The Axiomatic Musings of a Teen who's been attending way too many grad parties.

"I can't wait to leave!" "When's your move-in date?" "My roommate is so cool!" "It's like 4 hours away from here." "I've already bought so much stuff for my dorm!" "I just picked out my classes, they all sound so fun." "None of my classes start before noon!" "I'm so excited to go, I love the school."

WHY
CAN'T
THAT
BE
ME
?!?!?!?!??!?!?!


One more year. One more year. I can make it.
Maybe.

♪: "Save Me" by Shinedown

The Axiomatic Musings of a Teen who is not a slut.

But I am a fool. Because that's the best thing a little girl can be in this world; a beautiful little fool.

Just saying.

Songs for the Sitch

"Dirty Little Secret" by All American Rejects

Let me know that I've done wrong,
when I've known this all along.
I go around a time or two,
just to waste my time with you.

Tell me all that you've thrown away!
Find out games you don'tw anna play.
You are the only one that needs to know...

I'll keep you my dirty little secret.
Don't tell anyone, or you'll be just another regret.
My dirty little secret...

Who has to know?
When we live such fragile lives, it's the best way we survive.
I go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you.

(But then...time enjoyed wasting is not wasted. So. No waste of time here.)


(Today was a good day.)

♪: "Stay the Night" by James Blunt

The Axiomatic Musings of a Teen who aasdlkjadfalksdfalkj.

Most of my night at Relay was pretty shitty. I spent a lot of it alone, only partly by choice. I was really lonely and Sal seemed to be really frustrated or sad at me and then it was raining and everyone was sitting on someone else's lap all snuggled away from the rain and I was sitting there like...heyguysdontmindme. Ash was off pursuing some new victim (at least she's in our grade this time and is actually a nice girl) and everyone was just kinda scattered. Then we lost the volleyball tournament in the finals FOR THE SECOND YEAR IN A ROW at a score of 13-12 because of the stupid time limit and no win-by-two rule. Bleh.

But then. This morning. Was like.

Alkjadflkjlasdfhjarejhwdafkjhsdlkjvhalukausydfakwehfakljdncalksjdalksdjhfakldjbvlakdjhfaljhedlakwjeralwieuriaudglaufgasdgadsfjahsdlkhalkejbwergewbasdhfaksufdyivrewakfhakjdhfaiuyfaweuyraroivaoifdugaosieraoewoafidulfakdfjalseelaklksebriesalaiuweliejlsjalsjelisaeingiawleirouwqleehevioaudvahjvalkdfakjsdhfacaaliuealskdjf :):):):):):):):):):).
I have not the slightest idea how I feel (mainly because right now all I feel is exhaustion) and I have not the slightest idea where this could go but like...a;lsdkfja;sldkj. Wow. Just like...wow. In a good way :).

I should go take a nap, do some reading, and then I'll figure all of this out. Tata :).

♪: "Falling for the First Time" by The Barenaked Ladies

The Axiomatic Musings of a Teen who's playing a seemingly endless game of tag.

[Just a quick reflection.]


I really like that his voicemail message is the same one that he's had since 8th grade.

I think I used to make fun of how he sounded in it. He does sound a little silly, especially considering his voice was a few tones higher then than it is now :P. But I really love it. I love that if his phone is off and I'm disappointed I can't talk to him (and it frequently is off...idk how he does it, my phone is never off unless I'm rebooting it for some reason :P) I still hear that voicemail. Because it's the same comforting voice that I've heard for 4 years, still there. And unlike many other people in my life, that voice doesn't bring back scary thoughts or haunting memories. It brings back memories of DC, and parties at Fred's house, and of course Prom. Even if there were times inbetween when he's hurt me, or irritated me, or frustrated me, it's never been anything bad enough that I couldn't bounce back from, and he's always still been there for me regardless. More importantly, I've always still wanted him to be there for me. Even when I say I don't.
And that one little "please leave a message after the beep!" reminds me of all of that and is just enough to give me a little smile and keep me going through the night.

