"Your Name Here"

In Am Lit yesterday we were discussing the Harlem Renaissance. My professor said, "Think about Art," and I thought, Okay, until I realized he meant art, not Art. Then I wondered why the rest of my friends can't have cool names like that. I want you all to work on that. And Rachael, give the boy some more points for making a boring lecture that much cooler.

"It takes a lot of smart thinking"

Truth is, Thanksgiving was awesome. Jennifer's brother and sister-in-law are incredible people. They have a very nice apartment with some of the softest blanket-type-things ever. And their downstairs nieghbor was kind enough to blast "My Immortal," and to repeat it until I was really ready to burst through his windows and kill him.

Nevada is... well, it's ugly, but it has tumbleweeds, and those things crack me up. Jennifer and I were going to pick one up and take it home, but we never did. Probably because I wanted a huge one and she just wanted a small one. The desert just isn't for me. I promised a friend I would take pictures, and I did, and the fun thing was waiting for the ugliest moments of desert to snap a picture. I love the kind of friends who will hekp you in endeavors like this. One thing to say for Las Vegas: even though all the stucco can be overwhelming and the lack of trees and grass saddening, by night, it is a beautifully lit city. "From up here the city lights burn, Like a thousand miles of fire."

The food was awesome. Turkey and mashed potatoes always is, but even better was how, as I got more into the break and the relaxing, I ate more and more. Giant bowls of cold cereal for breakfast and lunch; cheesecake (holy fricative, it is worth $7, I swear); In-N-Out... I am sorry for you poor Easterners who have never even heard of the place. Best. Burgers. Ever. And their shakes and fries are awesome too. Yeah, I ate a lot, and I enjoyed every second of it. Food, we have been apart for far too long.

As for Chelsea's family (Chelsea=my roommate's brother's wife; we spent Thanksgiving and the day after with her family), wow, I felt so instantly welcome. There was the joking and the friendliness and the warmth immediately. It started with Parker, Chelsea's eight-year-old brother just being so adorable and helpful. Then came the other boys and their instant mockery of my tiny "toddler" shoes. I guess it made me welcome immediately, especially the way I dealt with it. Then, there was the scene at the dinner table when they so exultantly discovered the joy of making nicknames out of Elizabeth. Yeah, you guys can call me E-lizzle from now on. It's how I was introduced the entire weekend. I adore Chelsea's brothers. Not only was Parker charming and Corban an incorrigible flirt (oh, the poor girls whose hearts he will break one day when he is finally old enough to date), but Austin was really sweet too. Poor Austin, with such an awful headache, but wanting me to have a great time on the Strip because it was my first time. He even stared me down, insisting we were staying so that I could have fun and not have to go home so early. I didn't know people could go so long without blinking. And then, when I was shivering to myself in the car, he turned the heat up without saying anything to me, asking me later if I was warm enough. And taking me to hang out with Blissen Chase the Day Ashbury, as I think they're now called, just because he knew how much I liked their music. And even though it was a bunch of Brian playing his guitar and singing (very, VERY well), then boys playing Halo 2, it was still pretty cool, and Austin did let me fall asleep under his hat. And he didn't do that crazy thumb thing after I pleaded with him because I am so very, very paranoid about my hands. I felt instant acceptance into that family, which was nice, as I was afraid I would have no one to talk to but Jenn. Oh, and Christmas with the Kranks is mildly disturbing, but one scene is absolutely hi.lar.ious. I laughed really, really hard, probably because it is exactly something I would do, but it gratified Austin and Corban that I finally found something funny. They took it upon themselves to be my personal entertainers, I guess. I DID find their pick-up lines really amusing, but that wasn't part of the movie.

The water show at the Bellagio is really amazing, and the people in Las Vegas definitely interesting, but I must say, really the best thing was the selection at the CD store. I nearly wept for joy and for Ace Enders. Rachael, welcome to three more CD's. Also, I would like to insert an inquiry as to why Creed had a CD in the New Release section when they are clearly not even a band anymore. Sigh.

