What Became Known as the Early Years

Read Caroline's latest post. Here we go. *best served with a side of Jason Mraz, live at the eagles ballroom. just not too much food or curbside. preferably the first*

It is three years ago. I have never felt this way before. Slide guitar echoes in my mind now, waiting for the first chord to be stricken. I catch a glimpse of it at the head of the curve, whip my head around. I have been driving for six hours. When it first comes into vision I am a child. Jaunty poprockjazz on the edges of my conscious. Pupils dilate. I want to hold this moment in my hand. My heart beats faster. We are coming to a climax.

We round the corner and I understand. I am flying over this valley on the wings of your song. The valley pops light below, every little spark with its own caretaker. My spirit rides on a gust of I don't feel so-whoa nice. I grasp to catch my breath, so unsteady.

Inhale. It falls apart. Kiss my cd player.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.


Not again. I watch the cool float over this town. Take my hand this once. I have flown over this valley. Tonight, I feel I'm comin again, so I just might let you in, in, in.

Emily?

Okay. So, let me have a big, gigantic laugh at my guy friends for a moment.

We are friends with these girls (who would never read my blog) Michelle, Ashley and Lauren. And they're fine girls. Whatever. But they have like...nothing in common. Why do boys do that? Why bother? Eventually you will have to hang out with them alone, and then what? Make out? Cover the silence with a movie?

Things don't work like that.

Anyways, New Years is like now, right? So they had this idea that we'd (we=the crew. about 9 kids. we sit together at lunch)have a New Year's eve party. Which is an okay idea, 'cept it has run into some obstacles.
1. the group flirt will be on a cruise for the next 3 days.
2. I will be partying at Maggie's into the new year.

So, it will be
Michael
Caleb
Conor
Chris
alone with Ashley and Lauren.
Weird? You don't know the half of it.

Ashley is also planning on inviting her Spartan High friends. One of whom, our other guy friend--who favors the girls' company--has a crush on.

hahahahahahahahahahaha.
I can't wait to see the pictures.

But you know, I'm probably a little bit afraid that they'll have a crazy awesome time. I don't care. I'll be hangin with muh love.

Anyways,
I'll probly blog/edit into this post about paintballing later.
*weird smile*

Emily

Listen up, world!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Come on!!

"Cody
Libby
Katie
Hunter
Sean
Gayle
Will
Kristin
Betty
Bill
Margaret
Kelly
Krystal
Lauren

To you, these names may mean nothing. To me, a lot."

So, filling in the blanks here:
Cody is this crazy guy who goes to church with me who I had a fantasticly HUGE crush on in 7th grade.
Libby is this outrageously selfish girl who used to torment my sister back when she lived in NC.
Katie is my sweet, old, lovely mix terrier of about 9 years.
Hunter is my friend Heather Ledbetter's little brother. Heather L is really funny. 4 years older than me. 4 inches shorter than me.
Sean->Shawn Yang. My nemesis...(that story is for another blog)
Gayle is the mother of Tre' Smith. My more or less black brother. He lived down the street from me for 3 years. He basically lives at our house during the summer. : ) love that guy.
Will, my youth pastor.
Kristin Sellars...um. Estranged, basket-ball playing semi-popular blonde girl.
Betty Ballou Alverson, my grandmother
Bill...Withers? I don't know any Bills. I knows a ten dolla bill. haha. lame.
Margaret Anne Calton. MAC. Maggie. My dear, my dear. I'll write at once to the wizard...
Kelly Mimms, lead singer of MyCalvary. Nate's sister. ballin.
Krystal, the name I, at one point, seriously believed I was supposed to be christened back in the day. Like...in kindergarten.
Lauren Lawson, vain of my existence at the moment. sorry. she's just killin me, smalls.

Anyways. Hope you like.
Hope it starts a trend if you know what I mean I know you know Emilea come on I know.
Emily

I am a disappointment.

Spending the few remaining hours of my Saturday nursing a crush for Eric Clapton and *********** ******** *******whose name I will most likely forget to edit out of here.

I am listening to Relient K and not very much caring that I haven't done the chores my father asked me to do this morning. He will throw a ridiculous hissy when he gets home. In front of his children. (my step brother and sister) And will culitivate an incredibly childish grudge that he will hold on to throughout the holidays. I need not express my feelings about all this as they have already been mapped out in the post prior to this.

I love my aunts. They're fabulous...truly.
"but let me tell you, it hurt like the mischief"
"sho' nuff"

Oh, it's just so cute.

I'm angry. *********** ******** ******* answer me darn it. I'm stupid.



