<?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-3862032</id><updated>2011-04-21T22:09:50.583-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The World Would Be Better Without PEOPLE</title><subtitle type='html'>Pay attention; these are the early theories of a girl who will in 2024 be running for president of the United States. (and in 2016 for Governor of PA so watch out for that)</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>151</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-111206317002001291</id><published>2005-03-28T21:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-28T21:26:10.023-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>When you just don't know what to say...I don't know how to feel, and I've been feeling that way since Saturday afternoon.  Someone died.  Someone I can't say I really knew, but someone who people I'm close to were close to.  Someone I'd met.How can I decide how to feel?  I can't quite be happy with this over my shoulder, fleeting reminders, friends who are hurting.  But I can't quite grieve, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/111206317002001291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/111206317002001291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111206317002001291' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-111137659428151875</id><published>2005-03-20T22:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-03-20T22:48:50.016-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Aaack! I don't know what's going on...! I don't know what's going on in Dylan's head, I don't know what's going on in my ... self...&gt;deep breath&lt;Last night, I told him that I love him. I do. So completely. He is everything. He told me he loves me too. Okay. But today he called because he said he would and told me that last night after I dropped him off he walked around all night and didn't sleep </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/111137659428151875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/111137659428151875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_archive.html#111137659428151875' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107835923657774748</id><published>2004-03-03T19:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-03T19:16:52.106-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Ah, the satisfaction of a good, big meal.  Lots of tofu, lots of peas, suffer through some rice...  Yummy nice stuffed feeling.  :)</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107835923657774748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107835923657774748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107835923657774748' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107749508884613820</id><published>2004-02-22T19:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-22T19:14:11.246-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Tengo un neurasténico.  Acaban de schedule mi rehearsal para el dia singular que no puedo venir!  Y yo told ellos que no puedo venir antes de lo scheduled!  Que idiotas!  Es muy frustrating!  Como yo necesito mas stress!  Dios!  Y yo no have memorized mis lines, y son solo dos o tres semanas hasta el espectaculo, y solo tantos rehearsals.  Yo hate el video del espanol.  No necesito mas stress!!!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107749508884613820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107749508884613820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107749508884613820' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107748738628828936</id><published>2004-02-22T17:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-22T17:05:48.640-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>http://tm.wc.ask.com/r?t=c&amp;s=a&amp;id=30780&amp;sv=za5cb0deb&amp;uid=05833518EF4329304&amp;sid=1B38C518EF4329304&amp;p=%2flinks&amp;o=8002&amp;u=http://www.ibiblio.org/stayfree/10/semen.htmamusing, frightening, disgusting, and interesting all at the same time.  If you're especially sensitive you might not want to read this immediately after eating.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107748738628828936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107748738628828936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107748738628828936' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107611937208189799</id><published>2004-02-06T21:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-06T21:05:13.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>TAKE THE PERSONAL PHILOSOPHY QUIZ ON THE LEFT SIDEBAR!!!!!!!!!!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107611937208189799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107611937208189799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107611937208189799' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107319389382477928</id><published>2004-01-04T00:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-04T00:26:30.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Depressed by my own indecision, by my inaction, my unknowing, being torn between this life and a simpler one that a large part of my soul yearns for.  Apparently it's in the blood.  My second cousin left civilization to build his own house - no electricity/plumbing - up in the mountains.  His brother made an award-winning documentary about it.  Called DoDah.  I'm tired of having to worry about </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107319389382477928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107319389382477928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107319389382477928' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-107024643974799604</id><published>2003-11-30T21:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-30T21:41:31.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What is wrong with us?  Why cannot we be happy, why can we not function as the rest of the world does?  Why me and my classmates?  Why can we not grasp simple concepts that other years have breezed through?  Why can we not remember anything for more than a week?  Why do we fail so miserably?  What makes us so stupid or incompetent?  Is it because we are all cynics and nothing can interest us </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107024643974799604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/107024643974799604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#107024643974799604' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-106834481132740455</id><published>2003-11-08T21:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-08T21:27:12.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>stress.  musical.  english.  ap us.  reading.  dye.  papers.  spanish.  craft fair.  rehearsal.  sleep.  crazy.  book.  m trial.  reading logs.  overlaps.  swimming.  letdown.  commitments.  family.  dreams.  cast party.  people.  eating.  yelling.  painting.  guilt.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106834481132740455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106834481132740455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_11_01_archive.html#106834481132740455' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-106539236054027947</id><published>2003-10-05T18:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-10-05T18:20:18.453-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Guess how many pairs of shoes I have?  Eighteen.  And two shoes I'm missing the mate of, and a pair McKee still hasn't let me return to him (don't ask) ... and that's if I haven't forgotten any.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106539236054027947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106539236054027947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_10_01_archive.html#106539236054027947' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-106411885784810596</id><published>2003-09-21T00:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-09-21T00:34:17.543-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Do you ever think about death?  Really think about it.  I do all the time.  It's been bothering me.  What will it be like to die?  Will I stop existing?  Will it be interminable pain?  Or maybe it will be peaceful.  Or just like life.  Will my life have been worth it?  When will I die?  When I imagine death, I feel one definitive emotion strongly: panic.  Because death could happen at any time, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106411885784810596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106411885784810596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_09_01_archive.html#106411885784810596' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-106081943505565195</id><published>2003-08-13T20:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-08-13T20:10:41.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>you know those sunglasses I have?  those perfect, red, sorta funky sunglasses with black curvy lines?  