A Poem I Wrote Today During British Lit.

I'm sitting here outside, pretending to read-
You're standing there.
I would speak to you
But-
I'm so awkwawrd.
Awkwward?
Awkward.
I could not possibly speak to you
Without folding my tongue stupidly
Like a clean towel out of the dryer.
Crap. You caught me staring.
Crap, crap, crap.
I swear I'm not a creepy stalker.
Okay. Look somewhere else.
Think about something else-okay.

List all green vegetables.
Broccoli, celery, green beans.
Asparagus...are green tomatoes still fruit?
That shirt looks really good on you-
Crap. Snap peas, English peas...
Are peppers vegetables or fruit?
Your hair looks especially shiny today
Your eyes look especially blue-like cornflower, why
don't people say cornflower anymore?
What is a cornflower?
Did you look gorgeous on purpose today?
Seriously, okay.
Yellow vegetables, should be harder.

Maybe too hard.
Okay squash, uh, corn...
We're back to the peppers-seriously,
are they a completely different category,
Apart from fruits and vegetables?
If so, where are they on the food pyramid?
Forget it, I'm packing up.
I'm sitting here, staring at you,
Half-mumbling to myself about
Fruits and Vegetables and Peppers,
And you still haven't noticed me,
I doubt that you'll ever notice me,
I'm going to drown my sorrows in chocolate milk, or maybe a V8.

And I think I'll look up peppers on Wikipedia.

At Least We Won the Game

I think the thing that has always killed me about performing is that, contrary to popular trite sayings, sometimes you don't perform how you practice.

I mean, sometimes you muddle your way through every practice and then manage to pull out a magnificent performance out of thin air.

Or sometimes, like today, you practice really well, a lot, only to give a crap performance like I did on the Vandy football field today. I did the feature perfectly under the stadium 5 times in a row, then I got on the field, the band had some glitches, and it's hard to count that stupid show anyway because it changes time signatures every two seconds, and I just panicked. And some of the girls were watching me, since I was front and center on the freaking 50, so it all just... turned out wretched.

But the most disappointing part is that I know that I could have done it so much better.

Whatever, this really just boils down to a nerdy marching band post.

In other news, The Heartbreak Kid=Wedding Crashers, in that I thought that they were both PG-13, and both wound up being more... risque than I had thought they would be, and they both have the same jokes in them. And I think maybe they were even done by the same people.

The Necessary First

Well, here it is.

Here's the concept, I suppose. I'm not going to tell anyone about it, so if someone finds it, then I'll count it as fate that they should find it and therefore, I shouldn't be shy about them reading my thoughts. Oo, that makes no sense.

Because I think I'm going to try to put down the stream of conciousness that goes through my head every day, and if no one reads it, then it's out of my head.

I'm going by Hannah Claire, what my mom originally wanted to call me all the time before people got hung up on the Hannah vs. Anna thing and she decided to shorten it, figuring I was going to have a hard enough time getting people to say Hannah instead of Anna, without adding the extra trouble of Claire.

But I've always wished that I was Hannah Claire, and so that's what I'll go by, since she was the one I told everything to and now she's gone.

So here it is? My thoughts, which will sometimes be deep, silly, absolutely shallow, depressing, ridiculous...

And if no one reads it, then that's fine with me.