well this is a conundrum. i can't decide what i hate more: being hungry or being fat. and that is why i will forever be somewhere in between.

bills bills bills! i'm not ready to be an adult because FREAK there are so many unexpected payments! i thought i was doing pretty well financially until i had to pay my phone bill, car insurance, safety and emmissions inspection, registration fees, two parking tickets, utilities to TWO different houses, and of course the necessary hair appointment. most of those financial responsibilities are linked to this stinkin truck.

lately i have really wanted to change the world. and i figure i should start with something i have deep invested interests in, so i have decided to

i reaallyyyy want starbucks today. i don't know why i am wasting my time blogging when i have so much to do. what the, aubrey!

i've been trying for a very long time to be mko. the loneliest visual is the inside of a bus at night. 39 days until costa rica.

i made a lot of new friends in provo this year. shmee, shmee's friend, friend's friend, and new friend: martin. they are all cats!

alex is engaged!! this gives me so much happiness. and i'm going to be a bridesmaid which brings me even more happiness.

out with the old, in with the new!

this is NOT an autobiography

My stomach hurt from not eating in two days. And my jaw hurt from the clenching. And my palms hurt from the fingernails I dug into my fists. And my eyes hurt from the tears and my head hurt from the sobbing and my heart from it all.

But I guess pain makes for the best stories. Writers in Hollywood think “sex sells”, but the real writers in this world know that it is really pain that sells. Shakespeare and Steinbeck and Kate Chopin figured that out early on. I think the best kind of pain to write about is some sort of deep-seeded emotional pain that was planted there as a child. I once heard a story about a little metal wedge that was lodged into a young tree. I guess the tree decided he could ignore that pesky wedge and just grew around it. After a while he was a beautiful towering Walnut tree. Then one day an angry ice storm came along and, well anyway, the tree never developed on the inside because of that wedge so he was destroyed by that storm. I wish I could have taken the wedge out of that tree when he was just a kid. Maybe I could have saved him.

That is the kind of pain you can’t learn about that in movies or TV. That’s what frustrates me about actors. You never know what they are thinking, you can only assume motives behind what they do or say. And usually my assumptions about people are wrong. Sometimes they have that thoughtful narrator voice that is supposed to help the viewer get into their head a little, but that always seems so cheesy to me. Well anyway, I guess that is what I’ll write about. My deep-seeded emotional pain.

Because pain sells and I want to be a best-selling author.