georgia_peachy's blog

It's funny being that girl.
The girl with tossable hair, dark lashes, and soft lips.
The girl that knows people aren't staring because she has ketchup on her face.
The girl that doesn't forget her homework at home all the time.
The girl that makes jokes people will only laugh at if she tells them.
The girl that teachers are impressed by.
The girl that has more received calls on her phone than missed and dialed combined.
The girl that sticks lime green Post-Its on everything to stay organized.
The girl that knows the lyrics to songs
The girl that doesn't have to get up ten minutes earlier so she can decide what to wear. It comes naturally.
The girl that knows people will listen to her.
The girl that appeared suddenly at homecoming.

Where did she really come from?
"Dancing" with all those "people"

Closing your eyes in the darkness makes the world all the more obscure.
Homecoming was a black hole that thrust that girl who was lost into the other side of herself.

Did you ever think
that no one will ever
[literally]
and has ever
stepped in that spot you just did?

The exact spot
So we're all special in that way.
We all have something that's ours.
It doesn't have to be an elaborate star in Hollywood,
It's just a piece of the ground,
of the world,
that is ours.

If we jump onto it,
skip,
hop,
dance,
plop,
swoosh,
gallop,
pounce,
bounce,
run,
flip,
tappity-tap-tap-tap,
land,
step,
walk,
be
on that spot.
It's yours and always will be.

Use it wisely.
You'll never have it again.

17 days until that one night
when everything, all the drama
the bores
the crushes
the awkwardness
the idiotic dares
the beeping phones
the sneakiness
the notes
the clouds
the trouble
the fake flirting
the clusters
the expectations
the cliques
the contests
will be presented for one last time
and be gone.
Until August 25th, anyway.

See you there.

They say everything happens for a reason

Awkward moments that make us cringe when we think of them
Actually changed the way we think, the way we act, the way we see each other.

One-night stands that we would rather forget
Bring us understanding that has to come at somepoint.
For us, early.

If I said we were beyond cliques, I would lie.
Cliques are truth.
Truth not of status [no, not at all ;)] , but of the capability to create and preserve friendships so they never, ever break.

The seemingly endless nights of IMing and video chatting gave us times of excitement, shock, disappointment, happiness, and most of all change.

Please don’t forget, but don’t regret either.

There were people hurt, hearts broken, tears shed, and relationships changed forever. But regret and grudges do nothing but trap us in the past so that we can’t move on and fix the things broken.

We take beginnings for granted.

Saturday
10:23 am
Babysitting,
cleaning,
decorating,
philosophizing.

*

I look at the small picture taped on the ceiling. A blue sky and whitish gray clouds.

"What's that for up there?"

The little face says, "So I can touch the sky whenever I want."

After Will left Monday, I drove back to the fair site where The Big Dipper was. I was so completely wrong when I thought I could be with him anytime. That was probably my last time to really be with him, maybe ever. It was raining, but I could still tell on my cheeks what was rain and what were tears. Remembering the trick, I said to myself, Purple, green, red, blue…yellow. Yellow? Coming to my senses, I focused my watery eyes on the cars Will and I had painted so carefully the last three weeks. On all the cars, connecting in a perfect line, was a bright yellow stripe I could see clearly through the rain and my tears.

The last week of painting passed, and before I knew it, it was the last day. When I called Will that other night to tell him I couldn’t go out with him, I knew he was trying to play it cool and sound understanding. But under all that I could sense sheer disappointment.

We painted and painted every day, completing the ticket booth and arch. Now we were just doing finishing touches. Will still wouldn’t agree to painting the yellow stripe. After quietly working for quite a bit, Will erupted.

“I can’t believe you would do that to me. I thought maybe we could be friends again or even more than that, and then you just go and act like your old self.”

“My old self? I only felt I could do that because you kept blowing me off!”

“Yeah, fine, I missed painting. And FYI, I wasn’t blowing you off on purpose.”

“Then what was it?!” I yelled.

Although I had a great time with Aiden and Erica, I had to go back to painting at some point. The owner gave us three weeks to finish it, and it was halfway through the second. We had almost finished the cars but still had the entire entrance to do. So, I stuck it up and skipped off to paint.

