Stupid Figner.

On Monday at school I was playing basketball, and I was trying to catch a pass, but it hit my finger funny. It hurt really bad, so I sat out for the rest of recess.

Then it kept hurting throughout Math, so I wrote 'I hurt my figner' on the marker board. Everyone was laughing at it, 'cause they thought my misspelling of the word finger was done accidentally. But it wasn't; I did that purposefully to be funny.

 When my mom picked me up for ballet, my finger had a burning/aching sensation. It hurt really bad. Still. Hours after it had been hit. Mom had to open the car door for me, because I couldn't do it with my bad finger. Worse still, it was on my right hand, and I am right-handed.

After ballet it had started to swell and turn a bluish-purple, sickly color, and Mom finally agreed to take me to the hospital to see if it was broken.

I waited with her for the doctors to come back with the verdict, because they had taken my x-ray. We peered out the window of the door to try to reach a diagnosis. Then the doctor came in, and she informed us that it wasn't broken. But she guessed that the ligaments were badly torn and my finger was bleeding internally, which led to the swelling.

So I'm stuck in this freaking splint for two weeks, not counting the ten minutes I have it off in the morning when I bathe.

I can barely shoot a basketball with the splint on, so I have to use my left hand, which isn't easy at all. It's absolutely humiliating to do such inaccurate shots; usually I make most every one. This sucks, man. Very suckyish. 

I HURT MY FIGNER!!

I'm gonna call him Scrooge!

Hey, lookit! My mom had his picture of the slave owner guy on her blog. He makes me think of Scrooge. But his name is Charles. I'm gonna call him Scrooge, though, because he looks like a Scrooge, and because I like the name Scrooge. It's fun to say. Scrooge, Scrooge, Scrooge...

Writer's Block

My mom expresses our views better than me, so go look at THE WET BUN and you'll be more enlightened. Besides, most of the time I use words wrong and so what I'm trying to say makes no sense, hence my mother is way better than me. She's brilliant. Go read her blog :)

And for the record, I didn't copy her post. I bet she's going to accuse me for pasting her ideas on my blog. NO, I DIDN'T! I wrote mine, then read hers. My writing is very inferior compared and contrasted to my mother's. I thought my post was OK, then I read hers. She knows history better too. So go look at her page :)

I get writer's block when I want to write a post, so I resort to politics, which probably bore people to death because they hear enough of it on the news and I'm not that smart in the politics area. But I do have an opinion, so I guess it works, but then I read my mom's thing, and I want to delete what I wrote.  So I'm writing about writer's block, because that's what I have in my mind, so that's what I have to writ about. But for some reason the politics kick in when writer's block comes to see me. Isn't that weird?

I've used all my story ideas already and when I can't think of anything I try to change another book so that technically it's original, but it has the same plot. Then I get guilty because I don't want to copy someone else's piece, so I erase it all and sit on my bed or in my desk at school brainstorming for hours and yet no ideas come to mind. It reminds me of Orson Scott Card's Memory of Earth because it was like I was reading 1 Nephi again, except in that story God is a computer. He rewrote the Book of Mormon, but added a twist so you couldn't tell it was already a book. Then you remember that most people aren't Mormon, so you can infer that they'll think Card's story line is original. Sneaky little Orson...

So that's my problem with writer's block. I have to use another's idea, then I get an idea, then the idea fades, then I copy again, then I get guilty and erase it all, then I sit with a blank page forever. I hate a blank page. It's so tormenting, like it's staring you down, then it draws out its pistol and starts shooting ideas from other people at you, and you get so frustrated you crumple it up in a ball and hurl it into the trash can. Dumb old writer's block isn't welcome on my loose leaf paper.

200 Years of (almost) Equality

President Obama is often judged by his heritage and past, but why not me? 

My grandma used to tell my mother stories about her great, great, great, great grandfather who was an apostle when he was alive. My mom said that Grandma told her that when he was called to be an apostle that he freed his slaves and went to Utah.

Nope!

He brought his slaves with him to Utah, and he was the one to make it a slave state.

So why is Obama judged and not me? Probably because people can only focus on my great grandfather's good qualities, because he was an apostle, and therefore he's perfect.

NOT true!

I am so thankful that the 16th president, Abraham Lincoln, ceased all slavery. I just still don't get why people don't judge me because of my history. In fact, my mom had to do research on this supposed perfect ancestor to finds out that he was a slave owner.

