making the band

hi would you like to be in our band?

yeah sure who are you doing it with?

oh just that kid with the funny nose.

oh that kid yeah sure i’m in.

and also the kid with the glasses.

oh that kid yay we had good times last year.

well he writes and i write and you write so it should be good.

we’re going to have such cool songs and it’s gonna be so much fun.

i know right.


and we’ll need a drummer.

i don’t know any drummers.

how about that guy?

come on neither of us want to put up with him.

yeah i guess you’re right.

sure am.

well hey i also got little miss showboat. she sings

well does she play drums?

she sings.


nevermind i don’t know if she’ll be in it or not.

oh god please make it a not.

i’m afraid of being awkward because i don’t sing and everyone else does.

don’t worry about it so much it’ll be fine we could make you front and center so it doesn’t seem that way.

this is going to be a ton of fun.

at this rate i certainly hope so.


Cereal and I: A Love Affair


For the past week or so, I’ve been pretty obsessed with cereal. It’s not that I’ve been stalking my kitchen cupboards in a trench coat or have I been rocking slowly, foaming at the mouth, thinking of the breakfast delight…but I have been consuming more cereal, or at least in higher concentration, than I ever have before. Now that my house holds a small fortune in Cookie Crisp and Krave,  it’s as though I’ve discovered that all things sweet and crunchy really are for breakfast. And for snacks sometimes, and maybe even dessert.

My sudden infatuation is probably not a healthy one, considering the supposed dangers of sugary cereals, but it could be worse. It really is something like a bad rom-com:


Me: Oh, Apple Jacks and Honey-Nut Cheerios, you’re so bad for me, but it feels so right!

Cereal: I think you look better with those extra pounds. Let’s be together, forever!

Me: You’re so sweet. I love you!

Cereal: I love you more!

(Epic sidewalk-in-the-rain kiss)


Or a corny Shakespearean (or sort of Shakespeare-ish, anyway) sonnet:


I need not a waffle, for you are my sweet,

The one and only meal that I need eat!

Butter and jelly can stay with their toast,

For you are my lovely, and so I do boast.

Oatmeal is too wet, and mushes in milk,

But you stay crunchy in cow-produced silk!

Oh Puffs! And Flakes! And all of your kin,

I could dine with you again and again,

I could dwell in your boxes, and stay till I die!

For you are my love, and so sweareth I.


I guess you could say that cereal and I are going steady. We see each other at least once a day, making excuses to visit whenever our hearts hunger for it. I hope that a love like this lasts until the end of mass-produced edibles!

Ciao for now,


I Need a Song

I need a song, but I don’t have lyrics or a tune. I need to sing and scream but there are no words. I need to smash something in my hands but I’m too afraid of damaging something. I need to sleep but I need to run. I need to be close and I need to be far away.

This isn’t what relief is supposed to feel like. Relief is supposed to be a pleasant feeling. When you finally finish something that you’ve been meaning to do, you’re supposed to feel calm and at ease. This isn’t relief at all. It’s everything I thought I wouldn’t feel at this point; it’s all tense. Conflicted.

I want this to end. I need it to. Yet every time I attempt to will it away, it lashes back with more. More chills in my arms and through my brain, more bite marks on my lips.

I remember the basic facts but not the actual moment that caused it all, like I’ve read it in a history textbook instead of actually experiencing it, like it’s the French Revolution or the Civil War or the Cuban Missile Crisis or something else violent and before my time.

I need to sing, but my throat is parched. I need to fly, but my wingspan is nonexistent. I need to dance but I need to sit still.

I don’t want to drown but I don’t know how to swim.

I need a song.

Don’t Break My Heart (Please?)

What’s this line, why can’t I get through it?

I’d really like to know who drew it,

But for now all I know is I can’t get across.

I had a great chance and I blew it,

I bet somebody beat me to it.

I’ve waited too long and now I must face my loss.


It’s said there’s a chance out there for me.

There are plenty of fish in the sea,

But why is my aim so steadily locked on one?

They tell me it’s just not to be,

Some days I think that I might agree.

But then I look back, and the skepticism’s done.


Count my blessings; there’s always a hole;

That’s when I know that I’ve lost control,

Because I know what it is, missing from my list.

What I need is cold as the North Pole,

Touches the iciness in my soul,

Until I fill that chill, it is desperately missed.


I will not be defined by the fact that I’m shy,

And yet courage for me is hard to come by.

My Dream Valentine’s Day


I know a lot of people who have a dream to sit around and watch rom-coms or something on Valentine’s Day all by themselves. And that’s okay, I’m not judging. Personally, I hope for something that would be more similar to what’s in those chick flicks everyone else is watching. I want someone (I have someone particular in mind, of course, and so do you) to tell me that they think I’m a pretty cool person. They don’t have to say “I love you” or even “I like you” but simply “You’re okay.” It doesn’t sound like much, but anything more than that would be he opposite of pleasant being as awkward as I am and all.

Then I would ask him out. It would be great

Or, scenario two, he asks me out in a really cute, subtle way like they do on film. I won’t specify what, because one, I can’t think of anything myself; and two, I’m not going to be picky. This would also be pretty great.

I don’t want anything expensive. Nothing that costs more than a breath of words. Not from anyone, my family or friends or my particular person. And yet that is so much more likely than what I actually hope for. . .

Whether I’m the girl in the movie or the girl watching it, Valentine’s Day is coming. And for everyone who participates, good luck.

Ciao for now,


Happy Patterns

wake up
water is cold
where is my notebook?
i hate (insert current weekday)
you can’t expect me to function
it’s (insert current weekday)
where is my notebook?
so hungry
yay lunch
yay sandwich
yay cookies
lunch is over already
such a long week
only one more hour
this hour never ends, does it?
do you know when we get out?
i hate public transportation
shut up
stupid people in the back
i don’t want to hear you swearing
especially not
on a (insert current weekday)
because they’re the worst
yay home
im alone
yay computer
lol look at that bunny
no work
why work?
i want internet
i hate working because it’s frustrating
not alone anymore?
be quiet kids
please be quiet
please shut up now please
how much more work could i possibly have?
shut up kids i am
trying to work
k work is done
now what
i am so bored i am so bored i am so bored
someone please give me something to do
yay dinner
yay food
yay tv
k bed time
please be quiet kids
i don’t care if you have to do more homework
i want sleep
in bed
half hour
plus fifteen minutes
plus fifteen
want to sleep
wake up
water is cold

my idea of romance: A Poem


i came up with the most amazing way

(more or

less, anyway)

to ask out someone.

but you know those paper valentine’s

that come in 32 packs at walgreens or walmart,

the ones that have

hello kitty or ponies

or transformers on them? well

i’m going to take a star wars one

(stars wars=irresistible)

fill out the “to” and “from”

and then on the inside,

write my plea (go out with me?).

i’ll seal it with a sticker,

and pass it through a chain of


my eyes on him until he says yes or no.