<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262</id><updated>2011-08-01T12:04:07.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>underneath the withered trees</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-196765446907148650</id><published>2009-07-11T00:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T00:21:53.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it."</title><content type='html'>That's the signature you'll see attached with her comments on deviantart.com.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cried once, monday night, in a hotel bathroom in NYC. I didn't feel like I had the right to, but I did anyway. Angel, I like to think of her as a friend, passed away that morning. While I was driving to said city actually. I noticed the time, 11:11am, and it annoyed me that my day could so quickly be interrupted by my useless father's phone calls. I had no idea that was when she died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon looking at her deviant account, and seeing more artwork I had missed, and this above quote, I have to struggle not to cry again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This amazing woman helped me through my awful 9th and 10th grades of high school, where suicide was a constant thought in the back of my head. I'd like to say she confided much in me. In a way, she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I know that what I could tell you of this remarkable person, could fill a puddle, whereas her life experiences and accomplishments span greater distances than oceans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss her. I wish I had had the opportunities to talk to her more recently, but I didn't. And now she's gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it. I'd like to think that what she exchanged, made her proud of those decisions each and everyday. Because I am.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-196765446907148650?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/196765446907148650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=196765446907148650' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/196765446907148650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/196765446907148650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2009/07/price-of-anything-is-amount-of-life-you.html' title='&quot;The price of anything is the amount of life you exchange for it.&quot;'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-3877193776591897655</id><published>2009-02-28T17:57:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-28T18:14:51.005-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Letting It Out, ... Somehow</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I have been devoid of emotion so much lately it's ... ridiculous. And when I'm not empty I'm angry. That's it, two extremes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Some things that I have been upset about, I couldn't fix. It was mostly anger at myself for being unable to stop my friend from being a stupid fucking idiot with her life. She's working on it though, ... at least she thinks she is. I know I can't do anything but be there when she falls or when she stands up. It's ... frustrating. I know she is mad at me currently, for backing out on a trip we were supposed to take over spring break. I don't care though. I couldn't go with her, I was too mad.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I hate talking until I'm blue in the face and being unable to convey my point. I have spent the past two days fighting with my boyfriend and I have yet to have him understand where I'm coming from. Every time I try, I end up making it worse. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I had a very bad week. I was upset with Jenny (friend I referenced to above) and drained from the amount of work I had to do. I just went and went all week between classes and work and Phi Sigma Pi meetings. My birthday is tomorrow and I still haven't heard from my father in three weeks. I haven't seen my boyfriend all week outside of lunch except for one afternoon (one hour really) together in my room, in which I fell asleep. Go me, I'm such a fucking ass.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Apparently I have been sending mixed signals for, well, weeks now? That what I say and do contradict each other. I'm not sure how yet. But I've been doing it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My boyfriend has been ... overzealous in so much lately. He's been mad that we haven't seen each other, and mad that I "am not honest and open" with him. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I tried, last night, to make him understand that I've been busy and tired, and that he hasn't done anything wrong. I haven't been mad at him or anything. I asked him to relax, and calm down because he was overreacting. I also asked him to stop saying certain things to me. All week I've been told things like "I don't want to be a burden" or "If you want me around" or "I don't want to ruin class for you" and every sentence like that feels like a slap in the face. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;What I tried to say, didn't work at all. I've gone from not being "honest and open" to also considering my life seperate of his and that he is my last priority. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm so used to going, and being independent. I have goals and obligations, and I tried to explain that I have a life. That he is a part of that life, but that he is not my whole life. I guess I just fail at everything.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;He's mad at me. I'm mad at him. I feel exhausted and worthless. Oh sure, he says he loves me. He says he wants to make this work. But I am constantly being asked "do you think I'm worth it?" and "do you want me?" ... if I didn't want him why would I still be in a relationship with him? He throws out these random questions, accusing me of not caring and not loving him enough and being scared and I can't take it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;He doesn't believe me when I say I care. He doesn't believe me when I say anything anymore!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I feel like I can't say anything right. That I shouldn't be angry, that I should devote myself to this guy. But I can't, I can't revolve myself around someone just so they're happy with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I feel so empty. I feel like nothing matters. That no matter how hard I try, I will never be good enough for someone. That in the end, I really am incapable of making someone happy. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-3877193776591897655?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/3877193776591897655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=3877193776591897655' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/3877193776591897655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/3877193776591897655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2009/02/letting-it-out-somehow.html' title='Letting It Out, ... Somehow'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-4345721914564905837</id><published>2008-11-14T12:13:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T12:16:25.154-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wall-hanging Worthyness</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Inspired by a dear friend, lol, cuz we're tards. Let's see ... there isn't much to report.