Why is Obama judged? Why do people say that he's bad because he was associated in a group that involved some terrorist guy? That doesn't mean he was involved in terrorism or whatever that guy did. Just because of who his parents and uncles and aunts and grandmas were, it doesn't mean we should be so quick to make unreasonable assumptions.

So why not me?

Celebrating Lincoln's 200th birthday has been quite an experience. So far, 2009 has been an experience. Remembering Martin Luther King Jr. and Abraham Lincoln helps us realize tha

t skin color and religion shouldn't separate us. My mom didn't vote for Obama only because she was hoping to make history with the first African American president, but also because she could relate to him, and she knows his plan for America and the Americans' support for him will help us reach a better future.

"Today I say to you that the challenges we face are real. They are serious and they are many.They will not be met easily or in a short span of time. But know this, America--they will be met."

Mom is cool.

I DESPERATELY WANT TO BE AS COOL AS MY MOMMY!!!!! HELP!!!!!

According to my button...

I found a button! I put it on my purple backpack. It's a pretty button.

Ethan and Leigha were spending (or maybe wasting) their time at Dad's house Saturday night. I stayed with Mom so I could go to church the next day. We went to Hollywood Videos and got Ghost Town, and you have to see it because I just about peed my pants it was so funny.

BLAH! I have to tell you about my button!

So we left the movie store and pulled over to Broulim's. Barrett said he wanted a "Lightning Cart", because he is something of a Cars fanatic. A red car-shaped cart was there, and we put Barrett on the seat.

Then I spotted my button!

It was a pretty button. No, it is a pretty button. It has a purple swirly design and a picture of a drum and a picture of a star. It's on lined paper. Then, in big black letters, it says, "The Future is a BIG Place"!

I love my button. My button is very wise.

I bet you guessed this post would lead on to some boring life-changing sort of moral thing. You guessed right! Have a cupcake :)

So, yeah, the future is a big place. I'm excited for Barack Obama's inaguration on the 20th, which is also my Gramma Maddie's birthday, which gives me more reason to be excited. I hope we have some sort of, um, let's say agreement with Iraq and Iran and all those places that start with "Ira". I don't like war. It's sad. I don't care what country you're from, people are still dying, and they are people, just like you. It's sad, no matter what your point of view is. Those people dying had lives, children, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives parents... families that loved them, and didn't want them to go.

And I hope the economy gets better. I don't like it when the economy is sick. It's like when my Mom is sick. She's usually the one caring for me, so I have no idea what I need to do. All the grown-ups fret over money and jobs and I don't know what to do because I'm still considered a child, so I curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

I also hope the animals and forests are cared for better, because I really like cats and bunnies and penguins and monkeys. I don't want them to get hurt! I love animals. And trees, because in the fall on the road Second East all of the leaves are orange and rea and gold. And in the spring it's a yellowy-greenish-pink, because everything is blossoming and new... That's how we need 2009 to be! Like sring! We need a new start, a chance to fix things. I hope it's that way. We don't need this year to be like the previous, wintery, dreary one. There needs to be more love this year. The future is a big place, and I hope we take advantage of it!

2009 is spring!

Ethan and Emma's Birthday Bash!

So I haven't really posted much lately (or talked to Hamster, my journal, for that matter). I want to tell you about the much anticipated "Ethan and Emma B-Day Bash"!
Only a few of our 25 invited guests arrived. About eight, I think. One was late, and didn't get to swim. I could see he was disappointed.
Lizzy, Emily, Kenzie and I attempted to play Underwater Leapfrog, but much to Lizzy's disappointment we were confused when she tried to explain how to play. We ended up thrashing our arms around in the water and nearly drowning Kenzie, who is considerably shorter than the rest of us. We laughed.
When we were all dry, we tured on Kung Fu Panda and ate pizza and cake. Carson came then, equipped with a swimsuit, towel, and birthday present (which we told the guests not to bring). I wish he could have swam with us, but he enjoyed trying to say the characters in Kung Fu Panda's lines. He did poorly. He quietly mumbled the lines after the actors finished saying them. This cracked me up.
Then Carson sat on Lizzy, and we were all squished on the couch. Laughing, we used all our strength to push him to the floor. Then he sat on me, and Emily and I had to push him again.
Saying good-bye to my friends was sad, because I'd had a memorable experience with them just then. Still, I gave them all hugs in turn, and reluctantly let them leave.
I still don't get why they brought gifts for us when I specifically stated on the invitation:
No presents, please!
Aww, they love me enough to risk death from bringing presents when they are wanted but not needed.

3...2...1!

I know it's not really January first, but bear with me, okay?