I promised that I will do my best to keep up my blog, even though school has started, and here I am, fulfilling that promise.
I had a significant experience today. Something I had never experienced before, and something I probably won't experience again. Unless I become a tornado chaser. Something I've always wanted to be, though I'm not sure why. Anyhow, back to my experience. It was a normal, sweltering day at my school, and when the final bell rang, I was relieved because I then could walk to the pool and get cooled off. I got cooled off before I even took 30 steps from the school. Then it spotted me and attacked me before killing itself on the school building.
Yes, I was, for the first time in my life hurled (well, technically it hurled itself into me...) into a dust devil. At first I thought it was a gust of wind attacking everyone ahead of me, but I realized there was debris flying in circles everywhere up to 50 feet high!
When it got to me, I realize how silly I was. My first thought was, "My backpack!" I grip my backpack fiercely, refusing to let the wind hurl my precious homework away. Dirt had never hit me so hard. It kind of hurt, but left no marks, so I am not allowed to complain.
Anyhow, how is your school coming along?
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Summer, where hast thou gone?
Today is my last day of summer. All I can remember is that it flew by my ear, (so that I could hear it was here) then it hovered above my head, and just now, it shot off like a rocket.
My accomplishments this summer:
1. I worked for 1 and a half months.
2. I rode 60 mile bike rides, twice.
3. I competed in Long Course State Swim Meet and did fairly well.
4. I went on a vacation for the first time. (To Pullman, WA).
5. I made some new friends.
My goals that I had, but did not accomplish:
1. Balancing a spoon on my nose for longer than 17 seconds.
2. Sticking out my tongue and touch my nose.
3. Running at least 2-3x a week.
4. Reading all those books that I wanted to read.
5. Organizing my new scriptures. (This includes putting quotes where they belong in the scriptures, highlighting, notes, etc.)
6. Building a coffee table for my sister, who asked for one, but failed to give me dimensions. (I will probably make it in woods this year...)
7. Visiting my Grandma more often.
8. Didn't improve my smelling ability. (Ooh! Ohh! Good story! Ahem: I was talking to one of my YW leaders, somehow we got on the subject of sniffing cell phones...and she has the most aMAZing nose! She is an appraiser, so she sees lots of houses, and she can walk into a room, and tell you how old the person's son is. [I don't know if you can tell with gals...] She can tell from ages 11-19 or so. Apparently, boys smell different at every age. I guess I was wrong. I thought they all stunk.)
9. Overcoming my fear of talking on the phone to strangers.
10. Last, but not least, I still haven't honed my skills of confusing and terrifying new lifeguards...Oh, I got quite a few laughs, but I could've done better.
Goals for school:
1. Graduate. (Because of seminary, it cuts it kinda close, plus I'm taking classes on EHS, and I'd better finish them, or I probably won't graduate...eek!)
My accomplishments this summer:
1. I worked for 1 and a half months.
2. I rode 60 mile bike rides, twice.
3. I competed in Long Course State Swim Meet and did fairly well.
4. I went on a vacation for the first time. (To Pullman, WA).
5. I made some new friends.
My goals that I had, but did not accomplish:
1. Balancing a spoon on my nose for longer than 17 seconds.
2. Sticking out my tongue and touch my nose.
3. Running at least 2-3x a week.
4. Reading all those books that I wanted to read.
5. Organizing my new scriptures. (This includes putting quotes where they belong in the scriptures, highlighting, notes, etc.)
6. Building a coffee table for my sister, who asked for one, but failed to give me dimensions. (I will probably make it in woods this year...)
7. Visiting my Grandma more often.
8. Didn't improve my smelling ability. (Ooh! Ohh! Good story! Ahem: I was talking to one of my YW leaders, somehow we got on the subject of sniffing cell phones...and she has the most aMAZing nose! She is an appraiser, so she sees lots of houses, and she can walk into a room, and tell you how old the person's son is. [I don't know if you can tell with gals...] She can tell from ages 11-19 or so. Apparently, boys smell different at every age. I guess I was wrong. I thought they all stunk.)
9. Overcoming my fear of talking on the phone to strangers.
10. Last, but not least, I still haven't honed my skills of confusing and terrifying new lifeguards...Oh, I got quite a few laughs, but I could've done better.
