Some People Think That Dandelions Are Weeds.

I just had an in-depth conversation about growing up with this guy named Billy Valentine. Like, that's his for-real name. We kind of talked about everything. He's in a band from Jersey, and we apparently both needed someone to talk to.
I really did.
I've been playing Blue and Yellow by The Used on repeat for about a half an hour now, and I can't help but think about how much of an inspiration The Used is. Teenie, I know, but they really are, when I get down to it. Bert struggled with depression and drugs, alcohol, and God knows what else.

You'll never find it if you're looking for it.

Mr. Billy Valentine of Atlantic City briefed me on a few things that only a few people could think about wanting to know. He told me about how he caught the last Smashing Pumpkins show in Chicago and ran into a certain Adam T. Siska there. He told me how he got started in the band and that he wasn't sure if it was exactly easy or not.

And he told me how pretty the sunrise was yesterday morning.

In return, I told him about how I was up at four yesterday morning, but not to see the sun rise. I was working on my autobiography that I probably should have been finished with weeks ago. I even sent him a few of the poems (scripted poems, mind you) and an essay that I wrote about my sister. He seemed very impressed. It's that kind of thing that makes me feel good about myself- being recognized without bias. Your mom telling you that your essay is well-written is one thing... someone you barely know, though.

It might just be me, but it was inspiring.

So, that was all yesterday. Today was... odd. Right now, I feel like I've lost so much, and in return, I'm just waiting for un-guaranteed flatteries and fallacies. The counselor asked me if I'd be interested in being Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper staff next year, based on my fluency in wording a complaint letter to her.

Some people just can't take a hint, huh?

Anyways, I feel like somewhat of a hypocrite by ex-communicating Ashleigh like this. I'm kind of making- or wasting- time for myself by telling her that I just don't know, and that I'm trying to decide what kind of person I want to be in this sense. As in, I don't know if I want people to see me with people like her.

Harsh.

You have to understand that I'm not always as sweet and forgiving as I sound. If Hell is real, then I'm among the few people that I think should be worried about it.

Forgive and forget has never really been my motto. It seems pretty rounded out, but forgiveness takes a while, and I rarely forget. I've had friends who have done things that nobody in our group has been proud of accepting.

A cutter, a bulimic, a drug addict.

A suicide jumper.

The thing is, Ashleigh's really the first one that I've actually... not wanted to forgive. Again, harsh, I know. But... I don't ever make sense. The cutter and the bulimic went to therapy, and the drug addict is in rehab. I've forgiven them. I just can't find out why.

Ashleigh screwed around with some random guy. She knew, too. She knew what she was doing. And she should have known what effect it would have on our family of friends. Like I said before, I take on the mother role, whether I like it or not.

And on that note, when explaining WHY she did it, she said that she was "lonely".

I've learned to be offended by this, seeing as I wasn't that far away, and she could've said something.

And so was her boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend.

Cutter and Bulimic, no excuse, except for that they were wrong and they knew that and admitted it. They had their stories together later, but there'll always be that void in my life where they thought to start it off in the first place.

Drug Addict was a completely different story that you don't need to know about.

And Jumper...

Well.

You know.

I think I should write a complete journal post dedicated to Cole and Andrew. They are my freakin' saints.

But isn't the only difference between saints and sinners is that sinners have a past, and saints have a future?

Yeah. And I'm the queen of the martyrs.

I need to start dwelling on happier things. Happy happy happy.

Happy happy.

I'm having my infected, deteriorating root canal extracted and redone tomorrow morning.

Happy happy, happy happy.

Actually, in reality, I don't mind going to THAT dentist, since the one that screwed up my first root canal is a quack. The woman is from Chicago, and she's telling me everything I need to know before I go in July. The guy has this amazing English/Scottish accent, and he's from Boston.

They just kind of stared at me when I told them how old I was.

My age and my name aren't important to you, even though you might already know one or both of them. I'm probably younger than you think. But it shouldn't matter, right?

I'm "ahead of my biological years", they say. Whatever that means. My biological years are actually semi-precious to me.

As self-righteous as it might sound, I'm scared of getting older. I'm not afraid of dying or being alone when I'm twenty, or not being successful. I feel that all of that will work out in time. But time is the essence, and in this sense, the enemy. I'm not afraid of the future, but I'm afraid that when I turn another year older, people will just kind of turn their shoulder on what accomplishments I've made this far. You know, I know that I'm young, but a lot of what I've done has been recognized simply because of my age. It's like, "Oh, she wrote that? Well, she wrote this other thing that totally battles that when she was younger... oh well. Hey, look! There's someone else that used to be her age that can do this better!"

I'm scared of being replaced by carbon-copies, if you get me. There's this group of girls in the grade younger than me, and they claim me as their caretaker. It kind of bothers me... they're going to end up just like Ashleigh, I'm almost sure.

"They're going to be just like her..."

"Oh, but Ashleigh hangs out with her. Maybe she's like Ashleigh."

I'm terrified.

But whatever.

Happy happy happy happy.

I should probably get out of here for now... I have to walk around outside for a while.



I want to thank you for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds.