it's about time.

so for some strange reason i go through preiods of time where wrting is the last thing i can bring myself to do. I think perhaps it's because i know that the truth will always comes out when i do write, maybe that's a good thing.

recently i have made contct with my father and a variety of feelings are in me at this time. He is in arizona with his mom trying to figure himself out and is on a journey of self recovery. I could not be happier. I jsut cant help but to feel aprehensive to the fact that i am starting to build a relationship with him. It feels so natural when i talk to him, but it also feels like i'm just getting to know a person, which i suppose in reality i am, i jsut dont like the fact that i have to get to knwo my own father. all in all, i have more to be thankful for than i do to complain about. god knows why i have live with this that's all that matters. I just wish i could muster up the will to call him like i've been telling him i would for the past week. Something about his voice brings me back to the summers spent camping all the time and him baiting my hook and cheering me on while i pulled in a huge fish something about it just makes me remember the good. why does that scare me so much?


anywho. i've lost five pounds. i'm on my way.

sadly.

i've lost myself a little this past month or so. but i'm here saying proudly i'm back. I realize that i am great despite what people think. it's sad how you can think somebody is your friend and they would say something so rude and dumb. but you live you learn. and you do better the next time.

Chelsea Brooks

i am skipping third, because i am not ready the test in math so i thought i would jsut make it up when i am and i was bored so i googed my name and a girl with my exact name died she was 14 and nine mothspregnant, i feeel really weird my exct name. she was murdered too.

for you kort.

i am blogging for you, because you like to read them i dont understnad that because you know everything that goes on, also i have noticed that you have been stepping outside your box a lot more often and i love that good job best friend. love.

huh

weird, am i starting to like somebody? do i even do that?

update

today was amazing. my six months were up and unlike most of my peers i was actually made to follow them. So to celebrate kort, rach jackson and i went to kalles to see tav, went to trackside, and then we all went over to kort's aunt's house to babysit. it was fun. we all played secret agent with the little kids.

i have not blogged lately because i have been incredibly busy.

random.
i have done really well with my eating healthy and tomorrow/today i am going to get a gym membership.

today shan shelly kort and i are going to Tacoma

my team got an A on the debate today.

Monday will be my fathers birthday
that deserves elaboration. it has been six months since i have had any contact with my father, i don't even like calling him that but i have nothing else to call him. i have a horrible burning hole because every day when i hear people talk about their dads at home who are mentally healthy i get extremely sad. it sucks. and i have a hard time expressing any emotion to the fact. sometimes i go on his myspace, i was curious one day and found it. Its proof to me that he is still alive, although i have no desire to ever see him or have any form of contact with him at all, it is still something i have to know. i also found out that he had a daughter before me, i never knew about her and neither did he ( i found out about a month ago) i finally tracked a picture down from long searching... i look kind of like her. she has really dark hair though, same eyes, same nose, different face shape. i don't know why i cried when i found out, most likely because i felt so bad for her that she had to share the same dad as me, i felt bad that her DNA had have him in it, i was jealous that she got his pretty eyes without having to know him. I got his pretty eyes, but those eyes had to suffer 16 years. i still get choked up thinking about her. She now knows she has a little sister (me) and an older brother(my brother) i think she wants to meet us, my brother and grandma want to meet her...why don't i? i keep searching for a logical reason as to why i don't want to meet this girl, she could be really cool she is my sister... but i don't want to bother her, she has a life she is 21? and she is set... the only thing i have to tell her is, kristen you are lucky so completely lucky that you got the pretty eyes and nothing else.

despite how sad this all sounds for the most part i am really happy, i just have some days when its inevitable not to think about it. the fact is i want a dad, as much as i joke that it doesn't bother me, all i want is a dad that comes home and isn't evil. all i want is a daddy.

but in place of that i have an amazing mom and amazing friends. nobody gets it all.

a poem my sister told.

this summer I went to Idaho after a certain event to get away. It is probably one of the most memorable times of the summer. A hard time, yes, but a beautiful time no doubt.

while in Idaho I worked everyday at my family's fruit stand, they(the 2 stands) are very large and resemble puyallup's Tacoma boys, but a little more personal and a lot cheaper. Working there, is maybe one of my favorite parts of the summer, i love it. My sister is a full time worker which results in her getting paid more and allowing her to be my "boss" when we are alone running the stand. At certain times it gets slow and she takes advantage of being my boss, but i don't mind because slow times are precious. Those are the times we eat all the fruit and draw on the cashier table and get mad at each other then forget about it seconds later.
Or the time i walk up and down the aisles with the broom sweeping, or the times i snip the dead off the flowers and arrange the flats with no same color toughing, then put them back because the pansies and tulips don't complement each other. But, my favorite part of the slow times are my sister's french poetry book. Under the cashier table we had a fan, water and books.

My sister is beautiful in so many ways but i think the most beautiful part of her would be her elegance in the french language. Her accent is fluent and only three years made it that way. Needless to say, it makes mine sound as thought I'm having a panic attack while pronouncing my "r".

Back to the poetry book,
"crapster (that's my name to her, I'm never Chelsea.) come here."
"what?"
"I'm reading you a poem."
"...okay?"
she read it, and i cried.
she translated it because the french was to complex for me. I only cried because of her voice and how beautiful it sounded (i stopped before she looked up, she doesn't know i cried,)

my sister is never very emotional, her heart has always been deeply tucked away, but she does little things that make it obvious that she loves me. Despite the times when she tells me I'm useless, and I'm only her half sister, but there are those times that i will cherish because i know she is a person that you have to cherish everything she does because it doesn't come often. I know she loves me, because she marked all the good poems and gave me the book. and I know she loves me because she makes me go to the store with her, and i know because on my sixteenth birthday she called me from Spokane, where she lives, to wish me a happy birthday crapster. I just said thank you fish ( that's her name to me, she is never tavona.) i was trying really hard to hide my excitement and shock that she called me. we talked a bit and I ended it like i always do, "bye fish", "i miss you and love you a lot."
That birthday i got the best birthday present i had ever received, "i love you too."

I've gotten one or two before and only one hug that i can remember after the ages of five and two, but all the other signs of affection were followed by the disclaimer, "i only love you because i have to and you're my little sister," but i know she loves me for me because like i said, she makes me go to the store with her, and she gives me poems and calls me on my birthday. and buys me hippie shirts, and makes sure i know everything about music and plays rock band with me and makes fun of my " rock band faces."

I'm glad she read that poem to me, and I'm glad she is my sister. i wrote this because i miss her all the time, I'm really proud of her and i wish she was happy and loved herself as much as i do.