Today was a wonderfully successful day. I woke up at a decent hour and got all of my house chores done before 10! My mother was fairly impressed, and, frankly, so was I. Mom and Dad have reinstated our summer chore list, so now it is an all-year-round-chore-list. I actually like this idea, we are doing the chores that we normally do, except with the list, we get paid weekly for the chores that were completed. Mom and Dad also came up with a "Phone Chore", this chore has to be done by the end of the week, or your cell phone is taken away and put into the depths of Momma's desk drawer. My "Phone Chore" is to clean out my car every week. At first I thought this was going to be really easy because I am usually pretty good about keeping my areas clean. Wrong. I'm not the only one who drives my car, so when Mom and Dad have custody of my car, they don't treat it very nicely. They leave their fast food trash all over, throw their empty cans and water bottles on the floor, and leave all of their stuff in it. Not to mention that Dad and Rudy are notorious for emitting bodily functious stenches every where they sit, so not only does my car look dirty, it smells dirty.
So this morning I pulled the car into the yard, right in front of the laundry room door, and started the daunting task. I vacuumed the entire interior and also wiped it down with a pretty strong cleaner spray. That car's interior looked brand spanking new. Next, the exterior, I went inside and changed into a pair of shorts and a cut-off and pulled the car up next to the barn. I hosed the entire thing down. The gravel roads near our house are pretty sketchy, so there was dirt caked everywhere... and I mean EVERYWHERE. As I was wrapping up the hose a thought popped into my head: it is the middle of January, and I am outside in shorts and a cut-off hosing my car down. It felt wonderful.
Later, I decided to go for a jog since it was so nice out. I even got to wear my new running capris! I thought about running on the road, but I fall easily on gravel, so I decided against it. So I walked out past our barn and machine shed and just started running through the corn field. It was wonderfull. Our farm is one of the highest points in the area, so you can see for miles. I ran until the end of the corn field, and started walking when I reached the tall grass area for fear of rolling my ankle in a badger hole. I used to know our land like the back of my hand, but when we moved back, I didn't go down there as much, so I kind of forgot what it looked like. Over the next hill, I came upon the pond, this is also where I broke my arm the summer before seventh grade. I went to the exact place where the wreck had happened. It was an 8-9 foot drop, almost straight down. It looked different. I can still remember exactly how I felt when that 4-wheeler went down that very drop, it's an unexplainable feeling really. I let myself slide down that drop and when I reached the bottom, I saw the tree that I had hit my head on during the wreck. It all looked so different.
Next, I walked up another hill to the old sod house. Apparently, during the pony-express times, one of the riders would come to our land and to rest. When the railroad came along and this guy was out of his job, he homesteaded our property and built a sod house; he claimed it was his favorite piece of land. Now, all that remains is the foundation of the house. It's a really neat place. Rudy and I used to go down there all the time and mess around. We have so many memories of the silly things we would do down there. The only problem was that there were always a lot of wasps around, so we constantly were stung. Once, I was stung in a place that receives a lot of sitting time, if you know what I mean, but that is a long, embarrassing story.
I kept walking until I reached the alfalfa field (aka: "the bottom ground"), then I turned around to head to the house. And when I got to the corn field, I started running again. Those terraces are killer when you are running up hill. After I passed the shop and garage, I was met in the yard by a jackwagon on a 4-wheeler, and an over excited dog. Home sweet home. Today was absolutely wonderful.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Friday, January 18, 2013
Sickly
I didn't feel like putting make-up on this morning. Make-up is really starting to make me mad, I find myself wearing it less and less. Why should I have to hide behind a fake mask? I see so many girls at my school that are just caked in make-up. Sometimes I wonder what their real face looks like.
Today after school, I walked into the kitchen. Momma was sitting at the table reading something. I open the fridge and do the usual 'glance for any food that looks any bit appetizing' thing. I decided on a banana, and sat down next to Mom after chucking my keys on the counter. She looked at me and said, "Baby, are you sick? You look pale and sickly." I rolled my eyes, "No Mom, I'm fine. I'm just not wearing any make-up." We both laughed hysterically.
A couple hours later, at the Varsity basketball game, I was talking to Ally. Britton walks up and enthusiastically says, "Hey Ally!" Then he looks at me and gets this disgusted look on his face, "You look terrible and sickly. Go home." I almost hit him... almost. Instead I settled for a come back that I saw on Pinterest, "Thank you, Britton, I'm glad that my real face looks sickly and terrible." He laughed and walked away. Why are my friends so rude and conceited? :)
So I made the conclusion that not wearing make-up is socially unacceptable. What is this world coming to? Why can't I wear my real face without people telling me I look sickly? This irritates me, a lot. I hate how some people are so fake.
Today after school, I walked into the kitchen. Momma was sitting at the table reading something. I open the fridge and do the usual 'glance for any food that looks any bit appetizing' thing. I decided on a banana, and sat down next to Mom after chucking my keys on the counter. She looked at me and said, "Baby, are you sick? You look pale and sickly." I rolled my eyes, "No Mom, I'm fine. I'm just not wearing any make-up." We both laughed hysterically.
A couple hours later, at the Varsity basketball game, I was talking to Ally. Britton walks up and enthusiastically says, "Hey Ally!" Then he looks at me and gets this disgusted look on his face, "You look terrible and sickly. Go home." I almost hit him... almost. Instead I settled for a come back that I saw on Pinterest, "Thank you, Britton, I'm glad that my real face looks sickly and terrible." He laughed and walked away. Why are my friends so rude and conceited? :)
So I made the conclusion that not wearing make-up is socially unacceptable. What is this world coming to? Why can't I wear my real face without people telling me I look sickly? This irritates me, a lot. I hate how some people are so fake.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
Strange
Tonight I had to drive into Syracuse to play pep band for a Wrestling Dual. I had never been to any sort of wrestling anything before, so it was a little different. Following the Stofer legacy, I was late. I was supposed to be there at 5:30, and I was pulling into the parking lot at 5:33. Parking was CRAZY. Mom took my car into Lincoln, so I had to drive the Excursion. (Or as I like to call it, the beast.) There were a couple spots that I could have pulled into with my car, but not with the beast.(It also doesn't help that the power turning fluid... or what ever it is, is broken... or something.) I ended up parking quite far away from the school, which means that I had to walk past the creepy druggie park to get to the school. I finally walked into the band room at 5:45, Poe was pissed, but she got over it.