It's a small pointless detail, but sometimes that's all we have to hold on to. So yeah. Stay my friend for always, please. :).

♪: "Stay the Night" by James Blunt

The Axiomatic Musings of a Teen in the Form of a Second Occasional Paper

I'm really sorry for not posting. But you know I try and steer away from depressing and/or personal posts and there really hasn't been much going on that wasn't either or both. However, I did just finish my Occasional Paper for semester 4 so I'm going to share it with you guys again :). I'm not sharing it until tomorrow so any comments or critiques until then would be greatly appreciated!!

Occasional Paper 2
Preheat to 350

People often ask me why I bake so much.

I just…I love each ingredient, and how it waits patiently on the shelf. There’s the flour, the blank page. With it, you can add sugar, eggs, butter, baking powder…anything your heart desires, really. Each ingredient has its niches and roles to be filled (pun intended). Each holds its breath, waiting for its chance to be part of something incredible. And I, with my bowl in one hand and mixer in the other, have the power to bring that potential to life.

I become the conductor. I can make them into anything I want them to be. For example, the simple white of an egg. If I whisk egg whites for one amount of time, they will be soft and marshmallow-y, a bite of a cloud that you squish against the roof of your mouth. But, if I whisk them for longer, they can become hard and crackly when baked, but dissolve into thin air upon contact with your tongue. If I mix them with sugar and water, I can make an icing that’s runny enough to write a name, but will dry solid enough to support the eaves of a gingerbread house. If I pour boiled sugar and butter into them, I can make a frosting that’s fluffier than air and more delicious than any other butter cream you can imagine. If I mix in Tylose, I can make a paste that I can mold like taffy into life-like flowers whose dainty opaque petals you’d have to touch to be sure they weren’t real.

Is that not incredible?

The possibilities are endless, and the ingredients are anxious to begin. Anxious to mingle. Then to dance. To jive, or to waltz. But then to bicker, and fight, and brawl, and wage war. To sing to one another, and harmonize…or create a cacophony that will curdle your sanity. To rhyme in time, or step off the beaten path and         skip. Some melt into each others arms and become one, and bind in a resolution of differences.  Some need to be pummeled and scorched before they can make peace. Some will float, becoming so fluffy and light they could be skimmed from a cloud as the foam is off a latte. Some will become so stubborn and obstinate they need to be forged with immense effort. They all wait to see which fate will become of them. They wait to rise, to simmer, to thicken. To brown, to bake, to sear. They wait to become a part of something more. Don’t we all?

Then there are the endless possibilities of decoration. As Lindsey sees the blinking cursor and Kiki sees an empty canvas, I see a freshly baked cupcake. Will this one have a filling, or icing, or frosting? Or do I dare attempt fondant? Sweet, rosey, and pliable, this playdough of the pastry world drapes across a frosted cake like a silk tablecloth with a surface as flawless as a blanket of new-fallen snow. And from there, what? Stripes? Dots? Plaid? Flowers? Swirls? Rose swirls? A tiny mushroom fairy house, perhaps! Or simply whipped cream and fresh fruit? There’s really no wrong answer.

It’s incredible, to just let the creative possibilities run wild. I can take all the stress from the week and let it flow out of my mind and my heart through the 4B Star Tip onto the comforting cushion of a cupcake. I arrange the sprinkles until it’s perfect. It’s a sensational feeling, to create something beautiful and perfect, even when I feel far from it myself. Then I’ll arrange it, wrap it, and give it to someone that I think could use some love.

And then they smile. A blissfully naïve smile. They don’t know that what that smile is tasting behind those teeth could have been any of an infinite number of possibilities and combinations, and yet that one single cupcake was chosen and beaten and poured and baked and cooled and frosted and sprinkled just for them at that very moment for that very smile.

They don’t know it, but I do.

That’s why I bake.