*makes pokemon noises* Caitlin Caitlin... Caitlin!
Oh man Caitlin is awesome. So I was reading in Schuler's and looked out the skylight and thought "I need to be outside." So I called Caitlin and asked her to go to Kinawa woods with me, and she called me back when she finished her homework, then off we went.
Woot. I found sticks and we flung snow into the river and learned that it can be rather spongelike, and we made footprints and met some dogs and ownzored the river. (stream.) With boots. Then we stopped at Beaner's for cacao and came home for dinner and Numa Numa, and planned a bit of our Formal Pirate Dinner, and just fun stuff. But it was just great because I really haven't spent much time with Caitlin lately, so this was nice.
So when they tried to light stages with foot candles it didn't work too well because they would blow out whenever someone walked by, and didn't give a very bright light anyway. So they lit slabs of lime on fire, and that burned much brighter and didn't go out as easily. Thus, the origin of the phrase "in the limelight." But these limelights would hurt the actors' eyes. They found it was soothing to be in a room with walls painted dark green. So every good stage had a "green room" where the actors could go and rest their eyes between scenes. Thus the origin of the name "green room." Two phrases for the price of one. Good deal.
Phrases half off this week?
I bought a nice summer outfit today at Charlotte Russe. It has an olive green skirt in layers, kind of- each lower circle has more cloth in it. It goes with a white shirt of the same light material. The shirt has slit short sleeves and a square neck, and wooden beads are sewn all over it in interesting patterns. It has strings to tie on the back, but Eema doesn't like them so she's going to cut them off.
I think I'm going to start posting some of the better pieces that I write for Tanner, just so you all in AP Death can be jealous of the fun prompts I get. So, without further ado:
Prompt: Write a poem including the following lines, in any order:
“I tie the ribbon in a foolish way”
“the delicious fragility of this travesty”
“where we still laugh and wish”
Response:
Actors.
My friends and I just call them “drama kids.” It’s always loud here.
There’s usually at least one boy with his shirt off, too, for no apparent reason.
And a pile twelve people deep on the drama couch.
I like that couch.
I’ve been part of that pile a few times.
No one sits on me, though, like they do to the others.
Heh. They’re scared of the cane Grandmother carries around.
The one that always whacks Peter Vedder in the shins.
“Milling around” is a good phrase to describe this room.
(They call it the Green Room. Eru knows why.)
Hair is being curled by countless methods everywhere you turn.
My own is turning gray. A long wire runs through it.
Katrina- Tiff- comes running up. She’s already in costume.
It’s not a particularly pretty dress. None of them are.
Most of the drama girls can look beautiful anyway.
She holds out the ribbon and turns her back.
I’m the only horsegirl here: I can tie a quick-release knot.
BromAndrew can pull the ribbon out without hurting her.
I tie the ribbon in a foolish way, chanting to myself
“Make a four, pull it through, and the horse is at this end...”
“Make the end that he pulls noticeably longer,” she reminds me.
“Of course. Can you help with my makeup now?”
Tiffany turns around and picks up my brush and paint.
“Raise your eyebrows.” “Now scrunch your nose like this.”
“Now smile.” I grin. She frowns, concentrating
And adds lines beside my eyes. I turn to face the mirror.
I smile again, at the old woman before me. Stage makeup.
The delicious fragility of this travesty,
Greasepaint, a little extra highlighting and shading
A sixteen year old girl is a Grandmother, knitting a scarf.
The scarf is six feet long by now. It’ll cast off with the play itself.
I wrap my shawl around my shoulders, lean heavily on my cane.
Dragostea Din Tei plays on the radio. A large group is dancing to it
Larissa in her yellow dress and mob cap, Doug with his little ponytail
No my no my nay, no my no my nay, no my no my no my nay
Techies in black weave in and out around us, wearing headsets,
Carrying microphones. Girls carry theirs into the dressing room
Where friends help clip them to the backs of bras, zip them up again.
Boys throw the day-glo pumpkin back and forth over the mirrors.
Dame Van Tassel laughs at something Van Ripper whispers to her.
(Everyone’s waiting for them to get together.
Isn’t he over his last Jewish girlfriend by now?)
Circle up, circle up, the call goes out, starting quiet (for them, anyway)
Then gets picked up and everyone’s calling it out
We circle and hold hands. The techies are chased out.
Nobody but the drama kids are allowed to witness this.
None of the chants are ever permitted to be said anywhere else.
Nobody may teach this to anyone else.
