To Tired To Tell Tales

Quite honestly I am much too tired to tell you one of the many stories that I know I should write down before I forget the details of but I told myself I could consistently blog three times a week because that seems reasonable. And I need a blog post to do that so I am going to tell you some facts about myself because that seems easier.

1) i like kissing but makes my lips dry and i giggle when i kiss a boy.

2) i am much more likely to do you a favor if my room is clean.

3) i love mr. deeds, it is one of my favorite movies.

4) i really want to move out.

5) i need a job before i can move out.

6) i know sneaking out is bad but i want to do it sometimes.

7) i like my skirts shorter than my dad does. i also like my sleeves off my shoulders.

8) i think coffee is a good acquired taste worth acquiring.

9) i might drink too much caffeine and eat too much sugar.

10) i like when i find out i can count on something, it is the only good kind of surprise.

True Passion

Once upon a time I sat in a dark auditorium to watch a substandard Jr. high performance. The band, orchestra, and top choir all got together on the stage and did there best. They sang songs that no one understood the words to but thought were pretty anyway, they played a song arranged by one of the students, they did a lovely tribute to the military, and all in all it wasn't to terrible, but also not to interesting.

 I found myself looking at the people around me.

I watched the lady with a fussy baby try and quiet it. I watched the old married couple hold hands and whisper like school children. I watched my dad send emails to work. But most of all I watched my beautiful little sister breath in the music around her.

I watched her close her eyes, right there on stage and time her breath with the clashing, slightly off beat music. I watcher her let it wash over her and entirely consume her thoughts to the point where she missed her well practiced cue.

I saw real passion in her that night. I saw a girl who loves something so much that it has become a part of her very soul. I saw someone who was so enthralled in the sound that she only saw the beauty and didn't mind the trumpet that came in early or the flute that kept hitting an ear-splitting high note. And seeing that made me see the beauty in it too.

left but not forgotten

My poor blog. I neglected it so much the last little while. and by little while I mean few months. and you know what? I am going to ignore it for a day or two longer while I get caught up on homework and sleep because I have been neglecting both for a while now. poor homework. poor sleep.
BUT. . .
When I get back I have lots to tell you. The wedding, that great kiss, the new boyfriend, breaking down on the freeway, a few movie reviews, and a few blog posts that have been written in notebooks and never copied over. It will be great if you come and read them. which you might not because I have neglected you. I apologize. I will do better. maybe. . .

that is all (for now)
taylor.

It is raining.

It is raining.

Such a simple sentence that can mean so much. Is it a gentle patter; a friend knocking softly to get your attention? Is it so calm it is barely a mist, one that comes and soaks the world in a baptism meant to clean it? Is it a sudden burst over the desert, over compensation for months of neglect? Is it the angry kind that pounds the ground with its fists, a temper tantrum from the sky?

Is it falling on the shingles of the roof of the newly wed couple, so in love they can't see straight? Is it pitter-pattering a top the sheet of corrugated tin the man who lost everything is sitting under? Is it evaporating on hot asphalt or freezing on the cold of steel? Is it falling into a lake to be lost in a crowd or carefully being collected and stored away?

Is it because the sky is crying or did an angle over fill her bath? Is it why that old man is snoring or does he always do that? Will it really go away, really come again another day? Does it feel bad for always being late for the rain dances? Has it ever rained cats and dogs? Does it know that it brings May flowers?

Is it being watched by eyes who wish it would change to suit them; or is it falling, perfect in its solidarity? Does it look back at us? Does it see into our windows with as much fascination as we have? Does it know about the going away presents it leaves us? Has it seen the beauty of flowers and rainbows?

Does it know it is blocking out the sun and canceling picnics? Does it do it for a reason? Was it saving us from skin cancer? Did it want to come on our picnic? Did it just not want us to go? Does it have dreams? Does it have goals? Does it want to be a lake or end up in a tap Why is it raining today and not three days ago?

