My Letter to Santa

Christmas Eve, 2012



Dear, dear, DEAR Santa Claus:

I realize I'm a little late with this, but I figure by now you must be tech-savvy enough to have an Internet-capable cell phone and you probably get bored while flying over oceans and large stretches of bare land so I figured I'd give it a shot anyway.

I admit that a few weeks ago I wrote a short list of materialistic items and gave it to desperate family members who had no idea what to give me for Christmas and, to be honest, I expect to get quite a bit of it tomorrow. So for you, Santa, I have compiled the following list of items not so easily given- things I want desperately but that cannot be purchased at Walmart or Amazon.com.

The list is as follows:

• Excellent health for me, especially when it comes to my stomach. If it's not asking too much, Santa, I would very much like to never experience nausea and/or stomach pain again
• Excellent health for my loved ones, namely relief from arthritis and a painful knee replacement
• The invention of a new kind of hair dye- the ones I buy always say "permanent" on the box, but it's not true. In fact, it would be awesome if it could just come out of my head the colors I desire- I love my colorful hair but sometimes I get really tired of dyeing it
• In the coming year, I would love to get a whole lot of snow and rain and any kind of moisture- anything to prevent fires
• I would love a vitamin that I could take that would naturally make me better at math. That and a vaccine against procrastination
• I would like a little help with not being so clumsy- that way maybe I could quit dropping my phone and stop getting mysterious bruises and not rip half my finger nails off
• I'd like a car that never needs to be refueled with gasoline and a printer that never needs new ink cartridges and a camera that never needs to be recharged
• I'd like for me and all of my loved ones to have a great year in 2013, in New Mexico, Colorado, Oklahoma and West Virginia 

Of course, I know how this whole thing works- you only get what you want if you've been good all year. Well, I can't honestly swear to that...

• I've been a pretty law-abiding citizen this year but I've never been much of a law-breaker so that doesn't really count.
• I almost always save part of my meals to give to my dog, but that doesn't really count because I love her to death and don't mind, plus she sleeps with me and I fear retaliation.
• When my dad had his knee surgery earlier this year, I was pretty good at taking care of him and while he couldn't move at all I took care of all the household chores but that doesn't really count either because my dad has always taken great care of me and he works really hard at household chores all the time. If anything, I realized how lazy I usually am.

Suffice it to say, Mr. Claus, that I have been average this year. To sum it up, I guess perfect means 100% and awful means 0% so average would be 50%, right? So if you would cough up 50% of the items I asked for, I would be very happy.

Thanks, Santa! On behalf of my dog, I would like to wish you a very Merry Tiss-mas.

Sarah

Iiiiiit's Beeeginning to loook a lot likeee CHRISTMAS

It's funny how when school suddenly ends, you find yourself with all this extra time you never knew existed. I am done with school for the semester/year and I'm way happy about this. And, tomorrow night will be the very last performance of Miracle on 34th Street and after that, I'm going to have more free time than I know what to do with!

Today I killed some of my free time by going to lunch with my mom, Granny, and sister at KBobs and then I went back with my sister to her place of work to decorate for the holidays! She works as a secretary at Robin Blair's office and her Fridays are typically a bit slower than the rest of the week so today seemed like a great day to make the office more Christmas-y.

My sister, Emmy, had brought some extra Christmas ornaments from home and had dug a tiny Christmas tree (complete with a tiny string of lights and a few ornaments!) and a very old string of lights (the price sticker on the box reads "Coast-to-Coast"!) out from the depths of a back closet. We set the tiny tree out in the waiting room on a small table and plugged in it's tiny string of lights and then we ran the Coast-to-Coast string of lights along the top of her desk, where they sit blinking in strange patterns. Pleased with our handiwork, we decided to spread Christmas cheer further back in the building and proceeded to cover a large plant in Mr. Blair's office with small, red ornaments. Mr. Blair was not there at the time, so he will have a surprise in his office on Monday morning.

