poookokihu8otgdv (8:05:45 PM): LETS GO
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:05:57 PM): name the locale-- my bags are already packed.
poookokihu8otgdv (8:06:23 PM): BERLIN
poookokihu8otgdv (8:06:24 PM): NOW
poookokihu8otgdv (8:06:26 PM): LETS GO
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:06:23 PM): ALRIGHT!
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:06:31 PM): kreuzberg!
poookokihu8otgdv (8:07:02 PM): COME ON
poookokihu8otgdv (8:07:06 PM): times a'wastin
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:08:35 PM): lemme call luftanza
poookokihu8otgdv (8:09:03 PM): okay!
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:09:52 PM): they say they've got two tickets in first class, but only if we're willing to share the cabin with stacy and clinton
ThinkOfSnuvs (8:09:55 PM): and not pay money
poookokihu8otgdv (8:10:28 PM): YESPLEASE

hack hack

this cough ive had since saturday has been different every day. saturday it was new, sunday it was wet and full and the worst. yesterday it kept me awake and made me taste dayquil for hours and hours. today a little of that hung over into morning, but now its just the sort of cough where you feel like youre not getting anything accomplished when you cough. its dry and heavy and it makes my chest hurt.

but looking up, ive been able to breathe through my nose almost all day. and at least i dont have scarlet fever. or frank mccourt disease like alex bransford does.

geschichte ist langweilig.

o tempora! o mores!

this week was short, and its a good thing too. i couldnt have handled much more. the two days were spent frantic and tired, moreso than usual.

today after school i went to schnucks with my mother and bought egg nog and turkey and chocolate chess pie. on the way home the radio was playing christmas music and i felt better for a little while.

but when i got home, drew was there, and so now i feel totally useless. the four hours i spent trying so hard to prepare him for his math test apparently meant nothing. it was like helen keller and anne sullivan, but without the epiphany at the water spigot. nothing got through, i guess.

he failed it.

im going to bed. dont wake me up, please.

Counselor Certification

= love.

eileen said it would be terrible but she was wrong. i spent a weekend getting exhausted and learning how to do something i want to do. i got to see danielle and troy and allyson and rachel ross and sing river of life till my legs ached and ached. i have accomplished something pretty cool, and i have a new shirt to prove it.

CERTIFIED CAMP COUNSELOR.

yes.

today i spent two hours tutoring my brother in math. he is in college. he cant take any more courses in college until he passes this class. he cant understand how to add negatives. i am so afraid that he will fail it and give up and drop out and be like my mother but never go back like she did. i love my brother and i want him to be okay and graduate. he is not a student; he was not made to take tests. i was. he was made to make things. to make people laugh and clap and to make theatre happen, but hes gotten out of theatre and all he wants is to pass this class and finish college and just be doing okay and be independent. i am doing all i can but there is too much to teach and too little time and the wrong brain. i need more time. i cant believe im worried about anything when my brother has so much to worry about, just passing college, and his rent, and a job, and interviewing for another job, and the heat in his house not working. i will help him and it will be okay. he will graduate and i know he will be okay.

i cant believe i was so upset that ms wexler gave me an 88. whats so bad? i mean, im a little upset because she didnt grade the frederick douglass test, and because we dont really get papers back in there, but i deserved an 88. i didnt read the sun also rises, so i failed the test, so i got a B. plus, its AP. how can i be flustered over an 88 in AP when my brother passed standard math in high school with Ds and he is struggling so hard in hope of the distant possibility he will get over a 60?

we take life too seriously at white station. why should the effect of one test make me want to throw a chair through ms wexlers window? why cant we get out of this life of numbers and capital letters and listen to what is important? words and actions and feelings and dizziness. all of this is what we should be studying. lets study literature, ms wexler, not memorize events in the pages of books. lets learn to be thankful for our minds and not misuse them by fretting over little things like an 88 or by copying words from a powerpoint about proprietary colonies and the three parts of the constitution. lets learn something useful for the betterment of our minds, not for the betterment of our test scores.

i know i will never be able to live that way.

i was made to take tests and i cant stop caring about them. but i have acheived this: i have an 88 in AP english and that is okay. i will make up for it. i will be okay. it is not going to kill me. it is not okay to throw GPA to the wind and let my grades go to hell for the sake of an experience, but it is okay to get a B sometimes. college will understand. my friends will still love me. i will still love me.

Help?

i need to cut ninety-three words from North Dakota for my gov school application and it still needs to be the best thing ive ever written. suggestions?

[EDIT: i got it down to 363. i cant bear to cut it any more. governors school will just have to deal with 63 extra words.]

Who are you, Kelly Green, with your head between your knees?

kelly green sold out tonight.

SOLD.

OUT.

do you understand?

i dont.

Morgan's Birthday is in a Few Hours

so, in celebration, here is the poem i wrote her in ninth grade.

For My Friend Morgan, Who When We Were
five
or six hid with me in my treehouse
to escape a robot dressed up
as her sister
by my brother
in pillowcases
and laughed without making a sound.
Who when we were five
taught me how to really appreciate the glory that is Hanson
without ever hearing their music.
Who watched with me the same stupid movie every day
so we wouldn't upset the characters.
Who for four years
didn't see me once,
but managed to still love me when we were nine
or ten.

For my friend Morgan who when we were
nine or ten
read Tolkien with her dad because someone was making a movie
and showed me that a Beatle is not a bug or a car
but a god.
Who told me secrets, like
how she was really older, and
Who built dollhouses with shoeboxes
and made her own dolls for them
better than any doll or house in a store
and sweeter for the effort.
Who played with me at lunch
the same stupid games every day
because I loved them.

For my friend Morgan who when we were
fourteen and fifteen
stayed up until tomorrow
with caffeine and cookies and me
to talk into a computer mic over and over and over
so it would be perfect,
and who covered her room from floor to ceiling
with pictures
like the sun, and couples, and her friends,
and a lonely plum
because it helps her blend in
to be surrounded by beautiful things.
Who taught me that "hate" is a pretty strong word,
and that sometimes it's not a sin to change your mind
and that claiming two celebrities as my own isn't fair
and that All You Need Is Love.

For my friend Morgan who, now we are both fifteen,
bought me a yellow rose on my birthday
and slyly kidnapped me with a bomb
disguised as a cake.
Who listens to the same stupid complaints every day
even when I exaggerate
because Lord knows,
I love talking
and she loves me.