You Fail.

Has anyone ever noticed how often the word fail is used today? Everyone from computer geeks to Kindergartners uses it. Epic Fails are everywhere on the web, and Walmart celebrates their shoppers' failed clothing. Everywhere you look, it's fail, fail, fail.
Well, recently I've discovered a new way to use this overused word, and it has to do with my grades. Let me try for a moment to be philosophical or psychiatric or whatever you want to call it and tell you why I maybe might be, kind of am, Failing.
It believe it all started when my cousin committed suicide. I knew him, but he wasn't my bff or anything. I wasn't that devastated; at least, that's what I led everyone to believe. I think I even lied to myself, saying that I didn't care that he'd hung himself in his own backyard.I told myself I didn't know him, not personally. I even told myself that my family would be fine; of course they'd never try drugs to help them deal with the pain. Of course my cousin wouldn't be texting inappropriate things to her 'guy friends'. I didn't even let myself cry.
That, I think, was a mistake.
"Maybe, maybe, if only..." Ran through my mind constantly, and in fact, it still runs through my mind when I'm alone, homework piled up in a corner of my bedroom, the laughs of my friends and family faded form my mind.
A little while ago, two boys committed suicide. As a result Ffjh handed out pamphlets on suicide and I looked at those papers and realized something they hadn't mentioned. I wasn't going to take my life for an easy way out; no matter what happened, I wouldn't hurt my family like that. I wouldn't be selfish enough to take away my mom's 'sunshine' or my dad's 'little turd'. I wouldn't take away my sister's best friend, or my brother's co-conspirator. I wouldn't take away my cat Chief's  'mommy', or my dog Caden's 'pack-mate'. Nothing in the world could make me kill a girl named Julia.
Because that's all that suicide is: selfishly taking someone's life. It's not a release from pain, or a last resort option. It just makes more pain, more hurt in everyone else's life.
Now some of you might be worried that I'm even mentioning suicide. Don't be. I just need somewhere to put my feelings out, somewhere I can tell people what's wrong without being a whiny little girl about it. Someone ( a teacher) came to me today to ask about my grades, and ask if he could do anything to help. I looked at him calmly and told him that I would take care of it, but thanks for asking. What more could I do? I'm so done with confessing my life story to anyone on the street and I hate pity. So what could I do? I decided that the best option this time is to shut up, grow a pair,(excuse my french) and take responsibility.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a whole lot of work to make up.
Because one Fail is one too many, and I've had my fill of 'em.

Life as A Nurse's Daughter

Yesterday my mom took me and my siblings out to Arctic Circle for dinner. As we walked into the establishment, my brothers yelling and competing for mom's attention, I noticed that a teen boy about my age was refilling the ice in the cola machine. He was refilling it using a grungy looking bucket while he stood on the counter, and then used the bottom of the bucket to push down the ice. To me and my sister, this was pretty normal. I mean, he's gotta refill it somehow, doesn't he? Apparently my mom had a different idea.
"I am so calling the health department." She said, under her breath. My sister just gave me a look, one that only sisters or lifelong friends could interpret. It said, 'Looks like another episode. Can you believe this?' to which I replied with a look that said, 'Oh yes, yes I can.' I looked back to my mom approaching the counter, a look on her face that could curdle milk.
"Excuse me, are you the manager?" She asked, feigning a rather sweet voice.
"Yes. Is there a problem?" The stocky lady answered.
The rest was lost to my ears, because at that very moment I turned to Alex and said, "Do you have to go to the bathroom? Because I have to go to the bathroom. Let's go to the bathroom." And walked away, her arm in my hand.
We came back a few minutes later after discovering that they only had a single person bathroom, and pretended we had no idea who the crazy lady with the two boys was. I caught a small tidbit of conversation, and then her voice got louder as she turned towards the door. "I'm so done with this. Come on, kids."
As we left I noticed a few people staring at us, and the boy with the bucket was no longer on the counter. He stood behind it, looking after us with more fear than anything else. I kind of felt bad for that kid; I knew how it felt to be convicted of a crime that 'could kill people'- to take my mother's words. As we walked a little farther down the street to Subway, I remembered countless times when my mother would walk up to the counter and ask for a wash-rag so she could wipe down the table herself.
Weird happenings at fast-food places aren't the only things that have come from a mother in the medical field. There's also the towels, and the pet dishes. Have you ever seen a medical drama? Do you know those blue towels they have in the operating rooms? Yes? Well those are our kitchen towels. Do you know the little plastic containers they have to put organs and other matter into? Those are our pet dishes. Weird, I know, but at least we recycle :D.
Oh, and there's the time my mom got a kidney (not human, don't worry) for our dog, Kaden. But that's a story for another time. Abientot!

Spring Break: A Combination of Maggots and Sunburns

"Oh, look. The potatoes are starting to rot."
"Yeah, they've been rotting for a while now."
"Really, Alex? If you knew they were rotting in the pantry, then why am I the one cleaning them up?"
A short pause; then: "Sorry."
Sometimes my family drives me crazy. Ok, maybe more like all the time. So the other day when I realized there would be no school for the next week, I asked myself: How in the world am I going to get through this without strangling them?
The answer is a bit more complicated than I would like. I decided after going through a list of options in my head. It read:
1) Lock everyone in a private room and give them food under the door three times a day.
2) Hibernate.
3) Run away to live with wolves.
4) Immerse myself in books completely.
5) Ignore everyone.
6) Find another job.
7) Put myself in a coma.
8) Go on a rampage and threaten to kill anyone who bothers me.
9)  Lock myself in a room and demand food be served three times a day.
10) Apprentice myself to a world class chef.
11) Become a computer nerd.
12) Get really good at Ignoring people.
The list went on- but most of the things on it were not plausible. So instead I decided on a nice conservative course of action.
KILL EVERYONE.
Then I remembered you could go to jail for that. Hm.... How about the seclusion bit, added to the book bit, with a rather large amount of time spent sleeping...And Whabam! You get my version of spring break.
And the first day, (Saturday was my first day) I spent it working. And now I am pink in the face- literally pink. I got sunburned, which never happens due to my Cherokee blood. Which means I am cranky. Which means it's even harder to put up with my family. Which is why I am even mentioning it. Which is why I am stopping the whole Which is why bit. Which is- ha. Got you there, didn't I?
Let's everyone cross our fingers and hope for the best, and if you happen to see a story about a girl going crazy and killing her family (not including the dogs) don't expect to hear from me again.
Which is why I am going to go sleep now. Good-night!