Hey! It's me! Breanna! Again! My, it's been a long time! My apologies! I don't really know why I haven't written... To be honest, I don't even know what day it is. Yay me! My brain has been... Addled lately. I don't know if I'm comign or going. That could be why I haven't posted since... My last post.

All kinds of things have happened! We had our March break, which was quite fun. Junior and I didn't do a lick of work until the last weekend of our break. Not the best idea, I'll admit, but it worked out fine. I got everything done that needed to be done (for yesterday, our first day back at school). Now I need to focus on what needs to be done for tomorrow! And the upcoming exams! Thank goodness the exams are in a month. I really need to study. (><)

Unfortunately, we have an English essay due tomorrow and I have quite a bit to do, so I'll just post a filler post! Yes, a filler post. It won't be too exciting though; it's one of the essays that I had to do this semester. Until next time!

- Bre :)



The Night I Accomplished the Impossible

    Procrastination: the story of my life. On second thought,
procrastination is not the story of my entire life, but only the story of my school career. As far back as I can remember I have always left all of my important school assignments to the very last minute. I spent many a night, and early morning, struggling to finish my school work.  Math assignments, English papers – you name it, and I did not do it until the night before it was due. Unfortunately, this turned into a bad habit and it kept with me throughout high school. In my last year of school, my biggest challenge had been writing my English essays. Instead of writing, I always found something that I deemed better to be doing; Math, for instance, was of a higher priority than English. I remember one particularly difficult essay that I had to write in my last year of high school.

    It was early December, and the Christmas break was fast
approaching. The teachers had piled on us mountains of homework that they expected to be completed before school let out for the holidays. I was not very enthused about this because, as part of our homework, our English teacher had
graced us with a writing assignment. It was an essay, to be written on a major theme of the play, Macbeth. I dreaded writing this composition because I knew, like all of my other
assignments that year, I would write it the night before it was due. I also knew that, despite my knowledge of the play, I would have great difficulty writing the essay because of the pressure of writing a good quality essay at the last minute. As was my nature, I sat down that fateful Wednesday night and began to write.

    The clock ticked impatiently as I sat at my desk, reminding me of how little time I had left. I listened to my light hum, and to my bed sweetly calling my name, tempting me to give in to sleep. My head throbbed with an
impending migraine as I tried to push thoughts of sleep out of my mind and think of my thesis statement. I sighed and sat back in my chair, hopeless and tired, and wished that I had started my essay the day it was assigned. I rubbed my eyes; looking at a computer monitor for an hour and half was beginning to take its toll on me. I turned to look at the clock and a horrible realization washed
over me: it was bedtime for my siblings.  

     It started with my brother and sister arguing upstairs about who was going to use the washroom first. It grew increasingly difficult to write as the night wore on because they began to argue about everything that came up. I became frustrated and, as a result, I had to stop working. The flow of words stopped the moment that my siblings opened their mouths. I groaned. “Why can’t they just go to bed!” I thought. Worry started to set in after a few minutes of arguing and I began to feel unwell. Time was getting short and I needed to finish my essay. When my siblings finally calmed down enough to sleep, I began
writing again, but to no avail. 

     I became frustrated and angry with everything that I did, everything that I wrote, everything in my room. My clock ticked too loudly, and I could not think; my lights hummed too much, and I could not concentrate; my
computer was so bright that it hurt my eyes, and I could not see straight. Even the tapping of my nails on my keyboard was beginning to annoy me. By midnight, I was too angry at myself to write any more. Thinking was almost impossible at this point, and writing became nothing but a dream that would never be fully realized. I began to contemplate going to school the next day with my
half-finished essay, but my eyes began to water just at the thought of disappointing my teacher with something that was half-done. Frustrated, I shook my head, expelling the thought from my mind before I had the chance to seriously
consider it. “Why,” I thought, “did I have to put this off? Why didn’t I do this last week?” I wiped my eyes and prepared myself for the long night ahead; there was no more self-pity for me. Breathing deeply, I exhaled my frustration and began working on my essay once more. 
 
    I am pleased to say that, despite all of my frustration, I
finished my essay and handed in the day that it was due. However, I was exhausted that day and I could not concentrate on any of my classes no matter how hard I tried. From this trying experience, I learned that procrastination is never the answer; all of the frustration and anxiety that go along with it is never worth the trouble in the end. Although I may sound enlightened, in reality
I am nothing of the sort. Procrastination is still my favourite way to get things done.


P.S. For any who read that, thanks! It's not great. Personally, I think Junior's was WAY better than mine.

Waldon here, and tonight's title comes from none other than our very own wonderful Bre. :P I just asked her what the title should be, and she replied with that wonderfully obscure and esoteric title. Esoteric being the word of the day. Go look it up!

I should probably explain why it's funny, shouldn't I? :P You see, one of our lab instructors is from Lebanon, and he's just the right blend of Creepy, Awkward, Helpful and Foreign. Needless to say, he's one of my favorite teachers. Possibly THE favorite. :P He's been living in North America for over 20 years now. The first two decades in Texas, where he learned Spanish as well as English. He also knows French and Arabic, because Arabic is his native tongue and he did French in school. :P So, of course his speech mannerisms are kind of... odd. xD My favorite saying from his is "As sure as the sun will be in the sky...." Meaning, "Of course it's going to happen/It's almost certain/It's going to be, etc...." It just sounds so epic. Just say it sometime in conversation, and you'll feel like you're saying something out of an old storybook. :P

School has been killer the past few weeks. You might have been able to tell from the sporadic update schedule. In fact, I'm falling asleep as I write this. But Bre has been worried about me the past few days, I know, so I want to try to stay up for a little longer so that she doesn't worry as much. If I ever go to bed before 11, people tend to get nervous. With my recent heart issue, I've been monitored around the clock. Hopefully it won't happen again, but I'll admit the attention is nice. ;)

(P.S. I'm not faking a heart condition, FYI. That was a joke. Please don't think I'm that horrible of a person)

Now, I think I have to find something to do other than work for a little bit. I've got to ask Rami about my Bio writeups due Friday tomorrow, so I'll get those both finished tomorrow. Tonight I think I'll work on some poetry that isn't lame couplets. :P

Good night all!
-Waldon

Waldon here! And with my usual grace and subtle charm and wit I'm going to say I'm tired! Actually, I'm exhausted. But that's not a big deal. I can write a little bit. xD I've actually been writing all night long, I've been trying to finish what is hopefully a good story that after I send it out to the provincial literary competition, I'll have a chance to show all of you!

Seriously though, I've written over 1000 words tonight already. I don't want to write any more. :P

Suffice to say, my fingers are tired. xD

But! Something of importance happened today! Two things, actually, so I'll tell you about them.

Firstly, I got oil for my truck! It turns out that it was so low on oil that the oil gauge was stuck on half full because it couldn't move. Apparently anyway. I'm not a big automotive person. :P But! It did take three entire quarts of 10W-30 to get it up to nearly full!

And after that, Bre came over for an hour or two! It was great! We hadn't seen each other for longer than 10 minutes over a week, and to two people that practically lived together, that's harsh.

Bre worked on her Physics, and I worked on my story. :P

So, I guess I'm gone to sleep now. Good night all! : D
-Waldon

Waldon here, and I had forgotten to post the story I wrote a few months ago on here, so I figure I'll do that now. I was browsing the forums on Deviantart (Or was it Gaia? xD) and somebody was ripping up the forums about how nobody writes "Inspirational-from-life" stories anymore. Of course, I solemnly took this as what it was.

A challenge! >:D

So, I looked back over my remarkably short existence and made a list of things that could possibly be considered "Epic or sad" in a certain casting of literary light. I found a few I thought I could just, you know, 'embellish' a little. So, here it is! Hopefully you fans of those deep stories like this! I know I read it and get a giggle. :P

PS. Don't look at this as real. Please. In fact, us in the literary circles might even say many portions of this are *ehem* *ehem*, "fake".

Too many people think I'm depressed or something already! This is mostly just pointless embellishment to see if I could do it. Okay? Okay. Good to see that you all understand. :P

PPS. THIS IS

____________________________________________________

From Memories

Waldon Best

 

“Everybody is offered a choice. A choice to step away from everything and just disappear. To start over fresh and become a new person- this is a chance to give everything up that they’ve ever done.

This is the story of my choice;”

It all felt normal, as I woke up. That is to say, I felt like crap. I rolled out of bed, stepped over my sleeping dog and walked upstairs.

I stepped around my mother, who hardly noticed I was there, and walked into the bathroom. I got into the shower; letting the hot water soak it’s way into my sleep-tired muscles. I nodded off under the torrent, my forehead slowly dipping until it touched the wall with a startling stir. I woke with a start and rushed to get out. I found my support and walked downstairs again. I hurried into the warmth of my room, looked around for what I needed. I saw the purple disk.

Who else has to take medication from a disk? It was odd, that medication. It had to be inhaled. I made an odd face as I drew it in. It wasn’t like the other stuff that I had to inject or swallow. I didn’t like the new stuff. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

I noticed the time and started my truck. Thank god for electric start. As I fumbled around trying to reattach my medication to its plastic port in my body, that still sounds grotesque, I noted with irritation. It just happened to be that I was the lucky one in a thousand or two that had to deal with this diabetes crap.

Before long, I had finished with my daily tribulations and was on my way to pick up the Girl. Bless that girl for everything. I can’t help but smile when I’m around her. It’s almost creepy... Hell, it IS creepy. Damn. I don’t want to be a creeper.

I got in my truck, and glanced around at the world. My town is small and quiet, and is usually pretty peaceful. We’re hundreds of miles away from everywhere that’s anywhere. We’re the stereotypical hick town up north.

My thoughts turned to what I would be doing within the next while. I’m odd like that, you see. I don’t wonder what I’m doing that moment or time frame, I wonder what I’ll be doing in a few months, or in a few years, never what I’m doing now. After thinking my way through the school’s drama festival and the dance recital I had to dance in, I ended up thinking about the Prom. I wasn’t looking forward to the Prom.

I’m a third level high school kid with all of the stereotypes that implies. I was constantly angry, resentful and hungry. Also, I had zits. Which is possibly the worst thing that can happen to a guy hoping to impress a girl.

