Reading, Writing, and Me

The Love Letters of Abelard and Lily  by Laura Creedle (339 pages) Overview: Lily has ADHD which means that sometimes she's a bit impulsive, especially when she gets stressed. This might explain why she kissed Abelard Mitchell one day in the waiting room of the vice principal's office. That, and, Abelard is hot. The awkward kiss is just one of a series of near disasters that unite the two kids from the fringes of the school. Lily has never been a favorite with her teachers while Abelard, who has Aspergers, is seen as a genius by his teachers and a punching bag by the student body. While they both don't love being different, they love what society says is broken about each other, and that just might be enough to teach them to love themselves.   Overall: 5 Characters: 5  I love Lily! She makes the perfect narrator with her bouncy energy and fast paced mind that keeps the reader jogging to keep up on the race through the story. I also love that this is another book with

Last night, I spent the evening watching one of the most spectacular, mind boggling shows I've ever seen. The stunts had me holding my breath, the dancing was a stunning balance of strength and vulnerability, and the vocals were amazing, even if you didn't consider the athletic feats Pink performed while singing. Pink got me thinking about the idea of celebrity and its relation to role models, because of her songs about believing in yourself, and the stories she told to the audience. While the concept of celebrity is often villanized, it's something more important to society than we might realize. Stars are regular people with regular experiences who have gained a following, elevated their voices on a pedestal, gained riches, opportunity, and a life that most people couldn't dream of. And, while some people call it unfair or unrealistic, I think it's important to show this select group triumphing to prove success is a possibility regardless of what you must ove

No, I’m Not Okay September 9 I can’t believe I’m doing this again in the same stupid journal that Mom gave me last time someone died. Nonetheless, I’m pouring down my thoughts and feelings because six years ago some old guy, who claimed to be a grief counselor, told my mother that it would help. Help what? I’m not exactly sure. It certainly didn’t make me feel better about the pile of ashes that was my dad. Ten year old me gave up the activity after a week, like most things I tried at that age. Ten year olds do what they want. Now, though, I'm worse off because I didn't just lose a parent, I lost  the  parent. As in, the only surviving person who had to put up with me and my sister within five states… or anywhere. I probably sound a little blunt, or insensitive, or maybe even disrespectful (Can you be any of these things about your own situation?), but you have to understand how stupid I feel writing about my “feelings”. To make matters worse, I honestly