<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812</id><updated>2011-12-30T14:50:33.279-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Climb in the back.</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>8</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-3708157070641447707</id><published>2007-04-06T08:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T09:02:56.009-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm slacking.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Actually, I'm beyond slacking. Blogs don't look after themselves, and I've got too many strange emo thoughts. And hell, it's a four-day weekend (religious holiday, but still), and I've got no excuse.&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I rolled out of bed at 10:30, nearly coughed up a lung (dry coughs for no reason, maybe I should look into that), fried a few eggs and flipped some toast, put the coffee on, and sat in front of the tube watching the Gill Deacon Show for the next hour. Ah, free time. It isn't anything big; in fact, you may be reading this and thinking to yourself, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Oh my, what a sad, lonely girl"&lt;/span&gt; and really, you might be right. Sometimes it seems like I'm the only one who needs that one solitary day of breakfasts and newspapers and baths and alone-ness to keep me sane for the rest of the week - but it can't be. I'm as social as the next gal, but come on, I can't be on all day, every day.&lt;br /&gt;And so here's the rest of my day: homework, re-runs of HOUSE, and maybe skip out to a movie or grab some ramen by my lonesome. This makes me more thrilled than anything. Oh dear, China will be a blast - 16 drama teens + 12 hour jet-lag for two crammed weeks in a foreign city. I think I'll take a video camera and film this thing reality-TV style and see what sort of drama comes up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I know you may not want to see me/on your way down from the clouds."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today, something will become clear.&lt;br /&gt;I can feel it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah. Blogs. Have a great one, everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-3708157070641447707?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/3708157070641447707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=3708157070641447707' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/3708157070641447707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/3708157070641447707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2007/04/im-slacking.html' title='I&apos;m slacking.'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-2847993823459923128</id><published>2007-03-04T14:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-04T14:25:51.708-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Terribly, Irrationally Bored (and probably thinking too much)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I was just struck with a depressing, unwelcome thought: are all of us terribly normal and utterly boring people perpetually doomed to solely living vicariously through other people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And am I prepared for that kind of life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-2847993823459923128?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/2847993823459923128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=2847993823459923128' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2847993823459923128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2847993823459923128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2007/03/terribly-irrationally-bored-and.html' title='Terribly, Irrationally Bored (and probably thinking too much)'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-4193343978518638885</id><published>2007-03-04T11:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-04T11:35:34.404-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I think Facebook has pretty much killed every little ounce of motivation I have to blog these days. Though it may surprise you, but I have actually checked this blog from time to time, wistfully wishing that I could take the next step and actually update it. And then a little blue MSN flag pops up, or a mental post-it appears on the surface of my brain, telling me that someone may have posted on my wall, and then I'm off. So what's new? Well, everything, but nothing you guys don't know about -- namely, China! And my prom-preparation plans (join a gym, mad hunt for a Oscar De La Renta-inspired dress, ordering my hair to grow out, et cetera), and much waiting for university acceptances.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oy vey. And I thought I'd be bored after the play was over.&lt;br /&gt;Of course I've been getting back into my Toronto group lately. Friday, I spent the day at my friend Genevieve's house, just watching movies, and yesterday I hung around downtown with Melissa and Justin, watched Music and Lyrics, and then later that night we all pretty much  just assembled at Ethan's house to chill out. Finally saw some people I haven't seen since, like,  early February. I also stopped at TheatreBooks and bought &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Amadeus &lt;/span&gt;and I'm waiting for &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oh Dad, Poor Dad&lt;/span&gt; (should be getting it in about a week or two).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So. That's my life. Maybe next time I'll unravel the secret to the universe, but for now, I guess that's all you'll get of me.&lt;br /&gt;Have a fantastic week/March Break.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-4193343978518638885?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/4193343978518638885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=4193343978518638885' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/4193343978518638885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/4193343978518638885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2007/03/hello-again.html' title='Hello Again'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-2204752323150264503</id><published>2007-01-20T14:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-20T14:15:40.063-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>"His children are all stinking rich now, eh?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh yeah? Why's that?" &lt;br /&gt;"Well, he spent all of his time drinking and writing; wrote a shitload of books."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, bookstore man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-2204752323150264503?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/2204752323150264503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=2204752323150264503' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2204752323150264503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2204752323150264503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2007/01/his-children-are-all-stinking-rich-now.html' title=''/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-2945181083332286619</id><published>2006-12-27T21:58:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-27T21:59:29.664-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally did it.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.myheritage.com" title="MyHeritage - family trees and photo albums" alt="MyHeritage - family trees and photo albums" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.myheritagefiles.com/H/storage/site1/files/39/32/12/393212_587874fec53954hun0dq04.JPG" width="500" height="574" border="0" &gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-2945181083332286619?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/2945181083332286619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=2945181083332286619' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2945181083332286619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/2945181083332286619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2006/12/finally-did-it.html' title='Finally did it.'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-4732513535412722503</id><published>2006-12-24T22:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-24T22:38:05.449-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The strangest thing was waking up today, surrounded by this lovely shade of Ikea/sky blue and feeling consciousness slowly seep into me, and being just... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;content.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-4732513535412722503?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/4732513535412722503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=4732513535412722503' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/4732513535412722503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/4732513535412722503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2006/12/strangest-thing-was-waking-up-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-3978449637331535216</id><published>2006-12-23T08:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-23T08:43:06.292-08:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Were Here, You'd Be Home Right Now.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Cold coffee and a pocket full of change&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;were all that I ever needed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Bare notebooks and plastic-covered pens,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Grippy and smooth.