Where you lead, I will follow

I feel my very heart breaking within me...
I don't know what I expected. If I was honest I knew it wouldn't last. But oh I just want a little longer. I will be the first to admit it has been fading lately. The glimmer of laughter has left their eyes. But I never thought I would feel this loss or this emptiness. Jessica said she will have a mourining party with me where we will dress in black and talk really fast using inside jokes.

May 15th 8:00 p.m.

The last new Gilmore Girls episode to air ever.

You complete me

How foolish I was to believe I had known love before I laid eyes on you.
What a child I was to think I had already known life's greatest pleasure.
How naive I was to think myself content without your presence in my life.
What a skeptic that I ever doubted love at first sight.

For you beloved, anything
You had my heart at "tea time"

I got my first tea pot today. I am a lady. You may call me Lady Madame President Megan. Would you like some tea?

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Sugar and Spice and Everything that makes you want to cry

As the movie began, I thought I might like it better than I did the first time. The prospect of watching it again had tempted me before. So Britt and I suspended out Boggle game to watch Mean Girls. Perhaps one of the reasons I dislike the movie is because it is real. If you have never been a middle school girl you will not believe me when I say that that cruel world indeed exists. Although, true, it is no as glamorous but there is just as much drama. The movie is far too reminiscent of who I was and what I could have become. If you come to know me now you will ,hopefully, find me to be an average if not an overly studious young lady. So coming to this conclusion you are now bracing yourself for a sadly pathetic story of how I was gossiped about and maligned by the school "mean girls", how they have come to a rotten end, and how my uncool kindred spirits and I are well adjusted, rich, and happy. But most unfortunately that is not my tale. Since I was in 3rd grade i was part of the cool clique. Mind you that our class was small so the exclusion from this group was felt keenly. I don't know if I attract dramatic people or if I bring out that behavior in others but either way drama came. It seems silly now but it most surely felt like the end of the world when the other two girls of the clique uninvited me to their birthday parties. So along the line of growing up I learned to be cunning. My creativity always gave me a leg up in game playing and the specialty of creating a kingdom with room for few. I would make laptops and cell phone out of paper so we could call our favorites of the Hanson brothers. Then later in middle school I would create elaborate stories to keep our minds from the three fourths of a mile we still had to run in P.E. Weaving the tale of how we were witches and the bird on the field was the enchanted prince Henry, we took on the nicknames of Wendy, Casper, and Flora so that if our notes were ever intercepted our identities and secret crushes were safe. Now this all sounds lovely if not ideal but the story gets ugly.
This is when we (probably me, it stinks of my creation) coined to term "fish". This was an unfortunate, uncool girl who found our companionship something to be desired and decided to try and become our friend. We did not smile on those who tried to enter our secure trio. So we plotted. We made vicious plans on how to regain our freedom. I shake my head remembering how I loved the thrill of secrecy, how I felt that we were a secret organization, that we were generals preparing the assault. So these poor girls (yes girls plural) were victims in our usually cruel, always elaborate plans. Though as you can imagine, we rarely had the clean break we anticipated. My mind has protected me from most of the things I did but several still haunt my conscience. One occasion is more vivid that the others.
The current "fish" was Kara, an overweight girl who had grown up with Casper and Flora while I was fairly new to the school. One afternoon while descending from our third story band class we began to plan and gossip. One of us, I do not deny it could have been me, made some comment about Kara being fat and some other insult I can't remember. She was a little ways behind us coming down the stairs. I must have been in 6th or 7th grade. My companions and I were later taken from class and confronted on the accusation of saying mean things about Kara. The teacher who did the confronting was an English teacher I greatly respected. She asked me if these things we true and looking her in the eyes I lied... We explained she must have misheard us. That we would never say anything like that to her; we were friends. She believed our sugar story and we were saved from some still unknown horrible fate. Other moments stick out throughout time and thankfully I finally got the strength the break free of the group announcing to one of them that I hated who I was when I was with them and that we could no longer be friends. I proceeded then to live a mostly normal life having little drama with friends and recognizing the signs, would break off potentially harmful friendships before they were all consuming.
But at moments I look in the mirror or see my actions from the corner of my eye and I look too much like that girl with long bangs gelled to her temples. My personality type naturally drives me to the development of several close friends as apposed to always meeting new people and craving the large group. I love the comfort and security a couple best friends offer. So at school once I found this group of girls I noticed myself reluctant to allow the socially underdeveloped to join. One such individual is Julia, a girl from Ukraine. She speaks great English but does not understand how conversation flows and adds long, random story at awkward times during lunch. The other girls of my close-knit group do not care for her in the least but most of the time the Holy Spirit gives me a sound upset stomaching when I see her siting alone. Was it not just 6 months ago when i was alone and terrified about not knowing anyone? What right do I have to deny why I prayed for without ceasing the month preceding my first day of school? So if anyone reads this challenge me and hold me accountable to go out of my way to love this girl like Jesus does.
That is quite enough honesty for the time being. My memoir will be on the shelves in in 3-4 months once the editing is done, so if you enjoyed my soul barring be on the look out.