But in the end, one memory kept flashing back, and realizing what it was and why hurt more than anyone will ever know. I've felt that kind of pain before, too, and I've felt it worse. It just... well, it surprised me. Then I came back to Provo and to the cold, heartless hell that loves to suck me in. I'm not broken, it's Utah that has the problems.

"She's a good girl"

So, driving home from Las Vegas, sometimes I would focus on the brilliantyly hard snowfall instead of the road, see the huge flakes whizzing past the car, and I would feel that familiar free-falling feeling. Familiar, because first, I adore roller coasters, and second, because I have been free-falling for the last... how long? I don't know, because I don't know when to start the count. There were some times when I didn't think I was, little breaks, but those were just breaks, temporary, maybe even an illusion.

From a friend: "Watching you is like watching a traffic accident you know is about to happen--so helpless. Yet, at the same time you know it's going to be okay in the end and everyone will survive.... I'm helpless to you. Jumping in front of the car won't help you. Won't help me. But, when you crash every now and then, I'm there."

He hasn't even MET me. His life has fallen a lot harder, deeper, and worse than mine has, and yet, he is there, knowing I need someone to look after me.

Something that this vacation did for me, (besides give me a break and let me start eating again)... I remember making a comment to Jennifer, probably while packing, that I wake up with my heart pounding out of my chest all the time, feeling like I am going to throw up, not knowing exactly what is so disconcerting. I guess I haven't been sleeping deep enough to remember anything but the feeling once I wake up. Strange she should ask me the morning when I finally slept long enough to see what I dream of, if I had had any dreams. I hope she forgives me for telling her I hadn't.

Please, don't get the idea that my life is horrible or anything like that. At the end of the day, I can still laugh. And at the end of the day, hey, I'm still The Unbreakable, and I bet I still bounce.

"A Whole New World That Had Since Been in Disguise"

Since polls have started to multiply like feisty rabbits, I have begun to feel left out in my own, poll-less (kinda like soulless) blog. Can you guess what's coming? I am too predictable.

Poll: If one were to make Evil Pants for someone (a male), what color would those Evil Pants be? I was thinking "malicious laughter," but then I realized that that wasn't a color.

Second poll: Should I make an Evil Shirt to go with the Evil Pants? (Yes, there will most definitely be a cape with the ensemble, I don't need your help with that decision. I'm not a complete fool.) What if said Evil Pants-needing male has a "rock-hard chest"?

Voice your opinions in this comment section, and feel free to get as off-topic as you want.

"Tell Me What You Thought About When You Were Gone"

So I'm going to make my concert report. I want you all to be intensely jealous of the fun you missed out on. Awesome bands, tons of energy, and me. Think about that for a while, and next time there's a concert, give me a call like Aaron did.

You know how I like making lists. As I was partaking of this event, I jotted down memorable events. I will now list them here.

-Funny glowing signs. Things that glow funny are hard to read. We determined that radiation also glows funny, which is why no one writes with it. The whole "grow an extra appendage" thing is just an additional detraction.

-The woman who frisked me told me I needed to eat more; I was too skinny. At least she was considerate, I guess. But it's not something I want to hear while being frisked.

-Joking with the guy about having guns or knives in my purse. Thing is, I JOKED BACK. In D.C., I would have been shot at this point.

-They were playing the wrong radio station while setting up for this concert. Just trust me on this one.

-People here were at lot preppier than at Warped Tour. It led to this exchange:
Me: At least, they're more "toned down."
Aaron: Utah does that to people. But maybe the freaks just don't come early.
Me: Yeah, maybe they're still at FHE.

-I can't read my writing on this one

-Apparently, it is against the law in the state of Utah to crowdsurf or mosh. The recorded voice that played over a loudspeaker made sure we knew that people who disobeyed this and other silly rules would be "ejected!!" We had fun saying "ejected!!" And then laughing at the ejects later.

