The Best Day

Among other things, this is what is now causing, even now, the joy bubbling up inside me.

For once, I liked what I saw in the mirror this morning.

The comments I made in Honors Lit were said to be "well-spoken."

Lunchtime harvested the first AG-35 group on a while with dear old Bailey and Allison.

In history, someone tumblr-famous referenced a quote from an old tumblr post of mine from at least a month ago. I almost died at the prospect that humans read the musings I upchuck into cyberspace.

Despite my fears of going hungry after school, Ms. Deakins gave me an orange, which was so deliciously awe-inspiring it shall be blogged about later.

Refuge Cafe was, as always, a refuge. During an adrenaline-pumping game of 3-hit kill, I felt, as always, that maybe I wasn't as weak and lame as I so often seem.

The pummeling hit to my right cheekbone via Thor's soccer ball-throwing abilities earned me man points, a piggyback ride, and a hug from one very sweet baseball player.

Bailey and I went outside, in keeping with tradition, to the parking lot, as it poured rain. We swapped stories and spun gleefully. Afterwards, I flung open the door to the cafe, sopping wet and grinning from ear to ear.

After all that, all I have is to smile in my sleep and wonder why God chose to bestow upon me such a gift.

Oh, and also...

YOLO.

Dear Suzanne Collins,

Obviously, when you wrote The Hunger Games, you didn't take into account the people in this world who are like me. Who like happy endings. No, more than that.

Satisfying endings.

The kind where no one crucial dies, only sub-plot type characters. Something happens within that oh-so-twisted love triangle that makes it okay for the character in question to choose the lover of their(my) choosing, and the other one still ends up happy. The victory is won, the characters you think are trustworthy ARE, and the ones you never liked from the beginning reveal their true evils and die at the climax of the battle. 

Yeah, that'd be good. 

But no.

You just had to go and kill off the wrong people. Put the other half of the triangle off in some remote place where neither the characters nor I get any sense of closure. And then you leave everyone with this haunting, heavy kind of sadness that never goes away, not even in the epilogue. 

NOT EVEN THE EPILOGUE WAS SATISFYING!!!!!

And that, my dear, is called crossing the line. I had such high expectations. Granted, the ending was thrilling. But not up to par. Not by my standards. 

You don't mess with the epilogues. The epilogues of life are my saving grace. 

"Is that the light at the end of the tunnel, or just the train?"

-Owl City

A Daydream

Just had the most legit daydream ever. It involved the right amount of witty banter and dancing.

There may have been something romantic at the end of it, too. 

Sigh.

Please Care A Little

I want to be wrong.

At least about you.

I want you to look at me and say of course. Of course you'll help me out. You'll do whatever it takes to keep the thing I care about alive. That you have better things to do than wave to your adoring friends and flip your hair and complain about your parents and chuckle at all the girls who surround you.

I really, REALLY want you to have better things to do than that. 

Please find something in you that cares. Dig deep if you have to. But I know you'll regret it if you don't. At least, I hope you will. I hope you wake up one day and realize there are higher things to live for. 

I hope I helped a little with that, too. 

Dear Baseball Players,

Thanks for not bothering me while I took a much-needed nap on one of your duffel bags. (Except for a few of you that tried-successfully-to make me laugh.) Managing your team is quite fun and exciting, but every now and then a session curled up in the grass is just what I needed. I even slipped into dreamland for a while and woke up disappointed because I thought I was in my own bed and it was time to get up for school.

Tomorrow I'll be more energetic. I promise.

Come to think of it, I'll have to be to keep all of you from eating my snacks again. No wonder I wasn't bothered. 

Until then,

Abby

Another Way to Be Different

A Moment of Awesome

I just tried on the only pencil skirt I own, a black satin number I wore for the Christmas Eve service.

And you'll never guess.

It's not the breath-stealing tight it was then.

In fact, it's looser.

Fist-pumping status right there.