While we were playing pep band, I noticed a strangely familiar scent, it was a gross scent. Cigarette smoke. I HATE that smell, and it also triggers my asthma. I figured it was just someone that had walked by me or something. After the next song, I could still smell it... and then BAM... asthma symptoms hit me. Throbbing headache. Short, gaspy breathes. Uncontrollable wheezing. I reached for my Roo (aka: glorified fanny pack) to get my inhaler. No inhaler. I suddenly remembered that it was in my backpack... at home. I moved to a different spot where I couldn't smell the smoke, and my symptoms got better, although I was miserable that entire time.
After a while, I figured out where the smell was coming from. One of our drummers, who was just a row ahead of me before I moved, is an avid smoker. There are rumors that he is on drugs as well, but you know how rumors are. This guy annoys the crap out of me. He is ALWAYS pounding on some sort of drum and it drives me crazy. (He also steals my parking spot in the mornings! It's the only spot where I can pull-through both ways and never have to back out.) Anyway, oh well, he's a senior, so in a couple of months I will never have to smell his disgusting scent again.
As I was walking back to the beast after pep band, I realized that it was super dark outside, and that I had to walk past a very creepy place. I was soo scared. I seriously thought that some creeper guy was going to jump out and grab me. It's times like these that I wish I had my own personal body guard or something. Oh wait, I have two of those, except both of them were sitting on their lazy butts at home watching a Bigfoot show. As much as my Dad and Brother are socially ungraceful, I would much rather have them with me during situations like that. I made it to the beast just fine, even though I felt like I was going to die.
Morals of this story:
1. Wrestling is a weird, weird sport.
2. Don't drive the beast to school events.
3. Bring your body guards (aka: your Daddy and your brother) with you where ever you go.
4.Learn to park correctly.
5. Bring your inhaler with you every where you go.
While we were playing pep band, I noticed a strangely familiar scent, it was a gross scent. Cigarette smoke. I HATE that smell, and it also triggers my asthma. I figured it was just someone that had walked by me or something. After the next song, I could still smell it... and then BAM... asthma symptoms hit me. Throbbing headache. Short, gaspy breathes. Uncontrollable wheezing. I reached for my Roo (aka: glorified fanny pack) to get my inhaler. No inhaler. I suddenly remembered that it was in my backpack... at home. I moved to a different spot where I couldn't smell the smoke, and my symptoms got better, although I was miserable that entire time.
After a while, I figured out where the smell was coming from. One of our drummers, who was just a row ahead of me before I moved, is an avid smoker. There are rumors that he is on drugs as well, but you know how rumors are. This guy annoys the crap out of me. He is ALWAYS pounding on some sort of drum and it drives me crazy. (He also steals my parking spot in the mornings! It's the only spot where I can pull-through both ways and never have to back out.) Anyway, oh well, he's a senior, so in a couple of months I will never have to smell his disgusting scent again.
As I was walking back to the beast after pep band, I realized that it was super dark outside, and that I had to walk past a very creepy place. I was soo scared. I seriously thought that some creeper guy was going to jump out and grab me. It's times like these that I wish I had my own personal body guard or something. Oh wait, I have two of those, except both of them were sitting on their lazy butts at home watching a Bigfoot show. As much as my Dad and Brother are socially ungraceful, I would much rather have them with me during situations like that. I made it to the beast just fine, even though I felt like I was going to die.
Morals of this story:
1. Wrestling is a weird, weird sport.
2. Don't drive the beast to school events.
3. Bring your body guards (aka: your Daddy and your brother) with you where ever you go.
4.Learn to park correctly.
5. Bring your inhaler with you every where you go.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Musically, Faithfully
Recently one of the girls in my choir at school asked me, "Annastazia, why do you sing so well? When did it all start? I want to have your passion." This girl is absolutely adorable, she is a freshman, and she is one of my "Alto 1 babies". I must have looked like an idiot, but I had to think about it. I had never really thought about that before.
I guess it all started in third grade. I remember sitting around the piano singing with my class during music. I went to a very small school; there were about 18ish kids in my class, total. One day in music class, Mr. Raetz said that there would be solo auditions in one month, and that he was going to choose three third or fourth graders to sing entire solo songs. He gave everyone a sheet of music. I took it home to my Mom and she said, "Oh, sweetie, I know this song so well, would you like me to help you learn it?" I nodded yes, and then Momma and I started practicing it. I would sit on her huge bed and sing with her while she was folding laundry. I sang that song with her so many times that I probably could have sang it backwards in my sleep.
I don't really remember much about the audition except for Mr. Raetz saying, "Thank you, Annastazia, that was very lovely." The next day, Mr. Raetz announced to the class, "Megan will be singing [I forgot the name of the song], Annastazia will be singing Desperado, and Luke will be singing Hey Good Lookin'." (Megan is in my grade, goes to my church, and lives like 4 sections west of our farm. Luke is a grade above me, goes to my church as well, and lives 3 sections to the east of our farm.) Mr. Raetz said that we would have to come in everyday during the 6th grader's music class to work on our solos. This meant that Megan and I go to skip out on half of our reading class everyday. I was so happy; I used to hate reading. Practicing was so much fun; I loved every second of it. Every once and in a while, Ms. LeMunyan, the High School music teacher, would come and tell us good job, or give us a thumbs up. (Ms. LeMunyan is, awkwardly enough, Sydni's aunt....)
The night of the concert, Momma let me choose my own outfit, I chose my new denim dress with a red bandanna tied loosely around my neck, and my hair in piggy-tail braids. I was really nervous. I still remember what Mr. Raetz said to me, "Don't be nervous kiddo. Pick out an old man in the audience that you don't know, look at him in the eyes, and sing straight from your little heart." I still remember looking out into the audience and seeing the whole town of Sterling, NE starring back at me. Mr. Raetz handed me a microphone, I gulped and took it from him. This was it, no turning back. He looked at me and cued me, and I don't know how, but I started singing. After the first verse, I started to enjoy myself. I found that I loved singing to the audience. I finished the song. It was done. After the concert so many people came up to me and told me how much they loved it.
That was my last year at Sterling, the next year, I transferred to Syracuse. My 5th grade year, I tried out for a solo in our Girls Choir Christmas concert at church. After that audition, my director and the accompanist both looked at me with confused faces. Finally my director broke the awkward silence by saying, "Annastazia, I had no idea you could sing like that. You have a beautiful solo voice." The next week, she announced that I got the alto solo, and Kara got the soprano solo. Best friends singing a call-and-answer duet. It was perfect. After that I started to enjoy choir a lot more. Ms. Poe just absolutely loved the fact that I actually knew what choir was all about when I reached her class in 7th grade, but that was when I lost interest in choir. I started dreading rehearsals, and I was easily annoyed with music.