Goals for school:
1. Graduate. (Because of seminary, it cuts it kinda close, plus I'm taking classes on EHS, and I'd better finish them, or I probably won't graduate...eek!)
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Not utter agony this time.
I didn't get as many salt lines on my face this time. I don't have sore lungs that burn when I breathe in deeply. I don't even have a crappy tan from my bike shorts!
I rode the 100 k. Again. Today. At Cache Valley. Where it smells sweet as you pass the corn and alfalfa, then it smells nasty from the animal manure. I went a lot faster this time. (Probably because I drafted off of my pa.)
But do you want to know the best thing ever about the ride today? There were only 2 hard climbs. Instead of 20. Like in Pullman. Other good things were: very, very good trail bars at the rest stops. The swedish fish and good food at the rest stops. And this tour gave you lunch after! Such good food. Probably because I was hungry. The other nice thing? Lots and lots of people. Means you get to draft off of them. (If you can keep up, that is.)
The sweetest moment of the ride: A nice long downhill where I hit 40 MPH for the first time.
The worst: The climb up the nice long uphill.
Scary moment: Didn't notice an U.R., and almost ran over it. (U.R. stands for "unidentifiable roadkill".) The other scary moment was that I was drafting off my pa too closely, his back tire and my front tire were overlapping, just inches away. (My tire is on the right...) then he swerves to the right, and to avoid hitting him, I almost hit the deadly gravel drop-off by literal millimeters.
Anyhow...I still exclaim in my head during the hard moments (I did it constantly in Pullman) "I PAID to do this!?!?!"
Have a good start of school, y'all, and keep on track to graduate!
I rode the 100 k. Again. Today. At Cache Valley. Where it smells sweet as you pass the corn and alfalfa, then it smells nasty from the animal manure. I went a lot faster this time. (Probably because I drafted off of my pa.)
But do you want to know the best thing ever about the ride today? There were only 2 hard climbs. Instead of 20. Like in Pullman. Other good things were: very, very good trail bars at the rest stops. The swedish fish and good food at the rest stops. And this tour gave you lunch after! Such good food. Probably because I was hungry. The other nice thing? Lots and lots of people. Means you get to draft off of them. (If you can keep up, that is.)
The sweetest moment of the ride: A nice long downhill where I hit 40 MPH for the first time.
The worst: The climb up the nice long uphill.
Scary moment: Didn't notice an U.R., and almost ran over it. (U.R. stands for "unidentifiable roadkill".) The other scary moment was that I was drafting off my pa too closely, his back tire and my front tire were overlapping, just inches away. (My tire is on the right...) then he swerves to the right, and to avoid hitting him, I almost hit the deadly gravel drop-off by literal millimeters.
Anyhow...I still exclaim in my head during the hard moments (I did it constantly in Pullman) "I PAID to do this!?!?!"
Have a good start of school, y'all, and keep on track to graduate!
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Tour de Lentil
Word: Bonked
Unofficial definition (a.k.a. the definition as the Edges know it): When you go biking or hiking, (or performing some sort of exercise), you run out of water and sugar to keep you going, and your muscles use up every possible piece of energy you can offer, then all of a sudden, your muscles stop. Your legs won't go anymore. All you want to do is get off of your bike and lie on the ground.
This has happened to every family member but me. I was sure as close as you can get without getting bonked. My brother said that when you are bonked, you start eyeing the meridian in hopes to find half-full pop cans, discarded food, etc. One time, he found Poppy flowers on the side of the road...he picked them and ate them. It gets that serious. I didn't get that serious. But It got to the point that I was being driven half-crazy. I have found a new torture that will get me talking. A looong bike ride in the rolling hills. (The other? A practice that my old dentist was: To determine if my tooth had a cavity, or was plain sensitive, he'd pour liquid nitrogen on a q-tip, then press it hard on the tooth in question. That is the worst sensation I have ever experienced.)
That is all I can say about the Tour de Lentil. Ugh. I was ready to burst into tears. It never clicked in my head that since Pullman, WA is a bunch of rolling hills, that I will be going down the hills. And up. And up. And up! (I think you got the point.) By the end of the ride, I was about to crack. Once I saw another hill to climb, I just wanted to curl up and die. But, fortunately, that didn't happen. I just let out heaving sobs because I was so tired and frustrated. I was frustrated because my poor experienced father had to ride with me...and wait for me. He could've been done at least an hour sooner if he took off. My brother finished the ride under three hours. It took me six. I was pretty much the last person to finish the stupid ride. What do I get to show for all of this? A tanline, and a lousy t-shirt. (Actually, the t-shirt is quite nice looking.)