It took me months, years even before I had the courage to ask the girl to walk in with me to the prom.

Well, in all truthfulness, I never actually got the chance, but the intention was there.

She told the whole table at lunchtime that she was walking in with a guy. Okay, I can accept that. That’s cool. He was braver than I was. He asked her first.

Time passed, things changed. I grew up a little, I hope. The girl and I started seeing each other in the meantime. I was happy, it was great to have somebody to actually talk to, you know? But then the topic of prom dates was brought up. I didn’t want to think about it. I mean, I knew the guy was still walking in and going with her, that was a given. She would never break a promise. That was one reason I liked her.

I’m a jealous person. I’ll admit it. This was infuriating. I had had this perfect ideal in my head of prom that I could be proud of for the rest of my life. To most people it wouldn’t be a big deal. But for some reason it bothered me immensely. It was a thorn in my side that wouldn’t go away. It was the idea of it, I suppose. I was the guy she settled for, the one that was a backup. I hope she doesn’t hate me for it.

It’s irrational. I know that. But, still… It hurt.

I pulled into her driveway. Stepped out of the truck and got it running again. It’s too cold out to let it stop. I felt my legs go weak beneath me as the soles of my feet touched the icy dirt. Damn these knees. I’m eighteen! How many other eighteen year olds have to worry about bum knees?

These knees are always ruining stuff for me at the worst possible opportunity. I think they have a life of their own.

They made me into the one limping helper at the school events, the guy who couldn’t even do his job during the summer because they couldn’t even hold him up.

Oh well. It’ll pass. It always passes.

I knocked on her door and stepped in. I wait for her as she gets herself ready for school. I laugh as I notice the time. We’ll be late today, it seems. But that was okay. I liked being around the Girl.

We rush to school, get ourselves in order and commence with our day.

The day crawls by, one long grey blur of mathematics and smelly people crammed into cramped hallways.

But around noon I feel something odd, almost like my knees aren’t there anymore. I can taste a strange taste on my tongue. The center of my chest feels kind of  … hollow.

I know what it is now. With weary acceptance, I ask my teacher if I can go to my locker and get my glucometer and medication. He nods.

I sigh and stand.

When I was four years old, I woke up on a bright autumn day with a few odd things on the go. So odd, in fact, that my parents decided to take me to the hospital.

Immediately.

I guess being blue would be the incentive to provide that sort of reaction.

I was monitored, prodded, tested, moved and jostled. Within a week we had the diagnosis. I was a type 1 juvenile diabetic.

I had to look forward to a lifetime of testing and degradation.

Diabetes took over my life. I didn’t have any other memories before being this way. It was the only life I knew. Cold sterile hospital walls, invasive needles, an intimate understanding of where, exactly, it hurt to put a steel point.

Diabetes did more to me than I thought it did, in the end.

It almost eradicated my immune system. It damaged my cardiovascular system. I was hardly able to breathe; I could feel my heart beating through my ribcage just from walking down a hallway.

By the age of twelve I had been hospitalized.

With an assortment of drugs and material that I didn’t really understand, I was brought back to health. I was laid out for three weeks.

I think it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I had a visitor once or twice.

It was during this time that the diabetes changed me the most, in retrospect. I mean, I could deal with the liquid filled lungs, the compressed heart, the chronic bronchitis… it was the self-doubt that really did the damage.

How could I ever have a kid with myself like this? What would I do if they showed up like me?I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if they were born with all of my problems.

Marriage too. Marriage is out of the question. Marriage is a holy, wonderful bond between two equals. Between two people that want to spend the rest of their lives together.

I’m not even capable of living past the age of fifty. I’m not going to marry somebody, and then just as they’re getting old and ready to settle into life, leaving them. That would be the cruelest of things to do to somebody.

If I couldn’t walk down the street without having to make sure I didn’t die, what chances did I have in the real world?

School was over by now. The afternoon had passed. I held my report card in one hand. My face immobile as the stone school walls I had left with all haste. It was a drive home that wasn’t lonely. I was driving Her home today. So I had Her with me. She talks to me. I like that.

I dropped her off and started on my way home.

I slowly stepped out of my truck. The brisk winter wind tugging at my hair. Nudging the oh-so-important paper in my hands.

I raised my feet just enough to make each step. Every one felt as heavy as lead. I walked into my house where my mother waited for that oh-so-fucking-important-paper.

I handed it over without a sound.

She looked at it. Slowly. I stood and waited.

She raised her head. I didn’t breath.

As I looked forward and saw into her eyes, I knew she wasn’t going to and didn’t have to say anything. I trudged downstairs and closed my door with the unspoken accusations ringing loudly in my empty ears.

When I was young I was an outcast compared to the other kids. I was always giving myself needles and eating funny little candies. I was short and tubby, the perfect target for children who want to be like everybody else to pick on.

One of those was the other Boy.

He was thin and pale, and had black hair. He thought it was hilarious to keep picking on me.

Throughout my first, second and third years in school, he was my bully.

But sooner or later, something had to change. And it was I.

