And I Feel Like.. this is about LOVE.

Some days you feel like you just went to Homecoming with your sister's husband. I don't know.. It's not a bad thing, because some days I wish my brother-in-law would've married me. It's strange, but I trust you won't tell him... or her.
[this is a benefit of an anonymous blog with different e-mails that your relatives will never find]
Sometimes, I feel like people can feel what I feel. Like, if I was just with a certain person, he can feel me. It's kind of like a voodoo doll, but different. I feel like when I swallow, they feel me swallowing in their own bodies. With my head under the tub faucet, I feel the cold water hit my scalp and run down my neck. And I feel like they sit in their cars and guess what I am doing. "Oh! Now she's showering, I bet you anything!" "No, man, she's swimming." It's like my feelings are some people's games. 

The Grinch: One man's toxic sludge is another man's potpourri. 
[Max barks] 
The Grinch: I don't know, it's some kind of soup. 

Just toxic sludge. But I guess, they're worth something to some. But I just can't figure out what they're worth anymore.                                   I used to be in love. No matter what kind of love it is- no matter how highschoolish it was- it's still love. Nelson, I think this classification of "being in love" is undefinable, because it's different for everyone. I think that you can be in love and never even know it. Maybe you'll never find out, maybe, you will. But I do think when you love someone, you love them more than you could love anyone or anything. Even more than you love yourself. 

The second boy I ever loved told me that I could be in love with a rock just as much as I loved him. Eventually, I ditched him and found a nice rock instead. And, look at that, he was right. The rock and I never part. I carry him in my backpack to school, on airplanes and trips, and he sits by me when I sleep. He treats me much better than that boy did and he doesn't talk so much. 

But, still. It's true what they say. Love can hurt ever so badly. Jealously is the worst. Have you seen Hot Rod? "You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone". 
It's kind of like how I don't truly appreciate my Halloween candy... until it's gone. And then life sucks. And then I want it all back. Because humans are never satisfied. Oh, I have never been satisfied. 

"Like, ever." -Taylor Swift.

To Write About Humans

I know Humans. But not as many as my mom would like. I think it is completely and "inconceivably" impossible to truly know any brand of Human, so, we will not be explaining them for the alien visitors in great depth today, folks. Further research shall be done, but, in the meantime, just sit patiently and enjoy the elevator music.
You provide the elevator.

Boy, do I know Humans? I think I might know Boys. But, I can never be sure. I know some boys. I know my brothers and I know The Boy- I assume I will refer to him quite often; we're not in love. He's just been my best friend since 14, but we'll be in love someday when it matters. I don't know my dad. I don't think I will ever know Dad.

I love boys. They're like a big flock of Peter Pans or something. "I will never, no, never grow up". Maybe this makes High School, Never Land. I don't even know.

Human's are nothing but colors and numbers.
Being human is that my little brother thinks the number 11 is a tan-sandy color. All gritty like that, textures and all. We all agree that The Boy is a 4 or a 2. But my little brother thinks he is a bronze-silver color. But I know he's mostly orange.

I am 3 and 5 and 8 or 9. I am the colors of Barney. And add dark blue like the 5 o'clock morning sky.

The number 6 is forest green- just a whole lot of pine trees.

We're a lot of envious, jealous, covetous gang of Colors and Numbers. "It's first grade Sponge Bob." -Patrick Star

But, Humans-- don't get too close to them. Don't feed the animals... because they're always going to want more. I hate Human yells. And screams. And I hear too much. I hate the wrong kind of crazy. And I hate sluts and drugs. Oh, and I hate Styrofoam. I hate that too. But I am so happy. Babies are my way of hearing around the screams and the Styrofoam. I love baby laughs, cries, sneezes- gosh, I even love changing their diapers because I just love babies so much. They have ten worlds of potential and pure creativity shoved inside a 9 lbs. 6 oz. body nothing short of milliseconds after they enter this world. They are the newest things manufactured by God. It's no wonder they're such a big hit.

Babies are as God-like as a Human is going to get, until they become their mothers.

It's funny how fast it sucks you in. It doesn't pull on you- day by day, class by class. It sweeps you off your toes before you can even kiss the sun in your skin goodbye. It's been two weeks and we feel it as a lifetime. And we sit in these cold metal desks- bums numbing their way through ninety minutes- and stare at the cold white walls and we wonder if summer really did happen. But it wasn't always this way.
No, last year, summer didn't end. Because my summer came with me that year. To every class, through every hall, to every lunch. He had wild brown hair and a car. I taught him to paint and smash grapes into juice with our feet. And he taught me not to be scared of what any one of these punks think about me. Because when has the air in their heads been worth two dimes to me? Never. That's when. We found lakes to swim in and swampy creeks to explore- my kind of boy. My kind of summer. We were summer.
But it got rotten real fast. All moldy and growin' weird things. The sticky-lint-between-your-toes-after-a-soccer-game kind of ew.
"We tried but they tore us apart. We gave our all but it wasn't enough. We lied but they read right through us." - Brady Reese's Senior Quote, graduating class of 2012
I ain't got enough feelin's, and, shoot, he'd gone and got himself too many of 'em.   ... And like Mr. Reese said (above), the whole world was against us. I soon realized why. Eventually, I explained to him that, yeah, it sucked, but the world's not the only reason it got all moldy and ew. I still don't think he gets it. But the rest is just whatever. There went my summer.
My friends and I called this past summer our last. Mass suicide? No, no, most definitely not. It's just that we are all planning on going to different colleges, and, honestly, we don't plan to see each other again. My friends are nice, really, they're great. But we've been friends for so long that I don't think any of us would mind never speaking to each other again.
I don't feel nearly big enough to graduate and move on to college like my brothers and sisters have. I still write fantasy stories and dream of fairy people hiding in the school all day long. I love to play dress up with anyone who is willing, but, usually, it's just with my self around my house, making my chore list bearable. An attention span of a 7 year old comes with this type of immaturity. But growing up's for kids over 5 feet 4 inches. And I'm not there yet.
- Phyllis Dae Sloan