Insulted

Dear America's Future Failures,

          Kindly crawl back into whatever ditch you managed to come out of. No one in their right mind wants to deal with your surprisingly consistent ability to succeed at not following directions and forgetting important information seconds after it has been uttered. The drool dripping from your mouths as vacant expressions take over your faces is truly disgusting. I hope that I never have the distinct displeasure of having my head filled with air like yours.

With love,

Kingston

           That is the current rough draft of my speech/essay for this damned to hell English class. I have a sneaking suspicion that it will not over well with my dear peers of the future. Rather, it may insult the few fellow halfway intelligent classmates who may figure out that I may not be joking this time around. This may prove to be a mistake for my social life but then, that's what killer parties are for.

          As for my dear charming English teacher, well, I have the belief (read, strong, strong hope) that she'll enjoy it. The generic same old approach to assignments bore her half to tears; from what I can gather at least. Where as my take on the inspirational speech will likely make her smile to herself... Up until the madness of insulted teenagers becomes a problem.

           By the time that terrible revelation hits them the class should, with luck, be over for the day. The joys of asking for the last slot (and thankfully getting it) are almost endless. Had I been forced into the first slot of the period I would likely fair... Not so well to put it mildly. Every spot between my own and the end would result in growing pandemonium and hurtful jabs from my unpleasant, but socially necessary table mates. Fortunately, I will be presenting that rude speech at the end

           And, if my memory serves me, at least one (if not two) of my three table chums is stuck inspiring the masses as well. So they'll be busy fretting about their own miserable speech and less than focused on mine. Rather, Lisa will be fretting and double checking (then triple checking) all of her oh so precious notes. Then, if Eric is presenting, it will be me painstakingly helping him prepare for it like the oh such good friend that I am. Read, I am doing it to continue to stake a claim in the franchise of rich connections. Because while their children may lack intelligence, the parents and their well off friends certainly do not. After all, the perfect way to break free of this middle class life is to infiltrate something higher than it.

Preoccupied with Indecision

          "I want to disconnect," she whispered; pale blue eyes locked on her folded hands. "Not just from you, but from the world for a day or two, or maybe more. Leave the computer in hibernation, unplug the telephone, and hide the cellphone somewhere I can lose it. See if anyone can find me during that time, see if anyone cares to worry or if it'll just be silence when I resurface," she continued as if in a trance. Word after word spilled out as she toyed with her hands, folded them again, and repeated the process as if on auto pilot.
          Theodore watched her face at first; brows furrowed together as he tried to make sense of the void of facial movement. His gaze soon lowered from Rose's pale face to her restless hands, note after note taken on the patterns formed. "And what if someone does attempt to find you? If there's not just nothing waiting for when you return?" He asked, his voice steady and quiet; an accomplishment given his usual boisterous nature. "Would you be prepared to accept that maybe, just maybe, there are people that care about your absence?"
           The quiet, calculated words hung in the air as Rose's eyes perked up; flashed a sign of their normal brightness before they dimmed again. Silence hung heavy in the air as she continued to let the ideas sink into her head. They were certainly questions she had given a moment's thought to when the plan to disappear had first popped into her head, but that was it. Just a moment's thought and nothing more; no serious consideration, no worry that someone would even ask them.
            As she leaned forward in her seat on the couch an almost inaudible sigh was let out. "Then... I don't know," she choked out slowly; aggravated at herself for the lack of a real answer. Biting her lip in an attempt to refocus herself, Rose went to speak again to try to give Theodore something, anything to work with. "Then it happens. Then someone out there is watching just a small blip on the radar of life with more than a casual glance. And maybe I'll ask them what took them so long to say something, maybe it'll feel how I want it to feel," she rambled off; voice strained towards the end as she held back tears of frustration. "But then, would it be because of my amazing presence or because there's just a white blur that seemed to be amiss? Replaced easily if the time was given. Maybe not in a day or two, but surely a week would be enough."
            With those last words spoken she stood up as a way to dismiss further conversation on the matter. Her petite body swaying from an array of shivers that coursed through her body for a few seconds; starting from her bare feet as they hit the floor and ending around her upper back. Theodore watched as she stood; grinding his bottom lip between his teeth.

