In 31 hours, I will be at work for Black Friday.

I've chosen to view it as an experience. I'm not mad that I have to be there at 2 in the morning. It's going to make for a good story, hopefully.

But I really don't get it. Even on non-mass shopping days, I don't get the consumerism that drives people to Best Buy in droves. I hate that I'm one of them sometimes.

Some days I like to empty my pockets of my phone and my ipod and just sit around with a book or a notebook and just not be consumed and enslaved by things. It's a really nice feeling.

I just realized the irony of the word "consumer". Consumers are people who buy things to fill their homes: TVs, video game systems, computers, stuff, stuff, stuff, and yet this stuff that they are supposedly "consuming" ends up consuming them. Interesting.

I need to be writing. I need to be writing. I need to be writing.

But instead I'm listening to sad songs and thinking about the girl who has broken my heart repeatedly over the last seven years. My first love.

I heard somewhere (did you tell me, Alli?) that you never get over your first love. And I certainly haven't. I always think I have. And then something happens, we just have this quiet moment together where things feel like they used to, and I'm back.

She was doing my hair for the play and singing. It felt like middle school. I felt safe and familiar and comfortable and just like that, I was in love with her again. The past three days I've wanted to be around her all the time. I can't function when I'm not.

And then last night after the play, she said we needed to talk about something.

"Tomorrow," she said, and my mind started spinning in stupid directions and I thought, "I can tell her. I can just mention it. Almost casually. 'I think I like someone. It might be you.' or 'You know how I said I used to like you? I still do. I actually love you.' Cliches. It's so true that you can't be original when you're in love.

And then today we went to have our pow-wow, and I was naively excited. Even if I didn't tell her, she would be telling me something that only I would know, like she used to with all her secrets, which I don't have the privilege of being sole owner of anymore. She was going to confide in me. Maybe we were going to be just like we used to be. When we spent every minute together, and called each other every day for hours.

But that's not how the universe works. If I ever had my chance with her, it's blown now. My fault, but partially hers too, though pointing fingers is pointless.

She told me about a guy. It's nothing serious; she just maybe thinks he might like her. But it still broke my heart, again. Because she was excited about it. At the chance it represented.

And I don't want to do this again. Every time I give my heart to her, she drops it, or loses it, or just throws it up in the air without even trying to catch it. I don't want to get obsessed with one extremely flawed girl AGAIN.

But I'm not happy unless I'm next to her. In on her jokes, hearing about her life, listening to her rant about her stupid french teacher.

But she likes boys. No matter how much false hope she gives me, no matter how hard I hold on to that stupid hope, no matter how much I wish...she isn't going to like me. Even if she is at all interested in girls, she doesn't like me like that. I'm just the one who's been with her through everything for seven years. And now, will have to be there with her for at least two years in college.

Jesus, how do my "quick blog posts" turn into long rants that are infinitely better written than anything in my novel? And they're never long rants about important things. Just my stupid heart, and how it gets fixated on people who can never return what I feel about them.

I'm not this mopey in real life. Or maybe I am.

(All I want right now is a hug. From her.)

NaNoWriMo

In approximately ten minutes, NaNo begins.

I'm nervous. And cold, but I think that just has to do with the fact that I'm wearing boxers and drinking a cold beverage.

But you know what? I think I just realized one of the reasons I love NaNoWriMo so much. One of the things I struggle with the most is feeling like a kid again, getting enthusiastic about things and approaching everything with excitement and wide-eyed wonder. And NaNo gives me that.

I mean, I feel like it's Christmas eve right now, only instead of Santa coming to give me gifts, I'm the one giving myself a gift, a little literary baby that will be born right from my fingertips in seven minutes.

That's all I've really got. I don't want to run out of words.

A Side Note

I just saw an amazing play. I was going to talk about it. And how much it affected me.

But instead I'm going to write a letter to a girl. Just because I need to get these words off of my chest so that maybe the feelings attached to them will float away.

Dear You,

I think that if you let me I could fall in love with you.

I wish that we could talk like we used to.

I wish you talked to me at all.

I forget about you sometimes. But when I remember you it just hurts, because I see that you're perfect for me but you obviously don't.

