stealth mode biatch :)
i`m in science. tumbling kicks balls :)
ummmm yeah.
nothing really is happening lately... i have a ton of work to do and im not that happy. idk like i go through these stages, you know ill get over them eventually. and it doesnt help that it seems like zachs getting worse not better, and that moms under so much stress because of getting her business on its feet and running the house at the same time that its insane. shes such a bitch all the time!! and daddys poretty much gone monday thru friday.. but he might take this friday off :):) and he promised hed make my next tumbling class :) i miss him man :(
whatever. and yeah. in gym we`re doing the weight training thing and omg i love it. haha im soo sore! but it feels good :) esp. since soccer seasons over. and speaking of soccer season, next one starts sat.!! :):):) wow am i excited. that means new cleats soon ;-)but that lady from copa hasnt emailed me back yet.. i`ll ask ashley. someone remind me.
i defiantely need to go shopping. i think im gonna go this saturday depending on game time? *smiles* andddd i went to the orthodontist yesterday and ONLY 27 MORE DAYS OF BRACES!! :-D and like 4 days till my bdayyyyy :) and like 4809736 days till xmas:(
okay kids. the periods almost over so im outness
<3
i only update when you comment. and i love how no one comments except katie :)
oh nd btw... i just found the funniest story that i wrote in like the 6th grade.. you have no idea :-)
Under the Rug
He sighed and leaned back in his rocking chair, his eyes closed. The rickety old TV was blaring in the background. Artie Jones had been especially tired for the past month. That was when it started…
Artie had been checking the irrigation in his wheat fields when something compelled him to lift his head and walk dead ahead. He walked about 200 feet, and then the air became strangely silent. No field mice squeeked or scurried about, no crickets chirped, and no birds sang. Curious, Artie stepped forward - the biggest mistake he had ever made. He was instantly astounded. The wheat that was usually shoulder high was no more than 2 inches above the muddy summer soil. Strange warning voices whipped through his mind, and whispered in his ears. He was enveloped in a strange , fast-moving sensation of falling. Foreign tongues sounded like whistles and curses, whirling and spinning around. They were ruining his mind.
Artie Jones turned and ran, the remaining wheat whipping his body, tearing at his clothing. His footsteps pounded the ground; beating in a wild, steady rhythm like a drum. He was terrified and bewildered. Unwelcome thoughts rushed through his head. They were unwanted company. He couldn’t believe it. In his wheat fields! Why his? Artie collapsed on the ground. He, he Artie Jones, the BIGGEST farmer in Kansas, had found a crop circle! He was cursed! FOREVER! He was doomed to live a life of living hell. He couldn’t have been more right.
He told himself that it was just a dream, that he’d wake up in the morning, and it’d be all right. He told himself to stop panicking. Slightly consoled, he got up off the ground, and staggered into the house, into bed.
Artie didn’t sleep well that night. Strange dreams flickered through his sleep, and strange sounds burned into the night all around him.
Mr. Jones rose with the sun. HE was in a great mood, despite his interrupted sleep. Artie believed the whole crop circle was just a dream. Still, it hung over him like a low, thick, cloud. He went about his work, and didn’t find any sign of a crop circle.
Two weeks passed. One night, after a particularly good day of work, Artie sat down and decided to rest and rejoice. He sat down with a bottle of wine from California, and poured a glass. He gave his dog, Charlie (an old English sheepdog), a biscut. He had juyst taken a sip of wine, when he heard a metal grating sound, and a malicious alien laugh. Then came the strange language he’d heard in the fields 2 weeks ago.
Fear gripped him like the hand of death. He turned around, and there, under the rug, was an enormous figure. It began to move! The lump moved faster and faster, knocking over tables and chairs.
Then, almost as fast as it had begun, it stopped. There was dead silence. Charlie, the collie, had his paws over his head, and was wimpering softly. Archie was sitting, his face contorted with fear. His knuckles were white from gripping the arms of the chair.
The next week flew by, uneventful. Now, we are back to the present. Artie sighed and clicked off the TV. He was exhausted. Slowly, he got up. He pushed his slow-moving feet into worn out slippers, and made his way into the kitchen. On his way by the front door, Artie drew the 16 dead bolt locks (recently installed) and the 3-chained locks. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the pair of slanted red eyes that peered in at his through the window.
Artie started a saucepan of milk to boil for hot coco. Then, while waiting for it to come to a boil, he went around and locked all of the windows, and tugged the shades shut.
Artie made his way back into the kitchen, and the milk was just beginning to take a boil. He removed the saucepan form the stove with a shaking hand. In the past few weeks, it was as if Artie had aged 50 years. He continued to make his hot chocolate.
After Artie finished, he trudged up the staris and past his old grandfather clock. His stumbling feet managed to shuffle into his bedroom, where he fell into his bed. He had just managed a mumbled goodnight to Charlie before he drifted into a deep sleep. Had he fallen asleep a moment later, he would’ve seen the eyes that followed him from the door, and he would’ve heard the low evil laugh.
Artie Jones woke up around 2:00 AM, after being awakened by his own muffled screams. They were the result of an all too realistic nightmare.
