dic·tion [dik-shuhn]

Every evening I sat in the splendor of my melancholy emotions. My dull lack-luster evening plundered into a new depth of boredom. My pen sunk into the frail pages of my notebook. I scrawled words across the pages. Each word more profound than the last. I began to lose myself in the midst of the staggered blue lines. My thoughts soon had swallowed up my every minoute essence of learning. Soon my thoughts enchanted me with the splendor of mystical creatures and sugar-cane candy lands. Despite the contrary 14 year old girl thoughts, mine are not about cat-fights, hair, and "do these dark-wash-indigo-denim jeans make me look fat?!" 

The deeper I began to fall hopelessly into my imagination, the more I drifted away from reality. Little did I fathom that my humdrum homework was hardly even complete. I soon awoke from Kady Land, to finish the hodgepodge of an assignment I had left strewn across my desk. Shuffling through the vast amounts of pages, I still had an unfathomable amount of homework. These assignments could not be consummate without a special treat. I scrambled down the abrupt stairs, furiously swung open the pantry to find one bag of deliciously popped and graciously buttered popcorn. As thrilled as I was to be hand in hand with this bag of wondrous joy, I had forgotten about what awaited me at the top of the mountain of stairs. But with a little combination of sweet popped pop corn, and sourly boring homework, I was able to fix the mess I had thrown upon my self. Ending the night with the feeling of accomplishing something great; if I only I knew what was to come of the next night.