Emily

Okay. So, I hate my parents. Not like...I don't know. I'm not especially mad at them or anything today. They're just not good people. And I hate them. And seeing them everyday is killing me. I hate it that I'm like this. I wish I were a different person. Or that they had a different daughter who loved them or atleast liked them. They'd be happier, I wouldn't have suicidal urges so often.

I am not going to be sick. I am sick. I am one of those thirty year-olds who hates Christmas in the making. And I hate it! I want to be one of the amazing, sweet senior girls I meet who love their moms and treat them really well. But I can't. My mom curses in front of me and then goes to church on Sunday. She's half crazy. My dad said the s-word twice yesterday. He'll probly lecture me about skipping Youth yesterday. It makes me want to throw up. This family is a constant gag reflex. What's worse is they're all bi-polar except for Nick and Alyssa, who live in freaking Texas (can't blame their mom). I wonder if I have tricked myself into believing that all families are more or less like this. Obviously they aren't.

My dad has been angry at me all week because I skipped his choir concert to work on a school project. Excuse me for a moment. *runs to the bathroom, empties innards into toilet*

Ugh. I hate them I hate them I hate them.
How do you honor people you hate?
My worst fear is not that I'll end up like them. It's that I already am. I need to sleep. I've probly shaved 5 or 6 hours off of my normal pattern.

Talking about this makes me nauseous, but not talking about it is constricting my heart. Semi-literally.
Puking, puking,
Emily.

Today, in broadcasting, we had our party and Secret-Santa-ed. And Dennys got my name and he gave me Holidays on Ice. Dave Sedaris. What am I supposed to do with that? Who invented cursing and how might I ruin their lives? Anyone?

Head's up to those after it.

Oh gosh, I want you so badly.

I need my freakin Central Park Concert cd. What the heck?? I cannot visit my step grandmothers house without leaving something. Dave Matthews is so cute. Man...he does freaking everything.

Welcome to my procrastination.

Things to do:
Write for application.
Not listen to Dave Matthews.
Start and finish my Global Studies project on Cuba.

Thomas is home. We ate mexican food earlier and it is making me lazy. That isn't a racial slur. I'm just really full. And sleepy. Maybe if I take a nap it would help. Or make it worse. Who knows...

Alright. I hope the world is right. And that I'll retrieve my Central Park Concert cds this weekend.

Love to all,
I'm not going crazy,
Emily

Lovely lady, I will treat you sweetly, adore you, I mean, you crush me.

My heart is falling to pieces and I can't even tell you why. And no, that's not cliche'. Lemme tell you why:
My chest has been sore all day. Like depression sore.


I can't do this again!

I would like to set the record straight and say that no one is/will ever be worth that. Not even Chris Thile. Who has a beautiful face that I frequently think and hope about rolling over in bed to find asleep beside me, but, in the end, I am just a quiet, hopeless kid who you can't depend on--specially not to make up her mind.

I will delete this post. Because I don't talk about it.





Emily



Any girl can see beauty in him so what makes me so special? Nothing, that's what. Nothing at all.

And not sad, silent tears either. Big, messy tears. And I have a headache now. And my eyes are red. And Tod meeting Vixy isn't helping either. She's all cross-eyed. And stupid.
What kind of name is Vixy anyways?

Also, why does Big Mama just start singing? She's like School House Rock...weird.

Anyways. That's all I think.

Emily

It's not like I wanna get married. I never asked you to kiss me. I just don't want you to be sorry you didn't try.
problems I have with these lyrics:
1. I could never not kiss Chris Thile when given the opportunity.
2. I find it impossible to believe that anyone could ever reject him.
But then again I am a loser-fan. So...who knows?


I could kick myself for all the stupid stuff I do. I am a big, super gigantic loser and I'd prefer that be the end of that. Not really. I don't even remember typing that. I'm spaced out. Sad, ridiculous.
Please yell at me. Please tell me what you don't like about me. Please say that you're tired of me.
But don't disappear off the face of the earth. Especially when I'm in the middle of ranting.

I don't think I can listen to Sabra Girl again. Not today. Does my brain know how to make my heart ache? Or is it just Sara Watkins?

"I think you're neat."

I'm pathetic. And I want to hear this person say that to me....but I'm all confuddled and maybe I don't mean that.

Anyways, I'm writing this in my orchestra dress. I don't really have shoes that go with this. Death to Smoochy's on!!!!!! This was the first Ed Norton movie I ever saw. And I just thought he was the cutest. I still wanna just kiss his cheek. And I wish that I was Nora...
And I still think he's the cutest. Even though I've seen American History X and that movie were he plays the guy with a multiple personality disorder. And anyways.

