fireside Pies, or The Counter [now Meatheads. Ugh.]. But Sal's was amazing. We sat there with great pizza and the smell of Sunday spaghetti wafting overhead. I think I'm a creepy Italian...I smell my mother's/grandmother's cooking and I want to die of happiness. Food just makes me crazy. I don't know why.
And with two minutes to spare we make it into the theater for [500]days of summer. Settling into our plush seats, we're laughing just like everyone else at the opening narration at the bottom of the screen: The following is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons
living or dead is purely coincidental. Especially you Jenny Beckman.
Bitch.
The movie was hilarious. My sister, who aparently saw it last night, didn't think it was. Probably because she didn't like the ending. Oh well. But it was a great movie. I laughed so hard I cried. But that happens a lot.
I think I have a problem.
Oh well.
At the end of the movie we all went down the west parking lot exit which spit us right out onto the main strip. There was this cover band playing in the darkness, trees and apartment balconies illuminated with the glow of white Christmas lights. We stood and watched. And just like in the movie, where Summer grabs Tom's hand in Ikea, Jacob grabs mine. And without even looking, I'm smiling all over. Laughing inside, because we've been together for almost nine months now and holding hands still makes me happy.
Again, I think I have a problem.
But just standing there, listening to the music with him and all the people around us, made my whole day even better. And we left the band and their fans out on the street, ran hand-in-hand up the parking garage stairs and over to his truck where we sat and talked. And I figured out that I really have made an impression on him, because he has the exact same gum as I do. Solstice 5 Gum. Go figure. But that probably makes no difference in our relationship. Hm. I just find it interesting.
So maybe this wasn't the blog I've been thinking about. The one I try to avoid all the time. Oh, it'll come up again sometime I suppose.
I'm almost dissapointed it didn't go there..haha.
Sunday. Hooray. Another day. Sleeping day. Carwashing day. Guitar and tea day. Sketching day. Lazy day. Fo'shizle.

And that's what happens when you work late.
You start talking like your coworkers. Saying stuff like fo'shizle.
Wow. That's nice.

For the last time, I think I have a "problem". But what's new?

Impossible is Nothing.

"You'll recover at the crest of the hill," she says over the shaky breathing of 23 teenagers, "this route is very reminiscent of the district course." I keep eye contact with my coach. Hers are hidden behind obsidian Oakleys. Mine are burning with dripping sweat. Most of us nod in understanding. It's another wonderful morning. Another wonderful cross country practice. And there is no sarcasm in those last statements. This misery is my life-my enjoyment. I was so high off the endorphins. But so tired like everyone else. Who doesn't love Regis though?
Regis is the team hill, by the way.
We sprint off on another set, pushing our mental limits like usual. My mind is opening up after a few minutes fighting it's plea for closing. I keep telling myself that Regis isn't mean. He really isn't..he's just a steep fella, that's all. But when you hear the encouragement from everyone else, your team mates and your coaches, you can't help but run faster. I pick up my knees and together my girls and I divide and conquer that hill with the fury of...well, determined high school athletes. We're victorious, boys and girls both, and triumphantly jog towards the football field for some circuits.
By the way, burpees are a great way of bruising your stomach, did you know that? I didn't. When your legs feel like jell-o after hill training, they kind of fail you on that kind of stuff. It's pretty hilarious.
After cool down laps around the volleyball two-a-day-ers who are running line fartliks behind a spitting, hoarsely screaming coach, we shuffle towards the main campus building. Past the gyms. Into the hall where the trophy cabinets are. And we're tired and smelly and wet and nasty. Legs covered in grass and mud. Perfumed with the morning scent of mowed grass and athletic ability. Once again the coaches group us around and explain that we'll be moving our trophies and plaques to the new trophy cabinet.
And we soon remember the significance of every single piece of hardware we're holding. I pick up the JV girl's 4x4 relay district champion plaque from my freshman year. I was on that team..and I remember winning. Every second of it. And I see my 800m plaque from that same year. More memories. I'm hearing other people talk about what the other trophies and awards were for. People ask me about mine. I ask about theirs. It's an ongoing cycle of remembrance.
Back at the trophy case coach explained what it would take to have us go to state. Varsity girls need to be under a twelve minute, thirty second two mile in order to break regionals. I'm at a fifteen-ten. At the time, state seemed like the last thing on my mind.
Walking towards the field house my friend Danielle asks me something I won't forget this season.
"Do you think you can do it?" She asks.
"Do what?" I wonder.
"Break regionals with a twelve."
"I'm not on varsity."
"You are. Believe me, you are." I shake my head. She's crazy I think. But she looks serious.
"I'll believe it when the uniform is in my hands." And then, she looks me in the eyes, still walking.
"I really think you can do it," she says, with all the seriousness in the world, "I think you're going to do things you don't expect right now. Something tells me something is going to happen." I ponder and nod. I don't know what to say. I never thought I could.
But now I believe I can. Sort of.
If I end up being on the varsity, and if what coach says is right. And if what Danielle says is true-then doing great may not be a dream after all.

Maybe it's something someone like me can do after all.
Maybe average is what we need to break the mould.