I miss the good old days.

I most certainly did not. It’s downright unimaginative.

Good heavens. Could it be that irony has, yet again, made a grand appearance in my life? Speaking on behalf of irony, I shall answer: Yes. I’m ashamed to confess that I have several irrational fears. Elevators, Charlie Chaplain, mayflies, but most embarrassingly, balloons. That’s right. I am terrified of balloons. The unpredictable but inevitable popping that occurs with approximately 90% of the balloon population has created a terror in me that will not vanquished any time in the near future.

Now for the ironic part. Darling Josiah introduced me (and other unsuspecting victims) to the game Bloons on his own blog. Now I’m hooked. What is object of this “Bloons” game, you ask? The object is simply this: pop all of the virtual balloons with darts. It sounds simple and boring (and in my case, really really scary) but no! It’s a magical game that reels its players in until they can only think, breathe, and eat Bloons. (It tastes like a mixture between strawberry yogurt and tires.) 

Perhaps this game will help me to overcome my preposterous fear of balloons. Or, perhaps it will merely drive the phobia further into my frail self until I can no longer be in the same hemisphere as the inflatable balls of doom without hyperventilating. Only time will tell. 

It may just be me, or perhaps the entire LCA student population suffers just as I do, but every nine months or so, Summer sneaks up with its vacant schedule and I am left witless. My ability to occupy myself without an overwhelming homework load is somewhat impaired. Surely I have interests and hobbies that take up time, right? Quite honestly, my interests lie in my friends. I love spending time with people—but when you’re spending time with people there’s only so much you can do, right? Lets go see a movie! Lets go get some food somewhere! Unfortunately, American culture only allots three meals a day. So what am I to do between breakfast and lunch, between lunch and dinner? 

Maybe I’ll take up basket weaving…

Am I excited about graduating?

I just can’t decide!
…but thanks so much for asking.

So much to gain, yes, but so much to lose.
Friendships that are just now beginning.
A group of tight-knit brothers and sisters.
People that I care about all going their separate ways.

Am I getting left behind? Absolutely.

…that Kyley Snow White hates money with a fiery passion.

______________________________________________

::edit::
In honor of my hatred for money…

and no, I’m not a socialist. I just…don’t like money!

The three minutes were almost over. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Beep. Beep. Beep. It was dinnertime. Every day, the odds of having dinner with the family became slightly less. The older my brother, sister and I got, the tighter our schedules became. The tighter our schedules became, the more difficult it was to get the entire family together during the same supper hour. I walked towards the silverware drawer. Can you believe it? Not a single clean spoon. My new dinnertime companion had become the twenty-four inch television. Such a companion made for intriguing conversation. I hardly had to say a word. This was preferable, seeing as proper manners wouldn’t permit me to speak during the majority of my meal.

The remote-control employed my left hand while my right maneuvered the cutlery. The two arms worked as a fascinating team. How is it that one person can complete two entirely different tasks with a single mind choreographing both at once? It never made sense to me, to be honest. The channels continued to flip until I finally found rest on a news station. This August day was unlike many others; especially if you happened to reside in the populous city of New Orleans, Louisiana. A deadly hurricane had caused the ruin of a once thriving city. Although the natural disaster was tragic, to be certain, I sat and watched with desensitized eyes. The event had little effect on my suburban life and I felt no need to relate to the suffering families as it would only disturb my own mood.

News crews interviewed countless people. Upsetting pictures flashed on the screen and numbers began appearing below the interviews and pictures. Apparently the devastation of a natural disaster can be measured by mathematical means. Every bit of news coverage was showing uncensored pictures. Still, the coverage seemed strategically filmed; similar to a movie. The realness lay in the back of my mind but my direct conscience watched it like any other show. This allowed me to learn about the state of New Orleans without becoming emotionally caught up in the events. Such detachedness was one of my countless defense mechanisms.

While my right hand continued to oversee the eating of my supper, my left hand resting on my lap, the spectacle of a distressed man caught my attention. He was wearing khaki pants and a t-shirt; his entire being soaked from head to foot. His glasses were wobbly but held steadfastly to his face. His eyes told me that he was in his early thirties. The news reporter listened intently to the poor man’s cry. I did the same. “Rachel Wetherly,” he said, his voice cracking, tears welling up in his weak eyes. He said it again, “Rachel Wetherly.” The man hid his face with his hands. Several painful instances later, he turned deliberately back towards the camera with an expression of both misery and resoluteness: “I love her. I have to find her.” I sat comfortably on my couch.

For a single moment, I had unwittingly let my guard down. I had allowed a distant event to penetrate into my own being. I rose from my seat and found a blue pen in the multi-use kitchen drawer. I wrote the name on my hand: R-a-c-h… For some reason, which remains unknown to me this very day, it was important that I remember that name. Perhaps it was the expression of the no-name man’s face on the television screen. Maybe I had heard the name before. Most likely, however, it was the understanding in the stranger’s voice. At no point in the interview did he mention his house, his dog, his personal state of wellbeing, or any other aspect of his life aside from Rachel Wetherly. It is my belief that, given the opportunity to relive this August day, this man would have lived in a way that would have given credit where credit was due; making the most valuable aspects of his life his first priorities.

I looked down to see that my right hand had cleaned my plate almost entirely. Little remained as evidence to my having ever eaten supper. My left hand awoke from its nap and commenced to pushing the power button on the remote-control. I cleaned my plate, took out the trash, and continued on with my evening to-do’s. The following evening, however, at the same time of day, I was sitting at the kitchen table, eating dinner with my family.

*I stayed with a friend in Edgewood (East Texas) this weekend. It’s been far too long since I’ve been able to see the stars.
*I was going to go parasailing today. Stupid wind. Next week, hopefully.
*Life is amazing. I’m almost graduated.
*I wish I could go horseback riding every day.
*I’m not going to prom by myself :]
*Two more weeks until Spring Break.
*I wish I was going off to a university my first year out.
*I’m SO blessed to have the friends that I have.
*Life all around: two enthusiastic thumbs up.

People have been telling me that politics don’t matter. And although I’m not a huge fan of U.S. politics, does it not make a difference whether a presidential candidate supports a woman’s right to choose, or the rights of unborn children that are unable to defend themselves? Perhaps you’d be more concerned about politics if it was your life that hung in the balance.

Okay–backing up. I’m not trying to sound self-righteous at all. It’s just that I think that people underestimate the significance of government. Even worse is when people realize the significance of government but see no hope for change and therefore give up any effort to push for that change. Change is not out of reach, my dears, so stop deluding yourself into thinking that you’re off the hook.