But I hope that somehow the world has come together today and made you happy.

Emily

Hello.
I am not a good actress.
I am a fair writer.
I am friend requesting this person who goes to your school out of pure curiosity.
I'm sad and sleepy and...peaceful. Or slugish or something.

The Majestic is one of my new favorite movies. It's nice to see Jim Carrey be charming...all of my uncles remind me of a famous, handsome actor. : ) I think that's kind of cool. Uncle Mark is alot like Jim Carrey. I hope him and Nell are having an excellent honeymoon.

I'm still reading Wicked. And as some sort of battle against the calm I'm feeling right now, I just put on Come Right Out and Say It. There it goes. Bye, bye, calm. It was nice while it lasted. It's just making me nervous. I hang on persons' words too much. Far too much. Ugh. My stomach.

Anyways. I'm done trying to move you. Not really...obviously.

Going to play some cello...wish Aunt Mia would respond to my email,
Emily

To me, Christmas is the embodiment of surrender. It is the time we allow ourselves to be covered and consumed in awe, in the realization of our Father becoming physical love in the image of His son born to us. We release ourselves to Him. We embrace disregard of our hopes, expectations, emptiness, inadequecies to Grace that cradles our whole, weak selves. Christmas becomes the window to allow Love to wholly define you. We release ourselves to Freedom, Hope, Goodness, to what is right, and let ourselves become nothing, to shake and shiver in wonder and trust, in the love of Jesus Christ.

"...this is my Son, whom I love; with Him I am well pleased."
Matthew 3:17, NIV

I am watching the Grinch.
And reading your input.
And waiting on this person I always wait on.
And thinking of that person whom is always just out of reach.

I am out of touch. I am a loser. I am found.

I need to send you this amazing email that is in my head and not on my computer, but I can't. I'm so sorry.
I miss you. Times a thousand. Alright. I just know that you had a good day. I just know it. Okay?

I love you,
Emily

I'm really scared of what I'm doing. That I'm not enough. I'm praying for that Light that comes and says, "I know, love. Here. I'm here."

I can't believe I'm listening to this song again while blogging.

If and when I break...
yeah. That's me.

I'm not enough. Never will I be enough. I will never do, never say, never imagine enough. Okay? And I just pray my problems go away if they're ignored.

But that's not the way it works. No, that's not the way it works.

I can't ignore fear. I can't. It's hear. And when they say that I am dead and gone
it won't be further from the truth.

I'll try not to say too much about it.

I'm having a good friend. I was going to say "good day". But I mean good friend.

Sometimes it's nice to know that someone likes something you've created. That they really like it. There's almost nothing like it.

And though I feel sad, I think to myself:
Trust. Oh, trust.
Surrender was always in the gameplan.

I got This Side today. It's awesome.
And yet, here I am, listening to Relient K.
Two lefts don't make a Right.
But three do.

Oh well, it's just another Manic Monday. Basically. Too much to do. Not enough time to do it. All the while not caring very much. Trying to surrender to Jesus. Yes. Yes. I will type what I'm thinking, not what sounds good. Trying. *loser, yet winner*

Okay. Gosh. Done.
Peace. Signing off.

I hope you're well, eh?

Ahhh...Jesus is good.

I'm so stupid. I was about to sit around and vent and complain about ignorant people. But here, Jesus showed me something beautful.
A Patch of Blue
Gordon and Selena love each other. Kind of. I hate movies like this. They're scary.

I hope he gets her out of there.

Geez...

Sometimes I wonder why I watch such stupid television. Like Chowder and Everyday Italian, but then I remember it's because life is ugly sometimes and never more ugly than in the face of a TV.

This probly has a nice ending, or atleast I hope. I need to get out of here.

How about 12:17?

: ) Thomas and Nick just home. They made $80 raking leaves.

Cool. I'm so happy. Getting Into You is like the best song ever.

I made a bet with Caleb last night that he would have to leave to go to sleep first. Long story short we were both up till 5:46 a.m., I won, and I all get is to punch him on Monday. Well, three times, but still...

"You said, 'I love you and that's what you are getting yourself into.'"

Cause when I go down, I go down hard.
When I go down, it hurts to hit the bottom.

But I'm ready...I love You. Oh, I'm ready.

haha. Okay. It's nice to find myself talking to God, unplanned. Just because I need to. I need You.

