Mysteries of Nightfall.

It's going to be another late night. Another long day bleeding into the darkness. Dreary eyes and heavy thoughts all rushing. I'll grip my mattress and try to relax. But the feeling never stops. I'm in a constant free fall of dreams and emotion.
This sweet sixteen is tired. She's not distraught. She's deprived.

It's hard to find your pillow in a sea of black. The darkness that sucks everything into this one tight spot where your exhausted mind can't seem to want to make you put your arms out and search. Where your body is just so afraid of the unknown out in the corner but you know eventually you'll have to gather the strength to reach out and start to grab.
And the funny thing is - I'm actually talking about sleeping here. There is no background meaning behind all of this. I mean, I suppose you could actually take it like that. But I'm not meaning to weave things around in these words tonight.

I've come down with a seirous syndrome of nothing but tossing and turning all night. My thoughts and dreams have melted together into this sticky mess that's so wonderful, yet so troublesome. My eyes are wide open most nights. Closing them takes a great deal of effort. But eventually my body submits, and my mind lolls, and I'm shut off for the night. My breathing turns into a natural metronome of soft, slow beats. It shakes and sways. My hands quiver for something to hold. Something to grab to and belong to as I sleep through the night. Because being in bed alone never really made me happy. Not even the little dog at the edge of the sheets could comfort me. My arms wrapped around my pillows are what force me to sleep.

And again, I'm alone.
Well. That's a lie. My sister has decided to plant herself on my bedroom floor and sleep. A long and hard slumber. Which dissapoints me. Because I want to talk so badly because I've got a serious mouth to run, and only the wall next to me.

That's what I need. Something that'll shake my bones and make me stretch.

And then my thoughts start again. And I'm forced to stay awake again.
I'd much rather see these things in my dreams. Memories and beliefs are so much more
solid in dreams. To me they are at least.

I need to go to bed. I'm exhausted to say the least.
Every part of my body.
But tomorrow I'll be up and ready.

And then I hear the best thing ever.
A dial tone from a phone. On my floor.
Gabby's up after all :]

Free At Last, Free At Last.

I'd finish that epic quote, but I'm feeling it's not needed.
Thank goodness I'm free.
Well. Sort of.

The winter break is speeding by at an alarming rate, and really, I don't mind. All of this snow, and being cooped up inside, all this sleeping in, and all this working? Well...it was nice for the first few days. But the monotony of things is starting to get to me. I'm off all week, and I can't visit anyone before the new year except for a select few.
I do admit, I did get myself into a lot of trouble. Quite a sticky mess if you ask me. Not good at all. But I'm recovering from it. I'm slowly but surely building my reputation around here again.
But this snow keeps falling, and the air keeps freezing, and my mind is idle. I could care less about the homework, care less about everything really. I've got a car payment made, I've got things to wrap, people to see, a new year to welcome in. I'm so tired. And I've been using my days to sleep. A lot. I'm no longer in this depressive state. More of just a tired, 'I'm done' sort of place. I'm ready to make people happy again. But I wish I could be happy at the same time.
I mean, believe me. Oh goodness, am I happy. Very happy with so many things.
But this break was nothing of what I expected. I suppose the first couple of days was everything I wanted. Christmas was great too. I love spending that day with my family. I love spending days here. But this break just wasn't what I wanted.
Without the ability to blog or force myself to do homework [most of it being online], I've felt kind of empty. I've felt disconnected. I've spent my days sleeping in, taking scalding hot showers, and staring into the gray horizon as I watch the rain turn to ice. I've been clicking my tongue, chewing my cheek, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I've become a temporary insomiac, wandering the house with my sister in the early hours of the morning, talking over apple juice and the dull light of an itouch. Being lulled to sleep by the likes of Bob Seger and Norah Jones because their music can soothe my savage feelings of stiff anticipation and boredom.

