How old are you now?

Tomorrow is my birthday but i don't even care that much. I remember when I was little and it was the most important day of the year. I would make a countdown and wouldn't be able to sleep the night before due to all the anticipation. Right now it's nine and I'm already tired. Birthdays just don't seem to matter anymore. It come every year just the same. Another year older, another year closer to dying?

Tomorrow I turn eighteen. I don't want to turn eighteen. Most people are excited. I can get a tattoo, buy "adult material", vote due to the 26th amendment passed in 1974, sign contracts, get an abortion without parental consent in the state of Pennsylvania. I feel that I lose some sort of innocence though. I will be an adult even though I don't feel like one. I could be executed in states with the death penalty now. I could be tried as an adult and go to legit jail. I'd rather stay seventeen forever. It's weird knowing that tomorrow I am responsible for everything.

In other news, AP test are officially my worst enemy. They are three plus hours of hell that I choose and pay to put myself through. I guess it's just more of my masochism.

My Next Guess is Red

When they fight I go into the guest bedroom. It used to be my sister's but she went away. It is far enough from them that their raised voices only seem to be hushed tones. It is on the second story and faces the street. I guess it faces the east too because the sun wakes me up in the morning if I forget to close the blinds at night. The bed sits just under the window. I always look out and watch cars go by. I can always tell when they're coming because of the headlights and the noise of the tires as they run over the cracked pavement. It has a certain melody to it, quiet at first, then growing louder, then drifting off to silence again. It's the Doppler Effect of course but who knows what I'm talking about anyway. Sometimes I guess what color the car will be. Red is always my first guess. Then grey. I never guess right. Cars still pass even when it's late. I always wonder where they are going so late. Home.Work.Latenightbootycall. Who knows. Five cars have passes so far. The last one was green. I guessed black. I'm not a liar. I know it's my fault. Do you know how it feels? No one understands. My next guess is red.

Woe Is Me.

I hate being sick, another one of the many reasons why I find winter to be suckish. All day I lay in bed watching television. And not even good television. The kind that unemployed people, or thirty-something year olds who still live with their parents must sit around watching all day while feasting on yodels and cheese doodles. Not trying to judge but I am currently not in the best of moods. So all day I have been forced to watch shows like The Price is Right and Maury and reruns of shows that were clearly canceled for a reason. The only reason I watch these shows is to laugh at how ridiculous the guests are.

-This is Rachel and it is her 14th time on the show trying to find out who the father of her 3 child Destiny Moon Angel Starshine is.- Muffled tears. Bring out the "father". Denial. Uproar from the audience. -The Results are in and Johnathan you- hold for dramatic pause -Are not the father- Fit of joy combined with tears or realization that yes Rachel you are a whore. Run away. Shaky camera. Calm her down. Bring out the baby.

But besides the mind numbing t.v. here are other suckish things about being sick. I feel so lazy. I don't get up all day. I sleep, watch t.v., blow my nose, sleep, check my facebook, sleep. I am never hungry and even if I was it would take too much energy to go make myself lunch. I miss too much school work. I am not tired now because I have been sleeping all day. I am supposed to drink fluids but my throat hurts every time I swallow. My eyes sting for no apparent reason. My muscles ache even though I have done no strenuous activity. All sounds are louder than they appear. My head throbs when I look into brightness. Medicine tastes like chalk and sour cherries. I look like death, even my mother agrees. My mouth is dry. Tears somehow leak from my eyes. I am not sad or hurt just tearing. It takes all my strength to simply lift my head. I can no longer breath through my nose. Shall I continue?

hush little baby don't say a word...

I can't fall asleep. My mother and sister are fighting again. They fight almost every night now. Their screams have become my new lullaby. They yell. Feet stomp. Door slams. They yell louder. -Sometimes I wish I was never born- -Well sometimes I wish the same thing- -You don't love me- -You don't care- Another door slams. I try to muffle the sounds from under my pillow but it never works. They drone on, complaining about something else insignificant. My mother will come in, checking to see I am sleeping. What I really do is close my eyes shut , praying the tears squeeze through. Eventually they will stop but I can still hear the hushed sobs and stifled breaths of the aftermath. I think they hurt me more than they hurt each other. I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, just listening, breathing, wishing. One day I will leave. Move to a place far away where there is no sound at night but the quiet hum of darkness. Silence can drive people crazy but this house is worse than any insane asylum.

Snow- the unnecessary freezing of water

Today it snowed for the 19th time since early November. The snow has become nothing more than a lackluster annoyance. Its magic has been drowned in the rivers of slush. The first snow of winter always feels significant and almost unreal, as if I were really living in a snow globe where everything is white and pure. But as the snow melts so does its charm. Now it is dirty and irritating. It is nothing unusual or exciting due to the fact that it now snows at least once a week. It has become commonplace to see a blanket of grayish ice-snow-slush-dirt mixture covering lawns, parking lots, driveways, side streets, walkways, everything. It is absurdly excessive. Even after the snow semi-melts my lawn is left a swampland. i could take a boat out on the lakes the snow creates in my backyard. I am over winter and all of its demonic weather. I am done with Bill Evans telling me tomorrows forecast calls for another 1-3 inches. I am fed up with scraping ice off my windshield in 30 degree weather. I am tired of the bottom of my jeans being soaking wet from trekking through unplowed sidewalks. I want to see the grass. I want to be dry. I want the snow to stop.

A Dream is a Wish your Heart Makes

Sometimes I dream that I am running. Running away from something that scares me. Scares me enough to be running without shoes. I never know what exactly it is. I simply know that I am afraid of it. I never find out what it is either. Then I fall. It is the only part of the dream that stays consistent. I fall. But I am not falling from anywhere or to anywhere. Just falling. Finally I wake up like in T.V. with a sudden exaggerated inhale, still feeling in free fall but knowing it was all just a dream. Whenever I wake up I feel someone was watching me. No one is. It is just me, the darkness, and the life size elvis poster on my wall. Someday someone will be there. They will take me away forever. I won't have to run anymore. I will be gone and no one will even notice.