<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938</id><updated>2011-04-21T13:08:00.509-05:00</updated><title type='text'>me, myself, and illinois</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>145</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-1537495049669602423</id><published>2008-02-05T16:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-05T17:04:10.931-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Phoenix RisenA phoenix is a mythical bird that is consumed by fire by its own act and rises from its own ashes, restoring itself to a beautiful state. By doing so, the phoenix symbolizes resurrection and is considered to be an emblem of immortality.There are many times in people's lives it seems that things could not get any worse. Their lives decay and deteriorate to the point where there's </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/1537495049669602423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=1537495049669602423&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/1537495049669602423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/1537495049669602423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2008/02/phoenix-risen-phoenix-is-mythical-bird.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-4284657538509283520</id><published>2008-01-22T21:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T21:30:58.573-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hello there. Let me introduce myself, in case you don' t know who I am or can't remember. My name's Sam VanGeison. It's been a long long time. Some of you probably have wondered where I've been or what I've been up to. Well, my mom decided to cut the landline and the internet went with it, which I don't blame her. Here's a quick update on my life. I'm working at MAI, again, but it's much easier </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/4284657538509283520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=4284657538509283520&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/4284657538509283520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/4284657538509283520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2008/01/hello-there.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-4412689861832263911</id><published>2007-10-12T08:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T16:28:35.464-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Wow, a whole two months have passed since my last entry. Oh well, I have been writing outside of this a lot more often. I've been busy with school, going to school five days a week in Springfield. Classes are going well. I just had two tests this week, one in Biology and a lab practical test in Geology. I aced the biology exam, which feels good since I got a C on the first exam in the class. I </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/4412689861832263911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=4412689861832263911&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/4412689861832263911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/4412689861832263911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2007/10/wow-whole-two-months-have-passed-since.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-2279668643217602614</id><published>2007-08-18T23:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-08-19T00:46:57.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Don't look for any great thoughts in this post.Summer's almost at an end. My fall classes start this Monday, all of which are up in Springfield. I'll be up there Monday through Friday. I'm excited to get back into class, ready for a challenge. And I think this semester will be just that, since they are all science related.At the moment, I'm downloading a free word processing software program. My </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/2279668643217602614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=2279668643217602614&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/2279668643217602614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/2279668643217602614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2007/08/dont-look-for-any-great-thoughts-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-8230108494660209767</id><published>2007-07-31T00:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T00:52:52.349-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ReflectionThe other day, I was staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to determine just how bad of a sunburn I had got that day at work. I noticed it when I pulled back the hair from my right temple. A horizontal line starts from an inch above my eyebrow and ends at my hairline. It’s barely noticeable; you’d have to have me point to see it. But it’s there. Perhaps faded and hidden, yet </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/8230108494660209767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=8230108494660209767&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/8230108494660209767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/8230108494660209767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2007/07/reflection-other-day-i-was-staring-at.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-291159958947060355</id><published>2007-07-16T18:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T22:44:54.158-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well, well, well.  It has been a long, long time. I've been away too long. The sad fact is that I haven't written a word in months. All because of World of Warcraft. The game is highly addictive, sapping any potential creativity from me. Instead of writing, I would sit at my computer killing a deer with the click of a button, and skinning its hide with another. Playing the game had replaced that </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/291159958947060355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=291159958947060355&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/291159958947060355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/291159958947060355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2007/07/well-well-well.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-6647070617754438772</id><published>2007-03-02T15:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T15:40:41.056-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>a doctor, a lawyer, and a magician...When I was only a child, I wanted to grow up to be a doctor, a lawyer, and a magician.I used to tell people it was because I wanted to make a lot of money for myself, defend myself in court if anything got messed up, and in the most desperate hour, I could disappear off the planet. But I think what I really wanted to do with my life was to heal hearts, right </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/6647070617754438772/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=6647070617754438772&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/6647070617754438772'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/6647070617754438772'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2007/03/doctor-lawyer-and-magician.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-115869461562181168</id><published>2006-09-19T14:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-19T14:37:00.556-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I suppose it’s time that I wrote about my parents’ divorce. In fact, it is very much overdue, since the divorce was final many months ago. I guess I just didn’t really want to analyze how I felt, because the way I felt about it did not paint a very pretty picture. Imagine if you all the primary and secondary colors as paint and just splashed a bucket of each against a blank white wall. That would</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/115869461562181168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=115869461562181168&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/115869461562181168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/115869461562181168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2006/09/i-suppose-its-time-that-i-wrote-about.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-115199596831562386</id><published>2006-07-03T22:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-04T01:58:43.696-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Two CentsExcuse me for a second. I should probably stretch a little before I really get started. It's been so long since I actually blogged that I might pull something in the process. As they say, better safe than sorry.    