Then a great change occurred. I moved. It wasn't until after I moved that I realized how much I enjoyed choir, singing, and music in general. I remember walking into second period choir my first day at Ogallala, thinking that I would end up quitting choir. But during that next month something changed. I took notice at small things such as: the way the Baldman was so involved in how he conducted, and the way he almost let the music live through him. It was remarkable. I also noticed how much my peers enjoyed choir. Specifically, Micah, Elijah, and Byron (although at the time, I thought Micah was Elijah and vice verse, and I also thought that Byron's name was "Vyron") . I just could not wrap my brain these guys. They were just so involved in singing. You could just see it in their faces. I remember how Helzer was always so pleased with these guys and how their beautiful voices just lit up the room. That night I went home crying. I told my mom about how I enjoy choir again and how I don't ever want to quit. That semester of choir was amazing. I loved how almost everyone in that room had a strong desire to be there, they weren't there to mess around. I noticed this about band too. I thought I was an amazing flute/piccolo player, until I met Syd. She made me look like I didn't even know what a flute was.
Needless to say, my views and opinions about music in general really altered that semester. It was during that summer that I came to the realization that the only reason I was singing was for myself and for my own glory. I was at church camp in Wyoming with the Lincoln Indian Hills High School Group (my youth group currently), when they found out that I was going to camp, they immediately asked me to join the praise band for that week to sing harmony. I was excited for it. I also was asked to do a special music song as well. It was one of my favorite songs (I tend to have a lot of 'favorites'), "Give Us Clean Hands". I started preparing for the song with the accompanists right away when camp started. That Tuesday was a big day for me, in the morning, we had a very convicting sermon in the morning that made me cry, it was then that I realized how much I needed Christ in my life, and that I couldn't do this all myself. Which really made me think about my motives for performing that song. That night during worship I performed my song, it went great, no awkward microphone screw-ups or anything like that. After worship was another sermon, and when that was over, I got up out of the pew and started walking out of the chapel with my friends. I stopped walking when I felt a large arm around my shoulders. I looked back; it was Nick Cole, one of the sponsors, he had tears in his eyes and said, "Annastazia, do you have something to tell me? Your song was just beautiful." I then proceeded to tell him the whole story about the convicting sermon and by the end we were both in tears.
It's almost ironic how I was ready to quit music altogether that year. Now, here I am two years later, considering a music major. I just don't understand. My parents and I have had my career planned out since fifth grade. Graduate high school with a 4.0, go to a University under a Pre-Nursing program, go to nursing school to obtain my RN degree, work as a nurse or paramedic for a couple of years, get accepted into CRNA school, graduate and enjoy my dream job. Now this music major thing is getting in my way. My parents don't think that pursuing a music major is the right thing for me. Mom wants me to consider a music minor, in between getting my RN degree and getting my CRNA degree. I just don't know. I feel like this is overused by people who don't understand it's meaning, but "God's got a plan". Now I just need to pursue my walk by faith.
I guess it all started in third grade. I remember sitting around the piano singing with my class during music. I went to a very small school; there were about 18ish kids in my class, total. One day in music class, Mr. Raetz said that there would be solo auditions in one month, and that he was going to choose three third or fourth graders to sing entire solo songs. He gave everyone a sheet of music. I took it home to my Mom and she said, "Oh, sweetie, I know this song so well, would you like me to help you learn it?" I nodded yes, and then Momma and I started practicing it. I would sit on her huge bed and sing with her while she was folding laundry. I sang that song with her so many times that I probably could have sang it backwards in my sleep.
I don't really remember much about the audition except for Mr. Raetz saying, "Thank you, Annastazia, that was very lovely." The next day, Mr. Raetz announced to the class, "Megan will be singing [I forgot the name of the song], Annastazia will be singing Desperado, and Luke will be singing Hey Good Lookin'." (Megan is in my grade, goes to my church, and lives like 4 sections west of our farm. Luke is a grade above me, goes to my church as well, and lives 3 sections to the east of our farm.) Mr. Raetz said that we would have to come in everyday during the 6th grader's music class to work on our solos. This meant that Megan and I go to skip out on half of our reading class everyday. I was so happy; I used to hate reading. Practicing was so much fun; I loved every second of it. Every once and in a while, Ms. LeMunyan, the High School music teacher, would come and tell us good job, or give us a thumbs up. (Ms. LeMunyan is, awkwardly enough, Sydni's aunt....)
The night of the concert, Momma let me choose my own outfit, I chose my new denim dress with a red bandanna tied loosely around my neck, and my hair in piggy-tail braids. I was really nervous. I still remember what Mr. Raetz said to me, "Don't be nervous kiddo. Pick out an old man in the audience that you don't know, look at him in the eyes, and sing straight from your little heart." I still remember looking out into the audience and seeing the whole town of Sterling, NE starring back at me. Mr. Raetz handed me a microphone, I gulped and took it from him. This was it, no turning back. He looked at me and cued me, and I don't know how, but I started singing. After the first verse, I started to enjoy myself. I found that I loved singing to the audience. I finished the song. It was done. After the concert so many people came up to me and told me how much they loved it.
That was my last year at Sterling, the next year, I transferred to Syracuse. My 5th grade year, I tried out for a solo in our Girls Choir Christmas concert at church. After that audition, my director and the accompanist both looked at me with confused faces. Finally my director broke the awkward silence by saying, "Annastazia, I had no idea you could sing like that. You have a beautiful solo voice." The next week, she announced that I got the alto solo, and Kara got the soprano solo. Best friends singing a call-and-answer duet. It was perfect. After that I started to enjoy choir a lot more. Ms. Poe just absolutely loved the fact that I actually knew what choir was all about when I reached her class in 7th grade, but that was when I lost interest in choir. I started dreading rehearsals, and I was easily annoyed with music.
Then a great change occurred. I moved. It wasn't until after I moved that I realized how much I enjoyed choir, singing, and music in general. I remember walking into second period choir my first day at Ogallala, thinking that I would end up quitting choir. But during that next month something changed. I took notice at small things such as: the way the Baldman was so involved in how he conducted, and the way he almost let the music live through him. It was remarkable. I also noticed how much my peers enjoyed choir. Specifically, Micah, Elijah, and Byron (although at the time, I thought Micah was Elijah and vice verse, and I also thought that Byron's name was "Vyron") . I just could not wrap my brain these guys. They were just so involved in singing. You could just see it in their faces. I remember how Helzer was always so pleased with these guys and how their beautiful voices just lit up the room. That night I went home crying. I told my mom about how I enjoy choir again and how I don't ever want to quit. That semester of choir was amazing. I loved how almost everyone in that room had a strong desire to be there, they weren't there to mess around. I noticed this about band too. I thought I was an amazing flute/piccolo player, until I met Syd. She made me look like I didn't even know what a flute was.