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I confronted some friends about them treating me like shit lately, and I feel like a large burden has been lifted. We aren't talking anymore, but for right now, that's fine with me. I really could use the break from those two anyway. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Thanksgiving and Winter breaks are coming up soon. Very excited. ^_^ The downside is knowing that finals week is also inching closer. I'll pull myself through somehow though.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I've been obsessing over the Twilight soundtrack, which has a lot of good tracks. Woot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I am also VERY TIRED. lol. And every time I think about why I'm tired, I smile. Cuz staying up all night on the phone is waay too much fun to try to contain. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-4345721914564905837?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/4345721914564905837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=4345721914564905837' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/4345721914564905837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/4345721914564905837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/11/wall-hanging-worthyness.html' title='Wall-hanging Worthyness'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-2637405193516339490</id><published>2008-11-09T14:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-09T14:41:50.183-08:00</updated><title type='text'>le sigh</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;and if I’m stupid as fuck&lt;br /&gt;then, well, oh well,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and if I make all these mistakes,&lt;br /&gt;then, well, oh well,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and if this world is crashing&lt;br /&gt;down upon my feet,&lt;br /&gt;and everything is bleeding&lt;br /&gt;purple,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then, well, oh well,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fuck, I wish I were&lt;br /&gt;more of this perfection&lt;br /&gt;that everyone expects&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and fuck, I wish I weren’t so blind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and fuck, I wish I didn’t make&lt;br /&gt;so many mindless mistakes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and fuck, I wish somebody loved me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and fuck, oh well, just …&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;send me to the endless terrain&lt;br /&gt;to fend for myself, oh well&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;fuck it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-2637405193516339490?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/2637405193516339490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=2637405193516339490' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2637405193516339490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2637405193516339490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/11/le-sigh.html' title='le sigh'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-1804012673584117696</id><published>2008-09-30T20:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-30T20:23:45.655-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You think, we're here to play a game ...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:85%;"&gt;... of who loves who more than who.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I love the Barenaked Ladies. They sing some good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm updating after months of silence. I figured my blog, and my boredom, could use a pick-me-up. Unfortuntely, very little is going on right now. I go to class, I work, and that sums up my life. I would like to say that I -think- (think being key word) that I've recently lost some weight. Not much, because anorexia is totally disgusting, but my tummy seems just a little flatter this week. Let's hope I can keep it going for me, hehe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's see ... what am I looking forward to? I noticed I've been living my life strictly by calendar, counting off days until something exciting is supposed to happen. Right now, I'm looking forward to Harloween (dorm event), paydays, Twilight the movie, Thanksgiving, and Christmas in Texas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last one is the biggest thing for me, since I've been dying to visit my family against since Hurricane Blah (can't remember the name) struck not too long ago. They're totally fine, but I haven't been able to talk to them because of electricity and phones being out all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, I feel like I'm saying so much, maybe too. Oh well.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-1804012673584117696?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/1804012673584117696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=1804012673584117696' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/1804012673584117696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/1804012673584117696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/09/you-think-were-here-to-play-game.html' title='You think, we&apos;re here to play a game ...'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-8681583945568221410</id><published>2008-04-25T07:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T07:38:43.516-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My umimaginative titles tell you I'm going to rant</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm irritated. By everything. By everyone. Every five minutes I either want to strangle someone or crawl into a hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just finished reading an article about a black man who was shot down the morning of his wedding after leaving a strip club (his bachelor party) by NYPD officers. Okay, the officers say he was yelling about getting a gun. So the officers shot him ... 50 times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Excuse me? I am the only fucking one with any sense? Even if he DID have a gun, you don't empty your case into him, get a new one, and repeat the process! FUCK! You shoot his FUCKING KNEE CAPS! Incapicitate him, and then repeat the process to his buddies. THEN you act. THEN you arrest and search and all that good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if the officers did it just cuz they hated the dude or something ridiculious, I wouldn't just outright kill the man! If I really had a thing against this almost-groom, I would STILL shoot his knees, because they would HURT like FUCK and the pain would last WAY LONGER than him dying in a matter of minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously people. Think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. I'm tired of school. I'm tired of tests and money issues and feeling lonely and not having someone to be with. It is FUCKING FRUSTRATING! Half the time I'm depressed and I don't even have a good reason! None what's so ever, so I'm turning into a mental case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be damned if I get put on meds, but that won't happen will it? Cuz I'm not going to the doctor's. I'm not sick physically, there is no reason to visit therefore no way to be prescribed some shit. Yeah. I'm a little irritated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grades aren't doing so well. My GPA was a 4.0 last semester, this semester I'll be pushing it if I can manage a 3.6. Oh sure, it sounds so nice to have that. But it isn't, not for me. But who the fuck cares how I feel, right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-8681583945568221410?