alilablonde
This morning I woke up, the sun streaming through the slats of my window. It isn't always that way. The predictable stories of teenage angst are mine to manipulate. Their new shape emerges here, with a sixteen year old. I'm not predictable or even that spontaneous, I have my youth and thats what I write from. Sixteen years young. Seattle. Junior, hoping to survive.
get in touch: formspring
I hate it when people ask me if I’m going to row in college. What can I say; “I’m not good enough.” I hate admitting it because it means that I am aware and knowledgeable about my failures. It means I know I am not skinny enough to be lightweight, but never strong enough to be varsity. I don’t like the girls on the team enough because they don’t like me enough. I don’t fit in with my team; they’re all skinny, pretty strong girls. I will never be a good rower. And, I hate that I just do what people expect of me; failure.
My hair today
I’m practicing my french braiding so one day I can do something this fantastic
Typical.
Its one am and my parents are still at the sperka’s. cool guys. they’re probably wasted too except my mom who doesn’t drink anymore.
