Friday, February 27, 2009

stupid flu.

stupid freaking flu! I'm so pissed off!i wanted to go to school so bad this morning! but no! my throat is killing me and i have a headache. you know what cures headaches? cupcakes. at least my flu is nice and doesn't make my stomach hurt because i am SO making cupcakes. i had a dream about them. i was contemplating whether i should make the strawberry kind, or the "yellow" kind. what is the "yellow" anyway? all i know is that it tastes

oh my God. i just coughed a piece of my throat up, I'm not kidding. ugh. STUPID FLU! CURSE YOU!

anyway, continuing with the last paragraph- it tastes really good with chocolate icing. and subway sandwiches taste really good with the flu. my mom brought home my favorite subways sandwich (turkey, pepperoni, black olives, shredded cheese, and sweet onion sauce!) last night. i just stuffed it down my oh so sore throat, and i feel a little better. just kidding. no i dont.

freaking flu. im gonna go make cupcakes now. i wish i had a wheel chair. like, im really hungry and want to get up and make things to eat or clean the house for my mom ( i feel useless) but i'm super tired. ahh...anyway. the flu is dumb. end of story.

p.s. i didnt capitalize anything, or use spell check. i blame the flu.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

So, I have the flu,

which is not nice at all. I'm really pissed off that I can't go to school. I thought I was gonna hit something when the doctor told me I couldn't go to school until Monday (maybe Friday), which is weird because I usually pray that he tells me something like that. I've already missed a lot of school because of doctors appointments, college days, or whatever. I have one more at least partial day I have to miss because of getting a cavity filled in Abilene. errg...not happy about that. The only thing I'm worried about is not being able to graduate early. Mr. Terrel (principal) terrifies me every morning on the announcements when he says, "Make sure not to miss school all of you who are trying to graduate! Better be here!" It's terrifying. It's like, if I miss one day, I'm gonna have to go back to kindergarten and starting all over again. So, even if I'm dying of cancer, I better be at school, or else. I have no new books to read, just a lot of homework and cleaning to do. Yay.

Things I'll be doing today and tomorrow:
Online English
Online Economics
Clean room& kitchen
English Essay
find new music

I have no idea what I'm going to do with this whole college thing. None. I want to go to both ACU and Texas State. So really, whatever happens will be good, but it's driving me insane. I have a financial problem in both areas. I missed the deadline for scholarships at Texas State, and ACU is ridiculously expensive. Aside from finances (something God takes care of), I'd much rather live in Austin for the arts and people, but I'd rather live in Abilene for the community. I feel that if I stay in Abilene, I'll never leave. That bothers me. ACU is such a good freaking school and I'd really rather go there, but like I said...Austin is wonderful. And, if I ever wanted to transfer to UT (which would be awesome) I could easily do that. But if I ever wanted to transfer from ACU to somewhere, a lot of my credits wouldn't transfer. So. Hmm.

If I told you I wasn't worried about this college thing, I would be lying. However, I do have the faith that things will work out so it's useless to obsess over this. I just wish I had my answer. I still want to go to ACU so bad, so really, I just have to wait till the financial aid letters come in and stuff to know if funds will be provided. Geez. Hurry up financial aid! You're driving me crazy!

Honestly, I feel fine. I could totally go to school. My throat hurts and I might not talk a lot, but at the moment, I feel alright. Yesterday I thought I might've died. But I'm okay. Geez. Stupid flu.

You wanna know why I want to live in Austin? The bookstores and coffee shops, for starters. There's so many of them. Mikey introduced me to my new favorite coffee shop, the Spider House. The guy has good taste. He was only in Austin for two or three days before he found a coffee shop that trumped Dominican Joe's. The two are at neck and neck actually, the Spider House has horrible service, Dominican Joe people probably know me by name. As for the bookstores, oh my gosh. Let's not even go there. We're moving on to the retail there. There are so many good thrift and antique shops it's just ridiculous. Plus, all the good food there, and Costco. Can't forget Costco. I'd be able to go to Costco (and garage sales) with my dad whenever we wanted. It'd be good stuff.

Growing u p, my mom has always taught me to look at things from both good and bad angles. That's why every time I bring up a really good point on something, I always have a counter point for it. It's just the way I think. You can call it indecisiveness, I just call it the "Susan Senses."

I'm gonna go brush my teeth now. Bye bye.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

If I don't post this stuff, I'm going to forget about them.

And also, they're pretty cool and you'll probably enjoy them too.

more to come.

Sunday, February 22, 2009


a goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood weekend:)

Monday, February 16, 2009


As I pace back in forth in my kitchen waiting for a wonderful phone call, I realized something so exciting that I literally screamed.

There are cookies in the back seat of my moms car.

I screamed, jumped in the air, and ran barefoot outside to steal my mother's cookies. We bought the oh-so-delcious cookies this morning while we were waiting for my stupid doctors appointment, and we never finished the box. I grabbed them, came back inside, and ate the whole box.

Over the last few months, and understand I in no way mean to condemn my mother or anything, I've realized she is probably the worst person to pick up eating habits from.

"Mary, make us some brownies!"

"What? Mom its 12:30 AM. I am not making you brownies."

