Witty Title

Wow, it's been about 2 weeks! Did you miss me? ◄

Awww...

Well, not much has been happening, I suppose. The last two art projects have sucked, and I'm fairly certain that I have lost skill in guitar playing, which is upsetting because I actually learned a really catchy song by Fleet Foxes called False Knight On The Road. I brought my guitar to school today for one of le crappy projects mentioned earlier and people asked me to play. I then proceeded to realize that I totally, entirely and truly suck at guitar. 

------------------------------------------------------oh well.

The job search is going considerably better, as I may get a job at either Jump!Zone with Britt or  at LazerKraze  which is supposed to pay 9 ducks an hour. All the ducks... Either of which would be great, because the last thing I purchased with my own money was a gumball from the mall which, in retrospect, was a poor decision. Iregretnothing.jpg

That's more of a "I don't even care face" but, you guys are just going to have to deal with it.

As far as writing goes, I would love to do some. However, Mrs. Foley is having a jolly old time cramming retarded assignments down my throat, like writing a hippie-america-is-beautiful thing. It actually came out pretty nice, and I'll include it at the end. STILL, I don't like her and her nonsensical "because I said so" attitude. She's like, 7 years older than me, and she looks like a bald eagle. Your authority=none. ↨

I miss my epic fantasy world... §

Anyway, Louisville orientation is coming up, and so is graduation, and so is never having to see anyone from school ever never ever ever never ever again. This, of course, makes me deliriously happy, as most of my classmates can't tell the difference between a shovel and an airplane.

Speaking of class, I have to read Dante's Inferno for A.P. Lit. This doesn't really bother me, except that I got the book. And the cover is in....

My MS Paint skills are over 9000.

A classic doesn't look as epic with a Comic Sans title. Oh well, I'm just a loser.

As far as P90X goes, it's about 5 weeks in, and I've lost 5 pounds... Unimpressive, but I've gained a lot of endurance. I just need to start eating right. Oh, and only break a sweat after 50 pull-ups. No big deal.

Weekly LAWL:

Really, I just wanted to see if GIFs worked. YAY for me!

Spring break is next week, and hopefully I'll be able to show pictures of all the guns I'll be shooting with my brother Corey, who lives down in Florida. He's in the Airforce, and is a lankier, more-ducks-having version of me. I miss the craps out of him. Oh crap... we're leaving right after school Friday, when I'm supposed to hang out with Blondie all day... crap.

"Bang on that keyboard louder Sawyer!" *Music is playing, shower is going, dryer is screeching*

Really, mom. You're just listening for it...

So I smash it out of spite.  ☼

Anyway, it should be a nice break, and I can keep up with P90X because he has it too. And I'll be playing LIVE, hopefully, a little bit. I can't wait for a lot of games this year... But that'll be in the next post. I think my mother's ears will explode if I type another hateful word.

So, I'll leave you with "The Valley by the Lake" and a childish hope you will spread my blog on Twitter or Facebook, and let it be buried under Justin Bieber fever and KONY crap. I'm selfish, love me.

Till next time, viewers,

♥, Me.

Click "read more" to read "The Valley by the Lake"!

The Valley by the Lake

By Sawyer Schmitt

In a piece of nowhere, just past nowhere-ville and just before nowhere-town, is a lake, cradled by the valley. This lake shimmers green in sunlight; sunlight that is sometimes blocked by the valley hills. Here, in the middle of a rolling glade, it seems as though a divine hand reached down to peer into his creation, delicately pushing the exterior aside to witness a luminescent core. The three hills undulate up in an early morning stretch, lolling under the sun as cats do.

Coon hunters and the coon hunters’ fathers roamed here, treading thing trails as veins on the three glorious hills. Trees poke up with a graceful and proud protuberance in every inch, fighting for some holy extra second of sunlight. If you are lucky, the hills’ silhouette cascades over the lake and small white house that stands upon a complacent hummock, and you feel as though Davey Crockett will come out to meet you astride the lake, now a dark copperish-green, as Lady Liberty. The cattails sway in tangents of breezes that cut through the valley, disturbing the twilight mist that hovers over the hills.

Each branch of each tree strikes out as material lightening to a cloud or the grey sky behind, and the variegated leaves will dance in time with the cattails. The 4^th hill on which you witness this has an unnatural vein, unlike her sisters, where deer stray boldly, looking for some patch of grass that Man missed. They skitter away from thrashing engines that push 45, darting in a wild manner up the three hills’ veins, mocking lifeblood and sending roosting birds out to soar on some meandering breeze.

The congregation of the valley by the lake surrounds for a miniscule second, and the breath swells inside your lungs with the flit of a hummingbird. Ripples resound on the surface of the silent lake and frogs come out to lounge at the brim. Nightingales coo out to a sliver of a moon that rests in the ebony sky held by the sleeping hills. Out in the distance, foxes sleep on the sides of veins, wolves arise to hunt, hunt, hunt and stalk the night in starlight. “Whoooooo?” inquires the owl, and I breathe in his sound.

Night and day, the hills are wild and alive, nocturnal and drowning in vitality under the night sky. The symphony rings in the valley and coasts over a rippling lake, pushing through the doldrums of night. Busy are the hills, with deer roaming under deciduous crowns and the moon’s silver majesty. The raccoon sniffs for a meal, the wolf sniffs for a raccoon, the hills sniff at a small breeze.

In the morning light, freshly-dewed and dreary trees shake the night from their cloaks and carry ancient voices from the valley, ringing softly in my ears. This valley by the lake sits in waiting for some artist to paint it into history, or some poet to speak of a tryst underneath its vast canopy. It sits in overwhelming life and a suspended cradle, night and day.