I'm crossing my fingers that our paths will cross again soon, and that when they do I become a permanent fixture in your life, and you in mine.

I'm sorry I wasn't whatever you needed me to be.

Sincerely, Chelsea

This wasn't meant to be sad. I just...really needed to put those words down.

Company.

So lately I've felt like people only want to be in my company for themselves.

What I mean is, they don't want to hang out with me. They just want company, and they don't care who it is. And so I'm just a stand-in for better company.

A few weeks ago I was uninvited to something because the girl who invited me just wanted someone to go with, and when she found someone else to go with her, she didn't need me anymore.

Now, my best friend, who I've been dying to hang out with, asked me to hang out. But only because she "needs something to do Friday night" because her boyfriend is going to a party she doesn't want to go to.

This, plus the idiotic decision by my theater teacher to put me in a position of power so that everyone in class hates me, really makes me feel disconnected from everyone.

And I really need to connect with someone right now.

I wish it was November.

Stress

So I took a day off school to relax and write, but I think I'm stressing more right now than I have all week.

I had this grand plan at the beginning of the year: I would always do my homework, keep up with due dates on everything, not procrastinate. And while I've actually done a pretty good job of that, these senior project deadlines have snuck up on me. Completely.

Today all these forms are due, and I don't even have a mentor yet. Cue the hyperventilation.

Inspiration.

I'm up late, which is ok only because I plan on skipping school tomorrow to lounge around, write, and hopefully finish my summer project which was due last Wednesday.

I've mentioned before that I like to read other people's blogs, and why. But they also inspire me. People write these beautiful profound sentences that I could've never dreamed up. In a way it's almost like a challenge to myself; this voice in my head says, "You could never write like that." and then the defiant part of me wants to prove it wrong.

But lately I've started finding inspiration in so many things. The littlest things. I was standing outside of work the other night, waiting for my ride, and it was a Sunday, so it was just starting to get dark. And this guy I work with, Travis, went out into the parking lot to get a cart someone had left. As he was walking back toward the store, in the almost empty parking lot with this one cart, I just thought, "this is a beautiful moment."

I keep seeing these beautiful moments. They make me feel alive. They also make me want to write. I want to capture this everyday beauty in a way that other people can understand. I want to show people that moments like this can be beautiful. You just have to learn to look for them.

I'll leave you with this; my best friend just said it to me on Facebook, completely out of the blue. It sums up my feelings, too:

"i want to be great. thats why i'm jealous of naturally talented people because i want to be remembered for something"

Senior Year

So I've been really bad about posting on this ol' blog thingy. But I want to do so, more, because I really really want to document senior year.

This past week has had the most events so far, no doubt, so I suppose I'll go ahead and talk about that.

Monday was Tegan and Sara. They were so amazing. I got to ask them a question. I jumped up and down, and screamed, and grinned like an idiot, and had one of my all time favorite people there to share it with me. I couldn't have asked for a better experience, really.

Tuesday, my flashdrive killed all of my summer work (due Wednesday). I had a breakdown.

Wednesday, I felt completely unlike myself. I had so many of these moments of just pure emptiness.

Thursday, I got better. And a girl asked me to go to a movie with her.

Friday was Friday. It came and passed just like all Fridays do, at first with excitement and then with a mild apathy and a feeling of anticlimax. At least, that's how Fridays go for me.

Saturday morning, I have good music, the echoes of good dreams in my head, and a sort of optimism for the day, even though I have to work. I think I'm going to go take a walk while it's still cold, and pretend that it's already fall.

Late Nights and Loneliness

I've found that I write a lot better in the early morning, before anyone is awake.

Late nights are good in theory, but in practice I just end up getting nostalgic and sinking into my thoughts.

On Books

I like to read. A lot. And my preference in books has changed quite a lot, and I feel like either adult books just aren't as good as middle school type books, or there are just so many that I can't find the good ones.

I've gotten very picky about books.

For example, I like my YA fic books to be not vapid. John Green is good for this. All of his books, while staying hilarious and fun and light, have some serious messages behind them, and I love that. Maureen Johnson does pretty well with this too. But there are so many YA fiction books out there that are just...eh. Too silly and shallow.