I grew a little. That was all it took when the average kid was never more than an inch or so different than anybody else. The guys who bullied me stopped. They were scared of me now.

As I sat with my head in my hands, I felt something cold and wet pressing against my forearm.

It was my dog, that beautiful, wonderful friend that never failed to be there for me with an unquestioning love. I was lucky, so, so lucky. I had several friends, but only a few of those were as close to me as he was. I thought of one in particular that was like a blood brother to me.

Who was always there, who singlehandedly stopped all but one of my bullies.

Every single one stopped - except for the Boy.

He would never stop picking on me.

… Because we became best friends.

In a weird twist of fate, when my family moved, I moved in next door to the Boy. We spent nearly half a decade nearly inseparable from one another. But, like before, things changed. The boy moved to another part of town, and we grew apart. But we always were brothers. Always will be.

We spent too much time together as stupid kids, beating each other up in our worlds of make believe underneath our parents porches. I can remember watching television with him. It was a documentary about tribes in Africa. We listened in rapt preadolescent attention as two men cut their wrists, put them together and suddenly were family.

Guess what we did?

He is now my brother. And as that powerful looking man on television said;

“He is my brother. I would fight for him. I would die for him. He is one of my own, and I will treat him as family.”

Clearly, I can remember being allowed to start walking around town with him, trying to find a new place to play in.

Eventually we did. And we called it “Cloudy Hollow”.

It was our place. Nobody else would ever be able to claim it from us.

I wish I could still live like that, without a care in the world to weigh me down.

We grew up, that’s the only thing that could have happened. After he moved to the other side of town, things started changing. He stopped caring about working. He stopped caring about anything but having fun now.

His marks dropped and despite my efforts, he continued to stay complacent with his work.

He didn’t care about getting a good grade. He was focused on having a good time, all the time. I’m not the kind of guy that dislikes that. To the contrary, I love relaxing and having some good fun with friends.

He didn’t care about school, or work, or anything that didn’t interest him. If it wasn’t an interest, it didn’t matter.

I had to stand there and watch as I saw his future going down the drain.

I’m taking my dog for a walk. It’s one of the few things I do that really lets me relax. It lets me just stretch myself out and see things, you know? I could forget about all the jealousy and resentment. About how lonely I was without the Boy or the Girl around, about how my health had gone to Hell and how Mom thought I was useless.

It was a beautiful night.  So I decided to walk the long way home and go through the path in the thicket of trees a short while away from my house. That thicket led straight out across the land. You could walk all the way to the ocean from there.

My dog. My faithful companion followed me and hounded me. I never walked him on a leash. You don’t chain your brother. Especially not if your brother loved you even if you were a defect like me.

We came up to a river or a pond. I couldn’t tell which. Did it really matter? I suppose not. Looking out over the frozen water, I felt an odd pressure building up behind my eyes. Like there was some great hand pushing me forward and holding me back simultaneously. I had a choice to make and I knew it.

Out there, in that water, was a chance to start over again.

I could just tell my Dog to walk home. He would do it. He was a smart boy.

I could just walk right out over the ice and wait. I could break it, I think. I’m a big guy now. I can push myself to be stronger for just a few minutes to open just one hole. That’s all I need to make a fresh start.

I started to open my mouth. I started to point towards town and tell my Dog to go home, when I saw it.

There was a small patch of water open near the edge of the pond, and I could see myself in the reflection.

As I looked at the mirrored picture of myself, I could see into my eyes. I hardly knew them. I was suddenly aware of myself. Of all the scars and contusions. Of all the damage and signs left from a life lived.

Maybe, if I just started over, I could actually accomplish something this time. Maybe I could actually make Mom proud, or be the guy my Girl actually wanted, hell, even stop Boy from ruining his life. I could clean myself out of all this damned disease and internal filth. I could make myself into a person with real hopes and dreams.

Of course, if I let the water take me, my life obviously wouldn’t end up like it is now. This life would be left far behind. I’d find another Girl. Another Boy. Maybe even another Dog.

I could hear the wind rustling in the bare trees, the branches rubbing dryly against one another, the pine needles brushing themselves against each other. I prepared myself to walk forward to that small, glistening patch of salvation in the ice and snow. A portal to blessed oblivion… and then life.

Dog pressed up against my leg.

I could feel his warmth through my jeans, very foreign feeling.

It was just so out of place. Where did all that heat come from? When did I get so cold? When did everything I start seeing things as dark and shadowed with resentment and jealousy?

I had a Girl who, if she didn’t love me, at least tolerated me. I had the Boy, who stuck with me through thick and thin, who was there for the toughest and best times of my life. I had a Dog that would walk with me through the coldest night because I was his brother, his pack mate.

With utter disregard to everything else, I had let myself be guided by my self-pity, to this pond. I had been given a bitter pill, and I had swallowed it without a moment’s hesitation.

I had decided on what I would do.

I was sick of being diseased and defective. I was hot to death and I knew it wasn’t long before I was burned out. I didn’t have long left to go. I was tired of feeling like I was a reject who had been placing last his whole life. The girl shouldn’t have to deal with my whining. The Boy needed a teacher, but I wasn’t it. I couldn’t save the Boy from wrecking his life. What right did I have to keep mine going? I tried my best, but I’m sure that I’ve ruined so much around me with my negativity.

