Home Bird

Good evening.

My evenings have fallen into a consistent pattern of sitting in the same chair,

in the same room,

with the same people.

So this is what nesting is like.

Alzheimers

-So I cannot sleep.

-And I cannot write my autobiography. What do I say about myself,honestly? What would you say? Exactly. That shouldn't be published. I'm going to make a bad grade, and that makes me worry. Perhaps I should be more worried that I can't even fill two pages up with knowledge about myself. I guess I'm as confused as you are.

-Robin Nordman is in so many words lovely.

-There is a song called Hannah by the Freelance Whales, and the accuracy of it makes it one of my favorites.

Now for the "dear you" portion of the show:

Dear You,

You surprised me.

I love the things you say when you think no one can hear you...

I listen closely hoping to hear just one of them.

You were right about that,

and that,

and that too.

I lied to you.

and I will continue to do so.

You would like the truth.....

But I don't want to tell you because...

Because...

Because......................

You...

...are my favorite.

Shades of Grey

I got my first request ever today.

I guess I've been slacking.

Well really that isn't true at all.

More and more it feels like life moves 100 miles per hour down here.

I guess it's just time for a break, that's all.

So, I think about pizza probably 70% of the average day,

and the other 20% is devoted to actively not eating pizza,

which leaves 10% to get me through the rest of my daily activities.

....There seems to be a prioritizing SNAFU going on currently.

This is disappointing, and I wish I could do something to change that,

but I'm so tired...

My days and nights have been switched for a couple of days....

That's pretty inconvenient.

It's also inconvenient for you to have to read a list of my complaints,

but at least I've apologized for wasting your time.

And in recent news I'd actually like a quesadilla....

Welcome to my life:

-Sleeping at inappropriate hours

-thinking about food

-iTunes

-studying

-and occasionally going to the lake to take pictures of people more athletic than myself....

So I'm sorry you've caught me at such a pessimistic time.

This to shall pass...

Hopelessly Honest

My name is Hannah, and I have a crush on you.

I am never going to tell you that,

and no one who knows me well is surprised by that fact.

I don't mind writing about you right now,

because I know you haven't the faintest clue that you are admired.

I also know it would take a lot for you to stumble upon this page anyway,

so I really should abuse my liberty and say anything.

But the truth is I don't want to say anything too obvious because,

I hope you show up.

I hope you read this,

and I hope you wonder if it is you.

Even if you think it's not you,

I hope you will say something.

I hope you will make a complete fool of yourself in front of me,

like stuttering, or tripping, or losing your words

because I think that is the cutest thing

ever.

I hope you blush,

like me.

I hope I see you soon.

I'm confident that I will actually.

I hope that you find my childish note funny,

and I hope that you have the decency to tell me that.

I hope you have sweet dreams tonight,

and when you wake up

I hope you think of me.

But if you don't,

that's alright,

and here is to hoping that someone better will hope for someone like me.

A trip to reminisce

Okay.

-2:58 am and I CANNOT go to sleep.....

So I consulted a random question generator:

What were your favorite things to do in the past?

1. In seventh grade all my friends lived within walking distance of robin, and we would play hide and seek.

-Why did I love hide and seek? The most prominent memory I have is still very lucid: Stripes. I wore my favorite stripped shirt as many times a week as my mom would allow. I thought I looked pretty in it. In seventh grade everyone is pretty: It's funny how innocence glows. I thought I was fast too. Someone would count to 100, and I would never actually hide, I would just run. I would run through the trees, and hop barbed wire fences, paranoia surrounding and pushing me to run faster. I would never be caught. It was freedom as the wind hit my face, blowing back my long frizzy hair. I was a real seventh grader. No make up. No flat irons. No Abercrombie and Fitch. My smiles were real too. Sometimes thats all I want to be for just a moment. Real, and running through the wind, worrying about nothing but the threat of someone reaching the number 100.

2. In eighth grade we went to the movies every weekend...with freshman boys.

-Eighth grade brought about many changes, one being the desire to be glamourous. I cut my hair, and started fixing it, trying to impress people that I look back on and laugh. In eighth grade you love to be liked. You put on black eye liner, and your favorite smackers lip gloss, and you meet the boy you've been texting all week at the Plaza Cinema III. And you let him buy your ticket because he's an older man... He's a freshman in high school and your awestruck by that fact. You'll grow up to learn that is the bottom of the food chain, but right now you see it as if they were on top of the world. You sit by them, and you make your hand very inviting in all hopes that they will have the guts to reach for it; sometimes they do, and sometimes they just lean on you, afraid of such a bold move. Halfway through the movie you go to the restroom with your best friend and you have an evaluation meeting: "He held my hand!" "He's so cute!" "Look at this text he sent me" "Awwwww" "He's so cute". You reapply the smackers and then you go back inside. For the rest of the movie you anticipate the end-of-the-night-hug. Will he or not? And then he does. And you hold each other for ten seconds, and then release so you can walk to your mom's car. As you lay awake that night, you see a twinkling all on your own, with no needed help from the stars. You're heart feels like a helium balloon thats going to make your whole body float into a different atmosphere; a better atmosphere, because you feel too good to exist in this one.

Sometimes I still feel like that eighth grade girl, but we have all learned too much to go back to that place. Perhaps we're all just trying to get to a place where we feel that good...as good as we did when we were 14. Maybe it isn't about the place at all. Maybe it's about the people. Who makes you feel that way?

It's good to be home

Disposition: Sweet

Do you ever in the midst of all your stress feel...giddy?

I've grown up with a father who prays to be surprised,

and I must say I've run into a sweet string of surprises lately.

Timing is sweet.

In fact so much lately is sweet.

Dare I say I've been hypnotized by February air.