Going to get dressed for my uncle Mark's wedding. really, tall bald guy. Better with kids than teenagers. I miss him sometimes.
"It seems we're at opposite ends of the folicular pendulum."
To Thomas...at my grandmother's birthday.

As I exhale, I hear your voice
And I answer you,
Though barely make a noise
And from my lips
The words I choose to say seem pathetic
But it's a fallen man's praise
Because I love You,
Oh God, I love you.

yes again.

Ew. It sucked.

I'm sorry. I just can't stand taking someone shopping. I don't know how parents do it. (I mean...mine don't, but like normal people.) No wonder personal stylists get paid so freaking much.

It's been a bad day. (Please don't take my picture.) I don't even know why. It started bad, is getting worse. I have a project due Monday on Sandro Botticelli. I hate Christmas. I hate saying that, but after such a horrible shopping trip I don't know what else to think. Love Jesus, hate Christmas. I hate the current definition of Christmas for me: not seeing Emilea, going to my step-grandmothers house (good for some reasons, bad for others), awkward holiday with Thomas, seeing people I don't want to see! It's Christmas! I should get to spend it with people I love. Or atleast people I like.

Anyways, trying to let go of all this badness.

Like telling you is going to make it any better.

Peace


Mood ring, oh mood ring...Oh, tell me will you bring the key to unlock this mystery....Of girls and their emotions, play it back in slow-motion, so I might understand the complex infrastructure known as the female mind.

Changing this template.
But isn't Thile beautiful?

just searched forever for a Charles De Mar quote.

Super gross. Templates, that is.


"I'd be better off dead, than to live without you."

I'm finally listening to this song that Maggie decorated for me on that crazy poster she made for my birthday last March. Seeing Thile and the Punch Brothers this year.

When I Go Down-
Relient K

It's really amazing to think that someone cares about me that much. My stomach goes into knots just reading the poetry.

Today I woke up and read my book. The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus. I started crying...

You give me hope
And hope it gives my life
You touch my heavy heart
And when you do, you make it light
And I exhale, I hear your voice
And I answer you,
Though I barely make a noise
And from my lips the words I choose to say
Seem pathetic
But it's a fallen man's prayer
Because I love you
Oh God, I love you
And life is now worth living
if only because of you
And when they say
I'm dead and gone
It won't be further from the truth

I don't remember what I really had to say. I guess that was it.

God is good. Better than good. He made "good".

Love to Emilea,
peace

Today I got him. Beautiful, beautiful August. It's quite a tale, if you care to sit and listen.

So, I've been renting for a while now. Crappy howlers. They made me want to cry. Literally. I could never practice and I even sounded bad at performances. It was shameful, really.

But no more! I'm free. We walk into Hames. I'm in a bad mood. Dad's disappointed in me for being in a bad mood. We were waiting for Angie (slightly annoying saleswoman) to return from her lunch break, and dad sent me upstairs to look for a bassoon reed with written instructions from Thomas: "medium bassoon reed, they probably just have Jones, but if they have Fox, I'd prefer it."

I try my best to avoid the sales guy. Try. Tryyyy. I make a couple of two-ring calls to Thomas.I stare at the floor. Search through my purse."Can I help you?" *Spanish acscent*"Er. I'm looking for bassoon reeds."

But, the guy turns out to be nice, not creepy, etc. And actually helpful. He tried his best to find me a medium, but all they had were medium soft/medium hard. I ended up with 3 medium hards and I only needed one. It was pretty awkward. Anyways.

I go back downstairs. Still feeling stupid, still expecting to be disappointed. Angie has returned and she calls me into her office to look at this cello. A Glacel. It sucked. It was hideous. Horrible sound quality. I was devestated. All I could think was, "Noo! I'm getting another crappy howler!!!!!!!!!!!"
I was on the verge of tears. Dad looked really annoyed. The walls were closing in. In attempt to respect my personal space, Angie made up an excuse to leave the office. I pulled myself together and tried to tell Dad that this just wasn't for me. That it was just like all the other celli I'd ever had. Boring and ugly, in every sense of the latter. He tried to reason with me. Telling me that it wasn't so bad, and if it was, we'd just return it. He told me that eventually, I could sell it to some unsuspecting 6th grader for more than it's worth. That made me want to cry even more, but Angie came back in. She could see I was still distressed and offered to bring out some more celli. But I stared blankly.......................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................told her that'd be fine. She brought out two other celli. I wasn't expecting anything.
Except more ugliness.
I saw the green cloth case and wasn't moved. Dad walked over helped me unzip it. I pulled it out....fiddled with the bridge...observed a rather nice finish...pondered it. Angie spoke. "Oooo. That seems to have a chip. Lemme take care of that."