the ones that are completely ME, that actually look good on me?  they broke.  &gt;: (   someone is going to fix my sunglasses, or else I am going to fix someone who broke them.  !!!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106081943505565195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106081943505565195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106081943505565195' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-106014424889641076</id><published>2003-08-06T00:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-08-06T00:30:48.836-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>have you seen the tv show "the oc"??  how HOT is "Ryan"?  wow.  i don't really go for celebrity crushes as a rule, but i may just have to make an exception....</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106014424889641076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/106014424889641076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_08_01_archive.html#106014424889641076' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-105970713547654402</id><published>2003-07-31T23:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-07-31T23:05:35.436-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>feeling negative anticipation of babysitting again tomorrow.  somewhat stems from "mommy" game of previous two days but also just a bit tired in general.  tgif.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/105970713547654402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/105970713547654402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105970713547654402' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-105897572146517151</id><published>2003-07-23T11:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-07-23T12:03:14.953-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i want to understand criminals the way Hannibal does.  Then I want to use that knowlege to heal them.  Because if the meaning of life is happiness, and I tend to think so, then they are doing something wrong because they are creating so much anti-happiness, so much pain and sadness.  But ... in the end ... the pain they create can further create happiness, acheivement, the glorious feeling of </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/105897572146517151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/105897572146517151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_07_01_archive.html#105897572146517151' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-95675465</id><published>2003-06-14T23:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-14T23:03:07.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>wow.  i went like three weeks without being seriously depressed.  was nice while it lasted.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95675465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95675465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95675465' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-95303717</id><published>2003-06-04T18:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-04T18:35:09.616-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I haven't felt like answering emails recently....  It's weird.  I mean, short ones, like with Kels, ok... but some people expect more than a sentence or two if you know what I mean and I just don't feel like it.  So they remain in my inbox, slowly piling up.  Actually I did answer them a while ago even though I wasn't really in the mood, but they're piling up again.  I feel bad.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95303717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95303717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95303717' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-95163440</id><published>2003-06-01T16:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-01T16:52:53.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If one of your girlfriends said, "we should bury all the men in the world and just keep them underground for mating purposes," would you laugh and say, "that's the smartest thing you've said all day!"  You would be joking, of course....  But if you were on the other side?  If you overheard some guys talking, laughing, and one of them said, "we should put all the girls in the world underground and</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95163440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95163440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95163440' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-95159480</id><published>2003-06-01T14:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-06-01T14:22:34.133-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Making me angry right now (!!) - two articles in the Philadelphia Inquirer this morning....  One, page C1, "Two basic rights clash in Scouts' policy on gays" by Jane Eisner.  A man by the name of James Dale, assistant scoutmaster, was dismissed for being gay (thirteen years ago).  He fought it all the way to the supreme court where they ruled - incrudulity reaches a peak - "that forcing the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95159480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95159480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_06_01_archive.html#95159480' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-95092563</id><published>2003-05-30T15:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-30T15:14:30.160-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>arms still shaking.  hard to type a little.  had to carry box of ceramics projects home today.  box got heavy after while.  i mean it's just under a mile to my house.  shoulders burned, fingers ached, arms shook.  i cut my finger but didn't notice til i got home cuz i basically lost feeling in my fingers.  uncle offered me a ride once i was already on my street, but i turned him down.  didn't </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95092563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/95092563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#95092563' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94769784</id><published>2003-05-22T23:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-22T23:58:27.340-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Time ... to write ... for once.So helpless.  So confused and frustrated.  Don't know what to do.  So sick of people being depressed, so depressed because they all are.  So many people, so little hope.  Why?  Why don't they see the hope?  Why can't I understand them anymore?  Why can't I help them?  Why do they come to me??  Maybe everyone has a bunch of depressed friends; maybe, I'm the only </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94769784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94769784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94769784' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94655372</id><published>2003-05-20T18:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-20T18:57:46.000-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>: )I love my Allison Budziak!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94655372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94655372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94655372' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94568702</id><published>2003-05-19T02:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-19T02:56:11.110-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>oww...!!talked to aaron for like four hours on the phone, now my throat reeeeally hurts again.  remind me not to talk tomorrow.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94568702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94568702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94568702' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94299189</id><published>2003-05-13T21:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-13T21:13:07.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Po... I was wondering today, would you actually be able to kill me?  I'm guessing the answer is no.  Not physically, I'm sure you're strong enough, but I mean would you be able to mentally, could you kill me?  &gt;Sigh&lt; ... because I wanted you to at one point today.  Right now though I don't.  I mean, I have a lot of homework but if I focus on it piece by piece it can be done.  I left and went on </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94299189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94299189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94299189' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94166921</id><published>2003-05-11T18:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-11T18:08:10.970-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I'm trying to convince you that you don't want me so I won't hurt you won't you believe me please?