Think positive

Today is hard. Harder than yesterday, and harder than most of the other days.
I don't really know why. Well, I do, but I don't know if I should say anything.
The temptation of a massive prank grows stronger every day.
I just think that even if it would be really funny, it would definitely come back to bite me. Karma.
Anyway, I'm working on thinking positively. I'm not happy, not really. I pretend most of the time, and when I'm around people I can be my naturally upbeat self. When I'm alone, it's hard. But it's going to be hard for some time. I expect that, and I can deal with it. I'm strong.
Now, I can do what I want to do. When I leave school, I can go to Europe and visit every opera house, cathedral, museum and library. I want to write because I feel like it. I want to experience.
Fundamentally, I want to be happy. I want to be happy with most of my decisions. I want to be happy knowing that I made the right ones, and happy to know myself as a friend and not an adversary.
One of my current favorite authors, Liz Gilbert, says, "You don't want to think, 'this isn't what I want' when you're at five centimeters." (Eat, Pray, Love)
How true.

Creative or insane?

You decide.

I was walking through camp and I took a mental picture. I don't mean that I have a photographic memory, I just happen to remember the image of it very, very clearly.
I took this walk several times a day, every day of the week during the summer. I took it in the dead of night and early in the dawning hours. I know how it feels, what it looks like. Then, there was something I wasn't expecting. A butterfly.
The kids brought me a butterfly they had caught. They damaged its wings and it couldn't fly anymore, so they gave it to me. I took it outside and placed it on a flowering bush in the sunlight, so it could be warm and have food before it eventually fulfilled it's lifetime expectancy of 48 hours.
I left for the afternoon. When I was walking back, I saw it again. The butterfly. My butterfly. Dead. Not only dead, but crushed. Crushed to a fine, glittering powder, melting into the dirt.
Who killed my butterfly?
I didn't kill my butterfly. It was probably a bird, or a small child.
I didn't kill the butterfly.
Did I?
If I killed the butterfly, then whoever created me killed the butterfly. My parents killed the butterfly. If they killed the butterfly, then wherever they come from killed the butterfly. Maryland killed the butterfly. America killed the butterfly. If America killed the butterfly, then everything in society is responsible for the butterfly. Civil Rights killed the butterfly. Free speech killed the butterfly. Civilization killed the butterfly. God killed the butterfly.
I killed the butterfly.
The seconds passed as I watched it fade into the dust, and I walked away. I'd walked here every day, several times a day, and this time, I remembered.

Why "dots"?

So, here is my blog. Revel in its splendor and glory, won't you? Just RSVP by December 31st if so, and tell me whether you prefer chicken or fish.
Hello.
This is your Captain speaking.
Now that I think of it, I haven't heard any female pilots on the planes which I have taken. Stolen, actually. I'm a professional plane-stealer. I just get such a rush from shoplifting, I'm seeking professional help.
NOT.
If anyone can find a Skip-It, I would like you to contact me immediately, and I mean that quite literally, take my stolen plane and fly it to my house. No, they're not at my house! What fool keeps their stolen airplanes at their home? It's really quite suspicious, the neighbors will surely notice if you let your grass grow above four inches to cover them. It's just not done!
I really think the word "goon" should be used with more frequency, but it's hard to think of a pretext. Okay, if anyone locates my stolen planes and notifies me, then I will have an opportunity to say, "You goon! Of course I know that - you better hide that plane back in the Bermuda Triangle where you found it!"
Did I mention that I'm Mother Nature, and that the Bermuda Triangle is actually where the lost city of Atlantis is located? Also, the Chupacabra is not real, and probably the stupidest thing on "Animal Planet". Anyhow, that's how I steal planes. A strange, misty hurricane which conceals a vortex and passage to an alternate universe, otherwise known as SHEETZ.
Well, this has gone on quite long enough, and probably strangely enough for the time being.
I think the labels for this post are all related: scooters, vacation, fall.