We pack it up again...I roll my eyes and wait. My mind wanders. An eternity passes, and then...

She brings him out. ..a kind of calm washes over me. I pull him out. He's light as a feather. I give him a pluck. He's lovely even out of tune. I give him a squeeze and say, "This is the one I want."

And the rest is history.

Happy Turkey Week.

His name is August, by they bye. ...like the Rush.

The Golden Compass scares me. James Pullman scares me. And you know what??! Huh? Do you?
It shouldn't. It should be scared of me.

...who is this god that angers and outrages people to the point of murder? he is not God. And it makes me sad to think that people see him instead of God. Instead of Jesus.

I'm slow, sad, pathetic. Grr! I am not this Christian. I'm not down or low. Jesus kisses my cheek and I wake up with my eyes upon Him. How could I be sad?

I wish you could understand this. So this isn't a medley...but Christopher Buchanan Kerfoot rocks your face. I could talk to him for hours..listen to him for hours.I'm sorry that you don't know him.
"He was all like, 'I'm Beowolf' and I was just like...'this is verry similar...'"

Not to detract from the first of my post,
Emily

Thank the Lord for Ben Wofford.

Yo. I'm irrational and I don't feel like talking to you. I feel like shutting you out, and leaving you in the cold. You don't want to talk to me anyways.

If it's not too late for coffee, I'll be at your place in ten...

I'm waiting for this week to be over. Seeing Craig Friday. Rolling with Leigh Anne and whoever else on Saturday. Sunday...Sunday's are good days. and geez!!! I have freakin Region. What am I gonna do??! boo. Trying to work out the times in my head, but gosh. I don't even really know my music. Bah!

I hope you're all well.
Own life. Don't let it own you.
Better yet, just let me know when Jesus owns you.
I'd like to talk to a happy person at the moment.

Best,
Emily.

Just read Craig's essay again.

I think things like that should further inspire me to write the piece. that'll work for my application. I could wimp out with poetry. (personally, it's just easier for me) But I really want to do this. I just need to start.

Today has been average. I feel stupid for spending my last $10 on yoga. I need Nickel Creek merch!!!! I know what you're thinking, "it's always something" but this is serious. Anyways.
I'm trying to buy you Christmas presents. Trying to buy the world Christmas presents. I am poor everyone. Poooor.

That's kind of it for the moment.

Hoping you're well,
Forgetting something,
Emily

Speak playing.

I regret having so long relied on the words of others to express myself. Because honestly, you don't care what my favorite man of heart has to say.

Reasons Why.


I am wounded in spirit. I have once again gotten my hopes up and trusted in someone. (no, not you, Emilea) Only to find they are too distant and self-involved to notice.
I said once
"and I'm slow to forgive...actually it probably depends on whether or not I think you're worth it."

Now I know.

Leave all this to yesterday. Why live life from dream to dream....and dread the day when dreaming ends?

I refuse to apologize for not like your psycho parents who do not let you watch pg-13 movies and hang out with me till midnight on Saturday for no good reason. Never experienced that. I don't understand. Psycho might be a little harsh. I'm sure they're fine people.

And if I'm flying solo, atleast I'm flying free! To those who ground me, take a message back from me!

Tell them how I'm defying gravity. Officially flying solo on this. I'll try to stay.

Anyways, death. I'm really tired.

Touching Chris Thile in a handlebar near you,
Emily

I watch Animal House on a fine Saturday afternoon. Why? Why do I bother? Why don't I read a book? Tell you I think you're wonderful? They're getting high now. It makes me wanna cry.

No. I wasn't rhyming.

My mother is cleaning the house. She hasn't asked me to do anything, but walks around slightly outraged. I suppose she assumes I feel entitled to relax after cleaning the living room and my bathroom yesterday. I don't, but I fancy having some pasta and comedy before Amanda comes to take me to State.

I met a boy named Joe last week. Why don't parents name their kids Joe anymore? He's kind of a jock but rather sweet. Pasta's ready.
We have an abundance of elbow macaroni. John Belushi's a dear. Freaking Kevin Bacon.

Gosh I hoped someone watched this today.

I leave you with a smile,
And best wishes for the might marching power rangers,
Emily...

"Yeah. You're right I won't, but I'd like to pretend."

Wish I could post allll the lyrics to that song on here, but I don't feel like wasting your time. Chris Thile puts my stomach in nots. *blush*

Anyways, this week I have done nothing. Except perhaps desensitized myself to the downfall of America's youth. I hate sex. Sex sucks. That's right. I hate it. I hate talking about it, listening to you blurt it out along with other obsceneties, but mostly I hate that sex has become common conversation. Sex means nothing. How did this become my life? It didn't. It's not.

