the predecessor

The last week of summer is one many view as depressing. Usually, I am cherishing the thought that I will be expanding the boundaries of my French vocabulary, enjoying science class, taking an art class, living on dangerously low amounts of sleep, beating the internet filters, and devising schemes during free periods; however, this year, I have taken a new approach.

This last week of summer has been comprised of many experiences that I wouldn’t trade for anything and wish would last forever: movie nights with two of my new friends, driving with music the radio stations don’t know, watching countless youtube videos and going on various rendez-vous to seemingly endless amounts of places.

These last two nights have been the most interesting. Watching The Deer Hunter, playing ping pong, going to a fancy party in my expensive dress, learning piano songs and watching videos of people playing the theremin. It’s hard to believe this lifestyle will be coming to an end in eight hours; much less that ending will LAST eight hours. An eight hour funeral and eight hours to go; how appropriate.

I guess these hours are the predecessor to a new chapter. We’ll see how this goes.

avez-vous de la chance… ou pas vraiment?

“Latest information … shows that the situation is worsening in some areas. Based on this information, the situation for Northern Irish airports for the morning is uncertain, due to the new ash cloud.”

Oh, nous sommes dans la merde maitenant.

more boat(s)… just because?

I’m so ridiculously proud of myself for this it’s not even funny. It’s not even good. It’s not even a good idea.

Good heavens, I am so easily entertained.

And distracted.

Also, last night I had a dream and I saw the aurora borealis on top of a hill driving under the stars and it was so lovely. It was really the first good and/or interesting dream I’ve had in many a year.

Sadly, this dream was followed by several NKMBs (nudge), which was basically about a nuclear war with either Russia or an unknown enemy. It was pretty horrific.

je monterais une échelle au soleil.

ouais.

je l’ai dit.

un translateur ne te donnera pas la meilleure réponse. ne l’essaye pas.

quelquefois je dis quelque choses.

ma vie est très bonne en effet recemment. je pense ce que je viens de dire est incorrect, mais je m’en fiche.

tu comprends, je pense.

eleanor rigby waits at the window.

“What’s the white thing in the woods down there?”

She looks out the kitchen sink window, over the white porcelain sink.

“Do you mean in the trees? I think it’s just a bag caught in the trees,” I proclaimed, referring to a small twisted white bag I had previously seen caught in our back yard.

“Yes.”

I looked down into woods, over the crispy brown grass. At first, nothing. I walked quietly, almost tiptoeing through the kitchen, passing the rows of windows.

One.

Two.

Nothing still. And then it came into sight.

I stopped.

“What is that?” I asked, although to myself as opposed to my mother who had by then walked to the refrigerator. A large figure of pure white sat upon a longer still sitting tree. At its top was a small face surrounded by the whiteness.

“I don’t know. You see it?”

Indeed, I saw it. The creature sat perfectly still, staring back in a creepy, unbroken glare. It was so far into the woods that I couldn’t see a single feature upon its tiny cream-colored face, but the only thing distinguishable was the pure white of its full-body burqa-like cloak.

“It looks like a little girl… mom, I think it’s a girl.”

“No, it’s not. It’s probably a bird. It’s not that big.”

“Yes, it is. It’s at least 3 feet tall, but it’s sitting on that fallen tree way down there. You can hardly see.”

I glanced down as mom walked away. The creature stared back. I went to get my shoes to investigate before taking one last glance out the window.

Gone.

The white figure had disappeared, leaving a brown and grey forest behind without a trace. I ran down to the woods in full sprint. Nothing. No birds sang, and not a sound resonated from the warming forest.

And with that, I began the walk back to the house, afraid to look behind me. Upon opening the door, my mother states,

“Well, it was probably a bird.”

deaths do come in threes.

this is a (single) picture post.

I’d like to be on this boat right about now.

j’éspere qu’il neigera.

le monde a besoin de la neige.

j’ai besoin de la neige.

discoveries

To find something interesting to look thorugh, one does not need the likes of Twitter and StumbleUpon. One simply needs to just look through the immense amounts of files that seem to accumulate on my computer.

Many times, I’ve attempted to sift through all the garbage links, school documents (all titled ‘asoeiljrwoeirjlwkerwerwer’, of course) , random pictures, usually meaningless lists, and other things. This time, I’m seriously going to finish it. I’m actually making an EFFORT to salvage my once-organized self who, I will admit, once got bored with the small amount of work in middle school. It’s pretty sad. But, my theory is that if I stay organized and actually know what I’m supposed to be doing instead of getting lost in Facebook (which I’m try to limit myself on to eventually shut down) and CNN’s website (I’m trying to quit reading the news, for other reasons). Maybe my grades will improve. Maybe.

Anywho! While in the cleaning process, I discovered a file titled “Quote list” which I was about to trash with the logic that it was probably some sort of list of random quotes from random people pertaining to inside jokes; however, when I opened it, it contained one lonely quote:

“Poverty is getting a pet rabbit for Easter and eating it the next weekend.” – C.S.

This quote, I realized after some thought, was one from my grandfather when he visited us. The sad thing is that it was true… I’ve basically lost what my point was, so I guess I’ll get back to my pre-spring cleaning.

I very much like Fleet Foxes. Grizzly Bear. Flight of the Conchords. Franz Ferdinand. The Arctic Monkeys. Gnarls Barkley. Amy Winehouse. Coldplay. The Beatles. The Who.

… Lil Wayne.

Please forgive me.