hi

hey



http://www.mctecnologiasrenovables.com.mx/Louis.php?test=z1tef43qa4ku8qb

I want a penis.

No, I don't mean sex. But I mean I want that appendage hanging from between my legs. NO I don't mean a sex change. I wish had been born a guy. I love boys and I'm very girly but I fucking hate being one. Exercising during your lady time (what is what I call a time of the month)  is like exercising with the fucking flu. I feel like shit. alksdjfalksdfjl. Fucking vaginas. Who ever the hell invented this whole menstrual cycle shit should be shot. In the knee caps. Twice. And then beheaded. I DON'T WANT TO BE FAT BUT YOU MAKE IT SO HARD TO EXERCISE WHEN I WANT. GAHHHH. STUPID HOE. *tears* Seriously I want a penis. But most of all I fucking hate feeling gross and fat. I want it to stop. NOW. Wah.  

The first half of Alone by Edgar Allan Poe

"From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone."

Sometimes, I am alone.

                 Sometimes, like now, I just feel so alone. I feel as I am unattached, unwanted, and unneeded from the rest of humanity. I feel as if no one will ever truly know me. I feel as if no one truly cares. I feel as if all I think, all I feel, all I want, need, and love are mine only. And that does not feel at all good. To say I sometimes feel lonely is a large understatement. It would more accurate to say that I sometimes feel abandoned, but with none of the hate for the deserters as the word requests. It would also be more accurate to say that I sometimes feel as I have no spot in others lives or in my own. But that still does not cover this great ache that I feel. This hurt, this emptiness, this yearning, this feeling of being alone is horrendous. It is heartbreaking. It is a seemingly everlasting torment. It is like a cancer; it will consume you. To feel alone, in the way in which I do, is the worst feeling that I have ever felt. I know that I can handle a lot. I can handle more than most but I can not handle being alone. I am too needy for that. I need there to be someone listening when I talk. I need to know that if I need to feel the touch of another that I can. I need to know that my suffering was not for nothing. I need to know that I will not have to suffer though alone. I can hardly bare to be alone. I do not know how I do it. I do not know how I swallow my screams of anguish. I do not know how I do not seek out prostitutes, strangers and nannies. I do not know I can continue to fight in this agony. I do not know how I can live when I feel that dreadful, horrible, frightful feeling of, alone. I did this school project where we had to put synonyms of the word we got on a line of strong to weak or good to bad. My word, as you might guess, was lonely. Naive of what was to come I titled it: "What could be worse than lonely?" Well hear me now you sarcastic twat: nothing that I have ever felt is worse than lonely. I would give a lot, almost anything, to not feel forlorn.  Because sometimes, like now, when I feel this way I can hardly be. 

Just a few words...

I wrote this for an application to a duel enrollment program. The prompt was "my autobiography written in the year 2030." If it has a ___ __ I changed the word to protect myself from creepers. Everything from before the program paragraph is true, which is why this my first post. ENJOY!

_my name_;A Future Autobiography

     

For my loving family, my past, the future and Johannes Gutenberg.

This is big. 1 in 8 babies born in the 90’s were to a teenage mother. 12% of all pregnancies in the U.S are preterm. One in ten premature babies develop a lifelong disability. An estimated 365,500 house fires are reported each year in the US. Only approximately 1.1% of all cancer patients were diagnosed under the age of 20. Nearly 5.6 out of 100,000 white men die of brain or nervous system cancer. Cancer is the second leading cause of death in the US and accidents are the fifth. Only about 11% of MIT applicants get accepted. 839 individuals and 24 organizations have received the Nobel Prize up until this year. I am more than just a statistic on fact sheet or words on a page but this is what I will be summarized as. To prevent that from being the only thing I am, I am writing my story. Not all of it, for there will never be enough time or lines on a page to tell it all. This is merely the big stuff in 26 letters or less. This is my silly human life in words and not statistics. I hope you learn and remember anyways.

I was born; everyone is. I, unlike everyone, was born extremely premature to Laura Lee ___ in 1995. I was born 27 weeks early and only had to be hospitalized for two days. My mom was 20 at the time and not ready for a child, especially one like me. But she would get used to it. She has given me the best childhood she could, loved me and tried to understand me. I have a brother and sister both born to different moms around the same time as me: Tisa and Alex. My dad was alright. He was a better man than father. He worked with mentally impaired adults at night and as well during the day at another job. He has called me every week since I was six. Though my mom and dad were not the best of friends I have never heard them snub the other. I’m grateful for that.