And then this morning.

"Mom, why are you pulling into dollar general?"

"There's an important mission that needs to be completed."

Minutes later, she returned with a box of Devil's Food Chocolate Cookies, at 9 AM. Nice. Even though I hate this junk food addiction she has, I have to admit I'm no health freak. In fact, I am way worse than her in some ways. For example: After I wrote a story over teen weight issues and heard all these girls talk about counting calories and stuff, I've been curiously doing the same. Not for the sake of being skinny, because I really am not educated enough on the subject for it to really be effective. Anyway, I was at Prairie Star one day and had a craving for a Midnight Milky Way (oh my God, so good), but I was curious about how many calories this was compared to my other craving, a bag of pretzels. It turns out they were about the same, even though I thought pretzels would be "healthier." And by healthier, I mean have less calories. Which I know is false.

But this is why I know that I am way more ridiculous than my mom with eating habits. I was at the grocery store and, again, let my calorie curiosity get the best of me. I wanted chocolate (its a girl thing), but I didn't know whether I should go with the Devils Food Cake cookies or Zebra Cakes. I discovered that Devil's Food Cake Cookies were 50 calories a piece, and Zebra Cakes (2) were like 400. So I decided that I should get the Devil's Food Cake Cookies because I figured I could eat more which would fill me up more, and still not eat as many "calories." I ended up eating the whole box in about..oh I don't know, five minutes. So, really, I probably ate about the same amount of calories. Well, one box of the Devil cookies is about equal to maybe 4 Zebra Cakes, but that's not the point.

The point is, every time I seem to point out something I don't like in someone else, it ends up being my own problem that I'm hating, and not the person themselves. Interesting.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Essay for Texas State. "Describe someone you admire."

Mother knows best

It's three AM and my throat is sore. My eyes are swollen, and I can barely see. Dried vomit is matted to my hair. My surrounding pillows are soaked with tears, and my stomach is killing me. I can feel my throat get warm as the "pins and needles" feeling covers every inch of my body. I am not safe.
The panic attack begins. I run to my bathroom and throw myself to the floor before I start hyperventilating. Clutching my chest, I assume the fetal position to crunch the nauseating butterflies in my stomach. Everything hurts. I want out of my skin.
My mother hears my screaming cries from across the hall and comes to hold me as I cry. Soon, my stomach muscles are in knots from the heaving sobs, and I begin to throw up. My mother holds my hair back and cries with me.
Later, I wake up, still in her arms. We are leaning against the bathroom wall, the sun is peeking through the window. When she realizes I am awake, I ask her, "What’s wrong with me?" And as she caresses my face and stares blankly into my eyes, I realize she can not answer me.
In this moment, it doesn't matter how much we fought the night before. In this moment, she is the most beautiful woman I know, and I need her as much as I need air.
I am just like my mother. I am a stubborn yet caring young woman with a mind of her own. I feel stuck in my home town and want the big city and a higher education. When she was my age she moved to a private school hours away from home, and lately I had been trying to do the same. I wanted out just like she did, and yet she was the only one holding me back from leaving. For this, I hated her. For this, we argued the night before for hours. I screamed at her, calling her a hypocrite, saying she was trying to trap me. I slammed doors in her face, and stomped my feet in anger. She reacted little to my anger, and after I cried myself to sleep, she was still awake; waiting for the panic attack to begin. Waiting to help me.
Unlike most parents, my mother doesn’t elevate herself on a pedestal of perfection as an example to live by. Instead, she teaches me to be an individual of my own persona. We don't see eye to eye on anything superficial, but my heart is identical to hers. Like her, I am not bold enough to share my heart with anyone else. Even though at this stage in my life I am afraid of vulnerability, deep down, like her, I crave intimacy and will do anything to get it. Maybe this is why she is so relentless in her love and care for me, and why I so resist it.
My parents divorced when I was in fifth grade, and my mother immediately became an independent woman. She wasn't prejudice against long hours or manual labor that men usually do. She took a job at Home Depot (her favorite store) and took the night and morning shift. Whether it be day care or a sweet friend willing to watch me in her absence, my mother did what it took to take care of me.
When my father was gone, my mother pursued her dreams as becoming a police officer. She didn’t give up or rely on child support or the government to get by. My mother had given up everything to follow my father around the country for his six-figure salary, and I believe she was ready to finally be her own person.
After the divorce, my mother had to assume the role of both a mother and father because of the long distance relationship my father I maintained. She taught me how to cook and how to change tires, how to dress modestly, and how to install toilets. She told me to be confident and believe that I could overcome anything, even my anxiety disorder.
That night after my panic attack, I slept in her bed just like I did when I was a little girl. That night, we could silently admit that we needed each other.
I have seen her struggle with depression, just as I have, and I used her example of victory to overcome it. Because of her example, I have not had a panic attack since my sophomore year of high school. I have learned to become a responsible, smart, and respectful young lady. We are all victims of imperfection and insecurity, but that doesn’t mean we have to let our imperfections or circumstances define who we are. Just by being her imperfect self, my mother saves my life every day. Although I am horrible at showing it, I do not believe that a more treasured woman exists.