Hey all. I don't honestly have that much to tell you, other than I'm doing history with this new font, and it is AWESOME. It's called party LET, and I love it. 

The other thing I wanted to say, is that some of you voted (on the poll) that you wanted me to write something different... well, by mistake, I did. I was on my email and I started to write something because the sky was bright yellow (the storms have been really bad lately) and I felt like writing about rain. So I did. And here it is: 

I opened the screen door. It screeched to halt half way open. I stepped into the blowing wind, letting the rain drops lap my face. My barefoot feet went slowly down the steps; I almost didn't notice the movement. My toes scrunched into the mud, obscuring the chipped paint on my nails. I looked up into the 1920's Arkansas sky. 
"Dear God." I said softly, staring at the clouds. "How, if there is so much rain, can there be a dust bowl? How is it possible that farmers don't have enough food to farm? How is it that we don't have any money left? If you could try and explain things to me, that would be... wonderful. Thank you. Sincerely, Annie." 
I scrunched my eyes shut for a moment, and then opened them. I was almost surprised by the fact that I was sopping wet. The rain had gotten worse. Looking around, I realized what I'd done. 
I wasn't in front of the porch anymore, I had been walking the whole time, not even noticing. I forced my feet to stop moving, looking around into the gray. The warm rain started to pour down harder, and I could hardly see. 
I walked slowly forward, my arms out at my sides. I couldn't tell which way was up or down, it was all gray. I felt like I had stepped into a book that hadn't been written yet, like I was standing on a page that had no meaning. 
I walked forward even more, bumping into a tree. Have I really gone that far? I've walked all the way to the woods? I hated myself for being sick like this, and no one knew how to stop it. Ever since I was little, I would go places that I didn't know I'd gone to. I would walk without knowing, I wouldn't see what I was doing. And no doctor could help me. 
So now, and it was all my own fault, I was lost in the middle of the woods. 

I looked around, starting to feel the cold seep into my clothes and skin. I tried not to let panic overcome me. That was my flaw, I was easily panicked. My breath became more ragged as I saw how much all the trees looked alike. 
"It's alright." I told myself. "Wind in the leaves, Annie, wind in the leaves. Wind in the leaves. Wind in the leaves." I repeated the phrase over and over. 
That had been my 'special phrase' since I found out I had this... condition. Every now and then, when I got really worked up and frantic (which as also a part of this sickness) I said that phrase out loud until I calmed down. Aunt Millie says it sometimes, but mostly she didn't give a gnat about me. 
That thought didn't help with the panic. How long would it be before she realized that I was gone? "Wind in the leaves... Wind in the leaves." The phrase sounded more and more distant: I could barely hear myself over the rain. I looked around again. How long had I been out here? 
I wouldn't know, I didn't know when I had come. I closed my eyes, wanting to sit down and cry. But I couldn't sit down. Sitting down would be like admitting defeat. I squeezed my eyes shut again, this time willing the rain to disappear, so that maybe I could find my way back home. 
I kept my eyes closed this time. I didn't open them. I didn't think. I just stood there, wishing myself out. I took deep breaths, in and out. In and out. "Wind in the leaves. Wind in the leaves." 
But it wasn't working. For the first time in the world, my catch phrase wasn't working. My panic was only building. Then I realized the 'why' of everything. Not of my question to God or any of that, but why my catch phrase was failing. 
"Anyone would panic about this. Anyone who was lost in the woods in this storm would panic, it's not just me." I stopped repeating my phrase. I took a few more ragged breaths and opened my eyes. 
Who knew how I knew, but I did. I'd done it again. I'd worked my way farther into the woods with my eyes closed. I finally gave up then. I sat down. I laid down. I lay in the mud and sobbed, crying my heart out. 
When I finally stopped crying, I opened my eyes and looked up at the sky. It was starting to get dark. It would probably be about half-past-six. _Six thirty??? I'd left at four! 
I turned over completely so that the rain, coming faster and faster and faster, harder and harder, pelted my whole body. I started to cry again, forgetting myself and starting to chant my phrase once more. 
The wind picked up, and started to howl. I closed my eyes, wishing that I were home in my somewhat comfortable bed. I started to dream about my small room, with the small bed, and the small yellow lamp. 
I closed my eyes so tightly that I could almost see the yellow light. But... I opened my eyes. I could see the yellow light. It was the sickly yellow that made your stomach churn. I stared up at the scary-looking sky. 
The yellow was almost brighter than anything I'd ever seen before, except for that new paint that the rich people in New York City were coming up with. I stared up at the sky, suddenly having a flashback of the only other time I'd seen that yellow: 

The night Mum and Dad had died.

So yeah, that's it.