Starlight

Stars. They are most pretty. Bright and shinning in the sky every night. When I was a little girl, I had glow-in the dark stars on my ceiling. They weren't as powerful as the real ones, but I loved them just the same. I have four of those stars left. They are taped to the ceiling above my door. I miss those stars. They showed me light, and gave me something to look at when I drifted off to sleep at night. I wonder what it would be like to be a star? To know you gave off that amount of light, that you shone so bright in the night sky. Whenever a child looked up and made a wish on a star, they'd be wishing on you, because you're the prettiest. You'd get to see the world from above. Far more importantly, you would get to shine light on the darkness. The darkness wouldn't be so bad if you shown every night, leading every misunderstood or misguided soul to the light so the darkness couldn't claim them. So they could not know the pain that darkness causes when it enters a person's body. It doesn't show on the outside. Only you know it's there. I would save people from the pain. The pain of the darkness. I would fill them light, and let them feel bright in their own way. I would make sure every confused person knew the route to take. I would be there Northern Star; I would light the way.

Fear leads to imperfections

Whew, first thing is first. NEVER, NEVER, NEVER will I ever log out of this blog account again. I cannot tell you all how long it took me to think of the email address I use for this account. Seriously, I was having a freak moment that my life was over. Thank heavens for my phone, which I stayed logged into the account on there and was able to retrieve my email address. I knew the password, but not the email. How ironic can you get?

Anyway, as far as life goes, it's pretty much sucks. I'm just worrying myself to death over everything. I don't understand what has sprung this fear in me, but whatever it is, its hit home pretty hard. My life is like a circus. I'm jumping around from place to place not knowing where I'm going to end up. I hate not knowing. The fear scares me and creeps up on me just as I think I've shoved down the last bit of feelings I have. I'm scared of life, of my future, of everything. I feel as if I can't carry on because I'm so lost inside. I'm literally dying on the inside. My mind is numb, my heart doesn't seem to be beating, and no blood rushes through me. My smile is forced and I know they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but what if this kills me before I am able to be strong?

Truth be told, I'm not sure what has come over me in the past few days. I'm just worried about everything. People take advantage of the help I offer to them. I feel like I'm failing at everything. I'm drowning in a sea of my own sorrow. I cannot come to terms with why I feel the way I do, I just simply do. People are worried. I can tell. They see right through the facade I put on every day. They know, but do not say a word, for they have been here too. The hollowness deep inside you, that leaves you feeling weak and unimportant. Your parents who are always there for you, just don't understand, but then again, why would they? To them, you are bright and shiny. You love yourself, and everything about you. You are wise beyond your years. You cannot tell them that you fear growing up, yet at the same time wish for it every day. They do not see the bags under your eyes that can be hidden so smoothly with concealer. They only see you. They don't see the imperfections. But you do. You see them everywhere you look. You're like a pro at finding them in everyone. Some who care, some who don't. But you care. More than anything. It eats at your core until you can't face it anymore. You hide it, because you know everyone is waiting for you to break. They see it, but never tell. You will not give them the greatest satisfaction of knowing that you have been defeated. You rise even though your knees are shaking. You feel light-headed and nauseated, yet you still stand tall. Some call it pure insanity, someone who strives to be perfect as you do. You call determination, to be the best you there possibly is, even though you always end up coming up short.

Enough can never be enough

When will enough be enough? When will I finally be able to say to myself, "Yes, Anderson. You have accomplished something great." When will I be enough? When will my writing be enough? When will my grades be enough? When will I stop being so hard on myself about everything? When will I apply for something, and win? When will my SAT scores be enough? When will I not 'wish my life away'? When will my parents see the stress I feel? When will I stop thinking about the boy who broke my heart? When will I get enough sleep? When will I have Emily back? When will I feel beautiful in my own skin? When will I stop comparing myself? When will I stop being afraid of driving? When will everyone see that I hide behind everything? When will I stop pushing myself so hard? When will joining every club be enough? When will I be good at basketball? When will I get to sleep next? When will I stop talking myself out of everything? When will my failures just be lessons? When will I truly smile again? When will I feel happy?

Never.