I don't know if I'll ever want to do THAT again. At least I accomplished something new this summer.
Unofficial definition (a.k.a. the definition as the Edges know it): When you go biking or hiking, (or performing some sort of exercise), you run out of water and sugar to keep you going, and your muscles use up every possible piece of energy you can offer, then all of a sudden, your muscles stop. Your legs won't go anymore. All you want to do is get off of your bike and lie on the ground.
This has happened to every family member but me. I was sure as close as you can get without getting bonked. My brother said that when you are bonked, you start eyeing the meridian in hopes to find half-full pop cans, discarded food, etc. One time, he found Poppy flowers on the side of the road...he picked them and ate them. It gets that serious. I didn't get that serious. But It got to the point that I was being driven half-crazy. I have found a new torture that will get me talking. A looong bike ride in the rolling hills. (The other? A practice that my old dentist was: To determine if my tooth had a cavity, or was plain sensitive, he'd pour liquid nitrogen on a q-tip, then press it hard on the tooth in question. That is the worst sensation I have ever experienced.)
That is all I can say about the Tour de Lentil. Ugh. I was ready to burst into tears. It never clicked in my head that since Pullman, WA is a bunch of rolling hills, that I will be going down the hills. And up. And up. And up! (I think you got the point.) By the end of the ride, I was about to crack. Once I saw another hill to climb, I just wanted to curl up and die. But, fortunately, that didn't happen. I just let out heaving sobs because I was so tired and frustrated. I was frustrated because my poor experienced father had to ride with me...and wait for me. He could've been done at least an hour sooner if he took off. My brother finished the ride under three hours. It took me six. I was pretty much the last person to finish the stupid ride. What do I get to show for all of this? A tanline, and a lousy t-shirt. (Actually, the t-shirt is quite nice looking.)
I don't know if I'll ever want to do THAT again. At least I accomplished something new this summer.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Dangnabbit!
I shouldn't of worn flip-flops yesterday. I've never felt such an adrenaline rush before. From 0 to 20 to wipe out in just 6 seconds.
I'm currently in the slightly boring town of Pullman, WA. One fact that should be known about this town is that it has endless hills. They don't look significant at first, but yesterday morning, I found out that they can be deadly steep. My nephew and I (and my parents, that's a given) were walking to the neighborhood park. Lots of ascendings and descendings were approached on our journey. My nephew, Oscar, brought his sweet razor scooter. He refused to let me use it. While he was playing in the park, I was allowed to hold it. I looked at it closely, and there was a warning on the scooter. "WARNING: DO NOT RIDE IN SLOPED AREAS." I thought in my head, "Duh. Of course you ride it on slopes, specifically downhill slopes. Otherwise, how do you have fun on it?" On the way back to the house, Oscar gave me the scooter for uphill and he got it for downhill. Or he'd cry. After climbing a very steep hill, Oscar took it from me, but wouldn't ride it downhill. He said this one was too dangerous. I thought "Phsssh. Yeah right. It looks perfect." My mom heard him say it was too dangerous, and she turned to me and said, "I want to see you try it." She egged me on, convinced Oscar to give me the scooter, and I was off.
That hill appeared harmless, but I am now convinced otherwise. The scooter picked up tremendous speed in so little time. Soon I was using my foot to try to stop the scooter, or at least slow down. Darn flip-flops! They almost flipped off! The next thing I knew; "I'm out of control...I'm going down! Mayday! MAYDAY!" I let out a little grunt. The end result: The left side of my body kissing the pavement, rebounding, and licking the pavement. I'm glad the most impact was right on my belt. That means less torn skin. I immediately look up when I'm finished crashing. My dad is running to me. Right on cue. I immediately stand up, as it hasn't started hurting yet, and say "I'm alright." My dad and I start walking back to the house. We have a ways to go. Pain sears through my body. I stop to look at my wounds, not bad. Weird red liquid is starting to come out of my cuts. My hip hurt, my palm has some missing skin, my knee has road rash (which will soon turn into a scab, by the looks of it), my ankle also lacks a top layer of skin, my elbow as well. This morning, my hip area is turning a beautiful blackish-blue. My mom hopes that I learn something from this. I did. Don't listen to your mom when it comes to scooters.
