She stares out at

The ruins of a wasted life,

Wondering if anything mattered.

It stands before her,

A glorious ruin

Illuminated by decadent decay.

Happy memories

Lay rotting at her feet

While the haunting remain

Sterile and pristine.

She stares

At what was once wondrous

Until her hair turns to grass,

Her body to dust,

And all that remains

Is a whisperOf regret on the wind.

Sorry, this is a weird question and probably no one has any idea. But I saw this critter outside a while ago and I'm really curious as to what it is, and I wasn't able to figure it out by looking it up online. So if any of you have any idea, I'd be grateful if you'd leave a comment telling me. Thanks!

Update: So I talked to my dad and sister, and after some extensive searching, we figure its probably a juvenile badger.  I kinda thought it might be, but I wasn't sure because 1) it was smaller than I was expecting badgers to be, 2) it was fatter than I was expecting badgers to be, and 3) I'm pretty sure badgers are nocturnal, and this guy was running around at three in the afternoon.  So there you have it; I saw a badger today!

My favorite place

Is beside the river.

Where rocks march to the shore

And bees dance.

Roars from another world

Echo from a stone behemoth

While around me a duet is sung.

Here is the land of peace and plenty,

Where things have no name

And only trees speak.

Here Old Man River is king,

Time stands still

And space is ever changing.

A land

Far awayFrom normal.

I cried in a college bathroom stall today.  I cried at the same time as I was eating a candy bar, and for awhile after too.  And I cried because I am an introvert.

This started in psych class today, where we talked about parenting styles and the type of children they generally produce.  There was a lot of information, but I'll boil it down into the two most relevant points.  "Bad parenting"(I use quotation marks because I'm vastly generalizing) can result in antisocial children.  "Good parenting" results in children who are energetic and friendly.

The professor went on to explain what antisocial people tend to look like, and it sounded just like me.  According to her, a doctor in psychology, the way I act shows antisocial tendencies, which tend to show up as problem behaviors in children who have been neglected.

My parents didn't neglect me.  They were and are wonderful parents, no matter how much I complain about them.  Which means that these 'wrong' behaviors must be my fault.

I don't know how to demonstrate how I felt, so I'll just give a run down of some of the things I was thinking in that bathroom stall:

I am antisocial.

There's something wrong with me.

Other people aren't like this.  Why am I?

I am antisocial.  

Why can't I just be normal.

I never played with other kids as a child.  That's proof I'm abnormal.

I am antisocial.

I hate that word, antisocial.

Why don't I have any close friends?

Why can't I just enjoy social activities?

I am antisocial.

Why can't I just hate being alone?

Why am I like this?

What's wrong with being like this.

I am not normal.

There's something wrong with me.

I sat in that bathroom for a good fifteen minutes like that, before I finally picked myself up and left so I could get my notebook ready for my chem lab later.

Logically, I know there's nothing wrong with being an introvert.  Nearly a third of America's population is introverted, and if you look it up, there's plenty of information about why introverts are good.  But sometimes, no matter how much I remind myself I'm fine the way I am, I can't stop myself from feeling like there's something wrong with me.  Usually when someone says something like my psych teacher did before- something that I perceive as implying that introversion is wrong.

I think everyone has something like that.  Something that, when they think logically, they know isn't a problem, but see it as one anyway.  Whatever it is for you, just remember: there is nothing wrong with you.

I'm a Christian.  I don't know if you're religious or not, but I'm going to include something here that comforts me whenever I start thinking like this.  Maybe it'll help you too.

You were created in the image of a perfect God.  He knows your name, every hair on your head, every thought, and He loves you.  Because you were created in His image, he created you perfectly.  He hears you every time you cry out, He sees every tear you let fall.  He loves you, and He died for you.  And when He created you, He said you were good.Maybe I am antisocial, and maybe that is a bad thing.  But as long as I'm happy this way, isn't that okay?

Well, I'd like to start out with saying that my determination to write and post something everyday lasted about two weeks.  About what I had expected, though I do wish I had a bit more "grit" as my psych teacher puts it.  