Needless to say, my views and opinions about music in general really altered that semester. It was during that summer that I came to the realization that the only reason I was singing was for myself and for my own glory. I was at church camp in Wyoming with the Lincoln Indian Hills High School Group (my youth group currently), when they found out that I was going to camp, they immediately asked me to join the praise band for that week to sing harmony. I was excited for it. I also was asked to do a special music song as well. It was one of my favorite songs (I tend to have a lot of 'favorites'), "Give Us Clean Hands". I started preparing for the song with the accompanists right away when camp started. That Tuesday was a big day for me, in the morning, we had a very convicting sermon in the morning that made me cry, it was then that I realized how much I needed Christ in my life, and that I couldn't do this all myself. Which really made me think about my motives for performing that song. That night during worship I performed my song, it went great, no awkward microphone screw-ups or anything like that. After worship was another sermon, and when that was over, I got up out of the pew and started walking out of the chapel with my friends. I stopped walking when I felt a large arm around my shoulders. I looked back; it was Nick Cole, one of the sponsors, he had tears in his eyes and said, "Annastazia, do you have something to tell me? Your song was just beautiful." I then proceeded to tell him the whole story about the convicting sermon and by the end we were both in tears.
It's almost ironic how I was ready to quit music altogether that year. Now, here I am two years later, considering a music major. I just don't understand. My parents and I have had my career planned out since fifth grade. Graduate high school with a 4.0, go to a University under a Pre-Nursing program, go to nursing school to obtain my RN degree, work as a nurse or paramedic for a couple of years, get accepted into CRNA school, graduate and enjoy my dream job. Now this music major thing is getting in my way. My parents don't think that pursuing a music major is the right thing for me. Mom wants me to consider a music minor, in between getting my RN degree and getting my CRNA degree. I just don't know. I feel like this is overused by people who don't understand it's meaning, but "God's got a plan". Now I just need to pursue my walk by faith.
Friday, January 11, 2013
Gas... not the funny kind...
It has just been one of those weeks. A week full of emotion and irritation. I have found that sappy love songs with pretty harmonies seem to calm me down. I have also found that car rides irritate me even more.
Wednesday after school, Momma and I went in to Lincoln to look for a dress for Winter Formal. I have a multitude of formal dresses in my closet, but it would be nice to have a new one. Lucky for us, we found one in the first store. I was so happy. Do you know how hard it is to find a dress that properly covers everything, especially being tall??? This dress almost goes down to my knees! I am pretty sure it is the longest dress I own. After dress shopping, I had Girl's Choir rehearsal at church. I love Girl's Choir, but sometimes it really irritates me. Some of the girls don't even try at all, and honestly, our director is too nice. She needs to be more strict. We discussed details about tour in June, which lifted everyone's spirits. (FYI: We might be touring in North Platte next year!) After rehearsal, I had Mansion Builders Bible Study. The lesson was over eternity; I absolutely love learning about this. My mood instantly turned around when the lesson was over and I had to listen to a bunch of dramatic girls complain about all their problems. I. Hate. Drama. Ugh.
Thursday, I was an emotional mess. Ms. Poe decided that we would have Encore rehearsal during choir, rather than having it that night. During the first half of the period, she took us into her office and we listened to our new songs on her computer. There were 21 of us in a small square office. People were sitting and laying all over each other, and it got real stanky real fast. I really love one of our songs, Lucky by Jason Mraz, it is so pretty, and it falls under the "sappy love songs with pretty harmonies" description I mentioned earlier. As I was walking out of her office, I noticed a stack of music on her desk. I looked at it, "The Awakening". Tears were already swelling as I looked at Ms. Poe and said, "Are we singing this?". She said "Yes, it's so pretty, you should come in after school and listen to it." I looked at her and said (this time with actual tears in my eyes), "I sang it last year with Helzer, it makes me cry every time I even think about it." So I bawled all the way back to the choir room. When I walked in 96 people looked up at me like I was some pathetic out cast. They all assumed that I had just been yelled at by Poe or something. I could barely sing. I could not get my brain wrapped around it. We are already destroying Baba Yetu and Some Nights, why do we have to botch The Awakening as well?
Today has just been a pretty awkward day. It was raining when I left for school, and that just added to our already terrible gravel roads. I was running late this morning because I had to go back home to get my laptop that I had forgotten, so I didn't have time to stop for gas on the way into school. On the way home, it was still raining, but I had to fill up. I pulled into the sketchy Co-op in Burr. There was already another car there, so I pulled up on the other side. There was an old lady and an old man standing outside. As I shut off the car, I could hear the old lady say, "Oh, that's the oldest Stofer gal." Yep, that's me, the oldest Stofer gal. I pulled my wallet out of my Roo (aka: a glorified fanny packs sweeping the hearts of Lincoln area girls) and then got my card out. I swiped the card and punched the pin number like I was supposed to, and the whole time this old lady is asking me all kinds of questions about Ogallala and why we moved back and such. (I don't think some people realize how much of a sensitive subject it is.) I put the hose inside the little whole and turned the pump on and such. I then continued talking with this lady while it was filling. After about 5 minutes I realized that I had the car and not the truck, it shouldn't take that long to fill. I looked at the pump. No gas had even gone into my car yet; there was a kink in the stupid hose. So after that problem was fixed I got all filled up, and I got in the car and drove away quick. That old lady, as sweet as she is, was upsetting me. I looked in my mirror to see the old lady and old man running after me hollering and waving their hands. I had forgotten to put the silly cap on and I had forgotten to close the door. I shoved in the clutch and slammed on the brakes. I got out of the car and fixed the problem, not realizing that I was stopped in the middle of the street. So there were like 3 cars, 1 semi-truck, and 2 tractors waiting behind me. Needless to say, I couldn't turn around and take the nice paved road, so I had to drive through the muddy, unmaintained road. My poor little car was fish-tailing all over the place.
Finally I made it home. Only to be harassed by my mother about the way a person feels. Like I can read their mind? Really Mom? I know you're concerned, but I would tell you if something was going on. I swear my mother thinks I live a secret rebellious life. I decided that after this stressful week, I needed to treat myself, so I made some lemon cookies. They were disgusting. Story of my life. This whole driving/cooking thing isn't working out for me. I just need to hire someone to drive me around and cook me food. There we go. Simple solution.
