The Sniffles

26 04 2011

I think everyone has had one of those days… those ‘sure-as-heck-FEELING-sick-but-no-fever-so-i-gotta-go-to-school-to-grin-and-bear-it-while-slowly-wilting-inside-from-the-humiliation-of-snivelling-and-snorting-like-a-disgusting-little-pig-where-are-those-tissues?!?’ days. I am still half-asleep because my stupid nose and throat and head that caused me to be up all night. Sometimes it makes me want to SCREAM. How could our bodies be so cruel to us? I want to yell. But I’m too stuffy because of the mucus dripping down my throat. ūüė¶ Yes, revolting, but everyone’s been sick so I’m sure you can empathize. School was torture- I’m half-wishing that I DO get a fever so I won’t have to go tommorow- even though I know it will be horrible if I did. Either way, the next few weeks are looking pretty bleak to me… it’s time to, once again, brave the sniffles. ūüėČ





Essays in Life

15 04 2011

I loved the rain. I loved the wind, caressing my hair, blowing it straight back or tangling it over my eyes. I loved the delicious feeling of raindrops on my face. I would close my eyes and smile.

On summer nights, when the tornado sirens wailed, my feelings were battling between fear and ecstasy. The house would creak creepily and the pine branches outside the window would flail helplessly as the wind batted at them forcefully. I would half-wish, despite the fact that I knew it would be horrible, that a real tornado- a swirling mass of howling gales -would come, come whip away my life. I would emerge from the rubble of my house with a story to tell.

On other summer nights, when there was a gentle, carefree breeze, the bonfire was lit and our faces flickered in he darkness. We would run all over the neighborhood, heedless of property and domain, cutting through yards and sprinting down streets in the black. I would fly across rolling terrain and feel free. I would crouch behind trees and be still. I would be quiet and win.

I’m not sure whether¬†it’s surprising that¬†I grew up to be a meek girl. I still feel as if my personality wages war. I crave adrenaline, yet¬†I scorn sports- competition¬†holds little to no interest for me. I love riding my bike-¬†I love cruising through town, zooming past yards of uniform concrete and leaving landmarks in the dust. When I cross the road from the park to my house, I pedal so fast my legs feel like their flying-¬†and I feel like I’m flying. It’s as if I’m going a hundred miles an hour, and-¬†once more, adrenaline- I’m afraid I will fall. When I arrive at my garage, my heart is always pumping and I’m always smiling.

P.S. The topic of this essay is nothing.