<?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-1816297651263285773</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:24:02.285-07:00</updated><title type='text'>when i close my eyes</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-3682720864586831845</id><published>2008-08-03T06:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-03T06:28:25.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was at school, only all the rooms were dark and cold, like the small gym without any lights on.  I was about to go to P.E, and Nicole I. was in the locker room with me.  She reached into my locker and took out a gun, which I kept in there for self defense.  Then she opened it and took out a colorful spinning thing, which was somehow crucial for the gun to work properly, and left.  I held the gun gingerly and went after her, but when I got to the gym, everyone laughed at me and pulled out their own guns, which were a lot more advanced than mine.  We watched a movie of our middle school years on a big screen at one end of the gym, and then it was time to go to our next class.  I was walking with Freddie, carrying my clarinet, and we went to the theater, where Mr. N was waiting.  Inside the building was different than it is in real life; instead of rows and rows of chairs, there were a lot of tall machines scattered throughout a large, flat room.  The walls were smooth and concrete and the floor was dark blue carpet.  Mr. N said he hoped we had been practicing since he last saw us in middle school, because he needed us to record some jazz songs for his band.  He got out his trumpet and Freddie got her flute and I got my clarinet and we sat in grey plastic chairs in front of a computer screen in the dark room and played and recorded music.  I was very nervous because I'd never seen the music before and for some reason kept messing up while I was sightreading it.  Then halfway through the third song, my clarinet mouthpiece broke in half; the tip completely cracked off.  I told them I could record anymore because my mouthpiece was broken, packed up, and went home.  When I got there, my mother was changing the sheets on her bed.  I held up a copy of the CD I had just recorded at school and said, "Oh, today I recorded some music with Jennifer and Mr. N, want to hear it?"  She was in a very good mood and said, "Okay, definitely!" with a huge grin on her face.  While I was putting on the CD, I said, "By the way, my mouthpiece broke in half today; we can still exchange it because of the 30-day exchange policy, right?" And she said that we could, and that the mouthpiece broke proved how bad the company that made it was, and even if it had been more than 30 days, we should be able to return it anyway.  Then the music from the CD came on and it was very nice, but more rock than jazz.  I could hear Freddie's flute, playing amazing, beautifully rich low notes, and there was a male voice singing.  At first I thought there were background vocals, but then I realized it was Mr. N's trumpet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-3682720864586831845?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/3682720864586831845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=3682720864586831845' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/3682720864586831845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/3682720864586831845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-was-at-school-only-all-rooms-were.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-8571969217152789534</id><published>2008-05-15T00:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-19T00:43:02.264-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was StarFox, except it was a new one, for Wii. I cleared the first level easily; it was much like the flying in a spaceship and shooting things of the first StarFox game. For the second level, I had to play a black bunny with a gun and I had to shoot all these robots and weird critters on a desert planet. And then there was this cave and a two-year-old kid with dirty blond, curly hair, wearing a diaper.  I didn't want to shoot him, but I knew that he was inherently evil and that I had to, as part of my grand mission.  I kept shooting him, but nothing was happening.  At first, I thought I kept missing and thought, "Damn my horrible aim!" but then I had him cornered on his back and I placed the gun directly against his chest and pulled the trigger, and he just seemed to absorb the bullet gently without feeling anything.  Then all of a sudden, I &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; the baby, and I had to explain to the crazy lady with the gun how I was a special clone baby and I had a hundred lives so she would run out of bullets before anything happened to me.  She said then she had to take me with her, to make sure I didn't carry out any evil plots to take over the universe if she left me here in the cave.  We started getting ready to leave, packing up and stuff.  Before we left, she asked me if I wanted her to cut my hair (it was long).  I said okay, and I could feel the cold blades of the metal scissors against my neck.  I felt vaguely scared that she might cut into my skin, but she only snipped carefully at the bottom of my hair.  I also had a long ponytail, high up on my head.  She asked me if she could take out the ponytail and cut that as well, since boys ought to have short hair, but I emphatically refused.  I told her that I shared my body with a girl, my twin sister, and my father, the one who made me, said that girls had to have long hair.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-8571969217152789534?