Tumble Dry

My family has learned to judge my stress level by the cleanliness of their clothes. Let me explain. When I am studying my brains out, I often need a break. I usually love to read but my eyes are fried from staring at textbooks so reading is out. This means that so is watching T.V. and the computer. My fingers are cramping so there will be no writing. But I have found solace. In doing laundry. Strange as it may seem I crave the break that comes every 45 mins with the changing of the loads. I also like to be productive. To conclude, all the clothing in the house is clean. This is promising to be one stressful week.

The end result

Matt is a lot like Harrison in at least one way: They are like Midas. Everything they touch turns to gold. Every project they attempt is met with such success that on many occasions those around actually gasp.

"You wrote that?"

"You made that goal with a broken foot?"

"You got 130% on your test?"

"You painted that?"

"You got a tip of how much?"

Each statement is then finished with something like "Amazing" and some thoughtful noises.

So it is not so hard to assume why at times i am reluctant to play games with either one. Even if you challenge them to Disney Scene It, they will win and make you want to cry with the unfairness of it all.

Why do I blog all this? Because Matt said I should use my paint and canvas (Christmas present) and paint something. I had to first stop looking at the amazing painting he gave me (so i didn't get too discouraged even before I started) and started painting. I'm not so embarrassed by the work so far. Mind you I have a lot more Friday nights to go, which is the only time of the week I can dedicate to my art. So I decided to share my progress with all of you.

Here is where I got my idea.

Here is what I have done so far
The only area that is fairly finished is the sky. Now imagine the castle right there in the light area. Now imagine purplely/blue clouds over the first layer of white. Also imagine the whole bottom area filled with little houses with yellow windows. Hmm this leaves a lot of the imagination. Looking at this picture now is slightly depressing but I've done all this blogging. To the untrained eye it may seem like handfuls of finger paint and to the trained its flaws must shout like a beacon. But it me it is quite all right and to my mother it puts Michelangelo's chapel to shame. I don't really care what anyone thinks as long as they don't comment on it's horror or genius.

So it is very late and I've got a lot of sleeping in to do tomorrow. Good night

Lost from dawn to morning

Friday morning. 7:00 a.m. I meet seldom passersby. Everything is enchanted the whole ride to school. It is still dark outside but more like the dark of midnight than the dark of 8:00p.m. I feel like Emily just getting a glimpse behind the Veil. I notice everything that I do not notice on my same walk that takes place hours later and I notice nothing that I normally notice.
Every time I step out from the depths of the parking garage and meet the day for the first time, I am greeted with a European familiarity that sends me back to early mornings in London leaving the depths of the underground in a similar manner. My walk is not so brisk despite the chill in the ebbing darkness. Each Friday I am just as enthralled at this new world just for me as the first and may I never shake it. There is a moment on my walk to Micro that I waited for every week. It is a glimpse into something so beautiful, so ancient in my mind, that I am no longer in London but Ephesus.
I have heard of a building in the Charlotte skyline that is called the Colosseum. I can then only assume that if my building is indeed the one I think it is, it must have been named from the exact spot I admire it.
For just a moment the building and trees move and allow me a peak at her. I call it a "her" because in my mind I can not call that building the Colosseum. That is not grand enough for it. It is the Temple of Artemis. In that glimpse Julia is as real as I am and I can just see her out of the corner of my eye falling prey to Artemis's deception and bringing her best jewelry hoping for healing, hoping for forgiveness. I can see her dark hair and beautiful complection, read her thoughts as though she spoke then aloud. Reader, do you ever get just a taste of something or when straining your ears hear the echo of a sound? I do far too often for my sanity's sake. So often in fact that i stopped asking people if they saw the lights flicker or heard that thumping down the hall and just started accrediting it to my imagination . So it is very nice when someone else asks if anyone noticed the sinister footsteps coming from the hallways.
So I resume my walking and take one last look at the Temple all lit from within. Beckoning pilgrims to rest beneath her columns. I am brought back to central campus by a most unfortunate individual. This man or woman is bundled up ( I then remember how cold it is) and is blowing leaves off the steps. Every week he/she is there maybe every morning at 7:30. I give this person a nod to bid good morning. the building is gone from my mind as Microbiology begins.