February 2012
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sunwavves replied to your post: We were playing ping-pong in the basement, and…
aw :( is there anything I can do?
Ah dear. No, I’m sorry. I wish I could tell people things they could do, but it’s just work that I have to get done. Bah. Truly, I shouldn’t be self-pitying all over my blog. But alas, here we sit. Do kids go see psychologists for really bad relationships with...
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We were playing ping-pong in the basement, and throughout the pitiful game in which I did little more than stand in the way, the stress and guilt built up and built up in my chest until I could hardly breathe around it. When my dad asked if I enjoyed it my mouth opened but my throat closed. He asked if I wanted to play again but I could hardly hear him. He asked me a couple other questions but my...
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Honestly though, I need out of this ditch and into the light. I need a path away from me and toward what really matters. Away from this backwards altar to myself and facing the Cross. Nothing else.
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I don’t think anyone will understand this, but when I’m hungry, I’m on fire. My insides are burning, my soul set ablaze. It hurts, but it’s the sharpest, most alive feeling. My brain is a frenzy but everything around me is clear and bright. Every edge is razor-keen, the contrast in my vision heightened. When I made myself go hungry, I set myself on fire.
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Story time.
So there’s this guy in my history class. His name is Sam. He’s tall, dark-haired, intelligent (in history anyway), quite attractive, etc. He always wears band shirts, but not in a preppy way. Based upon the past three weeks, I know he likes: Avenged Sevenfold, Angels and Airwaves, Metallica, and System of a Down. And he’s always talking to this one girl about going...
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A harrowing math class morning,
52 pages of history text,
8 pages of notes,
a lot of calories and caffeine,
3 games of volleyball (2 of which were victorious),
1 bruise,
2 ice packs on my knees,
and 1 page of critical analysis essay later,
I think it’s finally okay to sleep.
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Cudgel
(kuhj-uhl)
— n (often followed by for or on behalf of ) 1. A short stout stick used as a weapon; club. — vb , -els , -elling , -elled , -els , -eling , -eled 3.( tr ) to strike with a cudgel or similar weapon 4. cudgel one’s brains to think hard about a problem
ahh history teacher y u no put political views on facebook for non-friends to see
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February 19, 2012 thoughts amended
erosion-of-beauty replied to your post: February 19, 2012 thoughts
Your problem here is that YOU’RE fighting. You don’t need to fight. Christ has won the war. You just have to stand strong; this has already been defeated.
Thanks, Alyssa. This morning, before I read your comment, it crossed my mind that I probably sent the wrong message with some important factors missing.
It’s certainly...
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So aside from the laughable experience of having a history teacher who forgot about President’s day, there’s the problematic predicament of having a rather ambitious history teacher who has now stuck it to us with a quiz AND a paper for Wednesday. I knew he’d be out for blood after that mistake. haha. Oh well…
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erosion-of-beauty replied to your photoset: My family now has a third car. It’s a 2006…
But…. SO MUCH GAS to drive around one very little girl!
Well…in my large and whacked-out family, I have to be prepared to transport 4+ kids at a moment’s notice, leap tall buildings in a single bound, etc.
Also, insurance on an SUV is more economical for a teenager than a small car.
...
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I love you all but I must sleep. Waking up on Sunday mornings has been incredibly difficult lately, and no matter how much Tumblr can be a blessing, it never seems to help in that area somehow. haha. A few random messages asking questions or telling me about their day or giraffes or the graphic details of the civil war would thoroughly delight me.
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February 19, 2012 thoughts
I just kind of had a God moment at my keyboard and now I’m sitting here on my bed quietly crying in anguish over my life at present. It seems I’ve become so many of the things I once said I never would. I have become a girl whose hands are out-of-control. The girl who deeply ponders the big decisions has an alter-ego who lets her flesh take over the little moments.
Oh, to be rid of...
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I suppose you could file that last post under “Why I am going to be a music therapist and why I am not going to be a psych or English major despite the urging of the general public.”
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Earlier tonight I just started crying in front of my dad and siblings because I feel so oppressed by school. There’s this panicking alarm in my head and i’m sure that it’ll never end and i will always be going around and around every week the same for ever and ever. Forever i’ll be daydreaming of the times when i could do whatever i wanted for a day. Now i can’t even...
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you could call me inept
I’m sorry I’m stupid that I am no good I’m sorry my mouth doesn’t speak up like it should
I’m sorry I’m silent when you’re on your own I’m sorry I’ve left you once more all alone
But there is a monster he sits on my chest he closes my voice, steals my words of protest
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Woe is me, I am ruined!
I am a hypocrite and a mess. I am not okay. I am not steady or consistent. And I don’t think any of this is cool or alright.
I know God’s grace is strong enough for all of my issues, but do you ever feel like you’re pushing God’s love to the limit? Do you ever feel like you’re pushing grace to its breaking point?
What if I tread the borders so long that my soul...
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How do you tell a 21-year-old that you’re really not interested in such a way that he gets the message but doesn’t cause the rest of the semester to be agonizing?
Like, seriously. Not even a smidgeon. Any illusion of attraction I feel for this guy is 100% selfish.
And I guess it wouldn’t be so bad to say yes to a phone call and keep texting back and whatnot, because how can I...
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