Okay, back to life. I guess Sean Watkins is cool...but Chris Thile is a werewolf. And I'm SEEING HIM! Hey. Did you catch that??? I, Emily Blake Alverson, am going to see (see! freaking see!), meet, know, be within touching distance of freaking Chris freaking Thile. Oh my. Oh my, my, my. No one should think that someone is so awesome as I think Chris Thile is. But I do. (Is it true?) I do, I do, I do-oo.

Now for real, back to life.
I think you're fantastic. Whoever you are. And I'm working on how to deal with the rest of the human race.
"like i'm this rare mineral that's liquid and expands quickly. you want to know what it's like, what it's made of, but whenever you get close enough to tell, it expands quickly, threatening to drown you, and so you quickly retreat to the corner of the room where you just observe it. i do that with all guys. i do that with most everybody."
I'll back off...if I can figure out how. The computer chord is tickling my foot.

It's boring on this side, but it feels like I'm home again.
There's no place to hide, but I don't think I'm scared.

Hope all's well,
Emily.

Who'm I gonna take to the Grammys.........who'm I gonna
make out with! when I win.
If you're gonna leave, set me up with one of your friends.

It's got to start working.

I am currently blogging. After getting a meer six hours of sleep...maybe less. Watching Inuyasha with my mom. Because we've both been up since four for no good reason. I hate not sleep.

That's right. If you aren't sleep, I hate you. Aren't conditionals fun? No. They're not sleep. I hate them.

Sleepless, sleepless, sleepless. So o sleepy. Suck. This sucks. My eyes are rambling at me. Soo exhausted. I know eyes.

Ummm. Who are you again?

Writing Jackie's stand-ups. Morgan's outside shooting. Toying with the fantastic idea of starting yoga lessons. Wish I could do it twice a week. Poor. Pooooor.

Tomorrow is Halloween, yes? Are you excited? I hope you aren't planning to do anything stupid. I'm holidaying in the club. Hoping to make some extra cash. Halloween is confusing. Not important. Chance for me to dress like...like anything.

I am eating Spicy Thai with Basil in...2 hours and 48 minutes. It's been a month. That is soo very long. I miss it. I do, I do, I do-ooo. I'm really antsy. I'm driving you crazy. I'm waiting to cruise. I'm poor. I'm rich in spirit. I'm wishing never o'clock was here. I'm thinking you've got it wrong.

Make good choices.
Lock your doors when it comes around Easter time. Cause he'll take your souls. I mean, he'll do it. I've seen him punch a child one time.

Emily

Blogging from journalism again. Isn't Hamilton sweet? Letting me burn 9 dvds in her stead. She's had a rough couple days.

I miss Strahmae. A lot. More than you guys could really, really know. 8th grade is simple. Simple. I could teach it. We could hang. Let me let you know when my coherency returns. I fear it. Like this. Like...

Like I have to call Jam for Jackie. Mmm. If I could just eat some rice maybe I'd understand myself better, but that was crazy. Aren't I just?
The blogosphere is dangerous. Not for people like Caroline..or Emilea. For me. Me makes not sense because it feels foreign. Not bad. It doesn't feel bad.

Someone stop me before I waste my life on this thing.

Still fasting,
Awaiting your email,
Trying not to use substitute words,
Hoping you're well,
Ending this,
Emily

But my mind is clouded by urbanoutfitters and poorness and procrastination.

Will work for money.

Life is scary. I'm shoving my guard down. Welcome to happiness. My swift apologies to Emilea, who I care for deeply and wish I could return email appropriately but there are a jillion things I need to do and as much as I need to...I'm not doing them. Obviously.
I'm blogging.
It's not eating my life yet. Promise.

In Kentucky for the weekend,
fasting the l-word, hope you're well,
not fasting copy and paste,
miss all, miss dearly,
*remembers content stomach noises*
Emily

"When we are married, will you dance with me? I find dancing very agreeable......why can you not say what is in your head?"

"Why can you not stop saying what is in yours? Why must you lead, when I want to lead? If I want to dance I will ask you to dance. If I want to speak I will open my mouth and speak. Everyone is forever plaguing me to speak further. Why? What good is it to tell you you are in my every thought from the time I wake? What good can come from my saying that I sometimes cannot think clearly or do my work properly? What gain can rise of my telling you the only time I feel fear as others do is when I think of you in harm? That is why I am on this porch, Ivy Walker. I fear for your safety before all others.
And yes, I will dance with you on our wedding night."