Insomnia has hit

Well for the past three nights I haven't gotten any sleep, and when I fall asleep, I feel even more tired when I wake up. I don't know what's wrong with me. People say I'm out of it, but I don't know what they truly mean by that. Ugh...life. Harrison didn't get in to UNC. I know he must be crushed but it has me wondering about my chances of getting in...What if I don't? I know I'll feel like a failure. My grandma said today, "You know Anderson, you're usually 2 steps ahead of everyone else." Which I find completely ironic considering I feel as if I'm ten spaces behind where I'm suppose to be. All of the colleges I want to go to are a long shot, even with everything I do.  I'm trying not to freak out, but it's really all I can do. Then people get mad because that's all I talk about anymore. They say to never "wish your life away". I wouldn't have to wish it away if I knew where I was going in life! Things would be easier. I would know what it take to get into a good school. I would know what I want to do with my life. I wouldn't question everything and everyone because it's making me go insane. I'm always thinking about everything I need to do, and everything I haven't done that needs to be done. I don't know when it's going to end. This incessant need to strive in everything I do is not only becoming a problem, but a major one at that. I can't sleep, and a lot of nights I go to bed without eating dinner because I know how much homework I have to do. People come to school saying, "I just said forget homework last night." I'm just like, whoa, wait. How on earth do people do that?? Forget about homework because 'they didn't feel like it'??? If I know I have homework, it gets done. I don't care how late I'm up or if I understand it or not. That's usually how math homework is. I take one look at it, cry for 30 minutes while doing other homework, and then go back to math and try doing it again. Most of the time, my answers are wrong, but I never get an incomplete for an assignment, and if I do, it stays with me for the rest of the day. Like my last biology test, I made a C. Do you think I've been able to let that one go yet? NO. Because I can't. I don't like C's, heck I can't even look at a B without shuddering. I don't understand what more I can do, and I'm afraid there is nothing to do. 

My friend, Harrison

I met Harrison Jones two years ago. He was among the few people we had in my journalism class when I was in 9th grade. At first, I didn't know what to think of him. I could tell by the way he presented himself that he was intelligent and well mannered. What I couldn't tell by looking at him, was that he and I were about to embark down a road of friendship. 

We are the kind of friends who do not have to be talking or texting every minute of every day. We're there for each other,  but at a distance. He means more to me than anyone could ever guess. It's hard to explain our friendship, because at times I don't fully comprehend it myself. His opinion is the most important out of everyone's. If I need someone to be completely honest with me, I can always turn to him. Our conversations are never without laughter, mostly from me of course. However, every once in a while I look over and he'll be smiling, and that's when I know I've said something truly funny. He loves to hear my opinions on everything. On long car rides with him, I talk 99% of the time about whatever comes to mind. we discuss it, and usually end up in an argument because we disagree on everything. 

Harrison is graduating this year, and though he tells me that our friendship might not last forever, I believe it will. Some things are meant to end at high school and not go on any further.  I will never forget Harrison, or any of the memories I've made with him. Some say high school is the end, but to me, high school is just the beginning.

Home is where my mother is

When I was a little girl, my mom would carry me down the steps in the morning. I would always nuzzle my head into the side of her neck and smell her perfume. It smelled wonderful to me. That was the way a mother was supposed to smell.
One day, my mom was carrying me down those steps and she didn't smell the same. I looked at her and said, "You don't smell like a momma." My mom's eyes got wide and she told me that she had switched perfumes. I couldn't bring myself to understand why she had. I loved her scent. To me, there is just something about the way a mother smells. When I used to go to camp during the summer, I would spray her perfume all over my pillow and dab a little bit on my Fuffy. Those few squirts of her perfume lasted me the whole week. I didn't get home-sick, not once. I realized if I ever missed my mom, I could smell my pillow and she would be right there with me.
I've always wanted to bottle my mother's scent. I would keep it with me in-case I find myself needing a touch a home, because to me, home is where my mother is.

Looks appear faulty

If you asked anybody, "Describe Anderson Clayton in one word." I can hear the responses in my head, happy, bubbly, excited, sunshine, energetic, annoying, ecstatic, ext. The list can go on and on forever. No one sees that even though I smile, I'm dying inside sometimes. You compare yourself so much until you've lost all sight of your original goal to begin with. The people you tell eventually say your stupid for thinking the way you do, for chasing perfection when it's not there. I feel this every day though. The feeling that I'll never be good enough. I'll never strive like the others. I'll always feel like I'm one step behind. I'll always push myself further and further because I can't stop until I feel that sense of accomplishment. Even when I think I've reached it, someone comes along and makes it feel  like I've done nothing. I try to be happy. It goes along with the facade I put on every day walking into school. Maybe that's why I feel the need to dress the way I do. So I'll have something to boost my self-confidence when everything has destroyed it. I don't know. I cannot find the point of this blog other than to express how alone I feel sometimes. No one gets this strive of mine to be the best, and I'm afraid no one ever will.

