• I just turned 17. I feel like I've been living three years too long, but shit, I guess I might as well keep going. I mean, for a little while longer at the least. I swear I'll smile like that again- with or without you. I've been destroying all of my defense mechanisms in order to actually face my "shadow side". It feels like I'm pressing my palm against crushed glass, but that the reaction is taking place all over my body.

  Yeah, you're handsome and I miss you, but I have more important things to deal with. I need to practice blowing bubbles, singing, dancing, smiling, laughing, telling silly jokes, and so much more. I have one more year in this town, and I plan to either light it up or burn it down. Either way, I'm going to shine brightly.

  "Maybe we should develop a Crayola bomb as our next secret weapon. A happiness weapon. A beauty bomb. And every time a crisis developed, we would launch one. It would explode high in the air - explode softly - and send thousands, millions, of little parachutes into the air. Floating down to earth - boxes of Crayolas. And we wouldn't go cheap, either - not little boxes of eight. Boxes of sixty-four, with the sharpener built right in. With silver and gold and copper, magenta and peach and lime, amber and umber and all the rest. And people would smile and get a little funny look on their faces and cover the world with imagination." -Robert Fulghum

  I refuse to be the cowardly lion. I will now be the courageous penguin. Yeah, Oz ain't ever seen the likes of me. "17 and running up the stairs, my baby bear."

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