Your Smile On Fire

...from the song Xavia

this post has asterisky goodness

Hello friendlies!!


It is 5:25 in the am, according to my alarm clock. For some reason my body was refusing to sleep (as it so often does), so I figured, hey, it’s late enough, I’ll just get up and dink around until I have to get ready for school.


Is dink a word?


According to, it is a word - it just doesn’t have the definition I thought it had. In case you’re wondering, I am not using the word dink as a racial slur, a volleyball term, or slang for a two income, childless couple. Really I should write my own dictionary, wherein dink would have the following definition;


Dink: (v) to do something of little importance and/or harm in order to pass the time. She figured she would just dink around until the morning came.


See? The first entry in THE JORDYN DICTIONARY. Which, I’m sure we can all agree, should totally be a real thing.


In other news, does anyone know how to do that line-splitty thing? Since I don’t, you’ll just have to pretend that all those asterisks below equate to a line-splitty thing.




Ah look! Asterisky goodness! ^^^


Anyway, while I was failing at sleep (seriously, if Sleep 101 were a class my GPA would be taking a not-so-lovely dive) I was remembering, for some unknown reason, this thing my ELP class (Extended Learning Program, which basically meant the school thought we were smart enough to be in this “smart” class. I know, I know, I do a loverly job of explaining things, right?) did in third grade.


After we finished our poetry unit there was this poetry reading thingamajig we did in the school library. We sat in a row of little chairs and they set the podium up and our parents came and we read stuff we’d wrote and blah-blah-blah. So anyways, everyone had a bunch of poems they wanted to read, and I had two. Because then, as now, I was nervous about reading anything I’d wrote in front of people. Actually I was (and am) nervous about people reading anything I’d wrote at all. I know, I know, so smart for an aspiring author, huh? But anyways, we would get up and read our stuff and our overly proud parents would take pictures of us.


And somehow, in all that picture-taking, none were taken of me. Oh, not because my parents didn’t take pictures, because they did. I have them (the pictures, not my parents) sitting in my pencil box with all the other snapshots I’ve acquired over the years. There just aren’t any that were taken when I was reading. Now, I’m not sour about this or anything, I mean it was difficult enough for me to stand up there withoutthe added pressure of THIS MOMENT IS BEING RECORDED FOR ALL TIMES AND FOREVERNESS!!, but it just seems a little odd that I have pictures of Keegan reading and possibly even pictures of Olivia and Damian reading, but none of me.


You can see me in the background though, looking very little and ascared.


Ascared: (v) frightened or afraid, usually applied to a little person such as an eight-year-old child. I was ascared to read my poems aloud.




Also, for anyone who is wondering, I have, in fact, started a wordpress blog. Which, uh, is basically identical to this blog. So yay for identicallyness!! ( But you can comment there if you like. Or you can ignore wordpress if you like. Or you can ignore me altogether if you like because really I just blog because I am full of bloggery goodness inside. (hahaha)


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Oct. 15 [going to work soon] [two school essays due; majorly nervous about both] [remember when i wrote that short story where the girl said "majorly" every other WORD practically? ha]