I reached forward, slowly stretching my fingertips towards the opened ice.

I stopped as I felt the icy cool of the liquid release frosting my fingertips.

I remembered the warmth of her touch on my arms, her voice in my ears.

I recalled the warm days, the cool nights spent running around having worldly adventures and epic quests to save the world; with the Boy as my fellow adventurer, with the Girl as we walked a starlit promenade.

I saw Dog, sitting patiently. Waiting for me to come back to him. He didn’t doubt for one minute that I would be back. His certainty in me was absolute.

I felt something odd on my face. It felt weird. I was smiling.

Maybe my life wasn’t perfect. I’ll never be able to have kids or start a family. Nor live long enough to see my friends grow to old age.

But it was my life.

No matter what I did and no matter what was happening to me. I would never turn my back on it.

I have a chance, right here in front of me to start fresh, healthy, loved.

But that would mean giving up what I’ve already got.

I turned back to my Dog. I smiled and held out my hand. He placed his head in it, eager for a petting. He wasn’t going to leave me.

I wonder what Boy and Girl are doing right now? Would they let me come back to them?

I think tomorrow will be a good day, a good day to start fresh.

I was leaving old tracks behind and seeing a world once painted black, now colored in a vibrant new light.

I walked home under a new set of stars.

.... I will always regret doubting how much work webcartoonists have to go through to get their stuff online. O.o

Waldon here, and I guess you can tell my big amazing blog isn't coming around just yet. >.< It took hours, upon hours to finish what very little I DO have, simply because I did it wrong the first time and had to redo it all again. So, I've got the inking of it done, and now I'm working on scanning it all in the computer and editing it.

Luckily, I saved a (very) depressing short story to post on here for just such an occasion.

I'll put that up after a quick word or two about my day. :)

Today I was on call all day, so I didn't work, so I dropped off some papers in the afternoon, played oblivion, worked on the "blog" and ate supper. Then I went to the store with Bre, then to her Nan's house where we played the card game Golf for an hour or so. :P It was fun! :D

Then, I came home and worked on the "Blog" again. >.<

So, here's that short story, along with all my condolences!

[Pre Story Note!
This is NOT Non-fiction. None of this story is real!]

-----------------------------------------------------------------

    A long, long time ago when I was still a knee-high bean of a boy, I had a person who was very important to me pass away. He was everything I wanted to be. He was kind, hardworking, smart and artistic… He was my hero. He was my Grandfather.

I miss my Poppy.

            My grandfather wasn’t a very imposing man by any means. He was only up to where my shoulder would be now. He was balding with bright white hair and crinkled up eyes that shone like light whenever he opened them too wide.

            He had breathing problems and heart problems and a few other problems too. Whenever he got back home from his work, I would run to his breathing machine with those big funny looking pleated tubes and frantically get the machine ready as he counted down from ten. Just as he reached zero, I would shout out “blast off!” and turn on the machine. Then he would put those two tubes up his nose. I would always laugh, and he would smile at me with his kind, wise, old eyes.

            We would go for walks around the yard sometimes. My Poppy would make sure he put his hat on every time we went out, no matter how hot it was. He would look at me dead on in the eyes and place his hat right on top of his head, and slowly twist it just a little bit to the right. To “lock it” he said. So, of course that’s what I would do. I would copy every little thing he did and slowly and carefully place my hat on my head, and “lock it”. Of course, I could never do it as well as he could so he would gently and patiently fix it for me and off we would go. We’d step out the front door and right away he would put his two hands behind his age-bent back and slowly shuffle around lifting his feet as high as he was capable of. With all of his joints the way they were it’s amazing he could walk at all. I, of course, would try to copy his every move, and slowly waddle along with my hands behind my back.

            Of course, in school I was never one of the popular kids. So if I ever had a hard day, I would come and tell my Poppy. He would pick me up, and place me down on his knee and right there in front of my wide eyes he would pick up his worn out pencil and a piece of blank paper. There he would stare for a minute… and start drawing up this great big moose for me. And over the many too many years since, I’ve never seen anything quite so wondrous as that. I’ve never been more amazed in my life, as when he showed me that beautiful picture of that big moose.

            I miss my Poppy.

            Poppy was an entrepreneur. He worked hard his whole life right up till the day he died at the ripe age of seventy-one. He made his own business and made a name for himself. Lord, I was so proud of my Poppy. He started off working by renting a part of a building on the other side of town and basing his business from there. Over many years, he worked his way up to getting a full building of his own, eventually two, and then three. To this day, those three buildings are in the family.

            He was proud of what he’d done. He was a hardworking man, and worked his way to the top. But he was still my kind Poppy. When he got a shipment of business cards in that he found more than amazing, he gave one to me, and told me, “This is my place here. Don’t lose this card now, it’s got my number on it!” I know it’s nothing prosaic like you were expecting, but it’s what he said and I took it to heart.

            I’ve still got that card. It’s never left my wallet.

            Has anybody else ever realized that they never appreciate what they’ve got, until it’s gone?