I'm currently in the slightly boring town of Pullman, WA. One fact that should be known about this town is that it has endless hills. They don't look significant at first, but yesterday morning, I found out that they can be deadly steep. My nephew and I (and my parents, that's a given) were walking to the neighborhood park. Lots of ascendings and descendings were approached on our journey. My nephew, Oscar, brought his sweet razor scooter. He refused to let me use it. While he was playing in the park, I was allowed to hold it. I looked at it closely, and there was a warning on the scooter. "WARNING: DO NOT RIDE IN SLOPED AREAS." I thought in my head, "Duh. Of course you ride it on slopes, specifically downhill slopes. Otherwise, how do you have fun on it?" On the way back to the house, Oscar gave me the scooter for uphill and he got it for downhill. Or he'd cry. After climbing a very steep hill, Oscar took it from me, but wouldn't ride it downhill. He said this one was too dangerous. I thought "Phsssh. Yeah right. It looks perfect." My mom heard him say it was too dangerous, and she turned to me and said, "I want to see you try it." She egged me on, convinced Oscar to give me the scooter, and I was off.
That hill appeared harmless, but I am now convinced otherwise. The scooter picked up tremendous speed in so little time. Soon I was using my foot to try to stop the scooter, or at least slow down. Darn flip-flops! They almost flipped off! The next thing I knew; "I'm out of control...I'm going down! Mayday! MAYDAY!" I let out a little grunt. The end result: The left side of my body kissing the pavement, rebounding, and licking the pavement. I'm glad the most impact was right on my belt. That means less torn skin. I immediately look up when I'm finished crashing. My dad is running to me. Right on cue. I immediately stand up, as it hasn't started hurting yet, and say "I'm alright." My dad and I start walking back to the house. We have a ways to go. Pain sears through my body. I stop to look at my wounds, not bad. Weird red liquid is starting to come out of my cuts. My hip hurt, my palm has some missing skin, my knee has road rash (which will soon turn into a scab, by the looks of it), my ankle also lacks a top layer of skin, my elbow as well. This morning, my hip area is turning a beautiful blackish-blue. My mom hopes that I learn something from this. I did. Don't listen to your mom when it comes to scooters.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Lentil Festival!!!
I'm a gonna go to the National Lentil Festival in Washington! I'm leaving tomorrow in the early hours of the morning, and driving for...ELEVEN hours!
I will be going up there to visit my brother and his family. I haven't seen them for a long while.
I'm also going to participate in the Tour de Lentil on my bike. Yes, it says 100k, but that's only approximately 60 miles. I'm excited! I'm very glad it ain't a bike race, but a bike ride.
So...I don't know if I'm going to have access to a computer up there, so, I will be gone until about Monday. If you need anything, sorry. I'm unavailable as far as I know...
Windy...er...Lentil Festival, here I come!
I will be going up there to visit my brother and his family. I haven't seen them for a long while.
I'm also going to participate in the Tour de Lentil on my bike. Yes, it says 100k, but that's only approximately 60 miles. I'm excited! I'm very glad it ain't a bike race, but a bike ride.
So...I don't know if I'm going to have access to a computer up there, so, I will be gone until about Monday. If you need anything, sorry. I'm unavailable as far as I know...
Windy...er...Lentil Festival, here I come!
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Keyboard digging
Google search: "Keyboard Digging"
Results: "Did you mean Keyboard Logging"?
Darn.
Keyboard Digging
When you read the title "Keyboard Digging", you are probably thinking, "What the putrid bologna?" That is what I thought, too. Until I saw them.
The Keyboard Digging people. They call themselves "Keydig" for short.
The Keydig people are a dying race. They are very timid, and hide in the dark corners of the world. Because of their timidness, and the world's rapidly growing population, they are being kicked out of their territory. They are the red squirrels of the park. The grey ones are taking over.
Some of you Darwinismists will just say, "the survival of the fittest!" So, if grey squirrels become so plentiful to overpower us humans, does that mean they were fitter, or was it because of their numerous population? Okay, we're quite off-topic.
The Keydigs.
