Meg Dowell Writes

For one reason or another, I’ve spent the past few weeks just being cold. Now, it could be because it’s January and it snowed six inches in the time it took me to take one semester exam, but that’s beside the point. It never feels like the heat is on in my house. My dad finally turned it on sometime in November, but it doesn’t seem to be keeping any of us warm except my cat, who has never been cold a day in his life (not counting the time I carried him outside and set him down on the snow-covered driveway just to see what would happen). I actually thought about putting mittens on earlier. But then I remembered that typing with mittens on is next to impossible. Trust me.

My driveway has probably been shoveled a total of six or seven different times since early this morning. I’m pretty sure my dad shoveled last night (though I don’t know why). But he also shoveled this morning. And after that, probably about an hour to two hours later, my mom shoveled again. And after she drove me to school, which was also an almost disaster, she shoveled again. Then two more times…BEFORE she picked me up at quarter till eleven (I only had one final. Yay!). And I think I heard her shoveling a few more times as I’ve been stuck up here in my room, traveling between studying (I really have been!) and reading Meg Cabot’s blogs, which are awesomeness with pink frosting on top.

Speaking of Meg Cabot, may I just say that I’m so glad I included her in my list of 100 things I want to do before I die. She is beyond amazing; she’s my role model! Well, okay, not really. My only role model has to do with dying on a cross and confessing sins, but we’re talking bestselling authors here. I guess calling her my Writing Role Model would cover any questions rising in the back of your mind. I love her books! And I want to do the stuff she has, like write books that are made into movies and all that good stuff. Well, I guess first it might be a good idea to write a descent novel. Read that list of long-term ambitions carefully.

I just recently started writing in my journal again, after a week and a half of complete nothingness. It almost killed me! Me and journaling are like….never mind, I’m not good at similes/metaphors/comparisons of any kind. Basically we get along well. I think the last time I’ve gone that long without writing in a journal was the week I started my junior year, back in August. I think that no-writing-in-Mr-Journal-fiasco lasted about two weeks. That’s like decades in my world of writing. I think I need to attend Writers Anonymous.

There was also another time this past summer when I wrote in my journal every day for three months. That one didn’t last long.

My hands are still partially frozen. For some really mysterious reason my hands get cold when I type. I don’t know why that is, since my fingers are constantly moving, but I guess it has something to do with…no, I have no idea. I thought I could come up with a descent theory, but I was wrong. I’m not very good with coming up with theories. My friend had a murder mystery party once, and I never had a clue who the killer was until the end, when practically everyone else already knew. I felt bettrayed.

I have two more exams tomorrow, and then I get to spend the rest of my Thursday chill’axing and packing, because an all-girls’ weekend in St. Petersburg Beach, Florida awaits, starting Friday morning at 5:30 AM; lasting until sometime Monday. Wow, do I love these teacher marking and national holiday days.