Kindergarten is one of the most important grades in school. It was especially so for me. I had a lot of first in my lovely years of five to six. The first day of kindergarten I met my first friend. Her name was Amber and she had Goldie’s locks. She taught me what friendship and being shy were; she was the first kid I saw on open house so, I waved to her and shouted “HI!” from only two feet away. She hid behind her mom but after that we were friends. A majority of my kindergarten firsts happened at my Grandma’s wedding. I have to look back on that week, yes a week long wedding experience, as my introduction into life and grownups. That wedding was the place where I first lost a tooth; during the cutting of the cake might I add. First wedding I went to and the first time I was in one. First time I used a hot glue gun. First time I ever burnt myself with a hot glue gun. I got my first tool box there. I saw my first group of drunken adults. First time I ate Frosted Mini Wheats. First time I watched The Mask. First time I met a lot of relatives. And it was the first time I rode a plane. I was by myself and had to learn to deal with strangers and my ears popping. Holy cow, I hate that.

 After my grandma’s wedding my house caught on fire. It was the middle of the night and I was sound asleep. Our fire alarm didn’t go off. My mom woke up from the smell and asked my grandpa if he had been smoking.  He said no. Mom went into my room and made me crawl to the front door. The fire was under the house and nothing and no one were harmed but I got really attached to the idea of being a firefighter, of saving people. Less than a month later, 9/11 happened. That was the first time I really realized that sometimes bad things happen and I can’t do anything about them. It was my little kid wake up call. That Christmas in my letter to Santa I asked for at least one parent for all of the kids who lost theirs in 9/11 so that there wouldn’t be any more orphans. Obviously Santa didn’t grant my request but that also helped me learn. The next year my aunt Melody died. That was more unreal then Santa. As a second grader I didn’t really understand the idea of her never coming back. She had been sick for a while with a degenerate disease but no one in my life had ever died before.  I didn’t even cry at her funeral because she wasn’t dead yet. She was weird because of her disease and I didn’t understand everything she did but we loved each other. She taught me the "More Ice-cream" song and let me play with her special chairs. She spoiled me.  And she couldn’t be gone. Eventually it did sink in that I would never see her again. No one would ever see her again and that hurt. But everyone has to learn that Santa isn’t real and tragedy happens. I think that I learned a little early.

Two years later my mom and I moved to Maine to live with my grandparents. She couldn’t find work were we lived and I think she also wanted a change of pace. Saying she was used to moving around a lot would be a major understatement. We left a lot of our stuff in our old house with my grandpa to get later. A week after we settled into Maine I got a kidney infection and had to be hospitalized for a week. My third grade class wrote me a ton of get well cards even though they didn’t know me. It was weird. How someone could just lie astounded me. They didn’t genuinely want me to feel better; they were forced to make me cards and it didn’t help. I understood the idea of caring for a stranger but I don’t think they did. A while after I got out of the hospital. My old house went up in flames. It wasn’t like the last fire. My grandpa’s two cats, the whole house, my rose garden and a lot of memorable paraphernalia burnt up. It sucked. I was so angry that this could keep happening. I didn’t want to be a firefighter anymore. It seemed like a crap job. But I still thought they were awesome for saving my grandpa and risking their lives like they did.

My uncle Levi was the coolest guy I have ever met. Granted he was kind of a jerk but he was young and he was never mean to me. He loved me so much. He introduced to me to video games. We played this one on the Nintendo 64 where you had to hop around and eat fruit and kill things. I still, to this day, cannot remember the name of it. He played football and had tons of girlfriends over the years but he was still there for family time. He used to tease me and tickle me. We would play with Legos for hours, building all sorts of cars and castles. He was so funny. He could make absolutely anyone laugh. When he was 20 he moved to Texas to get his act together a year before he died.

When I was in the fifth grade he decided to go to college. After a struggle with his high school he was finally on his way to orientation. On the way there he somehow lost control of the car. It flipped six times and he crashed. He died on impact. There was “no pain.” I will never forget the day I found out he died. Everyone was quiet and sad. I didn’t have the guts to ask what was going on. I knew it was bad. I heard my grandpa talking on the phone and say my uncle’s name. We all went on the porch and I found out. My aunt was at school or work or something and they asked her to come home. As she walking down the hill toward the porch she asked what was wrong. She saw us crying. She found out. She screamed and I cried. I have never heard a more anguished noise than her scream. I never want to hear that again. We all moved down to Georgia after that.