We all just have to pick it up from the others as we go along.
We laugh and chant and chant, swinging our clasped hands back and forth.
When the final one begins, we all lean in and start in a whisper
Then it crescendoes until we’re screaming and stomping out the dance.
With a final cheer, the Green Room empties. Macduff, Macduff
Solemn-faced drama kids tap each other on the shoulders and say the name
Then reply in kind. I’m proud. I started a tradition.
Then it begins. Some nerves fly high. Some things go wrong.
Most things go right. Ya-ee-ya-ee, ya-ee-ya-ha, ya-ee-ya-ho, ya-ee-ya-aa-ha
Plays in between scenes, and we sing along in what we think is Romanian.
Final bows, then we go outside for “meet and greet.”
Hey! Thank you for coming! Oh, thank you, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.
I squeal and glomp Mudpuppy for driving all the way out here.
The hallways thin, and I return to the dressing room
Wash off the makeup, take off character shoes, put the cane on a shelf.
I linger for a while before I go home, in the Green Room with the others
Where we still laugh, and wish each other Macduff for tomorrow.
In a few days it’ll all be over.
I’m not a drama kid. Not really.
I’m a geek girl, and an orch dork.
But I’ve been allowed to share in their world for a few months.
And I’m very glad I did.
No my no my nay, no my no my nay, no my no my no my nay
Prompt: Read and copy a horoscope for today, not necessarily yours. Then write about a person who’s experiencing that horoscope. (It might be interesting to include that it is Valentine’s Day, but that’s not a requirement.) Approach this seriously, humorously, poignantly, any way that strikes you.
Response:
Cancer: Your spiritual life becomes richer, possibly through the influence of a different culture. Insights about the meaning and purpose of your life bring greater understanding. Unusual spiritual traditions may appeal to you. A windfall improves home life.
“Bless you,” I said automatically.
“I wonder what they’re saying.” She sniffed.
“What?”
“Okaa-san says that back home, when you sneeze, it means someone’s talking about you behind your back.”
“Oh. So... who do you think it is?”
“It could be my brother... or maybe Amy, she’s been mad at me lately. I’m not sure why.” We were walking home from the ice-cream parlor, admiring the frozen trees, both of us bundled up in layers upon bulky layers. “Hey, look- look what my aunt sent me.” She dragged a keychain with a plastic Hello Kitty figurine attached out of her bag.
“Why’s it got...” I indicated the holes in the back of its head, but before I could finish, she pressed its feet and it let loose with a series of the strangest trilling noises I had ever heard. I couldn’t stop myself from jumping back fearfully. “What the heck!?” Akiko just laughed and laughed.
“I know! Isn’t it great? My brother think it got broken in the flight over. Me, I’m convinced it’s some sort of subliminal messaging from the aliens.” I grinned and poked at it, then jumped back again with a yell as its eyes suddenly flashed red lights. My friend was laughing helplessly once more. I reached out cautiously and took it from her hand, examining the thing. It wore pink overalls, with a pink flower by its left ear. What made it so creepy? The lack of a mouth? The lightbulbs for pupils? Perhaps the fact that it made freakishly unearthly noises when you pressed its feet?
Prompt: Select a book from a random shelf in your home library. Copy down the last sentence, and use this line to begin a short story.
Response:
“Yes, dear,” whispered Johnny, humbly.
“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?”
“Yes, dear.” She glared. Sensing the drop in temperature, he looked up and started attempting to replay the barely-heard conversation in his mind. “Ah! Eheh! Of course I’m listening.” Her gaze did not waver. “So maybe I wasn’t listening very attentively. Go on.” He set down his charcoal pencil and smiled warmly at her. She sighed.
“I said, Malcolm’s dead.”
“Wh... what?”
“He’s dead. He died. That’s the third time I’ve repeated it for you.” She frowned and fiddled with the frayed edge of her shawl. Johnny noticed the gesture with a wince. She only wore that old shawl when she felt in need of comfort. He hadn’t thought Sylvia had been very close to her half-brother.
“I’m so terribly sorry, love.” He rose awkwardly from the workbench and limped over to sit beside his wife. She sighed again.
“He had a daughter... my niece.” Another pause. “They asked us to take her in.”
“Eh? A child?” Johnny looked around the room and tried to imagine it. “They asked us? Neither Malcolm nor Theresa were ever very fond of me.”
“No. But Jessica needs a home, and her grandfather can’t remember what day of the week it is. So...” Sylvia wryly glanced around the room as well. “This’ll be it.”
