Monday, December 26, 2011

Chills & thrills

I glanced over at my phone. It read 3:04 AM. I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle; and you thought you were going to get to bed early tonight.

I brought my hands up and rubbed my tired eyes. Even shutting them for a second made me feel like I could prop my face up on my elbows and have the best sleep ever right there; right on top of the dining room table that was used for homework and not eating, on top of my half edited essay that was due tomorrow. 

Why do I procrastinate? Why in the world do I do this to myself?

Well. No time to think of that now. I have to get back to work. I stayed up in the dining room because if I were to go into my room, the temptation to "just lay down on my bed for ooonneee second" would be much to great, and it would be time to rise and shine for a lovely school day before I'd know it. 

I reached over to my laptop, thinking that if I typed my new essay as I edited, I might be done sooner (3 AM reasonings are always hilarious). Clack clack clack. I typed away on the keyboard, not really caring if the sentences were only half coherent. I. Just. Want. To. Be. Done. 

I'm always so jealous of everyone that gets to go to bed before me. My little siblings that complain about my mom making them go to bed at 9...I wish she would force me to go to bed at that time. Oh well. As soon as I get done with this, the sooner I can go to sleep too.

It's so dark in the house. Every single light is off except for the room I'm sitting in. It's kind of eerie...someone could poke their head around and into the room, and I would have a heart attack because of the surprise factor advantage they'd have. I try not to think of this, I get scared so easily.

"Fatima..." I hear a voice say. My heart starts pounding. I heard it as clear as day, winding up the stairs like my mom was calling me from her room in the basement. "Fa...ti...maaa...." There it was again.

Oh God.

My heart starts pounding, not just in my chest, but in my stomach and my head, in my legs and arms and trembling hands. I am going into my room right this second. I quickly pack up my stuff and make my way down the stairs, shooting suspicious glances over my shoulder and walking along the walls with my back to them spy-style. 

The basement is pitch black, and when I flip my bedroom light on, shadows scurry around outside my room, lurking...

So..that was my rushed attempt at scaring you guys. Did it work? Probably not. I don't blame you though. I just wanted to have an interesting way to say that...I love writing scary stories and episodes, and if you don't judge from what I just presented to you, I can say that I'm fairly good at it.

It's weird though; I get scared so easily. I got scared watching the trailer for The Orphan. I'm not even kidding. I think that since I know what scares me, I can write creepy stuff for other people to get scared of too. Maybe...

Hope everyone's having a good break! 

Sunday, December 18, 2011

That's crazy talk.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I'm not one to take stupid risks. Even if you don't know me very well, just by seeing me in class I probably don't seem like one that gets a thrill out of taking mindless risks.

When is it better to avoid risk?

I'll tell you. It's better to avoid risks when the after effects will create more problems than the happiness you'll get from taking the risk in the first place. I've never understood the thrill teenagers get out of sneaking out, or doing things their parents wouldn't approve of behind their backs. Maybe I'm a scaredy-cat, but even if I were to sneak out, the thought of being caught would consume me completely and I wouldn't even be able to focus on having fun. 

Plus there's the fact that I would most probably get caught. My parents wouldn't just ground me; they'd lose their trust in me completely. That's something I never want to risk. 

When is it good to take risks? I'm not trying to be pretentious and act all high and mighty because I don't take risks, or look down on people that do take the risks that I wouldn't. The risks I would take are ones that have a chance in positive feedback. I want to take risks like the ones where we have to take in our essay: there's a chance that I'll have a great essay, but there's also a chance that people will think of me differently. That's okay. At least there's a possibility that something good will come out of it.

Every risk is scary, though. 
There's the risk of going to college and pursuing an education that won't result in a good job for me. That's okay, I want to do it. If I didn't study what I loved and just studied something that would result in a successful career, I would be unhappy. That's a risk I'm willing to take. 

Thursday, December 15, 2011

Listen. Listen. Listen...SHUT UP!

This is so funny. And it has...a..kernel of truth (or maybe just a whole pound of it. A ton).

Monday, December 12, 2011

Hating Technology.

I am extremely upset right now.

Like, really really really upset. Pissed off, you could say.

Technology is being a little bitch to me right now. I'm just going to swear, because as my older blog post said: it's okay to swear when you feel really strongly about something, and I think that right now is a perfectly acceptable time to be doing so.

I made a vlog. For AP Comp. And I said stupid things and made a fool of myself, but I wanted to upload it because...why not? But then every single computer in my house linked elbows in a Red Rover fashion, blocking me from posting a video talking about things not many care about online. 