I set out on this project with a goal in mind- to become a more disciplined writer.  I thought that if I could get myself to write at least one complete piece every day, it would help me to become a better writer.  If I had stuck with it, it probably would have.  But even though I failed, I feel like I learned something about myself nonetheless.

I don't like forcing myself to write. Plain and simple; I absolutely hate writing because I told myself to do so.  I am a binge writer.  Whenever I get an idea, I sit down and start writing and before I know it I have five or six poems done.  Then, I post the ones I like to prose over a course of a few hours/days.  During those times, it feels like I'll never run out of inspiration- the ideas just seem to pop into my head.  But if I sit down and tell myself to write, or if I just sit down thinking I want to write, nothing comes.  Well, I can usually think of something eventually, but that usually means taking something random from my environment and making something up as I go.  The only one of my recent pieces that came out this way that I think was successful was "Little Blue Box."  It was actually inspired by a small wooden box I managed to seal shut using blue tissue paper and craft glue at a girl scout meeting.

But a lot of the poems I like best were created while I was in the midst of my 'binge writing' episodes.  So maybe that's a terrible way to write, but I'm going to stick with it.  I'd rather write a really good poem every two-three weeks than a mediocre one every day.

When I arrive

At a new place

The first thing I do

Is get lost.

I go off exploring

With no rhyme or reason,

No goal in mind,

Just getting lost.

I go alone, 

No friend,

No guide,

No map,

Because that's the best way

To get lost.

As I wander,

I discover,

Little hidden hideaways,

Places no one sees,

Because they're too focused

On their destination.

Beautiful places, 

Calm and serene,

But forgotten, 

Because they are not useful.

And those places,

Those hidden spots,

Belong to me.

I discovered them,

So they are mine.

The next day,

I might learn

They have names,

They appear on maps,

But for that single day,

They are mine,

And mine alone.I love getting lost.

Today was my first biology lab.  What we were supposed to be doing; preparing a lab on the affect of SSRIs on freshwater invertebrates(answer: death.  It's always death).  What we did instead; learn about the health benefits of medical marijuana.

As it turns out, my lab teacher was asked to do this huge research project on whether or not medical marijuana is beneficial.  It's all for the state, because Indiana is considering legalizing medical marijuana.  I don't remember exactly how it came up(it had to do with getting drunk in New Orleans and the Vietnam War) but he mentioned this project to us, and of course someone asked for the details.

Well, as it turns out(if my professor can be believed) medical marijuana has a lot of uses.  Regular marijuana users(who smoke at least 3 joints per week) have a decreased risk of; cancer, obesity, diabetes mellitus, and brain damage.  It also significantly decreases the number of opioid overdose-related deaths, because it works as a pain killer, and drug related traffic accidents, because, supposedly, medical marijuana doesn't mess with your head the way most drugs do.  Of course, you have to get the right strain, otherwise you'll end up plastered to a couch trying to figure out how to peel a banana.

But ya'll can look up the benefits of medical marijuana if you really care about it.  I don't write these to be informative, I write about them because a) I want to rant about the petty annoyances of my life and b) I find this form of communication easier than talking to people.

So I have established that the vending machines on campus really are evil, and out to scam me.  I actually went to other vending machines today, and guess what?  Only the broken machine had crunch bars!  To be fair, its not a major inconvenience, and I did get the correct change today, but that's not the point.  The point is that vending machines are evil con artists masquerading as delicious-but-overpriced food dispensers.

Since today is Thursday, I had a bio lecture(bio is Tuesdays and Thursdays).  Have you ever had someone in class who constantly made very loud, vocal comments?  And not things that were relevant to the class- just their personal opinions, or squealing when they see something they find cute?  There was a person like that in class today.  Apparently, she was absent last class for various reasons(which she claimed she didn't want to discuss, then went on to vary loudly explain.  I won't write them here out of respect for her privacy), but she's going to be there every day from now on. 

This annoys me to no end.  It's a pet peeve of mine when people constantly interrupt a teacher(or anyone who's trying to convey information to you) like that.  It feels disrespectful to me, to the other students, and to the teacher themselves.  I'm there to learn, not listen to you have a conversation with the professor!  However, I'm trying not to let that color my impression of this girl too much.  I've dealt with some people like this before, and once I've talked to them they've seemed like perfectly nice people.  They just don't seem to 'get' that what they're doing is wrong, or that it irritates others.

