"Slightly retarded"? Gee Mom, thanks.

Today for dinner my mom was putting together meat for burgers and she told me to make a salad with lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers that she had in the refrigerator.
And, well...


Zucchini.


Looks really, really similar to this cucumber. 
Anyway, I cut up zucchini and then she was mad because I'd peeled it and even though she was going to cook it today anyway, I'd peeled it like a cucumber and we never peel zuchinni.
Ok, so I didn't know one long green vegetable over the other.  No big deal!  We cooked the zuchini anyway and made it work, and the salad was fine.  I just peeled he cucumber too and cut it up.
Then when my mom was talking to my grandma on the phone she called me "slightly retarded" for mixing up the two and they both got a good laugh out of something that shouldn't have been embarrassing but now is.  Thanks, mom.

I'm worried about my friend.

Actually, he isn't really my friend.  He's my frenemy.  He tases me, we make fun of each other, and we pretty much hate each other but we still talk anyway because it's just how we act with each other.  We know when enough is enough and we'd never purposefully hurt each other.
Anyway, I'm worried about him.  On Tuesday after school, I was standing on the sidewalk as his bus went by.  He was sitting alone, in the front, staring out the window and he looked like he was actually depressed.  HE's been acting really strangely lately, too.  I don't know.  I'm just worried about him.
Also, that's pretty much how I act on the bus because people are either being mean or not talking to me or both, and that's just where I end up.  But he just isn't the kind of person people bully.  And definitely not the kind of person that stares out the window looking depressed.  He's an introvert, yeh, but... I just don't know what to think.  I thought about it on Wednesday but didn't say anything, and Thursday and yesterday I didn't get a chance to.  Do I talk to him about it?  I don't know what to do and I'll see him on Monday.

Oh, Deer.

Yes, I will accept your slow-clapping, eye-rolling sarcasm for this terrible pun that's serving as the title of my blog post, and I will take it with a great bow.
But, seriously.  Deer almost caused me to miss the bus on Thursday.  I leave my house to get to the bus stop for school at around 6:25, because my bus comes a little after 6:30am.  When I stepped outside, there were two deer, just standing there in the middle of the street.  I figured at first, "Well, they're deer, they're not going to do anything, just run away," so I started to walk closer.  They didn't do anything, just stood there and stared at me.  I didn't want to risk that their might be a fawn (that is what baby deer are called, right?) nearby behind a tree or house or something, because as calm as they usually are, deer are still wild animals and something like that could cause one to charge me.  Plus, I was maybe a little scared.  (I know, come on, scared of deer?) But it was too early to think with any sort of functionality.  It was getting later, and since there's a close bus stop in the other direction I just went to that one, and ended up sprinting across a main road as the bus was coming up behind me.
We usually don't see deer walking around in the open unless it's pitch black out, and it was starting to get light.
So just thought I'd share.

Tired.

Can I just say how freaking exhausted I am?  Seriously!  Running, viola lessons, two huge school projects, increased homework because the year is almost over, insomnia... how much can one person take?
Yesterday, we were asked to write a love letter to a thing in English class to discover our writing voice.  Mine was to books.  I got off topic four times.    Instead of writing to books, I ended up writing about how strange it was to write a love letter to a book.  I complained that my hand was cramping up.  I stared out the window and wrote about how much I'd rather be outside, even if it was three stories up.  I complained about how it was impossible to write a page in ten minutes.
I'm tired.  Oh, and by the way, incredibly hyper.
And I do some very strange things when I am tired and incredibly hyper.
For one, after my brother asked if gay men could have babies together (in the car on the way home from a restaurant, no less), I got home and seriously considered this question.
This is the first answer I came up with: "Well, girls have XX chromosomes, and boys have XY chromosomes, but no one has YY, so it wouldn't always work."
Then I realized something, much later.
Have you ever heard of a pregnant man?

Comic Prodigy?

There it was, scrawled on my English paper, in the bright violet pen of my teacher: 'Fantastic!  You are a comic prodigy.'
For a few blessed moments, my confidence swelled.  I was funny!  My teacher enjoyed the column assignment I wrote about advice for incoming grade nines!!
Then she passed out the next assignment-- a magazine due in three weeks.  "I expect higher quality writing from all of you," she said.  Her eyes gleamed.  I'm sure it was actually an innocent, eager gleam, one that said she couldn't wait to read our creative nonfiction magazine pieces.  But to me, it just looked evil. I was instantly reminded of the medusa-like stare of last year's Spanish teacher.  How can I possibly be expected to keep being funny throughout a whole magazine?  There are only so many cracks I can make about one specific topic.  All it's going to do if I try to be witty more than naturally possible for any human being is give me a huge, largely unhumorous (is that a word?) headache.
I've already said I'm dyslexic.  I'm not a quick thinker.  Words don't look right to me, and I can't focus on them.  With Camp Nanowrimo still going on, the last thing I need is a major writing project.
Also, what's up with these huge writing projects at the end of English classes?  Last year, we had to get in groups and shoot a movie trailer about a book we had read on our own time.  That project was at least fun.  I got to use stage makeup to give my best friend a beard and mustache, and hang her over a bridge so she dangled above a creek.  All of this was done in the middle of the woods, by the way.  This project will be done in my room, on the computer- where there are distractions that include this blog, where I am currently complaining about homework instead of doing it.
Which is why I now need to hit post before I waste further time.

Happy Easter!

So things have been pretty hectic in the Emerson household the past few days.  For one, we're hosting Easter Dinner, which means that my mom is temporarily nuts.  "Clean!  Hold this!  Are you busy?  Come help me!"
On Saturday morning, between homework assignments because my teachers like assigning things over holiday weekends, I did a little reading and stuck one arm of my glasses inside my book.  I do it all the time, but my mom hates it.  Later, when I came back, my glasses were sitting on the table next to the book, which had a slip of paper with writing on it stuck inside as a bookmark.
I took out the paper.
It was my chore list.
Mom one, me zero.

It's going to snow tonight.

I would like to remind you all that it is April.  2 inches of snow in April.  Yesterday, it was 75 degrees Fahrenheit -which I finally know how to spell- and it is now in the thirties.
Welcome to the Upper Midwest.
That is all.
Oh!!!  But I've started listening to Welcome to Night Vale.  If you've never heard of it, you're missing out.  It's this really great podcast about a small desert town in America where every conspiracy theorie is actually true, and odd events are presented in the form of a mundane town radio show.  I recommend it 100%.  If you don't want to download the podcast, just go to Tunein radio online.  If you search "Listen to welcome to night vale online," it should be within the first few results.  Sorry about the choppy, robotic post, but I'm tired.  I ran 5 kilometers today, did several endurance (read: kill) exercises, and I am utterly exhausted.
Also, does anyone know how to do tabs for different blog topics on one blog?  I want to start a science and a writing section and I can't figure it out.