She's got a little bit of something - god, it's better than nothing.

Create a top 10 list for your ideal mate/husband/wife.
OKAY. Ten traits. Fun stuff, this was, but incredibly difficult. It's hard to narrow down to ten things - so I decided to be pretty specific about some stuff, instead of being very broad.

The first of this is a Christian. I've done the "dating outside my religion" thing and... Yeah, I didn't really care for that. I'd go as far as to say that this is a definite requirement. I can't share a household with someone who doesn't believe in the same things I do - my faith encompasses me. Next, I have a love for dancing (not ballet, more like ballroom and country-western) and it would be great if my husband shared that love, so we could pursue that together. Also, I'd like for them to be able to appreciate childish things, if they don't enjoy them. I still watch cartoons, probably always will, I love video games, I own shirts with Pikachu on them, and I have an undying love for Batman comics. Even if they don't like the same things I do, they should be able to at least be good natured about me loving them. Sort of similar is the willingness to get excited about something. When I learn that there's some movie coming out that is based off something I love (ie. Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland), I will... Fangirl. That's really the best word for it, and it's so degrading. ;.; So, yeah, they don't have to be a fangirl (fanboy?), but they do need to be able to get excited with me, or at least put up with me being excited.

I enjoy doing spontaneous things when I get the chance. I can remember my best friend and I spinning around and around in the middle of my mom's bank, just because we could. I love to do things very spur-of-the-moment, and I don't want to be with someone who would pull away from anything like that. Similarly, I want to travel to all sorts of places, and I'd like to be with someone who I could turn to and say "Let's go to Charleston this weekend!" and they respond with "Let's make it happen!", or at the very least give an excellent reason why it couldn't take place. But, also, I'd hope that they had a strong sense of home, because even if I travel all over the world, I want a place to come back to. Also, I've always seen a husband as the protector, so a willingness to defend would be pretty awesome as well.

The last two are pretty simple. First, that they wouldn't mind clinginess, or would even be clingy themselves. I'm a pretty possessive person. Second would be that they'd enjoy socializing. I have lots of friends and I like being around people. (:

What do you know now that you didn't know then?
I know this is a loaded question, but I automatically knew when my "then" was. I've mentioned already that my dad died half a year ago - well, that was my then. Before that. I've changed rather dramatically, becoming a stronger, more confident person. It's been a long process, admittedly. I still mess up, I still make mistakes. But I'm learning and changing. Despite becoming a tougher individual, though, I think that ignorance was bliss, in some ways. It's hard to be the carefree, happy individual I was so long ago. I'm still content with my life, but it's hard to just be happy. There are always worries pressing on my mind, stresses that I have to deal with, and things I have to fight. Sigh. Which is why spontaniety is really important to me, because I tend to get stuck in a rut and need some sort of crazy action to get out of it.

What minor character(s) in your life have had a pivotal role?
Alright. I had someone influence my life and I can't even remember his name. Great, huh? During my freshman year of high school, I was wearing my JROTC uniform out in public, going to eat at Scoggins. My family and I were enjoying dinner when a gentleman at the table next to us struck up a conversation with me. He was curious if I was in the military. I explained that I wasn't, but we had a long talk about the respect that we do have for people in the armed forces. He also told me that he was a preacher, and introduced his wife to me. They finished first, and left before us. When we asked for the bill, we discovered that he had paid for our entire meal, which was at least twenty dollars. Maybe that wasn't a lot of money for him, but that random, and totally unwarranted, act of kindness just blew me away. I thought it was amazing. He didn't know us, but he paid for a meal for us. I was struck by his generosity, and I think a lot of my own mannerisms have adjusted thanks to his actions that day.

"And the rain's gonna wash away what I believe in."

More often than not, if I'm involved in an arguement with my parents, it's for or about chores or grades. I'm a pretty good kid, I don't get involved in a lot of things that kids my age get involved in. I call them my "morals", but the common name they get around my friends is my "code of conduct", like it's some stuffy, rigorous thing. I don't really mind. So no arguing over catching me having sex with my boyfriend, or staying out late and drinking, or doing drugs, or anything like that. No, it's usually over the mundane. "Jessica, you need to sweep the floor in the kitchen." "These dishes are NOT clean." "Just remember, Cs are acceptable, but we'd prefer to see As and Bs." That sort of thing. I figure there are worst things to argue about, so I don't mind it at all.

And she says, "Baby, I can't help but be scared of it all sometimes."

