"Brendon Urie is my Man Crush Monday," says Donald.

Im getting better at speaking to people, I think.
For English I had to memorize a poem and present it in front of the class.
So I memorized The Jabberwocky over Christmas break, and loved it, prancing around the house reciting it, trying to find the best way to say it so it wasn't monotone or boring. I acted it out a little bit too. The interesting thing was, I was excited about reciting The Jabberwocky in front of everyone. (I'm sure most of you already know how much I loathe talking to people, so you know why this is a strange occurrence.)



AND TODAY(which is by now several days ago) I GOT TO RECITE IT!
It went all right. I don't think I stuttered or missed anything, I did the bits with the jabberwock in a scarier voice, and acted it out a bit, just like practiced. Despite how well it went, and how much the class appreciated it, I was shaking at the end. Not just my voice in the last stanza. My whole self would not stop shaking until I got back to my seat. Which was weird, 'cause the poem wasn't at all emotional and I was feeling fairly confident.
Here is The Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

      The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

      The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand;

      Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree

      And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,

      The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

      And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through

      The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

      He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

      Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”

      He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

      Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:

All mimsy were the borogoves,

      And the mome raths outgrabe.

During biology, Donald and I listened to Northern Downpour by Panic! at the Disco. One of my new favorite songs now. I will be listening to more of them tonight and will tell you what I discover in the next post, if i remember.
"Brendon Urie is my Man Crush Monday," says Donald. "And Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday."  Last month I believe he had a man crush on Misha Collins. And countless others before that, I'm sure.
We usually listen to Welcome To Night vale to kill time in that class, since it's just sitting around waiting for the rest of the class to catch up and taking notes.

I have a plush dragon now. They're pretty cool. Since they're two-headed, I need to think up 2 names. Who wants to help me?

Here is a white rock atop some moss.

If we zoom this picture way out, it becomes a lot less pretty.

I'm sure this is a metaphor for how you look at life and what you choose to see and things, but I'm not in a metaphor mood right now.

I finally got a picture of my dog and his droopy eyes. Say hi to Indigo.

There were stars in my tea

(ok fine, it's just cookie crumbs.)

there was sunlight on my pillow.

Also, 29 people follow me now. That's cool. It's like a large class of kids interested in what I have to say every week. You are all lovely, my prehistoric reptilian blueberries.

In other news, several cool people have been added to the Buddies page, so be sure to go check that out. Namely, people like DJ, Rose Thorn, and Star Girl have been added.

Sunday is an icky day. the sunlight is cold and fake, or you just perceive it that way cause you know tomorrow is Monday and your homework isn't done. the dead leaves seem especially muddy. You wonder where the clouds and fog have gone, and wish they would come pack for you to wrap yourself up in, and blind you from the mud and dead leaves and the face of the swiftly approaching Tomorrow. Sure, you've stopped sitting pointlessly in the musty church for an hour every week at 8, but the empty, listless, disgusted feeling sticks. Along with that, the feeling of knowing something is coming for you and you won't do anything about it is there too.

On a happier note, I found a plastic sandwich bag of sand behind my bookshelf. It has been there since June, when I went to the beach for my birthday. I filled up a bag of sand, intending to give it to Mr. Rush, who kept plastic bags of sand from different places in the world on his desk for kids to stick their hands in when they were upset. Sand is nice that way. But the sand never made it to his classroom, so now it's in a tray on my desk, ready to be made into a rock garden. I will post a picture of that when I design something pretty.