I'm Slowly Starting to see the Picture Here

Dear Readers,

About running, I mean. It seems like everybody's always like, "I'm going running," or, "I love running," or something ridiculous like that. (because who could actually like running?? OK, never mind, I can think of a few people...) And since I've torn my ACL, I've been introduced into this running world. (*pant pant pant*) And, as I'm not really the "runner type", I've never understood how somebody could actually like this pain.

That's when I figured out they liked it after the pain ended.

Well, gee, thanks.

And... that's when I figured out, if you're in shape, running is actually kind of fun, and you don't dread it as much. (yes, I did dread running. Yes, I kind of do dread running. Sorry, I just pretty much hate running. I would way rather be on here talking to you guys. :) Mostly because you guys are so nice and awesome.  And... way more interesting then running.)

But it's weird. I never thought I'd ever see running as maybe something I'd enjoy once I got a little more fit. (I was "a little more fit", but then I got out of that by doing more biking then running. Great job, me. Not really. So now I'm playing catch up. Which... is kind of annoying, because I expect myself to be able to do better, and I can't, so I'm having to slow myself down and not go as far. Yes, I'm still doing the "run rest" thing, which kind of stinks, but oh well. =P)

(Oh yeah, by the way, guess how long it took to find a picture on my boards on pinterest of like somebody running? [at least sort of runningishlooking] And they're not even really running!!! #iamasadcreature #needingarunningboard #ormaybenot)

So, yeah, I guess I'm getting better at that. (though, actually, today's not my running day. Tomorrow is. And then the day after that I have off free, because Saturdays and Sundays are free. YES YES YES. I used to live for my free days. JK haha =D) At least, a little better. It's easier to push yourself when you know you can do better, you know what I mean? Before it was just like, "pantpant I'm dying over here!!! pantpant"

Yeah.

Sad.

Really sad.

Anyway, so that's kind of your "weekly or so" therapy update. (update review: I'M DOING BETTER!!! YAY!!! AND I'M NOT HATING IT AS MUCH!! IS THAT A GOOD OR A BAD THING?!?! PERHAPS I AM GOING CRAZY!!! AND PERHAPS I SHOULD TURN OFF THE CAPS NOW BEFORE I GO TOTALLY BERSERKO ON YOU!!!)

Farewell, awesome people. :)

~Storyteller

P.S. Can't wait for 150 friends on Storyteller of Weston County!! :) Then I reveal my name. And I can use it on my blog posts. YES. *score*

P.P.S. Wow. I didn't know I had a "running" label. Whoopteedo. haha =D

The Guitar Episode

Dear Readers,

Yes, another letter from crazy, dramatic Jessie!!! I am finally back. Sorry I haven't written in a little while...... I've been kind of busy!!! =D First of all I was working on my signature, and then there was the newspaper, and reporting on both football and cross country........

Anyway, so I was walking home from the store when I a gorgeous guitar. Now, I don't usually think of myself as musical, but if you got to play something that beautiful, I mean, really, then it might just be worth it.

I rushed home and nearly ran into Mom, who was walking out the door. 

"Oof!" I cried. "Mom! Do you have a guitar?"

"What kind of a question is THAT?" Mom snorted.

"I really need to know," I said. "It's important."

"No," she sighed, "but your Uncle Max I think still has his. You should go ask him."

Uncle Max? She had to be joking.

Uncle Max and Aunt Thea were the type of people who walked the wall of China for their honeymoon and considered hockey "easy" and "fun" and "not life-dangering". They were the kind of people who rushed around and when they accidently knock down your prize vase say, "Well, you always liked me more, didn't you?"

Yeah, so you know what I'm dealing with.

Was my mother nuts?!

"Bye, Jessie!" Mom called, waving from the car.

"Wait! Mom!" I yelled. "Where are you going?"

"To the library!" the car spewed and then shot off. I wondered for the hundredth time how on earth Mom had gotten a driver's license. No doubt she'd nearly killed the driver's ED teacher.

I sighed. I'd just have to go Uncle Max's. Ugh.

Now, it wasn't hard to get to Uncle Max's house. It was actually pretty easy. Other than the fact that he lived on the other side of Dayton. Uncle Max and Aunt Thea were like billionaires, so they lived in this huge mansion that they'd painted in stripes--the colors of the rainbow, of course--and a purple barn where they kept their "farm animals"--three baby ducks, one fat donkey, and the fattest cat ever named Victor.

I set off for their house. When I finally saw it, I took a deep breath. Their van, painted in polka dots, was sitting in the driveway of crushed seashells (don't ask). I walked up to the huge wooden double doors and pushed the doorbell.

Hard rock burst off inside the house. The door quickly opened, and in front of me was the short, plump, wild red-haired, bulgy-blued eyed Aunt Thea.