I got my phone taken away. Not just now. A couple months ago. So I am here, with Hamilton, talking about that wreck at Upstate yesterday. I hope that lady's okay.

I find myself wondering why this school year is sucking so hard for me. I don't understand. I don't remember what it feels like to have a good day at school. Maybe I am having one and I just don't know it. Everything feels off...I know why, but you don't. And it's going to stay that way till we work ourselves out.

I'm not tired. I just really need to get out of here. This place is draining me of all my self. I could get it back if I could just sail or visit the beach. Something warm...or really cold.

I'm not ready for the rest of broadcasting to come back. Just got the door for Coleman.

I wish:
I lived somewhere else.
I were a better sport.
I didn't get angry so easily.
the situation were getting better.

Heart.

I'm exhausted. I'm ridiculous. I'm having trouble understanding that you have to give sleep to get sleep.

Trying to keep the blog exciting. Questioning whether or not Emilea will ever join. Questioning whether or not Emilea still exists.

Not to bore you, but I feel the need to talk about Sufjan Stevens s'more. Dear Sufjan, who makes me think when I'm at wit's end...who colors my cheeks and brings out my dimples, who plays in the background of my brightest moments. I count the days the great frontier forgiving face the seventh year.

Everything is going to be alright. Now, I need to talk about living independently. It's fantastic, may I say. Mom's always off. Dad's working in Tennessee. We won't talk about the other, but as weird and odd and abnormal as it is, I'm really enjoying myself. Except the times when I get scared all alone in my house, I'm living well. Enjoying life.
I'm going to talk about the fast too. (oh yes, a fast!) But I think I'm announcing it on facebook first. woo hoo.

Hope everyone is having a period of bele chere as well.
Wishing you well,
Emily

To tell you the truth, I have no idea these days.

I'm at home. Sleepy. Exams tomorrow. Going to get a C in orchestra.

My other half's at college. I'm drowning.

Jason Holden is killing me. Slowly killing me.

What else is new? But wait! Now you get a fun Emily and a squishy Emily for the price of one. Gosh, I hate being full. Drives me crazy.



So, last night Craig picked muh up and we went to the Divide the Sea CD release show (-> screamo, screamo, screamoness by the bye) which was ridiculous and the only band I really liked was the last one we saw because the lead singer was fantastic. Great voice and he was passionate. It was nice. But the real highlight of my night was listening to Craig's stories. I swear, I call into question the truthfulness of every crazy thing he tells me, but, in the end, I'm almost guaranteed to be doubled over laughing. It was pretty (I swear I hate using this word so much. it's lost all its flavor) awkward because neither of us thought to bring anyone. Well, actually Craig tried calling tons of people without any luck.
"I have to clean my house, Craig."
"Hanging out with my parents, Craig."
"Sorry Craig, I have to wash my hair."
"Didn't I tell you, Craig? I don't believe in music."
Needless to say, futile attempts. But I'm glad I went.



Other perks of going to but not getting to see Divide the Sea:

-saw Katherine a.k.a Kat a.k.a.treehugger, Sarah, David a.k.a Kat's Boyfriend, and met this kid named David Allen.

-saw Luke and Michael Wright. hung out with Luke.

-sat on the awesome bcm couches (they're just great)

And....drumroll..........
Craig won a guitar!!!!!

Isn't that crazy? They had this raffle going for it, and...I don't know...we left (Craig's curfew=11) and he got a call from his friend Sarah (pretty sure that's her name) saying that he won. Also, a tad ironic because earlier that night he'd told me about how he'd vowed his eternal destiny to being a rockstar in 6th grade and he kept a journal with song lyrics and things. But that's probly a lie. Or..I really don't know anymore.

That's the real title.

1. Emmy Rossum is like 12.

2. Wasn't he like 30something when she was "studying in the ballet dormitories" as a child.

3. Raul is a wuss.
I don't know what that has to do with anything, though.

Creepiness. Anyways, I've had an exceptional week. Ready for fall. Joining Craig for screamoness this evening. Woop? Need a false mustache. Got nothing. Settle for $7 entrance fee.

I despise altering clothes. I need sewing lessons, but I'm stubborn and unfortunately undedicated. Cody is outside my house right now helping my dad with yardwork. I'm jealous. I need the money. Don't expect a Christmas present. We have "people" to trim our bushes and weed our walkways.

