I'm getting old

I'm a saver. I keep little notes, tickets, pictures and anything else to remember the good times. I'm cleaning out my room, and I realize that I'm clinging to the past. I have piles of little things that seem unimportant, but that mean too much to me to throw them away. Examples?

- A note from my niece written on a notepad from my old workplace, telling me how much she loves me. I had to work a lot that summer, and we both missed spending time with eachother.

- A ticket from the Raske Menn show I was going to on 28 nov. 2007. It's slightly yellow and fragile, but I still have it. I wasn't going that night, because I had been to Førde the whole day and I still had to write a essay. But my friends called me just before they were leaving and convinced me. It was great and I didn't even care that I ended up writing a whole essay in bed after midnight.

- A hand made Harry Potter card from a dear friend, a girl who has worked here for 3 summers and is kind of a part of the family. She has put pictures of both of us on it, and the text on the back is written in Norwegian. She is dutch. The thought of the trouble she has gone through makes me smile.

- A hand written letter from my mum's niece inviting me to her wedding and to read the ''wedding declaration'' after the wedding. I was to young to be her witness, so. I was present when she re-met her old boyfriend whos he hadn't seen in 20 years. They were both at the same time in Bergen and we ran into them. It was like a movie or a tv show. It's weird tot think about that if we hadn't gone to teh other side of the bay to get an ice-cream they wouldn't have reunited. Maybe there is a God.

- A little dreamcatcher I bought in Netherlands when I was 9 or something. It is insanely little. I didn't have much money and the big ones were expensive. It used to hang besides my bed, and I developed a habit of twisting and turning it before I went to sleep. I don't know how many times have asked me to shut up with the tingling.

Enough examples? I got plenty. I feel like an old catlady, hanging on to her past through small things. And I'm 16. I need help.

I'm cleaning out my room because my parents are remodeling the whole attic. Which is great, but it makes me kind of sad to. I hate having to pack, probably a little thing I got from the move. I don't like the thought of not sleeping here anymore. Everything that happend here, all the laughter, tears and plotting. The secrets that were shared, the ones that everyhone understood but that were never spoken out loud. I've redecorated this room a thousand times, I have spilled blood, food and drink over the floor. I've stomped when I was angry to annoy my parents, I have shouted out the window to the drunk villagers on party nights and I've watched the rain and the stars and the threes getting abused by raging storms. I have climbed up the emergency ladder on the side, both for kicks and to put my salty towel out to dry after jumping in the fjord. All the family members and friends that I ahve shared this room with and everyone who entered it and were shocked by the spash of colour they walked into. My wallpainting that I spend a weekend on, my closet with it's chalkboard doors and the ancient tv that never worked when we actually wanted to watch a movie, but that produced scary noises when it was supposed to be off.

I'll miss this room and I'm finding it difficult to pack 6 years into boxes.

The most genius sentence in the world of genius sentences!

Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia's gleaming work-surfaces or leaned up against her spotless appliances: Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favourite shade of bright pink; Lupin, greyer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long, slivery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty and hangdog, with his droopy, basset hound's eyes and matted hair.

JK Rowling - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 44

Why I am reading this again? Because it rules. I mean, come on, Harry Potter?! I believe that the haters are the ones who have never read it. Read it.

I guess I'm also preparing for the English test we have on Monday. We're aloud to take books with us and everything, so much preparation isn't needed, but I find that reading a well written english book before having tests sharpens my mind.

 I always learn new words and new ways to make smart-looking sentences. And that pays off.

Now I'm going back to reading this piece of magic.

Title? I'm to cool for school 2

I miss the time when my webcam still worked. I miss Dailyboothing. I miss my Spongebob t-shirt. Where is my Spongebob t-shirt?

You know what I realized this week? That people actually read my blog. That they remember what I wrote when they see me. And that they have their opinions. Hm. Something to think about.

I haven't been up to much. I've discovered Omegle and Chatroulette. I've lost a game of monopoly. I'm re-reading HP and the Deathly Hallows. I'm starting to think about how to cut my hair. I've discovered som new blogs. I've been starting a lot of sentences with I've lately. I say dude a lot. I'm thinking a lot about what I want to be lately (mainly because of School Project) I'm starting to freak out about what to do this summer.

Tonight I'm blogging again with clearer idea of my own thoughts. And with the most genius sentence ever written.

Dude.

I've lost the will to find pictures.

Don't worry about me, I'm okay. No, seriously, I'm okay. Yeah sure. I'm not white! I'm fine. No no, I'm really okay. Mum, I'm going to school. No, shut up.

Wait. I'm not okay. I feel quite lousy really. My head does feel like it contains cotton instead of brains and my stomach does turn around about every few minutes making me shiver. My cotton does have a heartbeat. I don't feel like eating, I don't feel like talking, heck, I don't even feel like laughing. Stupid virus.

I don't want to be sick. I've been sick enough this schoolyear. School is important, school is fun, school is... I want to lie down.

Dude (Gotta stop dude-ing, it's not healthy), I'll probaly pass out on bed the moment I get home. I did so yesterday. I slept and did nothing the whole day except trying to ignore the constant urge to throw up.

Please kill me now.

Sticking feathers up your butt, does not make you a chicken.

3. Face ass

The unfortunate condition of having a chin seperated by an indention in the middle. Giving the appearance of two butt cheeks.

That bitch would be a decent slumpbuster if she didn't have a faceass!

Today, somehow, I got talking about faceasses in the lunchbreak. Me and my crazy words, and of course, no one believed that it was real. So I had to make the face with my hands, but still no one believed me. Luckily I remembered the two ugly guys above, who are the perfect examples of assfaces with faceasses. Dude, I'm sharp today.

Subjects I chose: French, International English and something norwegian law subject.

Hate

I hate the way you talk to me,

and the way you cut your hair.

I hate the way you drive my car,

I hate it when you stare.

I hate your big, dumb combat boots

and the way you read my mind.

I hate you so much it makes me sick,

it even makes me rhyme.

I hate the way your always right,

I hate it when you lie.

I hate it when you make me laugh,

even worse when you make me cry.

I hate it when you're not around,

and the fact that you didn't call.

But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you,

not even close,

not even a little bit,

not even at all.

Dude, that's good writing. I love Julia Stiles.