"Jessie!!!!" she shrieked. Over her shoulder, "Maxie-poo, Jessie's here!"

"Jessie? What a wonderful surprise!" Tall, gangly, blonde-haired, blue-eyed Uncle Max came into the light wearing, as always his "Englishman clothes", as he called them. "And what can I do for you?"

"Um, uh, Mom said you had a guitar," I said.

"Oh, yes, of course!" He cried. "Thea, won't you show them to her? I think they're in the barn!"

"Why don't we have our surprise guest do it?" Aunt Thea winked.

"Surprise guest?" I sent hesitant glances at them.

At just that moment, Mor stepped into the light.

"Mor, would you please help Jessie find Max's guitar? I think it's in the barn," said Aunt Thea.

I was horrified--what on earth was Mor doing HERE?!

"OK." He didn't say anything about seeing me at the cross country meet and followed me out into the barnyard.

We didn't speak. We went into the barn, rummaged around in the junk in the loft, found the guitar, and then Mor shrugged and walked off for the house. The guitar in my hand, I went off running for MY house.

Weird, isn't it?

Bye!!!!!

Love,

The Crook or the Creeper?

Dear Readers,

I was going to go and write a huge article on Michael and the Gooseberry Warehouses, but Josh said I couldn't. I'm afraid that my mom agree. Urgh. It would've been great. I was going to go and name it, "The Crook or the Creeper?". Doesn't that sound like a good title? I thought so, too.

So Mom's convinced that she's going to get me to run cross country. So the other day she went and took me to a meet. She'd gone off to talk with everybody, so I was just standing there, bored out of my brains as I waited for the races to start.

Noah wasn't there, obviously; nobody I knew was there. Of course football (Noah's sport) and cross country happen at the same time. So of course I wouldn't have seen Noah there. I just wished he'd been there, because I was seriously bored out of my brains.

I couldn't help but notice this one kid with shorter sandy blonde hair and darting eyes standing by one of the tables. I frowned. What was he so nervous about? I'd studied enough people to know that he was nervous.

Then I noticed something. He was turned inward. He kept on glancing over his shoulder, as if he expected somebody was going to grab his shoulder any second. I looked behind him. In the near distance I saw a suspicious-looking man in a gray trench coat and fedora. Out of place? You've got to be joking. This guy looked like he thought he was Sherlock Holmes-modern.

I sighed. I didn't want to get mixed up in a mystery. But then again, I was dramatic, crazy Jessie. I might as well figure out what on earth was going on! Besides, I felt bad for the kid. I knew that from his uniform he had to be from one of the teams. His colors spoke of the Treyton Knights.

"Hey, my name's Jessie Bender." I held out my hand.

The boy looked at me in surprise. "Mor Banks."

"Mor?" I repeated.

"It's for Morris," he shrugged. "But I hate that name. So my friends call me Mor."

"Are you OK?" I whispered.

He gave me a look.

"You just seem nervous," I shrugged. "Do you need any help? My mom's here. I'm sure she could help you, if you needed anything."

"I'm fine." He looked over his shoulder again.

"Sure?" I asked.

He shrugged.

I sighed. "OK. But if you need help......" I trailed off as I walked away.

For the rest of the day, I watched the weird dude in the trench coat. He kept on sending glances over at Mor. Then it was time for Mor's race. I watched them set off. The man in the trench coat did, too. I didn't like that man. He flipped a cell phone out of his pocket and spoke just a few words.

I'd taught myself lipsinking. Horror built up in my heart as I read his lips.

There were only two. "Get him." And then he flipped the phone shut.

I tried to tell myself to relax. The kids were coming back, crossing the finishing line rapidly. And then, finally, everybody had gotten back. I'd made sure to count everybody. There was only one person missing.

Mor.

Everybody waited uneasily. He didn't come back.

I sighed. Oh, bother!

And so I ran. Up the hill. And beyond. And I couldn't find him.

So after I'd told Mom and she told the sheriff who'd started a search for him, we set off home.

Was that guy in the trench coat a crook?

Or was Mor a creeper?

Love,
Jessie

Race of Life

The wind rustles my hair,
As I run without a care,
I cannot trip as I fly,
Almost up to the sky.
I cannot stop, no, not ever,
I will continue this worthy endeavor,
I shall not quit, I'll keep on going,
My end only I am sewing.
I fly, my feet going and faster,
I run, my heart flying to the sky,
I cry, my legs burning like fire,
You'll be at the end, you and I.
So run your race, don't stop,
Don't even try and hesitate,
You've got to keep on running,
You just can't be late.
So I fly along the road,
Past the humble abode,
Flying towards the sky,
Only you and I.

~Storyteller