I never knew that when I lit that torch last Wednesday, I would be burning up the rest of my break. That I would be throwing my plans into the fire. Searing every last thread of it all.
It made me feel so sick inside.
And now that I've thrown out some apologies, and gotten responses back, I'm feeling a little better about myself. I'm patching up and trying to repair. Trying to become what I once was. But I've hurt a lot of people, and I've drug many through this mess. I hate that. But I'm going back to the way it was.

I even got my hair cut today. I'm back to looking...somewhat clean :]

I'm so lost, but so found. I'm settling back in to reality.
The winter break is pretty much over.

But the freeze has only begun.

It's unbelieveable. I can't seem to find the words. The subtle reminders. The pen and the paper. It all comes together so perfectly. Who knew it would come to this? Who knew this would happen? Who knew it would end up this way, so crazy. I'm about to get all cliche..so I'll stop while I'm at it. All I can say..is that I think I've finally found the candle in that dark room. I'm no longer looking through the window. I've stepped inside.

The Short and Sweet.

I'm excited to say that in about an hour and six minutes, school will be over for the winter break.

This past week has been, to say the least, amazing. It's really hard to describe. I'm usually never speechless. But right now, I kind of am.

Besides, I'm sitting at the CTE center, typing my blog in floral design class. I'm finally getting the opportunity to write a blog on a mac computer. It truly is the little things that make me very happy. I wish other people could see that.

I really should be doing my final exam project.....

I believe that this winter break will definitely be one to remember. I don't know why. I just have a feeling. I have a feeling Christmas is going to be spectacular. That New Years is just going to be downright amazing. That all the projects I have to finish are going to suck. A lot.

But no matter. I'm looking foreword to that cold, dark morning. The inability to sleep that night. That soft buzz that resonates through my mattress; a text message that simply says "three-six-cupcake". Long runs in the afternoon. Long meals all day long. The cold air rushing through my throat and into my lungs. That grainy gray smoke that billows from my mouth. I'm anticipating so much...

I think things are finally settling down.

I think things are also just beginning to arise.

Why Do Today..

what you really should of done about a week ago?

I am probably the ultimate procrastinator. As of right now I am celebrating the recent defeat of my AP English project. It is due tomorrow. And I totally just busted that thing out. And my reward for a good night full of work?
An even better night of sleep. If my head ever makes it to the pillow, that is.

Four days of school left and we are on Christmas break. It seems like just yesterday I was dreading preparing for my first day of junior year in that locker room rather than driving home after practice and going back to bed. I can't believe this first semester has sort of flown by. It's incredible. It's a little frightening as well. But I'm excited anyway. There's that little kind of satisfaction you get from drifting into the unknown. Teetering with the things you've never experienced. I guess school is good for something.

As of right now I am in a state of content. I am torn on the inside, however. There are a few things going on in my life that are making me really stop and think sometimes. Nothing life or death though. Nothing that needs intervention. No, no. Teenage thoughts that just sit in my mind, like birds on a wire - they just stop and stare.

I suppose I'll have more inspiration to write tomorrow. Maybe? Maybe not. Nobody knows quite yet.

All I know is that I'm very ready for the holidays to begin. I'm ready to be with my family. Be with my friends. Exchange the gifts, smiles, and do what we do every Christmas week. And then off to New Years Eve. Something that I also look foreword to. Something that stays in constant mystery. Constant anticipation. Something I expect, this year, will be the best out of all my last hours of the year to date.

Hit Me Twice.

This year, there will be no grumbling in the car, teeth gritted, eyes watering as they watch the orange-yellow glow of the highway lights pass by. There will be no three million-bagillion calorie breakfast of glorious gas station Cup O' Noodles and Hagen Daas ice cream bars from the freezer. No watching the elite take off with wide eyes, no searching for my previous teachers or coaches, or even my father at the start and finish line of the race.
No. There will only be me. In the corner of this pitch black master bedroom. Keeping a heavy eye on this little girl who's having a little problem keeping her stomach in the right place.

This sweetheart just needs to go back to bed.