-The following query:
Aaron: What do bands do before a concert?
Me: Maybe they play Scrabble
Aaron: That's awesome!
Me: We should form a band and play Scrabble before concerts

-The two girls who were dressed exactly the same. And not well. Aaron pointed them out, and I was glad for a perfect opportunity to quote Matchbook Romance. "My eyes burn..."
Me: Sometimes, you just have an idea and it's NOT good
Aaron: We call those bad ideas

-The after-concert drama. Basically, we were in a long line waiting to get out. There was a Suburban two cars in front of us, and directly in front of us was a Camaro. Then Jerk Car did something stupid and tried to edge its way in front of Suburban, out of turn. Suburban did not like that, and all the cars behind it also did not like that. Camaro edged up, to send the message they would not be letting Jerk Car in. We edged up too. We didn't want any jerks in front of us. Well, Jerk Car was now in the middle of the road, blocking a red car going the other way. A girl got out of the red car and toddled over to the Camaro, asking them to let Jerk Car in or something. Then she placed her hands on their hood and put her body in front of the Camaro, making sure they obeyed her. Traffic started moving forward, including the Suburban. Camaro was stuck, not wanting to run over Girl, who looked like... nevermind. Anyway, the Camaro edged to the right, not running her over (sadly), but blocking Jerk Car still. I wanted to run out and give them a thumbs up to show our support, but I let the opportunity pass by. The end.

-While we were waiting in the traffic, Aaron and I discussed this band we wanted to form and the attention whoreishness of the violinst in Yellowcard. That guy is amazing. It started turning (somehow, and trust me, I was not responsible for this, it was just an amzing coincidence) into a violinist vs. drummer debate.
Me: But the violinist wouldn't have to be smart?
Aaron: No, the violinist is smarter, the drummer just hits things.

There you have it, and not even from my lips: violinists rule, drummers drool. I believe a hoo. shah! is in order.

Oh, and I almost forget. Apparently, Orem is the same thing as Salt Lake City. Three different bands got that confused. Kudos to Hey, Mike for at least knowing where they were. Then again, those same three bands told me (well, the entire audience, of which I was a member) that I was beautiful. So I can't fault their logic too much ;)

"Take You Away from that Empty Apartment"

Guess where I'm going tonight.

I'll paint you a picture clue: most of the Prorem area will be there tonight, so of course I'm going with all the rest of them like so many desert-dwelling cattle. Just sketch me in to Section 9, flirting it up with The Band.

Okay, there probably won't be a lot of flirting as, like I said, most of the Prorem area will be there, and I'll be in Section 9, which is NOT synonymous with Backstage Pass, and also, I don't think I really know HOW to flirt. But I'll be there anyway.

"I'll Tell You I'm Sorry"

Apologies are worthless if you don't know what you're apologizing FOR. There is nothing more insincere than a blanket apology; how do you know you're really sorry for something unless you've confronted it and felt pain for it?

That said, I think sometimes it is possible to just apologize generally AND be sincere. Knowing that something, somehow is wrong, and you might be the cause... living with that uncertainty, and that guilt, and knowing the person you have probably wronged is someone you would never, ever intentionally hurt, and believed you COULD never intentionally hurt....

I won't even start making excuses. But as soon as I can, I will begin making restitution, if that's even acceptable. The last thing I ever wanted to do was add more pain. Please believe that.

You know your life is either fantastically awesome or fantastically absurd when you come to the conclusion that all you need is a German Spy to make everything better.

"Sweet Cabbage, I've Done It Again!"

Everyone seems to be celebrating anniversaries, and I realized, woah, I have one to celebrate too! And I cannot let this one pass me by. Especially not because, through a chain reaction of events, I finally found the long-lost, much-missed Decision Making Quarters.

It was this day one year ago that I downloaded MSN Messenger. It has since been retired, not to be used until March 2006. Tonight, one year ago, I stayed up far past my bedtime talking to someone who became a very dear friend of mine. Have you ever met someone and realized they were so much like you that you basically didn't have to ask for their opinion, because it would be the same as your own? We're not exactly alike, but we're so close it almost frightens me; I know that when we finally start really hanging out, our friendship will almost certainly end in death, for at least one of us, and quite possibly for the population of a small city. That is how cool we are.

