<!-- --><style type="text/css">@import url(https://www.blogger.com/static/v1/v-css/navbar/3334278262-classic.css); div.b-mobile {display:none;} </style> </head> <body><script type="text/javascript"> function setAttributeOnload(object, attribute, val) { if(window.addEventListener) { window.addEventListener('load', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }, false); } else { window.attachEvent('onload', function(){ object[attribute] = val; }); } } </script> <div id="navbar-iframe-container"></div> <script type="text/javascript" src="https://apis.google.com/js/plusone.js"></script> <script type="text/javascript"> gapi.load("gapi.iframes:gapi.iframes.style.bubble", function() { if (gapi.iframes && gapi.iframes.getContext) { gapi.iframes.getContext().openChild({ url: 'https://www.blogger.com/navbar.g?targetBlogID\x3d859279922884849028\x26blogName\x3d%5B+%E2%88%9E+%5D\x26publishMode\x3dPUBLISH_MODE_BLOGSPOT\x26navbarType\x3dBLUE\x26layoutType\x3dCLASSIC\x26searchRoot\x3dhttps://ameliadetonated.blogspot.com/search\x26blogLocale\x3den\x26v\x3d2\x26homepageUrl\x3dhttp://ameliadetonated.blogspot.com/\x26vt\x3d5530485719894632230', where: document.getElementById("navbar-iframe-container"), id: "navbar-iframe" }); } }); </script>

about locations control history

19 October 2011
Day 13, 14, 15 @ 5:10 PM

This wasn't how I envisioned this project going - doing three to six days at once? Not quite as effective, but I'll take it.

Late in the night, a soft rap came upon his door and he proceeded with caution. Peeking through the window, he saw that a young woman stood outside, tugging her coat up round her neck and looking from side to side. He opened the door and in her lamplight, he saw that she was a very plain girl, no more than 20, and had with her a small bag at her feet. He politely invited her in and she nodded sheepishly in, hurrying in before he might change his mind.

Less than an hour ticked away on the clock as she sat quietly, her third attempt at the SAT glaring up at her. Images flooded her mind, her report card - straight As, as usual; her varsity jacket for track, a large C adorning the side; her mother's face when her daughter, her pride and joy, brought home a second round of terrible SAT scores. She cringed and before thinking twice, she unpinned her front hoodie pocket to display a full cheat sheet, and began filling in the bubbles.

She sat at her computer, her eyes flicking over the pages and pages of text she'd spent weeks writing. There'd be an error here, a continuity issue there, but other than that, it'd be completely picked over and was decent enough. But still she sat, unable to type a word. Her brain was blanked and she closed her eyes tightly, as if this was a dream. Things had been going so well, but as she approached the last few chapters, the geyser of ideas in her brain turned to a trickle until there was nothing left. Her eyes welled up with tears as hopelessness washed over her; for once, she thought she might finish something. She slammed her laptop shut and left the room, not sure if she'd ever read those words again.

the real deal
"I do what I can wherever I end up, to keep giving my good love, and spreading it around"

Amelia Bartlett, 18; performer, creator, student, optimist. Open-minded and looking to expand.
keep love alive.