"Tea for Two"

Let us join into this dance,

And frolic in our happenstance,

Of dormice and an Alice each,

Rejoice in what our minds can teach

Perhaps you and the Maddest waltz,

You'll find him not the slightest false

Meanwhile I shall take my tea,

With the Hare, sugar three

The Cheshire can keep his taunts,

Limited to selfish flaunts,

You can be as bright as 'Dee,

And silly little 'Dum I'll be

So it's dancing that we'll do,

All night long, just us two

We'll take our sleep with sprinkled sand

And drift into these Wonderlands

And she says, "Baby, it's 3 AM, I must be lonely."

"All and Only"

I carry many things on my shoulders

I carry a backpack, which holds notebooks

Pens, pencils, folders

All for school, all for study,

Only occasionally for play

I carry many things on my shoulders

I carry clothing, which expresses me

Blue, black, green

All for individuality, all for pizzazz,

Only occasionally for uniform

I carry many things on my shoulders

I carry scars, which are emotional

Hurt, sadness, pain

All for love, all for lessons,

Only occasionally for endurance

I carry many things on my shoulders

I carry stress, which defines me

College, classwork, shooting

All for honor, all for glory

Only occasionally for necessity

It is the things that I carry that become me

Whether I carry backpacks, clothing, scars, stress

Whether it’s pencils, blue, sadness, shooting

Whether for honor, love, individuality, school

It is never against my will

And she screams and her voice is straining.

I really fail at coming up with topics about anything. I abhor ranting about things I don’t like where other people can read them, because I’m not overtly fond of arguing things if it’s not necessary. So… That brings me to a few topics of conversation I could entertain. They’re all generic, but I assure you I’ll bring my own personal pizzazz to them – that’s what being a writer, particularly a creative writer, is about, right? However, after much personal debate, I have decided upon a topic.

PB&J.

No, that isn’t code for anything. It means exactly what you think it means. Peanut Butter and Jelly. I know what you’re thinking “A BLOG ABOUT SANDWICHES”? Serious contemplation has proved that there’s a lot of controversy about these lovely delights. Simple, you say? Hardly. There are so many ways to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. But I’m not going to call attention to all of those. I’m going to talk about mine.

I’m a fan of the old fashioned pb&j. I like some plain white bread with peanut butter slathered on one side and grape jelly on the other. There are ways, of course, to perfect this sandwich that can be enhanced. The deluxe version of said sandwich is with oatmeal bread, organic peanut butter (ground at the store), and homemade grape jelly. That being said, my style can waver. I rather like peanut butter sandwiches with chocolate chips on them, and I can’t say no to a fluffernutter sandwhich either (peanut butter and marshmallow). Both are equally delicious and good to satisfy a sweet tooth.

I can eat mixed peanut butter and jelly, but I’m not really a big fan. :/

… I guess that’s it. The topic said anything, so… Here’s anything. 8D

And she always sleeps when it's raining.

I have the firm belief that the world we live in nowadays is one in which no one can truly escape having a real burden upon them. Granted, burdens are different for each person – for some, it may be heartbreak, for some, it may be loss, but whatever it is, we still have our own defining struggles. For me, the main focus of my pain would probably be losing my dad over the summer. I’ve had other things that have been hard, of course – who hasn’t? – but that’s certainly been the pivotal moment for me.

It was just another day of the summer. I was sitting at the table in my dining room, drinking some apple juice and texting a friend. The highlight of my coming weeks was getting my senior pictures taken in three days, then going to rifle camp the following week. I got a phone call from my stepdad, asking for Darren, my godfather’s, number. While I thought it was a little strange, he used a good excuse (“I just found a guy who wants to buy some restaurant equipment.”) so I didn’t think anything about it. It was thirty minutes later, when my mom called for my Aunt Lisa’s number, that I started to get suspicious. She wasn’t so careful, saying that no one had gotten in touch with my dad over the weekend, which started the worry to build in my stomach. I suddenly remembered that I had texted him Saturday, asking him about the trip to New York we were planning together. He hadn’t texted me back, something that was a little odd for him. Concerned, I texted him again, with no reply. Perturbed, I tried to call and got a message that informed me that his voicemail box was full. My dad was a salesman and his phone held his life. His voicemail box was never full.

Ever have a bad feeling that something is going wrong, like really wrong? Well, 90% of the time, those feelings are totally wrong. Well, it REALLY SUCKS when you realize the feeling is right.

About that time the phone rang again, with my mom on the line. She asked to talk to Amber, my sister. When Amber got the phone, Momma instructed her to remove my phone from me. She immediately did so and ran off with it. I was furious and chased after her, wanting to keep trying to get in touch with my dad. I begged, pleaded, but nothing worked. It was when Momma and Jamie walked in the door that I knew something was really bad. I flew down the stairs, demanding to know why Amber had my phone, because I couldn’t get in touch with Daddy.