Fuffy: my furry confidant

When I was a baby, my Aunt Paula had sent me a rabbit fur that she had gotten when she went to the mountains. I took the fur everywhere with me, and called "fuffy". I had originally meant to say it was fluffy, but it didn't come out that way. The only way I would ever go to sleep at night is if I had my Fuffy and my bottle full of warm milk. Over the years, however, I have retired the bottle and now only need Fuffy to sleep at night. Fuffy has grown from being my tooth-pillow to being my actual pillow. I have to have him beside me at night so I can rub his fur before I fall asleep. My cousin, Carter, told me that when I was little I would rub Fuffy's fur in my sleep. It was kind of like sleep-talking, only different. Though, I learned I do sleep-talk in my sleep as well now.

Fuffy is very special to me. Most people find it weird for me to have a rabbit fur as childhood memento instead of stuffed bear or something with the eye missing because the dog "accidentally" got a hold of it when you were little. Fuffy has been chewed on by my dog though. One time, Abby ripped a hole in him so big that I would hid stuff in him. This hole caused Fuffy to have to be sent back to my aunt to be fixed. I was without him for several days which caused me to be up at night because I didn't have him. I depend on Fuffy, for more than just a pillow. When I'm having a bad day, he's the first thing I grab. I just squeeze him tightly and let all my emotions out. He is sort of like my confidant in a way, because nothing I tell him will ever get repeated. It sounds weird, I know. But he's been with me so long that he has become a part of me that I will hold onto forever. I love Fuffy, and he has been the best friend that I could have ever asked for.

Identity- who art thou?

Define Anderson. It's a difficult task, being asked to define yourself, to put a label on who you are. As for me, I've never wanted to. To me, putting a label on yourself is as if you're saying you are limited. I don't want to feel restrained with who I am...if that makes any sense at all. 

A few days ago, I was clueless as to what my identity was. Looking at it now, I feel as if I’ve always known. My identity is wrapped in words. Big or small, words are words, and they make me who I am. They define me as a writer. I am someone who can take something boring and uninteresting, and put heart and soul into it, making it into a masterpiece all on its own. I've never felt more alive than when someone tells me what a great job I've done on an article, or how wonderfully written it was. My heart soars, and for a minute I feel as if my writing has a purpose in this world, that I have a purpose. My purpose is to write the wonders of the world, and deliver news to the public, because print isn’t dead. When I’m able to give justice to an article, the feeling of I'm not just like every other person comes to me and I feel as I’m in the middle of stage with a spotlight on me. I'm different because of my writing and my love of language. This is who I am, a writer. 

To think I never would have considered this had my mom not made me take Journalism in 9th grade. I met my teacher and my soon-to-be mentor for my writing. I discovered in her class, that many people learn to write well, and some are born to write well. I found myself writing the rough draft in my English class before writing the outline. I was asking sources, “Can I quote you on that?” I was a natural, but still rough around the edges. I can tell how much I have grown as a writer this year, and honestly, I have never felt more proud of myself. People ask me to define myself…turns out; it was easier than it looked. 

Language- like where is the love?

 When I walked into journalism class this past Monday, my teacher, Phyliss Boatwright, handed me an article to read out loud to the class. It was written by Celia Rivenbark. In the article, she writes of how today’s generation has lost all the love of language.

 When we write, the diction that was once present in our writing isn’t there anymore.

 As we started to discuss the article among ourselves, a realization came to me of how many times I use the word ‘like’ in my sentences. When I’m attempting to explain something, that word comes out of my mouth like an involuntary reflex. I don’t mean to use the word, and I find it annoying when others do. However, I have gotten used to it being a reliable word when I have nothing else to say. It rolls right off the tongue so quickly; you always end up catching yourself after you say it.

 The definition of ‘like’ has been so misconstrued to the point where many people don’t know when it is acceptable to use it in a sentence and when it is not.