I like to call him JJ for short (he HATES that), but I would like you all to know and love Mr. Jeremy Nebuchadnezzar Mixing Bowl Procrastinator Generous With My Words The Bottomless Pit Perfectionist Hahaha I Like Food Special and Rare Worcestershire Sauce Mr. Stubborn Justin Brown.

That is what happens when you make me guess your middle name.

To someone who understood my whimsy, who never questioned my weirdness, who made me laugh, who wrote me letters, who loved to call Jenn crazy, who was an East Coast Boy all the way and actually scientifically proved it, who remembered every final I was taking and on which day I would be taking it, who stayed up all night with me to make sure I made my plane, and who was the champion of the "Tell Me Something" game... I hope you enjoy being slaughtered in chess when you get back. (If by "slaughtered," I mean "I will get bored twelve minutes in and throw the pieces on the floor.")

Goodnight, Germy.

"It Takes a Lot to Make the End"

I borrowed Get Over It last night from Bart. I must confess, if he were truly my friend, he might not have been so quick about lending it to me. But I'm glad he did, and I promise to be careful with it. When he will be getting it back, I do not know.

Because to watch this movie is to witness a part of my own life being played out on screen. Except Movie Land comes in and mucks things up, extricating characters from messy and emotionally conflicted situations far too easily. But I can't blame Hollywood. As fascinating as real life is, most people just want to escape it for a few hours.

Cowards.

I watch it, not to escape, but to see the pain on Kirsten Dunst's face as she navigates a thoroughly entangled situation. I like her anyway, but this movie makes me like her even more. And I don't care that my roommate finds it juvenile and not all that engaging. Sometimes, you realize you just own a song or a book or a movie and you put said song on repeat for hours or reread said novel until the binding falls apart or throw said DVD on the computer every day for weeks.

"Lord, what fools these mortals be."

"It's What We Won't Accept"

Loyalty is a big thing to me. Just trust me on this one. You earn my loyalty, I keep your secrets and your silence, and that is forever. So imagine first off how it hurts to realize other people aren't the same way. I've been thinking about that recently, but those thoughts aren't for here. Maybe later.

Now, I know I do crazy things. Deprive myself of sleep sometimes, push other things out of the way. But late at night is the best time for thinking, and if you have someone to bounce your thoughts off of at 4 a.m., amazing things can happen.

Put these two (loyalty and 4 a.m.) together, and let me go on to my thoughts.

Carpe diem. Everyone has seen Dead Poets Society, everyone knows about this concept. (If you haven't seen it, go out and rent it now, or borrow it from a neighbor, or download it from the internet, however you get your movie fixes; and next time, don't let me catch you coming unprepared to class.) What most people DON'T know is that carpe diem isn't the innocent little, "make the best out of today" concept that Robin Williams presents to his hormonally-overcharged students. Marvell, Donne, Jonson, Suckling--the Cavalier Poets--they made the concept famous. And I think Sir Walter Ralegh had it right. The Cavalier Poets and their carpe diem: they offer love, but not commitment; happiness, but not joy; sex, but not intimacy. They loved deeply, but what did they love? Not a person, but a thing, a transitory thing, so they took that thing while they could. That is what carpe diem is all about.

I think it goes back to decency. Don't let the campaign die.

"It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas"

Tonight we made Christmas cards. Don't even start with me how it's not even Thanksgiving; I didn't plan the activity. But it was still a lot of fun. I wish you all could see the reindeer I drew. "Cute" doesn't even begin to describe it. Or, well, actually, yeah, I guess it does begin to describe it... and finish describing it too. Add the fact that it was a stick reindeer, and I'm sure you can picture it perfectly to yourself.