That should do it. Thank you for bearing with me. I had to buy some postage stamps recently, because I finally decided to submit a story of mine to Downstate Story, a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/115199596831562386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=115199596831562386&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/115199596831562386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/115199596831562386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2006/07/two-cents-excuse-me-for-second.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-114763120104674001</id><published>2006-05-14T12:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-14T13:26:41.120-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The few people that actually bother to read my blog probably know from my writing habits to read it once a month, because I rarely get two entries in thirty days' time. You may have been wondering what I have been up to. I have been here and there, doing this and that. Mostly, I have been doing schoolwork for the time I have been absent from my blog. I had a twenty page term paper to write, and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/114763120104674001/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=114763120104674001&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/114763120104674001'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/114763120104674001'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2006/05/few-people-that-actually-bother-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-114124537013958102</id><published>2006-03-01T14:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-03-01T15:08:33.010-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>One Last Huzzah For Nostalgia     Last night, I took a midnight ride on my old DK Cincinnati. I felt this impulse, this urge to cruise around my driveway on my old bike. I remember now I why loved riding so much. I got such a thrill from speeding down the road at breakneck speed. I loved it for the sheer simplicity of it. I was propelling myself forward, and if anything went wrong, I knew exactly</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/114124537013958102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=114124537013958102&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/114124537013958102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/114124537013958102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2006/03/one-last-huzzah-for-nostalgia-last.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-113865394378907430</id><published>2006-01-30T14:45:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-01-30T14:45:43.800-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Due to the fact that there is only one day left in January and I haven’t posted in a month and nine days, I believe it is time for a post. I’m pretty sure the contest results will be announced tomorrow, and maybe, maybe just maybe I can make the deadline for Glimmer Train stories, which pays $500 on acceptance.I’m working on two stories at once, which can be draining sometimes. They’re both </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/113865394378907430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=113865394378907430&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113865394378907430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113865394378907430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2006/01/due-to-fact-that-there-is-only-one-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-113515573100810761</id><published>2005-12-21T02:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-26T23:49:01.676-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Who is the happier man: he who has braved the storm of life and lived or he who has stayed securely on the shore and merely existed?"-Hunter S. Thompson at the age of 17.     "As always I am rebuked for my wise advice, I will say my intentions were of the kindest and greatest nature. I just do not wish that Sam wastes away his life with this false ambition. Poor kid, you never know the joy and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/113515573100810761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=113515573100810761&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113515573100810761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113515573100810761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/12/who-is-happier-man-he-who-has-braved.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-113376466682081073</id><published>2005-12-05T00:36:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-12-06T22:21:14.656-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Some rubbish to read.Beginning is always the hardest part. The page or screen is empty, the color of intimidating white that makes eyes ache and minds blank. With each line, the wheels start to give way and slowly turn.Life can be so confusing sometimes. One day, you are the king of the world. The next you are the lowest man on the totem pole, so low that your head is almost buried and only your </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/113376466682081073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=113376466682081073&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113376466682081073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113376466682081073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/12/some-rubbish-to-read.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-113116043081553267</id><published>2005-11-04T21:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-11-04T21:13:50.826-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>www.dictionary.com defines the word lucky as 1. Having or attended by good luck, 2. Occurring by chance; fortuitous, 3. Believed to bring good luck. Many men have thought of luck as being fortunate in wealth and luxury. I believe I have a different kind of luck. I have luck in things like family and friends. I have always been surrounded by great people, no matter how hard life gets. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/113116043081553267/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=113116043081553267&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113116043081553267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/113116043081553267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/11/www.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112905437880597431</id><published>2005-10-11T13:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-11T13:12:58.810-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A journey of faith, writing a story, and running a marathon have a lot of things in common. They're all not a race. It does not matter who finished first or who ran the course the fastest. It doesn't matter how far you went or how ragged the course ran you. It matters that you cross the finish line. It matters that you don't quit. All those long miles that you trekked mean something and when you </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112905437880597431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112905437880597431&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112905437880597431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112905437880597431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/10/journey-of-faith-writing-story-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112823725047529056</id><published>2005-10-02T02:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T02:14:10.483-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hmmm....How shall I start this? The weeks between my last post have been hectic and the weekends have been perfect and blissful. Summer is fleeing and autumn is chasing it away, but some warmth still lingers. Kelsi came over last night, whick makes my week. The girl is amazing, folks, she makes me so happy. I can't believe it will probably be another week until I see her again. She makes me feel </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112823725047529056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112823725047529056&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112823725047529056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112823725047529056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/10/hmmm.