So, how did they get such an outrageous name??? It all started back, way back, when typewriters were the general method to get ideas on a page. The lazy people of the civilized world were tired of having to clean out the typewriters. (Typewriters get dirty, just like computer keyboards...whether it be food, or gradual grime build-up from your fingers...) So they imported some people from a small island, and their job was to clean the typewriters. To clean the typewriters/keyboards, they use their delicate, small fingers to dig into the cracks, and scoop out the grime. They grew so popular and useful, that everyone used them. "Hey, can I borrow your Keydig?" "Sure! Just give him back sometime next week." The Keydigs didn't mind this occupation. It was better than sitting around on an island and documenting the different smells of the world. (I don't know if this source is reliable, as to where they came from. Others say they are escaped Oompas. They were sick of chocolate.) Some distinguishable characteristics of these people are:
1. The sock-tying ceremony. The Keydigs have a wonderful and unique ceremony where they get together, and bring all of their lone socks. (The socks who have lost their mate.) And they dump these socks in different piles, and match the socks with another to the best of their ability. The Keydigs have never wasted a sock because the other was missing. This ceremony traditionally takes place in a moonlit children's park on the eve of April 2.
2. Their meals: This has to be explained. They have meals very often, but in very small portions. For example, one Keydig I met ate according to this schedule: Pre-breakfast at 6:23 am. Breakfast at 7:34 am. Post-breakfast at 8:45 am. Pre-brunch at 9:54 am. Brunch at 10:12. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!!
3. The Rope-making tradition. These Keydigs are very adorable in all aspects. Except for this one. They collect and save hair (from their backs) and eventually braid it into a very reliable rope. Gross. Usually the men do this one.
4. Piercings. If you know what to look for in piercings, you won't always know exactly who's a Keydig, and who isn't. They don't have any.
5. Greetings. The Keydigs have a unique way of greeting each other on the street. They walk up to each other, and smell the other's left hand. They believe that The left hand is the hand that's supposed to smell good, as the right does all the smelly and dirty work.
This is all I have discovered and witnessed so far among the lost people: The Keydigs. Watch out for them!
*Verb accredited to Jos and noun credited to Brittanica.
Results: "Did you mean Keyboard Logging"?
Darn.
Keyboard Digging
When you read the title "Keyboard Digging", you are probably thinking, "What the putrid bologna?" That is what I thought, too. Until I saw them.
The Keyboard Digging people. They call themselves "Keydig" for short.
The Keydig people are a dying race. They are very timid, and hide in the dark corners of the world. Because of their timidness, and the world's rapidly growing population, they are being kicked out of their territory. They are the red squirrels of the park. The grey ones are taking over.
Some of you Darwinismists will just say, "the survival of the fittest!" So, if grey squirrels become so plentiful to overpower us humans, does that mean they were fitter, or was it because of their numerous population? Okay, we're quite off-topic.
The Keydigs.
So, how did they get such an outrageous name??? It all started back, way back, when typewriters were the general method to get ideas on a page. The lazy people of the civilized world were tired of having to clean out the typewriters. (Typewriters get dirty, just like computer keyboards...whether it be food, or gradual grime build-up from your fingers...) So they imported some people from a small island, and their job was to clean the typewriters. To clean the typewriters/keyboards, they use their delicate, small fingers to dig into the cracks, and scoop out the grime. They grew so popular and useful, that everyone used them. "Hey, can I borrow your Keydig?" "Sure! Just give him back sometime next week." The Keydigs didn't mind this occupation. It was better than sitting around on an island and documenting the different smells of the world. (I don't know if this source is reliable, as to where they came from. Others say they are escaped Oompas. They were sick of chocolate.) Some distinguishable characteristics of these people are:
1. The sock-tying ceremony. The Keydigs have a wonderful and unique ceremony where they get together, and bring all of their lone socks. (The socks who have lost their mate.) And they dump these socks in different piles, and match the socks with another to the best of their ability. The Keydigs have never wasted a sock because the other was missing. This ceremony traditionally takes place in a moonlit children's park on the eve of April 2.
2. Their meals: This has to be explained. They have meals very often, but in very small portions. For example, one Keydig I met ate according to this schedule: Pre-breakfast at 6:23 am. Breakfast at 7:34 am. Post-breakfast at 8:45 am. Pre-brunch at 9:54 am. Brunch at 10:12. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!!