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94166921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94166921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94166921' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94166651</id><published>2003-05-11T18:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-11T18:01:32.990-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>No one more thing.  I have (it seems like, don't try to be fucking literal and contradict me) no illusions right now; I expect nothing, believe nothing.  All that can happen in the future is that I can create my own illusions.  What fun.  What a world to look forward to.I realized that I'm going to be a whore in my next life, let go of all inhibitions and ambitions simply to enjoy my body, my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94166651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94166651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94166651' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-94165527</id><published>2003-05-11T17:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-11T17:33:09.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I want to hurt myself, I really have a strong urge to hurt myself.  But I don't want to hurt anyone else, so I won't hurt myself.  Well I won't hurt myself physically; no matter what I will hurt emotionally.  Nothing happened, there is no particular reason for me to feel this way, but I want to give up or to hurt myself very badly.  I don't know why, I don't know what it would accomplish, release</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94165527'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/94165527'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#94165527' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-93761603</id><published>2003-05-04T17:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-04T17:13:15.400-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>When you are this depressed, you should be allowed to miss school without penalty.  I can't work in this mindset.I know you all love me and are worried, and I'm grateful, and you don't have to say it.  And I love you too.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93761603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93761603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#93761603' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-93760555</id><published>2003-05-04T16:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-05-04T16:46:09.050-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I'm slightly insane.  I can feel it pulating on the edge of my vision, threatening to take over.  Has it, ever?  I don't know.  I'm not sure I didn't dream last night; I wrote it down and it felt like I was remembering a dream, and it seems like there are places that don't make sense, the way there are always those telling little glitches in dreams that you can point to afterwards and say, see, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93760555'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93760555'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_05_01_archive.html#93760555' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-93561647</id><published>2003-04-30T19:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-04-30T19:46:27.850-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Ummm.  Just writing out of obligation or something.  I should go do my homework - I have to write 16 measures for a "symphony" only it's just one line, i mean like just a melody.  &gt;sigh.&lt;I'm, um, sick of high school.  Can't stand teenagers (sure go ahead take offense, but you know you hate 'em too - I hate the teen in myself also).  I want: a school where we discuss, learn ideas, philosophies, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93561647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/93561647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#93561647' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-92951731</id><published>2003-04-20T19:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2003-04-20T19:46:54.200-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i'm in a strange mood.  i feel like a separate person....  Can't explain that part really.  I feel good about myself.  But at the same time I'm stressed out.  In a sort of not-sure-i-can-handle-it kind of way.  Not about anything in particular.  You know what, though?  People keep making me feel good about myself!  It's bugging me!  I mean, I'm starting to believe them - that I'm pretty or </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/92951731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/92951731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_04_01_archive.html#92951731' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-91744892</id><published>2003-03-31T20:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-31T20:25:29.200-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>y'know what?  I had a pretty bad day.  I wasn't depressed or anything, but a bunch of not-so-great stuff happened, including, but not limited to, a 22 out of 40 on the notebook check.  I hate those things.  And I have to write a paper tonight, do all the research for it and everything.  Oh FUCKING JOY!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91744892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91744892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91744892' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-91540600</id><published>2003-03-28T06:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-28T06:50:31.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>So I think my mom's pretty mad at me....  I refused to wash the steak pan thing, because I don't want to support the meat industry (and it's sickening, there's blood and stuff all over it).  So even though we have no food, she doesn't want to buy more, because she wants to give me a "taste of my own medicine."  Here's what we have in the fridge: pickles, olives, salad dressing, spreadable fruit, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91540600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91540600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91540600' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-91160744</id><published>2003-03-21T22:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-21T22:20:47.513-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>and so ... I hate myself.  What a revelation.  It's really bugging me, to tell the truth.  That's why I was dressed differently Monday, in case I didn't tell you fifty times; I wanted to be a different me, one I like.  And I was, for a day.  Ah well.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91160744'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/91160744'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#91160744' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90959188</id><published>2003-03-18T20:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-18T20:15:30.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I'm trying to accept my mother and her imperfections.  The trouble is, she has accepted her imperfections to the point that she excuses them.  And she goes and says shit and shut up in front of my brothers.  She asks us where they got "friggin."Are all mothers so hypocritical?  I would complain more, you see, but I have a feeling the answer to that question is yes.  She yells at us when we </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90959188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90959188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90959188' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90951053</id><published>2003-03-18T17:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-18T17:43:25.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>...and I went back to my bad mood.  I went back to my old self, back to my old mood.  I really can't stand this person that I am!  I am who I was yesterday, that's the me I like.  Adding to my bad mood, this afternoon, was hurting blisters, ankles, and knees.  I understand the blisters, my socks were too short yesterday, but I don't know why my ankles and knees have sharp pains when I run.  I'm </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90951053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90951053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90951053' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90882533</id><published>2003-03-17T18:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-17T18:01:06.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Why does Ashley hate me so much?  I'm not mean to her, although I could probably be nicer, but that would just make her more mad I'm sure.  It just makes me really sad that someone hates me.