I like to think I have a good imagination. People tell me that my writing is good, and descriptive, almost as though I know exactly how the characters are feeling because I've felt that way myself. Usually, I have never experienced the feelings I'm writing about. I don't know what it's like to lose someone I was very close to. I don't know what it's like, or what could drive someone to contemplate suicide. But there is a word for what I experience, and that word is Empathy.

Empathy - the power of understanding and imaginatively entering into another person's feelings.

I may be an empathetic person. But I will never be able to imagine what it must have been like to experience the events that took place on 9/11 nine years ago. I was little more than a child at the time, about nine years old, so I remember only bits and pieces of that day. But now that I've grown up a bit, my heart aches for the families who lost loved ones and friends that day.

I can't imagine what it must have been like, what it must still be like...

We ought to continue praying for them, as well as for our soldiers and their families as well. So many people have sacrificed so much in order to protect innocents like me, and you, Reader. Their sacrifices should never go unnoticed.

- Aimee

The world around me is silent, and still, as it is every time the clock strikes five in the morning. All the color has been drained away by the lack of light. Everything is gray, the only distinction between objects made by the different shades of gray they display in the barely distinguishable light. I sit silently in bed, my head resting back against the wall behind me. Outside, I can hear the mockingbird I have come to recognize singing his heart out. A thought springs to mind, and it makes my lips twitch upward in a smile.

Why does a mockingbird sing at such odd times of the day? Is it because he's stayed up too late and has gone slightly crazy? Or did he just wake up, ready to tell the world that he's starting a new day?

I'm inclined to think that it's the latter.

- Aimee

This story isn’t like other stories. It doesn’t start with ‘once upon a time’. The ending is not a ‘happily ever after’. If you want to hear a story like that, I suggest you rent a Disney film. You will find very little to cause happiness in this story, unless you’re the sort of person who enjoys subterfuge, betrayal, torture and double-agents. If that sort of thing entertains you, then feel free to skip this introduction and get on with the story.

For those of you who are still reading this, I feel obligated to offer some explanation for the story you are about to read.

The events recorded in this story are true. They really happened, to me, and to others. They caused me much strife, and it has taken me years to come to terms with it enough to attempt putting them into writing. During the course of the events I kept a sketchy, sporadic journal. I have included some of my journal entries, although only a few were written in a way that others would understand.

Without further ado, I end my ramblings and leave you to examine my past.

Sincerely,
A shattered soul.

This is something I found a while back in one of my notebooks. I barely remember writing it, and I haven't the foggiest idea what the inspiration behind it was. Personally, I think it's always fun to find an old piece of writing you had forgotten about. I may use this snippet as the beginning of a book some day, for all I know. But until I decide what to use it for, it remains exactly what it is: A snippet. A forgotten piece of writing with no meaning, no context, and no remaining inspiration.

This was accompanied by a poem, which I shared the other day. Sometimes I get into inspired moods, and I just have to write. I wrote five poems in one morning once. Other times I go days or weeks without writing a thing. Those times are always very frustrating for me.

On a side note, I've been listening to Yiruma, a very talented Korean pianist, for the last half hour or so. I just learned one of his songs on piano recently, but listening to his music makes me feel inadequate. I feel like I should be writing music like his. After playing piano for thirteen or fourteen years I ought to be able to write amazing songs. I mean, sure, my music is okay. People tell me it's good, and I'm usually pretty pleased with it, but still. Sometimes I wish I could be good enough at composing to make a living with it... (Maybe I ought to have started taking professional lessons a few years earlier...)

- Aimee

Say hello to the newest member of my family! A family we know rescued a little Siamese kitten, and needed to find a home for him. So my sister and I somehow convinced our parents to let us take him, and here he is! The family had been calling him Steve, but my sister and I agreed we needed a new name for him. We spent well over an hour trying names on him, until somehow I finally came to the name Tidus, and it stuck! So now we have a new baby Tidus, and he's adorable!

Last night he slept in my bed with me. At least, he was sleeping about half the time! The rest of the time he was attacking my fingers, biting his own tail, and running around my room like a maniac. But get this! He sucks on his tail, like a human baby sucking his thumb. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen!

I'm sorry this post is all me ranting about my new kitten. But who wouldn't want to share a new kitten with the world?

I'll share a poem or something tomorrow.

- Aimee

As the thought of you jumps through my head
A swift struggle ensues, but I only find
Despite my attempts, how hard I try
I can not force you from my mind.

I always knew you held much power
Over my thoughts and over my heart.
But the way you linger, at the back of my mind
Is a torture the execution of which is art.

I just wrote that little poem because I can't sleep. Obviously, I can't sleep because a very powerful thought jumped into my mind. I'll admit, it was the thought of an addiction of mine... I've been thinking about peanut butter. As much as I wish I could force the thought of it out of my head, I just can't. And now I'm afraid I'll never get to sleep, unless I eat the darn peanut butter. But if I do that, there's a chance I could suffocate and die. Having a peanut allergy kinda really sucks, especially when you absolutely adore peanut butter.

Since I can't sleep, I just did a little more of my history homework. There's nothing like doing history homework at eleven at night. Of all the ways to spend a Saturday night. I guess it's my own fault, really, for letting peanut butter jump into my head like that. Maybe now that I've gotten some history out of the way I'll be able to sleep.

To a good night's sleep!

(And a life time without peanut butter. Boo hoo.)

- Aimee

Sometimes, a person, or even a few people would come along who she felt she could trust. When these people came into her life, every day the heavy walls around her heart would slowly be lowered, brick by brick. But sometimes, someone came along who would take advantage of her lowered defenses, jumping over the low wall and stabbing at the unprotected heart within. And then her progress was reversed, and the walls were rebuilt even higher.

Sorry about the pretty emo post. I'm still working on getting over feeling kind of sick. I'm stuck with a head ache, but after sleeping a whole bunch this morning I feel a little better. Really the only things that have lifted my spirits today are the fact that I got roses today, and there's a chance we may get a kitten this weekend. I've wanted a kitten for so long. I just hope I can handle another kitten...

- Aimee

So, here I am, wandering through life, struggling to survive college classes, a committed relationship, and the trials of being an unpublished author, when all of a sudden: BAM! A sudden fit of feverish symptoms hits me. When I woke up this morning I was not expecting to feel this bad tonight. My head hurts, and I'm pretty sure I have a low fever. The only reason I'm not asleep right now is because I have far too much on my mind.

In fact, I had something planned for my next blog post. I can't remember what I was planning to muse about, though.

I guess I'll have to improvise and ask a question that's been bugging me for days. Why do they call it 'roll call' or 'taking roll' when a teacher reads the list of students' names to see who has bothered attending class that day?

Since my first day of college I have been wondering that, so tonight, I took it to Google!

All I could find was a short Wikipedia entry. Here is some of what it said:

"The term roll call applies to the calling itself, to the time moment of this procedure, and to a military signal that announces it."

Honestly, that didn't tell me much. However, I am now so exhausted and certain that I'm sick that I have to stop writing and either a) go to bed or b) just die and get it over with all ready. Good night, readers.

- Aimee