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/8571969217152789534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=8571969217152789534' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/8571969217152789534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/8571969217152789534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-was-starfox-except-it-was-new-one-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-2045026626953764651</id><published>2007-10-29T19:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T19:14:42.333-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>My sister and I were in trouble with NHS, who wanted to hunt us down and kill us, so we went into hiding.  We hid at a movie theater, where it was dark, but then we discovered that there were spies for NHS there, so we left.  When we walked into the parking lot of the movie theater, Alex Yam and his dad were sitting in a big van with the lights on (it was nighttime) but we didn't stop to say hi.  We roamed around for a long time, and had to scrounge for food and hide from various NHS members, some of whom were only 10 years old.  After we had wandered around the city for a long time, hiding both on the ground behind buildings on the bridges that criss-crossed through the sky, we went to hide in a different movie theater.  There was a really long line that stretched through the lobby, so we sat on the floor with everyone else and waited for them to start letting people in.  Then, however, NHS members started standing up, so we could see them.  We knew it was them because they were wearing dark masks, capes, and shiny purple vinyl cowboy hats.  I whispered to my sister that all the purple cowboys were in NHS, and we slunk out through the back door.  Alex Yam and his dad were sitting in a big van in the parking lot with the lights on, and this time we decided to ask for a ride.  Alex's dad chuckled about how much trouble we were in, and then gave us a lift to San Francisco.  When we got out of the car, it was daytime.  I left my sister in front of a tall building and told her that we should split up to throw them off, and that I would meet her in the back of the building after going around the opposite way.  However, this soon proved to be impossible, as I met an NHS member while I was going around.  I didn't want to lead him right to my sister, so I went a different way.  I climbed up the building and jumped around the city until I ended up in a parking garage.  The whole structure was made of a million metal rods.  I climbed around while remembering obituaries I had read of people whom NHS had killed.  There was one boy who was a tropical bird, and a girl who was an elephant.  Then I was shot by the NHS member and as I fell to the floor, I thought, "Wow, I'm so heavy."  Then my soul lifted out of my body and I went to read my obituary.  I realized that I was a panther, and the picture of me that they used was one of my bloody paw.  They commented that my paw was really big and heavy, but since I was dead, it was easy to squish.  From the obituary, I also learned that I had been 82 years old when I died.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-2045026626953764651?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/2045026626953764651/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=2045026626953764651' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2045026626953764651'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2045026626953764651'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2007/10/my-sister-and-i-were-in-trouble-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-2813155598720208466</id><published>2007-09-18T20:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-18T21:01:33.304-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I was attending a boarding school by the sea, and me and some of my friends realized that the headmistress was evil and wanted to kill us all, so I decapitated her.  Then her head and body started bouncing along behind me and she demanded that I buy her a Disney balloon with yellow lights inside, so I ran into the shop connected to the school.  My dad was waiting for me there, so I told him I need a Disney balloon with yellow lights, and we started looking through the ones they had on the shelf.  Most of them had either blue or pink lights, and then the last one had a lot of rosy lights, but also a tiny bit of yellow, so I got it.  I told my dad to give it to the headmistress, and then I ran out the door because I knew she would want to kill me and I had to run away.  Outside, it was raining, so I clambered over the rocks and got a little wet from the crashing waves.  I climbed around on the cliffs to hide from the evil headmistress.  A few minutes later, I heard her loud, annoying voice and peered out cautiously from behind a rocky wall.  Her servant was driving her around on a machine that climbed around on the cliff walls, while she complained loudly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-2813155598720208466?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/2813155598720208466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=2813155598720208466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2813155598720208466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2813155598720208466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-was-attending-boarding-school-by-sea.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-4133078451230157151</id><published>2006-12-30T09:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T12:50:50.331-08:00</updated><title type='text'>boarding school with royal</title><content type='html'>Something happened to my parents while I was at a boarding school, so I had to leave and live with foster parents instead. They were really nice to me and gave me lots of food and clothes and toys, and they were very accepting of my mental disorders, but they wouldn't let me see Marcus, who I called Royal, even though he went to the boarding school, which was only a couple of doors down.  