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| Happy Summer.
I don't see the people I love enough. I work too much but get paid too little.
I am going to college. University, as they say in jolly ol' England.
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| I am skipping school--whoohoo--because I don't care anymore because I got a whole zero dollars in scholarships from the University of Kansas. Awesome.
I have been in a weird mood lately. There are times when I think about things that are impossible to know
the answer to. I want to know how many times my heart has beaten in my
life; how many breaths I've taken; how many times I have kissed or been
kissed; how many blades of grass currently grow all residential lawns
across the country; how many leaves have ever fallen off a tree; how
many humans have ever walked the earth; how many sunflowers are in
those miles and miles of fields in Romania; how many dust mites crawl
through my carpet; how many times people have talked about me when I'm
not around--positive and negative; how many minutes I waste every day;
I many tears I have ever cried; how many times I have stayed home from
school and not really needed to; how many ounces of milk I have ever
had in my life; how many feet of hair I have shaved off my legs; how
many split ends I have; how many times I have thrown Milo's ball for
him; how many times I have wished something to be different; how many
keyboard keys I have ever pressed; how many hours I have spent
cleaning; how many times someone thought I was someone good; how many
things I've wanted to change about my body; how many people would
choose dogs over cats; how many nanoseconds off the time on our clock
is; how many times Donny Osmond has been nervous in his lifetime; how
many people I would honest-to-God die for; how many flakes of snow have
been caught on tongues; how many people I have hugged; how many people
wish they could be me; how many people I could help if I just took the
time to talk to them; how many dollars have been spent on raising me;
how many seconds have ever been passed knitting; how many babies never
made it to term; how many mistakes have ever been made; how many
dry-erase markers Mr. Albee has thrown away; how many words my father
has read; how many times someone has pronounced that they "don't care,"
even when they do; how many time's I've cheated; how many letters have
been addressed to Paul Stellato, my elementary school crush; how many
bras are bought yearly, exactly; how many ancient Egyptians knew their
culture would be destroyed and seen as a mystery to be solved by later
generations; how many moose are currently sleeping within Manitoba
boundaries; how many carseats are improperly installed in maroon
minivans in states beginning with the letter N; how many shards of
glass have ever been cleaned up in this house; how many rugs have been
made by illegal child labor; how many people are living lies; how many
cubic yards of carbon dioxide released today. How many impossible
questions I have ever come up with. Why numbers just make sense to me.
Why I write.
Where God wants me to go. What He wants me to do.
Okay, xanga. Too bad you died about eighteen months ago.
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| Guys, guys.
There is essentially one quarter left before I graduate.
Thought I'd throw that out there.
Also: I know it's not a new idea at all, but what's up with America being obsessed with this plastic idea of beauty? I was on my way to the steam room tonight and I saw this mom talking to her couldn't-be-more-than-ten-year-old daughter. "Get on the scale," the mother said; the daughter refused. Mom said, "You're too young to care about how much you weigh." Obviously not. Bradley Hathaway says that he wants each of his daughters to know "they are lovely / and deserving of authentic romance." If only our country had that kind of priority. What would it be like then? What would it be like?
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| The things we do not know, individually and as a whole, could fill two baskets, each with a large hole at the bottom.
So true.
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