Bummin'

May the picture below of a wadded up hoodie chilling on my bed set the tone for this post. That's pretty much how it'll go, just bummin'.

Just have to say, tight writing kills my soul a little when I use it so much. Since it's midnight on a Saturday and I have nothing to do, I think I'll roll up my sleeves and have a little fun. Loosen the metaphorical corset that makes my writing sound like I have a stick up my bum and dress down my writing to a sweatshirt.

What to say what to say... In class, my English teacher always tells us to "Cut all the fluff from your writing! Any extra words just sound like hiccups that trip the eye, it's distracting and not a good form of writing." She would be so ashamed of me! On the general road of quotes here, my mother has been getting onto me to post about my real life, and not just prompts or tight essays, humor is difficult for me though, being the perfect child I am! As if, of course, however, this is going nowhere...


Tonight my dad came over, every Friday we have a "date", you know. The general routine is dinner, movie or TV show, then he leaves. Recently, however, I have successfully coaxed him into playing wii games with me (those games are never fun by yourself). On this lovely and cold evening, I got the privilege of gently laughing at his epic failure at golf, tease him about tennis, and help him not to throw the ball into the crowd in bowling. We give each other a hard time, and that's usually the best part.

Out of all the games we played this evening, Dance on Broadway (or some similar name, I have no intention of getting up to find out, it's 50-something in this house) was the best. Of course, me being the star at heart that I am, went all out. My hands hit the ceiling fan in my sporadic jumping, I grinned like an idiot, and laughed with all my heart; that's the nice thing about family, you can be stupid and still be loved. Even better than the time I had, was watching my dad. Picture this: a six foot, heavier, tired, 40-something man with grey hair dancing around a dirty living room to the song Supercalifregilisticexpialidocious (a couple letters wrong, but my point is made). It was a sight fit for kings! No offense to my dad of course, after all, I was just as silly.

One would think that after that mild exercise, long week, and long day that I would be tired, but no. At least I have the benefit of reading my Bible without drooling on it for once (no, I've never actually drooled on my Bible, but I have come close). I have a few things to study that were given to me by my pastor as well, but that requires such heavy thought... My brain wishes to swoon at the very mention of effort!

There, now I have shown my true colors. The past week of posts, while genuine, were my academic self; not the self that wears cuddly shirts with a mug of tea. Honestly, I want with all my heart to teach, to have what I write respected, and to feel the glow of success. Don't we all? Darling English teacher, once again I quote thee "What makes the difference between good writing and great writing is depth. When you reach down into an experience and pull out the fundamental universal truths and show your humanity". This is my humanity I suppose, the realization that I am still a child at heart, but my hope for using its flamboyancy to pursue my dreams.