Memaw and Pappaw

When two vowels go walking, the first one does the talking. Arguably one of the most annoying things my grade-school teachers would chant, but it served its purpose mnemonically. It was supposed to help us remember that when a word has two vowels, or when a word has a vowel-consonant-vowel combination, the first vowel is pronounced long. Thusly:

"Memaw"

Pronunciation: mee-maw

"Papaw"

Pronunciation: pay-paw

"Memmaw"

Pronunciation: mem-maw

"Pappaw"

Pronunciation: pap-paw

The bane of the English language is that all of its rules have exceptions, but I'd love to avoid them whenever possible.

Arnold Palmers On The House

I've decided I'm not going to let it bother me. I'm really going to miss having her in my life, but she was never really in my life that much anyway - I mean, who was I trying to kid? "Better Luck Next Time", I guess? Is that the phrase that applies here? I really don't think I'll ever meet a girl quite like her, but the new girl wouldn't even know it if I did. I'd be somebody she'd say, "Hey," to once; and she'd be somebody that I couldn't stop thinking about and couldn't stop talking myself out of not being to stop thinking about her and could never bring myself to say anything more than, "Hey," back.

My point being, I realized there's a whole lot more going right for me in my life. I've embraced the fact that I'm good at drawing cartoons, not art. In a couple years, I'm shipping off to California to CalArt to learn how to make something of this talent. And if that falls through, there's always the band. H.H. and I are all the solid foundation we need to go somewhere with The Epitome Of Eureka, Lord knows I've got enough songs and he's got enough enthusiasm. And if that falls through, Ohio isn't such a bad state to live in. There's Wright State Lake Campus right down the road, I could stay at home and not pay room or board and not tearfully say goodbye to my parents until I'm 23. And if that falls through, there's always that series I'm writing that I've yet to finish the first book of. Having no job, no school, and no friends would definitely free up some time to get those four novels pounded out.

And if that falls through, there's always the Sko-Bo match I'm going to with good company. I don't think some of them would call me their friend, but I would call them all my friends. I'm going to enjoy today, because such a simple plan can't fall through.

These Car Keys Laying To My Left Are Just The Muddled Symbol Of Hope That God Knows I Would Understand

Growing up means knowing that you've wasted time that you'll never get back.
Growing up means knowing that if you truly love them, you just want them to be happy.
Growing up means accepting what and how you feel and allowing it to happen.
Growing up means accepting the fact that you've screwed up and you gotta move on.
Growing up means looking back on all your history, and tallying up your mistakes.
Growing up means looking forward at your trajectory and throwing your score that way.
Growing up means dealing with the fact that things don't always rhyme.
Growing up means dealing with your emotions and the lack of sense they make.
Growing up means you don't have to be afraid to say and do all the things up inside your head.
Growing up means you don't have the time to say and do all the things you wanted to anymore.
Growing up means getting comfortable with the sound of silence and being lonesome.
Growing up means getting over yourself even if there's no one else there at all.
Growing up means watching my heroes turn human in front of me.
Growing up means watching her walk out the door that you never got her to walk through in the first place.
Growing up means realizing any chance is still a chance, no matter how small.
Growing up means realizing you don't know what growing up means at all.

Let's Have A Moment Of Noise For The Dead Mime

I thought my sense of time was waning, but I just realized it's nonexistent. I slept from sometime around 4:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon to 7:18 a.m. this morning. Now it's 5:18 p.m. Where does the time go? Honestly! Scientists now classify time as its own dimension: the fourth. So now if it officially exists - because it has its own dimension - where does it go? How does it get away from us?

How did we get in the fourth dimension in the first place?

I just realized there's a glass of raspberry Palmer in the living room that I never finished drinking. Well, I don't know if it's correct or not to say it's Palmer. AriZona, the company that markets Arnold Palmer and all variations, also makes this raspberry Palmer, but it's not called Arnold Palmer on the label. It just says "Raspberry Half and Half: Half Iced Tea and Half Lemonade". By definition, Arnold Palmer is half iced tea and half lemonade, but this drink's befuddling label makes no reference to the name "Arnold Palmer". It's a conundrum.