Royal would hang around outside so he could say hi to me when I passed by.  One day, after coming home from dinner at a fancy restaurant, my foster parents said that they had to go to the store really quick, so I decided to run down and visit Royal.  I had to go to the bathroom first though, and my foster parents came back a lot sooner than I had expected. They weren't even gone five minutes.  I was still in the bathroom when they got back, and all of a sudden I was a afraid they wouldn't know where I was, and that they would assume Royal had kidnapped me and go and hurt him.  I tried to call out to them, but I lost my voice and could only croak quietly.  I knocked on the wall and tried to make a lot of noise.  They found me just as I was coming out of the bathroom.  I croacked out, "Can't...talk," and they got all worried about me and put me to bed.  Then one day the world was ending, so my foster parents weren't home.  I ran to the boarding school and asked this girl who was standing outside if she knew where Royal was.  The girl, who was smoking a cigarette, scowled at me and said, "Yes, but why do you call him Royal? It's so lame; no one calls him that anymore." I said, "Oh, I'm not sure...I never really thought about it before. I guess I could call him Marcus." I found him in the kitchen and smiled, hugged me, and gave me some turnips. We ran outside together.  We found ourselves on a farm.  The sky was filled with fire and there were piglets and really shiny red apples running every which way. There was no one around, so Marcus told me to hide behind a rusty old tractor and went off to get help.  After a while, he wasn't back yet, so I took my sack of turnips and left to find him.  I walked along a dusty old path with a wooden fence next to it. Everything was brown except the piglets and the apples, and the sky was orange, yellow, and red.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-4133078451230157151?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/4133078451230157151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=4133078451230157151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/4133078451230157151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/4133078451230157151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/boarding-school-with-royal.html' title='boarding school with royal'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-127674093097717034</id><published>2006-12-29T05:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T12:44:14.637-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a dream with dolls and duvvy</title><content type='html'>Duvvy and I sold dolls and I was sitting on the floor writing down all the parts we had in stock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-127674093097717034?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/127674093097717034/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=127674093097717034' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/127674093097717034'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/127674093097717034'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/dream-with-dolls-and-duvvy.html' title='a dream with dolls and duvvy'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-6446650623544108856</id><published>2006-12-28T05:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T12:44:40.995-08:00</updated><title type='text'>alternate school</title><content type='html'>Went through daily life, but it was slightly different.  I went to a different school, although I still had Roster, Henehan, and Poole sensei.  Some events I remember clearly: &lt;br /&gt;1) I was in AP Euro and Ms. Henehan was asking random people if they brought stuff to write Christmas cards for the Adopt-a-family with.  She asked me and I said no, so she said she would adjust my grade and it would probably come down to an F. After class, I showed her a silver Sharpie and a charcoal pencil and she said it was good and she'd give me 100% for the assignment.  She especially liked the charcoal pencil. &lt;br /&gt;2) I was going to Japanese with one of my friends and Nathan Tong entered the classroom right in front of me.  I said goodbye to my friend and went inside and Poole Sensei was there, but we were all in a Japanese store.  I talked to Michelle about backpacks because there was a shelf full of little orange backpacks.  She said that if my back hurts, I should let my backpack down a little.  I said that it was already the lowest it would go.  She said, "Well in that case, pull it up more." I said, "I can't. It's broken, so it just slides back down." Then I decided to buy something for my mom and my sister for Christmas.  After winter break, I came to Japanese again.  We were still in the store, and I looked at a shelf full of tiny porcelain kitties but didn't buy anything. &lt;br /&gt;3) I was talking about shoes in chem with Elizabeth and one other girl.  When class ended and we came out, me and Elizabeth kept talking about shoes.  She said she didn't see the point of shoes with ribbons that wrap around your ankles and I said that I liked them, but I didn't wear them because I wouldn't want to get them dirty at school.&lt;br /&gt;4) I was walking home from T.H.E. with my mom.  When we passed by Blackhawk, she said to me, "I realized that people can't really see your computer from outside the house by looking through your bedroom window, so I think I should get you a new one." I was happy, if a bit confused.  Then Mother said, "I have to talk to your father about it first though, but he's in China right now."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-6446650623544108856?