Pitter-Patter

Sometimes I find it quite ridiculous that I spend the vast majority of the night waiting for both my parents to sleep so I may find myself writing in the wee hours of the morning. Or night. Whichever you may prefer. I usually end up lying on my bed, my mind in that odd realm between sleep and awareness. For some reason, though I inflict injury upon myself by blasting MUSE from my Sennheiser in-ear headphones (which I find to be pleasingly black), I have an acute sense of hearing and observance of my surroundings. So I often occupy those many hours listening to my dad and mum’s feet pad the floors of our house. This is oh so very useful because it has only saved my ass about ten billion times. I feel quite accomplished at four or five in the morning when I decide I should stop writing and get dressed for school, unscathed.

Tonight, though, was different. God sent me the pleasant pitter-patter of raindrops to accompany me on my journey to the freedom of the night. As I type this it still waterfalls away in the darkness. For unknown reasons this comforts me, as the darkness and dreariness always have.

Whilst I was legally allowed on the laptop tonight I procrastinated and checked on the variety of accounts I have on different sites like Mibba, Quizilla, and the various friend making sites like MySpace. I was extremely far behind on returning messages and comments to my friends from other countries and such, but was relieved to find that they, too, were weighed down by school and, er *coughs*, boys. The affect on me, of course, is much, much, much less than my boy crazy mates. I gave up on the whole “like” business long ago and I benefit greatly from that decision. I only love a sibling’s love… and I have given my heart to the ones who I am certain deserve it, God and one who is so much more than a high-school crush. It runs deeper than the passion of many, for it’s likeness is found with the few.

But back to revisiting my cobwebbed sites, I remembered that I hadn’t read one of my old teachers’ blogs in a while and typed in the URL. I was met with the familiar wit and higher level reading I thirsted for, seeing as the vast majority of the teenage population I knew could only be entertained by Humpty Dumpty and sex icons. I read the latest post with a massive smile on my face and checked out other numerous blogs. The first blog I mentioned was one which I came upon last year while falling victim to severe boredom in the need of a good book. I decided to google my teachers’ names because I was feeling snoopy. I was particularly good at tracking things down, a gift which could also act as a curse seeing as I can find anything when I so wish. I typed in many names and became entertained by the many things I found, none of which were related to the teachers in any way, shape, or form. I was about to give up when I remembered one last teacher’s name. I typed it in and blogs popped up. I clicked on them all and quite accidentally came upon a teacher’s past, and I mean high-school past. I was a bit shocked until I read the more current things. I genuinely enjoyed the blog and also found I enjoyed the poetry. I then made the mistake of sharing my findings and was soon accused of being a stalker and actually liking the teacher, which because of my earlier claims was particularly angering to me. Me? Liking a teacher? I pretty much just burst out laughing at the person because for obvious reasons their jest was absolutely ridiculous, to tone it down a bit. I dismissed the sorrowful try at wit and continued to read. This time I did not discuss, but chewed things over in my head.

I have now come to th end of the paragraph and cannot recall a thing about my point. Was there a point in existence? I believe not.

On another note, I was amused at the reaction I got when I revealed to some sophomores-supposed-to-be-juniors that I was saving my first kiss for my husband. The conversation went something like this:

(We three were standing in a doorway feeling the cold wind before a storm)

One: I think kissing in the rain is so romantic!

Me: Me too! I hope my first kiss is in the rain.

One and Two gasp like I’ve revealed some grand scandal.

One: You haven’t had your first kiss yet? That’s so cute!

Me: I’m saving it for my husband so it’ll be a while.

Two: Are you getting an arranged marriage?!

Me: Er… no.

One: Are you parents picking you husband?

Me. Uh, no.

Two: Are you courting?

Me: No!

At that point the teacher yelled at us to close the damn door so the conversation ended. I got a little kick out of that. An arranged marriage? Maybe I should consider that if I’d like to be joined with my worst enemies and artificials in the bonds of holy matrimony. Huh.

If I’m not boring you enough already, I consider that an accomplishment.

Ironically enough I’m wearing UGGS at the moment. They were purchased by my mother against my will. I did not want to spend that much money on shoes, and certainly not UGGS. Why not get me some Chucks? Well, for obvious reasons that did not work out too well and we walked out the store with a pair of chocolate brown UGGS. I was incredibly reluctant to wear them until it became cold. Then it seemed only reasonable to make use of the thermal boots and I am quite pleased to have warm feet. Although my torso and shoulders and pretty damn cold at the moment.

I come to this point and find that I cannot lift my eyelids much longer. To make matters worse I have the acoustic BBC Plug In Baby riff engrained in my head. It happens to be playing over and over again. I shall now proceed to sleep….

MUSE ON!

*Cheers*

Wanda

Buff Ting, Chicken Wing – DeKaff