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/8681583945568221410/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=8681583945568221410' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/8681583945568221410'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/8681583945568221410'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-umimaginative-titles-tell-you-im.html' title='My umimaginative titles tell you I&apos;m going to rant'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-6971792700394847298</id><published>2008-02-28T08:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T08:39:24.502-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In my mind, I'll fall apart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm going to talk about a really shitty day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm failing Foundations of Higher Mathematics, and everyone I know is under the impression that I'm so smart I will pull through. I am being suffocated with their optimism(sp?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My mother hasn't talked to me intentionally in over a week. The most memorable thing she said recently was "You should stay at your father's this weekend. I'm too busy anyway, so we'll celebrate your birthday another time. I didn't get you a present, I don't have time to run around so I'm giving you money. Its good that we'll wait to celebrate your birthday because then we can do it when I have money and time." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Sure, practicality wise it makes perfect sense. Still, it felt like a slap in the face.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I can't confess my helplessness to anyone because everyone tries to reassure me that I'm this brilliant woman who will pull through. I'm tired of hearing that I need to stay together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I nearly broke down and cried during my Intro to Special Ed test yesterday because it was the first time all day since receiving my Foundations test back that I had the time to actually contemplate what is happening to me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm a mess. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm forgetting my homework and when quizes/tests are coming up. I can't hold a conversation, I hate the telephone with a passion. My mother isn't talking to me and is making it seem like I did something wrong. I feel lonely, and irritated, and probably sexually frustrated as well. Its not fun at all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I don't sleep because I toss and turn all night. I feel like yelling at someone just to make another person feel as useless as I do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;And all the while, everyone is looking to me for help and advice and to tell me that I'm so fucking brilliant I shouldn't be complaining.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I feel claustrophobic(sp?).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;My roommate broke my lamp because she's an idiot. My friends don't understand the concept of planning things out. I'm so messed up I don't even have the time anymore to sulk about how messed up it is! Except for this moment, that is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;A friend of mine in my Intro to Special Ed class told me today that she thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown in class yesterday. I nearly crumbled under the pressure of taking a test (when I had studied all week!). The stupid fucking test just drew blanks in my head for the first several minutes because the only thing I saw was that out of a 180 point test I scored a 98 and 3/4. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;That's 54% for those who can't calculate percentages. That means my grade in Foundations just dropped from a C- to a D. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Oh sure, what does it matter. Everyone makes mistakes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Well I've been so fucking conditioned to be damn near perfect that this whole mess is drowning me in its garbage. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I need a fucking vacation. Or prescription. Maybe I should see a fucking shrink and tell him about all my childhood issues. I bet I'd give the bastard a field day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-6971792700394847298?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/6971792700394847298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=6971792700394847298' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/6971792700394847298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/6971792700394847298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/02/in-my-mind-ill-fall-apart.html' title='In my mind, I&apos;ll fall apart'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-2506595302879071576</id><published>2008-02-18T11:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T11:39:46.670-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spelling Errors</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I just realized how many spelling mistakes I made in my last blog. Of course, I'm sure the other past posts are just as sad. I guess I could try and blame exhaustion, since I do believe I've been writing these things rather late at night. Hopefully this one will be better, since it's only 2.37 in the afternoon.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I've been thinking about getting a mic and recording videos instead of just typing my random thoughts out! Thomasy does it all the time, though I'm sure he has more viewers than I do. In fact, I'm not even totally sure what I'd talk about! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Then I thought it'd be neat to make music videos. Just shove random video bits together with music for the hell of it. Of course, I don't think I have the time or patience for that, but it's still a neat idea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Mostly, I think I want to feel like I am accomplishing something by not doing anything in particular at all. Homework can only get you so far before you want to throw yourself off a cliff. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Maybe this is my wake-up call to focus on something more meaningful than silly exam results. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Now if only I could convince my muse to return, and begin really writing again .... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-2506595302879071576?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/2506595302879071576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=2506595302879071576' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2506595302879071576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2506595302879071576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/02/spelling-errors.html' title='Spelling Errors'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-6310239611116335080</id><published>2008-02-12T08:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-12T08:40:38.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Looking Back</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I decided that I needed to write about my sentimental emotions. I recently emailed my old high school teacher with helping tutoring a student of mine. He's my favorite math teacher in existance, and I knew that if I couldn't solve a problem, he could.