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/6446650623544108856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=6446650623544108856' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6446650623544108856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6446650623544108856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/alternate-school.html' title='alternate school'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-2344728101663279955</id><published>2006-12-24T09:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-30T12:36:23.674-08:00</updated><title type='text'>his poodle wife</title><content type='html'>I was telling my friends about my mother's new haircut, and how my dad called my mom his "beautiful poodle wife" when he first saw it, but everyone stopped listening before I got to the part about the "beautiful poodle wife." I think this took place in a supermarket for some reason.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-2344728101663279955?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/2344728101663279955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=2344728101663279955' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2344728101663279955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2344728101663279955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/his-poodle-wife.html' title='his poodle wife'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-1294677825967620311</id><published>2006-12-18T04:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T22:46:24.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I went to school really tired, so in badminton, we had two roll calls and for the second one I was supposed to sit behind Johns, but I thought, "Wait, that's for the first one," and I went to sit in the S's because I sounded out my last name in my head and spelled it wrong.  I got marked absent because the teacher didn't see me in my normal spot, so I had to explain what happened in front of the whole class and they all laughed at me. Kaity and Elizabeth were in my class, so afterwards I told them about it in more detail. And I'm pretty sure I mentioned something about how I wish Kevin Wu would stop making fun of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-1294677825967620311?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/1294677825967620311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=1294677825967620311' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/1294677825967620311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/1294677825967620311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/i-went-to-school-really-tired-so-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-1598419096577290453</id><published>2006-12-18T04:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T22:44:25.892-08:00</updated><title type='text'>only remember a bit of this one</title><content type='html'>I was talking to two kids (gender? age?) and we were comparing stuff like who has the better shoes, hair, house, pets, car, etc.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-1598419096577290453?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/1598419096577290453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=1598419096577290453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/1598419096577290453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/1598419096577290453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/only-remember-bit-of-this-one.html' title='only remember a bit of this one'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-6238561683779407736</id><published>2006-12-16T11:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T22:41:55.677-08:00</updated><title type='text'>giant bug in bathroom</title><content type='html'>A giant bug was trying to eat my butt.  It was about the size of my fist and had a hard, shiny brownish shell.  As I tried to shoo it away, I vaguely recalled my dad warning me about "this fairly large bug in the bathroom."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-6238561683779407736?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/6238561683779407736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=6238561683779407736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6238561683779407736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6238561683779407736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/giant-bug-in-bathroom.html' title='giant bug in bathroom'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-6843341012090242175</id><published>2006-12-16T05:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T22:40:43.792-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Not sure about order of events (again).  Mother, Erin and I were going through the countryside looking for a place to live.  We saw this mansion and wanted to see if there was already someone living there. We were standing at the foot of a hill with very green grass growing all around under a huge, blackened tree. I think I threw a rock at it (I'm not sure), and rocks started coming back at us.  We tried to dodge them because they were huge, about a foot in diameter.  Then we kept going and came to a place in a valley.  The grass was yellow but there were the same black tress, only these were smaller.  There was one street with a few old-looking wooden buildings on each side. We ate soba at a restaurant and went in the bathroom of the restaurant to change.  I finished changing first and went to my sister's stall, where she was upset about something having to do with her clothes or the bathroom or something, and my mom told her, "Just put it on, you have no choice!" After we had changed, we left and continued along a small path leading away from that one street for a while until we got to this small one-room cottage, where I lived with my new dream family.  