I used to read fantasy books a whole lot, but lately I haven't gotten into any. I'm moving over to sci-fi, but it's so hard to find really really good sci-fi. I want sci-fi that's not boring, not overly technical, but still mind-blowingly clever. Classic sci-fi rocks for this. I just read Brave New World and it was fantastic.

So anyway, in the spirit of good books, I'm planning on reading a few of my favorites from my younger years. I've got a stack on my bed ready and waiting for me - Elsewhere, The Giver, A Crack in the Line. If only I had a copy of City of Ember and Once Upon a Marigold.

Fears.

So a late night coupled with a very, very early morning, plus an already weird mood intensified by a heartbreaking movie led me to think about my fears.

I'm afraid of so much. And even the people I'm really close to don't really see the extent of these fears. They know I'm afraid to come out to my dad. But no one knows why.

It's not because he wouldn't approve. He's not that kind of person. It's because I'm afraid to show him too much of myself, because I don't want to upset, even slightly, the image he seems to hold of me in his head. I don't even know what that image is; that scares me too. I just want to seem completely perfect, so that only the superficial fiction that doesn't talk much and spends too much time in her room writing shows through. The few times I've tried to share anything real, there's this look I get...

So I can't. Fear number one.

And then there's the fear that I know is stupid, because I'm "only seventeen". But I'm just afraid that I'm destined to spend my life falling in love with people who will never love me back. I mean, I've done it for a third of my life already. So is it really a stretch to imagine that I never will find someone who will love me?

Fear two.

And speaking of that, I'm afraid I'll never get over this love. Because just when I think I can, something draws me back. Or throws me for a loop. Or shows me that I can't.

Three.

Getting away from love, I'm afraid of the future. I know everyone is. But really. I'm just afraid that the path I'm choosing to go down isn't going to be the right one. I'm afraid that I'll never achieve my dream which I've had since I was 8 of being a published author. I'm afraid I'm not good enough.

Number four.

That's not all, but the full list would be nearly endless.

Fear is crippling. I usually just shove it down deep within myself, tell myself everything's going to be ok, believe others when they say the same. But then, on nights like this, when I know I should sleep but don't want to, that all this fear just rises up in the back of my throat and makes me just sit staring at nothing and trying not to cry.

But the mask has to go back on. The fear has to sink back down into its dark little pit. Life is for living, not thinking about all the things that could go wrong. So I've just got to buck up, grit my teeth, and see what happens.

EXCITEMENT!

I have tickets to see my favorite band ever. I am so, so, so excited.

(And trying not to think about that pesky 18+ warning on the website.)

Tea

I was going to blog about my complicated beliefs in coincidences and the universe, but really I just woke up, I'm incredibly tired, and I want to get some writing done this morning, so I decided to blog about the thing that keeps me alive: tea.

Since I'm from the south, I was raised on sweet tea. I've been drinking it since I was probably 2 years old. It's just a staple of life down here; people in restaurants don't even ask you if you want it "unsweet" because no one drinks it that way. It's heresy.

A few years ago I was introduced to hot tea. And not the wimpy fruity herbal kind; the real stuff. Earl Grey and English Breakfast. Black teas. I can honestly say that the best way to wake up, ever, is getting up before everyone in the house, putting the kettle on, making some tea, and then sitting down and writing or reading a good book while you sip it. It's perfect.

My tea is done.

"And if you're more of a coffee person...you can go die in a hole."

- Charlie McDonnell

A Secret

I do this thing.

I like to read other people's blogs. But not the super famous or popular or "interesting" blogs. Just little blogs, sometimes written by people I know, sometimes not.

My favorites are the ones I know, though.

Because, see, a lot of people make a blog, then either tell a few friends about it or don't tell anyone about it. And then they just post these incredibly personal, insightful things that they think no one would ever read. But I sometimes feel like they secretly hope someone they know will read it and it's like a window into themselves that they couldn't open just through texting, or in school, or talking face to face, even in one of those deep late night conversations.

There's one girl who goes to my school, and she's got several blogs scattered across the internet. I love reading hers because of the dichotomy.

At school, she's known as the fairly cool, snarky, funny girl. Somewhat of a trouble maker. Hipster. Smokes cigarettes and never takes anything too seriously. At least, that's how she presents herself.