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And you were here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And all I ever needed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was right&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The days were long,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and the nights were late.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and the moon peered out&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;lazily when we called it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And you were here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And you were here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The pens leaked, dried and faded, love.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;They crisped and burnt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Rings of brown ingrained into the paper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;to replace the words and the feelings&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;those damned&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;feelings.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But you were here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Peacock," you told me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And that was what I then needed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The topic of my next great ball of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;burning&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;wadded&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;paper. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Chicken strips."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Sparrows take flight!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Chickadees"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;You taught me about the birds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and I scribbled, scribbled, scribbled&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;in my chicken-scratch. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Because you were here&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and you were all I ever needed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The world swirled around us,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;turned, danced, dipped.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But we paid them no attention, dear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Because we had all we ever needed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The crinkly paper&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;The dried-out pens&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And the caked-on coffee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;We needed no introduction&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and we didn't care for conclusions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But the body, how we loved the body!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And the verbs, the nouns, the adjectives&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;like our own children.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Remember&lt;br /&gt;Green&lt;br /&gt;Wrangled&lt;br /&gt;Sky&lt;br /&gt;Hair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Because all we ever needed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was right&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;You saved it, didn't you? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Even after our inevitable conclusion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and all the words we loathed,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;like&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Loathe&lt;br /&gt;Tired&lt;br /&gt;Dry&lt;br /&gt;Bored&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And all I needed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was right there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;No the world didn't stop spinning,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;but after our self-obsessed meandering&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;we finally took notice. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;There was evil and hate&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and love and satisfaction.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Bright Sunday mornings&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and slow drivers.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;birds&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and slow goodbyes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;and lingering,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;quite a bit of lingering, actually. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;But that was all I really needed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;What I set out was&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;not a sappy love poem.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And what I did &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was not the broken attempt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;What I knew &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was the weight of humanity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And you said it was enough,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;just enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And maybe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;all I ever needed&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;was &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;right&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;here. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;-------&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Merry Christmas, all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-3978449637331535216?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/3978449637331535216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=3978449637331535216' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/3978449637331535216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/3978449637331535216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2006/12/if-you-were-here-youd-be-home-right-now.html' title='If You Were Here, You&apos;d Be Home Right Now.'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4851790636082588812.post-970170510953723156</id><published>2006-12-10T14:50:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-10T14:50:45.219-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thought I'd Do Without</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;What I needed was a realization that I wasn't a robot and could feel real emotions, that I was deeper than a kiddie pool and could connect on a level a little more personal than cellphones and acronym-filled MSN messages. I gave up my Livejournal because my own juvenile delinquency, my ridiculously emotive bleeding-heart posts were tiring me out beyond belief, and needless to say, I was sick of it. So I closed my doors to the personal blogging world and filled out my very basic, very minimal Yahoo 360 required for school. But I'm back (I hope), because words were just going to waste in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I want to remember right now is how it felt the moment I stepped into the school hallway for the first time back in kindergarten. The itching of a stiff red dress and feigned excitement on my face. That's what I want to remember. Because right now, I'm about seven months to the end of small white rooms and posters on the door, and decorated lockers on my birthday; stiff green attached desks, and locker combinations scrawled on sweaty palms of teenage boys. Am I prepared?&lt;br /&gt;No freakin' way at all.&lt;br /&gt;Progression is natural and graduation is inevitable. So why am I still sitting here, wondering where all that time went and regretting I had done more with it?&lt;br /&gt;Obviously this is only &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;high school graduation&lt;/span&gt;, and I'm kidding myself to think that my life has even begun; but I don't want to forget this, you know?&lt;br /&gt;It's funny, I've spent about 16 and a half years imagining myself one level up in University, seeing me with freedom and independence and a higher level of maturity; but now as I'm nearing the end of my 17th, the future has started to freak me out like no other.&lt;br /&gt;S'messed up, I'll tell you that much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4851790636082588812-970170510953723156?l=climbintheback.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/feeds/970170510953723156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4851790636082588812&amp;postID=970170510953723156' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/970170510953723156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4851790636082588812/posts/default/970170510953723156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://climbintheback.blogspot.com/2006/12/thought-id-do-without.html' title='Thought I&apos;d Do Without'/><author><name>Jess</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12065653455226497948</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v208/Lunchboxangel22/Good_One.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
