At Nine Thirty-Six We Pick Up The Sticks… and I post this.

Wow, I actually have the computer back. It is so odd to go on here after for days of ‘no computer.’ At least, no legal computer time.

Today was a good day in some ways, okay in others. It was the last day of school for seniors, which of course made me sad- I do not like things to end, even if they do not end for me.

I printed out part of my English essay in a super tiny font size and, although the words were quite small, it was amazingly fun to read. It is fantastic how, even in size four Times New Roman, the words are still clear as day.

I was exceptionally forgetful today and forgot not only my glasses but the word of the day sheet as well. Therefore, there are going to be two words of the day tomorrow, R and S. They are very good ones. Still, there is the number of the day- twenty-three. There is no holiday, seeing as there are five or six question marks in my obscure holidays booklet that, after them, reads ‘This day has yet to be reserved as a holiday by an individual or group!’

In Gym we played softball, and I was awful at it. Somebody even hit the ball for me so that all I had to do was run, but once I got to first base I kept running and got tagged. I had no idea that I must stop running or risk getting tagged, ‘checking’ I think they called it. My whole team (and part of the other team) called out for me to stop running but I did not know they were speaking to me. Then Tall John came over and did one of his ‘let’s-help-out-the-quiet-girl-who-has-no-idea-what-she-is-doing-and-it-will-make-me-look-nice-in-front-of-the-rest-of-the-girls’ talks and told me (in the quiet voice he never speaks in otherwise) that I should not continue running unless the person ahead of me has started running to the next base as well. I nodded solemnly and took my customary place in the dugout.

What is really weird about being quiet is that everyone thinks a variation of the same things about you- the majority of people think that a.)you hate them, b.)you are very smart, c.)you are nice, d.)you are very sensitive, e.)you are mute, f.)you cannot hear them talking about you, or a combination of a few. It is actually kind of fun being quiet because you can eavesdrop on people and they do not realize you can actually hear them.

Oh my, tomorrow is Laura’s birthday party! It is going to be tremendously fun for sure.

Gee, now I am getting into the super excited mode not beneficial when you are going to bed soon. It happens to me quite often, this cheerful-happy-excited mood, and it makes it terribly hard to get to sleep.

I finished reading The Sword in the Stone today and it had an excellent ending- hard to say, considering most books I read have really awful ones.

Oh my goodness, we got apple juice!!! I love apple juice.

Now, this is long enough already, but I am going to post my edited version of the English essay. I changed the ending and a few other things, upon the suggestions of Laura and Courtney, who edited it. Now it makes a lot more sense, or at least I hope it does… anyway, without further ado-

“Nobody in Particular”

“What am I?” I ask aloud, to Nobody in Particular.

“What are you not?” Nobody in Particular responds.

He has always been a wise fellow, this nobody creature. I am not entirely sure whether he exists, then again, as I have been known to imagine things. At least, that is what they said when they kicked me out. “REASON FOR EXPULSION” the slip was titled, the big, bold letters giving way to the infamous fine print. “Prone to excessive bouts of overactive imagination, often leading to impulsive actions,” the report continued in the same minuscule size, ending with the signature of whomever was unduly placed in charge. They even had the nerve to slap a period on the end of it, as if turning the claim into a sentence fragment would change its significance, somehow. Quite the opposite, though- it only served to further infuriate me.

Now, that is all behind me- I still say as I did when I left in the first place: good riddance.

To be honest, I am dead grateful that I was ousted. After all, if I had not been, I would never have met Nobody in Particular- and that, my friend, would be unfortunate indeed. Had I not met Nobody in Particular, I never would have been granted the many drops of wisdom he has bestowed upon me since our meeting. Though, I guess calling it a ‘meeting’ would not be fully appropriate. We did not meet, per say. To this day, we have not formally done so. Rather, we have a mutual agreement: I ask a question, at any time of day, and he answers. The scale is tipped more generously towards me, and I should think he would care, but he has yet to complain about my having the better half of the bargain. Now that I think about it, he has yet to complain about anything.

Occasionally I attempt to persuade the man to show himself, but it never turns out to my benefit. Surely he (and I assume that the creature is a ‘he’ based on the tone of his voice) wishes to come out of wherever he is hiding, at least sometimes. If he does, however, he does not show it. Always speaking in the monotonous, deadpan voice of a robot, one would think he would wish for a little excitement in his life. Evidently not yet, but I am sure he will crack someday. I have a strong feeling about it, and secure ones such as this are nearly always correct- at least in my experience.

I shudder to think of what would happen to both him and me if he were discovered. As long as the human race exists, the intense longing for knowledge and wisdom is inevitable, and Nobody in Particular has an abundance of it.

More so, in fact, than anybody I have met before. This never ceases to amaze me; if somebody this intelligent were to suddenly disappear from society, someone should certainly realize it.

He is an enemy spy, I once thought, yet there is no trace of an accent about him. I then considered that he is merely a hermit, choosing to be cut off from the rest of the world for some mysterious reason, much like myself. That musing, however, was quickly shot down. To the best of my knowledge, Nobody in Particular has not left wherever he lurks. And, even if he were a hermit, he would still need to eat in order to survive. His voice comes from somewhere a bit off, but not enough that he could possibly be near a door or garden where he would be able to gather nutrients- or water, for that matter. If he is not human, though, then what is he? Without food or water, he could not even be living. A zombie, maybe? I doubt it- he does not seem like the type; at least, I am almost positive that he is not dead. What, then, is he?

I have tried not to dwell on it too much, but I must admit that dwelling on things takes up much of my time. There is not much else to do, in this lonely monster of a house with echoing rooms and the eternal scent of mothballs.

So, yes, it is free of most insects. It is also free of humans, other than myself of course. Once, I tried to make friends, let people into my life, but that ended badly. Apparently, it is not courteous to insist on having someone over and then hiding in the basement when they arrive. I could not help it, though- I realized that there was no value in risking the discovery of Nobody in Particular for a mere friendship.

I have no family, never have and doubtlessly never will. In the end, it is just me here, biding my time as my years waste away, soon to be nearing nothingness. And, obviously, Nobody in Particular is present as well.

I do not care, though. Who cares if I have nobody to talk to, nothing to do? What does it matter to be lonely when you have the answer to every question in the world? Does that matter, even? Does anything?

[END OF POST]

I hope somebody liked it.

Good night, everybody.

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