Wednesday after school, Momma and I went in to Lincoln to look for a dress for Winter Formal. I have a multitude of formal dresses in my closet, but it would be nice to have a new one. Lucky for us, we found one in the first store. I was so happy. Do you know how hard it is to find a dress that properly covers everything, especially being tall??? This dress almost goes down to my knees! I am pretty sure it is the longest dress I own. After dress shopping, I had Girl's Choir rehearsal at church. I love Girl's Choir, but sometimes it really irritates me. Some of the girls don't even try at all, and honestly, our director is too nice. She needs to be more strict. We discussed details about tour in June, which lifted everyone's spirits. (FYI: We might be touring in North Platte next year!) After rehearsal, I had Mansion Builders Bible Study. The lesson was over eternity; I absolutely love learning about this. My mood instantly turned around when the lesson was over and I had to listen to a bunch of dramatic girls complain about all their problems. I. Hate. Drama. Ugh.
Thursday, I was an emotional mess. Ms. Poe decided that we would have Encore rehearsal during choir, rather than having it that night. During the first half of the period, she took us into her office and we listened to our new songs on her computer. There were 21 of us in a small square office. People were sitting and laying all over each other, and it got real stanky real fast. I really love one of our songs, Lucky by Jason Mraz, it is so pretty, and it falls under the "sappy love songs with pretty harmonies" description I mentioned earlier. As I was walking out of her office, I noticed a stack of music on her desk. I looked at it, "The Awakening". Tears were already swelling as I looked at Ms. Poe and said, "Are we singing this?". She said "Yes, it's so pretty, you should come in after school and listen to it." I looked at her and said (this time with actual tears in my eyes), "I sang it last year with Helzer, it makes me cry every time I even think about it." So I bawled all the way back to the choir room. When I walked in 96 people looked up at me like I was some pathetic out cast. They all assumed that I had just been yelled at by Poe or something. I could barely sing. I could not get my brain wrapped around it. We are already destroying Baba Yetu and Some Nights, why do we have to botch The Awakening as well?
Today has just been a pretty awkward day. It was raining when I left for school, and that just added to our already terrible gravel roads. I was running late this morning because I had to go back home to get my laptop that I had forgotten, so I didn't have time to stop for gas on the way into school. On the way home, it was still raining, but I had to fill up. I pulled into the sketchy Co-op in Burr. There was already another car there, so I pulled up on the other side. There was an old lady and an old man standing outside. As I shut off the car, I could hear the old lady say, "Oh, that's the oldest Stofer gal." Yep, that's me, the oldest Stofer gal. I pulled my wallet out of my Roo (aka: a glorified fanny packs sweeping the hearts of Lincoln area girls) and then got my card out. I swiped the card and punched the pin number like I was supposed to, and the whole time this old lady is asking me all kinds of questions about Ogallala and why we moved back and such. (I don't think some people realize how much of a sensitive subject it is.) I put the hose inside the little whole and turned the pump on and such. I then continued talking with this lady while it was filling. After about 5 minutes I realized that I had the car and not the truck, it shouldn't take that long to fill. I looked at the pump. No gas had even gone into my car yet; there was a kink in the stupid hose. So after that problem was fixed I got all filled up, and I got in the car and drove away quick. That old lady, as sweet as she is, was upsetting me. I looked in my mirror to see the old lady and old man running after me hollering and waving their hands. I had forgotten to put the silly cap on and I had forgotten to close the door. I shoved in the clutch and slammed on the brakes. I got out of the car and fixed the problem, not realizing that I was stopped in the middle of the street. So there were like 3 cars, 1 semi-truck, and 2 tractors waiting behind me. Needless to say, I couldn't turn around and take the nice paved road, so I had to drive through the muddy, unmaintained road. My poor little car was fish-tailing all over the place.
Finally I made it home. Only to be harassed by my mother about the way a person feels. Like I can read their mind? Really Mom? I know you're concerned, but I would tell you if something was going on. I swear my mother thinks I live a secret rebellious life. I decided that after this stressful week, I needed to treat myself, so I made some lemon cookies. They were disgusting. Story of my life. This whole driving/cooking thing isn't working out for me. I just need to hire someone to drive me around and cook me food. There we go. Simple solution.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Friendship Scars
This summer at my dermatologist appointment, my doctor was checking my back/stomach/neck/arms/legs for any spots that could be possibly cancerous. (It's nothing that serious, it just runs in my family, so I have to go get my skin checked out a couple times a year.) I have had three of these possibly cancerous spots taken off of me already, two on my back and one right above my eye. All three of those spots were sent to a lab and the results came back benign. (Which means they had no chance of becoming cancerous.) She was looking at a couple of spots on my right arm. I felt her cold hands stop. I looked over; she was examining a scar on my arm. She was asking me all kinds of questions about it. I laughed when I thought about what happened.
Volleyball my freshman year. It was the "freshman team" (people who weren't in the fancy-pants select volleyball team) vs. the "JV team" (people who were in the fancy-pants select volleyball team). Our team worked well together. Syd was our libero, Shelby C. and I were the middle blockers/hitters, Tresann and Ashlen were our setters, and Ashley and Alisha were our outside hitters. For some reason Ashlen wasn't at practice, so Syd took her place. Poor Syd, she was not a setter. The ball came over the net, it was hit deep, passed by our back row. The second hit is always supposed to go to the setter, but it was coming straight for me. Alisha was calling out to hit outside, so I set the ball from the two position. Little did I know, Syd was running at full speed to try and set the ball. She ran right into me. It was almost like a football tackle. Thank goodness for ankle braces, otherwise we could have had some major problems. Some how we successfully got the ball over the net. They set the ball to the outside hitter, so it was the responsibility of Syd and I to block that hit. I looked over at Syd and we both got in to our 1-2 position (squatting before the jump). Then a mean question popped into my head... Could Syd even reach over the net? That answer was yes. We both jumped up and while Syd followed rule number one of blocking (spread your fingers as far apart as possible), she failed to follow another blocking rule (arms straight up). Her hand flung into my arm, her long pretty nail slicing a chunk of skin off. We both fell on the ground. She got up, and I extension rolled. Big mistake. By extension rolling, my shirt was shoved into my cut. White shirt. Red blood. That stupid cut bled like CRAZY. It was still bleeding at the end of practice. That night I went through at least 5 different gauze pads.
A couple months later, a beautiful scar formed, and Syd always gave me this "I'm so sorry" look when ever she glanced at it. I would always laugh and say "Now I'll have something to remember you by." When I told the dermatologist that my friend clawed me in volleyball she said, "What a great friend." I think she was being sarcastic, but I replied, "She's an amazing friend." Then I got the usual "wear sunscreen, don't go tanning, you're very fair, and skin cancer runs in your family, so on and so forth" speech and we were out of there.
