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oh we were just being emo about love lost, and I drew some rainbows.

I was half kidding.

Also, we discussed pansexuality and our deepest, darkest fears.

I have an interesting discussion question: Do you own any item that you are ashamed of, but can't give up?

Under the Shroud of Internet, I think we can discuss that

me, myself, personally, I still sleep curled arond a teddy bear I've had since my birth. His name is Bear, which is terribly original, and he's pretty worn. Loves my bear, loves him good.

Also, I've got a wooden paddle in my closet, that is wrapped in a sock and hidden by shoes. Yaoi paddle, bought it at a convention.

How about you guys?

I can't say that I have much stuff from my childhood still around. It's probably locked away... kinda like my memories lol jk

I still have sketch books from way way WAY back in the day, up in the attic, I think. A lot the art is pretty crappy, but I just can't seem to junk them.

As for things that I'm ashamed of and don't want people seeing... the only thing I could actually think of is porn, but even then, I'm pretty open with that. LMAO

LOL

I wish I could remember most of my dreams...
Actually the other night, I had a nightmare, but it really wasn't. It started off with me skateboarding in some back ally of a mini mall or something, and it was at night. For some reason, I stop because of a flash of light. The light wasn't huge or anything, it just like a small strip of light... kinda like sun shining through window blinds. Anyway, the beam of light was on my chest and it caused me to panic. I was trying to run away from it, but I couldn't because it caused me to freeze up in fear. I couldn't even breath. That's when I woke up gasping for air and my heart pounding inside my chest. Then all of a sudden it felt like some one was in my room with me and I happened to look up at the ceiling and see this huge shadow in an already dark room. I couldn't take my eyes off it and I started reaching for the lamp so that I could turn it on. That's when I realized the shadow was caused by the lamp because cause of the little light on my cell phone charger. I was so disoriented by the dream that it didn't allow me to think straight when I woke up.

I love nightmares. They make me feel so alive. LOL
Dreams are so intresting.

Usually, if I talk in my sleep the sound of my own voice wakes me up.

And it happens so infrequently that I remember the times it has happened. Once, in Kindergarten, I dreamed that a bunch of us had stolen one of the boys' backpacks, and we were passing it around the room so he couldn't get to it, and it was clear plastic with green zippers and a blue handle and straps, and the inside back was yellow, and the outside back was red and it said Crayola on it (you know, like where a Jansport logo would be) with some crayons that had cartoon faces. it had some of those wide papers in it with the big lines and dotted lines down the middle so kids can learn to write properly, and you could just see the letter S, upper and lower case, repeated over and over again. There was a reading workbook, and some big pencils (navy blue and twice the diameter of a normal pencil. We were all given one, or more if we lost them, or, in my case, if we chewed them to the point that they were unsightly. Actually, I gnawed my name into my pencil.) and a big pink eraser, and some more papers, like, writing numbers and filling in the letter in the blank under a picture. ("S_AKE" and there's a picture of a reptile. "_AKE" and there's a pool of water. ) in the front bottom pocket there's an 8-pack of big crayons, and some paperclips. Everyone was shouting, and he was trying to run around the desks, arranged in a U-shape, and he was at the point of tears, and I want to say his name was Bobby Lehman, who I went to preschool with, but I'm pretty sure he was in Mrs. MacPherson's class, and I was in Miss Simmons' class, which had yellow walls and the numbers from 1 to 200 around the walls, which represented how many days we'd been in school, and each day that ended in a zero, Zero the Hero would bring us Hostess snacks or Oreos or 'Nilla wafers, and I was always depressed when it was 'Nilla wafers because I hated them, and the smell STILL gives me a headache, and I felt like I was missing out. I always wanted to be in Mrs. MacPherson's class because my sometimes best friend Charlotte Waters was in that class and plus it was a bigger room with round tables and a little stage and that's where all the arts and crafts boxes were, and they had more books in their reading corner. Miss Simmon's room had the better reading corner, though, because she had a rug over the carpet and pillows to sit on. Anyway, everyone was shouting to get the backpack, and when I said, "Pass it to me!" I said it out loud, and it woke me up.

That was a roundabout way of telling a story.

One time I found a grasshopper in my cubby in Kindergarten. it was really big, and even more so because I was five. I thought it was a really monstrous cricket, only green, and I thought it was terribly funny that it chose a green cubby to sit in. Anyway, I called Miss Simmons to see it, and she said it was a grasshopper. I wanted to catch it in a jar and put it next to the silk worms, but she just scooped it up and let it jump off into the bushes.