3. The Rope-making tradition. These Keydigs are very adorable in all aspects. Except for this one. They collect and save hair (from their backs) and eventually braid it into a very reliable rope. Gross. Usually the men do this one.
4. Piercings. If you know what to look for in piercings, you won't always know exactly who's a Keydig, and who isn't. They don't have any.
5. Greetings. The Keydigs have a unique way of greeting each other on the street. They walk up to each other, and smell the other's left hand. They believe that The left hand is the hand that's supposed to smell good, as the right does all the smelly and dirty work.
This is all I have discovered and witnessed so far among the lost people: The Keydigs. Watch out for them!
*Verb accredited to Jos and noun credited to Brittanica.
Not AGAIN
...I can't stand it! I don't know where to look, what to say, and I'm in a very awkward position. Two people are staring at me, not six inches away, and I see a bright light. I'm tempted to stare into the eyes of one of the people, and see if it does anything. Will they pull away their face that is looming sometimes 3 inches away to 3 feet away? I need my private space! Ack! Sometimes my tongue will involuntarily attack their prying fingers. Though that's kind of weird. I don't like the taste or smell of latex.
Yes, once again, I'm in the dentist's office. Once again facing the challenge. Where do I look? Do I stare at their nose? How about their freckle? I try in vain to stare at the ceiling, as it eludes me behind the blinding white light. My tongue is in a panic with so many foreign snakes fiddling around in my mouth. The drool builds up in puddles, threatening to drown me. That's when they stick the miniature vacuum in my mouth to prevent my premature death.
Then there's the worst sound and feeling in the world. Scraping plaque and teeth. Chssh, schhhsh, chhhshchch. Ugh. It sends shivers up my spine. As they scrape that stupid high-tech "sonic" cleaner close (or on) my gums, my back slowly arches, and my hands clamp tighter. I realize this, and relax, only to realize seconds later, I am once again clenched everywhere, even my pinky toe is experiencing my anxiety. My face grows hot then cold then hot again in mere seconds.
My tongue is once again confused. Where is it supposed to go? The dentist has his hands plus a tool in my mouth, as well as a vacuum, and a tennis ball they were curious to see if it fit in my mouth, which it did.
Alas! I'm all tight again, and I breathe to let myself relax, inhaling the drool and grit and who-knows-what in my lungs. I try very hard to prevent myself from coughing, causing tears to erupt in the process.
The girl sees my teary eyes, and asks if I'm okay. I say "Ykmmmf". She looks confused. I wonder why. I nod my head yes, causing the vacuum to fall out and land on the floor. She swiftly picks it up and sanitizes it with three different sprays and cloths. Then she continues.
Even when they're causing me slight pain or discomfort, I just tell them to carry on. Because if I say "no" when they ask if I'm okay, they stop and rest for a minute, and continue exactly what they were doing, only more slowly, causing even longer amounts of torture!
Other than that, my visit was swell. I only regret not turning on the TV on the ceiling, as that would've given me something to watch. But noooo, I had to bring my stupid book with the witty Voltaire, and his work: "Optimism" which is also known as "Candide" (which I'm enjoying immensely, by the way...).
Yes, once again, I'm in the dentist's office. Once again facing the challenge. Where do I look? Do I stare at their nose? How about their freckle? I try in vain to stare at the ceiling, as it eludes me behind the blinding white light. My tongue is in a panic with so many foreign snakes fiddling around in my mouth. The drool builds up in puddles, threatening to drown me. That's when they stick the miniature vacuum in my mouth to prevent my premature death.
Then there's the worst sound and feeling in the world. Scraping plaque and teeth. Chssh, schhhsh, chhhshchch. Ugh. It sends shivers up my spine. As they scrape that stupid high-tech "sonic" cleaner close (or on) my gums, my back slowly arches, and my hands clamp tighter. I realize this, and relax, only to realize seconds later, I am once again clenched everywhere, even my pinky toe is experiencing my anxiety. My face grows hot then cold then hot again in mere seconds.
My tongue is once again confused. Where is it supposed to go? The dentist has his hands plus a tool in my mouth, as well as a vacuum, and a tennis ball they were curious to see if it fit in my mouth, which it did.
Alas! I'm all tight again, and I breathe to let myself relax, inhaling the drool and grit and who-knows-what in my lungs. I try very hard to prevent myself from coughing, causing tears to erupt in the process.
