Okay, I'm a huge procrastinator..

For one thing, I haven't been posting here. At all.

For another, I have to make this blog for 8th Grade Social Studies. It was due Friday but she told us she wouldn't check it until Monday, so I went ahead and made blank posts to edit them over the weekend.

If you're interested, here's the blog, though if I were you, I wouldn't be interested.
www.maryalicemillertaylor5.blogspot.com

Once school blows over and it's Thanksgiving, I'll type something really good. You'll see! But for now I need to control my giant procrastination, no matter how hard it is to overcome.

Sorry for post delay..

I could just tell you I've been busy with school projects and assignments, though that would probably be a half truth because I usually put those off until the last minute. I know procrastinating is not very good to do, but I put everything off anyway. I've been putting myself and my own wishes before the things everyone else wants; I'm only human.

I'm going to try to post more often, if I can. I have to start a blog for Social Studies at school. On Friday for class, we went to the computer lab and the librarian, who helps out with this sort of thing, began yammering on about reliable sources and how to put sources on sites, and talking about how to create blogs. I tried to be patient and just endure it, but apparently on Monday we'll be doing the same thing. Oh joy.

Of course, I shouldn't be complaining. After all, I'm not doing anything better than what teachers do. However, I wish sometimes that teachers would be more reasonable, and that they would teach to the student rather than the test. It feels that all that matters anymore is testing, rather than actual knowledge.

I'm just rambling now.. but in conclusion, I've been kept up with my own life, and after a while I'll try to pick this back up again.

~Taylor

One word. Parents.

Alright, I know that, as a thirteen-year-old girl, I may not be able to say much about parents. After all, I'm not a parent myself and I don't even have younger siblings or cousins to look after. However, my mother does teach preschool, and I've seen what I consider horrible parents.

First of all, what do I consider to be horrible parents? I'm not talking about parents with strong senses of disciplinary skills. After all, children do need to learn, and it is okay to punish them if they deserve it.. and I know that people are now silently groaning at what I have to say, especially if they are younger audiences. What I consider to be horrible parents is someone who doesn't care for their kid, someone who messes up really big and their mistakes affect their kid, instead of the kid being a hassle for them.

For example. I'm not going to give a name for this parent or the child, because I don't want them being made fun of or for them to realize who I am talking about, in case they stumble on this. I went to a sleepover the other night and really late a girl there was telling us a story. Apparently her mom had spiked a 2-liter of soda and then put it back in the refrigeration. The girl actually went and drank the whole thing, because she didn't realize there was alcohol in it and she was completely drunk. She told us that she even stepped on a bug and then cried uncontrollably, and buried it in the backyard, which is probably the most insane thing I have heard in quite some time. I've never even tasted alcohol, not even when I was really little or anything.

The job of a parent, in my teenage opinion, is to guide the kid, to help set an example, and to not be like some of the parents who go out and do illegal things. I keep hearing the most terrible things about what some parents do to people and it drives me crazy. Like people who kill their newborn babies just because they don't want them.. if they were in their right mind, could they not give the baby up for adoption or something more humane? And then people who go out and drink at parties when their baby is wailing at home.. they should be there for their child. I'm lucky to have grown up with good parents, I suppose.

Life is what it is, and where you end up, it all depends.

Fallen

It was ten years ago, but it's hard to believe it's been so long since the towers fell. Ash and smoke flew about as the airplanes crashed. Today the flags stay at half mast, the star spangled banner blowing in the breeze, people recognizing the dead.

Why do we have to be in wars? The battling is foolish. Why do people have to feel hatred? The hatred is reasonless. Today, someone asked me to give a reason why it would make sense for someone to crash planes into towers. I thought for a moment, but I don't know the answer why someone would do such a thing. There is no reasonable answer. Because there is no plausible reason.

I only vaguely remember what I was doing ten years ago. I was in preschool, and I remember saying the Pledge of Allegiance to the flags, and having some understanding that something bad had happened. As I've grown older I've realized what actually happened those many years ago. People died in the planes, people died in the towers. And there's nothing America can do, is there? They can't resurrect the dead. Because no matter how they act, no one is perfect.

Who Am I?

You could ask yourself a lot of questions, including "What is the meaning of life?" "Where will I be in 20 years?" "Is there a God?" And while all of those are important questions, some of them essential, there is one that keeps repeatedly popping in my head. Who am I? You could answer that with a simple name, but that would be the easy way out. Who am I?

I might say that I am a teenage girl, one who is interested in Star Wars and the webcomic Homestuck, whose favorite color is purple, who listens to decent music rather than that pop junk they play on the radio (please note, you don't have to agree with me on what I say, it is opinion-based).  I could tell you that I like animals, especially my dog and my guinea pig. I could go on and on about my interests. But still, I am only focusing on the outer shell of my life.

People have different shells, in my opinion. Your outermost one is very simple: it's your appearance, age, and anything someone can see before they really get to know you. As people get to know you, the real you, they peel back that shell and go to the next one: your interests, the things you like, the things you want. The first inner shell contains your needs, your loves, what is truly on your mind, your most important desires.

But most important is the innermost shell. It contains your fears, your secrets, your soul. It is the shell you would share with almost no one. I do not share my innermost shell with even my family, even though they allow me many chances to do so. When you have found someone who you can share your innermost shell with, then you have found love.

If I am asked "Who am I?" I have realized this. I am nothing on the outside of me. I am my inner shell.