On a completely unrelated note, my little sister has an instrument that costs more than my college tuition.  My old high school just got a lot of money from the government or something, and while they're using the lion's share(a million dollars!) to renovate the stadium, they gave a sizable amount to the band.  The school system expected this money to pay for like the next five years of band.  It didn't.   Instead, the band director spent it on professional-grade instruments, including; a $15,000 clarinet, two $16,000 euphoniums, and a $25,000 trombone(I think it was a trombone, but don't hold me to that).  My little sister(who is only a sophomore) got one of the fancy euphoniums, which she has christened Hugo Polston the Second.

Just to make it clear; I understand that these are reasonable prices for professional grade instruments.  I mean, if its your livelihood, you're of course going to buy the best quality tools you can, and a lot of time, and effort goes into making these instruments(I might be wrong, but I think most super high quality instruments are still made by hand).  For professional musicians, it's an extremely good investment, what with all the time and work they put into playing.  I feel like its a bit excessive, however, to spend so much money on instruments for a high school band, even one of the top in the nation, because a) most of the band members likely do not intend to be professional musicians, and b) high schoolers will, even if they are well-intentioned, likely treat their instruments with less care than professional musicians, whether because they don't know better or just aren't thinking.  Of course, if I breathed one word of my doubts to Larry, she would murder me, so this is my only outlet for them.  On the bright side, though, she might soon be able to take medical marijuana for her chronic shoulder pain, which will hopefully curb her murderous tendencies a bit!

So today was my third day of college.  It was pretty good- my psych classroom got moved and my chem lab got out super early- but I'm not going to talk about any of that.  No, I'm going to talk about the school vending machines.

First thing you should know is that I'm addicted to Nestle Crunch.  I don't know why, but I just can't get enough of the stuff.  I like pretty much every kind of candy bar, but there's just something about Crunch.  So today, I discover that my school's vending machines have crunch bars: I have already gotten three, and will probably weigh 300 pounds by the time I end freshmen year.

But that is not the reason I am ranting about the school vending machines.  See, I went to the same machine each time, and I am now half convinced that it is evil, or possessed by some sort of vending machine gremlin.

First time I went to the vending machine; nothing happens.  I put in two dollars, it gave me my candy bar and seventy-five cents back.  I left happy.

Second time I went to the vending machine; Highlight of my day.  Someone put an extra quarter in the vending machine and didn't take it back, so I only had to put a dollar in.  I leave thinking that I've won a small victory over life, and who needs to pick up pennies for good luck(I had seen a penny on the ground earlier that day, but didn't pick it up)?

Third time I went to the vending machine: it got its revenge.  I decide to be smart and give it exact change, because now I have quarters and can do that.  It doesn't take my quarter.  I examine the quarter, find nothing to explain why the machine didn't take it, so I try again.  It still doesn't take the quarter, so I try a different quarter(I have three).  It doesn't take either quarter.   Since its not taking quarters for whatever reason, I decide to just put in two dollars, because I'm hungry and I want my candy bar.  So I put in two dollars, it gives me my candy bar, and guess what?  It stiffs me fifty cents by only giving me one quarter back!  Well, technically it was only twenty-five cents, but still, that vending machine owes me twenty-five cents!  The only explanation I can come up with is that this is all part of an elaborate bait-and-switch con concocted by they vending machine to rob college students blind.

So I started this while I was still at college, waiting for my dad to pick me up.  Now I am at home, eating chicken enchiladas, and I have discovered another way I have inadvertently scammed myself out of my own money; I bought to biology lab manuals.  The manual is loose leaf and printed by the school, so when I went to buy my books online, they had it on back log without a price.  I added it too my cart and forgot to take it out.  Then, yesterday, I bought a biology lab manual along with my chemistry lab supplies.  Guess what came in the mail today?  A second biology lab manual!

The solution seems simple; just return the lab manual I don't need.  But some sort of cosmic force hates me, so nothing is that easy.  Because the manuals are loose leaf, you can only return them if the shrink wrap hasn't been opened(to make sure none of the pages are missing).  I already put the first one in my binder.  The second one came with the shrink wrap broken.  This is literally the noise I made when I realized this: skiiiiiiiiiiiiiii.  Apparently, this is my frustrated noise.  So how has the universe scammed you today?  Feel free to share.  If the universe does not scam, you, please share your secret to making life not hate you.

As usual, Fuller's Inn was packed.  Sailors, fresh off ships from across the sea, gambled away their paltry earnings at card tables, while the few merchant patrons sipped wine before retiring upstairs to their rooms.  Fuller's was one of the few inns that could boost of attracting customers from both classes, and whether by chance or skill, its proprietor held great pride in this fact.

Fuller himself was a small, slight man, with forgettable features and small, pale eyes.  He was unassuming, the kind of man who could easily fade into the background and be forgotten.  What he lacked in presence, however, he made up for in voice.  His voice was loud and commanding, the kind which filled up a room and permitted no interruption.  When the thieves entered the inn, Fuller was using this voice to argue with a merchant over the price of a bottle of port.

The thieves appeared to be two boys, young teenagers, dressed in ragged, ill-fitting clothes too thin for the winter night.  The first had a round face capped with copper curls, and blue eyes that scanned the room with a puckish light.  There was a frankness about him which made him instantly likeable, and a mischief that made people check their belongings as soon as he was gone.

The second boy was his opposite in nearly every aspect.  He was all secrecy and solemnity, with a tall, thin figure that was nearly wraith like.  Most of his face was hidden, shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat.

Without so much as a glance the two separated, each to his own task.  The first continued to scan the room, a playful smile tugging at his lips; the second edged closer to the bar as he dared without attracting Fuller's notice.

Finally the first boy stops beside a card table.  Six large men sit around it, dockhands, and beers liter the floor around them.  Standing close behind one of the largest men, the boy watches silently as the game unfolds.

"Two point," the man announces, dropping a pair of wooden chips into the center of the table.  The boy cranes his neck, studying the five cards clutched in his meaty fist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the boy declares loudly, "No way you win with that hand."

"What?" the man slurs, turning around to look at the boy.  When their eyes meet, the man's face flushes red with anger.  "You!"

"Mind if I have a sip?" the boy asks cheerfully, plucking a beer off the table.  As the incredulous dockhands look on, the boy tips his head back, taking a long swig of beer.

He then promptly spat it back out, spattering the man in front of him.  "You call this beer?" he demands with feigned indignation.  "I've drunk from puddles that tasted better than this."

"Damn brat!" the man spits, toppling his chair over as he lunges forward.  He makes a grab for the boy, but the teen is already racing away with a whoop of delight.  

The man charges after him, and soon the others at his table join, pushing past drunken sailors and toppling tables in their haste to catch the miscreant.  Soon the entire inn had dissolved into a drunken brawl, the boy leading it as a conductor does an orchestra, untouched by the chaos.  The merchant uniformly hid behind their barstools, save one, who, brandishing a bottle of port like a scepter, stood atop his stool and called loudly for order.

His cries were not heeded, however, and the boy continued to lead his wild chase with childlike glee until a hand closed tight around his wrist.  He was yanked back around to reveal Fuller himself, breathing hard, with a dark bruise already forming on his right cheek.

"You little bastard!" Fuller snarled, satanic fury in his eyes.  "You'll pay for this, you-"

"Hey everybody!  Free refunds!" a high pitched voice shouted over the din, and Fuller's cash box flew through the air, spilling marks and coins as it went.

The second boy stood behind the counter, behind where the cash box had previously sat.  His hat had fallen off and was held in one hand, revealing pale brown hair and a pair of mismatched eyes.  A cocky smirk completed the look of arrogant intelligence on his face.

Fights broke up as sailors dove for the money, scooping up fistfuls in their large fists.  Even Fuller released his captive, desperate to save his earnings from the clutches of his customers.As soon as the first boy was free, both thieves bolted from the inn.  The first boy wasn't missed until over an hour later, when Fuller had finally secured his money, and the second not at all.

This has been a busy couple of days.  I started college, watched a solar eclipse, communicated with human beings outside of my immediate family- quite an adventure.