I never realized that I was bullied as a kid until 6th grade. There was this kid, who was fatter than me by the way, who called me pregnant almost every day. He was a butt and I was sensitive. It hurt me pretty badly. I didn’t have many friends and I had low self esteem. I did not need that kid making it worse. That year I took the gifted test. The gifted test is a test to see if you think differently than other kids and if you should be placed in “smarter” classes. Mr. Ebbits, the test giver, said I got some of the highest scores he’d ever seen. My mom still brags about it. Oh my stars, does she like to brag. It’s honestly the most annoying habit of hers but it’s probably a good thing that bragging is her worst habit. Once I got into gifted classes in 7th grade things got tons better. I was no longer bullied or as bored. We didn’t have anything like gifted at my old schools. “Smarter” kids just got to do cool things that the other kids didn’t like a reading group and some science-y/math-y games. Gifted classes were awesome. I didn’t realize how much bullying sucked until it was out of my life. Gifted kids are so much more accepting. We kind of have to be. We were THE weird and smart folks of the school.

Around my 6th and 7th grade years I tried out church. My family believes in God but for the most part aren’t church goers. At first I loved it. I “found” Jesus Christ and it was fantastic. I worshiped, I want to church, youth group, and FCA. But then I “lost” that particular faith. I began questioning church, the bible, followers and religion in general. I found that, though I hope something is out there and though I pray, I prefer to do religion on my own and not in a group setting. I found that if I am going to pin myself to one religion than I am going follow every single rule of that religion. There is not a religion whose every single ideal and rule I can follow. I found that I am not a believer or church goer. I am a single prayer and one-on-one with a higher power kind of gal. That’s the way that I found I like it, an open non-religiously religious prayer.

Near the end of my 7th grade school year one of my best friends and first boyfriend got a brain tumor. They were all so sure it wouldn’t be cancerous. It was. They were so sure once they took out the tumor it would go away and not come back. It didn’t. He got three more cancerous tumors, and he died August of my 10th grade year. We all knew it was coming, but it still hurt. He had been suffering and fighting for his life for two plus years and he just died. His name was Nicodemus Patrick but everyone called him Nick.

When I met him he had longer-than-the-style black hair and wore elastic waist band pants. He was a weird kid. I mean he was weirder than me at the time and he didn’t care what others thought. He was smart too. We met in my first gifted class. He was lame and I didn’t like him. He was a meany and he was weird. I didn’t want to know him. But I’m so glad we did. We got into a fight, a teacher wanted to get him in trouble, I stood up for him and took double the punishment because of my do good-er act he didn’t find me so bad and nor I him. Then we were friends. We dated for a little while, well for what counts as dating in middle school. He took me on my first date ever.  We went to see Harry Potter; his mom and sister sat 5 rows in front of us. It was sweet and perfectly us. When he got sick I was the friend he could count on to get a laugh and not treat him like a kid with cancer, even though it hurt me I did this for him. I smiled and laughed for him. Nick loved humor. He made fun of everyone and everything. He had my kind of humor just with a little more an edge. He loved his hair and mustaches. When he lost his hair to chemo he kept it in a bag. Like I said, he was weird. But that’s one of the characteristics we liked about him. He has a charity that he created before he died to help cancer families and he participated in Art for Heart. He was kind, mean, weird, and funny. He was the ultimate teenage boy and I loved him. There will never be another Nick.

Losing him was the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. I got depressed. I didn’t understand how I could keep losing everyone. People, family and friends are what make up our lives. When we lose someone, in anyway, it hurts. Who are we without them? What would our lives be without others? I couldn’t grasp it. If not for school my story could have gone very differently but I couldn’t let my sadness and desperation take over my goals: To save the world and be a good mother. I cried, and I hurt but I kept moving. I didn’t move on for a long while but like in that old Disney movie: I kept moving forward.

Later that year I was having an Reeses version of a rough patch with school; I no longer liked it. I hated writing more than anything, and I kept having to write. What balanced it out was the discovery for my love of math. Math doesn’t make you think; Writing does. I didn’t want to think in a writing sort of way and the fact that I’m a notoriously bad speller didn’t make me love it. Now don’t get me wrong, math involves thinking. It doesn’t, however, make you sort out thoughts the way writing and having a conversation do. In math you can jump steps and go where the numbers do. In life there are less logical rules. I thought I was good at math and I liked it, almost as much as reading. That’s when I decided how I was going to save the world. I was going to save the world in ten digits or less.

At the end of the year I had biology. Now I had in 7th grade so I knew the basics but we went more in-depth. In that class I had an idea that would change the world. I wanted to make it so that humans could derive consumable energy from the sun. I was going to make a photosynthesis machine or injection. I was going to end world hunger and make a backup plan for crops. I was going to revolutionize the way we lived. I was going to save the world.

