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Pringles Lodged In My Throat

Dear readers...,

I won't say it's been a while since I last posted because I have a feeling I've always said that when I post something. I remember a time when nothing was happening in my life (or so I thought) but I wrote everyday to this page.

I remember heat and a second floor room across from a kind realtive, a window screening the plays of the lives of those around me (mostly across the street because the window always faced north) and me, just eager for someone to read something that I've done for that day.

A funny thing I just realized, I've started to become accostomed to be asked just how my day went but I never anwser truthfully. If I had a great day, I will say 'it was alright'. If I had a horrid day, I would shrug and reply 'it was alright'.

Why is that?

Now that so many feelings, so many thoughts, so many things are happening to me--I suddenly have no time. Is that when you realize you are living life? When you think about how much time was spent but you can't remember on what?
You never remember the correct time of being sad or being happy or just being tired. I think it's because we never rolled over and found a clock to do so.

When we're happy--we never want that moment to end. Yet, it always does. When we're sad, we want it to be over and done with...but it never seems to be an ending in sight.

Why is that?

Why does shouting in your room sounds like shouting in a desert? Is it because no one answers? Crying sounds like screaming but no one screams back because, or so I think, it's because it's already loud.

I don't know who or what I am. I wanted to be something spectacular, like so magic being or even a superhero so I can go around and fly and safe people and they smile at me because I did.

Now I just want to be something I can name.

Now I really want to know why that is so hard. Am I really a person with a personality or am I just a whole bunch of habits strung together? How can I name all of the habits (if I am them) if I don't know why I do it?

Why do I read books and always fall in love with the older man? The safe, smart one? It isn't father issues--my dad is around. He's a good father. I was never abandoned by him.

If life goes by so fast and my youth is at risk of being destroyed by it--why does it all feel so slow when things get quiet? Well, then things are fast and exciting--that's when it speeds up a little but you really can't enjoy it because it, youknow, goes too fast. Then when it's all gone you're left with a quiet.

Guess it depends on what type of quiet. The one I want always goes to fast but the one I don't want doesn't move at all.

Why does reading books like To Kill a Mocking Bird and Exteremly Loud and Increadibly Close makes me want the father to be my husband.

Why do I always get sad but then be happy but find a reason to be sad only to get angry and be happy again before ignoring everything all together and go to sleep?

Why do I always eat Pringles when I want more when I run out....it makes me hungry.

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