 The journalism class took this as a personal challenge, we all vowed to not say ‘like’ for an entire class period. That, as you may have expected, did not go as planned. Within the first few minutes of getting the announcements together, I was the first one to say the word. I had trouble pronouncing the name of a poet, and I said, “Like, how would you pronounce that?”

 I was extremely disappointed with myself that I could not go one hour without saying the word. However, I took it as a small set back on my road to, like, recovery. 

*This my new Bullhorn article! I hope you all enjoy, and take time out of your day to practice not saying the forbidden word!*

January 16th: Cause when you're 15...

Hello my fellow bloggers! I realize I have been falling behind on keeping you up-to-date on my most interesting life. Well, today is my...wait for it...wait for it...BIRTHDAY! I'm finally 15! YES, LIFE LOVES ME AGAIN. I feel as if I can breathe now. I went through today without anything bad happening! Last night was amazing. I had this new guy I'm talking to tell me he was going to bed at 10, but he lied! He called me on exactly midnight to wish me a happy birthday! (: I can't tell you how happy I was. My best friend, Harrison, gave me a cook book for my birthday. He says it will be something that I can have forever, and that it is permanent. I think he just wants me to remember him forever. I hope so, because he will always have an impact on my life. Sometimes I think his opinion means more to me than my own. Which I guess can be scary, but not with the way Harrison thinks. Anyway! Today was a really good birthday. Honestly, it was just the birthday I needed. A lot of people brought me food! It felt like I had a refrigerator in my purse going home! I PASSED MY PERMIT TEST! I didn't miss a single question. I knew them, all of them. It was the one time where I felt like myself again. I felt smart, because a lot of people I know have failed the test on the first try. Which is what I went into the DMV thinking. "Oh no, Dad came home early from work to take me to get my permit. If I fail, I'll bawl." BUT I DIDN'T!!!! The funny thing was, when we walked out of the DMV, Dad said, "I knew you would pass, because you don't accept failure." For some odd reason, this spoke volumes to me. My dad believed in me, he believed that I had studied and worked at memorizing signs for that test. It pretty much made my life! He handed me the keys when we got out to the Suburban, or as I like to call it, "The Tank". I drove us home, not worrying about me wrecking, or if the other car was going to come into my lane. For once, I just drove, and I felt powerful.

A lot has been going on in my life lately, especially with Journalism. It's become a huge stress-maker, but also reliever. I loved being relied on by someone. It makes me feel as if I have a purpose, which is probably why I try to do so many things. When I have a purpose, I feel as if me being on this earth is actually a good thing.

My English teacher, Ms. Wright, is having us write three vignettes this week. The topics are: coming of age, identity, and a personal. The one I seem to have the most trouble with is my identity. What if I don't know who I am? Other people seem to, so why don't I? Emily sees me as strong. Mrs. Boatwright sees me as sassy and an ace reporter. My mom sees me as the "brainiac". My teammates see me as the one who says "Dear, sweet baby Jesus..." when praying before a game in the team circle. Everyone else can define me, but why can't I define myself? I don't know what makes me...me. I feel as if my identity is wrapped up in a trail of words. I love words. They are what makes me who I am, because without them, I would have no freedom to say what I feel. The adjectives that fit my mood so well would not be there for me to use. I would have no say, if I did not have words. My writing would be worthless (it kind of already is) without them. Sometimes I feel as if I was born in the wrong generation. For example, when the history classes went to see the movie, "Lincoln", the diction that was used in the movie, was phenomenal. I literally felt stupid walking out of the movie theatre. However, Thadeus Stevens, is my new dead-guy crush. He is utterly amazing when he argues for abolishing slavery. I became so interested in him that when I got home I Googled him. He was a representative from Philadelphia, who wasn't very well liked in Congress. He had a way with words that flowed like a soft stream. I will forever yearn to live in the days where asking someone, "What's up?" was unacceptable.

Anyway, back to my identity crisis. I suppose I'll just have to wing it, but not tonight. I'm too tired, and I still haven't studied for Mrs. King's history test tomorrow. Peace out guys!