After that, Emmy got kind of busy with office work but I continued to decorate. Emmy had brought a bunch of huge, really cool ornaments in from home and I wasn't about to let them go to waste. The building has the kind of ceilings that are made of uniform panels of porous board with metal in between, you know, often seen in public schools? Anyway, this kind of ceiling is great for hanging things from the metal- you can kind of tuck it up under the board and it stays put, perfect for Emmy's ornaments! However, I quickly ran into problems. Both Emmy and I are on the short side so neither of us could get anywhere near the ceiling on our own. Thanks to my mom's counsel (she used to work there) we found a step stool buried in a corner. I excitedly dragged it from it's hiding place and clambered up-- only to find I was still about three inches short. However, Emmy found a huge, ancient dictionary that did the trick. As she worked, Emmy looked on in amusement and worry as I precariously hung ornaments from the ceiling. Looking back, it was sort of a ridiculous situation, but I must say, the end result was fabulous!

However, as nice as all the aforementioned decorating was, there was one other adornment that was both Emmy's and my favorite: on the wall of the waiting room there is a huge pair of horns -ox, bull, yak, whatever- that now sport several bright, Christmasy ornaments (I call them hornaments) on each tip! The contrasting tough, masculine, intimidating horns and the bright, sparkly, girly ornaments is truly breathtaking.

At the end of the day, after admiring all of our decorations, Emmy and I stood together in the waiting room, staring up at the horns.

"It's very Christmas-in-New-Mexico," I said.
She cocked her head to the side, examining the hornaments. "Do you think it's too much?" she inquired.
There was silence for a brief moment, then we glanced at each other. "Nahhh," we said in unison.

It may seem strange, but today really put me in the Christmas spirit. I guess being so involved with school and the play and with all the unseasonably warm weather, it just didn't really seem like Christmas but now that I'm not so busy and with all the great snowy weather, I'm starting to enjoy this holiday time of year.

Plus, in about two days, I'll be twenty-one. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't at all excited. I don't really know why, though. I've never been much of a gambler and ever since the scarring experience of taking a swig of my mom's beer instead of my milk at age four or so, I've never been much of a drinker, but still. Just a big milestone, I guess.

Otis is doing her impatient-sighing thing again, so it must be bedtime. Good night!

Sarah

Eight Random Thoughts

The following is a list --in no particular order-- of random thoughts and observations spinning around in my head at the moment.

1.  At least 90% of my Abnormal Psychology classmates must be heavy smokers. You can always tell when that class is about to begin or just ended because the same big group of people will be huddled right outside the library doors taking desperate drags from their cigarettes. Once in that class we were doing group exercises and one of the guys in my group snuck out in the middle of our hour and fifteen minute class so he could run outside for a quick smoke.

2. It really is a "small world"! On Wednesday a piano tuner came from out of town to tune a couple pianos here in Raton. For my birthday present, my Granny lead the piano tuner up to my house and he tuned the piano up here. (It sounds great, Granny! Thank you again!) When he finshed, he headed back into town for some lunch and then to tune more pianos. I left shortly after he did and went to the Shuler. (I'm helping with Miracle on 34th Street and I had to paint parts of the stage in time for it to be dry by rehearsal time.) I arrived at the theatre and fruitlessly knocked on the front doors and office windows for a little while, getting more and more frustrated and embarassed by the minute. It was shortly after noon so Main Street was pretty thick with traffic and the sight of a lone girl with crazy hair desperately banging on the front door of an obviously closed business was attracting more attention that I would have liked. However, just as I was about to give up on the whole endeavor (either by storming off or breaking into tears, I'm not quite sure which) Mr. Billy Donati pulled up in a chariot resembling an old truck and let me into the building. It took some digging around in the left vomitory, but I found some old beat up paint brushes and a can of grey/black paint. I had just started painting when I heard voices out in the lobby. I glanced up from my work to see Mr. Fegan entering the the theatre, leading... the piano tuner! I'm actually really glad the timing worked out like it did- the piano being tuned was the large upright down in the pit and during all the Miracle on 34th Street music rehearsals had managed to get wedged way in the corner and it took a lot of work getting it out far enough that the tuner could actually open the top.

3. I have been so accident prone lately!  I know some people say you get clumsy when going through a big growth spurt but I sincerely doubt that's the case- I don't think I've grown an inch taller since about 4th grade. I remember when I was a lot younger it seemed that I would take after my mom in height- I towered above just about everybody in my classes at school! And then... I stopped growing and everybody else kept growing. Now I'm way short.. and thanks to this clumsy streak, covered in strange bruises.