I remember one time when the hairdressers dyed Miss Simmon's hair too dark, she was blonde, and wanted to go sandy blonde, but they made her an auburn brunette, and she was SO distressed, and I suggested they have then dye it back again, but she said they couldn't dye blonde over brown, she'd have to bleach it, and I asked why didn't she do that? and she said her hair was already ruined, she didn't want to torture it any more.

I used to have flying dreams all the time. Like, I would sit a certain way and then just lift right off the ground, walk along the ceiling and out the door. Only, I never flapped my arms or anything, it was like being able to jump on the air, like Samus Aran, which is funny because I've never played Metroid, especially not in 1995.

I feel like I'm writing a novel, a novel about nothing. I feel like Sandra Cisneros, describing things nobody cares about in excruciating detail, using a lot of 'and's. I feel like I have more to tell you, so if you don't care, keep scrolling down and don't bother reading it all.

Charlotte Waters was a troublemaker. There used to be a tree called Lonely George at the edge of the field, just before the field and the yellow-flowered bushes became a white fence and a horse trail. It got cut down sometime around the Oklahoma bombing, and then it was a stump. Charlotte and I found chalk deposits in the sediment and chipped them off, covering the stump's surface in chalk and rubbing it in until it was smooth and soft, day after day. Then we collected the yellow flowers from the bushes and sprinkled them on the stump, and put out placemats an napkins made of Ivy leaves, pine needles we pretended were forks, and we pretended to have tea. We used to sew mittens and purses and all sorts of things out of ivy leaves and young pine needles. But Charlotte Waters was a troublemaker. She would lead me into a little alcove she'd discovered in the bushes, and we'd sit there and hide until after the lunch bell had rung and class had started. We usually got back to class before too late, but one time Coach Charlene had to come looking for us, and then we had to write letters of apology. She took out the rock chairs and the ivy decorations I'd made, too. Another time, Charlotte showed me that chewing the stem of this certain plant tasted good, her dad showed her, and so we'd go looking for them, reaching through the chain-link fences to get to them. Anyway, we didn't hear the Coaches blow their whistles, signifying the end of recess, and so Coach Shirley manhandles us back to class, and we had to write letters of apology. Charlotte didn't get along very well with Lisa Miller, who was in my Girl Scout troop. It's funny, because in the front office of the school, there is STILL a picture of them hugging like the best of friends. I wonder when THAT was taken, though, like I said, Charlotte was my SOMETIMES best friend, so maybe she was Lisa's SOMETIMES best friend, too. Well, Lisa wanted to sit for tea at the stump with me, and so did Charlotte, and I didn't know what to do, and I said there was room for both of them, and Charlotte said I could only be friends with one of them, so I left crying, and said they could just sit for tea by themselves, and they kept screaming at each other and crying, and so when the coaches came to see what was wrong, none of us could get the story straight through the tears, so we had to write letters of apology. After that, Lisa and Charlotte weren't allowed to be within 5 feet of each other.

My mother made me write lines when I misbehaved. I have a strong aversion to yellow legal paper, because I would have to write, "I will not talk back, I will not talk back," 700 times, or "I will not contradict, I will not contradict," 500 times. My third grade teacher did the same thing. I'd have to sit at the benches during lunch and recess, writing, "I will not forget my PE clothes, I will not forget my PE clothes," or "I will not forget my spelling book, I will not forget my spelling book" however many times until she decided I was done. Sometimes it took days.

Why aren't there doors and mirrors in a lot of boys' bathrooms? Sometimes, a ladies' room will have an anteroom, with couches and a coffee table, and magazines, and a box of tissues, but from all reports, this is not true of mens' rooms.

When I was younger, we had a special music class once a week. We'd line up by height and the tallest people would get the big, expensive, good-quality xylophones, and the smallest would get these teeny old glockenspiels that had keys missing. I've never been tall.

In the third grade I learned many things: how to write in cursive, how to whistle, and how to hate the recorder. And lines.

It seems my second grade teacher is still teaching, and so is the Character traits and Values teacher who would tell us every Wednesday how important it was to have moral integrity. That just goes to show how important moral values are to a developing mind: Absolutely ******** pointless.

I remember far too much from my young life. Looking back, I can point out where every fractured facet of my personality, every kink and quirk and curiosity, began to show itself.

I'm sure Freud would have a field day.

You'll leave without saying Hello?! gonk

No, you'd be like, "Hi" and I'd be like, -stare stare stare- "... GUMMI!! Ah-haha!" and you'd be like, "REQ!" and I would stand up and hug you and knock oer my lemonade with my clumsy hips.

I have clumsy hips.