Do these questions matter? Does the rain feel? Is it conscious? Does it know where it falls? Who it hits? What it cleans? When it lands? Who sees?

Or. . .
Is it just raining?

And the universe is still turning.

I moved exactly one year ago today and guess what? It wasn't the end of the world like I thought it would be. Things changed, me especially, but life kept going. I left my old neighbors, the ones who watched late night kisses happening on our front porch with binoculars from their kitchens, and got new ones who make wofums instead of roasting marshmallows, and now I have two sets of crazy adults in my life. I switched schools, twice, and learned how to be the new girl as well as stay loyal to old friends. I learned how to really play girls camp pranks and remembered that the first ward has the forth of July down the way no one else does.

A year ago if you asked me if I would ever not regret having to move I would have said no but now? I'm not so sure. I can't imagine not having all of these experiences. they have changed me, maybe for the better, maybe not, but they changed me and I am who I am because of them, and I do know that I'm glad I'm me, wither I like who I am or not.

The things you can find in your back pockets

You know when you stick something in your pocket and forget about it;  maybe you'll find it next winter when you wear that coat again, or maybe it gets donated along with the old pair of jeans you're never fitting into, or maybe it falls out and you forget to check for it so it is lost for ever? Well, a boy has done that with my heart. He took it, even though I had no plans to give it to him, and shoved it in his back pocket.

So here I am, with my heart in this boy's pocket and he doesn't know it is there because he didn't look for it, and he is putting his heart in someone else's pocket and it makes me want to scream because i don't know her so I can't hate her and that is really what all girls want to to when a boy is running around with their heart chasing after someone else's. I wish that it was me who he went all out making Valentine's day special for and had a great time with. I wish it was me that he was kissing, even if he might taste funny. And I wish it was me whose heart he took out of his pocket and took care of.

But he isn't looking for the heart in his back pocket, instead he is looking for the one that he may or may not have while mine sits there waiting. But my heart isn't patient. It is telling me that I need to just go up to him and kiss him next time I see him, even thought that would create a scene and he would feel very uncomfortable about it because he doesn't know my heart is in his pocket even though we both agree that telling someone you like them is always the better plan. It is also telling me to text him and tell him that I might love him, or I might just like him, I'm not sure, but I do know that I think about him and want to spend time with him in a very un-platonic way. It is telling me a lot of other things to, and I'm very impressed that he can't hear it screaming at me. I mean it is in his pocket.

But I'm not listening to it, instead I'm blogging about it because as we all know blogging is the next best thing when compared to confessing your maybe-love-definitely-an-infatuation-possibly-an-obsessive-want-slash-need-to-be-with-this-boy-who-might-just-be-perfect.

And tights make a difference

I learned that the robbers in 101 Dalmatians (the one with real people, not Disney) are Dr. House and Arthur Weasly.

I heard this lovely lady, who used to be my dear friend but who now I only blog stalk will follow my blog if I link to hers on it and decided to test her.

I also know for a fact that some times I wish a dashing young man would show up at my door and take me for an adventure when i am feeling low.

It has been rumored that you can fear an opinion, and when you do it is called allodoxaphobia. 

Someone whispered that pinterest is my newest addiction, it makes me feel crafty when I'm really not.

I worried that he didn't want to talk to me, but then someone told me he wasn't talking to anyone.

 I'm sure that he made me feel confident, and rather pretty when we were dancing.

I do believe new CDs are great, but old ones are even better.

Sometimes I think winter is what hell will be like before I remember that hell is hot. And if that means heaven is cold I'll take the fire and brimstone.

I doubt it matters if my skirt is an inch above my knees, if a book of mormon fits between us, if I am awake at midnight, or if I like coffee.

The Thinking I've Been Doing

I've been sick this week. The kind of sick where you just want to lay in bed and do nothing all day long, and so that is what I've been doing. Laying there and doing nothing. That means I have had a lot of time to think, more time than usual, and that is a lot of thinking.

