GRR SMASH

So I'm starting to get the feeling it might be really really good if I actually moved out. My brothers don't respect my privacy (oh wait... privacy? What's that?), I can make about ZERO decisions of my own, and OH YEAH! I don't get along so great with my parents.

Last straw, today, sometime between 9:40am and 12:30pm. I came home from school in between classes to print something because the school is a big meaniehead about printing, and discovered that someone had invaded my bedroom, pulled my compy out of its niche in my desk, and removed the drawing tablet I had been using for web design. Without asking. Without waiting the 5 hours it would have taken me to get home from classes.

Not to mention the fact that my parents don't believe I'm "responsible" enough to deal with the screwiness I create by staying up late. I'm 20, for crying out loud, and they don't let me find out by myself that doing that kind of stuff is a little bad? Argh. They keep telling me that "We're trying to train you to make wise decisions," but they never let me try doing it. It's like they don't know how to let go, and so they won't even try.

GRR SMASH

llamas and poems and rhymes, oh my!

[Unknown site tag]bob_wonderllama gets a special honorary inspirational (aka, he's where I got the idea) spot in the poem I wrote for class today, because it's his birthday.  Happy birthday, friend.

Outside in the rain sits my friend the llama.
I bring him inside, for rain makes him sticky.
now he models for a toy I make of ceramic,
a toy I mean to give away.
The clay yields under my instrument
while he sings, raising his wonderful voice.

A cold he got from the rain ruins his voice,
making me cry for my friend, the llama.
Now he proves  anything can be an instrument -
spoons on a table, glasses of water, sticky
tape strummed over and over.  Far and away
his music takes me, as I work with toys of ceramic.

Proudly, I show him my cute ceramic
toy, for in his singing, his voice
has become a part of it.  "Give it away?"
The thought makes me sad, I wish for the llama
to be with me forever - even if he's sticky.
But... I sell it and buy a gift for him - an instrument,

a drum, for they, I recall, are his instrument
of choice, much as what I make out of ceramic
are my favorites.  And even though his fur is sticky,
I hug him for the gift he gave through his voice.
He has to leave now, my friend the llama,
and so I cry as he heads out the door and away.

The sticky tears rain down, causing cracks in my voice,
for he left his instrument and took a ceramic
toy, the llama I made, and bore it away.[Unknown site tag]