4. Tomorrow is opening night for Miracle on 34th Street and I'm way nervous! To answer your question, no I don't have a lead acting role in the play. Actually, I don't have an acting role at all. I'm up in the light booth, running the.... SPOT LIGHT! It sounds so ridiculously easy- turn on, point at actor, follow actor, turn off. But somehow, I still found a way to have a hard time. I haven't yet been able to move the spotlight around without spasm-like jerking and even when I just aim it at an actor and they don't move, the spotlight still seems to bounce around. It's okay though, I'm sure I'll have it perfectly under control... just in time for the last performance of the season.

5. I've been kind of busy lately so I haven't had a whole lot of time for reading but the last new (to me) book that I read was "The Shining" by Stephen King. It was actually the first "scary" book I've ever read (except for "No Escape" by Madge Harrah, which is pretty intense when you're eight). I gotta say, it just really impressed me how someone can create that kind of horror and suspense with nothing but written words. I mean with a movie there are scary sounds and watching it on the screen can make it look like you're right there. But it takes a whole lot of talent to do that with words alone. I doubt I'll ever be a horror book author, but it's that caliber of writing that I aspire to, no matter what the subject.

6. It probably goes without saying that I've had, and will have, the songs from Miracle on 34th Street playing on repeat in my brain for what seems like many months.

7. So it's December 7th. Where the hell is the snow?

8. In case you didn't know, my dog sleeps with me. Of course, wording it that way makes it sound like I share my bed with her, when really, it seems like the other way around. It's totally her bed, complete with her blue stuffed lobster, Chester. Anyway, the point I'm making is that while I'm typing this on the computer, she's lying right next to my chair and every thirty seconds or so, she lets out an exasperated sigh that tells me only too clearly that it's past our bedtime. Oh, see? There was another sigh. I better take the hint.

Sarah

I'm Listening to Bagpipes!

For the past year or so, every month or six weeks I get these weird stomach problems that I hate more than anything. It's a process and no matter what I do, I can't figure out what triggers it or anyway to stop it. I've tried taking extra acid reducers (I already take some daily!), eating, not eating, and drinking different things including baking soda in water that I read somewhere is supposed to help sour stomachs. I've talked to a few different doctors and none of them can really tell what it is or what causes it.

It usually starts in the evening. Physically, I feel fine but I get a sour stomach which makes me burp up this terrible tasting stuff. It reminds me of rotten eggs! It's absolutely disgusting. Anyway, I usually go to bed like this: feeling okay but with the sour stomach. Then I'll wake up at three or so in the morning and have to run to the bathroom. I'll puke and puke and usually stay on the floor in front of the toilet in a kind of stupor until my dad comes to check on me and makes me go back to bed. Sometimes I'll be lucky and that will be the extent of it and sometimes I'll wake up a while later and go right back at it. The past few times have been the latter type of experience. A few months ago I actually got so sick I started seeing bits of blood in my vomit.

So, why exactly am I telling you all of this? Well, first, I feel like complaining. Second, this whole process happened to me this past Monday night/Tuesday morning and when I get sick like this I spend a lot of time staring into the toilet and thinking, thinking, thinking.

This particular time, I got thinking about fears. I remember when I was younger, I was absolutely terrified of throwing up. I mean, nobody really likes it; it's a horribly unpleasant experience and it's associated with feeling awful. But I absolutely dreaded it and when I had the stomach flu and felt terrible, I would do everything I possibly could to avoid actually throwing up.

A few years ago, I got put on a new medication that did not agree with my body at all. I can only guess I was allergic to it or something because the entire time I was on it, I was terribly sick to my stomach, vomiting close to every day. Eventually I got off of the medicine and went back to feeling normal but I definitely got something out of the experience. Puking all the time like that, I had had no choice but to face my fear! After that whole experience, I no longer was afraid of throwing up. Quite the contrary, actually. I learned that throwing up can provide a lot of relief. As horrible as throwing up is, usually afterwards I feel so much better just getting all sorts of awful stuff out of my system.

In high school, I took a Philosophy class taught by my step-dad, Leo. For the most part, it was really chaotic and we spent most of our time talking and arguing and I don't know that we got a whole lot of work done, but I really enjoyed it. I remember one day, we were talking about fears. Leo started on one side of the classroom and asked every student, if they were willing, to share their deepest fear. I was sitting on the opposite side of the classroom and got a few minutes to think about my answer.