The girl sees my teary eyes, and asks if I'm okay. I say "Ykmmmf". She looks confused. I wonder why. I nod my head yes, causing the vacuum to fall out and land on the floor. She swiftly picks it up and sanitizes it with three different sprays and cloths. Then she continues.
Even when they're causing me slight pain or discomfort, I just tell them to carry on. Because if I say "no" when they ask if I'm okay, they stop and rest for a minute, and continue exactly what they were doing, only more slowly, causing even longer amounts of torture!
Other than that, my visit was swell. I only regret not turning on the TV on the ceiling, as that would've given me something to watch. But noooo, I had to bring my stupid book with the witty Voltaire, and his work: "Optimism" which is also known as "Candide" (which I'm enjoying immensely, by the way...).
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Dreams are SO weird....
Well, before I tell you my very strange dream, you need some background information that is necessary to understand a few things (or one thing...). I watched Sense and Sensibility for the first time right before I went to sleep for the night. For all of you who haven't seen the movie (or don't realize a certain element from it), there is a certain actor in the movie named Alan Rickman. His character in the movie was named Colonel Brandon, who was a good, nice guy. Alan Rickman's role in another movie, however, is quite the opposite. He is Professor Snape in the Harry Potter movies.
Okay, my dream. I dreamed that I got to meet the actor Alan Rickman, only his name was Severus Snape, and he acted out the part of Colonel Brandon. I got to ask Snape the simple question, "Why?" As in, why did he kill Dumbledore. And he gave me a long explanation (that probably took up a good hour of my sleep...as dreams seem so slow for so little information...): He in fact, did not kill Dumbledore, and that he was actually a good guy. He explained to me that Harry needs to continue on his own, to develop his own personal power and will. The murder of Dumbledore was staged, and that the Dumbledore that Harry saw killed was, in fact, a old cow that was transformed. The explanation was more complicated than that, and I can't really explain. You know how dreams are...it's more of a feeling.
Anyway, in my dream, Harry eventually catches up to Snape, kills him, and turns evil because of his rage and becomes worse than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Voldemort).
(Be aware that a ton of random, strange stuff happens between the lines, but I don't remember them as clearly as the details I gave you thus far...)
Then my light snaps on. (My light is my alarm, it turns on when I set it to turn on, as I can't hear an alarm...) I forgot to turn off my alarm! So, I snap it back off, and I dream about Jack Sparrow and something about four green dots, and their significance. Strange.
I wake back up. Time: 8:34. Church starts at 9:00. Uh-oh. I run up, get ready, leave my house at 8:47 to walk to church.
And, obviously, I'm still disturbed by the dream(s) I had last night. Maybe I'm wishfully thinking in my subconscious that Dumbledore really isn't dead, and that Snape is still a good guy. What do you think?
Me, I'm obviously disturbed by Snape's actions, and I'm still holding out hope for him, that he can be a good guy...I'll probably be very disappointed in him when the next book comes out...I guess you can hope too much for someone to be good...I just don't know! :)
After seeing Sense and Sensibility, I can never look at Alan Rickman again. I guess I get too caught up in the story, and realize that the actors are real people, and they probably aren't as evil as they act. (I hope. Sometimes I wonder...)
Okay, my dream. I dreamed that I got to meet the actor Alan Rickman, only his name was Severus Snape, and he acted out the part of Colonel Brandon. I got to ask Snape the simple question, "Why?" As in, why did he kill Dumbledore. And he gave me a long explanation (that probably took up a good hour of my sleep...as dreams seem so slow for so little information...): He in fact, did not kill Dumbledore, and that he was actually a good guy. He explained to me that Harry needs to continue on his own, to develop his own personal power and will. The murder of Dumbledore was staged, and that the Dumbledore that Harry saw killed was, in fact, a old cow that was transformed. The explanation was more complicated than that, and I can't really explain. You know how dreams are...it's more of a feeling.
Anyway, in my dream, Harry eventually catches up to Snape, kills him, and turns evil because of his rage and becomes worse than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Voldemort).
(Be aware that a ton of random, strange stuff happens between the lines, but I don't remember them as clearly as the details I gave you thus far...)