On the way home I started bawling. I just couldn't hold it in. Some people leave scars on your hearts, but those are bad scars. My friend left a scar on my arm, and it is the good kind of scar. Believe it or not, your arm is technically connected to your heart.
Volleyball my freshman year. It was the "freshman team" (people who weren't in the fancy-pants select volleyball team) vs. the "JV team" (people who were in the fancy-pants select volleyball team). Our team worked well together. Syd was our libero, Shelby C. and I were the middle blockers/hitters, Tresann and Ashlen were our setters, and Ashley and Alisha were our outside hitters. For some reason Ashlen wasn't at practice, so Syd took her place. Poor Syd, she was not a setter. The ball came over the net, it was hit deep, passed by our back row. The second hit is always supposed to go to the setter, but it was coming straight for me. Alisha was calling out to hit outside, so I set the ball from the two position. Little did I know, Syd was running at full speed to try and set the ball. She ran right into me. It was almost like a football tackle. Thank goodness for ankle braces, otherwise we could have had some major problems. Some how we successfully got the ball over the net. They set the ball to the outside hitter, so it was the responsibility of Syd and I to block that hit. I looked over at Syd and we both got in to our 1-2 position (squatting before the jump). Then a mean question popped into my head... Could Syd even reach over the net? That answer was yes. We both jumped up and while Syd followed rule number one of blocking (spread your fingers as far apart as possible), she failed to follow another blocking rule (arms straight up). Her hand flung into my arm, her long pretty nail slicing a chunk of skin off. We both fell on the ground. She got up, and I extension rolled. Big mistake. By extension rolling, my shirt was shoved into my cut. White shirt. Red blood. That stupid cut bled like CRAZY. It was still bleeding at the end of practice. That night I went through at least 5 different gauze pads.
A couple months later, a beautiful scar formed, and Syd always gave me this "I'm so sorry" look when ever she glanced at it. I would always laugh and say "Now I'll have something to remember you by." When I told the dermatologist that my friend clawed me in volleyball she said, "What a great friend." I think she was being sarcastic, but I replied, "She's an amazing friend." Then I got the usual "wear sunscreen, don't go tanning, you're very fair, and skin cancer runs in your family, so on and so forth" speech and we were out of there.
On the way home I started bawling. I just couldn't hold it in. Some people leave scars on your hearts, but those are bad scars. My friend left a scar on my arm, and it is the good kind of scar. Believe it or not, your arm is technically connected to your heart.
Monday, January 7, 2013
Saccapuntas!
As I have probably mentioned before, I love my family, even though they act like a bunch of crazy-redneck manerless hillbillies at times. Tonight was just one of those nights that you look back on and smile. Supper, enough said.
Mom: You naughty jack wagons come eat your supper!
(We all ran up to the table, it was honey glazed chicken, and it went fast.)
Elle: Annastazia, you need to give me half of your chicken.
(Looking down at my plate, I saw that we had the exact same amount.)
Me: Why?
Elle: You aren't growing anymore, you don't need as much food as I do.
Mom: What are you two talking about?
Me: (laughing) El thinks that just because I am done growing, I don't need food anymore.
Mom: Elle, rather than talk, eat your food. Annastazia, she has a point, especially since you aren't doing anything physical right now.
(Momma is still mad that I gave up her dream of having a basketball playing prodigy daughter. Sorry, not sorry.)
(At this point, Izzy manages to spill apple juice all over her pants... which were actually my pants that she lifted from my closet, so she decides to eat her supper in her underwear.)
Dad: Izzy, put some pants on. (He said as he ate his supper without pants.)
Momma: Gregory, you have no room to talk. If it is past 7 and you have your pants still on, it must be a special occasion.
(I walked to the fridge to get the jug of milk. Needless to say, there was none.)
Me: Yo quierro la leche! Pero, yo no tengo la leche en la casa!
Mom: Speak our language please.
Me: Saccapuntas impaciente!
Rudy: She just cussed in Spanish.
Mom: I know exactly what you said. You just called me a piece of...crap. (she almost said the other word)
Me: Actually Mom, I called you an impatient pencil-sharpener.
(The whole family busts out into laughter and a round of "Duuuhhh" noises.) Sweet music to my ears. I love my family.
Mom: You naughty jack wagons come eat your supper!
(We all ran up to the table, it was honey glazed chicken, and it went fast.)
Elle: Annastazia, you need to give me half of your chicken.
(Looking down at my plate, I saw that we had the exact same amount.)
Me: Why?
Elle: You aren't growing anymore, you don't need as much food as I do.
Mom: What are you two talking about?
Me: (laughing) El thinks that just because I am done growing, I don't need food anymore.
Mom: Elle, rather than talk, eat your food. Annastazia, she has a point, especially since you aren't doing anything physical right now.
(Momma is still mad that I gave up her dream of having a basketball playing prodigy daughter. Sorry, not sorry.)
(At this point, Izzy manages to spill apple juice all over her pants... which were actually my pants that she lifted from my closet, so she decides to eat her supper in her underwear.)
Dad: Izzy, put some pants on. (He said as he ate his supper without pants.)
Momma: Gregory, you have no room to talk. If it is past 7 and you have your pants still on, it must be a special occasion.
(I walked to the fridge to get the jug of milk. Needless to say, there was none.)
Me: Yo quierro la leche! Pero, yo no tengo la leche en la casa!
Mom: Speak our language please.
Me: Saccapuntas impaciente!
Rudy: She just cussed in Spanish.
Mom: I know exactly what you said. You just called me a piece of...crap. (she almost said the other word)
Me: Actually Mom, I called you an impatient pencil-sharpener.
(The whole family busts out into laughter and a round of "Duuuhhh" noises.) Sweet music to my ears. I love my family.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
Hymn Night
Tonight at Girls of Grace, during music, we did something a little different. Mr. Boehr (the children's music coordinator at church) had picked out a bunch of old hymns that get pushed aside by our more contemporary music at Indian Hills. He put a list of hymns with page numbers up on the screen, and we taught the hymns to the girls and boys old school style: with hymn books! I swear this is the first time I have seen those hymn books used in a VERY long time. Sometimes I think our church gets too caught up in the fancy electronic technology crap. (In case you haven't noticed technology and I don't get along, I tend to break things, hence the reason my parents won't get me a nice phone like they said they would.)
At first Mr. Boehr had me running the sound booth thing (which is very complicated...so. many. buttons.) But then one of the Boys of Faith guys must have been reading my mind because he came over and relieved me from my button-pushing duties. It was so awesome to teach these boys and girls all of these old hymns that I grew up singing. I am absolutely in LOVE with hymns, I could just sing every song in those books and still want to sing more hymns. When I was in elementary school, my friend Kara and I would sing hymns together when we had sleepovers. She would play the piano and I would sing. It was perfect, and now it is awesome because we still do that sometimes except Kara will sing melody while I make up a tenor-ish/alto-ish part.
