Is anybody else really lonely when it comes to Valentine's Day? I know I am. I would really just love to lie on the couch, watching Netflix, and eating conversation hearts and Twizzlers, but I can't. I never can. I have chores to do, parents that will yell at me if I don't do them, a room to clean, and so many other things that I just do not want to do. I just wish that one day of each year, just one, I could be able to do, really just nothing. Only what I wanted to do, and when I wanted to do it. Now, you may be thinking, "Well what about your birthday?" No. That is not the way things work when my parents are involved. Sure, I can postpone my chores, and other things like that, but I still have to do them. I still have to do my homework. No, our house is not a total... whatever, I mean, we still get presents and stuff like that, but it's not really any reason to worship me or whatever. My parents really just see it as the day that I was born, and that's it. Unless I do something really amazing, like finding a cure to a disease, and then we would celebrate the date of my birth because, well, without it I wouldn't have done it. That sort of thing.
I wrote a story for a class assignment, and I thought it was pretty good. It is titled, "Don't Trust Squirrels". I thought you might want to read it, so...
Here it is!!
Don’t Trust Squirrels
“Wake up Rebecca!” Chico, my owner, cheers just inches from my face. “It’s time to see Silvana!”
Silvana is the name of my vet. I always dread the day that I see her. Thank goodness I only have to do it once a year.
I crawl out of bed, and over to my food bowl. Empty... I think. It’s never empty? I look at Chico and whimper.
“Oh, come on” She sighs, “Let’s go. You should know by now that you can’t eat before getting in my car, you’ll ruin the leather!”
Yes, I do, but I forget every time. I realize that it would be very bad if I ate before we left, but I really should be allowed to. She should know by now, I get cranky when I do not eat, and even more so when I have to be put in that stupid carrier. Therefore, a combination of the two are very bad.
I get in the car, and right away Chico turns the radio on- loudly. I try yipping in disapproval, but I think she got the wrong message from it, because she turns it up louder. I thought that was bad, but then Trumpets by Jason Derulo came on, and she started singing to it. I spend the rest of the ride in agony.
When we finally get to the clinic, we have to wait a long 20 minutes to go in. Once we do, Silvana greets me with, “Hello Rebecca! How’s my favourite patient doing?” I know she says this to everybody, so I growl at her. I don’t want to be here. Not now, not ever. She picks me up, and places me on the table. She starts rubbing my fur, opening my eyelids, shining a light in them, looking around my ears, and then she picks me up again and places me on a large piece of metal the humans call a “scale”. She looks at the front, then writes something on a piece of paper. After the examination is over, we quickly leave. I think Chico sees that I am not very happy.
Once we walk in the door, Chico starts yelling at me. “You were not very behaved today Rebecca!” She scowls at me as she grabs my leash, “Come on! Let’s go!” She puts my leash on, and we walk out the door.
We start walking down the block. It’s really quiet, which is nice. A few cars pass by, and no distractions. We are at the end of the block and are about to turn around the corner, when I see a small animal. It looks like a squirrel, light brown with white stripes. Instinct kicks in, and I find myself running. I hear Chico screaming, and a honking horn. I see a truck out of the corner of my eye, and the next thing I know I am laying helplessly on the ground.
I feel a sudden shake, and I see Chico crying. I hear her saying something, but I can’t quite make it out. All I get is, “You’ll be okay Rebecca. You’ll be okay.”
Silvana comes in to give me some water. What is she doing in my house? I wonder. I look around the room, and realize that this is not my house. We are in the clinic. I have a bandage wrapped around my middle. Silvana is talking, and I hear her say, “You can go home now.” I love those 5 words.
We get back, and Chico decides to take me for a walk. I look outside, and see a squirrel. I do not want to go. Chico can see this, and doesn't even open the door.
“Alright,” She says, let’s watch T.V.!” She turns on Dr. Phil, and I fall asleep.
Tell me what you think in the comments below! Thanks. =D
Boys are weird. Boys are crazy. Boys are gross. Boys are amazing.
God probably laughed his head off when he created the first 13 year old boy.
Boys are the most obnoxious creatures in the world.