No. I went to bed last night at a late half past midnight. I just woke up about half an hour ago. That's about four hours of sleep I suppose. Give or take. I was having half conscious dreams last night that were keeping me awake. Probably that Taco Bell my mom bought me for my howling body last night to ease my hunger to rest. Our little one didn't even finish her order of one soft taco. She started feeling sick last night.

So today, instead of attending the well anticipated White Rock Marathon, I will be sitting in my sweatpants and t-shirt, make dry toast, and wait to hear the low and constant snore of a child that can only find peace through sleep. What a strange day for her to become ill. I can only wonder if this is penance from God, and this is my sort of service that I must carry out in order to fulfill my path to forgiveness. And besides. I've got a lot of homework that needs to be done. So maybe this isn't just penance. Maybe this is the way God is helping me get my life back in order. I always say that things will 99% of the time work out. The other 1% is for those who chose to make it go wrong.

I'm so tired. But wow, could I not sleep last night. Maybe it was the excitement for marathon day. Maybe it really all was my dreams. Maybe it was Forthmeal. Who knows? But this girl isn't getting any more sleep today. This girl is going to sit on this floor and play watchdog for the next six or so hours.

So. Good luck Coach Womble. Good luck Ms. Merrill. Good luck Coach Boysen [if you still run this race?!]. Good luck daddy. May you all hit your paces. And may the force, and direction of the winds [you better pray for anything but coach's so called 'toilet bowl' type], be with you all. I'll still be watching. No longer out in the cold, watching from beautiful Victory Park. But from behind the ultimate window of bits and pieces, behind glass and tube. Straight through the camera, and hopefully to you.

Hit Me Once.

In all my sixteen, almost seventeen years of existence, I've come to find out that talking face to face is one million, three billion, two fillion times better than any other type of communication out there. Trying to understand someone while not having any eye contact, or not being able to observe the way they move really makes it hard.
Things on some sides have been getting better. Slowly. The relationship between my mother and I is climbing back on track. I hope it stays that way. I'm opening my eyes to all these new things, and trying to see them as a benefit to me. But in other ways, things are starting to crawl up my neck. A wretched, cold grip is lacing it's fingers around my neck. I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to get all of this done. How to solve a few problems. How to reconnect with the people I'm losing. How to straighten up my priorities. How to exactly find this missing part of myself that I've just discovered may or may not be missing.
And then. I'm locked in that dark room again. Just for a moment. Except this time, it doesn't feel like I'm actually in the room now. I feel as though I'm staring through a cracked and dirty window. Because being at a loss for words really hurts. When you feel like you have nothing to contribute when you feel as though it's needed, it's painful to watch your words fall down like broken glass and shatter on the floor below. I'm standing there, watching this flood of emotion - and all the while I'm trying to find these things to say, and my mind wants to make my hands reach out and catch those cascading thoughts and things before they disappear into oblivion.
But I am me. And I can never save my thoughts from ultimate destruction. Once I get pushed off my thought train, there is no hope.
But there is hope. There always is for other things.

In other news, I watched the documentary Running the Sahara tonight. Amazing film. I feel like I need to do something great with my life. And I'm debating on the Army or not. But I'm not quite bold enough. But if not, running something like that would be great. Now, I don't think I could run all the way across the Sahara desert like those three men did, but I'm positive that if I set my mind to it, I could be running ultras and trail races in my adult life. I hope that, when I grow up, the people I remember running with most, will still be running too. And I hope that one day, we'll all get together, and run something together again. I pray that I'll keep my runner's spirit at heart. I think without it I'd be kind of lost.

And now I guess it's about that time. I'll try to fall into a deep, body numbing sleep, like I've been needing for the past few days. I'm going to try and dream up something again tonight. See if life has any new strange or unusual messages for me again. But I guess there's only one true way to find that out.
And staying up all night, blogging, won't help me reach that goal at all.

A Number of Holes, Some Big, Some Small.

What is there to say about a day like today?

Truthfully, I never planned for that to rhyme. But it seems to definitely fit the events of this December's day.