It was a grandma, older sister, and a dad.  My older sister had some kind of disease, like cancer or something and was dying, so my family didn't pay much attention to me.  My sister's friend came over and we all hung out, although her friend didn't like me very much, I think.  When my sister died, we went to her funeral in the little town in the valley where I'd eaten soba.  I saw her friend there and she saw me too.  She said, "You're Toketsu's siter, aren't you? I'm sorry about what happened." Later, I went back to our cottage.  There were now a few other houses around...I don't remember what happened here, but it led to me returning to my real life.  The rest of the dream took place at school.  It started at my middle school, where I went to my first class after talking to Kaity and Ferdy, who were also returning from somewhere.  I don't remember what class it was, but it was in Mr. Wolf's room (weird, as I've never had Mr. Wolf and only been in his classroom once), and the teacher talked to me about making up work I'd missed while I was away.  Then I sat down for class and started doing math homework.  I did two lessons, I think.  My next class was math with Mr. Salvi.  He welcomed me back and I told him that I was going to make up the work I'd missed.  I told him I'd already done some and handed him the math homework I'd done in my previous class.  He just smiled creepily at me and kind of freaked me out.  Then I went to the rest of my classes. The next day, I was in math again and Mr. Salvi smiled creepily some more.  After that, I was suddenly at Monte Vista instead, heading towards the gym.  I came from the side nearest to the science building.  I met Kaity on the way and asked her if we were supposed to just go in (the gym).  She shrugged and said something to the effect of "I don't know, but we can try."  We tried the door and it was unlocked, so we went in.  Inside, a few boys, including James McCrorcy, were sitting on top of the bleachers on the right of the gym.  A male P.E. teacher I don't recognize was there, and a couple of boys were climbing up a rope and a couple more were rockclimbing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-6843341012090242175?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/6843341012090242175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=6843341012090242175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6843341012090242175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6843341012090242175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/not-sure-about-order-of-events-again.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-8437481641668705576</id><published>2006-12-15T05:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-18T22:20:47.791-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the Shire?</title><content type='html'>Not sure about order of events.  I was at some sort of summer camp.  Freddie was there.  We had a group activity where everyone sat in a circle.  There was one guy there who stood out to me.  He looked about my age or a year or so older and he kept his arms crossed and frowned and was pretty quiet.  At night, the director told us to go home, so we followed the assistant director, who led us through these corridors and out of the building.  Once outside, he led us around the building to try to find a place where our parents could pick us up.  Me and Freddie went the wrong way and found that the way was blocked because of a low wall running in a strange pattern around the building, like a maze or something, sort of.  So we ran back to catch up.  The next day, we were outside in a place that reminded me of the Shire in Lord of the Rings.  People were dressed in weird leathery armor.  Freddie, the quiet boy, and me got captured and were in this cage-on-a-stick thing with some other men.  There were also two more cages in front of us.  The people who captured us ate and bathed below us.  There was a river nearby, so we (the people in cages) moved around a lot to make the cages fall and roll into the river.  Then we came out through the spaces between the bars and swam away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-8437481641668705576?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/8437481641668705576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=8437481641668705576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/8437481641668705576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/8437481641668705576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/shire.html' title='the Shire?'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-2739602686309377627</id><published>2006-12-11T06:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-11T21:34:29.904-08:00</updated><title type='text'>YPSO</title><content type='html'>Dad was asking Erin if she'd practiced her part for YPSO, and she got mad and started talking back, which made Dad mad as well.  He went off intot his long rant about how she was so talented and so good at playing the drums, but she never applied herself.  He said that obviously, she was good, beacuse she was the youngest one in YPSO, and also DVMS had asked her to come play in their jazz band when she was only in fifth grade.  I said, "Really? They did? I didn't know that," and my dad replied, "Well yeah, why do you think she had to leave school early and go over there every day?" Was thinking this over when I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-2739602686309377627?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/2739602686309377627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=2739602686309377627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2739602686309377627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2739602686309377627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/ypso.html' title='YPSO'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-5714341232153396953</id><published>2006-12-09T09:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T18:24:02.