            I was still very young when that lesson started to barge it’s way into my life. In our school, you would get home from classes for the day at around eleven thirty AM. So, of course that meant I was just in time to come back and watch the daily cartoons that I loved so much. But Poppy would come home right in the middle of my shows, and I would be forced to go find something else to do. My young mind started to get angry before Poppy even came home.

            Finally, in the Spring of my seventh year of life, I’d had enough. Of course, I was a big kid! I knew what I was talking about. I freaked out! I had a fit!

            I told my god-blessed, kind, wonderful, loving, old Poppy that I hated him.

            Mom came and picked me up, and I went home where I was scolded and told what I’d done wrong. I didn’t care. Why would I? I was sure what I thought was right. I said that I meant what I’d said that I would never take it back. My infantile mind vowed it. I kept to that vow.

            I’ve never regretted anything more than that day, that vow.

            I was at my grandparent’s house every day that week. Steadily staying away from Poppy. I was sure I was right. Everybody would apologize to me when they realized that. Why couldn’t I have figured out how stupid I was earlier?

            Less than a week after those stupid, ignorant words… my Poppy was dead.

            It was one evening at home when my father came to see my sister and I. He wasn’t home much, but when he was he was always joking with us. So when he looked at us and said, “I’ve got bad news guys… your Poppy is dead.” We didn’t believe him. We yelled at him and cried. It didn’t bring him back to life.

            They cleaned Poppy up, and got him ready for his funeral. I wasn’t allowed to go to see him at the morgue. Then they buried him. He was put underneath the large White Spruce in the graveyard, next to my late Aunt and her Daughter. He was with family.

            I missed my Poppy.

            About a week later, we were going through his things and my Mother looked in his wallet. My Mom found two pictures of me underneath Poppy’s own. I was his pride and joy. He told his friends about me, she said. Look at what I had repaid that with. I might as well have been the one to kill him for all the pain he must have felt from my words, my ignorance.

            I carried those pictures with me until they fell apart.

            I still go to the graveyard every year on his birthday and leave him a single flower. He used to love nature. I think he’d like it. I never apologized to that kind, hard-working, artistic old man… and I’ll live with that guilt until the day I die. Maybe he knows that I’m sorry. Maybe he doesn’t. I’ll never know. Maybe he’ll get to read this, up there in heaven.

            I love my Poppy.

Waldon here, and I'd like to offer my sincerest apologies, I forgot the blog last night, and there was no good reason why. I'm so, so sorry.

First things first, the title. The epic title above was performed by Manowar, it's a song called "Heart of Steel". Their music is absolutely astounding, very inspiring. All about strength of character and your own convictions. What good is a belief if you're unwilling to stand up for it? If you're not convinced that what you believe in is right, why do it? They preach companionship and bonds between people. I've never met such a close knit group of people as metalheads. Sure, they all have tastes and likes, but I've noticed that where most raves and dance halls play techno and hiphop, that it lets people get lost in anonymity in the crowds and lights. But at rock performances, metal halls, thrash and mosh pits, the crowds love each other. Mostly.

In a mosh pit, it seems like it's mindless violence, but as soon as the thrash is over, the wall of death is broken on itself, the very people that knocked you over and broke your nose will be the people to help you up, give you a towel and hold you up to rock out some more to the sound.

If that isn't camaraderie, I don't know what is. :P

On the topic of music, today I listened to "Personal Jesus" as done by Johnny Cash. Great song, in all of its incarnations. But it got me thinking about what people think of God. So many people are too eager to say outright that God is fake. There is no God. There's too much suffering for God to exist if he really loved us.

Why can't you see God? To me, God isn't some all powerful figure, but an idea.

In my own eyes there's proof of God all around us. God is in everything. God is the sun shining bright every morning, God is the dew that falls off the cool willow leaves after dawn, God is the bright flowers that open in the noon luminescence, God is the cool shade beneath the trees in the sweltering afternoon, God is the sound of frogsong at dusk, and God is even the lazy sounds of a summer evening after a long day.

"How is that? Where is God, exactly? Everything is made of atom's deep down. We'd know if he was there, we've seen it all. You're wrong."

But to me, that isn't God. God is our faith. God is our belief in a higher entity than ourselves. We all, if I may use this without undue complications, have our own personal Jesus. Maybe you don't believe in Christianity, but you're a follower of Buddhism, or you're a Taoist or Voudoun, even Unitarian or Sikh. Heck, even if you don't believe in any particular entity at all, but in the souls of mankind or in reincarnation, you have your own God.

Now, let me clarify something. I am not per se, a Christian of faith. I'm of no particular religious affiliation. I just believe in what makes sense to me. My God, is everything.

God doesn't have to be some all powerful, omniscient being, despite how the term is classified.

God is faith. God is us. We give the term power by believing in it. So many of us want some guidance in life that we go to various religions looking for direction. This belief in something, anything, is all we want.

What is God? God is what we believe in, what our faith defines. Scientology completely abuses any religious interference in our lives at all, stating that it's ignorant or unimportant to the world as a whole, that we could do away with religion and the problems it causes by adhering to science instead. What does that leave us to believe in? Humanity as a whole needs something to believe in, to live for. Anybody who believes in a God, any God or Gods at all... These people would be completely redundant for a Scientologist to preach to. Why? Because they have conviction. They have faith in their belief. If you believe something you're not going to change your mind because somebody else says that it's stupid. That isn't faith. And God, my friends, is faith.