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90882533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90882533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90882533' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90831292</id><published>2003-03-16T21:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-16T21:43:30.996-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This sucks.  God knows I want to volunteer.  I tried to get my friend to do Habitat for Humanity with me a while back, but she's like, it's too cold, let's wait til spring.  So I've never done any community service at all....  And it sucks, because I won't be able to get into NHS because of it, but it's not like I don't want to.  I do, so badly, I want like hell to give back to this planet </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90831292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90831292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90831292' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90626283</id><published>2003-03-12T22:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-12T22:09:22.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i finally fixed aleks' link!!  world, be proud of me!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90626283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90626283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90626283' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-90085519</id><published>2003-03-03T21:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-03-03T21:25:52.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>My beloved Mug:"S a g i t t a r i u s .  Nov. 22 – Dec. 23"The immortal Centaur is the high achiever of the zodiac.  Intelligent and strong, 'Challenge' is perceived as an opportunity to demonstrate the archers expansive skills and talents.  Inspiring, just, and with honorable heart, this sign is driven by a need to believe their work has an inherent importance which benefits and influences </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90085519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/90085519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_03_01_archive.html#90085519' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89933254</id><published>2003-02-28T21:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T21:05:53.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Welll... I'd put up my poem that I wrote in algebra today, but I'm sick of it by now, so I don't want to type it up.  :-D  (brief fake grin)</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89933254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89933254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89933254' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89932676</id><published>2003-02-28T20:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T20:48:23.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Oh -- A thought:  today I realized that I am sick of being so arrogant, of acting like I'm better than everyone else.  That's not how I feel, you know.  But goddammit it's hard to be humble!  I mean, I think I've always been a bit stuck up, so I don't know how not to be.  The trouble is, I'm not going to be dishonest, and if I downplay my grades people seem to feel worse because if my grades are </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89932676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89932676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89932676' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89932103</id><published>2003-02-28T20:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-28T20:32:16.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Every girl loves her bowl of fudge.  Not a literally true statement, but it applies to me.  Fudge is good - rich, chocolate, creamy fudge.  Savoring every tiny moment of it.  I love my bowl of fudge.No I don't actually have fudge that I am eating right now, but it would be nice if I did, wouldn't it?LOL I'm such a crazy gal...</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89932103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89932103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89932103' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89871872</id><published>2003-02-27T20:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-27T20:12:18.860-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Thesis: Finny is not innocence, or even innocent.  Finny is the most disillusioned of them all, he only appears innocent.     The hint is in the scene where Finny tells Gene that he had tried and tried and tried to enlist.  On the outside, Finny is innocent, believing that there is no war, believing that everyone wins by playing sports (btw mr mckee is wrong, the author meant that Finny didn't </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89871872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89871872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89871872' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89870164</id><published>2003-02-27T19:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-27T19:35:01.090-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Um.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89870164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89870164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89870164' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89805865</id><published>2003-02-26T19:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-26T19:44:04.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Have you ever played minesweeper and relished blowing yourself up?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89805865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89805865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89805865' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89612534</id><published>2003-02-23T15:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-23T15:39:15.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I have a few spare moments, so I am going to take this time to complain.  If you would rather not hear me complain, I suggest you stop reading Now.  Anyway, my complaints start with the fact that I had to get up bright and early both days of the weekend - Saturday for my painting class, and Sunday for Mock Trial.  I am tired.  I have managed to complete my biology lab ... I think that's all.  I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89612534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89612534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89612534' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89558572</id><published>2003-02-22T13:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-22T13:08:11.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>attempting to beautify my blog.  Not working.  Too lazy to make it work.  Lunchtime.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89558572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89558572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89558572' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89557784</id><published>2003-02-22T12:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-22T12:49:12.696-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I come back from my art class, where I'd learned about layering paint.  I step out of the van and into the rain, canvas and paints clutched in a trash bag and a cloth one respectively.  I walk down the path I had nicely carved out of the snow about a week ago.  It is now a stagnant stream of water, about three inches deep.  I decide to go around it, and carefully place my foot in the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89557784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89557784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89557784' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89451217</id><published>2003-02-20T15:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-20T15:07:37.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This is what is called "a bad mood."  I hate life, the human race, and myself.  No, I wouldn't call it hate ... but I feel a revulsion for them.  Why?  I don't know.  I just do.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89451217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89451217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89451217' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89408675</id><published>2003-02-19T22:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-19T22:35:26.550-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>No: the truth is, I love my mom and dad, despite their flaws.  Isn't that sweet of me?  Yeah....  So, today, I started wondering who I am again.  I don't know, because I don't know what the world is, what people are.  