One of the hymns that really stuck out to me tonight was "Soon and Very Soon". I love this one, and not just because I can get away with singing it like the black girl I am. We sang a version of this song with Helzer (I'm pretty sure it was in 8th grade because I remember being jealous of the basses because they got the most awesome part ever.) While we were singing this hymn I started singing the alto part, but then I got the death-glare from Mr. Boehr so I stopped. The youngens around me were so confused. I love confusing small children...
As we were walking back to the classroom for the bible lesson, the rude little girl that I have mentioned before, Lauren, came right up beside me and grabbed my hand. I was so shocked I looked down and then she was hugging my arm. Small child affection is adorable, but I was so confused. When we got back to the room, we completed our lesson and we had a snack. As the Junior Leader it is my responsibility to refill the girls' water cups. Unfortunately, we have many thirsty girls and tiny water cups. After about 17 water trips, I was just about to sit down when Lauren said, "I gotta go tinkle!" (This is another one of my responsibilities.) As we were walking to the bathroom, she grabbed my hand again. She chattered the whole time about some puppy that her Grandma has. As she was washing her hands she said the most hilarious thing. "Annntaayyyshhha! WOW! Look at this! I have a sink at my house too! The church copied my Mommy and Daddy's idea to have a sink in the bathroom!" I busted out laughing, I was laughing so hard I was almost in tears. As we walked back to the room she said, "It's your fault that I had to tinkle. I asked for a little more water, and you filled my cup all the way up. You need to work on that." and then she skipped away. This little girl can be so rude, but she is so adorable. :)
At first Mr. Boehr had me running the sound booth thing (which is very complicated...so. many. buttons.) But then one of the Boys of Faith guys must have been reading my mind because he came over and relieved me from my button-pushing duties. It was so awesome to teach these boys and girls all of these old hymns that I grew up singing. I am absolutely in LOVE with hymns, I could just sing every song in those books and still want to sing more hymns. When I was in elementary school, my friend Kara and I would sing hymns together when we had sleepovers. She would play the piano and I would sing. It was perfect, and now it is awesome because we still do that sometimes except Kara will sing melody while I make up a tenor-ish/alto-ish part.
One of the hymns that really stuck out to me tonight was "Soon and Very Soon". I love this one, and not just because I can get away with singing it like the black girl I am. We sang a version of this song with Helzer (I'm pretty sure it was in 8th grade because I remember being jealous of the basses because they got the most awesome part ever.) While we were singing this hymn I started singing the alto part, but then I got the death-glare from Mr. Boehr so I stopped. The youngens around me were so confused. I love confusing small children...
As we were walking back to the classroom for the bible lesson, the rude little girl that I have mentioned before, Lauren, came right up beside me and grabbed my hand. I was so shocked I looked down and then she was hugging my arm. Small child affection is adorable, but I was so confused. When we got back to the room, we completed our lesson and we had a snack. As the Junior Leader it is my responsibility to refill the girls' water cups. Unfortunately, we have many thirsty girls and tiny water cups. After about 17 water trips, I was just about to sit down when Lauren said, "I gotta go tinkle!" (This is another one of my responsibilities.) As we were walking to the bathroom, she grabbed my hand again. She chattered the whole time about some puppy that her Grandma has. As she was washing her hands she said the most hilarious thing. "Annntaayyyshhha! WOW! Look at this! I have a sink at my house too! The church copied my Mommy and Daddy's idea to have a sink in the bathroom!" I busted out laughing, I was laughing so hard I was almost in tears. As we walked back to the room she said, "It's your fault that I had to tinkle. I asked for a little more water, and you filled my cup all the way up. You need to work on that." and then she skipped away. This little girl can be so rude, but she is so adorable. :)
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Stofers Will be Stofers...
About two years ago I realized that my family says some pretty crazy stuff, whether it is funny, degrading, insulting, or just absolutely stupid. So, I started to write it down. Anything I thought was note-worthy for whatever reason was written down. I have a long list of stuff, but I'll just share a few from this past year. These ones are some of my favorites!
- As I walk into the bathroom, Elle is rubbing her tooth brush right under her nose and around her cheeks. So I asked, "El, what are you doing?" She replied, "Duh, I'm brushing my mustache and beard." I looked at her so puzzled and said, "Elle, first of all, disgusting. Second of all, you don't have a beard or mustache. Thirdly, that isn't your toothbrush, it's Rudy's." She smiled at me and said, "I know." Then put down Frank's toothbrush and skipped out of the bathroom.
- As we were taking down the Christmas tree, Mom and I had just finished a delightful conversation about what a terrible baby I was, and that she was surprised she wanted anymore babies after me. I said, "Momma, when I was little, I used to think 'democrat' was a bad word." She giggled and then said with a stern look, "It is a bad word. Don't repeat it." Dad turned on the news and two democrats were arguing about some cliff thing. Perfect timing.
- A couple of months ago, I was picking up Izzy and Elle from trumpet lessons, and I had been talking to my friend John while I was waiting for them. When I saw them walking out of the school, I said good bye to John, and started walking to my car. As Elle was putting her trumpet in the trunk she asks, "Annastazia, are you cheating on Byron with John?" I looked at her and said, "Elle, Byron and I aren't dating." She quickly snapped back, "Yes you are. He was your homecoming date, his tie even matched your dress and everything. You have to be dating." At this point I was hysterically laughing I said, "Just because we went to homecoming together, it doesn't mean we're dating." She rolled her eyes and said, "Shut-up and drive me home!" I love my sassy little sister... :)
- About a month ago, I had to record my playing test for band and it wasn't going as smoothly as I had hoped it would. My parents made me go into the basement to practice (because it was too cold to make me do it in the barn). I had just recorded the first song when Izzy comes down and sits in the chair next to me. She looks at me for a while, and then asks, "Why does that thing sound like a dying goose? It doesn't sound like that when the lady at church played her oboe for the concert." I rolled my eyes and said, "The same reason your trumpet playing isn't very desirable, we both just started." She got a confused look on her face and said, "Annastazia, you have been playing that thing for over a year, I started trumpet two months ago." I gave her one of those annoyed I'm-going-to-kill-you looks and said, "Yes, but if anyone asks, I just started, and that's why I suck. Okay?" She got up and said, "Whatever, take your dying goose somewhere else, it's annoying me." I love how supportive she is...
- One afternoon this fall, Rudy had football practice and I had softball practice, so after practice I drove over to the school to pick him up. On the way home, the most strange conversation occurred. I was just about to turn off of Highway 50 on to the Burr Spur when Rudy randomly said, "I think I need to shave." I was paying attention to the jack wagon dump truck in front of me, and then soon realized that the car was starting to stink like BO, really bad. At first I thought it was me, I was wearing a white cut-off that was full of dried sweat and a lot of dirt from practice, and Rudy was covered from head-to-toe in grass stains. I looked over at him, and he had his arm raised in the air and was examining the hair under his arms. I yelled at him to put his stinky armpit away and then he repeated, "I think I need to shave." I looked at him and said, "Rudy, I'm pretty sure guys don't shave their armpits, you should talk to Daddy about that one." A strange look appeared on his face and he said, "Don't worry, I didn't shave them, I just trimmed the hair with scissors." My face turned blank, "Puh-lease tell me that you didn't use my sewing scissors on your stanky nastiness." His face turned red, "I just used the ones in your blue and green sewing box." "You freak! I'm telling Mom!" And the conversation continued just how it started...weird.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Ringing in the New Year
I have to say that my New Year's Eve tops anyone else's. I spent it vomiting and sleeping.
I woke up yesterday morning with a huge headache and body aches all over. (I told Celie about it and she then asked me if I was hungover... I told her yes, just to get a little humor out of it. (I promise I wasn't hungover, in fact I'm pretty sure I don't even know the true definition of hungover.) My Momma, being the excellent Pharmacist that she is, gave me some medicine to make the pain go away, and it did for a little while.
Soon after, we went into Lincoln to go shopping. Usually walking into a store lifts my spirits a little bit, but I felt nothing. I ended up buying a really cute skirt, though, so that made me feel a little better! :) I slept the whole way home which is not surprising at all, I fall asleep in almost all car rides. We got home just in time for me to pack a bag and then turn around and leave to go babysit my distant cousins who live in Beatrice. Mom gave me some more medicine, but just as I was about to walk out of the kitchen I experienced a really awkward feeling. I quickly turned around and bolted to the sink just in time for me to see my lunch protruding from my mouth in a vomit fashion. Lovely. I puked like 4 times. It was disgusting. Much to my dismay, the sink was full of dishes, and no one in my family wanted to clean the puke up. So my loving family made me do the dishes after just throwing up all over them.
After I finished that daunting task I took a shower. (Showers seem to be the perfect heeling method. I take showers when I am upset, sick, mad, sad, angry. It just seems to call me down.) The shower was a daze, all I remember was lying on the shower floor and throwing up again, this time it got all over my hair. I lay in there for an hour and a half before my Momma came to check on me.
It was like 5:30 when I got out of the shower, and I got into some PJ's and went straight to bed. I didn't wake up until 1:00 A.M. I went down the stairs to find Frank watching TV. I watched it with him for an hour, and then my loving brother had a wonderful idea. "Stazia, you should sleep in my room tonight, it's much warmer, just take a barf bucket with you." His room is in the basement, right next to the wood-burning stove. My room is upstairs, and on the opposite side of the house from the stove, so it is always freezing. I love my little (not so little) brother. :)
I didn't wake up until 9:00 A.M. I had slept for 14 hours total! My stomach still felt sick, but other than that I felt amazing! I wish I could get 14 hours of sleep every night. My Momma originally thought it was stomach flu, but she said I would have thrown up a lot more if it had been that. So, she thinks it was some virus that was given to me by one of my family members over the holidays, which makes sense.
Speaking of the holidays, I suppose it would be socially unacceptable to not make a New Year's Resolution. But I strongly dislike them. It is pointless to make a promise that you are only going to keep until you get bored with it halfway through Febuary, so I am not making one this year. I would rather not make one, then make one and break that promise.
P.S. The letters were sent out yesterday! They are in fun colored, scented envelopes, although by time they reach their destinations, I doubt they will still smell pretty.
I woke up yesterday morning with a huge headache and body aches all over. (I told Celie about it and she then asked me if I was hungover... I told her yes, just to get a little humor out of it. (I promise I wasn't hungover, in fact I'm pretty sure I don't even know the true definition of hungover.) My Momma, being the excellent Pharmacist that she is, gave me some medicine to make the pain go away, and it did for a little while.
Soon after, we went into Lincoln to go shopping. Usually walking into a store lifts my spirits a little bit, but I felt nothing. I ended up buying a really cute skirt, though, so that made me feel a little better! :) I slept the whole way home which is not surprising at all, I fall asleep in almost all car rides. We got home just in time for me to pack a bag and then turn around and leave to go babysit my distant cousins who live in Beatrice. Mom gave me some more medicine, but just as I was about to walk out of the kitchen I experienced a really awkward feeling. I quickly turned around and bolted to the sink just in time for me to see my lunch protruding from my mouth in a vomit fashion. Lovely. I puked like 4 times. It was disgusting. Much to my dismay, the sink was full of dishes, and no one in my family wanted to clean the puke up. So my loving family made me do the dishes after just throwing up all over them.
After I finished that daunting task I took a shower. (Showers seem to be the perfect heeling method. I take showers when I am upset, sick, mad, sad, angry. It just seems to call me down.) The shower was a daze, all I remember was lying on the shower floor and throwing up again, this time it got all over my hair. I lay in there for an hour and a half before my Momma came to check on me.
It was like 5:30 when I got out of the shower, and I got into some PJ's and went straight to bed. I didn't wake up until 1:00 A.M. I went down the stairs to find Frank watching TV. I watched it with him for an hour, and then my loving brother had a wonderful idea. "Stazia, you should sleep in my room tonight, it's much warmer, just take a barf bucket with you." His room is in the basement, right next to the wood-burning stove. My room is upstairs, and on the opposite side of the house from the stove, so it is always freezing. I love my little (not so little) brother. :)
I didn't wake up until 9:00 A.M. I had slept for 14 hours total! My stomach still felt sick, but other than that I felt amazing! I wish I could get 14 hours of sleep every night. My Momma originally thought it was stomach flu, but she said I would have thrown up a lot more if it had been that. So, she thinks it was some virus that was given to me by one of my family members over the holidays, which makes sense.
Speaking of the holidays, I suppose it would be socially unacceptable to not make a New Year's Resolution. But I strongly dislike them. It is pointless to make a promise that you are only going to keep until you get bored with it halfway through Febuary, so I am not making one this year. I would rather not make one, then make one and break that promise.
P.S. The letters were sent out yesterday! They are in fun colored, scented envelopes, although by time they reach their destinations, I doubt they will still smell pretty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)