Your own personal Jesus can be anything. It's something you have faith in. Whether that be a friend on the other side of the phone line, or a symbol in a sacred church that you pray to when your troubles are weighing you down. It's what listens to you, and you know it listens to you completely and understands you.

I know, I still haven't answered the question of why there's suffering in the world if there is God, but I'll do that now.

Because if God solved our problems for us, where would we be as Humanity? Would we have evolved to the point we have today if we didn't have to try to better ourselves? I know what it's like to experience loss, but I can't bring myself to resent God for that loss. I believe that God is everything. God is an idea of perfection that is in everything that we need to try to reach. Something similar to Heaven or Nirvana, if I may say so.

We develop as a species by depending on one another. If we stopped and appreciated what's around us more often, looked and saw God, if I may say so, maybe we wouldn't be so quick to jeer or attack beliefs and individuals.

Now, back to Manowar, they preach about standing strong with your ideals. That is what anybody who believes in something should do. They should stand strong with their ideals in the face of public ridicule, but... Don't be ignorant.

So many people assume that it's okay to make fun or humiliate other groups for what they believe in when it differs from what they believe. I'm not saying that. I'm saying that we should all be respectful of the beliefs in the world. We're all looking for guidance. I've found my inner peace and I hope you all can too. Please people, think about what I've said here. Everybody has their own Personal Jesus, their own Buddha or Ganeesh, or any other God or personal figure they rely on when they're feeling vulnerable or sad, faith is the cornerstone of existence.

So let the world believe what they want to believe, and appreciate the world around us while we have it. The end of our lives could be in 90 years, or a few hours, let your own inner peace find you without fear before you go. God is real my friends, and although you may not believe in God the all mighty, God is everywhere, and hopefully you all appreciate that. Let peace follow your footsteps in life, and let your fellow man and woman appreciate your own God and existence with you.

Come see me sometime, I'll try to show you how I See.

Good night all, hopefully I've given you something to think about. :)
-Waldon

Waldon here tonight. I'm sure I've got multitudes of happy readers eagerly leaning closer to their screens to get a closer look at my life altering words. My flow and tenacity lending an unearthly feel to the writing, yes?

I'm sure. Yes. That is exactly what's happening. :P

I started off today feeling kind of ... bleh. No particular reason. I just felt gross. Not sick gross, you know? That kind of gross where you just want to sit down and vegetate. xD

I spent the morning on computer going through some random stuff. Nothing really caught my attention. Then I had an excellent dinner of caribou, town grown carrots, potatoes, and corn. It was a good dinner. :P

After dinner I took my dog for a walk. That poor guy has both of his hind legs hurt, and he finds it incredibly difficult to hold himself up for long periods of time. When he was about a year old, he was hit by a car, then my family overfed him and now he's overweight. All that weight threw out both of his hips while he was running at separate times. That dog is the most amazing dog in the world for still loving being out and around with what he has to go through. Send him your love guys, he needs it.

I came home eventually, and then I walked down to Bre's house. I love walking. I don't do nearly enough of it anymore. Although, I think I scare people when I'm walking sometimes. I swagger a little when I'm walking, I know because I walk like my dad. :P And on top of that I look angry when I'm not paying attention to what my face is doing. xD My director has the same problem. But with him it's hilarious, because he has a scar on the bridge of his nose and on his eyebrow and everything. He's just so mean looking, but he's oldest 16 year old I've ever met. xD

Then I got to Bre's house, we spent the afternoon trucking around dropping things off and whatnot. By "Trucking things around" though, you know exactly what I mean.

I mean dinosaur swashbuckling of course.

I personally boarded a rival pirates brontosaurus. The unlucky men were in my land. This was my zone, my plunder. How dare they take that? Was our flag meaningless? My trusty crew roped the enemy 'saur and claimed it as our own. Amidst the booming of the great dinosaur borne cannons, I mounted the blood frenzied T Rex I called my own, and together we attacked the enemy in our territory. The screams and shouts of our scared and battle gored enemies were as fuel to our pirating fire!

I saw him! The infamous Captain McLeeward! He was known to me, and for many years he had been infringing upon my routes, my booty. He would now be dealt with, it seemed. He too, knew this as a duel of the fates! He jumped from his great Brontosaur, and with a great shout, was struck from my sight!

I narrowed my eyes, he would never jump from his ship without a reason...

There he was again. He had a Battle Rex of his own!

I lashed the reins of my mighty Sebastion! My trusty Rex who had carried me through countless raids! We charged the dubious Captain, and what came from that fateful encounter would change the face of the world!

Great roars! A flashing of sabers! Corsairs adorning our heads, flowing jackets behind! We rushed forward! The world went silent, it seemed. Or perhaps our noise was just so incredible it drowned out the world. I could see the entirety of everything flashing before my eyes.

It was over.