It's annoying.

I've been listening to blink-182's "MH 4.18.2011" on repeat for the past hour, give or take ten minutes. I have no idea how many times I've actually listened to it, although I'm sure I could calculate. But there are too many variables and inconsistencies to make it as simple as "total time spent listening to it" divided by "length of song". It's a really really really really really really really good song. And I disdain the use of repetition for emphasis, so that's saying something. The "MH" stands for "Mark Hoppus", and I assume "4.18.2011" is either the date he wrote it or the date it was finished being mixed. It was originally going to be called "Hold On" (a lyrical title) but he liked the current name because it sounded cool, like the name of a virus. I'm not sure about virulent, but the song is definitely infectious. (Bonus points for me for that sweet segue. Oh yeah!) This is (to use a mathematical term) the nth time I've listened to it and I'm not bored with it yet. I get re-excited every time it resets itself, each time with equal intensity. (Not like it's enough to make me go jump through a wall or anything, but "intensity" is the appropriate word.)

My mom just sneezed and I said "I love you" instead of "bless you".

So, I got my homework done, but I never got together with my friend like I was supposed to do. It's not like I timed it out on purpose, but I'm glad it worked out that way. I'm sick of people.
When I say that, I don't mean my family. My family is my everything - I have no idea what I would do without them. They get me through each and every day and they honestly make life worth living.
When I say that, I don't mean Mr. Doll and Mr. Rammel. They are the only two teachers I still interact with daily that could never upset me. They and I have a mutual disdain for drama and idiocy. Individually, Mr. Doll is an inspiration to teachers everywhere, and Mr. Rammel is an inspiration to music aficionados everywhere.
Surprisingly, when I say that, I don't mean my friend who I'll call LeRoy. As many dark places as I'm not proud to say I've seen and been to, I could never reach the degree of a troubled soul LeRoy is. When he comes to hang out, he stays weekends and not hours. He tries to help out as much as he can and has the most effectively assimilated himself as a member of our family out of all my friends. He's only a bother in ways that I'm sure I'm a bother to everybody else, so I don't fault him for them. I honestly miss him when he leaves.
But when I say this, I do mean society. I'm not saying the world's full of idiots and leaving it at that. I'm not attempting to make the claim that I'm taking it upon myself to fix everything I see wrong in the world. I mean, excluding the aforementioned, I am getting sick of people. Presently, this is my idea of a perfect world. I wake up, go to school to take classes only Mr. Doll or Mr. Rammel teach. LeRoy is back in school and we are the only two students in those classes. There are secret doorways between Mr. Doll's and Mr. Rammel's rooms that we can take so we remain uninvolved with the remaining school population. Each day for lunch we go out to Taco Bell (despite it being against school rules) and order enough food to make us full but not gluttonous and the weight we gain from doing so is so minimal that we can walk it off each day during our normal daily routine. We go back to school and finish up our exclusive classes then go home. He doesn't live with us, but every other weekend he stays. Most times I drive to get him, but not always. Mr. Doll and Mr. Rammel give minimal homework so when they do, it's not a bother to get it done as soon as I get home. Then I spend the evening watching Regular Show with my family. There is a supply of Mr. Pibb in the house that mysteriously never runs out, so I always have some to drink with dinner. Again, the weight I gain from this routine soda intake is negligible as I will walk it off the following day. Dad is always home on time and the finances aren't necessarily fixed, but they're never a stress and Mom and Dad never fight about them. Like Simon and I, we don't fight anymore. Like Simon and Will, they don't fight anymore. I always have just enough energy to do all my chores in a timely manner so Mom never has to yell at us about them. At 9:00 p.m. I go into my room, shut the door, get my homemade lap-desk out, and draw my cartoons or write songs or blog till 10:00 p.m., at which time I consistently go to sleep. And then the cycle repeats itself. No peers, no extracurriculars, no musicals, no plays, no homecomings, no proms, no need to date, no need to marry, no need at all to interact with the opposite gender or anyone at all outside my circle of eight. Presently, this is my perfect world. But it'll never happen.

I licked my plate clean, and I haven't done that in a long time.