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>is Justin Lee a crossdresser?</title><content type='html'>I was standing in my bedroom and Justin Lee, who lived downstairs from me in my dream, came in and asked if he could "pick up" some of my clothes.  I said sure and opened my closet.  I handed him two T-shirts and a short grey pleated skirt.  The next day, he came back and informed me that his mother had asked him to come pick up six more articles of clothing.  I opened my closet and decided to let him have three T-shirts and three hoodies.  I was getting them out when I realized that he was taking all my clothes and I would soon have nothing to wear, so I was going to ask him what I'd get in return, but then my alarm clock went off and I woke up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-5714341232153396953?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/5714341232153396953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=5714341232153396953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/5714341232153396953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/5714341232153396953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/is-justin-lee-crossdresser.html' title='is Justin Lee a crossdresser?'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-4288387208275341363</id><published>2006-12-09T06:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T18:18:46.907-08:00</updated><title type='text'>broken-doll story</title><content type='html'>Was playing with ball-jointed dolls, but they were all actually alive.  Mine was a boy named P.  One of my long-lost friends was visiting and left her bjd with me as well.  Hers was also male, but wasn't "activated" yet; it was still asleep and had no hair yet. His name was Adam.  When he woke up, he became best friends with my doll.  I think they were about eight or nine years old. Mine was older, but Adam seemed younger because he was childishly shy.  My friend took him back with her when she left, but P stowed away in someone's suitcase and caught a bus to find Adam.  Everyone was really happy and they all had a party.  Then P and Adam were left alone in the doll crate at my house, except it wasn't like my house in real life, and it was night time.  At this point, I was watching from P's point of view, and I realized that Adam was injured.  He slept a lot and was balding. Now they were both grown-up, but P was about 18 and Adam was older.  POV switched back and I snuck downstairs and brought all the dolls and clothes upstairs to play with.  Then i realized that I'd left one of the wigs downstairs, so I went back down to get it.  While I was downstairs, I realized that my parents hadn't gone to bed yet and were awake in their own room.  By the time I got back upstairs (we had a huge house with corridors and a spiral staircase), my parents had found the dolls and packed them up in crates.  They told me I wasn't allowed to play with dolls anymore.  Then I was in P's POV again.  Now I was 12 and Adam was 14.  Adam was sleeping and had worms coming out of his stomach, so P played with two little kid dolls, who were about five or six.  While he was talking to them, Adam disappeared.  Later, P (me) took the kids and found Adam, who was awake but evil or crazy.  He had red patches on his body where his skin had rotted away and wasn't wearing any clothes or hair.  I was sad but tried to take care  of Adam anyway.  I heard that the world was ending, so I took Adam and the kids and piled them all into a van and drove to this place where people were boarding spaceships that would take them away from the dying earth.  We were all normal human-sized now, and I was an adult, but Adam was now about the same age as the kids.  At the airport, you had to drive past secrutiy booths in order to bard.  They were all scattered along the path, which was a glowy silver line that branched out into hundreds of lines.  Some booths you could just drive by, but some you had to stop, and they'd check your ID, etc. Since we were originally dolls and had no real identity, we obviously couldn't stop.  We tried to take paths that didn't have booths where you had to stop and register.  The speed limit was 25 mph, but we were going 55  to 60, so the security guys who were sitting in folding chairs outside along the paths got up and started yelling and chasing us.  They all looked the same, lie clones.  After we finally got onto the space ship, I left Adam and the kids in a small, dark room on the bottom floor (the space ship was round and had several stories). I went to find this woman, who was a former lover of P's. Adam corrupted the kids and they went throughout the spaceship, climbing around and making people angry.  I met up with them and the security people burst into the spaceship and started chasing us.  Some stuff happened and we got separated...I don't know where the kids went, but Adam died; I don'tk now if it was because of the sickness or because someone shot him.  He died an eight-year kid with white-blonde hair, no clothes, and red patches of rotted skin, laughing maniacally.  I didn't have time to be sad though, because the woman I had been looking for found me, but she was different.  She was a heavily modified BJD.  She was huge; she took up the entire entranceway of the spaceship, which was like a ballroom that was several stories high.  She was just a strangely shaped head floating hands, except that she had ten hands connected together where normal floating heads only have one.  She scooped me up and said something along the lines of "did you really think you could get rid of me that easily?"  