As with any other day, it didn't start out very normal. Running in temperatures a little over twenty degrees really makes your insides freeze. I have truthfully never felt my face and neck become so stiff that it's painful to move my head. I've never felt wind so cold and strong that it made me want to throw up. But I've never had so much fun in the cold. Standing under the shower after a numbing practice is excruciatingly painful. And when you can't feel your thighs rubbing against each other as you walk around in your towel...it kind of worries you!
The day didn't stop there. Being the only girl in your shop class [not to mention the only one working on a major project] really has it's perks. Not only do you get a lot of leeway when it comes to showing up for second period even LATER-you seem to get all of the attention. Which, I will admit, I hate most of the time. But when it comes to showing off my boyish skills, I'm happy to put on a show.
The rest of the day consisted of a lot of talking. While algebra never really seems to be any fun, my AP language class is awesome. Especially when we're doing something I really enjoy [writing thesis statements] in speed dating form, it's the best. But what tops it all off would have to be the fact that my English teacher doesn't send me to the office, or go off at me when my previous English teacher calls her to explain why I was gone for the whole last quarter of the class period. The fact that I didn't get in trouble was great. And the conversation held in that classroom? Anything but ordinary for me. But interesting. Kind of eye-opening.

I'm having problems at home. And all I can say towards that, from both my teacher's, father's, and my own perspective, is that I'm doing exactly what every teenager has to do. I'm going through an unruly, ugly stage. And truth be told, I hate it so much. I would much rather be able to bypass this phase and just get straight to the next. I want to be 'perfect' again. I want to be just another daughter.
I guess I'll have to wait for that.

For the record, this is all a little overwhelming for me. I mean, hm. It's hard to say I'm used to all of this. I'm a little frightened because I don't know what's ahead. I'm unsure. I'm new to all of this. But that doesn't mean that I'm willing to accept the challenge. I didn't know this would ever happen to me. But there is one thing I am for certain:

I am positive I can solve this mystery.

Back to the Beginning.

Is it already that time again? Have I already come full circle in these blogs, back to one of the very first subjects that inspired me to even make something completely new? Something totally separate from the little box that sat on my MySpace profile page?

Why yes. I believe it is.

Now, Running Club officially started last Monday. However, today was the very first Tree Farm run I had the opportunity of participating in since season ended [because of my stupid absences last week I didn't get to run the first one]. So many things have changed since my very first run on that concrete trail. The talk of the infamous "tree farm run" intrigued me. It intimidated me. But needless to say, it was love at first run. The sharp chill in my lungs. The rhythmic tapping of running shoes. The occasional word or two. I remember keeping my mouth shut and talking to myself in my mind. I was slight acquaintances with all of these "strangers" but I knew I was not yet worthy of their company. I thought I would have to make my way up the ladder just as I did freshman year with the sprinters: gain respect, do the dirty work, pay your dues.
But as time went by, I slowly found out that this was not true. I discovered this group of people who I could relate to. People that understood me. People I understood.
Thus, my nasty break up with volleyball.
And the start of my glorious relationship with cross country. [May the point be made that my relationship with this dastardly sport began in middle school. But high school is SO much more different.]

This year, I'm still remembering the darkness. I'm remembering the glorious cold and wind, though this year I'm embracing it with shorts and sweatshirt. I'm slowly stripping off to senior season. Pure greatness. I reach that ominous trail and smile through the smoke dripping through my teeth. The trees still carry the burden of that beautiful bend in their scruffy spines. The morning dew still smells just as sweet. And the sounds will never go away. The slow hum of the bugs and birds will stay in constant play. My relationship with the streets of Kelmscot and Grady will stay consistent. I do assume that by the end of my senior year, however, Kelmscot and I will put aside our differences and there will no longer be yelling. Just smiling and laughing. This year there was no stitch. There was no being "done".
There was pure, uninterrupted, joyful, amazing, spectacular running.
And in the end, I walk behind and realize something.