I've been thinking about those kids. You know the ones I'm talking about? I hope so because I'm still not sure. They might be the ones at school that you only know of, or the friends that you don't really know but wish you did. Or the boy you might love if you knew him. Or maybe even that girl that you never wanted to be until you found out who she was. I suppose those kids are the strangers that you spend all day around. Those kids are the ones who could change everything in your entire world if you just got to know them, if you just let the in, if you just opened up and put yourself out there.

I've been thinking about how I need to go on an adventure. One of those adventures where you do something crazy and unexpected and it ends up wonderful, or maybe even not so wonderful but you had fun doing it so that is okay. I want to go paragliding, or drive a car 100 MPH, or fall in love, or ask a stranger to dance, or. . . I don't know what. I just want to do something. I've decided that is the problem with winter. In the winter there is little to do, summertime is the time of adventure and possibilities, and it needs to get here faster and bring its adventures with it.

I've been thinking about school and how I have no interest in it anymore. I'm suffering from senioritis, and I'm only a junior. It might be a problem, I might be a typical teenager, I might be having a quarter-life crisis. Who knows? I just feel bored and trapped and oppressed by my whole life. I spend so much of my time doing all of this structured crap, everyday is the same and every thing is old and bland and I just want some spice in my life again. I just want to change things up I just want to. . . do something.

I've just been thinking a lot. About a lot of random things, and the product of my thinking?

I need some one unexpected to bring something unexpected into my life and take me on a crazy, stupid adventure. Any one up for the job?

I want a boy, but not just any boy

I want a boy.
I want a boy who will hold my hand in public and make all the other girls jealous.
I want a boy who will surprise me with twenty-five cent rings.
I want a boy who will send me a text saying good morning every day.
I want a boy who will let me win some times, and who will beat me other times.
I want a boy who will bet me kisses. I want a boy who will push me on the swings.
I want a boy who will stay up late talking to me when I have nightmares.
I want a boy who will let me steal his clothes.
I want a boy who will look for reasons to spend time with me.
I want a boy who will make me think before I do things.
I want a boy who will start snowball fight with me.
I want a boy who will dance with me even though I'm clumsy.
I want a boy who will sing to me.
I want a boy who will keep the little notes I leave him.
I want a boy who will smile when I show up at his house with out any notice.
I want a boy who will forgive me my mistakes, and let me do the same.
I want a boy who will trust me with his secrets, no matter what.
I want a boy who will tell me when I'm being too stubborn.
I want a boy who will play in a rainstorm with me.
I want a boy who will save my texts.
I want a boy who will feel comfortable with me.
I want a boy who will show me off.
I want a boy who will hang out with my sisters.
I want a boy who will work to make himself a better person always.
I want a boy who will make me want to be a better person.
I want a boy who will let me send him goodnight texts every night.
I want a boy who will tease me.
I want a boy.

Some times I wish I could just disappear. I wish that I could drop everything, stop caring about people and dishes and school and hide in a little house on the beach with flowers and sunshine. I wish I could just sit and write and read and get lost in words. That would be so nice. It would be easy and pleasant and lovely and good. Only I can't because I have to live life. How gross.

How the heck does paper beat rock?

I understand that scissors can beat paper and I get that rock beats scissors but there is no way paper can beat rock. Paper is supposed to magically wrap around the rock, leaving it immobile? What can't paper do this to scissors? Screw scissors, why can't paper do this to people? Why aren't sheets of paper constantly suffocating students while they are taking notes in class? I'll tell you why, because paper can't beat anything. A rock would tear it up in two seconds. That is why when I play rock, paper, scissors I always choose rock. Then when somebody claims they beat me with paper I can punch them in the face and say, 'Oh sorry, i thought your paper would protect you."

I didn't actually write this, i read it on a sign somewhere, but I can picture me saying it because I agree with it, so I thought I would share.

Got to love when you have a nightmare and can't get it out of your head, and of course it is 2:30 so no one is awake to talk to until you feel better. So great.