Immediately, my mind jumped to spiders. That's kind of my automatic answer to when people ask what I'm afraid of because it's true. Spiders. Freak. Me. Out. I hate them! They just give me the creeps. I've never even had some terrible, traumatic experience with them. I was just born that way.

But I got to thinking. You know how sometimes you'll take quizzes or people will ask you, "What would you do for a million dollars? What would you do to save a life? What are your limits?" And the truth is, as much as I despise and fear spiders, there, absolutely, are circumstances under which I would endure any concocted torture involving arachnids.

It was following this train of thought that I realized what it is I'm most afraid of. By the time Leo got to me, I had my answer:

"I'm afraid of losing loved ones. I, myself, am not afraid to die. Not at all. But I'm terrified of having to live without the people I love."

If I could choose what to be afraid of, this would definitely not make the list. It's a nice idea and all but this kind of fear is the absolute worst to have because it is completely, 100% unavoidable. Take, for example, another one of my fears: sharks. Like spiders, I have this sort of irrational fear of them, but as long as I steer clear of swimming in the ocean, I should be fine. Not hard, considering I live hundreds of miles from any coast.

Loved ones dying, however, I can do nothing to prevent. And the longer I live, the more I'll lose. The longer I live, the more attached I will become to my loved ones and it will be harder and harder to lose them. This has already been proven true. When I was pretty young, I lost my great-grandmother and a few other adults I didn't know that well. I vaguely remember being sad to hear that they died and I kind of remember the funerals.

But when I was fifteen, I lost a dear friend in a car accident and it was horrible, for me and everyone else. Since I was older when it happened, I remember so many more details and the pain is still so sharp. I remember finding out and sobbing on the floor and I remember the funeral, seeing my friend in a coffin, only it didn't look like him at all and that was even more horrible.

Then earlier this year, in April, I woke up one morning to my phone ringing. My dad told me that my grandpa had been found in his gator on the side of the road, passed out. An ambulance had been called, my dad said, and he would call me as soon as he had any updates. I remember sitting on my bed then, just kind of numb. When my dad called back a little later, I think I knew what he was going to say before he said it, but I still remember his sharp intake of breath, his trembly voice, telling me that Grandpa had died. Even now, I remember going out to sit on our front steps, waiting for my sister to come and get me, and looking up at the sky. There wasn't a cloud in sight. At the time it seemed cruel, like the weather was mocking our pain, but looking back now it seems like more of  a nice farewell gesture.

I guess it's possible that, like throwing up, this is a fear that I will face and face and finally become okay with, but I really doubt it, and in a way, I kind of hope not. That would be horrible. But I guess that the more people there are that I love and fear losing, the more people I'll have with me to help me cope.


And you thought of all this while gazing into the depths of a toilet bowl, did you, Sarah?

Yes! And so much more, like "What time is it, anyway? I wonder if Dad has been able to sleep with me retching in the background..", intermixed with random lyrics from the Shuler's production of "Miracle on 34th Street."


An update on my dad's cell phone, if you're interested:

He's getting better and better everyday! He is getting faster at texting and has successsfully learned to answer his calls. True, he uses an unclicked ACE pen to push the letters on his phone's keyboard instead of his finger, but progress is progress!

Man, these blogs take me really, really long to write! But in this case, it has afforded me the opportunity to be the first to wish you...

HAPPY ST. ANDREWS DAY!!


Sarah

Thanksgiving Eve

Being the day before Thanksgiving, Super Save was pretty insanely busy at about 3:00 this afternoon when I went with my dad. The aisles were full of shoppers bumping carts and at the checkout counter, the clerks and baggers were looking tired and frazzled.

My dad told me to go to Super Save with him because that way he could go back to work and I could take the groceries straight home and put them away, refrigerate them, etc. This is true and I did so, but I know the real reason he had me go with him-- to read the super-small writing on the back of packages! Even with his reading glasses he can only see the smallish stuff so-so and the tiny writing not at all. I guess it would make sense for me to just go by myself but I'm glad that wasn't the case because as we went up and down the aisles, I was in charge of reading and marking off the grocery list he had written and, I've gotta say, wow! It would kinda make sense to think that if one person has messy handwriting and can read what they write, they should be able to decipher someone else's messy handwrting, but no. I have a horrible scrawl and can (usually!) read what I write, but if my dad hadn't been there today translating, I would have have looked in vain for PEAR OAT SHRNP, WHILO WTNO VIWOM, and LUMA JUISA and completely missed out on Peal/Eat Shrimp, White Wine Vinegar and Lemon Juice.