Through only a few months. Through a season or two. Through all these hours, all these miles, all these words, kicks and punches. I realize. That I have their respect. That I am actually one of them now. That where once I stood a complete new kid, I now stand just another face on the team.

On the outside I was just being me. Talking obnoxiously loud and laughing with everyone else. But inside, I couldn't stop smiling.

I'm so honored. So proud. How did it ever come to this?
That I'm finally where I need to be.

Chasing Pirates.

It's been a long, restless Saturday. But the warm glow of this artificial Christmas candle in my bedroom window provides some sort of comfort as I try to relax. I waltz and meander around my small square of room before settling down. Grabbing my pills like a pair of dice and shake them in my palms as if I'm hoping for some sort of win. Blinking into the flickering fluorescent bulbs over my bathroom mirror.
It's been one of those days again. Not bad or good. Just sort of there. I drove around a lot. I set up the Christmas tree. Finally bought my AP book. The hours just sort of passed by. I remember laying there in the downstairs chair, listening to my parents talk in the kitchen, and just letting myself fall asleep. Allowing myself to fall into this deep napping state of cold and peace. Waking up and eating marshmallows because my teeth hurt.
My other three wisdom teeth are about to come in.
What's strange is that I keep glancing over my shoulder at this fake candle. It's in a perfect freeze-frame state where the flame is fat and the plastic wax is dripping evenly. It emits this soft yellow-orange glow that lights up my bed in bright morning colors. It reminds me of winter. It makes me tired.
It's another one of those days. A multi-emotional day of how I can't really describe how I feel. Days like this that make me feel bad because I want to be able to write but I think I have some blockage. I need to be inspired. I need to go outside, take a stroll in the grass, littered with fallen leaves and evidence of winter's calling. I need to just be in the sun, in the trees, above the ground.
I think winter has just made me tired. I feel like I'm not going anywhere with anything. It's a strange feeling. I don't trust it.

Good Times, Cold Days

I feel like I'm cheating on you, Mister Blogger. Tonight I received an e-mail from my AP Language teacher, requesting that we all read an article and reply to it on the related forum, as well as comment on someone else's post. Needless to say I was as giddy as could be, finally being able to do something for homework I was actually INTERESTED in! I got to blog for homework! Score! And what's even better is my forum post actually got a response. Oh the excitement.

When my mother woke me up yesterday morning, I had no idea the kind of hell I was about to face out on the roads. With no working heat, old tires, and fogged up windows I drove street to street, dropping off both sisters on opposite sides of McDermott. While I most enjoy the snow, I was afraid every time I had to lean over the dashboard, while driving, and wipe the window off so I could barely see. I didn't want to go to school. I wanted to stay home. I wanted to crawl back into bed and avoid the day.
But this snow was not bad. No, actually, I saw it as a sign of hope. I was amazed when I looked outside and no longer heard or saw rain, but the freezing, white clumps of ice. Tiny and frail. Melting instantly as they hit the ground. Accumulating only on cars and rooftops. I am one who loves to blow smoke rings from my mouth and hear the crunch of ice under my feet. So when I finally got through it all and got fitted for my letterman jacket [can you believe it?! the day has come!], I walked outside with two of my friends through the parking lot. We packed and balled tiny snow missiles, and for a few minutes we weren't at school. We were playing in someones front yard. We were running around, smiling and stuffing snow in each other's faces. To see two seniors and a junior ducking between cars and scavenging for ice patches would have to be something hilarious to see. For five minutes I forgot I was at the school. I forgot I had to go and actually learn. For five minutes I was laughing and playing just like it used to be.
But I assure you. If there was a snow day tomorrow, I'd be doing that ALL day.

I'm cold and weak. I miss going to practice. I have to miss practice this week. I'm not happy about that. But I'm dealing with it. I've grown restless in the winter weather and that's not normal. Yet everything should be getting easier? Hm. It makes me think sometimes. The craziness and all.
Alright. Bed sounds good right about now. It's time to sleep. Time to finally dream again.
Time to get lost in my thoughts and be inspired by dark and drowsiness. Time to get lost in myself.