In the next two years I finished of high school and my associate’s degree at a special enrollment program called _____. It stands for ________. It was perfect for me and what I wanted to do. I was so excited and nervous during the enrollment process. What if I didn’t get in? What if I did? My best friend was trying to get in too, and we supported each other. When I got in I was so happy. My family and I went out for dinner, which we never did. _____ was great. At first it was weird having to live with strangers. I had never done it before and was scared that one of them might cause trouble, but I got over that pretty quick. We bonded and set up room rules. No trouble. I met lots of great people there and it gave me an edge on my career and the whole saving the world thing. It was harder than high school but I got over that pretty quick too. It was far less annoying and more educational than high school. I loved it. It was the environment I needed. If I hadn’t of gone to _____ I sure I still would have made out great but _____ helped me get to where I wanted to go. I made lots of connections, learned plenty of life lessons and it put the path for my future in concrete and not just a goal.

After graduation I headed to Massachusetts to live on my very own as a legal adult. It was surreal. I was glad to see snow but even gladder to be going to my dream school: the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Ever since I realized I loved math, and wanted to work with it, I wanted to go to MIT. They have, in my very biased opinion, the best math programs in the country. In between earning my bachelor’s degree and working at the worst job ever I met Herman Shnickfilster Von-field. He was quiet and far too smart for his own good. He would come to be my main partner in creating consumable solar energy and my best friend. During my time at MIT I also learned a very important life lesson: everything is a choice even when you think you cannot live with one option. It is still an option. When I turned 20 I considered myself a real grown up because I no longer had “teen” stuck to the back of my age. How wrong I was. You never really grow up just older.

While working as the first person in my family to get their master’s and consulting for lobby groups (to pay the bills), Herman and I started to develop a more concrete concept of consumable solar energy. We reached into our contacts and pulled out our team. We would work with them, losing and adding some along the way, for the next ten years. It was a labor of love but we, Herman and I, were in it to win. And oh baby, did we ever.

On the way of getting my doctorate and creating a radical machine with the best team ever, I fell in love. No it wasn’t Herman but it was still a cliché romantic ordeal. We met unexpectedly and boom! Hook, line, and sinker. I was on my way to met with a partner when I got hungry. I stopped at my favorite snack place, Dunkin’ Donuts, and attempted to order my favorite snack: a coffee cake muffin and small strawberry Coolatta. I was unsuccessful. The guy ahead of me had just ordered the last coffee cake muffin. He kindly and, in my opinion, creepily offered me his muffin. I refused on the grounds of never accepting food from strangers. I told him, not unkindly, that he could be trying to drug or poison me and that I just didn’t think we knew each other well enough for that. His witty and oh-so-obvious-flirty retort was: then we should get to know each other better. It was a very awkward line to hear and no doubt deliver. We made nervous laughter. I relinquished my number after some more barely witty banter, an exchange of names and the excuse of having to run. My future husband, Daniel Stanfeild called me later. We dated, and fell in love.

Daniel is the best I have ever met, in a very bias way of course. He is funny and awkward. He makes me laugh and lets me cry. When I get mad he gives me the space to walk away and argue when my head is clear. He’s the perfect height: taller than me. He doesn’t like grape flavoring which is good because the smell of it alone is enough to make me queasy. He was completely supportive of me working long hours on my save the world mission. He proposed to me in a very cheesy, ridiculous, make me squirm kind of way: He brought Dunkin’ Doughnuts home and asked me to get to know him better for the rest of our lives. I cried like a teenage girl when he brought out the ring and I understood what was going on. We got married in the next spring in a cherry blossom orchard with all of our family and friends. After our wedding we moved into my dream house. It’s an old but refurbished home in New England and not too far from the ocean. It’s yellow with white trim. There is a large back yard with swings and a garden. Daniel and I were so happy. He even let me get a dog to let lose in our fortress of awesome.

In my second year of marriage my team and I did it. We found the final piece of the puzzle that had been eluding us for the past four years. My idea, Herman and I’s concept, my team and I’s project, was finished. We invented a product that revolutionized consumption: a photosynthetic way of living for all. We won!

Now that my work was finished I was ready to start a family. The next year I was pregnant and Herman and I were up for a Nobel Chemistry Prize. We won that too. With the prize money we have started a new but more lax project. It’s a secret though. Keep your senses open and remember: silly little human lives are all worth writing down even if you don’t win a Nobel Prize.