But from reading her blog, I really got to know her, better than I ever would just from hanging out with her at school. She's scared of the future. Even though she mocks religion around other people, it's only because she's so confused about it herself. Through blogging she makes herself vulnerable and I (and whoever else stumbles upon her blogs) get to see her.

There's a book I really like called Paper Towns. It's all about how people see each other, and how so often people misimagine each other. They think they know someone from what that person has shown them, but there's so much more underneath that. It also deals with how so many people don't actually see others as human in the same way they are. They either hold people up like gods or dismiss them as "less". I know I do it. People I haven't even met.

And maybe that book is why I like seeing this other side of people. Because this girl, the one whose blog I've been reading all morning, right now seems like the most real, most human person in the world.

I wish I could see everyone like this.

Theories

My own personal theories on why inspiration, ideas, and epiphanies hit people in the shower:

Theory 1: The government wants us to be smarter, so it puts nanoparticles of genius in the water. Drinking it won't suffice; you have to be covered in it. Hence, when you take a shower, the genius particles bombard you and you have strokes of genius. This one isn't very likely.

Theory 2: The Lack Of Distractions. Usually, there's so much stuff to pay attention to. iPods, the Internet, TV, people, notebooks, interesting wall hangings, the sky, and on and on and on. But in the shower, there is not much to look at. I mean, really. Tiles. Soap. Shampoo bottles (which don't make for very interesting reading, trust me). Your own body, which isn't very interesting. So you're basically forced to THINK, and turn all that attention inward, which is BAM when inspiration hits.

Theory 3: Autopilot and the Art of Zen. Ok, so I admittedly don't know much about zen, but here's what I do know: When you "zen out" (which is probably not what it's called) you just do something without thinking about it. In this case, that something is showering, soaping, shampooing, etc. You're used to doing these things, so you don't have to think about them, leaving your mind free to wander and stumble upon ideas and such.

Theory 4: Clothes make you stupid. I don't know how or why, but they do; when you're naked in the shower, you're brain is free to think good thoughts.

So. There you have it. Four reasons, some serious, some not, about why ideas strike in the shower. Believe whichever you will.

The Name: An Explanation

(This blog post brought to you by "What Is Your Secret" by Nada Surf)

I feel as though I should explain the name of this blog.

"Wandering" implies that I travel a lot, which I don't; I meant it more figuratively. Honestly I was just trying to think of a name that meant "The Rambling Writer" (which, funnily enough, never actually crossed my mind until now) and I've always approved of alliteration (see what I did there?)

So, back to the point: "Wandering" as in I wander away from the point of a blog, "wordslinger" as in I toss the English language around willy-nilly until a few words sound nice together and I type them up into my shiny blog.

An Interview with Myself

So I think that a good first post on my brand new shiny empty blog would be an interview with myself. I used to do it (supposedly) annually on my old blog, and I remember being rather amused by it, so here goes.

Me: What time is it?

Me: 7:27 a.m.

Me: Why are you up so early?! It's summer!

Me: Well, self, I unfortunately can't miss any

more days of school, and have to go today and half of Monday. But even in the summer I do generally enjoy getting up early (IF I wake myself up and no one else is awake.)

Me: Want some tea?
Me: Of course!

*Goes off to make some tea* (No but really.)

Me: What kind of tea did you make?

Me: English Breakfast! Mm!

Me: Ok, so now on to the good questions: Who was your first crush?

Me: The Pink Power Ranger

Me: List five things you'd need to survive if left on a desert island.

Me: Not a question, but alright. Um, a 3 subject notebook. A box of cootie-free pens. A Swiss Army Knife. One of those little firestarter things. And...a volleyball.

Me: What song is currently stuck in yo

ur head?
Me: Song For The Painfully Indie by Tom Milsom, because I just got his cd. Yay!

Me: Favorite picture?

Me: This one:

Me: What writing are you currently working on?

Me: I'm sort of planning for the Summer Writing Challenge with my friend Alli, in which we write a story a week all summer. Sort of.

Me: You're about to be late for school!!!

Me: I honestly do not care at all. It's the next to last day.

Me: Still, you should probably go get ready.

Me: True enough. Until next time!