I love writing stories. They are just so amazing. They are kind of like this blog, but different. I can do whatever I want with his blog, I can write stories too, but actually writing a story that is longer than 3 paragraphs is amazing. I can transform the whole thing in two pages. I can introduce a new world every chapter. I can write the story that I want, no matter how long, short, crazy, funny, or sad it is. I can do the things that I want. I can do whatever I want, because it is my story. I may not be even close to the best, but that doesn't matter. It is my story. I don't care what others say, because it does not matter. It is my story.
Last week, a fellow classmate of mine asked me why the title of my blog is "Bleh". I answered, and thought that the information might be useful to you as well.
When we first started these blogs, I wasn't at school like everyone else. I was at home, sick. Laying on the couch, watching Netflix. It would have been an awesome day, if it hadn't been for the running to the bathroom every couple of hours part. The next day when I came back, I asked a few people "What did I miss? What do we have for homework? What do I have to do?"
They all said different things: "Math, pg. 180, #3-5" "French, ask Sir for the worksheet we did" "Reading book- Read chapter 5." But they all said one significant detail of the homework from that day: "Blogs".
I was absolutely befuddled. "Blogs?" I thought, "What blogs?"
I asked a friend, and she said "We all started making blogs." I asked her how, and she laughed and said "With the blogger app on Google!"
None of this made any sense to me, mind you. I said to my friend that sits next to me, "Okay dude. I'm lost. Can you help me out with this blog thing?" So, he helped me find the blogger app, and voila! I clicked it, and started making it.
Now, we come to "Bleh".
(This part is really simple)
I really didn't want to start this blog, but I had no choice. I was having a bad day, and I just felt... bleh. So, that's what I named it. How I was feeling. But, after a while, I started to like the blog, and blogging itself. I've only had this a few months, and I already have about 20 posts, and over 500 page-views. I guess I just kept the title, because it reminded me how I felt. It's also kind of funny, and it goes with the theme of this blog. (Or lack thereof!)
I went to see the killers last night, live in concert with the rest of my grade 8 class. It was absolutely exhilarating! I didn't have the best seats though, but I didn't really care much. I was not about to spend $400 on tickets that I'm only going to use once. I was all the way in the back, so I wouldn't have been able to see anything if it hadn't been for the socket-burning spotlights! Seriously, how do they even see their own feet in that blinding light?! And the sound, it was SO loud! I could actually feel it! I was sitting next to my friend Moira G., and she kept complaining to me that it was too loud for her, that she couldn't even hear herself breathe! My other friend, Tammy L. was also sitting next to me, and she was saying that it wasn't too bad. Moira leaned over me and yelled, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" The two of them started having a debate across me, shouting. I, of course, had to go to the bathroom. I got up, and accidentally hit both of them. I apologized, and told them that they "had better be finished by the time I get back!" As I was walking, There were so many people yelling at me to get out of their way so they could see them, but I just ignored it. It took me 10 minutes to get out of the crowd of people, and then I had to go looking for the bathroom. I had noticed that it had become a lot cooler, that I was sweating before. Now it was fine. I like it like this. I finally found the bathroom, after another 10 minutes. After I finished my... business, I walked back in the direction that I came from my seat. I felt nice and cool, and then once I walked into the seating area, I felt a rush of hot air. I started sweating, and I really didn't like it. I took a few steps back, and it felt cool again. I could still see the band, and I knew where the rest of the class was, so I decided to stay. Once they finished up, and everyone started to leave, I walked in and ran to find the rest of my class. I got a bit lost in the crowd, and I saw my teacher walking out with the rest of the class. He probably hadn't noticed that I was gone, which I guess was a good thing. I ran out the nearest exit, not even trying to chase them. I saw a few exit signs and direction arrows, and they led me outside. I walked out the doors, and there were just a bunch of cars and some people leaving. I was at the back. I turned right, and started running, because it seemed like the shorter side. I got to the front, and I saw a big yellow bus- all the way at the other end. I sprinted, which isn't the best thing for my asthma. I finally got there, just as they were walking onto the bus. I was panting, and wheezing, and I could barely breathe. I didn't bring my inhaler, because I wasn't planning on running when we were here. But I was handed a water bottle, I started breathing slower, and I was okay. They did attendance to make sure we were all there, and we left. My teacher still does not know to this day, and I wish to keep it like that.