“Yes, dear.” She elbowed him in the ribs and rested her head on his shoulder. A child? The little apartment was a home for him, and for Sylvia, but he knew what his wife’s family had thought. It certainly wasn’t going to be what the little girl had been accustomed to. And neither of them were young anymore, to keep up with an active toddler. Sylvia reached out and took his charcoal-smudged hand in her own. A child...
She was almost six years old, wearing her fanciest party dress, and anxious. She wanted her aunt and uncle to like her. She knew how important it was that she make good first impressions whenever Daddy took her to meet people. The lady knocked on the door, and she smoothed her skirt down again as uneven footsteps came to answer it.
“Ah! You’re early. Sylvia stepped out to buy a few things... eh, come in, come in.”
“I’m sorry about the time. Is it alright if I wait here until your wife comes back?”
“Of course. Please.” He waved them in grandly, as if presenting the throne room of an emperor. “My, Jess. Don’t you look lovely.” She tore herself away from staring around the apartment to look at this man. He was pale and thin, almost frail, nothing like her strong Daddy, whose booming voice could fill the world. She gulped down another sob.
“My name’s Jessica.”
“I know it is, love. Jess is just a nickname.”
Prompt: Write a story in second person-meaning you may use only the pronoun you.
Response:
You don’t think things through properly, that’s your problem. You’re completely impulsive. You just throw yourself completely into what feels right without considering consequences. Like that little thief-brat, the one you just had to rescue, because apparently they were treating him just so unfairly. The pair of us spent three weeks in the cells, and all you could do was smile, make some comment about “at least the boy got away” or something, and then curl up and go back to sleep, as comfortable as if you were in your own hammock. It must be an elf thing, I guess, or maybe it’s just your lack of forethought again. You don’t look ahead for danger, you don’t worry about the future, so I guess you can sleep pretty easily anywhere. See, but that’s stupid. That’s why you need me around. I’m the one who can actually lay plans, who can hold you back from charging headlong into certain death, who can see that we’ll be provided for the next day. I swear, you don’t even seem to pay attention to food. You just take it completely for granted that there’ll be some game in a nearby forest or something for your elven bow. No, my friend, you would make a lousy thief. You haven’t the patience to lay in wait at a crossroads, or the sense to leave the well-guarded houses alone. Of course, you make a lousy hero too, but at least you have the right mindset for that. Naive and idealistic and confident in your own strength. Which, I’ll grant you, is formidable, but without me around to convince you, you’d never see your way clear to sneaking through a backdoor every once in a while. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no one I’d rather have watching my back in battle. Actually, you’re the only one that I’d even feel safe turning my back on. This world is rough. Everyone looks out for themselves. I don’t get you. I don’t. You’re a fool, a complete and utter fool. You were smiling when they took you yesterday. You looked back and smiled at me before they dragged you away. You don’t think about things! You just step forward and offer yourself in my place, like it would- I don’t know. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t stop and go “now, what would happen if I did this? Perhaps I’ll think about that before I do it!” It felt right and you did it. Stupid, stupid fool. You haven’t a chance. I could have thought my way out of it somehow. I’m the one who can logically analyze a situation. You need me around! You need me to tell you to stop trying to act defiant, to exercise a little subtlety and tact. You need me to remind you not to try to rescue the whole entire world- to remember that most people can’t or won’t be rescued, or simply don’t deserve to be. Like me. Why did you do that? Why did you offer the exchange? Why am I following, hoping to save you? What did you do to me? Is some of your elf-magic rubbing off or something? Because usually I know better. I know to just take advantage of my freedom and get the Kruan out of here. And I tried! Believe me, I tried! But I just couldn’t leave you, not after what you did. That definitely sounds like elf-magic. It’s a Kruan nuisance. But you need me. Without me, you’re just a fool who is pretty good with a sword and a bow- at least until you just let them take both weapons off you yesterday. It’s not like I’d need you. I got along just fine before you came along and started dragging me all over Skioten in one adventure after another. I could just give up and go back, live like that again. So maybe I wouldn’t be traveling as much, but I’d live. That’s what I keep telling myself each time I strain to see the prints they left in the dust. This is stupid. This is something you would do. I will never understand you. You’re a fool.
Also, anyone who has read Waiting for Godot, check this link out: http://www.musearts.com/cartoons/pigs/godot.html
Yep. Have a good evening everyone, I'll see you all tomorrow. Laura, could you perhaps post directions to the ice skating rink? If you don't read this in time, I'm sure I can just mapquest it, but whatever.