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;He was so interested in helping me, and even discussed the concepts with my other high school math teacher. I have been suddently reminded of how much I miss those two. Especially Mr. M, he was the reason I knew I wanted to teach math. I would love to be as great a teacher as him when I'm older. Its his experience, I know, that makes me so great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Emails between the two of us have made me want to blurt out all my own plans in college to him. He's like, the grandfather I never had, or rather, the one I can't remember since my pappys past away when I was little. I feel like I'm on this new level with my old teachers. I learned everything I could from them, and they realize that, and how me in almost a collegue view since I am a prospective teacher. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I am really excited about the future, suddenly. I can't wait to be in Mr. M's position, and (hopefully) have old students emailing me and asking me questions and telling me about all the exciting things they want to do with their lives. Cuz I'll be damned if I don't let them spill all their educational plans. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;-sighs- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-6310239611116335080?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/6310239611116335080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=6310239611116335080' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/6310239611116335080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/6310239611116335080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/02/looking-back.html' title='Looking Back'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-5694480507896651811</id><published>2008-02-06T20:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-06T20:54:52.570-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Decisions on Majors</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I am in no way referring to Major League Baseball. Sorry to dissapoint the fans.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;I've decided striving for a Bachelor's Degree in Mathematics of Education isn't enough. The Degree is not the same as a Bachelor's of Mathematics. This Degree is only good for being a teacher. I decided that isn't enough. What if I suddenly decide that teaching isn't for me? I will have to go straight back to college to get a different Degree in order to hold a job. No thanks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;So I looked over the requirements and concluded that if I take an extra semester before graduating, I can complete the courses need for a Bachelor's of Mathematics. I told my parents about it, my father was thrilled, my mother was more concerned about her birthday. I guess I should also remember that they have no say in what I do. I am responsible for all my finances now. Everything owed to Kutztown University is in my name. All the loans, etc, lack a co-signer. Whoopie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;So I am (hopefully) going to graduate in the Fall of '10 with a Bachelor's Degree in Mathematics, a Bachelor's Degree in Mathematics of Education, and a full certification to teach by PDE. The joys of life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Now I just have to worry about GPA, Praxis I and II, tutoring, student teaching, etc. The list goes on and its rather dull.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;But at least in two and half years I can walk away from this damn place, two degrees, certification, and a job (cause seriously, who teh hell wouldn't hire me?). I will owe my parents nothing financially. I will be my own provider, from then on out. Its amazing really. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;font-size:85%;"&gt;Wish I had a fucking time machine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-5694480507896651811?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/5694480507896651811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=5694480507896651811' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/5694480507896651811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/5694480507896651811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/02/decisions-on-majors.html' title='Decisions on Majors'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-2956996710528667497</id><published>2008-02-02T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-02T20:30:30.205-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Someone Reminded Me</title><content type='html'>I supposed it is not a very nice thing to do, ignoring one's blog. Rather rude actually. However, I'm sure everyone will forgive me, since I have soooo many admirers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, it was good to be reminded of this place. It is only my second post but the act of typing out thought that doesnt involve school work and doesn't need to be criticized by others is well, fascinating and lovely. Of course there isn't much to talk about really. At least, nothing defining of who I am. I can blather on about others, that might be a way to define me. But not a way that I would find overtly pleasing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time has been ticking by extremely fast. I've decided that I'm simply being carried away through its currents, and I find it not completely discouraging. Actually, it almost fills me with excitement to know that the days can pass so easily for me now when my life used to drag on so slowly. I don't fear that I'm losing anything, memories or moments or anything of that particular sort. Its mostly a calming feeling, to see my life passing so ... well ... I can't really find the word to describe it. Its just calming to see it actually passing, the flow of it is almost tangible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enough garbage for one night!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-2956996710528667497?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/2956996710528667497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=2956996710528667497' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2956996710528667497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/2956996710528667497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2008/02/someone-reminded-me.html' title='Someone Reminded Me'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3261302461417142262.post-8237043889521818971</id><published>2007-12-07T17:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T07:41:46.402-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Uh, here I am</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;color:#c0c0c0;"&gt;I guess this will be a welcoming post. I am here, so rejoice my coming in any ways possible, I do take feline sacrifices as a good home-warming present.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3261302461417142262-8237043889521818971?l=falteringlight.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/feeds/8237043889521818971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3261302461417142262&amp;postID=8237043889521818971' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/8237043889521818971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3261302461417142262/posts/default/8237043889521818971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://falteringlight.blogspot.com/2007/12/uh-here-i-am.html' title='Uh, here I am'/><author><name>Stormy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/18346040567450116624</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_omIUKkq97S0/R1n5-TbUptI/AAAAAAAAAAM/o2SMREw1ZDY/S220/pixie.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