Only this time I started wondering if I ought to be president.  Because no one agrees with my ideas, or hardly anyone anyway.  I don't know if I even agree with my ideas (lnol).  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89408675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89408675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89408675' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89172340</id><published>2003-02-15T23:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-15T23:36:06.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>why aren't my comments working?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89172340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89172340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89172340' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89172182</id><published>2003-02-15T23:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-15T23:30:38.790-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I feel mean now.  I'm a mean person.  I don't intend to be, but I am.  I don't want to have to justify myself; why can't I just be nice?  Why am I mean?  Why am I so sarcastic and mean?I HATE instant messenger.  It's so damned impersonal.  So freaking impersonal.  I was tired and talking to four people at once, bad things were doomed to happen.  Oh, for heavens sake, stop overreacting, Genai.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89172182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89172182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89172182' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89149944</id><published>2003-02-15T12:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-15T12:56:01.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I found my watch.  : )</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89149944'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89149944'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89149944' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89149283</id><published>2003-02-15T12:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-15T12:36:50.540-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I've really felt like writing lately, and just now I decided hey I have some time, so I sat down and wrote a hypothetical situation in which I had become anorexic.  It's not interesting, nor is it well written, but I felt like writing it and so I'm glad I did.  Hey, it took my mind off my parents' poorly masked insults of my still-life painting.  "It looks inexperienced,which is what you are" </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89149283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89149283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89149283' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-89059275</id><published>2003-02-13T18:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-13T18:42:12.783-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I'm really happy, and really depressed.  Life is weird like that.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89059275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/89059275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#89059275' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88948493</id><published>2003-02-11T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-11T21:38:45.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>But the thing is, conscience is not inborn, it is created by the society around a person, so how can it be right or wrong; people are not gods, they don't really know what is right and what is wrong, so they make it up.  And you can't fairly judge someone by such arbitrary standards.  A person is a product of their environment - totally, I am beginning to believe, and not a product of themselves.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88948493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88948493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#88948493' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88885234</id><published>2003-02-10T20:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-02-10T20:55:54.740-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I have turned so cynical.  You should hear me; I don't believe that there is a difference between good and bad anymore.  But still I do what I was taught is right, just in case I am wrong and there is such a thing.  Just in case I'm wrong, I don't kill myself.  Isn't that depressing; I can choose from being utterly wrong, or death.  No, I can't choose; I'll die eventually, and I don't get to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88885234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88885234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_02_01_archive.html#88885234' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88356455</id><published>2003-01-31T20:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-31T20:41:50.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Which came first, the chicken or the egg?  I can't believe this is considered a riddle.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88356455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88356455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#88356455' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88234207</id><published>2003-01-29T18:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-29T18:37:27.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Now here's an interesting question, one I wonder almost constantly but never really ask people.  What is your definition of "evil"?  What makes a person evil, if indeed they can be?  You guys might be the wrong group to ask, but what the heck, answer anyway, why doncha?</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88234207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88234207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#88234207' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88233957</id><published>2003-01-29T18:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-29T18:32:05.136-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Guess what happened today.  Not that its extremely exciting, but I don't have anything else to talk about.  Well, we had a half day (twenty minute periods!), so we went home at 10:55.  This girl who was in my ceramics class gave me a ride home it was really sweet.  Anyway, I get home and start studying my decathlon stuff.  Then I realize (by actually reading the front divider (well okay I just </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88233957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88233957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#88233957' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-88132374</id><published>2003-01-27T21:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-27T21:39:57.963-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Know what though?  I really feel like writing in my blog.  Something I haven't really done in a long time.  Long.  Time.  There is a reason.  I rather consciously made a decision to stop writing in my blog, almost weined myself of it (invoking the gradual implication of the word)... for a few reasons.  One, that I didn't have enough time.  It's true.  I kept saying how I didn't have time to read </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88132374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/88132374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#88132374' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87876793</id><published>2003-01-22T22:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-22T22:05:09.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Did you read the article(s) on the death penalty in the school newspaper??!!!  They (matt leskowitz and roman gehkman (i may have spelled that wrong) the pro-death writers) are freaking completely wrong!  I don't know where they got their information, but... their two main points were that it costs less than life in prison and that it's an effective deterrent of crime!  They are, very simply, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87876793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87876793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87876793' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87736516</id><published>2003-01-20T12:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-20T12:45:08.870-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The three books that changed/explain me/my views: The Celestine Prophecy, The Shadow Club, Ishmael.  Read them.  Granted the first one I didn't enjoy until I finished it and saw its application in the world, and the third sounds like I wrote it two years ago (in style/format).  But all three are amazing.  Read them.