I'll admit I'm not a huge fan of whining.  So please, if you're like me, stop reading here.
  But I say I've rightly earned my turn.  How is it that I can get home before three, start working on my homework within twenty minutes, and with almost no breaks not get done with all my homework till 11?  Oh yeah, because I had a packet, a page-long opinion to write, and studying for a test for history, a math packet, long problems for chemistry, a packet and a test to study for for Spanish, and a short story to write for English.  Pretty much.  This is my life right now.  Funny thing is, I still didn't even have time to touch all the other projects not due tomorrow but still looming ever so close.
  There!  I'm done! Now I reward myself with Whoppers ice cream and Studio C videos and hopefully have let out enough steam to get me by till next weekend... Or even better, summer.

  The headphones are in and it's over.  I've become engulfed in something impossible to forget:
Music.
How many nights have I stayed up late because I am so addicted to watching music videos, with their pulsing beats, dangerous melodies, touching words, kaleidoscope images?  Sometimes I find myself dancing shamelessly with the base, other times tears roll down my cheeks.  Every song is brimmed with meaning and heart.  The lyrics were penned with purpose, and then the words were pinned to a clef.  It is art, it is inspiration, it is soul.
He Is We's All About Us.  Any of Taylor Swift's {but especially Mine}.  One Direction's What Makes You Beautiful.  Selena Gomez's A Year Without Rain.  Imagine Dragon's Radioactive {bizarre, but a cool message and original}. The Band Perri's If I Die Young.  Haley Reinhart's Free.  Carrie Underwood's Before He Cheats.  The list goes on.  And on.  And on.
Oh how I would die to experience the thrill of creating such amazing, middle-of-the-night-worthy music videos!

  Like gentle fingertips tinkering with chimes, the rain falls, teardrops sighing from the heavens with whispering winds and splattering onto the earth, tapping my window with the breathless beckonings of nature.
  I guess I can just say that my resistance crumpled.  Succumbed to the temptation, my defense fallen, I did what any other person would do.  At least, what I would do.  I flung the door open and enveloped myself in the chill of the night.  Barefoot.  In a tanktop.  My hair free over my shoulders.    It was still, the only light the dim shine from windows, the only sound the dull hum of faroff traffic, the occational distant whistle of the train, the wind.  My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I smiled.
  It has been so nice to just talk.  To sit down, blind and deaf to the wild world surrounding, and just reach into myself to pluck those words I have stuffed beneath my skin and my smile.  To listen.  To trust.  Not to be silly, for once, nor to try and sugarcoat, but to just allow the truth to bear itself even if for one small moment.  We talked and we talked.  And it was very nice.
 This time, as the screen of my phone lit up, we chatted by text simple conversation.  Digging deep this time not to reveal secrets to test the bonds of trust, not to contemplate how to collect the fragments if our worlds were to shatter, but to remember the many "that time"'s.
  Until now, the clouds were stubborn, defiant in the will to not let go.  But as I slip the phone back into my jeans, a droplet splashes my bare shoulders.  It's a mere sprinkling at first.  Then the water thickens, a thin drizzle becoming a clear rain.  Goosebumps raise on my arms.  Instead of hugging them closer, I splay my arms out and just twirl around.  I stick my tongue out.  I laugh.  I sing Titanium despite being out the open because really, I am bulletproof.
  Seriously, life is too good.  I just want to take these moments and snag them up selfishly before something could ever come crashing down and snatch them away.
 

  You want a good lesson for life?  Here it is:  Don't sing along while you blast your iPod or walk out of your bedroom half-naked because your daddio might to forget mention he invited some 17-year-old guys over to the house for a meeting of some sort.  Luckily he hadn't turned around yet and I managed to dash back into cover and throw some clothes on before being seen, and I don't think my tra-la-la's were heard, but I'd say I felt quite tragically scandalous.
  But okay, really.  Can someone explain to me how it is that it's January yet I already have a tan line?  Oh yeah, that's right.  It's Arizona.

  We as human beings are made up of DNA and memories.  Just as proper nourishment to our bodies allow us to grow from child to adulthood, unique moments transform us, molding our hearts with their forever-remembered significance.
  Sixteen years.  It's not a lot of time, but it's sure heck of a lot of memories.  A picnic at the highest peak of North America, clinging onto the tube for dear life at Lake Powell, the horrific terror of meeting the Teletubbies, vanity-packed popstar/princess sleepovers with the cousins, Rachel's thick Bahsten accent, the obnoxiously tall wig  to dress as Marie Antoinette for Halloween, the dizziness of a roundoff-eleven-back-handsprings, my first audition 80's-style, the way my mom rolled her eyes before realizing that the phonecall about Daddy falling off a cliff was dead serious {no worries he's fine now}, rompin' around Las Vegas {or for that matter the 13 Original Colonies, or LoMia, or Cali, or the Four Corners, or Wyoming, or Peru, or who knows where else cause I've been so many places I've lost count}...  I recall the first time I witnessed my dog give birth, then four years later {at hardly eleven} having to climb into the trunk of the car because the vet had misjudged how long it would take for the delivery to begin, and since my mom was driving on the freeway during rush our and couldn't pull over, it became my frantic responsibility to pull the thick green sacks from their tiny bodies and clear the fluids from their lungs so the puppies could live...  I remember when I was that unknowingly dorky kid who liked Star Wars and made movies with Lego's and American Girl Dolls {ashamedly I reveal them here} .  I remember when I was devastated that I had to live in modern times, when Kendall and I began writing a novel about the Titanic because we knew every little fact there was to know about it, when a prayer prevented us from being trapped in the middle of nowhere {full story somewhere here}.  Memories, memories, etc, etc, etc!  They keep building up, and high school has been a huge contributor since day one {specifically 6th hour of that day}
  Seriously, life is just too good.  And like they always say "Life is not measured by the number of breaths you take, but the number of moments that take you're breath away." 