Goodbye.
Woot. I found sticks and we flung snow into the river and learned that it can be rather spongelike, and we made footprints and met some dogs and ownzored the river. (stream.) With boots. Then we stopped at Beaner's for cacao and came home for dinner and Numa Numa, and planned a bit of our Formal Pirate Dinner, and just fun stuff. But it was just great because I really haven't spent much time with Caitlin lately, so this was nice.
So when they tried to light stages with foot candles it didn't work too well because they would blow out whenever someone walked by, and didn't give a very bright light anyway. So they lit slabs of lime on fire, and that burned much brighter and didn't go out as easily. Thus, the origin of the phrase "in the limelight." But these limelights would hurt the actors' eyes. They found it was soothing to be in a room with walls painted dark green. So every good stage had a "green room" where the actors could go and rest their eyes between scenes. Thus the origin of the name "green room." Two phrases for the price of one. Good deal.
Phrases half off this week?
I bought a nice summer outfit today at Charlotte Russe. It has an olive green skirt in layers, kind of- each lower circle has more cloth in it. It goes with a white shirt of the same light material. The shirt has slit short sleeves and a square neck, and wooden beads are sewn all over it in interesting patterns. It has strings to tie on the back, but Eema doesn't like them so she's going to cut them off.
I think I'm going to start posting some of the better pieces that I write for Tanner, just so you all in AP Death can be jealous of the fun prompts I get. So, without further ado:
Prompt: Write a poem including the following lines, in any order:
“I tie the ribbon in a foolish way”
“the delicious fragility of this travesty”
“where we still laugh and wish”
Response:
Actors.
My friends and I just call them “drama kids.” It’s always loud here.
There’s usually at least one boy with his shirt off, too, for no apparent reason.
And a pile twelve people deep on the drama couch.
I like that couch.
I’ve been part of that pile a few times.
No one sits on me, though, like they do to the others.
Heh. They’re scared of the cane Grandmother carries around.
The one that always whacks Peter Vedder in the shins.
“Milling around” is a good phrase to describe this room.
(They call it the Green Room. Eru knows why.)
Hair is being curled by countless methods everywhere you turn.
My own is turning gray. A long wire runs through it.
Katrina- Tiff- comes running up. She’s already in costume.
It’s not a particularly pretty dress. None of them are.
Most of the drama girls can look beautiful anyway.
She holds out the ribbon and turns her back.
I’m the only horsegirl here: I can tie a quick-release knot.
BromAndrew can pull the ribbon out without hurting her.
I tie the ribbon in a foolish way, chanting to myself
“Make a four, pull it through, and the horse is at this end...”
“Make the end that he pulls noticeably longer,” she reminds me.
“Of course. Can you help with my makeup now?”
Tiffany turns around and picks up my brush and paint.
“Raise your eyebrows.” “Now scrunch your nose like this.”
“Now smile.” I grin. She frowns, concentrating
And adds lines beside my eyes. I turn to face the mirror.
I smile again, at the old woman before me. Stage makeup.
The delicious fragility of this travesty,
Greasepaint, a little extra highlighting and shading
A sixteen year old girl is a Grandmother, knitting a scarf.
The scarf is six feet long by now. It’ll cast off with the play itself.
I wrap my shawl around my shoulders, lean heavily on my cane.
Dragostea Din Tei plays on the radio. A large group is dancing to it
Larissa in her yellow dress and mob cap, Doug with his little ponytail
No my no my nay, no my no my nay, no my no my no my nay
Techies in black weave in and out around us, wearing headsets,
Carrying microphones. Girls carry theirs into the dressing room
Where friends help clip them to the backs of bras, zip them up again.
Boys throw the day-glo pumpkin back and forth over the mirrors.
Dame Van Tassel laughs at something Van Ripper whispers to her.
(Everyone’s waiting for them to get together.
Isn’t he over his last Jewish girlfriend by now?)
Circle up, circle up, the call goes out, starting quiet (for them, anyway)
Then gets picked up and everyone’s calling it out
We circle and hold hands. The techies are chased out.
Nobody but the drama kids are allowed to witness this.
None of the chants are ever permitted to be said anywhere else.
Nobody may teach this to anyone else.
We all just have to pick it up from the others as we go along.
We laugh and chant and chant, swinging our clasped hands back and forth.
When the final one begins, we all lean in and start in a whisper
Then it crescendoes until we’re screaming and stomping out the dance.