 I'll blog you all later! :D

Page 6 of 365

Today is a Sunday. I am sitting here with my mom because she is painting my toe nails. we decided on the color "Pool Party Pink". Which if you think about it, is sort of ironic considering it's not summer and I am no where near a pool. My mom is kind of awesome in this aspect. We were looking a Smith College this morning. It's an all  girls school in New Hampshire. It's also a liberal arts college which mom and I like very much.
Yesterday we played a basketball game against Indians. I would attempt to spell their tribe name, but that would just look bad I believe. I scored a 3! We beat them 9 to 50. Coach was happy. I was scared because he put me as point guard and kept telling me to "drive" the ball into the goal. I hate when he does that. He knows I can't dribble. It's a known thing. I play defense and that is all. However, we did win and I did score so I think that's all that matters.
The girl from Friday night texted me 3 times yesterday saying how sorry she was about what happened. She also informed me that they weren't "talking" and that them kissing "just happened". I was in utter shock. First of all, how does kissing someone "just happen"? I'm pretty sure you have control over what you do with your own mouth. I mean honestly have some self-control and on top of that, some self-respect. Have some dignity along with that while you're at it, please. The ex-boyfriend texted me also. He didn't say anything close to what she said, which was fine. They are just two more people that I don't have to talk to. Which is fine by me.
I'm doing okay though. Much better than I was Friday night, or Saturday morning. Once again, thanks to Emily and Kaitlin. My two guardian angels.

Page 5 of 365

So tonight I went to a birthday party for one of my friends. I was having a good time. I wore a black dress with red cow girl boots (I have my own style). I got there late because of basketball practice, but I didn't mind. I walked down the stairs to where the party was and everyone was dancing to a guy's ipod that was playing. I can't dance to save my life so I went and found one of my good guy friends and sat down next to him. I guess you could say overall the party was good, but something happened while I was there that shattered my heart into a million pieces. I was dancing and having a mediocre time when I look up and see a girl sitting in my ex-boyfriend's lap. They were on the couch, and this wasn't just any girl but it was supposedly his "best friend". The one who he said that he'd never be interested in like that. Oh, and they weren't just sitting on each other, but more like shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Yeah, how's that for a visual description of my misery. My heart was now in my stomach, actually it was probably in my feet. I just couldn't think. How does one deal with that? The pain of an ex making out with another girl. Especially a girl you thought to be your friend. Ha, guess I was wrong with that one too. My life has turned into complete and utter confusion. Like seriously, what in gravy's name goes through your head when your kissing a guy and their ex-girlfriend is standing there!!! Gosh, this is really making me limit my vocabulary, because I would be saying a lot worse than just that. I will say one thing though, this girl is dead to me. And all the left over feelings for the guy will be locked in a "boy box" for the rest of eternity. I mean it, no more of this. I can't stand him or her for that matter. It's as if someone's foot kicked me in the stomach. I don't think I can write much more, because I'm starting to feel sad again. I will say that Emily and Kaitlin made me feel better. They are truly the two best people on this planet. They were sent from above to help me, I just know it.

Innocent teens, one faulty mistake, tragic consequences

Two teenagers from Orange High School were killed in a car crash on Saturday, Dec. 29, late that evening.

 My first reaction was one of tears. I couldn’t think straight, let alone control any of the emotions I was feeling. I didn’t know the two victims. I didn’t know their stories, but I did know how their families and friends must have felt when they received the news of their deaths.

I realized that this could have been anybody. It could have been me, or one of my friends.

 Kids who were looking for fun on their Christmas break, but what they received was not what they had expected. Both of them meant something to this world.

They were siblings, children, best friends, and above all innocents teens who made one faulty mistake that took them from this earth forever.

This impacted my life because I realized that our lives are not always guaranteed, and that we shouldn’t take anything for granted. We were put on this earth and can be taken off within seconds.

What stood out most to me was that none of the four kids in the truck were wearing a seatbelt. A seatbelt could have saved their lives.

Driving a vehicle should never be taken lightly. Driving recklessly can cause you to put yourself and other people in the car with you in danger. If I have learned nothing else, this accident has caused me to be more cautious when getting into a vehicle with other people. Always wear your seatbelt, and never risk your life for a “good time”.