Will did not blow me off this time and was there before me. He was listening to his iPod and painting the metal gates green, to match the spokes on the track. I had to shout his name before he realized I was there. Turning around, he simply said, “Hey,” and walked over to get a different brush. I could have screamed for how bluntly he was evading the reason for blowing me off.

“Where were you last week?” I growled.

“None of your business. Where were you yesterday?” Will said.

“With friends,” I retorted, “which is more than I can say for you.”

The entrance had a big arch with the name on top, a small ticket booth on one side, and “Entrance” and “Exit” gates leading to the cars still on the ground. Everything was either clean white or absolutely unpainted, waiting patiently for someone or something to give them color. In my head, I scanned the cars and arch and counted the colors I wanted to paint for each part. Purple letters, blue gate, red cars, yellow stripe. Someone once told me that if you’re trying not to cry you should recite in your head the colors of everything around you. I don’t think I’ll ever need to use that trick. I haven’t cried since Dad died six years ago when I was ten.

Finally, Will arrived. “So I thought we’d start with the cars. They’re the easiest,” I said. “The manager of the park said the paint’s around back.”

“What color were you thinking?” he asked as we made our way around the rollercoaster.

“Red,” I replied.

Later that day, Mom addressed me at dinner. “April, you remember the Andrews, don’t you? They came to visit at Thanksgiving.”
“Um. Sure,” I said between mouthfuls.
“Well, they’re visiting again this summer and I want you to spend time with them. Aiden and Erica hardly know anyone here, and everyone knows you need something to do.” Swallowing, frustration mixed with excitement at hearing Aiden’s name bubbled inside me.
“Actually, I already have plans. Painting plans.” This I said hesitantly, but the only thing I love more in the world than Aiden Andrews is painting. And rollercoasters. “And anyway, I know for a fact they’d rather stay in London.”
“Then you will need to work around your plans. They’re family friends, and family is your first obligation. I’m sorry, sweetie. Please, for me,” she added, seeing my trademark you’re-ruining-my-life-and-I’ll-never-speak-to-you-again-because-of-this look.

This is the first part of a short story I wrote for school. It's kind of long so I'm posting in sections. I hope you like it!!! Comments much much much appreciated!!

“Can you paint?”
It was the first words I said to him in three and a half months. A stupid question, really. I already knew the answer. “This summer, I mean.”
Will flashed me an inquisitive look. “Paint what?” he said.
“A rollercoaster. Not the whole thing, just the entrance and the cars.” I could see his eyes laughing when I said this but the rest of his face stayed cool.
“Can’t get anyone else to do it, can you?”
I made my best pouty face that he had caved into so many times two years ago. Even though he would probably be my last choice for a painting partner, I didn’t really have a choice. “Please?” I begged.

Apparently, it can be spelled two ways:
Gray
Grey
and both of them are correct.
"Gray" is the middle
the undecided
the mix of black and white.
So shouldn't something so blurry
have a name that's not black and white either?

Nothing is really ever black and white.
Everything is always in the gray area,
waiting to switch to one side and go back to the next.
You can change your mind
Try to change mine
Slide it one direction or another
But everything's too foggy
Cloudy
Sticky
Murky
Undecided
Gray.

If you're a thief,
I'm sure it's not real.
Summer,
and you stole my best friend from me.
Something you've had before
and me too
but something real
I wanted
and had
you took.

And then there's now.
You took something
I wanted but
couldn't have,
but now I see
if you can have it, so can I.
My heart is
almost
broken
again
because
of
you.

So trust me.
If you drop a pencil,
I'm not going to pick it up.

Journey.
Phone call,
Sunglasses,
Replacements and brand-news,
Sunscreen.
Wowed reunion,
The five second rule,
Bikes and frisbees,
Photos.
Cartwheels.
Old friends,
New acquaintances.
Aviators.
Losing the bracelet,
Finding the bracelet.
Memories.
Rain.
Makeup in a church basement,
Condoms and maternity clothes,
Lip gloss,
Pedicures on the street corner.
Positive Pie,
More reunions,
A disappointment.
8 out of 10.
The Black Door,
Lemons and Limes.
Secret love,
Obvious love.
Shaking,
Skipping,
Dancing,
Climbing.
Panicked,
Soothed.
Bench stories.
Reversed love.
Ecstatic
Goodbye for now.
Seasons of Love.
Home again,
Swinging outside,
Pillow fight,
Laughter.
Pictures of us.
Midnight.
Loud music,
Holding hands,
Talk.
Anyone Else But You.
Sleeping.
Awoken.
Pancakes,
Cinnamon rolls,
Almost wet,
Ending.
Melted hearts,
Group hugs,
Time to go.
Acceptance.
Love.
Shenanigans.
All over again.