With a final cheer, the Green Room empties. Macduff, Macduff
Solemn-faced drama kids tap each other on the shoulders and say the name
Then reply in kind. I’m proud. I started a tradition.
Then it begins. Some nerves fly high. Some things go wrong.
Most things go right. Ya-ee-ya-ee, ya-ee-ya-ha, ya-ee-ya-ho, ya-ee-ya-aa-ha
Plays in between scenes, and we sing along in what we think is Romanian.
Final bows, then we go outside for “meet and greet.”
Hey! Thank you for coming! Oh, thank you, I’m so glad you enjoyed it.
I squeal and glomp Mudpuppy for driving all the way out here.
The hallways thin, and I return to the dressing room
Wash off the makeup, take off character shoes, put the cane on a shelf.
I linger for a while before I go home, in the Green Room with the others
Where we still laugh, and wish each other Macduff for tomorrow.
In a few days it’ll all be over.
I’m not a drama kid. Not really.
I’m a geek girl, and an orch dork.
But I’ve been allowed to share in their world for a few months.
And I’m very glad I did.
No my no my nay, no my no my nay, no my no my no my nay
Prompt: Read and copy a horoscope for today, not necessarily yours. Then write about a person who’s experiencing that horoscope. (It might be interesting to include that it is Valentine’s Day, but that’s not a requirement.) Approach this seriously, humorously, poignantly, any way that strikes you.
Response:
Cancer: Your spiritual life becomes richer, possibly through the influence of a different culture. Insights about the meaning and purpose of your life bring greater understanding. Unusual spiritual traditions may appeal to you. A windfall improves home life.
“Bless you,” I said automatically.
“I wonder what they’re saying.” She sniffed.
“What?”
“Okaa-san says that back home, when you sneeze, it means someone’s talking about you behind your back.”
“Oh. So... who do you think it is?”
“It could be my brother... or maybe Amy, she’s been mad at me lately. I’m not sure why.” We were walking home from the ice-cream parlor, admiring the frozen trees, both of us bundled up in layers upon bulky layers. “Hey, look- look what my aunt sent me.” She dragged a keychain with a plastic Hello Kitty figurine attached out of her bag.
“Why’s it got...” I indicated the holes in the back of its head, but before I could finish, she pressed its feet and it let loose with a series of the strangest trilling noises I had ever heard. I couldn’t stop myself from jumping back fearfully. “What the heck!?” Akiko just laughed and laughed.
“I know! Isn’t it great? My brother think it got broken in the flight over. Me, I’m convinced it’s some sort of subliminal messaging from the aliens.” I grinned and poked at it, then jumped back again with a yell as its eyes suddenly flashed red lights. My friend was laughing helplessly once more. I reached out cautiously and took it from her hand, examining the thing. It wore pink overalls, with a pink flower by its left ear. What made it so creepy? The lack of a mouth? The lightbulbs for pupils? Perhaps the fact that it made freakishly unearthly noises when you pressed its feet?
Prompt: Select a book from a random shelf in your home library. Copy down the last sentence, and use this line to begin a short story.
Response:
“Yes, dear,” whispered Johnny, humbly.
“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?”
“Yes, dear.” She glared. Sensing the drop in temperature, he looked up and started attempting to replay the barely-heard conversation in his mind. “Ah! Eheh! Of course I’m listening.” Her gaze did not waver. “So maybe I wasn’t listening very attentively. Go on.” He set down his charcoal pencil and smiled warmly at her. She sighed.
“I said, Malcolm’s dead.”
“Wh... what?”
“He’s dead. He died. That’s the third time I’ve repeated it for you.” She frowned and fiddled with the frayed edge of her shawl. Johnny noticed the gesture with a wince. She only wore that old shawl when she felt in need of comfort. He hadn’t thought Sylvia had been very close to her half-brother.
“I’m so terribly sorry, love.” He rose awkwardly from the workbench and limped over to sit beside his wife. She sighed again.
“He had a daughter... my niece.” Another pause. “They asked us to take her in.”
“Eh? A child?” Johnny looked around the room and tried to imagine it. “They asked us? Neither Malcolm nor Theresa were ever very fond of me.”
“No. But Jessica needs a home, and her grandfather can’t remember what day of the week it is. So...” Sylvia wryly glanced around the room as well. “This’ll be it.”