Artie opened his eyes, only to look into the red eyes of his murderer-to-be. He never heard the curse that killed him, he was asleep too fast, a sleep that would last for all eternity.
ummmm yeah.
nothing really is happening lately... i have a ton of work to do and im not that happy. idk like i go through these stages, you know ill get over them eventually. and it doesnt help that it seems like zachs getting worse not better, and that moms under so much stress because of getting her business on its feet and running the house at the same time that its insane. shes such a bitch all the time!! and daddys poretty much gone monday thru friday.. but he might take this friday off :):) and he promised hed make my next tumbling class :) i miss him man :(
whatever. and yeah. in gym we`re doing the weight training thing and omg i love it. haha im soo sore! but it feels good :) esp. since soccer seasons over. and speaking of soccer season, next one starts sat.!! :):):) wow am i excited. that means new cleats soon ;-)but that lady from copa hasnt emailed me back yet.. i`ll ask ashley. someone remind me.
i defiantely need to go shopping. i think im gonna go this saturday depending on game time? *smiles* andddd i went to the orthodontist yesterday and ONLY 27 MORE DAYS OF BRACES!! :-D and like 4 days till my bdayyyyy :) and like 4809736 days till xmas:(
okay kids. the periods almost over so im outness
<3
i only update when you comment. and i love how no one comments except katie :)
oh nd btw... i just found the funniest story that i wrote in like the 6th grade.. you have no idea :-)
Under the Rug
He sighed and leaned back in his rocking chair, his eyes closed. The rickety old TV was blaring in the background. Artie Jones had been especially tired for the past month. That was when it started…
Artie had been checking the irrigation in his wheat fields when something compelled him to lift his head and walk dead ahead. He walked about 200 feet, and then the air became strangely silent. No field mice squeeked or scurried about, no crickets chirped, and no birds sang. Curious, Artie stepped forward - the biggest mistake he had ever made. He was instantly astounded. The wheat that was usually shoulder high was no more than 2 inches above the muddy summer soil. Strange warning voices whipped through his mind, and whispered in his ears. He was enveloped in a strange , fast-moving sensation of falling. Foreign tongues sounded like whistles and curses, whirling and spinning around. They were ruining his mind.
Artie Jones turned and ran, the remaining wheat whipping his body, tearing at his clothing. His footsteps pounded the ground; beating in a wild, steady rhythm like a drum. He was terrified and bewildered. Unwelcome thoughts rushed through his head. They were unwanted company. He couldn’t believe it. In his wheat fields! Why his? Artie collapsed on the ground. He, he Artie Jones, the BIGGEST farmer in Kansas, had found a crop circle! He was cursed! FOREVER! He was doomed to live a life of living hell. He couldn’t have been more right.
He told himself that it was just a dream, that he’d wake up in the morning, and it’d be all right. He told himself to stop panicking. Slightly consoled, he got up off the ground, and staggered into the house, into bed.
Artie didn’t sleep well that night. Strange dreams flickered through his sleep, and strange sounds burned into the night all around him.
Mr. Jones rose with the sun. HE was in a great mood, despite his interrupted sleep. Artie believed the whole crop circle was just a dream. Still, it hung over him like a low, thick, cloud. He went about his work, and didn’t find any sign of a crop circle.
Two weeks passed. One night, after a particularly good day of work, Artie sat down and decided to rest and rejoice. He sat down with a bottle of wine from California, and poured a glass. He gave his dog, Charlie (an old English sheepdog), a biscut. He had juyst taken a sip of wine, when he heard a metal grating sound, and a malicious alien laugh. Then came the strange language he’d heard in the fields 2 weeks ago.
Fear gripped him like the hand of death. He turned around, and there, under the rug, was an enormous figure. It began to move! The lump moved faster and faster, knocking over tables and chairs.
Then, almost as fast as it had begun, it stopped. There was dead silence. Charlie, the collie, had his paws over his head, and was wimpering softly. Archie was sitting, his face contorted with fear. His knuckles were white from gripping the arms of the chair.
The next week flew by, uneventful. Now, we are back to the present. Artie sighed and clicked off the TV. He was exhausted. Slowly, he got up. He pushed his slow-moving feet into worn out slippers, and made his way into the kitchen. On his way by the front door, Artie drew the 16 dead bolt locks (recently installed) and the 3-chained locks. He was so preoccupied that he failed to notice the pair of slanted red eyes that peered in at his through the window.
Artie started a saucepan of milk to boil for hot coco. Then, while waiting for it to come to a boil, he went around and locked all of the windows, and tugged the shades shut.
Artie made his way back into the kitchen, and the milk was just beginning to take a boil. He removed the saucepan form the stove with a shaking hand. In the past few weeks, it was as if Artie had aged 50 years. He continued to make his hot chocolate.
After Artie finished, he trudged up the staris and past his old grandfather clock. His stumbling feet managed to shuffle into his bedroom, where he fell into his bed. He had just managed a mumbled goodnight to Charlie before he drifted into a deep sleep. Had he fallen asleep a moment later, he would’ve seen the eyes that followed him from the door, and he would’ve heard the low evil laugh.
Artie Jones woke up around 2:00 AM, after being awakened by his own muffled screams. They were the result of an all too realistic nightmare.
Artie opened his eyes, only to look into the red eyes of his murderer-to-be. He never heard the curse that killed him, he was asleep too fast, a sleep that would last for all eternity.