*This is my Bullhorn article dedicated to the two teenagers who died in a car crash over the Christmas break caused by reckless driving. Gone, but never forgotten.*

Day 3: War Paint

My dad looked at me when I woke up this morning and said, "Well I guess you should go put on your war paint now." Of course, he didn't mean real war paint. That would be just awkward. The "paint" that he is referring to would be considered "make-up" in today's time. My dad hates the stuff. He always tells me I look better without it. Then again, I think he is speaking subjectively because I'm his little girl and he doesn't want me to grow up. Anyway, I thought about the connection between make-up and school. The only reason I wear make-up to school is because I think I need it, because it's the thing that makes me feel "protected". Kind of like armor when you are going into battle. School is your battle ground full of lies, rumors, fake people, "barbie" girls, lying guys, and those occasional good friends who you consider your "allies". In a way, school is just like a war, and you risk your self-esteem every day you walk in the front doors of the building. I have built a lot of self-confidence just so the lies, rumors, and fake friends don't break through my armor. If make-up is your war-paint, then your personality is your weapon. If you don't have a stand-out personality, naturally you're going to be the "first kill". I found this all to be quite interesting. How you can connect school with a war, make-up as your armor, and your personality as your weapon. Maybe that's why a lot of kids are seen as social outcasts, because we don't accept change in our war. We only accept winners, or people who fit the criteria. Ergo when someone who's our version of "different" comes along, we shut them out, not even giving them a chance.

Day 2: Planning

So here I am, planning a sweet 16 party for Kaitlin. Every girl should have one, and I definitely don't want her to not have a party or at least some form of getting together with her friends (whether I like them or not). So far I have 10 people I'd actually invite, and 3 for back-up causes. I'm debating on whether or not this is a good idea. I don't really know what makes a "good" birthday party. Mostly because my birthdays have ALWAYS sucked. I cannot remember the last time I truly had a good birthday. If this is to give you any clue, last year my uncle passed away, and then my boyfriend and I broke up. What a shocker there. I mean really, I probably should have seen it coming. Then again, I'm always drawn to this one particular guy. I don't know whether it's because we've been together so long (off and on), or the fact that moving on scares me to death. Either way, I've always chosen him over any other guy. 

Anyway, my birthday is January 16th. Which I think is why it's so bad, because usually the 16th is Martin Luther King Jr. Day. So we never had school on my birthday. This year however, someone decided to be nice and let my birthday be on a Wednesday. We have a home game that day too. I'll be 15. I'm younger than everyone in my grade, and even some in the grade below me. I guess that's why people automatically assume I'm smart. They think I skipped a grade when really all I did was start school early. Maybe that's where I made my mistake. Maybe if I was in 9th grade, everything would be different. Maybe I wouldn't compare myself to the super smart and incredibly beautiful girl in my grade. Then again, I've always had the problem of chasing perfection. It's something that I never really understood. How can one person be that perfect? And why is it my ultimate goal to be "perfect"? I've been asking myself a lot that lately. Which is probably the reason I decided to write this blog. I needed to get these feelings out, and since I don't have many friends that understand my strive to be perfect, writing seemed like the best option. It reminds of a  TV show called Awkward. She's an extremely talented writer who blogs about everything. I guess I'm attempting to follow in her footsteps. Except for the very talented writer part. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm a good writer. It's just other people tend to be better. Kids think just because I'm in journalism I automatically know what I'm doing when writing. A girl in my English class is an extraordinary writer, and it's like she has no idea. I compare our writing styles, and I find that hers slaughters mine in every aspect. 

On a brighter note, I completed my first day of driving today for Driver's Ed. I cried the night before because I was so scared to drive. I'm not sure why, but driving has always been a fear of mine. Maybe it's just because I'm scared of dying or someone else dying. Those kids who were in the wreck a couple days ago were racing another vehicle when they ran off the road and then over-corrected. I don't want to do that. I think people take driving too lightly. They think it's all about going places and getting there. When really, I see it as you risking your life every time you get into a car. I've seen so many wrecks in my life just outside my house. We live at intersection that driver's tend to have a problem stopping at the stop sign. Then a car comes out from around the corner and BOOM. A car crash takes place at least twice out there every year, and believe me when I say that these are not just "fender-benders". These types of wrecks are when cars flip into the ditch, and you see the EMS people pulling a white sheet over an older woman's face. You don't know who she is, but you are certain she meant the world to someone. Whether it be a child, husband, mother, father, or even a dog, that woman was suppose to come home to them and now she's not. You feel pain, sadness, and even sometimes anger. Anger towards the reckless driver who cost that woman her life. That's why I'm so fearful of driving, because anything can happen and you only have so much protection. 

Well I suppose that's all for today. We start back school tomorrow, what a joy that will be. I don't even recall my class schedule. It's funny how time can make you forget things.