I'm thinking that Christine could've just said that she would start a new life with the Phantom and escaped with Raul later on. Also, how does the Phantom's hair go from being jet black to lightish brown in the last scene. And how does he out-live Christine. At this point I'm just assuming that he's really magical/ghostly. But if he was, why didn't he get his face back?

Yes. I'm that interesting. Hope you're all enjoying this. Though "you all" is no one. 'Cept maybe Emilea and Levison and Caroline.
I'll announce this to the facebook community soon.

He's the most beautiful when he cries.

-Emily

Sitting at home, Sufjan Stevens on, waiting for Predatory Wasp of the Palisades to play, love the Illinoise, I can tell you, I love it each day.

My day has been:
arghbuttimerorchestrahate
WHAT!
lunchWHAT!
arghphysedagilities
Hamilton.

Thinking outrageously...if only I could read my thoughts like Sufjan. Perhaps you'd be more inclined to visit.
But I can't tell you, I hear the rain in the Palisades interlude. Like streets I used to live on. In suburbia. See your face. Yes, you.
I see the wasp on the length of my arm.

Alright. I'm back. And I'd like to say, money is killing me. School hates me. Ease seems to have lost my number.
But things like that don't accumulate in your chest when you're happy.
God smiles. It's beautiful, you know.

Good days, bad days,
Welcome to the long haul.

So, Hamilton has just informed me that they are calling for rain this evening. Which is crazy unfortunate considering we had a lovely evening of editing, shooting, dinner and more editing planned. I suppose God works in mysterious ways....and if He wants me to avoid making a fool out of myself for jillionth time on camera, I won't be too disappointed.

This class is getting harder. It's not like I expected it to be like middle school drama or whatever, but this is my easy semester and I'm not even doing that well. It wouldn't be so bad if I could just assume the role of techie. If only our school offered the safe haven of A/Vclub..I wouldn't be forced to put my weirdo face on a schoolwide broadcast once every two weeks.

Maggie Calton, my best friend and maybe the biggest jerk I know, is now mocking me for having a blog. I suppose it serves me right for blogging in class. I think I'm getting better at this, though. And I could honestly careless.
"Emily, are you a celebrity?"
They're all talking about blogs now. Something like celebrities blog alot. Not interested. Unless it's Zach Braff, who has a fantastic blog by the way.

Maggie is now responding to everything in lisp. And making lisp noises. And rapping in lisp. And making fart noises. More lisp. Okay, I'm done reporting.

I'm thinking that people should learn to back off when I'm having a bad day. Yes. That would be awesome. I can barely tolerate it when I'm having a good one.

GOT TO LEAVE!
miss Emilea.

peace

Alrighty. So, I'm giving this another shot.



Listening to Multiply, Jamie Lidell. Groovin...to myself. Ooo. It's so nice.



So Emilea and I are like soul mates. Only friend soul mates?
God blessed us with Discovery '07 (1), and from that sprung a mutual love for each other...and Hannah Abrams(2) and Mamie Morgan(3) and Mindy Friddle(4). It was an experience to say the least. Living with the most fantastic people, learning from them--sometimes from the teachers too. You grow and love and bask in the glow that is excercising and circulating intellect. Okay. I'll stop. Might start missing it again...

Moved on to "Chip on My Shoulder".....don't judge me. Okay! So what? I think the music's catchy!

Well, there you pretty much have it. I mean...except "ripping off Hannah and Mamie." The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You is Hannah's and Mamie's blog that we stole this from. And we figured that it'd be an easier way to communicate.

hoping that I'll get better at this,
peace

Glossary:



Discovery-two week camp put on by the South Carolina Governor's School for the Arts and Humanities (SCGSAH). Host summer classes at its Greenville campus for the five art areas: music, dance, drama, visual arts and of course! Creative Writing.

Hannah Abrams-in my top three most wonderful people I've ever met, writer, traveler, speaks French, introducer of Dave Sedaris, cares for step siblings, blogs with Mamie, very sweet, very, very sweet, creative nonfiction

Mamie Morgan-hot, writer, blogs with Hannah, part-time waitress, teaches at SCGSAH, reads without much inflection, actually a quality they all shared, great, poet

Mindy Friddle-fantastic hair, kind of quiet, cool, dates European man (my nickname for him actually), really big awesome German shepherd, wrote the Guardian Angel, fiction

Alright. So, I'm trying really hard right now to make my first post one of explanation and history, but I guess that just isn't going to happen. Gimme a month or two.

Ha! So it finally happened. We're on the blogosphere. You're welcome, world.

And I fear that this first post is going to be short and sweet, but please come back and read. I promise it gets more interesting and informative.