  Why are my friends so fantastic?  Even during the moment when I am feeling my downest, they have this basically psychic ability to think that my driveway needs to be attacked with obnoxious inside jokes and drawings that make me smile.  "Sha-la-la."  Oh dear.
    After a long trip to Flagstaff, I am proud of myself for getting my homework done.  So then, {while unbeknownst to me getting chalked} I got to relax and plop the couch watching The Vow eating a banana smoothie.  Now I'm in one of those super romantic moods and feel so utterly hopeless.

  After two weeks off of school, I found myself pumped up with motivation.  With my grades back up to straight 100%, now's my chance to snatch up a good report card.  So instead of dragging out the morning and letting my mom wake me up at the latest possible time, I've set my own alarm clock {though I still let myself hit the snooze for another ten-fifteen}.  Instead of screwing around for a few hours, I've been sitting down as soon as I get home from cheer practice to start my homework and don't let myself leave my room until it's done.  Today I slipped back into the old habit of lolligaggin' for two hours, not really doing anything entertaining but just stretching out the time to procrastinate my homework, and realized that the other three days proved to give me several hours-worth more of pure free time.  So guess which schedule I've decided I want to keep.  Yup.  On top of this, the holiday season resulted in way too much sugar and laziness, and since I'm trying to establish other better habits anyway, I figured, why not get more in shape too?  So instead of snacking on ice cream and cookies and all stocked up in the house, I've been eating fresh fruits and vegetables, whole grains, etc.  Just as delicious, but definitely jam-packed with way more nutrients and much less guilt.  It also helps for working out, and I'm proud to say that I'm going to go for a run every day and work more on the pull-up bar {try some reps of pulling yourself up, a v-up, and lowering yourself without touching the ground; or try pulling up and holding yourself in a tuck or, even better, an L position, for a minute}.  Maybe it's just because it's only the first week, but overall I've been feeling way better.
  But just out of curiosity, why exactly would my Seminary teacher ask me if I'm on drugs?  But as it was pointed out to me, maybe he was right.  Apparently my depth-perception is screwed up.  For goodness' sake, I am losing 3-13 here!  

  This morning I was startled from my dreams with the question, "Do you have anything to do today?  Cause we're going to Sedona."  And on that surprise note, we tore the winter clothes out from the garage, hopped in the car for a quick two-hour drive, and spent just enough time playing around in the snow before returning to get Olivia to her Macbeth rehearsal at five.  Living in Gilbert, we are slightly deprived of true seasons, so we were quite excited for the chance to throw ice at each other and besides, the red rocks of Sedona are absolutely stunning in contrast to the wintry white.
  Funny enough, while randomly driving to Slide Rock, an area we had never been to before {though highly recommend visiting}, we ran into some old family friends who we hadn't even known were vacationing in Sedona.  What a small world.
  Really though.  Sometimes it's nice to escape the usually Arizona warmth.





 

  10 inches of little-girl locks.  Right there-- gone.  Gotta love some change every one in a while.  And considering how fast it grew last time, I know my hair will be the length it orginally was sometime within my junior year.

    Is it bad that I've basically trained my body to survive off of such low amounts of sleep?  At the end of the holiday season, I've brinked that point where I can stay up as late as I want and still feel like it's 2 in the afternoon rather than 2 AM {out in the pitch black dipped down into the twenties}. Maybe that'll be a part of my resolution, to patch up this seriously scewampous schedule.
    For New Years Eve, we basically party hopped. First Lindsey's ice cream social, then the stake dance, then a giant waffle party.

   Seriously, if all forms of modern entertainment failed, my dang-crazy friends would save the day with their hilarious stories and white dancing and just being themselves.  I'm kind of a ditzy girl myself {though at least I figured out how to spin the right direction by the second try} but what can I say?  I'll just admit that warm moment as hundreds of balloons fell from the ceiling, I kinda zoned out and wore that smile I've become used to lately.  
  Now I think the only reason I'm still sitting here writing is the exhilaration of seeing 1-1-13 for a date. How mind-blowing.