blah blah blah blah read!!!!!! blah blah blah
"Boing, boingy, boing, boing!" she crowed.
"Please, just go away," I said from under the pillow, my voice muffled. "I am- well, was trying to sleep." You think she would learn that it is not really a good idea to wake up a potentially psychotic (or so my mother thinks,) insomniac. I get, on average, about 5 hours of sleep each night, except on rare occasions. It's not that I'm worrying about anything or trying to finish my homework, I just can't sleep. Usually I just satisfy myself by drinking hot chocolate, no matter what the temperature outside is, (yes, I am also the type of person who will wear jackets and sweatshirts in 100 degree weather and whom people stare at on the street, trying to figure out if they're terrorists,) and smoke on the balcony just enough so my mother won't catch the tobacco scent. Once, to put myself to bed, I ended up blasting "I'm Not Okay" through my iHome on the highest volume and had just fallen asleep when my mom came into my room, a scary sight to behold in her sleep mask and cloud printed pajamas, and was incredible close to just chucking my shiny black nano out the window.
"Boingedy boing!" McKenna crowed, and despite the incredible weariness in my body, I leaped out of bed, throwing off the covers, and chased her down the hallway. Being the clichÃ©ly perfect little sister that she is, she ran down the hall much faster than me in my sleep deprived and smoker state, and raced into her room which she shut with a bang, giving me a perfect view of the Barbie stickers displayed on her door. Sometimes I think I am not related to this family. No, scratch that. I think that about four times per day.
I cursed McKenna very creatively under my breath and stomped back to my room, where, being an insomniac, could not get to bed again. Finally I surrendered to the sun, climbed out of bed and grabbed my favorite black jeans, a black tank top that read- "It's not a fashion statement, it's a death wish- MCR" put on a jacket and went downstairs, iPod in hand, trying to get it to turn on. As I sat down at the table I finally realized that it was on hold. This really was not turning out to be a good day.
After breakfast I celebrated the summer by, instead of being holed up in my room, sat in McKenna's old jungle gym outside. There's cobwebs galore, but I love it. I was listening to my iPod and reading a new novel. Suddenly, as the song Disenchanted began to play (my favorite song and my ringtone and my InstaMessage alert tune), lightning struck my brain. An idea that would change my life. The plan began to work itself out inside my head. I was going to find Gerard Way and meet the band, whether for two minutes, two hours or two days. I would do it. And I knew exactly how. I raced out of the tiny treehouse and into my room. I had some Googling to do.
That night I began to pack. I would go to the city where Gerard's next concert was in two days- Atlanta, Georgia. That part was easy- just check the official MCR website. The next piece of the puzzle was not- finding out where the band was staying, a Sheraton near the concert venue. Don't ask how I found out- let's just say there are a lot more obsessive fans than me who haunt the far regions of the 50th page under the name Gerard Way on Google. I had lots of money saved up from allowances of the past, and I packed a duffle bag filled with all my favorite clothes, books, my iHome (yes, it was heavy but iPods die in 24 hours, you know!) and some random crap. Not to mention food I would steal the night before I left. I made plane reservations for the next night at 12:30, and resolved to enjoy my last day at home as much as humanly possible in this place. In a few short days, I would meet Gerard Way- or die trying.
I know its still basically an intro but it will be good! Just keep reading.........