In Review

The tradition is, surprisingly, continuing. I have this blog to thank for many things, and a massive one is keeping myself accountable in one way or another. One way that's manifested itself is in keeping actual, real-life New Year's Resolutions. Last year I pulled out 2012's and saw how I did. Now it's 2013's turn to get scrutinized. Then 2014 will proudly step up and have its moment of limelight.

So, without further ado....

2013 Resolutions

-Get a date to prom Check. 

-Don't stay in America all year Unfortunately, no.

-Get abs  (Oh please.) I actually had like, a 2-pack. :D

-Have a swimsuit-worthy body by summer Check.

-Keep up daily Bible readings, even in times of inclement weather and schedule changes Not every day, but most.

-Don't be afraid to wear earrings Check.

-Grow out hair at least 2 inches *looks at end of braid* Probably not.

-Get a drivers license. Seriously. Wow. Nope. 

-Have a Top 3 (or 5) list for colleges Check. 

-Spend more one-on-one time with specific friends and family members I think so. 

In conclusion: I am equal parts awesome and total, utter, failure. But anyways. ON TO THE FUTURE.

2014 Resolutions

Graduate with a GPA of 4.15

Get a date to senior prom

Find a modest bathing suit

Journal more during Bible-reading

Get elbow-length hair

Be happy with the college I choose

Go on more adventures

Keep in touch with the important people

Continue to not swear 

*raises wine glass filled with grape juice*

Let 2014 begin.

Dear Princess,

Look.

I get it. I do. I'm a girl. I have a Twitter. And common sense.

Unfortunately, I think you've been told a rather flawed version of the story.

The truth is, I'm not the villain who stabbed a friend in the back. I'm just someone who tried to stand up to a dragon for what she believed in and it turned around and breathed fire in her face.

And I'm not your prince's... temptress.
I'm his best friend.

You see an unfamiliar figure on the distant castle wall and you think it's an enemy, but in reality I'm just the knight who was left behind to keep everyone safe.

Please don't shoot me.

Red Clocks

I keep telling myself that I'll be glad in a week or two.

Because it a week or two, this will all be over.

The same questions being asked of me every five minutes.
The same persistent nagging in the back of my head.
The same overwhelming fears washing over me at night.
The same frustrated attempts that end in mediocrity.

But really, will it be over?

Will any of this be over until I'm gone?

The column of red clocks won't be there to remind me that a deadline is days away.

But I don't know if I'll ever get them out of my head.

Delayed December Reaction

Every year, it feels like Christmas later and later. The whole festive, Christmas-y spirit doesn't hit me until it's almost the big day, and by this year I was wondering if it would even hit me at all until midway through present-opening. That kills me. My favorite part of Christmas has never been the songs, decorations, peppermint mochas, or any of that crap. It's always been the feeling... the weeks leading up to the 25th, where everywhere you go, there's red and green and lights and scarves and Nat King Cole or Michael Buble on the radio.

And if growing up means every year I get less of that, well then it's Reason #576 why I'd rather not grow up.

But last night, as I was musing over the surprisingly happy ending to the day (consisting of a lovely Skype call, a successful English paper, and reuniting with an old friend over, yes, a peppermint mocha), suddenly, it hit me. I honestly think it may have been in the shower. Or when I was making my "Holiday Box" for calculus.

When I woke up this morning, Christmastime had struck. I was festive.

I fully enjoyed the Christmas music as I was getting ready, despite it being the same songs I listen to every year. I loved the fact that I accidentally got glitter all over my jeans, and that I was wearing snow boots, and I blasted Michael Buble in my kitchen at 7:00am. And loved it.

And literally, it hasn't stopped all day. I've been unnaturally bubbly and excited, all because the Christmas spirit finally hit me. I gave a friend their Christmas present and watched them freak out (because let's face it, I'm the best gift-giver of anyone I know), and I couldn't wait for tomorrow, which will be my Annual Day of Gift-Giving To All My Friends.

In a nutshell: it's officially Christmastime, guys. It happened overnight. I'm in the spirit as of this morning.

Let it snow.

Secrets: An Update

My friend's secret was that she was my Secret Santa for the drama Christmas party.



*sigh*


I feel equally stupid and disappointed.

Dear Green Bandana,

I will never stop missing you.

Phantasmagorical Retrospect

I had this beautiful dream several months ago, and I wrote it down, but I actually think it's worth sharing. It was during a time when deep down, I think I was really sad, but I didn't realize it. You know how that sometimes is? And I had this dream and woke up breathless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm at the top of a long set of stone steps cut into the side of a cliff. 

I'm on a landing. In front of me is open space. Lots of it. I am high up, looking over the French countryside. To my left is a locked wooden door.

The sky is dark. 

Above me thunder rumbles. The door stays locked. As I look out at the miles of space in front of me, the first heavy drops spatter the landing at my bare feet.

The rain begins to pour.

I realize, clearer than ever, that nothing is right. But it's okay. I'm completely alone. The dark and rolling sky seems to me as though it is my own soul, as though it was turned into the sky and painted above me. 

And so thunder crashes and buckets of rain keep falling on me and around me, and violins wail somewhere in the background and I sink to my knees and scream at the sky. 

It's the saddest of scenes.

But it's so, so beautiful. 

Secrets

Best feeling ever: When your friend scampers up to you, giggling, and tells you there's some awesome news about you that they're dying to tell you about.

Worst feeling ever: When your friend scampers up to you, giggling, and tells you there's some awesome news about you that they're dying to tell you about....but...they...can't.

Um.

No.

Because as soon as the words I can't tell you come out of someone's mouth, everyone's mind always jumps to the one thing they hope to be told. Whatever thing they lay in their beds at night and dream about being told. They think of that.

It's not that, is it?

Oh my gosh. What if it is.

It's probably not.

But wait.

Tell me now.

Remember when I posted 10 things about myself I hated? Remember #10? That I always have to know stuff. Well, case in point. Future husband, don't ever tell me something unless you're actually going to tell me.

In a nutshell: this is too excruciating to bear. It feels as if those four words triggered some unknown organ to kick into overdrive, and now it's about to burst from my skin. I can feel the anxious pressure from inside my bones and ligaments and now it's threatening to make me explode, and little frantic pieces of Abby will come raining down on everyone's heads.