I said, "You look...different."  She laughed and said yes, she'd started getting all these modifications, and held up the hand closest to where your thumb would be and said, "Look, I got this one especially for you."  I could see a faint pink line around the wrist where the hand had been attached.  Then she transformed and became a normal woman standing on the floor with me and all her hands fell off and grew faces and swarmed around us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-4288387208275341363?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/4288387208275341363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=4288387208275341363' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/4288387208275341363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/4288387208275341363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/broken-doll-story.html' title='broken-doll story'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-918718798758077351</id><published>2006-12-08T06:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T07:02:01.019-08:00</updated><title type='text'>that house</title><content type='html'>I was a girl about my age and I was staying in a really big house with my cousins.  The only one I know in real life was Vicki.  One of the cousins was a girl who was either the same age as me or a bit older, but she acted much older.  She was always very serious and had long dark hair.  Her skin was a dark yellowy tanned color, but I couldn't tell if it was really that dark or if it was just a shadow.  At one point, we were talking about my parrot, Mika or something.  One of us said, "Aww, but Mika's been so &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;good&lt;/span&gt; lately!" The parrot stood on a golden stand by the wall in my mom's room. It might also have been an attic.  Anyway, it had sliding mirrors, dim lighting, and reminded me of my mother's room in real life.  The rest of the house was very interesting.  There were a lot of trick staircases, windows, etc.  Vicki, me, and some of my other cousins in the dream explored the house.  It had a garden.  Somehow, the whole place seemed dark and forboding, or sick and twisted and yellowed, even though bright light was coming in through the windows.  We played games like hide-and-seek and went through the house.  If there were any adults, I didn't pay them much attention.  There was a plot or something strange and supernatural, but I don't remember what it was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-918718798758077351?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/918718798758077351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=918718798758077351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/918718798758077351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/918718798758077351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/that-house.html' title='that house'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-2540713501353014968</id><published>2006-12-07T06:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T06:58:01.045-08:00</updated><title type='text'>youth-blood</title><content type='html'>I remember that I was a prince and some other main characters were my father the king, a princess I loved, and a fortune-teller woman.  I went on some kind of adventure with the princess, but lost her.  A memorable scene: I was in a bookstore and a lot of little kids were there to hear the fortune teller tell them a story.  The fortune-teller told me that I was stupid for not following the princess, whom she referred to as "your youth-blood," which meant something like "soulmate."  The bookstore had bright red carpet and little round wooden tables with stacks of books on them.  Also, a little puppet show theater.  And gold stars everywhere as decorations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-2540713501353014968?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/2540713501353014968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=2540713501353014968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2540713501353014968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/2540713501353014968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/youth-blood.html' title='youth-blood'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-6665867657199450906</id><published>2006-12-06T05:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-06T20:32:58.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Woke up feeling disoriented.  Did not remember any details of my dream.  Felt surroundedby people. A scene in my head: lots of rowdy kids in a classroom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-6665867657199450906?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/6665867657199450906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=6665867657199450906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6665867657199450906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/6665867657199450906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/woke-up-feeling-disoriented.html' title=''/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-3907894186832045600</id><published>2006-12-03T06:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-09T06:55:11.345-08:00</updated><title type='text'>things were alright again.</title><content type='html'>It was summer, and my  mother wanted me to go to school in San Diego.  I am unsure as to whether it was going to be just for summer or for the normal school year as well.  My friends, including Kaity, Vicki, and Michelle, were all sad, so they planned a going-away party for me.  We were at Vicki's house, sitting at her kitchen table, either planning the party or doing homework, except I wasn't really focusing because I was going to San Diego the next day to se what the school was like.  