Maybe I'm over reacting. 

But am I?! This video is about 150 MB. 5:20 minutes. I've tried to upload it using three different computers, two types of editing software, and two types of file extensions to MAYBE make it work. But nope. 

Also I gave Google really sassy feedback, and it's all like "Submission failed. Please try again later."

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Let's talk Bruno Mars.

Let's take a minute to talk about the singer, Bruno Mars. 

If you don't know who this singer is, he's the guy that sings songs which make most girls make their status a lyric from the song with a  at the end (or a </3 if that's the way they want to let the world know they're feeling). If you're a guy, he's the one that makes your girlfriend have ridiculously high expectations of you, makes your girlfriend wonder why you don't want to catch a grenade for her, or tell her that her eyes, her eyes, her eyes, make the stars look like they're not shining.

Okay, so I'm not just talking about Bruno Mars. This post isn't really even about him, or songs like that.  It's about girls, and how they just turn into Taylor Swift whenever a boy gives them the slightest attention (I love Taylor Swift by the way. Shh Kira). If you're in ninth grade, I can bet you that your boyfriend will not marry you and have a million babies with you. No matter what. It won't happen. Just won't.

I actually feel really bad for boys. Obviously the average guy wouldn't want to bike to your house in the rain with five flower bouquets just so that he can tell you you're beautiful "just the way you are" (maybe i'm being extra cynical, but seriously...sometimes girls just do not look good, and would you rather have a guy lie to you so you can feel all happy and gooey inside?).
Have you guys heard the song "It Will Rain"? Here are some of the lyrics:

"Cause there'll be no sunlight
If I lose you, baby
There'll be no clear skies
If I lose you, baby
Just like the clouds
My eyes will do the same, if you walk away
Everyday it will rain"

What?! When I heard this song my face was like this ("If you ever leave me baby / Leave some morphine at my door" well what a freaking burden! How could you possibly leave him after that?!). Let's be honest, girls do want a guy that is head over heels for them, and it's sometimes sweet to think about. But euughh that would get on my nerves so much, the sense of constant clinginess that comes with Bruno Mars's words...

Why do girls do that? They practically throw their hearts at potential boyfriends, shoving it in their faces, "take it! Please! LOVE ME!" Yuck. Girls, please, take some advice from this girl.

Sorry. This post was kind of whiny and had no structure to it...but that's the order they came out of my brain, so we'll just leave it at that (heeey it adds to voice, right?...right...? No...? Okay).

Hilarious but sadly true:

Sunday, December 4, 2011


Left foot...right foot...left...right...left...right...

Those were the most of my worries nowadays. Keeping one foot in front of the other, making sure I kept walking. I couldn't succumb. It didn't matter to me that I had a sleeve missing, or that I didn't have a home. I could always go to the shelter for food, and as for lack of clothing in this cold...I grew up on a farm in Minnesota. I could handle it.


I was walking. Walking where? I wanted to fool myself into thinking I had a purpose; there was somewhere I was needed, someone that needed me. Everywhere I looked I saw couples hand in hand, children laughing; there was a man with a briefcase waiting for the bus. He was moving his foot so to let the last of the sun's rays dance and reflect off his shoes, tapping it around in a way that must've made his mother scold him so many years ago. I remembered when I let Layla take my car because hers broke down, and took the bus in my suit, waiting with my briefcase just like this man was waiting. Why was he taking the bus? Was it because he sacrificed not just his car, but so many other things for the ones he loved? Or another reason?

I kept moving. I saw a woman with a baby...a baby with soft blonde hair, waving her little arms around, her chubby pink cheeks stretched wide in a laugh. The woman seemed to not notice; didn't she know what she had? She waited for the light to change at the corner of Madison Avenue. I approached the mother daughter pair, wanting to pretend for a second that it was Layla and Reagan, two ladies that had been so important to me, but had left. I pretended that I was going to cross the street with them, we were all going to go out to lunch. I could sense the woman's uneasiness...this was all too much like how Layla was, a couple months before she left and took everything I called mine. The woman reached into her purse and pulled out money; I hadn't had money in so long.

She stretched her arm over her child's head to give it to me. I stared at it. Why was she giving this to me? Had I done anything to help her, had I done her any favors? No. She didn't need to give me anything and yet here she was, shaking the bill with the face of Alexander Hamilton, urging me to hurry up and take it so that she could go, because the light changed.

I reached up and took it.