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87736516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87736516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87736516' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87619449</id><published>2003-01-17T21:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-17T21:07:50.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>My favorite  subjects/activies, in random order:  acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, writing, debating, law &amp; politics, Spanish, math, science, running, swimming.  Which is why I can never get anything done.  Prolly left out some too.How do yall think you did on the math test?  I kept screwing up, so I ended up leaving all of one problem (15?) blank - 8 pts right there.  It's not that I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87619449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87619449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87619449' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87287519</id><published>2003-01-11T21:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-11T21:49:57.906-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It's hard being young, because you can't win an argument with an adult.  Or hardly anyway.  Because you both know that the adult has more experience in life (unless it's in an area the younger person happens to know more about, but you know what I mean).  I'm trying to argue with my mom, but it's so hard.  She knows what she thinks and believes.  I don't.  It gives her a tremendous advantage.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87287519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87287519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87287519' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87286972</id><published>2003-01-11T21:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-11T21:34:09.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Genai Theory of Evolulution:(Stipulation) Evolution occurs when a certain gene mutation is beneficial to the survival of the individual, because if that individual survives, it can pass on the mutated gene. (Observation) All, or at least many of, the differences between people and other animals can be traced to the fact that a person's instinct for individual protection is stronger than other</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87286972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87286972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87286972' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87243439</id><published>2003-01-10T20:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T20:03:12.063-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>no wait.  its really weird.  there is only one section under archives, and i think it's the earliest.  so, what?  whatnow?  wha's goin on??  hm oh well</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87243439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87243439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87243439' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87243370</id><published>2003-01-10T20:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T20:01:21.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You know what I really want to do, though, Squeak?  It's not so drastic as poking their eyes out, but I have such a strong urge to write on the cast list "You poor idiotic directors" just like that.  Only it would be mean, and I wouldn't want to be mean.  Plus if I was someone who had gotten a part, I would definitely think they meant I sucked and didn't deserve it, or something like that.  Oh, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87243370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87243370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87243370' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87242863</id><published>2003-01-10T19:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-10T19:46:16.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Thank goodness for a hard swim practice today.  At least it kept my mind off drama ... temporarily.  I checked the list between 7th and 8th period and needless to say, taking a Spanish quiz and just sitting in class itself were not fun.  It was so hard not to cry.  Normally I wouldn't care so much about just one part in a high school play I found out about just a few days previous (well actually </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87242863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87242863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87242863' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87199078</id><published>2003-01-09T22:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-09T22:27:51.090-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It's amazing how little I notice about the world around me.  It's because I'm so self-absorbed.  I mean seriously.  I put so much on my plate that I have no time and no effort left to see what anyone else thinks or what they're doing.  Or who they are for that matter.  It amazes me at times.OOh God I'm so lazy!!!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87199078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87199078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87199078' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87196075</id><published>2003-01-09T21:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-09T21:22:57.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Just wanted to get this down before I forget again.  I was saying to someone how unfair it is of us to be restricting North Korea from creating nuclear weapons when we have plenty stockpiled "just in case."  I know it's supposed to be because the government is unstable and all and that they are eager to attack South Korea.  BUt wait.  How stable is the war-hungry President Bush with his total </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87196075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87196075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87196075' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87192315</id><published>2003-01-09T19:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-09T19:54:08.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Am I bad at acting?  (this is a rhetorical question that I am using as a segway into ... this)  I tried out for the drama today.  It's a slapstick murder mystery comedy.  Sounded like a lot of fun.  I was picked first (I think - ?) to play a "flighty" woman named Bernice.  People said I did really well.  Of course Adrienne did, she always over-compliments me (...and other people too I hope).  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87192315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87192315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87192315' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87087730</id><published>2003-01-07T20:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-07T20:33:33.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Now I happy happy happy!  Now I happy happy happy!  :*D  I convinced my mummy to let me take a weekend art class at tyler school of art.  ms sweigart has two half-scholarships to give out for them and I promised my mom I would babysit for the next six weeks to cover the rest of the cost.  Oh how I'm going to kill myself!  : )  I'm going to take the painting class and it'll be fun bc I'll learn </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87087730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87087730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87087730' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-87083475</id><published>2003-01-07T18:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-07T18:55:23.503-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Weird experience Irina and I had today.  We went to Gloria Dei to help ... well "help" Ms Steely teach them art and whatnot.  The old people are all drawing these really great pictures... anyway... this other old woman comes in and she starts talking to Irina and me.  Ok, you know, that's nice, we'll be friendly and all.  But she just KEEPS talking.  And talking.  Every time she shifts position I</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87083475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/87083475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#87083475' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86990177</id><published>2003-01-05T23:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-05T23:16:27.393-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>my sister suggested just putting more money into education, hey there's an idea, but the thing is that just helps improve the school building, the ... environment.  There's no guarantee of high-quality educators and therefore no guarantee of high-quality education.  Because that's what often makes or breaks a student's interest in a subject: whether or not the teacher makes it interesting.  