You're probably thinking that I am not the most artistically inclined. If you thought that, you're right. Gold star for you! Some poor old grandmother is going to get this card, look at it, and think, "Oh, look, I got a card drawn by an English major." That, and the fact that I wrote a very nice prose poem on the inside.

Hallmark, I'm looking at you. I was dang proud of that reindeer.

"If I Knew How To"

When I was seventeen, I was an obnoxious little snot who had an opinion about everything. I don't think I like my seventeen-year-old self, but at least she's better than my fifteen-year-old self who hated her parents and refused to do anything. I don't know why they didn't kill me, but I'm glad they were merciful, because they allowed me to grow into someone I'm becoming more comfortable with.

But seventeen wasn't all bad. I got to be the Laurel class president, and as such, I got a whole gaggle of girls who I suppose looked up to me. I hope they did, because they would pepper me with questions, and I did my best to be a good example and to offer them answers.

Seventeen has come back to hit me in the face recently. It's changed a bit: I'm not as strident, not as impatient, and my ear isn't used so much for spiritual matters as it is for secular now. And with these changes, I have found an opportunity to be stretched further than I ever thought possible and to descend into levels of fatigue I never knew existed. I haven't always been pleased with my reactions or my selfishness, but I am learning. And I am trying not to hate the darker side of humanity. I just hope people forgive me for what I have been in the past and look instead to what I am trying to become.

I also hope that I never have to count higher than nineteen, but that doesn't look like it will happen. When I do, though, I will at least do it humanely and with all the compassion I have. Even if I appear cold and heartless to some.

Decency

That's the bottom line. We should be able to recognize that people think and feel and at minimum treat them decently. That's not so much to ask. I think I'll make t-shirts to help spread this campaign. You should join me.

"Ten Fingers Isn't Quite Enough"

My Am Lit professor handed back our papers yesterday. The grades were on the very last page. I stuffed my paper into my bag and hurried home through the cold air, without my hoodie on to shock me back into consciousness or some semblance thereof. I knew I would pry through the pages, breath catching, only to find that I had written a mediocre paper with my mediocre efforts. I would blame it on my rustiness, but the doubt would begin creeping in, the wondering if I was really cut out for this whole English major thing after all. There are some brilliant students in the department, and things aren't easier when post-undergrads are in your class and can discuss existentialism and post-modernism and new historic readings of neo-classical non-literary texts. And, okay, while I know what all that is and can if absolutely pressed against the wall, I am always in awe of those who choose to, and who do it carelessly, facily, flippantly, even.

So I got home, and with the distraction of the internet, I managed to avoid looking at my paper for another half an hour. I had seen comments scribbled all over it in blue felt pen, and they were freaking me out.

I very much like your writing style, Elizabeth--it flows well, and you evidence some fine turns of phrase. You also do a very capable job of pointing out the differences between Cooper's aesthetic and that of Twain's, which is exactly the sort of thing I'm hoping this course helps you see. Nice work! A pleasure to read.

Guess I'll stay in the program a little longer after all.

Oh, and P.S. all the little scribbly notes were pointing out interesting things I had said. Who knew?

"I Want This Semester to Explode!"

Davidzobell. He is responsible for this post's title. Somehow, when one is consigning things like semesters to explosion, hilarity ensues.

Soon this week will be over, which will feel really nice. Now all I'm trying to figure out is what, exactly, "this week" entails. A lot of things happened, and I would like a lot of them to unhappen. But I suppose studying is good for me and test-taking is good for me and running about trying to meet with counselors is good for me and playing endless games of Scrabble while waiting is good for me. Even if I'm not good for Scrabble.

I wanted to post today because it is the eleventh day of the eleventh month. Eleven, my favorite number. Of course, those of you well-versed in history know the other, greater significance of today. Is there a reason it has always made me more melancholy than joyous?

One last thing before I go: I miss diversity and open-mindedness. BYU is a great place, but sometimes I could choke on it.

"I Hope He Is a Gentleman"

Something that makes me happy...