“Yes, dear.” She elbowed him in the ribs and rested her head on his shoulder. A child? The little apartment was a home for him, and for Sylvia, but he knew what his wife’s family had thought. It certainly wasn’t going to be what the little girl had been accustomed to. And neither of them were young anymore, to keep up with an active toddler. Sylvia reached out and took his charcoal-smudged hand in her own. A child...
She was almost six years old, wearing her fanciest party dress, and anxious. She wanted her aunt and uncle to like her. She knew how important it was that she make good first impressions whenever Daddy took her to meet people. The lady knocked on the door, and she smoothed her skirt down again as uneven footsteps came to answer it.
“Ah! You’re early. Sylvia stepped out to buy a few things... eh, come in, come in.”
“I’m sorry about the time. Is it alright if I wait here until your wife comes back?”
“Of course. Please.” He waved them in grandly, as if presenting the throne room of an emperor. “My, Jess. Don’t you look lovely.” She tore herself away from staring around the apartment to look at this man. He was pale and thin, almost frail, nothing like her strong Daddy, whose booming voice could fill the world. She gulped down another sob.
“My name’s Jessica.”
“I know it is, love. Jess is just a nickname.”
Prompt: Write a story in second person-meaning you may use only the pronoun you.
Response:
You don’t think things through properly, that’s your problem. You’re completely impulsive. You just throw yourself completely into what feels right without considering consequences. Like that little thief-brat, the one you just had to rescue, because apparently they were treating him just so unfairly. The pair of us spent three weeks in the cells, and all you could do was smile, make some comment about “at least the boy got away” or something, and then curl up and go back to sleep, as comfortable as if you were in your own hammock. It must be an elf thing, I guess, or maybe it’s just your lack of forethought again. You don’t look ahead for danger, you don’t worry about the future, so I guess you can sleep pretty easily anywhere. See, but that’s stupid. That’s why you need me around. I’m the one who can actually lay plans, who can hold you back from charging headlong into certain death, who can see that we’ll be provided for the next day. I swear, you don’t even seem to pay attention to food. You just take it completely for granted that there’ll be some game in a nearby forest or something for your elven bow. No, my friend, you would make a lousy thief. You haven’t the patience to lay in wait at a crossroads, or the sense to leave the well-guarded houses alone. Of course, you make a lousy hero too, but at least you have the right mindset for that. Naive and idealistic and confident in your own strength. Which, I’ll grant you, is formidable, but without me around to convince you, you’d never see your way clear to sneaking through a backdoor every once in a while. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no one I’d rather have watching my back in battle. Actually, you’re the only one that I’d even feel safe turning my back on. This world is rough. Everyone looks out for themselves. I don’t get you. I don’t. You’re a fool, a complete and utter fool. You were smiling when they took you yesterday. You looked back and smiled at me before they dragged you away. You don’t think about things! You just step forward and offer yourself in my place, like it would- I don’t know. You didn’t have a plan. You didn’t stop and go “now, what would happen if I did this? Perhaps I’ll think about that before I do it!” It felt right and you did it. Stupid, stupid fool. You haven’t a chance. I could have thought my way out of it somehow. I’m the one who can logically analyze a situation. You need me around! You need me to tell you to stop trying to act defiant, to exercise a little subtlety and tact. You need me to remind you not to try to rescue the whole entire world- to remember that most people can’t or won’t be rescued, or simply don’t deserve to be. Like me. Why did you do that? Why did you offer the exchange? Why am I following, hoping to save you? What did you do to me? Is some of your elf-magic rubbing off or something? Because usually I know better. I know to just take advantage of my freedom and get the Kruan out of here. And I tried! Believe me, I tried! But I just couldn’t leave you, not after what you did. That definitely sounds like elf-magic. It’s a Kruan nuisance. But you need me. Without me, you’re just a fool who is pretty good with a sword and a bow- at least until you just let them take both weapons off you yesterday. It’s not like I’d need you. I got along just fine before you came along and started dragging me all over Skioten in one adventure after another. I could just give up and go back, live like that again. So maybe I wouldn’t be traveling as much, but I’d live. That’s what I keep telling myself each time I strain to see the prints they left in the dust. This is stupid. This is something you would do. I will never understand you. You’re a fool.
Also, anyone who has read Waiting for Godot, check this link out: http://www.musearts.com/cartoons/pigs/godot.html
Yep. Have a good evening everyone, I'll see you all tomorrow. Laura, could you perhaps post directions to the ice skating rink? If you don't read this in time, I'm sure I can just mapquest it, but whatever.
Goodbye.