I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86990177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86990177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86990177' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86989929</id><published>2003-01-05T23:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-05T23:11:09.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>oh yeah and also i practiced my drums today which is a good thing.  i still can't get that off-beat down, though.  But Practice Makes Perfect! :D</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86989929'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86989929'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86989929' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86986513</id><published>2003-01-05T21:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-05T23:11:26.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>part of a post i just made on youthnoise:My problem with capitalism is that it gives some people an unfair advantage over others. Those born in poverty have a hell of a worse chance to make it in a capitalistic society, because they don't have any capital to invest. And it's not like it's their fault. Especially if the public education sucks, and they can't go to a better school, so they're </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86986513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86986513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86986513' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86978152</id><published>2003-01-05T18:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-05T18:20:36.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>hm(mostly but not completely directed towards natasha:)i'm not going to go to decathlon tomorrow evening.  there's no way i can finish the book not to mention reading the sections and listening to the music.  so it would be pointless for me to go.  i mean i could if i didn't have stuff to do after school tomorrow, but i have a swim meet (and i'll be missing mock trial because of it).  It </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86978152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86978152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86978152' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86858499</id><published>2003-01-02T22:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-02T22:33:02.943-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Still feel ignorant but to a greater extent.  I want to crawl in a (warm) hole and cry and moan about how ignorant I am and how stupid and awful humanity in general is.  I know the "better" solution is to do something about it, but it feels so hopeless.  How am I supposed to unite America to vote for some insignificant speck like me?  How'm I supposed to get Pennsylvania, for that matter?  I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86858499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86858499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86858499' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86780221</id><published>2003-01-01T03:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-01-01T03:38:29.086-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Sorry I haven't posted lately.  Okay, well the last couple days.  Well, yesterday.  I've been busy on youthnoise.com which is a really interesting site.  Except I'm already bored with it.  I have an argument about government and one about religion going, and the only real dissident in the whole place is this 21year old guy who seems to enjoy pissing people off.  I respect him for standing by his </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86780221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86780221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2003_01_01_archive.html#86780221' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86684957</id><published>2002-12-30T00:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-30T00:16:27.216-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>WHO AM I</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86684957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86684957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86684957' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86558854</id><published>2002-12-26T15:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-26T15:12:19.996-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I have been thinking lately how very lucky I am.  I must have the best luck in the universe.  Just when I need support and enthusiasm the most, that is exactly what you give me!  And it seems that, of late, when I cross the Pike, traffic has just cleared when I get there.  I have the best parents for me, who give me both freedom and support, and I have loving sisters and friends.  I have </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86558854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86558854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86558854' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86558691</id><published>2002-12-26T15:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-26T15:06:23.223-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Oh, never mind.  I love you guys no end.  Talk about support...!  But some people annoy me soo much when they don't even try to see things my way!  And then I realize that I'm not trying to see things their way, either.  One time (as an illustration) back when I was avidly Swedenborgian, my mom and I were outside a laundromat I think - we were on one of our summer expeditions - and there was some</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86558691'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86558691'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86558691' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86557886</id><published>2002-12-26T14:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-26T14:40:08.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Some things:I was thinking of not writing in my blog any more.  I don't think it's good for me.  And besides, I feel bad because I never seem to have time to read yours.  "What's not good for you about it?" you might be wondering.  Here's a little uh whatsitcalled... anecdote sort of thing to illustrate.  I was sitting in the car with my mom, and I was telling her what I want to do with my kids</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86557886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86557886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86557886' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86464888</id><published>2002-12-23T23:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-23T23:33:03.836-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If some people are evil ... there is no point in me living.  Maybe there is a point for some people, but not not not for me.I fight for - I stand for - the intrinsic good of every single person.  If that doesn't exist - oh it has to, it just it has to exist - if it doesn't, them I do not exist.  It would mean I am just a shell of a person; I would live, but I would not Be.  I would be as </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86464888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86464888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86464888' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86385821</id><published>2002-12-22T00:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-22T00:42:36.130-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Three things on my list to write about.  I think tonight I will probably only cover one.  No, there are four things.  But I don't remember what I was going to say about love.  So I guess it is three.EducationPollutionWarYou've heard me moan about war before; tonight I am so hopeless and tortured by it.  I just don't understand.  How can people put an abstract "cause" ahead of life?  I just </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86385821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86385821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86385821' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86334165</id><published>2002-12-20T16:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-20T16:07:46.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>   I am slowly,   Painfully watching   My Country   Go   To War.Ouch.  I feel like I'm pulling with all my might in a tug-of-war against an army tank.  Who's going to win, what a mystery.  It's slowly dragging me forward; I physically feel the pull.  And I can't let go, not now that I've started hanging on.  I can't even slow it down; I'm so small and insignificant, so weak.  Oh, ow, ow, ow.