I just bought a new case for my iPad and it has a built-in keyboard. I was playing over on this app I have called Werdsmith. It’s just a basic writing app but it’s good. I like it. Anyway, before I even knew what I was doing with this idea I had about every action has a reaction…I was busily plucking away on the very nice keyboard that the Logitech case has. Seriously, if you’re looking for a new iPad case, check out the Logitech line. They’ve gotten the keyboard right!!
This has no name. And, if you know me by now, you know it really is only an idea that I may or may not continue with. Of course, it has no name yet because I’m not sure what I’m doing with it. What else is new, right?
Okay, check it out. Let me know what you think. I like comments and critiques. Even if they are mean but I’d prefer constructive. 🙂
I may only be sixteen but I’m old enough to know that with every action comes a reaction. For example, during 6th period Algebra 2, Shane Dunlap farted. The odor took over the entire classroom and sent the students pouring out into the halls, against our teachers wishes. We all received a Saturday morning, in-school detention because, despite Ms. Canner’s screaming efforts to keep us contained to the stinkiest room in the high school, the 26 students ran for their lives.
However, I also understand and have experienced the reaction that is triggered by said action. In the case of the detention, none of us showed up that Saturday. I mean, once the room aired out, we all took our seats and class went back to it’s regularly scheduled programming. As my dad used to say, before he bailed, “No harm, no foul.” The only foul any of us could call was the ginormous odor that escaped out of tiny, wimpy Shane Dunlap’s butt. The school’s reaction to our action was, that following Monday, we were all sent from our homeroom classes directly to the lunchroom where we spent our entire day to make up for not showing up for Saturday. We all behaved ourselves because otherwise, it would have been a week suspension. Talk about punishments not fitting the crime. The only one who was allowed a normal day was the fart culprit. So not even fair.
Then, of course, you have more monumental reactions to actions. When my dad left me and my little sister, my mom slowly drowned in many bottles of vodka which ended up killing her. Ironically, it was a teenaged drunk driver that killed our drunk mother. See, action and reaction. In the case of my mom, though, Karma was the reactor. Because, she had just gotten out of jail for driving under the influence and child endangerment. We were stuck living with her crazy sister and a bazillion cats. The embarrassment of going to school smelling like cat piss was just too much to even handle. Luckily, my friends understood the situation and brought Febreeze and perfume to school to mask my uncomplimentary clothing odor.
To say my sister Sari and I are from a messed up family would be a complete understatement. We were both trapped in the reaction of our family’s actions. It’s a vicious cycle, one I plan on leaving as soon as I turn 18. I don’t want to leave my sister behind so I may have to file a petition with the court once I am gainfully employed and am able to provide shelter and food. Those are really the only necessities in life. Well, and clothes. But, we can shop at Goodwill, I’ve always found cute clothes there on the cheap.
Some people donate their clothes that still have the original store price tags on them. It’s always shocking to me that there are those out there who have so much and keep getting more, to the point where nothing even matters. Getting rid of unused clothing is no big deal to them. Well, a lot of the time, their garbage is my wardrobe. It’s really a win-win, I suppose.
Anyway, back to the Tali’s action-reaction theory of life. By the way, I’m Tali, not Talia like everyone asks. Tali Rose Dupree. My sister is Sari Lily Dupree. What can I tell you, my parents liked flowers and names that end in the letter ‘i’. Thankfully, in the few photos we have, there is no evidence that they ever dressed us alike because that would have been just too much to handle.
The way I see it is, life is nothing more than a never ending series of actions provoking reactions provoking actions and so on. Until the moment you die. After that, I have no theory because I have no clue or proof that there’s any such thing as an afterlife. I figure that once you’re dead, that’s it. Blackness. Or maybe you become a gust of wind. Or the wing on a bird. My sister thinks you start over in the food chain and work your way back up to being a human. I just don’t know. I’ve never had firsthand experience so I have nothing to base anything on. And, since I don’t really believe in a God of any sort, I can’t imagine that you end up with wings and a halo or roasting marshmallows in the fire pits of a hell.
We’ve lived with Aunt Patty and her cats for seven long years. She’s tried to fill the role of a parent figure but generally she’s too busy feeding her cats and changing the liter to be an active participant in our lives. I think she’s bipolar or something because why else would someone have that many cats? Or maybe it’s her way of avoiding real life. She doesn’t ever date which is sad because she’s actually really pretty in a bohemian sort of way. She doesn’t have to work, my grandparents were pretty rich and when they died, they left her and my mom their money.
That actually makes my sister and I pretty wealthy. But, we won’t see a penny of our money until we finish college. Well, actually, there’s some set aside specifically for college tuition. Other than that, we don’t get anything until we are 25. That’s fine with me, I only have to make it through 9 more years and then it’s smooth sailing.
Aunt Patty gives my sister and me a weekly allowance. It’s not much, enough to buy school lunch and maybe have some leftover to go to dinner and a movie with our friends on the weekend. If we need clothes, that’s usually separate. She just gives us her credit card and a limit to how much we can spend. She’s lucky I’m not like my sister. Unlike Sari who will only shop at the stores in the mall, I don’t care about fashion or how I look. I only care about my art supplies.
I like to say that I’m an artist. I think my struggle with all things God and life manifest themselves in my pictures. When I am working on a project, I become a different person. It’s like I’m in a trance or something. Sometimes, I’ll look at the finished product and have no memory of even working on it. It’s weird, I go in a zone I guess. I suppose many artists do that. Or maybe not. I don’t know because I don’t know any artists.
Most people have a top priority secret, one that they don’t share. And if they do, they have to kill the person they told. Well, I have a secret so huge that I’ve never shared. Not even with Layla, my best friend. Here’s the thing, I think I can hear people’s thoughts. Seriously, I’m pretty sure I can. Unless life has way more coincidences that I ever even imagined. I predict, in my head, of course, what’s going to come out of a person’s mouth. 100% of the time, I’m 100% correct. The only time I can’t hear thoughts is when I’m in my ‘artist zone’. Now that it’s summer, I’m trying to stay in that zone for most of the day because thoughts are starting to come more rapidly and way more clearly. I don’t always know whose mind I’m in.
I do know that there are some sickos out there. Well, in their minds, at least. People have disgusting thoughts. I’ve tried to desensitize myself to them but it’s not so easy. A couple weeks ago, I was eavesdropping in someone’s brain in the food court at the mall when I was waiting for my sister to finish her shopping. I don’t normally do that but this guy..there was something about him. Creepy. He was super creepy. I just couldn’t help myself, I went in. What I heard going on in that sick brain of his..well, put it this way, I called the police and told them I overheard him on the phone. I wasn’t about to tell them how I really knew what this dude was plotting. Anyway, he was stalking some kid in the mall and planning to do repugnant things to him. Just a little boy, probably not more than five or six.
The police didn’t believe me, of course. Luckily, they ended up using my anonymous tip and found that little boy. He was battered and bruised but still very much alive.
No one knows. No one. Not my aunt. Not my sister. Not my best friend. I wonder if either of my parents were able to read minds but, since they aren’t around, I can’t ask. Maybe I was dropped on my head or something when I was little and it screwed up my wiring. Well, whatever and however, it’s my blessing and curse. Another form of that whole action and reaction thing I was telling you about.
As far as I can tell, I’m the only one I know who is like me. If my sister has this mind reading issue, she’s keeping it a dark secret from me, the same way I’m keeping it from her. Otherwise, I’m all alone in this. Well, at least I thought I was until the new kid showed up. Put it this way, life changed for me the day Jax stepped into our school. It changed drastically.