Then when I was about to leave for San Diego, I saw Marcus and went to say goodbye to him.  We were in a Japanese-style room, and it was very quiet.  There was a bit of greyish light filtering in through the paper doors and windows.  Marcus and I were talking quietly, and I mentioned that Jeff Mitchell, who was my friend in the dream, had said that we had to spend a lot of time together when I came home to visit.  Marcus said, "Actually, I don't like the idea of you spending time with him," and I told him that it was okay because I liked him, not Jeff.  He said, "Oh, good."  Then we talked about what we were going to do when I got back.  In San Diego, I arrived at the school I was going to go to and they took me to a classroom and had me sit at a desk at the side of the classroom.  During the lecture, I wasn't paying very much attention.  I was thinking about Marcus, and I'm not sure if I was imagining a conversation with him or communicating with him telepathically.  Anyway, it seemed very real.  Then, towards the end of the lecture, I realized that I had Japanese homework, and I told Marcus so.  We started joking about silly things I could write on my homework.  Near the end of the class, the teacher put up a large world map on the board and told everyone to draw it.  By now, I'd stopped talking to Marcus.  I just sat there while the class colored.  Then I went to my normal Japanese class, where I worked with Stephanie Ho because I had no idea what was going on and she was the only person who would talk to me.  Everyone was sitting anywhere they wanted in the classroom, doing a worksheet the teacher had handed out during a previous class. I remembered talking about the worksheet with Marcus, but realized that I either had lost mine or had never gotten one.  I asked for a new copy, but by the time I got it, everyone else was already halfway done, so I sat next to Stephanie Ho and asked her what to do on the worksheet, which I didn't understand at all.  Then we sat in table groups.  My group treated me like a baby, but I didn't mind.  I pretended not to notice and acted even more childish.  Then I was walking to Safeway from Michelle's house to meet my friends for the going-away party.  When I got there, Kaity, Michell, Vicki, and either Kevin or Jeff Topor were already there.  It was after sunset but not completely dark yet, and they were just standing there, talking and laughing.  They didn't really say anything to me.  Then we were inside somewhere; I'm not sure where.  Some more people showed up: Elizabeth, Jeff Mitchell, and Marcus, among others.  There was a large crowd of people I either didn't know or wasn't friends with.  When I saw Marcus, I was very excited and tried to run to him, but people kept getting in my way.  A few people noticed me and started laughing at me.  To make fun of me, they put on girly voices and went up to Marcus, saying things like, "Oh, Marcus! You're here!" Jeff Mitchell picked Marcus up; I'm not sure why.  Then I finally got to him and keapt up to hug him around the neck and kiss him on the cheek.  Kaity, Elizabeth, etc. came over and said, "I didn't realize you guys were dating!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The classroom in San diego was very bright, but the rest of the dream took place just before the sun rose and just after it set, when it was dim and grey, but not completely dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up, someone was yelling "Yokatta!" ('good' in Japanese) in slow motion, but I'm not sure if that was part of my dream or just my own response to the alarm clock.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-3907894186832045600?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/3907894186832045600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=3907894186832045600' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/3907894186832045600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/3907894186832045600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/things-were-alright-again.html' title='things were alright again.'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1816297651263285773.post-134407995680043557</id><published>2006-12-02T05:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-04T03:04:27.617-08:00</updated><title type='text'>a family in the sky</title><content type='html'>A family in the sky, the mother grew bored and left. The father had no idea how to take care of his kids, so the eldest daughter (me, but didn't look like me) took him and her siblings (don't remember how many, but they were all a lot younger than her) and flew to a shopping mall.  Saw Roger Zelazny's name somewhere, but then it changed to Richard something.  Running towards a circular building in the sky...Met up with the mother, who flew them back to their home in the sky, which now resembled a runway with walls around it.  At this point, someone had purple feathers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1816297651263285773-134407995680043557?l=closertothestars.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/feeds/134407995680043557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1816297651263285773&amp;postID=134407995680043557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/134407995680043557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1816297651263285773/posts/default/134407995680043557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://closertothestars.blogspot.com/2006/12/family-in-sky.html' title='a family in the sky'/><author><name>Skudge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15621886461076241586</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><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