A Quick Character Hashing

General Information

Full Name: Sydney Elise Kingston

Nickname(s): Syd, Eli, Spazoid

Gender: Female

Age: Approximately 18

Birthday: October 28th

Appearance

Eye Colour: Medium green; grass green

Eye Adornment:  Contacts

Hair Colour: Auburn; medium

Hair Length: Shoulder blade. Bangs cut shorter; little past eyes

Hair Style: Normally pulled back into a ponytail with bangs swept to the left. Kept in place with a collection of various barrettes.

Height: Approximately 5'9"

Weight: Approximately 175 lbs

Body Shape: V-Shaped (Inverted Triangle)

Tattoo(s): None

Piercing(s): Both ears once. Normally just has studs in. Will coordinate for the holidays, especially Halloween.

Personality

Likes: Music (indie scene mostly; Stars, Zox, Headlights, etc.), Movies (musicals and cult classics; Donnie Darko, Mamma Mia, Rocky Horror Picture Show, etc.), bananas (especially the fruit, not so much the flavouring unless in the form of laffy taffy), badminton, helping others out (customers at stores she doesn't work at, friends, complete strangers, etc.)
Dislikes: Frowns (both the emoticon and when people actually are frowning; feels a need to remedy the situation.), grapes (from the actual fruit to candy flavored like it. Just too juicy and weird tasting to her.), people that ask very obvious questions (mostly when they do it on purpose to be "smart" or "funny" but really aren't.), basketball (not a complete dislike, more of a she's tired of being told she has the height for it; height does not equate skill), people that talk loudly on their cellphones while in public places (HELLO LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY DRAMA.)

So It Begins With a Bang

                              A joke of an introduction.

     The apparent new in thing for friends of mine, stumbling in towards the end of the year, is starting and so far maintaining a blog. As an obvious avid fan of following imaginary friends off of a cliff (or was it a bridge?) I have started my own. One that may ramble off the deep end from the journalistic/life as it is tone the others are taking. Not that speaking about one's life is boring, just that mine isn't near exciting enough to always be worth posting about and there are other goals to keep in mind.

                    

                                        I miss writing, something fierce.

       
          It's the truth, as boldly as I can write it. Seriously, that is as bold as the font Gods (& Goddesses) will allow. Regardless of how that may stand, the point still remains the same. The relationship I used to have with words is constantly changing, growing, and then crashing horribly into the atmosphere; exploding into a million different parts.
           So then, why not create a makeshift place that will allow me to share this ever changing relationship? ... That ellipsis there is my attempt at thinking of a reason to avoid it and the subsequent failure to come up with anything halfway decent. But damn, there were some excellent half assed reasons, imaginary ones, and possibly some involving robots. Since none of those are measuring up to my imaginary requirements for not doing something, I am going to blog out my writing frustrations. From the journalistic/this is life posts, to character ideas/the fleshing out of human beings, setting notations, following of random prompts, and whatever else floats my rather easily satisfied boat.
           

                                        Creativity is a dish best served with force.

           I have come to realize, over some undecided amount of time, that the main reason words and I become such enemies at times is because I don't make a point to write. At least, I do not do it with any level of frequency. Sure, there will be a scribbled down note here, maybe a few sentences there, but once you look at the whole picture all of that is just a small, insignificant dot in a rather large circle; an intimidating circle of doom. The point of which being that without a prescribed time/set aside time to write, I likely won't get myself to do it, thus I am creating a loose time for it.
          Not that I particularly believe that I will follow the schedule religiously, but it will serve as being better than nothing. The schedule in question being something around three to four posts a week if not more. Which, given my hopes for this blog, seems almost reasonable despite the way my mind curves, leaps, and dodges items deemed as "work" at some point. Even if the goal posts aren't met completely, say one of three posts for the week is made, it will still be an overall successful mission. Once a week writing will always gleefully trump once a month to nonexistent writing.

And so it begins, with a BANG.

     One potentially well done ramble later and there you have it, the beginning of something that can only go wrong. So terribly, terribly wrong in fact. But, a disaster is always more fun than playing with the sure thing. Right...? Even if it's not, at the very least I am excited and amused by the tentative awesomeness.