Me: Do you not write with a pencil or pen?
Art: Actually, not in a long time, no
Me: Hmm, that's interesting...
Me: Because I seem to have a sheet of paper with your handwriting on it...
Me: And it's in pen
Art: Oh really?
Me: Yup
Art: And what does it say?
Art: Just so I know what I'm about to deny
Me: It's when you proved that women are the root of all evil
Art: lol
Art: Nope, not I
Art: You're mistaken
Me: And you're delusional
Art: Nope, I think you are
Art: That's my stance
Me: Then why is it in your handwriting?
Art: I'm a solopsist... this paper of which you speak doesn't exist
Art: Huzzah! Saved by philosophy again

You're probably all wondering how I deal with this boy. Frankly, I don't know. He can worm his way out of anything. Seriously, try it. I dare you.

I think it's his bold use of the huzzah! at the end that seals the deal; who can argue with that?

"A Girl That Can Handle With Care"

Life is funny. Especially mine. I'm not saying that my life is any funnier than anyone else's, but since it's my life, I can see the hilarity more clearly. Good thing I get such a kick out of everything, because it's the only way to live. And with that little introduction, allow me to revert back to a third-grader for a minute.

First place is for losers.

I like to tell myself that. Sometimes it really is true. Who can really appreciate what they have when they're winning? No, they take it for granted and probably do a lot of stupid things. Those in the second, third, fourth, or, in my case, last places take a lot more care in what they do. They worry more and push themselves harder, and in the end, the first placer is just going to get jaded and greedy. All that attention takes away from the integrity of what they are. That's my consolation, at least, because last place really isn't fun, even when I try making lists of all the fun things I get to do and congratulating myself over the lack of stress in my life. That silly first placer... hoo, boy, I wouldn't want to be in their position, is what I'm telling yourself.

Then again, I'm not certain I really am last. It's hard to feel so unnecessary, but it's even harder to feel so unnecessary but to maybe sometimes think that you aren't. But I'll never be the kind of person to be in the first place, because I'm sure not first place material. No, people like me belong in second place. Good, but not great. Almost right, but not enough of that je ne sais quoi to move it up a level.

And now I think I've gained enough stability to move out of that third-grade level. I don't think I really believe that whole "first place is for losers" thing. Hello, first place, they wouldn't be there if they weren't more awesome than I could ever be. That spot isn't for me. My job is to congratulate graciously and find some way to really mean it. I've already lost the race.

Another point I would like to make is that, while it is I who am running the race and therefore exerting my energy and my time and my talent, I am just the runner and therefore have no importance. I'm going to go and try to wrap my head around that one now.

"I Think I've Seen Every Star in the Sky Tonight"

I went fishing today. And I caught a fish. Sounds innocent, right? Well, too bad I didn't have a license so I was BREAKING THE LAW. Who knew such a dumb sport could be so scandalous and exciting?

Yes, I went fishing instead of studying for geology or doing my laundry or one of the thousand better tasks I could have chosen for today. I wasted an entire Saturday. Do you know how that makes me feel? Antsy and uncomfortable and if I could skip Stake Conference I would in a heartbeat just so I could scrabble my life back together, but somehow that would just make things worse. My roommate is busy doing her hair to make herself look all attractive and presentable, while here I sit, tapping away at my keyboard. I think this is why writers drink themselves to death. Faced with a life of alcoholism, though, with a possible escape in hermitude with cave-dwelling mountain goats, I would choose the goats. They can be companions in ways that empty bottles never could be. Except to perhaps Hemingway.

On a completely unrelated note, Sirius is finally up. It is the most beautiful star you will ever see, I promise you. Go outside and look at it. And don't foget to check out Rigel and Procyon and Aldebaran and the twins Pollux and Castor. But they will never replace Arcturus, which is my favorite. Too bad Arcturus is a summer star, so I never get to see it. I could draw some obvious parallels there, but I'll leave that up to you, the reader. Five pages on my desk by Friday.

