Heartbreak Is Half The Fun, You Bring The Bullets I’ll Bring The Gun

I am home sick, because I have a cold and an ear infection. I feel terrible, but the pills I have to help my immune system fight the infections off is a cool pink color.

Now, before I had gotten this colorful pill, I had only seen white a blue pills.
white, being tylenol
blue, being arius and singular.
the pink medicine is called zpac. I have no idea how to spell the scientific name and I am not going to attempt it.

What kind of colorful medication have you seen/taken? And what's its name? if you remember or know how to spell it.

But anyways. for those [few] people who have been wondering why there has been no update on mine and maddis fanfiction. We've been having technical difficulties and we are trying out hardest to work it out. [okay, not really] but we will  [Hopefully, knock on wood] get it out in the next week, so keep checking in! : D

I feel obligated to give you guys something, so here is a narrative I wrote for my english class...fun. It is true, thats why its a narrative. and its about my friend, tracy and her grandmothers house. :]

Injoy. :]

-Love Sarebear<3

Untiled, And For A Good Reason.

How do you start something that has faded from your memory so quickly? What do you do when you the torture of forgetting the big picture, but still being able to remember small details of a place you practically lived in is killing you? When Your friends grandma dies, its hard to remember the house they occupied for so many years. They lived on Lorette Ave since I had met my friend, Tracy. Her grandmothers name? I have no clue, and I never have. I had always called her grandma. The majestic house they lived in was built around the same as the others, but it was throwing a quiet rebellion, being painted a bright yellow. Which was silenced over time by the weather.

The first time I walked up those cracked and sunken steps, I remember thinking, Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into. The was door always occupied with a cheesy decorative hanging. The interior was terrible, but we never would admit that we loved it to death. The couch was defiantly one of the worst. It had been stained from the decades of use and had embroidered flowers on it that had once been in style and is now tacky. That couch, was hideous, but we couldn't help but love it. All the memories it had engraved in its cushions. Had anyone every been in that house and not left a memory for the couch? All the people I would meet, Grandma always introducing me as one of her granddaughters, even though I was not related.

How grandma would invite someone in and get angry at them for not removing their shoes before walking on her mustard yellow carpet, splotches of faded brown scattered sparsely around, from her cat. The hours I would spend on that wretched carpet, counting the buttons in the jars and reading books that had a ghost on top of it, being awoken by the fast air I would blow through my lips. The nights I spent rearranging myself to get more comfortable in the almost non-existent cloth covering a fraction of my body while staring up at the light dancing off the ceiling.

All the times we played “Bloody Mary” only to chicken out and run back to our temporary beds, encasing ourself from make believe stories. We hide under the dinning room table many times. During those times, I would always get out and stare at all the pictures Grandma had on her wall. All the people I had never met and never would meet. I always had fun guessing their names. 'This one looks like a Jill, and this one looks like a Nate!' I rarely got a name right, and when I did Grandma would praise me with an extra slice of pie or she would give me a piece of hard candy. Even before dinner! My own mother and father never allowed me treats before dinner, only because they claimed 'It would spoil my appetite.' I always ate what Grandma would give me for dinner, even if there was tons of it.

When everyone would sit for dinner, it would moan from the weight of food placed on its back. Grandma always told us it would never fall, and she was right. Grandma's dinning room table stood strong, and I imagine it still is to this day. Grandma always cooked too much food, no matter if there was 1 person or 20 people. Always, had there been a weeks leftovers. Although I had never actually seen the inside of Tracy and Grandma's fridge, I had always imagined it to be over stuffed, like a can of sardines. I imagined she keep all sorts of food in there, and cakes! Grandma loved baking cakes.

After dinner Tracy and I would always clear the dishes and wash them with smoking water. All the times we would get into bubble fights, flinging the white fluffy clouds about the room, screaming and laugh as they stung out eyes. Grandma would be so flustered with us, she would make us scrub the floor with toothbrushes. I never remember actually getting further than five tiles. Grandma would always ban us to the basement so she could make desert, and then later finishing the floor herself. “Foolish children,” she would always say to us as we laughed at the weirdest things. Like when the cat was chasing a ball, and fell down the stairs clumsily. Of course, her cat was not harmed, or we wouldn't have laughed. All those times we had couch wars, frantically kicking at each other, both of us trying to stay on the couch while trying to push the other one off. Many times we came out of that with bruises, but never did we complain. Grandma always told us if we brought it on ourselves, there is no need to complain.

The nights and days Tracy's brother and sister would tease Tracy and I. Our faces turning red with anger, steam almost coming out of our ears. Tracy and I both despised her brother and sister sometimes. Soon after our anger would settle, rolling on the floor with our mouths and stomachs hurting from how much we laughed at our silly actions.

Nothing was silly that unfaithful night. February 14^th, 2003. The last day Tracy and Grandma would stay here. Tracy moving to another province...Grandma leaving for good. I despise thunderstorms now, only because the night Grandma died, there was a thunderstorm. How I had loved to sit out and watch the lightening light up the sky before that night. Now, they scare me to death. I guess you can say they also scared Grandma to death too.

As I walk past their house, the first time in years, I cant help but remember all the wonderful memories. I couldn't help myself from walking up the familiar sidewalk I hadn't been on in years. I couldn't stop even when I knew I shouldn't walk up the still sinking steps. One, two, three, four, platform. How I had gotten up to the top, without stopping, and still, as I slowly raised my hand, a clear fight between body and mind, I froze. Frozen. The familiar but strange building stood in front of me. It was no longer the bright yellow, but now a deep blue with purple trim. It looked new, and I didn't like that. The new owners had turned my favourite place into an unknown territory. I lowered my head, with my hand still in mid air, and the door opened. My head popped up and my hand quickly retreated to my side. For a split second, I thought it was Grandma. I blinked, and she was gone. An unknown female took her place, her hair dark brown, shinning in the sunlight, her skin smooth and adolescent.
“May I help you?” she asked. I opened my mouth, and paused, should I really ask to view her home?
“Do you need help?” she asked again, moving her head to get a better angle at my face.
I turned, from the familiar door, still untouched to this day, from the house that held my memories and dreams. I took a step down the crooked steps, one, two, three, four. I walked down the familiar sidewalk, noticing the chips Tracy and I had made from gardening tools. The lush carpet of green that had once been well kept was now splotched in several places. As I reached the end of the sidewalk, I turned back to the house, my eyes skimming over every inch, the women still standing at the door. If that had been Grandma, she would have forced me into the house...but it wasn't. I walked away from the house I had grown to love and forgotten so quickly, hoping that one day Tracy will come back. Until that day, this story will remain untitled, and for a good reason.