Then my light snaps on. (My light is my alarm, it turns on when I set it to turn on, as I can't hear an alarm...) I forgot to turn off my alarm! So, I snap it back off, and I dream about Jack Sparrow and something about four green dots, and their significance. Strange.
I wake back up. Time: 8:34. Church starts at 9:00. Uh-oh. I run up, get ready, leave my house at 8:47 to walk to church.
And, obviously, I'm still disturbed by the dream(s) I had last night. Maybe I'm wishfully thinking in my subconscious that Dumbledore really isn't dead, and that Snape is still a good guy. What do you think?
Me, I'm obviously disturbed by Snape's actions, and I'm still holding out hope for him, that he can be a good guy...I'll probably be very disappointed in him when the next book comes out...I guess you can hope too much for someone to be good...I just don't know! :)
After seeing Sense and Sensibility, I can never look at Alan Rickman again. I guess I get too caught up in the story, and realize that the actors are real people, and they probably aren't as evil as they act. (I hope. Sometimes I wonder...)
Thursday, August 03, 2006
(To prevent the record number of comments...)
Okay, okay, I get the message! I will immediately make a new post, since the comment count is getting rather...high on the past post, though I don't know why. Maybe it's because it has no pictures whatsoever, but paranoid imaginings of conspiracies.
What to write about? That's a good question.
Sometimes I wake up in the mornings with great ideas for this blog. But once I roll out of bed, the motivation is gone. So...I will write a short story, fictional of course, just for you. I can't guarantee if it'll be good quality or not.
Ahem. Once upon a short story, there lived a chipmunk named Ishmael in the Forest of Ebbs. Now, Ishmael was no ordinary chipmunk. He could speak. English. He actually had intelligence, and could understand human speech, and he was born with a mutation in his voice box and mouth and tongue, so he could actually say human speech as well. (In a fairy-tale or something, they would simply say he ate alphabet soup, and the letters didn't go to his belly, but to his brain, and he learned how to read and speak...but he can't read...)
So, we have a chipmunk named Ishmael that can speak English. One other thing you need to know about him. He loves pranks, and pulling pranks. He was a mischievious chipmunk.
One day, a group of red-neckers were being stupid, drinking, trashing the park and all that. Because of the noise, the animals in the forest tried to get as far away from them as they could. But Borris the Bear couldn't stand it. He grew so angry that he started to run towards the party. Ishmael has been aware of all the happenings. Ishmael realized that the red-neckers were drunk, and the bear was coming, so he was in for a good laugh. He grabbed a red hat, a yellow raincoat, some silly string, some duct tape, and some dried flowers from his stash of nicker-nacks. When Borris arrived on the scene, all tuckered out, he stood up behind the fire on his two hind legs. The red-neckers then ...nah, this story is pretty stupid. I ain't finishing it. I just don't have the groove right now...please come back and read some other time.
What to write about? That's a good question.
Sometimes I wake up in the mornings with great ideas for this blog. But once I roll out of bed, the motivation is gone. So...I will write a short story, fictional of course, just for you. I can't guarantee if it'll be good quality or not.
Ahem. Once upon a short story, there lived a chipmunk named Ishmael in the Forest of Ebbs. Now, Ishmael was no ordinary chipmunk. He could speak. English. He actually had intelligence, and could understand human speech, and he was born with a mutation in his voice box and mouth and tongue, so he could actually say human speech as well. (In a fairy-tale or something, they would simply say he ate alphabet soup, and the letters didn't go to his belly, but to his brain, and he learned how to read and speak...but he can't read...)
So, we have a chipmunk named Ishmael that can speak English. One other thing you need to know about him. He loves pranks, and pulling pranks. He was a mischievious chipmunk.
One day, a group of red-neckers were being stupid, drinking, trashing the park and all that. Because of the noise, the animals in the forest tried to get as far away from them as they could. But Borris the Bear couldn't stand it. He grew so angry that he started to run towards the party. Ishmael has been aware of all the happenings. Ishmael realized that the red-neckers were drunk, and the bear was coming, so he was in for a good laugh. He grabbed a red hat, a yellow raincoat, some silly string, some duct tape, and some dried flowers from his stash of nicker-nacks. When Borris arrived on the scene, all tuckered out, he stood up behind the fire on his two hind legs. The red-neckers then ...nah, this story is pretty stupid. I ain't finishing it. I just don't have the groove right now...please come back and read some other time.
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