I think...

I think I want to write a book. Maybe not right now, but at some point in my life. I have enough crazy people in my life to come up with amazing characters, but the only problem is the plot line. I want something different. I want people to read my book and feel something powerful, magical, different. I don't want to write for the money, I want to write so people know what I'm thinking, so people know they aren't alone in certain situations. I want to write to prove to myself that I can. I've thought about it for awhile, I just don't know when to start. How to start. I don't want to fail. Someday maybe I'll write a book.

I think I want to be a singer. I probably won't write the songs, but I could sing them. I can do it. If Justin Beiber and Miley Cyrus can be singers, then so can I. If every teenage disney star can have a clothing line, tv show, and sing, then I can sing too. I don't have a bad voice, I have nerves. I can't sing in front of people. I don't like being judged, and that's what people do when you sing. They criticize and complain. I don't think I could handle that. I'm never gonna be a singer.

I think I want to be an actress. All that fame and influence. The beauty and praise. The opportunities. The fun. I could make a difference. I could do anything. I could travel. I could pay off school. I could help my parents. I could help my sisters. I could do anything. I could become a new person, look at things different. Put my past behind me and focus on my life. Someday I might be an actress.

I think I want to be a teacher. To spend all day with energetic, eager kids. To teach them not only math and English, but how to be themselves, the things that matter, to mold their minds into fascinating pieces of society. One of my students could become a millionaire, CEO of a huge company, a forensic scientist, a writer, a singer, an actress. One of my students could become a teacher, policeman, social worker, doctor, lawyer, brain surgeon, chemist, rocket scientist. And I would be part of that. I would have taught the man that pulled the baby from a burning building, the woman that took that child in when she had nowhere else to go. I would be part of history. And it doesn't matter if I don't get credit, because I'll know. I'll feel that magic. I'll be happy. Someday I'm going to be a part of history. Someday, I'm going to be a teacher.

Memories.

Sometimes I'll smell something, or hear something, maybe taste or feel something, and it makes me remember things. I remember good things about people I wish I didn't, I remember bad things about good people.

It's the smells that get me the most. Today, it was snowing, and when I opened the door I smelled the cold. It made me first, think of my grandma. How she's in Iowa and how I don't get to see her much. Then I thought of driving home as a child. Mom in the front thinking about who knows what, Zac and I in the back plotting our night, the snow on the side of the road covered in sand. Then I thought of dad's old house. How we used to knock the ice off the gutters because my dog liked to eat it, how we used to eat it too. It tasted like dirty water, but it was okay because it was frozen. It was like a natural, dirt flavored Popsicle.
Then I thought of walking down that ally at 5 in the morning. Of hearing the crunch of the snow beneath my slippers. How I knew that if his dad looked at the monitor when I was in the back yard, he would see me through the camera he put up after the garage got broken into. I thought of walking in the side door and seeing your mom on the computer. I was always afraid dad would come back for something he forgot, but he never did. I remember walking down into the musty, humid basement, being careful not to wake your sister. And laying down beside you. You held me then, and I really thought you loved me. I was safe and happy. I felt as though nothing was wrong. We'd lay there for another 2 hours, then I'd get up and get ready for school with your sisters. Like part of the family. But I wasn't. You played me and hurt me and you blame me. You always blamed me. For everything. If a plane full of Russian murderers crashed in Turkey, it was my fault in your eyes. And this all came rushing back today. All in about 5 seconds. Just because I opened the door to see how cold it was. Just because the wind blew in my face. Just because it snowed.

sometimes smells make you remember things. Good things, about bad people.

Im so tired.

my body is drained
my mind is overworked
my eyes are exhausted
my legs refuse to work
my back is plotting to kill me
my feet hate me
my stomach is so pissed it keeps inflating
my ears stop working
my lungs are saying fuck you
my life is too stressful
my day is too busy
my night isn't long enough
my time with you is short
my hopes are shallow
my dreams are distant
my positive attitude is dead
my patience ran away
my weeks are meshed together
my future is too far away
my money keeps disappearing
my soul got stabbed
my face got ripped off
my happiness got shot
my exhaustion loves me
my stress is my best friend
my anxiety is slap happy
my lips are chapped. fucking chapped
my fridge is almost dusty inside
my house is empty
my imagination is retarded
my blog is annoying
my finger nails are cut too short
my job is a waste of time
my barbies are sluts
my paperclips fell on the floor
my homework is definitely not done
my time is used poorly
my post is done.

Things I hate about work.

So this is a list of the things I hate most about work. And they are in a very special order.

1. Rolling silverware
2. Washing windows
3. I can't eat unless I have no customers
4. I never have customers unless I want to eat
5. I only make $3 an hour
6. My boss is a 61 year old asshole
7. I do everything
8. Rolling silverware
9. I don't get any tips
10. Ever
11. I never get enough hours to make everything work out
12. Rolling silverware.