They walked me to their room, sat me down on their bed, and explained that Daddy had been on his way back from Shelby and had suffered a heart attack. It took a minute to wrap my head around this, since he was only 36, but I managed a feeble “is he okay?” I guess an overwhelmingly large part of me really hoped that he was just hospitalized, but I still knew, knew that it wasn’t the case. My mom shook her head and broke down into tears, leaning forward to hug me. “No, baby. No, he’s not.”

It’s really hard to explain the emotion you feel at a moment like that. I guess there really isn’t a word for it – it’s more like a blankness sweeps over you, and you don’t really feel anything. I didn’t start crying until a few minutes later, when I insisted on picking up the phone and calling my best friend to try to explain what had happened, on my way upstairs to get dressed so I could go to my Memaw’s house. My mom had to take the phone away because I started crying so bad.

The following week was a crazy blur. I couldn’t sleep at night – my mom had to give me medication to help me do so. And since I was his only child, and he and his wife had been in the middle of a divorce, it fell to me to decide things for the funeral. What music should be played? What sort of flowers? He was being cremated, so what urn would you like to have used, Jessie?

I couldn’t be left alone. If I was by myself for more than five minutes at a time, I broke down into sobs. But if I was around people, I couldn’t cry. People were concerned for me, because they never saw me shed a tear. “She should be crying,” They said, “It’s bad for her if she keeps it boiled up inside.”

It was too hard to explain that I didn’t want to put my own agony off on other people. They were people Daddy loved, people he cared for. It was hard for other people to look at me – it still is – because I look so much like him. The same eyes, same hair color, same shape of face. They looked at me, and they saw him. To cry, to mourn him in front of them, it seemed like something I shouldn’t do. I should be strong for them, because he would have been.

I don’t really want to write any more about it, because I’m finishing this up in English class, and I’m about to start crying as it is. .__. I refuse to cry in front of my classmates. So I’ll just wrap it up by saying that it was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through – and am still going through.

She said, "It's all gonna end and it might as well be my fault."

The reason I chose the particular phrase I did for my tombstone is because I’ve always been very attached to the expression “When I get to Heaven, I don’t want to arrive in pristine condition. I want to slide in sideways, beat up and winded, then jump onto my feet and say ‘WOW, what a heck of a ride!’” I want to live my life that way, so that, one day, I can look back and say those words were true. I rode the roller coaster, I danced in the rain, I lived life to the fullest extent that I could live it. I want to be able to say that I wasn’t afraid to take that leap with someone, for someone, or just for the sake of leaping. I’ve always held the firm idea that life is supposed to be full of… Well, life. I’m not showing up to Heaven like it’s some garden party I’ve been invited to; I’m sliding in like I’ve just won the Daytona 500 and it’s time to do some victory donuts.

Note: My tombstone was -

“Here I am, God,

sliding in sideways,

just like I promised.”

She's always worried 'bout things like that.

You know, asking me to write a story about my life is probably the worst assignment I could have ever been given. No, really! It is! But not for the reasons you’re probably thinking. It’s not that I don’t want to do the project – oh no, quite the opposite – it’s that I’m not sure where to start, or how to condense it down into this blog that I’ve been asked to write. My autobiography for Coach Gray’s class was 17 pages, without being as descriptive as I could have been.

The writer in me sobs and begs, but my common sense is muffling it and saying “YOU CAN’T DO THAT AGAIN, JESSICA”, so I’ll do the condensed version, yeah? And tell a story or two.

I was born on one of the hottest days of June in the summer of 1992. It was the 28^th, and I was my mother’s first child. Her name, in case you were curious, is Crystal Hoppes. My dad’s name was Ralph Sroufe (I’ll probably focus more on him later). I was never given much of an opportunity to be an “only child”, since my sister was born a little over a year later. No, I’ve always been the big sister. I’ve heard some things say that the oldest sibling is supposed to be organized and efficient – well, that skipped me. I’m pretty unorganized and more than a little unorthodox with my behavior, particularly in comparison to most teenagers today. I abhor the idea of fitting into a stereotype, although I’m sure I do touch on some of them, and I really am a writer at heart. Literature is my driving passion – heck, I even like grammar! (I like grammar, not grammar worksheets.) I’m always amused beyond belief when people make the assumption that I’m “quiet”, because I’m actually quite far from it. In classes, if I don’t really know people, I tend to just sit back and watch, or confine myself to my desk area. I actually enjoy being around others and interacting quite a lot; anyone in my JROTC platoon will verify that.