An update on my dad's new phone, if you're interested: today we briefly went over texting.

I went in to the ACE store again today before grocery shopping and as I sat at my dad's desk behind the parts counter doing computer work, my uncle stuck his head around the corner and in a casual voice stated that he had sent my dad a text and wondered if I knew if my dad had read it. I told him no, I didn't know for sure but doubted it since he didn't know how. My uncle gave a devilish grin before disappearing and told me to make sure he read it, as it was "quite complimentary."

Before my dad and I left for the grocery store we sat in his truck and I gave him a quick texting lesson. This consisted of first learning how to access the messages and it was then that I got to read my uncle's "quite complimentary" message. I leaned over and saw the simple text:

"Up yours."

I am proud to say that I actually do think my dad will now be able to at least read texts sent to him, plus make and receive calls, and this is only Day 2! I think we may get through this.


Thanksgiving is tomorrow! Here is a quick list of what I feel most thankful for:

- my dog, Otis, who saved my life, sleeps with me, and always knows just what to say
- my family, who love and accept and encourage me, no matter how many weird and idiotic things I do
- the fact that I still have one full holiday season with my mom and step-dad before they move
- Dictionary.com
- digital photography
- perfume
- corrective lenses
- books/my Kindle
- the fact that my house is still standing after last year's Track Fire
- Dr. Pepper
- Dr. Steven Martin and Dr. Jane Boyer
- hair dye
- electric blankets
- the fact that I'm still young enough that most people find it acceptable that I don't know exactly what I want to be when I grow up
- Orange Tic-Tacs
- the fact that no matter how much time goes by, I'll still be able to play Chopsticks and Heart and Soul on the piano and Tool's "Schism" and CKY's "96 Quite Bitter Beings" on my bass guitar
- Clozaril
- beef Ramen noodles
- Barb, my GPS unit
- art supplies

... and so much more!

I plan to get up early enough to watch some of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade with my dad and sister because
1. It's kind of a tradition and
2. This year I'm working on Miracle on 34th Street as a tech and the play starts out with the parade!

Happy Thanksgiving and a busy Black Friday to you all!

Sarah

My Dad Actually Knows His Number Now... I Tested Him

Hi. My name is Sarah and I'm a perfume-aholic. Seriously, I'm pretty obsessed.

A few years ago I used to keep a blog on Myspace that I loved and about seven people regularly read. I've had a crazy couple years since then but now that things are sort of calming down, I've found myself missing it. So, I'm giving this a try.

I set up my Google account thing about a week ago and every day since then I've contemplated actually starting up this blog, but never got around to it. However, I knew I had to start it today because something crazy happened, and I feel the need to document all of the insane events as they unfold. Are you ready?

My dad got a new phone. A TOUCH SCREEN.

My dad has had the same cell phone for about five years, a basic flip phone with no camera, no internet capabilities, and no distinguishing marks or features save for his Led Zeppelin "Black Dog" ring tone and the stained, beat up, peeling hand-printed sticker lable hastily slapped on the back reading his cell phone number, which he didn't bother to memorize at the time. Whenever people asked for his number, he would dig the cell phone out of his belt holster and read the number to them.

In the past few years, my dad has all but threatened death on those who sent him text messages but a few days ago circumstances arose so that he actually had the desire to learn how to read and send texts. Technically, his cell phone was perfectly capable of doing this but he was intimidated by his tiny, worn numeric keypad and daunted by the idea of learning to text on it so he decided to upgrade to a phone with a full alphabet keypad. I am honestly quite pleased with his decision because as perturbed as he was to learn, I was that much more worried about having to teach him. He has famously sent one text in his life- "No"- about eight years ago.

So, yesterday he went to our local Radio Shack with my sister and they both picked out new phones. She badly needed a new one because hers was old and loved and, well, had no volume. The phone she chose was not in stock but had been ordered and it came in today so instead of taking his and coming back for hers, he decided to pick both up today.

I am pumped because I have the whole week off school due to Thanksgiving and today my dad gave me instructions:
- clean the litterboxes
- clean up downstairs
- come in to work at two

I actually did manage to do the last item on the list.

At our family owned ACE store, I have several duties. I print bin tags when necessary, enter Stihl registrations online, update rental service lists on the computer, do some ordering, and any other small jobs that need to be done. To answer your question, yes, it is every bit as fun and exciting as it sounds.

Despite the mundane nature of my tasks at the store, however, I like going there. There's always stuff going on and people to see. As an employee, I park in the back and enter through the Shop in the back. Since it's mid-November and a little chilly outside, the big garage door was closed today and I entered through the side door. When you first walk into the shop, you're hit with a pungent wall of gasoline and oil and you're bombarded with classic-rock playing in the background and voices and laughter and shouts from the mechanics working there and the customers/friends who ignore the "Keep Out" signs slapped on all of the doors. I know to newcomers this whole atmosphere can be sort of overwhelming but I love it.

The shop is pretty big but is full of work benches and tools and equipment. In the back corner near the shop restroom is a cat bed and two small tubs with cat crunchers and water. These belong to the shop cat, Lucky, a small black feline with a bobbed tail and a beat up leather collar with one spike remaining in it. Lucky sleeps in the shop in the winter and in the summer comes and goes through the open doors as she pleases. All the shop guys adore her and she is very sweet and friendly, despite a hand-made sign one of the guys made last year reading: "BEWARE: ATTACK CAT!"

Today when I entered the shop she was sitting on a greasy, duct-taped stool, observing the activity around her with disinterest. I walked over to her and scratched her ears and petted her, getting grime all over my hands. Her black coat hides the filth quite nicely.
"Jeez, Luck," said Kyle (a mechanic), "Could you be any more aggressive?"
In response, she hopped up on David's shoulders and sat there, a pirate cat. Interestingly, she passed this and other traits onto her two now grown kittens that live here with me and my dad. Betty got her appearance, size and pirate-cat stance, while Bob got her bobbed tail. Neither got her black coloring- my dad calls them, "The Greys."

At this, I left them and went off to work. I sat at my dad's desk behind the parts counter and did computer work, observing the comings and goings of rental employees and listening to customers and the phone ringing off and on. After an hour or so, my dad announced with flair that it was time to pick up the new phones, so we hopped into Bucky (the black truck my dad drives) and went over to Radio Shack.

I have had several phones and each time I go to Radio Shack to get a new one, I forget how long the process is. There always seems to be other people waiting and then the guys working there take their time getting the new phone out of their supply closet and then they have to type stuff, take the new phones out, examine them, type some more, transfer the SIM cards, make small talk, type some more... You get the idea. Anyway, today was no different and as this process went on, I found myself drumming the counter with my fingers and watching a bizzare movie on one of the screens with no sound. It seemed to be the story of some weird alien hatchling terrorizing country folk.

Anyway! They finally got my dad's old SIM card into his new phone and I felt for the first time some pangs of panic as I observed his obscenely out-of-date cell phone lying dead on the counter. I found myself fretting, "This is it. That phone is now gone forever. What if Dad can't figure out his new phone? What if I can't teach him? What if Grandma gets a cell phone sometime? What the hell will I do then? What on earth is happening in the silenced movie on the big screen? Do all aliens hatch from eggs?"

Funnily, my dad actually got the same model phone as me, which I thought was great because I know how to use mine, and therefore should be able to teach him, right? Wrong. Once we were back at the ACE store and I had applied the screen protector, I handed him his phone and I dialed his number with my phone. It rang and for a brief second I swear I saw sheer terror flash in his eyes. I carefully instructed him how to push on the green icon and drag it across the shown path to the red icon. I watched as he gingerly held the phone in his hands and clumsily dragged his finger across the path.
"Did I do it? Did I do it?" he asked excitedly. The continuing ringing answered his question.

A few hours later we were dining at the Crystal. It was me, my dad, my sister, David, and a friend of my dad's. My sister was showing us her new phone and my dad excitedly pulled out his new phone from his pocket. I saw that the screen was lit up and some random screen was showing. I frowned.
"Dad. Have you been pushing buttons?"
"Absolutely not," he answered with a straight face.
My frown deepened. "Do you remember how to answer your phone?"
"Of course!"
I dialed. It rang. He didn't do it correctly.

I fear I have a long road ahead of me. However, after dinner my dad went with his friend for a while and I rushed home and got all of the chores I was supposed to do this morning done with my dad none the wiser.

I'm kind of tired now and I should go to bed. Tomorrow will be lesson two: Texting.

God help me.


Sarah