rn

• rn I'm sitting at my computer in my favorite pj pants (they have pockets) my hair pulled back, my Mickey mouse snuggie with my legs crisscross applesauce. 
• rn the TV is on. It's playing Mystery Diners and the owner is getting pissed at their manager who is stealing money from their business.
• rn my sister's hamster keeps getting stuck under the computer desk so I keep reaching down and picking up his ball and moving him.
• rn my parents and brother are skyping my sister who lives in Germany
• rn I'm thinking I should go talk to her but I feel bad because she wants me to take over her job in Alabama and I have NO desire to go to Alabama.
• rn the owner on Mystery Diners swore and they bleeped it out and all the possibilities are going through my head. I'm pretty sure it was fuck
• rn my fingers are cold
• rn I'm overthinking this post. I feel like what I'm typing isn't good enough
• rn I feel closer as a CW2 class than ever before.
• rn I feel bad for not telling Sol I couldn't watch the movie on Friday. I had to go to young womens instead.
• rn my back is sore.
• rn my brother just told me "these guys look like Amish rappers."
• rn I'm trying to figure out what the hell an Amish rapper looks like.

Right now, I am real and I am alive

Story Time Children!!!

Gather 'round one and all! Time for my story!

Alright so it's really not an interesting story... It's just about the time I won the Story Telling Contest in 5th grade (maybe 6th I don't remember)

Because all my favorite stories start this way I'm going to start mine this way so deal with it.

nce upon a time many, many year ago, there was an awkward me. I attended Cedar Ridge Elementary. 

There is this tradition in that school that everyone dreaded. The Storytelling Festival. Honestly I never met a single soul who was like "OH BOY STORYTELLING FESTIVAL!" Except little miss perfect who won it every year. Her mom was one of those barbie moms who's like 30 but thinks shes 16. Always made her daughter achieve all the things in life she never did. 

I am pretty sure that all the teachers knew the kids didn't like this tradition so finally one of my teachers decided to bargain with us. She sat us down and said "Alright this is how the Storytelling Festival is going down this year. Either 3 of you volunteer to tell a story and we vote out of those 3. Or, everyone has to tell a story." 

That was answered by a chorus of groans and even one 'come on!' We sat there for a solid 40 seconds until the teacher started to say "alright looks like everyone has-" I then raised my hand and was all "Lady lemme stop ya right there. I'll tell a freakin story and if 2 others don't raise their hands and take one for the team Ima be mad."

Not long after me 2 others offered to share a tale. The next day in class I had completely forgotten. So I asked to go last. The first girl up actually seemed excited to tell a story. The guy couldn't care less about his story. Then I went up and made up a version of 'The Three Little Pigs' on the spot. I don't remember any of it other than my fellow classmates laughing. 

Fast forward a day and I had learned that the class voted my story was the best. That then meant I had to tell my story in an assembly with all the students. And I'm pretty sure that's the first appearance my anxiety reared it's ugly face. 

I accepted my fate. Did what any anxious student would do.

I faked sick the day of the assembly.

So the girl who actually wanted to go up in front of everyone got her lime light and I got a day off school. Win win situation if you ask me. 

And that children is how I got out of the Storytelling Festival and my faking sick started and hasn't stopped to this day.

    

deSSert

When I was 8 years old I couldn't spell dessert. 

Instead I would always write desert.

I still think about that sometimes.

When I was in 3rd grade I was hit in the face with a jump rope at recess and my glasses broke right in half. The next week I had to wear my mothers old coke bottle glasses while mine were being fixed. 3 boys in my class teased me and the teacher made them write apology letters.

I still think about that sometimes.

When I was in 4th grade I was balancing a balloon on my face after my birthday party. I stepped on my sock and tripped myself smacking my face into the window sill. I broke my right front tooth in half, spat it out, burst into tears and ran upstairs screaming for my mom as my two older sisters sat on the couch laughing at me.

I still think about that sometimes.

My 5th grade teacher pulled me aside one day to tell me he was going to put me in the easier reading group because I wasn't good enough of a reader to be in my current group.

I cried right in front of him and my whole class.

I still think about that sometimes.

I would have failed my 6th grade typing class if it weren't for my mother going in and talking to the teacher to see if I could do extra assignments to make up for my slowness on the timed typing tests.

I still think about that sometimes.

Now, I always spell dessert with two S's because it's sweet and you want twice as much as you want a desert.

Now, I still have those apology letters and read them. Their innocent childlike apologies make me smile.

Now, I have read Phantom of the Opera 3 times, Les Miserables, the Hobbit and several other hard to read books just for fun.

Now, to this day I hold the record for the fastest timed typing test in my middle school. (Quail Run Academy) 

Now, I like my dessert extra extra sweet

Live