Meg Dowell Writes

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Sadly, I have no question of the day for you, because today I am not questioning life, or love, or the delicate pursuit of happiness. I’m quesioning things on a much more personal level, like the reasons for my inability to math or the cause of my failure to belt out the National Anthem at my seventh-grade talent show four short years ago. It’s these kinds of things that wrack my cluttered brain today.

Kristin Chenoweth has a new book out, A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages. I would gladly review it for you, except for the fact that I do not yet own a copy, even though it gracefully invaded bookstores on April 14th. If I would have been paying any sort of attention at all to the world around me, I would have figured out that the book was coming out and would have pre-ordered a copy while I still had money. I just bought a prom ticket, remember? Now my parents won’t let me borrow any more. Money, that is.

I really want to read this book! I’ve seen interviews with her and reviews of the book online, and it’s supposed to be a very quick but enjoyable read. Where’s that twenty bucks I found in my pocket last week? I need to make  a quick trip to Border’s and buy me some hardcover-bound amazingness.

Today I took the writing portion of my ACT. For me, this was not a depressing matter. As I was still recovering from the horrid 40-question science test, the relief I felt once handed my prompt was unearthly. I smiled. Who ever heard of someone smiling during the ACT? Well now you have, so shut up.

Anyway, the people who created the answer sheets are dumb, for within the booklet was four pages of lines. Four pages. This is me we’re talking about! I got to the end of page four, realized there were no more pages, and cried! Well, almost. You see, I can’t write anything without adding floofly little details that make whatever I’m writing ten times more awesome than it would be without them. So, though I was on my conclusion when the realization hit, it still acted as a bloody dagger to my heart. I had to shorten it. I don’t ever “shorten” anything, except maybe the amount of time I plan to spend on my butt every Saturday. And even that’s slight.

I’m not even going to lie; it was an awesome essay! I wish I could have it back so I could self-critique and make it better. It was so much fun! I talked about squirrel reproduction and boring history lessons and everything! Oh well. At least I’m giving the ACT writing test-graders a good laugh. It could have been better, nonetheless. It would have, if they would have given me five pages instead of four.

I am forever holding a grudge toward those stupid lines. I may not know a lot about math, but I do know that lines are supposed to be endless. Meaning they’re never supposed to end. Well the lines on my test ended. So I forever resent math teachers as well for lying to me about lines.

Dumb lines.

Since we’re on the subject of writing, I’m just going to come right out and spill my news: I got an A+ on an English paper! My English class is impossibly difficult. The worst part is that my amazing teacher (amazing as a person; not so sure how much I’m in love with the teaching part) grades harder and harder as the year goes on. The fact that it’s fourth quarter—WOOO!, might I add—it’s probably almost impossible to get anything close to an A+ on a paper. But it was a personal narrative about holes. So I guess it worked out okay.

I GET TO WATCH SEASON 3 GILMORE GIRLS!

But only one episode, because I have homework. Of course. Because no one understands how stressful ACT week can be. You would think they’d remember. Oh well.