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86334165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86334165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86334165' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86333849</id><published>2002-12-20T15:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-20T15:59:28.846-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I crave attention, I was realizing today.  I feel good when people talk to me as opposed to someone else, but if they talk to someone else and could be talking to me, I feel lousy.Oh nevermind.  Can't think.  Must sleep and/or watch TV.  aaaaaaaaagh</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86333849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86333849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86333849' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86300231</id><published>2002-12-19T22:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-19T22:08:34.800-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Another good day!  I have nothing I have to do in school tomorrow...!  I have plenty for homework though.  But I decided just to stay up all night; who needs sleep anyway?  Not really though.  I'm already sleep-deprived.Natasha what happened to Decathlon tonight?  Was it at a different time, too?  It's ok, though.  I was sitting there bored and reading the sections I was meant to have already </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86300231'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86300231'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86300231' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86243896</id><published>2002-12-18T19:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-18T19:29:44.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What a good day I had!  I was so awake today - well, not so awake, but I was relatively awake.  Until Bio, that put me right to sleep!  Very much so, too; I stayed asleep pretty much til halfway through swim practice.  Then I got really hyper.  Despite the fact that when we were supposed to do five 200's with every other one being choice and every other one being drill which is a lot harder, I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86243896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86243896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86243896' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-86007132</id><published>2002-12-14T18:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-14T18:18:27.093-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I had an opportunity the other day to exercise my ability to do good.  But I chose not to, and I regret it.  All it would have taken was "Would you like some help?"  If they declined, I could have gone on my way feeling good for offering, and if they accepted, I would have made their lives just a tiny bit better by simply picking up a few bottles and putting them in the bins.  And I would feel </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86007132'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/86007132'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#86007132' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85915865</id><published>2002-12-12T17:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-12T17:51:58.946-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Let me tell you how changing schools has changed me.  At my old school, I had four friends, three in one group and one in another.  They were my best friends; I didn't even have "regular" friends, who weren't as close; everyone was either a (fairly close) acquaintance, or my best friend.  If I had continued to go there, I would not have reached out and made a lot of new friends.  Maybe a couple, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85915865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85915865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85915865' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85870873</id><published>2002-12-11T21:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-11T21:31:57.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I AM SUCH AN IDIOT!!!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85870873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85870873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85870873' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85864274</id><published>2002-12-11T19:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-11T19:02:20.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I see you guys are starting to take your revenge on me.  I guess it makes sense, I hardly ever read your blogs, so you should hardly ever read mine.  :-(  But I really appreciate all the comments and everythingI love my Twin!  :-D</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85864274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85864274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85864274' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85863952</id><published>2002-12-11T18:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-11T18:55:08.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I wrote this a couple days ago, and would have put it in my blog then, but my internet wasn't working too well.I really hate video games.  And cartoons.  It’s not the violence, like a lot of people say.  What gets me about them is how they all brainwash kids into the concept of “good versus evil” – it’s perfect; when there’s a war or something, the kids know they’re not the evil, so they must </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85863952'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85863952'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85863952' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85819409</id><published>2002-12-10T22:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-10T22:55:17.023-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A funny thing about me: I'm always thinking about one of two things - a really smashing topic for a Harvard entrance essay, and/or a gripping speech to give while campaigning to be president.  It's silly; it's not like I'll remember any of it, but I guess it's practice sort of.  Well, my most recent idea is for the essay.  No comments needed on this one, k?  I could write an essay about why my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85819409'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85819409'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85819409' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85817016</id><published>2002-12-10T22:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-10T22:07:51.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I really feel like an idiot today, and right now.  Shall I tell you why?  Well you don't have a choice; of course I'm going to tell you.Hm, let's see, where should I begin?  Well, I'm on the honor roll, but not distinguished, which I thought for sure I would be.  I'm upset about that, and then of course because I am who I am, I'm upset that I am upset about something so very insignificant.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85817016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85817016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85817016' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85703515</id><published>2002-12-08T20:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-08T20:58:48.233-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>And I just see myself like Willie Stark, as a naive puppet of a machine, idealistic and fighting, urging, trying to make people listen to the facts that bore them so much.  And I can see myself losing without ever knowing.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85703515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85703515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85703515' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3862032.post-85689721</id><published>2002-12-08T15:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2002-12-08T15:03:47.260-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"You come into a strange place, into a town like Mason City, and they don't seem real, but you know they are.  You know they went wading in the creek when they were kids, and when they were bigger they used to go out about sunset and lean on the back fence and look across the country at the sky and not know what was happening inside them or whether they were happy or sad, and when they got grown </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85689721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3862032/posts/default/85689721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://girlofstrongmind.blogspot.com/2002_12_01_archive.html#85689721' title=''/><author><name>g</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15782075237385884280</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
