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shinoseishi
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Name: Rochelle
Country: United States
State: Texas
Metro: Wichita Falls
Birthday: 7/19/1987
Gender: Female
Interests: I love to read. Reading comes before all my other intrests, even anime. Words have a voice and I find a surreal serenity just hearing the different voices. Reading is my pleasure, my inspiration, and especially my escape.
Expertise: "Giving my essays flavor" according to one of my teachers. I want my expertise to be something that'll help me get into nursing, but we'll just have to see how that goes. I guess I'm also an expert at my job and Marble Slab, but I'm not sure that's something to be proud of.
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  KawaiiTinyChell
Member Since:
10/29/2003
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| I always feel sad when I dream about him.
As for if I dream about him because I'm sad or if simply dreaming about him makes me sad, I don't know.
I just know that every time I wake up I feel like I need to find out what has happened to him or where he's gone.
And I know that I can never find out anything about him.
Usually, when I dream about him, he looks exactly like he did in high school. Same haircut, height, physique...
This time, for some reason, my mind actually allowed itself to change how he used to look to how me might look now. His hair was shorter and he'd dyed it blue, he'd grown a couple of more inches (even though he was tall to begin with), as for his physique, he was still gangly, but had gained some muscle.
In this dream I talked to him like I would have never able to do back in high school. It was casual, lighthearted, and easy flowing.
Even before the dream ended, I was sad because I was aware of my oncoming consciousness.
What happened to him and why do I still feel sad when I think about him? | | |
| I don't know why I still bother dressing up when I see him. He doesn't notice or care anyways. | | |
| I dreamt there was a rain so sudden, even the birds didn't have a chance to react. When the rain ceased, the bodies of injured and dead birds littered the ground.
My family drove around a church parking lot and collected 8 hurt, but still living birds and brought them home to help them heal.
The birds were so small. They were the size of chicks but in reality, some of those birds would never be that small. There was a blue jay, a house wren, a mocking bird, a chickadee, a bird with mostly grey feathers and a yellow chest, and the rest were somewhat nondescript.
We we all got home, I hurriedly found a shoe box and made a communal nest for them all. I used crumpled up newspaper to line it.
When I looked at the group of birds, they had somehow returned to being eggs.
I put all the ends in the shoe box, surrounding each egg with newspaper to keep them from rolling away, and then I covered the box with a thin cloth, so that if the eggs hatched again, the birds in the box wouldn't suffocate but they wouldn't be able to hop around and make a mess.
I went to sleep in this dream, and when I woke up, the wind was howling and the birds in the shoebox had hatched and were chirping. They were hungry, so I fed them, but for some reason, I couldn't remember what I fed them.
I had to go to class, so I placed the open box in a small room and then left.
When I got home, all the birds were in the box and it was covered with the cloth again. I quickly removed the cloth and saw that all the birds were still alive, but one bird was being trampled by the other birds and bleeding at the bottom of the nest. The other birds were starting to peck at it because they were hungry. That bird looked os miserable, I rushed to the kitchen and tried to find food to feed the hungry- turning cannibal- birds.
I poured all the birds onto the kitchen counter, to get them off the injured bird, and then ran to the fridge and decided to feed them raw ground beef.
When I returned to the counter, my aunt had picked up an unhatched egg that had been in the box and was wiping it with a towel when she suddenly dropped it.
I was expecting to see bird yolk or a half formed egg, but what I saw made my blood run cold.
On the counter, surrounded by it's broken shell, was a whole- albeit miniature- rattlesnake. Since it hadn't had the chance to hatch, the snake was dead, but starring at it's corpse, I couldn't help be terrified at that miniature rattle snake.
It was literally the snake in the birds nest, and if given the chance to hatch, it would have probably killed all of the birds and eventually found a way to bite me before I knew what was happening.
I woke up at that realization. | | |
| How do you know a book is loved?
Is it by how worn out it is?
What about how neat it's condition is?
Wear or preservation: which means the book is loved more?
Something I've noticed, I re-read just about all of my books. I have a group of books that I read a couple of times a year. Some of them were new when I bought them, others were used. I guess it can't really be helped that objects (like people) age. I remember my new books have white sides, an unbent spine, and no creases on any of the pages. They remained in that condition even after I read them the first few times. Years later, I still treat them with the utmost care, but their pages have yellowed, the spine has so many creases it's almost impossible to read the title on it, and, somehow, the pages have gotten bent.
But this is over years of being read by me.
I'm assuming the same thing happens to library books except it's amplified due to the hundreds of people who read the books. I guess it's possible for a book that has been in-print for less then a year to have more wear then the books I have owned for more then 10 years. It's probably true that most people aren't has obsessed with keeping the books in the best condition they can.
What I really don't get is how a book, that has been on the shelves for less then 6 months, has managed to get water logged, pages crumpled almost up to the spine, food spilled on it, and the cover is almost falling off.
Does that mean the book is loved and people are reading it? Or does that mean that people are just careless?
...yes, this rant is over a book. | | |
| Oh yeah. I'm a sap.
I just read a part in a book that made me cry.
Two minutes later, I re-read that same part, and still cried.
I had actually just finished reading that book earlier today, so really the cry count for that book is three. | | |
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