So, where to begin? Well, I never went to preschool. I was, however, taught how to read, my ABCs, and my numbers before I started Kindergarten (the result of a young mother who wasn’t sure how much I needed to know). The school in question was Rutherfordton Elementary, although I would start Spindale in second grade, just for a change of pace. It would be in Kindergarten that I’d meet my first friend, an upset little girl on the first day of school. I demanded to know why she was upset, then proceeded to drag her away to play kitchen. Elementary wasn’t dramatically different from middle or high school, simply a younger curriculum. I did AIG in these years, participating in the Creativity section and the Battle of the Books for the first of five times. Once I moved on to middle school, I’d do BoB in 6^th and 8^th, and ICC Challenge in 7^th. And, of course, in 8^th grade, I met my best friend, a Miss Jessica Eberhart. Aside from a name, we both shared a love for reading and for the same television shows. To this day, we’re still tight as ever, and I’m sure her name will come up again.

So… That’s through 8^th grade, yeah? :D Awesome. For now, everyone, salut, ciao, sayanora, adios, au revoir, goodbye.

She says, "It's cold outside", and hands me my raincoat.

People are pretty complex things, aren’t they? Gotta love that about us. Admittedly, we can be pretty simplistic at times too (I spent thirty minutes the other day on my screened-in porch, watching it storm), but I think I like that about humankind. The fact that we can be so overwhelmingly complex at some moments, but still be peacefully simple in the next. Sometimes rage is just rage and love is just love. (Or maybe that’s just the poet in me, but oh well, I have to sound like I know what I’m talking about.)

But I digress. Most people here know me, but Mrs. Pittman doesn’t. I’m Jessie Swink (or Jessie Hunt to some of you, because sometimes people get hung up over that old name), and I turned 17 over the summer. The past few months were an overwhelming mix of things for me – I got to visit Charleston, a city that I love for its capacity to be both complex and simple, and also lost my Dad, who was, quite possibly, one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I’ve been blessed to have people there to support and guide me through it, namely my mother and my Dad’s best friend, as well as my own two best friends, one of which most people won’t have to even guess (Jessica Eberhart), the other of which lives on the other side of the US and most people won’t have met (Mary Covington). I’m pretty content with who I am in life, my defining label being “Christian”, and other things adding to my personal flavor. For example, I have an obsession with Batman that exasperates some people (admittedly it’s the villains I love the most, and the pretty obscure ones at that) and also have a penchant for Pikachu, as seen by t-shirts or bedroom shoes that may be seen frequenting the classroom. I’ve never seen a reason to change who I am, because I have people that love me and my quirky habits. Contrary to what some people would have you believe, weird people, too, have a place in society (even if they like to pretend society never holds them).

Because of my love for writing and internet, I have friends from all over the globe. Scrolling down my MSN, I see someone who lives in Hong Kong, two people that live in Denmark (“ Halløj i hytten, mennesker! Denne dansker hilser jer fra den anden side af havet, og ønsker dem, der gider læse vores allesammens humoristiske Jessies blog, et rigtig godt skoleår!”, says one of them now, although that’s translated to “"Hello in the cabin (Hello there), humans! This Dane greets you from across the ocean and wish those, who cares to read everyones humoristic Jessie's blog, a great school year." - Apparently "hello in the cabin" is some idiom there?), two or three Australians, and numerous people from all over the US. I do consider them friends, even if other people look at me strangely when I start mentioning people I know in China.

I read all kinds of things, but writing is my passion in life. I do a lot of paragraph roleplaying (that’s not Dungeon & Dragons, ladies and gentlemen) as well as poetry and short story stuff. My goal in life is to be an English teacher, but my wish in life is that I can write a novel. It doesn’t even have to be best-seller (although that’d be nice), as long as I can get it done. I’m hopefully starting up a Creative Writing Club this year, so if you like to write too, keep an eye out for it, yeah? I have a ton of favorite things, but I’ll keep it simple and just state that my favorite color is blue and my favorite animal is a wolf. This class seems pretty promising, thanks to the fact that I’ve already been given an opportunity to ramble here a little bit, so I’ll leave everyone with a quote –

"People think it's an obsession. A compulsion. As if there were an irresistible impulse to act. It's never been like that. I chose this life. I know what I'm doing. And on any given day, I could stop doing it. Today, however, isn't that day. And tomorrow won't be either." - Batman