My story for English with my vocab words for the week.....done in about 10 minutes with the very first things that came to mind. See if you can find all the vocab words =]

There was once a factory worker named Mr. Dairy. Mr. Dairy worked in a cowboy boot factory, and all in all he was content with his life. His job at the factory was a sinecure, and for the most part the factory modernized on a regular basis and very rarely retrogressed. His family was very religious and made invocations often, and for this purpose they had several sacrosanct objects. He was an average fellow; hardly anything extrasensory or unusual about him. The only problem with Mr. Dairy was that he was quite sanctimonious. This is one of the reasons he did not have very many friends at work, for no one likes their morals to be disregarded.

In a typical day at work, Mr. Dairy watched over the factory workers and assisted with operating the machines. Designs based on recently discovered Indian petroglyphs were entered into the machine’s computer to be stitched onto the boots. Mr. Dairy noticed that sometimes young workers would transmogrify the patterns onto the computer to create something completely unique, resulting in a few snickers and a vociferously delivered scolding.

I wish
that once in a while you could
stop trying to create the
illusion of perfection
and for a moment
create your own
invincibility.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps between the crinkled branches. The hills overflowed with green grass swaying with serenity. A small girl with tear-stained cheeks sprawled on her back in the quiet shade the dying willow provided with its dark emerald leaves.

A faraway look
in her eyes
and i know
she's
sure.

It seems like everyone's
leaving,
one way
or
another.

Be the reason
I want to wake up when it’s inky black outside.
Be the hour
that’s the beginning of everything.
Be the time
when everything makes sense in the moment.
Be the place
where it can go either way.
Be the mystery
that keeps me awake.
Be the refreshing balance, the chilliest air, the invigorating
feeling.
B
.

"You know you live in 2008 when there is a website at the bottom of every commercial."
*

*

*
And once again there's Tammy, strutting about in a tiny bikini while the words "41 pounds" flash across the screen and she rips a picture of the "old her" in half. I take a half glance down, and under the phone number spelled out with letters it says

www.nutrisystem.com/pretty

I feel deja vu
constantly.
Sometimes I have a feeling it's reminding me of a dream, just because.
But then the next time I have no clue where the hell it came from and why I feel like I've done it before.
It's as though I've already lived my life and I'm living it the second time in a row, only this time i don't know what I'm doing.

Hi Everybody,

I just wanted to thank all of you here at the YWP because I finally have a place to write and I finally feel like I can. I feel so happy!! Yay! Night night!!

xoxo G

Summer is the perfect time for staring into the sky
on your back
in the grass that looks so sweet it's right out of Willy Wonka's bakcyard.
It was the way she always ended up, even during not summer.
Leaves, mud, snow.
Grass was the most comfortable, though.
More than occasionally, people came to her.

Someone or something
gave me
a push
and finally
I'm happy with
myself.

A push to show me how to be.
And a push toward other people so I could.

It was a small thing.
Three, actually.

1. Her
She's better around me. Vice versa.
2. That day with them
Acceptance, nothing more
3. Him
Finally!

That's my list for now

Sitting in the worn, old chair, a girl looks up from her something. What she's supposed to be doing isn't hers or anyone's attention anymore. Her eyes drift up to the short, white walls surrounding her prescence. A spider that appears as nothing more than a few lines drawn by lazy hands flicks up the part light is touching, then crawls into the shadows. It only goes up, never down.

Paper clips remind me of the moon.

A book, none other.

Freckles remind me of the beach.

The scene of all my daydreams.

Popeye reminds me of Cracker Jacks.

I don't know why.

Quiche reminds me of the fair.

That was when
then
you were there