I started college, which was interesting.  I actually like it a lot.  I always kind of figured I'd like college better than high school, and if the past few days are any indication, I was right.  Though if you ask me again in a few weeks, I might have a very different answer.  We'll see.

So chemistry will be interesting.  I really like chemistry-type stuff, so I'm hopeful that I'll enjoy the class.  Unfortunately, I have to figure out significant figures, something I have never really understood.  Hopefully I'll figure it out by next week, when I have a quiz over them.  I actually had to sign up for four different chemistry sessions- a lecture, a lab lecture, a lab, and a discussion section.  The lecture teaches us the theory, the lab lecture tells us about the lab, the lab's where we actually do the lab, and the discussion is where we have quizzes and where we talk about the lecture.  It seems like a good system, but I can't help but wonder if there's a simpler way to do it.

I'm also taking a psych class on parenting.  It was either parenting or death, and I figured parenting would be less morbid.  Over the course of the class, I'm raising a 'virtual child' from this site called virtualchild.net or something along those lines.  Given my experiences babysitting, don't be surprised if my child ends up homeless under some bridge.  Even worse, I promised my little sister she could help me set up the child.  This is the girl who wants everyone to call her "Larry" and has an imaginary pet falafel named Gina.  My psych class in general seems pretty cool, though.  One of our assignments is to literally read a comic and write about how it relates to parenting.  I'm thinking "Calvin and Hobbes" because 1) my grandpa has loads of collections of that comic, and 2) it would be really easy to connect to the class.  

So, my psych class sounds pretty nice, right?  Wrong.  My first psych course was on the twenty first, so the number seven was able to wreck its havoc.  See, my psych class is what is known as a 'freshmen seminar' class, meaning they try to 'integrate us into campus life.'  This means "force us into campus activities we don't want to do."  Seriously, part of my grade for the class comes from things like going to sporting events, club meetings, and campus art gallery openings and providing proof that I went.  Most of them, I don't mind doing too much.  There are a couple of clubs I already wanted to join, and I had been planning to check out the art gallery when I had the chance.  But its the principle of the matter!  Why does my professor get to force me into participating in campus life, regardless of my feelings on the matter?  And I don't follow sports- didn't follow high school sports, and I wasn't planning to follow college sports.  It's not that I dislike sports or anything- most sports(there are a few exceptions) I enjoy playing, but watching them bores me.  I just don't get into watching them the way other people do.  The one exception to this is baseball.  I really enjoy watching baseball, because I stink at it and I find it impressive that other people don't.

Well, thus are the college woes of an antisocial potato.  I still have one more class to talk about though- biology.  Biology seems pretty cool- we're gonna be talking about evolution, genetics, blah blah blah.  I enjoy that stuff, but I'm mostly looking forward to going deeper than high school did and learning things I didn't already learn in middle school.  I'm almost certain that my old school system had a much better middle school science curriculum than this one- I'm not even sure they have science classes all the way through middle school.  This school system has better math and English though, so I guess its a trade off.

Really, the most important thing that happened in biology today was the professor.  He's also my academic advisor, which surprised me, mostly because I had no idea what my academic advisor taught prior to today.  I also did not remember who my academic advisor was prior to today, so I'm glad his contact information is on our syllabus.  Now I just have to make sure I don't lose it before October.  Also, he likes penguins.  A lot.  I mean 50-something-year-old man fangirling over penguins.  I like penguins, but not that much- I don't really get the obsessive penguin love some people around here have.  Question: is fangirling one or two words?

The solar eclipse was awesome.  On Mondays and Tuesdays I get out of class at 11:15, so I was able to watch the entire thing.  Where I live, we got 90%  totality, so we didn't really get dark, but we did notice it get a bit cooler.  Me and my sister went outside, and our neighbors came out and joined us.  Becca had to borrow my spare glasses, because she's a lame person who lost her pair.I've written a lot, and it's almost eleven thirty, so I'm going to quit now.  Upon starting school I promised myself I would always go to bed at ten thirty on school nights, so you'll be happy to know that I value my commitment to writing every day on prose more than my sleep schedule.