As we stood amongst the slain foes of our valiant and bloody attack, the setting sun forever immortalized our figures, a site that both my crew, and the few survivors of the once famous Captain McLeeward's crew saw me and Sebastion against the glaring fire of the great eye, and will remember it. They will tell their children. And their children's children. And forward it will go, until I am legend.

Yet, never will the legend grow to be more incredible than the event. This cannot be surpassed.

It was glorious. Victory was ours, and honor will be had for all my men (and women of course.) and their progeny. This will go down in the record books as the day I lived to my true potential.

And now you too, know.

Waldon here on a Friday night
Where couplets are the way to do things right.

I'm thinking of ways to entertain
Perhaps says I, they will appreciate humorous refrain!

My morning was slow,
It was spent to and fro.

From Bre's to the school,
Math first, O how cruel!

Follow then by a beloved class; Art!
Thinks I as I doodle a bird, this is quite SMRT! ( xD )

Recess went fast... But when does not it ever
Seem to last far short of forever!

History was third, the library was ours.
So to the internet we went where it thralled with unearthly powers!

Lunch came round eventually,
Where I read a bunch of words. (Confidentially!)

Music was fourth where we listened to traditional,
Mais oui, it was a feast of the most compositional!

English, which I think is always a blast,
(Where we sit and read!) was last.

I made my way home running short of time,
Missing my interview for funding would leave me short to a dime!

Supper came and went, and I say;
Greasy pizza is something for which I gladly pay.

The evening rolled around
with a shuttering jolt I realize I can still see the ground!

The light isn't gone by four o clock!
Now, we're far up north, so don't you mock.

Bre came over for just a gander,
so I talked and carried on with gleeful candor.

Evening drew to a close,
and I started preparing my prose.

I ran out of time, you see,
For morning was already on top of me!

I notice now that it's nearly two AM,
This will be playing bio-rhythmical mayhem.

Maybe this was technically a day late,
or maybe it will just make you appreciate,

All these bad rhymes that I perpetrate,
As I spew forth prose that was used solely as a surrogate.

Actually writing this blog would have been tedious,
so instead I'm making you be the sucker for reading this!

-Waldon

… Don’t ask about the title tonight. I’m in too much pain to explain it. I will, however, say that I said this to my Nan, who is a retired nurse. Today was okay though. I went out to lunch with Nikita and Lianna because I thought that Junior wasn’t going to be there for lunch today because of drama workshops. Turns out that he WAS in school for dinner. He didn’t come, and I felt bad, but I went anyway. All is well though.

Oh yes! Last night was Junior/ the drama troupe’s play. It was incredible! I quite liked it. Very proud of him. (^^)

Okay, my apologies, but tonight is going to be a filler blog. I have to study for a History test, so I’m just going to give you guys my English monologue to read. Mr. Crane gave it 100% so I’d assume it’s half decent. Junior also got 100% on his. Go us! So, be nice. Here it is:

“Love me? Ismene does not truly love me, nor does she love our brother. The same blood runs through our veins and yet she ignores my cry for help in honoring our slain kin by allowing him a proper burial. Who is she to deny this request? Polynices was as much a Theban man as Eteocles and thus deserves the same burial. Left unburied, my brother shall never be fully at rest. His soul will never travel into the afterlife; his physical being will be ridiculed by all, mauled by wild dogs; his flesh will rot, and crows will eat his entrails. Where is the honor in this? Ismene’s fear and womanish ways prove that she is indeed useless. In not helping my enterprise, she is abandoning our family and proving that she does not love us as she says she does. I, for one, love my brother and shall not let the proclamation of a mere mortal man stop me from paying the dead their due.

Creon, the tyrant, issued the edict that nobody shall bury the body of the “traitor,” Polynices, for he had led an army against Thebes. Whilst one brother is laid to rest with respect the other is subjected to public humiliation and hopeless wandering for all of eternity. Creon does not hear the whisperings of the people; he does not hear the frightened murmurings of disapproval among the commoners regarding his laws. The people believe, as do I, that his law against the burial of my brother is unjust but they are too afraid of his might to contradict him. Creon believes that his law is all-powerful. What he neglects to acknowledge is that he is not as powerful as he thinks he is, for he is but a mortal. He has no right to control the afterlife of Polynices – that is the will of the Gods. By not allowing his burial, Creon is changing his fate. I must restore his soul to the correct path by allowing a proper ceremony to be held for the body of my brother. If I must do this by myself, without the help of my incompetent sister, then I shall.

Oh, but what of Haemon, my betrothed? What shall become of him once I have openly defied his father’s law? Will he be supportive of my cause, or will he take the side of his oppressive father? No… I mustn’t think of that for now.

Hate me not for what I am about to do, for I do it out of love for my fallen brother and out of respect for the Gods. Despite Creon’s unjust rules and his lack of respect for the dead, and my sister’s unsupportive existence, I must carry on with my endeavor whether I am killed, banished, or otherwise.”

Like I said, PLEASE be nice. I’m not great at English. I hope someone enjoyed reading it! By the way, it’s from the point of view of Antigone.

Good night all! DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS.

-Bre :)

P.S. I did my speech! It went well. Mr. Crane said I got in the 80s! :D