"It's Only Gonna Drive You Crazy"

To all of you who were disappointed when I ended up coming to BYU after all: I might transfer anyway. I am sick and tired of this registration brouhaha happening every four months or so. It shouldn't be so difficult to register for a few classes. Last time, the fault was mainly mine for not realizing until after 5 p.m. on my registration day that it was actually my registration day, and not the day after like I had thought.

This time, though, I blame BYU all the way. Turns out the English department put a hold on all English majors' records until they meet with a counselor and get him to sign a hold release form. Of course, they don't let you know until you actually try to register. Then they provide you with a phone number and a few hours to freak out and wonder what this mysterious hold is about. I honestly came to the conclusion that I was failing all of my classes and they weren't going to let me continue in my major. My mind does funny things at six in the morning. Anyway, I have yet to meet with my counselor, so the perfect schedule I worked out probably won't happen. And I am furious. No one has ever really seen me mad. In fact, the people I just ate lunch with didn't even really see me mad. But I am screaming on the inside. Just please tell me that SVU doesn't have these stupid problems, and I will transfer there in a second.

Or else go with my second choice, which is switching my major to art ;)

I had a bowl of Cheerios tonight. For the first time since the beginning of September. And I threw out half a peanut butter and pickle sandwich because it tasted gross, which is why I was eating the Cheerios.

I am almost afraid to say this, but I think I'm back.

"It's a Good Year for a Murder"

Let me just say that the stand partner is what makes or breaks an orchestral experience. At least playing in an orchestra. If you went to see a symphony orchestra perform, your stand partner wouldn't really make a difference, unless you went together and he smelled really bad or something. Or really good. Because that can be equally distracting.

Anyway. I switched stand partners recently. Best move of my life. My old stand partner (I will refer to her as Lilith from now on, because that is what my new stand partner and I call her; think Frasier's wife) is, in short, Satan. A sneaky, insidious, cold, heartless, black-haired wonder of a violist. Well. I switched a few weeks ago and the laughs have been non-stop. Today bonded us even further as we encountered the problem of having Lilith sit right in front of us (she came late) and glaring back at us frequently. This action puzzled us. In fact, it led to a debate that might never be resolved. I asserted it was because she was in love with Matt, my stand partner, and hated me for claiming the spot next to him that she secretly wanted with all of her black-hearted, icy passion. And fury. You must never forget the fury.

Matt countered that she actually loves me and hates him. He's a weird kid sometimes. We considered following her home, but due to the extreme cold and the scariness of tailing an evil being in the darkness of a deserted night, we decided not to. It was actually mostly the cold. Not everywhere has "perfect convertible weather." I would just like to make that clear.

I just realized this post has deviated entirely from my original intent and the title no longer corresponds in any way. And this is not a minor deviation, like I got sidetracked in storytelling somewhere. I actually started writing it already sidetracked. I amaze myself sometimes. [EDIT: I changed the title, and now it relates]

Back to my story. We normally have two conductors, but tonight the cool one wasn't there. We were left with the other one, who is evil. There sure are a lot of evil people involved in music. But let me back this claim up with actual evidence: she killed the other conductor. Of this, I am certain. Why else would the other conductor not be there?

Maybe I should minor in criminology. My instincts are killer. Which reminds me of a song--guess which.

I am eating a frosted sugar cookie as I write this. I have no idea what will happen, but it can't be good. Sugar always makes me feel funny. Halloween can't be a good holiday for me.

Something needs to happen. Does anyone else feel restless?

Seriously. I am waiting. For something. But I don't know what. And it's disconcerting in a major way. My heartbeat will start escalating in another minute as I go into the fight or flight reflex. This cannot be good. But I wish I knew what was causing this. I have some vague guesses, but nothing very certain.

Guess I won't be doing my homework tonight.

Oh, and don't blame the sugar. The weird feeling started before the cookies ever arrived. The sugar is just making me more jittery. Maybe I have some underdeveloped instinct, like Bruce Willis in "Unbreakable." Maybe I'll go out and start touching people to find out.