In a Fight to Loose

I sort of had a mental break down yesterday...just a slight one. But I'm OK now and I ended up being OK yesterday. Miss Carpenter saved me. Which is semi-ironic because she is mad her self. She let us go sit out in the sunshine. It just raised me spirits, something about sitting out side in the beautiful air with butterfly's flying and birds. The air smelled wonderful. Oh it just made me feel so much better, there wasn't a cloud in the sky ( except for that one section but you could cover it with your hand)

Eat Drink and Be Merry For Tomorrow We Die

I am having horrid writers block. Absolutely horrid. See I have gotten this huge fear of having petty blogs. I don't ever want someone to look back and go "oh just another teenage girl." I am one and I have the same problems as most teenage girls. But I want mine to be expressed differently. I don't want my whole writings to be about the guy who doesn't like me, or how hard my life is. I want to relate. This has become a way for me to convey my message without ever speaking. I loose myself in speech but in words I can say what I want, when I want. I don't want to make people pity me on how hard my life is, or say wow she has a lot of problems. My life is wonderful. That is the basic truth, my life is wonderful.

I've decided I want to be a writer. But I don't know how. I'm no good. I can't write essays to save my life, and I will not pass the AP English test in May. Yet somehow, the feeling I get when typing letters into words, into sentences, flowing together making paragraphs and memories until I've said what I needed to. That's what I want others to feel with what I write. I want them to see my connection to the world.

From the Editor

Dear Owen,
You gave me courage when I needed it, and love all the time. You gave me a guiding hand in the dark (literally) and you always turned to me and said "Hey pretty girl, guess who I just saw? YOU! love ya babe" You always made me feel special, and when you held me I knew that everything was going to be all right. I'm only sorry I could not return the favor for you.

You proved me wrong a thousand times over. I loved you Owen.

As Always,
Alex

The Worst Day For Alex

So I decided to go back into my memories since today is rather boring and this is the first day I thought of:

I never fit in well in kindergarten...maybe it was because I didn't talk or because I thought I was a blue fairy. But what ever it was I wasn't very social. So when it was parents week my dad came and talked to my kindergarten class. This was normally the favorite time of little kindergartners everywhere, and it would have been mine too...except for one small thing: my dad came in full Lakota dress. I was made to dress up also...wearing my little moccasins, feather in my hair, and all my jewelry. I remember the dreaded question my father asked "Now who in here knows my daughter?" Every hand pointed to me. For most of my childhood I had night mares about hundreds of little fingers pointing in my direction followed by the most famous question of all "What's that around your neck?...What's in it?" Then the famous answer "Ugh...Mom!"

Although the rest of my elementary years were spent not telling anyone I was Indian and staying out of the sun. I found that no one ever asked unless it was a standardized test. I have sense come to cope with this fear of being thought different and odd because of being Lakota Sioux...so last year I got up the nerve to wear my sisters Jingle Dress into class. There were no fingers at me, nor were there any war chants. But unfortunately I got the question. "What's that around your neck?" followed by its friend: "What's in it?" and then to bring down the years of self therapy: "ugh...really?"

The answers to these questions that could result it that sort of an answer and have always been well...different and odd. It is a beaded turtle around my neck and what is in it is my umbilical cord. It tells everything about me to a person who knows how to look. It says I am an Indian, that I am a girl, my colors, and my religion, not to mention it tells a bit of my name by pointing south and most important it is the bond with my mother. My family was involved in making it: my mother made me. my father sewed it and my aunt beaded it. I am this necklace and more importantly I am different and odd.

I still get that Kindergarten fear, some things don't go away easily, for the rest of my life I will be the little girl with the feather in her hair wanting to cry. But I have come to accept that when all the children pointed at me, they were only being honest I am my father's child and when they asked what was around my neck people only want to know why I am my fathers child.

From the Editor

Dear Kristin,
I often ask God why I deserve a friend like you. I love you. You have never gotten pissed at me ( to my knowledge), never told any of my secrets or chastised me for thinking them. You wrote letters for two weeks straight when I was at camp. You remember everything I love, I've never met a person who cares so much about me. You miss me when I go away! You make always want to come back. You love fire and matches! You make my valentines day cards green, that's how much you care about me. When I felt awful one day you wrote me this: "

YAY GREEN PEN

Hey you!!
Don't feel bad! Get Glad!!!
MATTHEW PERRY!!!!
GREEN!!!
DAVE MATTHEW'S!!! ( I don't know if I spelled it right)
FLICKERSTICK!!!!
NICK (in a pink bow)
ME!!! haha
MILO!!!!
ALEX IS THE COOLEST PERSON IN THE WORLD!!
Do you feel slightly better now? I hope you do!!!!"
Then in really big letters "ALEX ROCKS"

All I have to do is read that and some how I feel better. Thanks for everything you have done. In seventh grade if I had only known the friend I would receive by asking you to open my Snapple I would have asked quicker. You make me want to be a better friend..and adopt a kitten. ( Greg was my baby kitten). So this is for you:

FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE