I have gone friends only. Let me know if you want to be mine :)

 My friends and I laying in a circle staring at the sky. While we were talking two planes collided and debris started to scatter in the sky. A large piece of it started plummeting exactly where we were gathered. In the dream, I knew that if we just got up and moved we would be safe. I looked over at Dan and he was staring at me and I knew he was thinking the same thing: stay put. So rather than get up and run for our lives, we simply held hands and allowed the plane to keep falling towards us.

 ShorStuf285:  I want to go to the art museum and the air and space museum
ScullyBully:  they have a museum for air?
ShorStuf285:  hahahaha
ScullyBully:  what do they do point next to them?
ShorStuf285:  more on the history of airplanes
ScullyBully:  ohhhhhh

"Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella "

The last thing you expect blaring in an art gallery is the sound of Rihanna throbbing from the speakers. And yet, it was the first thing we were confronted with when we ducked in to escape the heat of the day.

(Ella ella eh eh eh)
Under my umbrella
(Ella ella eh eh eh eh eh eh)

"Hello" I yell at the older woman typing away on her top of the line Apple. She peers at me over her thick black glasses with mussed up platinum hair. "I like your computer!" I try again as Dan walks off, already unimpressed. She stares at me as though I am interrupting a private meeting between her and the pop princess herself before uttering a "yeah" back at me. I repress the urge to roll my eyes and begin to saunter around the gallery trying to find something that catches my eye.
Doll heads stare back at me with no bodies and disjointed furniture is scattered around. It looks as though the ugliest possible remains from the 1800's were dropped into this room. There are transparent throw pillows with shredded papers wadded up on the inside laying on top of a smelly green chair. The price tag says 400.00, and I do not know if it is for the chair or the pillows.
A new Rihanna song starts up. Its aptly called SOS.
"S-O-S please someone help me.
It's not healthy for me to feel this
Y-O-U-R making this hard
I can't take it see it don't feel right."

I wander in to meet Sarah who has a permanent smirk on her face. We stare at the paintings on the wall for a bit before the owner walks in. "Aren't these fabulous?" She asks me with earnest while gesturing in a hundred directions at once. Her arm falls on an empty bed frame with a door glued to it that seems to be teetering on for life. I do not want to comment on that particular "piece" so I try to deflect her to a piece called "storm". It is the only thing in the whole gallery my eyes can focus on without burning (aside form the banners of naked men hanging in the window, but that is another story).
"Yes" she smiles "EVERYONE likes that one"
I nod, unsure what to say. She stares at me expecting something so I ask her a question to break the silence, "If I had a friend that wanted to be featured, what would he have to do"
Pause, "Well what does he do?" she finally asks.
"Photography" I spit out.
"And what kind of photography" she asks me as slow as possible.
I repress the urge to say "The kind where you take pictures" and just shrug. I did not know there was different kinds of photography. Luckily she sneers, "I do not take EMERGING artists for one" she shakes her head in disgust "they have to have been shown somewhere else".
I nod, wanting to escape the hell of conversation with this person. Instead, she continues in a deeper, more pretentious voice. "Secondly, I HAVE to fall IN LOVE with it"
"Really?" I think I actually say out loud as I ponder the jello boxes stacked in the corner.
"Have him call me" we walk out towards her desk and she hands me a postcard with the featured artist. "We will see if he meets the criteria"
I once again, stifle the urge to speak. I do not want to speak for my friend Seth, but I am pretty sure SHE would not meet HIS criteria as the type of person he would want to work with. The fact that I could be wrong is the only thin that saves me from dripping sarcasm onto every word.
Dan gives me a look that plainly says, "Are you about done?" so I give one last glance at the gallery and we walk back out into the heat with the sounds of Rihanna fading behind us.

"Shake it til the moon
becomes the sun (Sun)
Everybody in the club give me a run (Run)
If you ready to move say it (Yeah Yeah)
One time for your mind say it (Yeah Yeah)" 

It’s an unassuming day in July, and yet I can mark it as the official day that I lost my mind. I am not even sure how it happened. One minute I was staring into space trying to come up with an appropriate answer for one of my psychology classes, the next I forgot who I was. Just like that, I did not exist in my own mind. I could not remember my name, what I was doing, or even where I was. The odd part is that I was actually thankful to be relieved to be stripped of the burden of being me.
It is 80 degrees out, and I still have chills from the experience. Granted, I do not like the heat so I should be happy something finally cooled me off. Still, the universe could have picked a better time to start messing with my mind (if there is a good moment for that). The only way I can think of to describe this emptiness that I felt is to relive another moment in my life when my brain was void of thought: when I had my wisdom teeth out.
I was not devoid of any thoughts due to medication or even pain, it was television cleared my head. I was too lazy to do anything but flop on the couch and watch what we had for basic cable. On the style network they were playing marathon episodes of WHAT NOT TO WEAR so I watched it…for 7 hours. If that is not clearing the mind of pure thought form, I don’t know what is. Not only did I not know who I was, I was prepared to burn every outfit in my carefully selected wardrobe in some sort of manic panic attack concerning fashion.
As of right now, I am recovering from my odd experience. I thought I would share it with the rest of you because heaven forbid I keep something this odd to myself. And that is how I know I am back to being me again.

In having a discussion about my pet peeves with a few people, I realized I have some rather obscure peeves. Case in point, I got so angry at carrot cake at the grocery store a few months ago that I blogged about it. That, my dear friend is nothing compared to the ongoing list in my head. Therefore, I decided to share another gem with you: I hate mail.
Now I can hear people now, “But Scully! I love getting mail! You never know what you are going to get!”
I understand your point, I do. It is just that I know exactly what I am going to get: Will’s junk mail. You see, I do not get mail. On the rare day that I do get a piece of mail, it is usually from my college writing me a letter to inform me of something stupid. The other institution I hear from frequently is my bank who likes to write me a letter and inform me of what I am doing. They make points such as, “Did you know you changed your address recently?”
Yes, I know. I am the one up to my ears in moving supplies and packing peanuts and oh by the way, I am the one WHO TOLD YOU THAT. Or they write, “You have viewed your account 6 times this week and we thought you would like to be informed of this unusual activity.” I am sorry; I did not know that it was unusual to view my account.
This alone could warrant being on its own pet peeve list, but let’s just say that I like to log onto my account at least 20 times a day now. I want them to mail me about the “unusual” activity of over a hundred views to my account. They should also know what I find “unusual” is a company that complains about keeping costs down, yet sends out mailings every 15 seconds to their customers. In fact, they are probably preparing to send me a letter to tell me I am writing about them.
That aside, I do not get mail. However, William gets enough for both of us. In fact, he gets enough to keep a post office in business. For example, in one day I was able to dump his mail in a shoebox and fill half of it. When he gets back from diving, there are two shoeboxes full of his mail and that is with me filtering out some. I think he was put on a mass mailing list of every corporation in this country. If you do the math at two boxes of mail a week with William not being due back until November, it means I will have to buy shoes just so I can store his excess of mail!
Another reason I hate getting mail is that now I live in a building where I have to walk all the way to the lobby to get it. The hallways are hot, and I tend to fall down the stairs a lot. When I have a lot of mail, my ability to perform the task of walking is marred by the fact that I have to carry an armload of mail. Despite being able to perform awe inspiring tricks in gymnastics, I seem to have lost the ability to walk like a normal human which means mail is dangerous for my equilibrium.
It is a happy day when I walk down and turn the key and there is nothing in the box. My personal theory is that when the mailbox is cluttered, my mind will be cluttered as well. But if the mailbox is empty, that means my mind will follow suit. And no, I do not mean “empty” in the “oh my god, I totally like, flaked out!” empty. I mean it in the “I am so Zen, Buddha himself would bow to me” kind of empty.
Speaking of mail, and all its rage inducing existence, it is time to check it. And unless Antonio Banderas has managed to fold himself into an envelope and mail himself to me, I am not expecting any surprises.
Then again, you never know what you are going to get.

Insomnia is a strange disease in that it can stumble upon you when you least expect it and vanish just as fast, or it can haunt you for months. In my case, I have lost count of my sleepless nights a long time ago. In fact, they occur so frequently that it becomes pointless to even comment on them. Yet here I sit in the middle of the night, typing into a world that almost feels vacant. Is there anyone out there? I am not so sure anymore.

It is easy to feel alone at 2:30 in the morning but it is not the worst part of the night. The worst time to be awake is 4AM because the night never seems to end and dawn never appears. The past few months have been especially hard at 4 in the morning as the weeks of insomnia finally started to take a toll. I wander incessantly through the house, as I try to think of ways to ease my mind.

Mornings are even more difficult because if I do manage to catch a few hours of sleep I am a wreck. Anyone who has ever experienced a sleepless night knows that at some point, sleep itself becomes the enemy. Once you fall asleep, your body stubbornly clings to the idea, even as you try to reason with it. You can try to tell your body that it was only a brief respite before needing to get back up, but the body will keep you chained to that state throughout the day, refusing to let you go. It is a state that no amount of caffeine can combat, no matter how much is consumed.

It is often in this state that I run into friends and try to muster up the energy to seem like I am fine. If you have ever seen me blather on and on, seemingly intoxicated, then you have met my dear friend Insomnia. It is even possible that you are better friends with Insomnia than with me because Insomnia is probably more amusing. Insomnia is also easier to get to know, since she comes out more often than I do, and says (oddly) wittier things.

As it approaches 3AM I find myself bleary and unable to continue to write this. Sadly, I am also too weary to try and do anything else aside from stare at the wall. Have you ever stared at the wall so long it looks back? I will take this moment now to apologize for that last sentence, as I have no idea where it came from and in the morning I know I will laugh at it. I even already know what voice I will use while mocking my own journal entry. You will laugh with me because you will be laughing with your old friend Insomnia.

Someday, I hope to get to know you myself.

I have to get this off my chest as it has been brewing there for some time. Here is my personal take on the campaign and some myths that the media is perpetuating. You can agree, you can disagree, but I think it needs to be said:
Myth: The Clinton V. Obama campaign is “tearing democrats apart”
It has been implied in the media that democrats who vote for either Clinton or Obama in the primary are not going to support the democrat that has been nominated because of “in fighting”.
I think Sen. Patrick Leahy (D-Vt) said it best when he reinforced the prevailing attitude among his fellow Democrats. "Everybody I've talked with knows that they're going to have to come together after the nomination," he said. "And I think it's good. I've told both Senator Obama and Senator Clinton that Vermont's different that way. We really care who these people are and we're not impressed by negative campaigns, we're not impressed by negative ads or stories. We look at the real person." (www.wcax.com)
I know democrats who support Obama and I know democrats who support Clinton. Both sides say that they will stand for either one when it comes down to it. The media just wants people to believe the party is divided because it sells stories. Are there people out there that will not support one over the other? Of course, but I do not think that it warrants the claim that it is “tearing us apart”. The only people who seem to be doing THAT is the media.

MYTH: The Race is taking too long! That means McCain will win!
Presidential races have gone on this long before and they will again someday. Both Obama and Clinton are out there every day talking to the American people and putting forth their ideas. Every news station in America is covering them! Voters are getting to know their issues and getting to know the Senators. How on earth is this a bad thing? The longer democrats can hold off McCain and Karl Rove, the better off they will be in November! If the race goes until the summer, so be it. If voters have not gotten to know the candidates by then it is simply because they were not paying attention.
MYTH: It is taking so long that Clinton should drop out. She can’t win anyway.
She can’t? Or is the media so desperate for a fresh face, they don’t want her to? She can win the nomination. I hear that the math is against her delegate wise, but what if she blows Obama out of the water in the next few primary by double digits? People do not THINK it will happen but they do not know for sure so why not let it play out? Anything can happen in politics, ANYTHING. If I were running a campaign like Hillary and my website made 6 million in donations in two days, I would not want to stand out there and tell my donors that I dropped out simply because Bill Richardson and Politico.com thought I should. If people did not want her to win, the race would not be this close. The only reason for her to drop out is if she stops getting donations and interest and a clear message that voters do not want her there. Sorry media, but that message is not there yet so I think she should stay in.
Myth: Obama is “anti-American”:
First of all, when did “anti-American” become the catchall phrase? Obama is not “anti-American” and I would challenge anyone to prove to me that he is without showing me the following:
1) His pastor
2) His wife’s statements that she feels “proud to be an American for the first time”
3) The fact that he does not wear a flag lapel pin
First of all, Obama is NOT Jeremiah Wright. Until the words that came out of Wrights mouth come out of Obama’s, they are not representative of him. Obama has said he does not agree and that is that. If you want to believe that he does agree, than you are simply looking for a reason to hate him. Second, his wife can say whatever she wants and suggesting that she cannot is ACTUALLY what is anti-American. I do not agree with everything my husband says, and I know that is true of most married people. Just because one spouse says something does not mean they both think it. Third, I would not wear an American flag lapel on my coat either. If someone wants to wear one that is there right, just like not wearing one is his or her right. If people are choosing a president based on a pin, than we have more problems that I realized.
Myth: Hillary cannot “control” Bill and/or she only stayed married to him for political gain.
The media has vilified Bill Clintons role campaigning for his wife and think that he should step back. First of all, when I run for office my husband should and will help me. Second, what they mean by Hillary “not controlling” Bill implies that any of us can control our spouses. That is wrong thinking and not something we should encourage. Hillary gets blamed a lot for things her husband has done, as if she herself believes in them. Sometimes my husband and I cannot even agree on what kind of latte to buy! Suggesting that husbands and wives must share every thought, every idea, and every belief is just not forward thinking.
Lastly, if she did stay married to him for “political gain” than good for her! He cheated on her and made her get up in front of the whole world while he admitted it. If her idea of revenge on him is to get out there and run for office and do a good job of it, than more power to her and if she has to use his name to do it, so be it. He might as well give her some form of dignity after what he put her through.
Myth: Polls reflect the average American
This is my biggest pet peeve of all: Polls. I have never once been asked what I think about any of this and neither has my friends and family. The news seems to think that their polls reflect what we are thinking and I can assure you they do not. So stop putting poll after poll up. THEY MEAN NOTHING. Some day’s polls show support for Obama and sometimes they show it for Clinton and sometimes it is for McCain. It depends on who is being asked and you do not know how these polls are conducted. What if on my way to school I trip and fall and rip my jeans and the last thing I saw before it was a picture of Obama. If someone were to poll me right then, I would say I was voting for Clinton because she didn’t make me mad at that exact moment. For gods sake, polls do not mean anything!
I actually have more of a rant but for now I will let it go and get to my homework. Thank you for reading!

Do you know what I hate? Carrot Cake. It is so gross! You know what I hate more? The fact that on every single piece of fucking carrot cake, they put a little picture of a carrot. Like that little frosting carrot will make it taste better.
UGH!