Teaser

There is nothing worse than being made fun of.

Today in science class, due to five hours of sleep (which i considered a good thing), i was made fun of for being (acting really) slow. I kept asking questions and asking if it was correct and they found it hilarious and an easy target of laughing, they being my peers. Then, as if that wasn't enough, they insisted on calling me Potato from now on because they claimed i looked like one.

Other than that, there isn't much to talk about, ha ha! Last night I wrote this answer to one of my own questions:

Where Do You Escape?
       The good-bye hugs are ten times longer than the ones people give when greeting. Why? They want to remember the last happy moment, the last embrace, the last smell of the person. When that smell wears off though, and the happiest memory has disappeared, where do you go to be joyous and positive once more?
       When my last hug to (my cousin and best friend) Sally was given, and the happy thoughts leave, piano seems to suffice. I sit in the black deskchair and just let my fingers take control. They spread themselves across the keys and play melodies and chords that reflect my mood. Then again, sleep is gone right now and writing seems to help me escape too. Writing down the answers to my seemingly endless list of thought-provoking questions seems to satisfy some distant part of me.
       What does it mean to escape? To push the sad or angering thoughts to the back of your head? Or somehow figuring out how to erase neagative thoughts completely from your mind? Can there be a mixture? To escape, for me, means ignoring the deteriating thoughts and doing whatever feels satisfactory. How can one describe their getaway? I wouldn't necessarily call my escapes paradise, but at the same time, i am pretty peaceful when i sit in my grey deskchair and write, or the black chair and play piano. Peace. There's a good question! Where's your peace of mind? Where does every stressful situation diminish? Is there even a place for that? I suppose your attitude on the situation determines your peacefulness. If i was angry, say at my brother, I'd slam my door and blast music while cleanign to push away the anger. But that isn't peace to me. It's anger management.
      Where do you escape? Ideally, I'd get myself to Custer State Park in the Black Hills of South Dakota and go swim, hike, then spend the afternoon writing on the rocks, but that isn't reality. Reality is, I'd take my notebook, head to the piano, and play my soul into the keys until i found my inspiration to write my books. From there I jot down my feelings and thoughts like a journal in story- form.
                                                    Go Escape.

That's what i wrote last night, ha ha! Anyways, good night!