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112719292042960362</id><published>2005-09-19T23:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-09-20T00:08:40.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Worst Way to Wake up Your MotherbySam VanGeison As my mom and I pulled into our garage, I snatched a glimpse of a smashed pumpkin in the frostbitten garden. The clock on the console stated it was midnight. Wasn’t it just two hours ago when my cousin, Brian, and I were in my room playing video games? A life in the country is a dull life, especially for a kid, but I found some entertaining </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112719292042960362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112719292042960362&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112719292042960362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112719292042960362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/09/worst-way-to-wake-up-your-motherbysam.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112513030882014793</id><published>2005-08-27T00:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-29T01:04:56.540-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The moonlight hits me just right and a sense of utter esctasy washes over me. Overall, the climate is perfect. Not just the weather, mind you, but in a broad sweep things are delightfully pleasant. I agree with the music playing, which is surprising because it's the radio. My stomach is reasonably stuffed with Monical's pizza, Dairy Queen, and of course, Mountain Dew.20 days have passed since my </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112513030882014793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112513030882014793&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112513030882014793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112513030882014793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/08/moonlight-hits-me-just-right-and-sense.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112332418459126549</id><published>2005-08-06T07:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-06T05:29:44.596-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I felt Hallmark, as I like to say, standing there in an almost abandoned parking lot with my arms wrapped around a girl who doesn't quite realize how beautifully she really is.Seven hours. Seven spectacular hours together and we still can't bring ourselves to say good night.I didn't want her to leave and she wanted to stay there, for perhaps eternity. Who knows? I felt the same way, but in my </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112332418459126549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112332418459126549&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112332418459126549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112332418459126549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/08/i-felt-hallmark-as-i-like-to-say.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112286655986825305</id><published>2005-07-31T15:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-31T22:23:27.166-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today is a good day, I thought as I sat on my back porch typing up a story on my typewriter while sipping on Mountain Dew and wrestling my cat, Johnny, with my foot.Yes, I think it's fair to say that it's been a good day for me.I spent half of it sleeping in. Depriving your body of sleep for 36 hours is not the greatest idea. Let's get straight to the heart of this story. 32 hours ago, I, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112286655986825305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112286655986825305&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112286655986825305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112286655986825305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/07/today-is-good-day-i-thought-as-i-sat.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112233334241710116</id><published>2005-07-25T16:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-26T01:21:06.776-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I was, am, and perhaps will forever be...a Mountain Dew kid.Addictions run deep, trust me, because this vice stems back to my childhood years. I remember the garbage can in my kitchen was overflowing with empty 24 packs of Mountain Dew. My siblings and I made Mountain Dew vanish on a regular basis, but me especially. It got to a point where my parents started hiding it from me.  The hiding spots </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112233334241710116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112233334241710116&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112233334241710116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112233334241710116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/07/i-was-am-and-perhaps-will-forever-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112199909629805642</id><published>2005-07-19T21:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T18:13:11.340-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>All a fire needs to get started is some oxygen, some fuel, and a spark.Oxygen, check.Fuel, double check.And right now, all I need is the spark to set me off.Set me off into a roaring bonfire. Help me set these pages on fire. A torch to guide me through the darkness.The moon paints the sky sterling silver as my computer screen stares angry-white at me. To the north, the horizon was being bombarded</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112199909629805642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112199909629805642&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112199909629805642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112199909629805642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/07/all-fire-needs-to-get-started-is-some.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112091185729480428</id><published>2005-07-09T05:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-15T23:33:23.080-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A thought co-written by Sam and Molly VanGeisonThere's a great moment in the film Throw Momma from the Train where Owen (Danny Devito), a childlike man that lets his mother run his life, shows Larry (Billy Crystal), his creative writing teacher, his coin collection. The collection is comprised of a penny, three nickles, and two quarters."Are these coins worth anything?" Larry asks."No." Owen </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112091185729480428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112091185729480428&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112091185729480428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112091185729480428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/07/thought-co-written-by-sam-and-molly.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-112000230889051545</id><published>2005-06-28T18:17:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T02:22:36.843-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"My name. Your name. And everyone's name. They all have a story behind them, whether you think about it or not. Whenever you sign a check, divorce papers, birth certificate or a homework assignment. There amongst all the trivial things is a story. My name is like a book to me."- Samuel VanGeison  I wrote these words about 10 months ago and with every passing day I begin to believe in this </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/112000230889051545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=112000230889051545&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112000230889051545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/112000230889051545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/my-name_28.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111938513888510502</id><published>2005-06-21T14:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-21T23:09:37.316-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I looked him straight in the eyes as he finished retelling the whole story. He slouched over the bar, stirring his rum and coke."I tell you what some of the greatest people in the world are given the shaft on a daily basis, I said, and there's nothing they can do about it." He sat lifeless on the bar stool, watching the bubbles of his drink dance around inside the glass."I swear, he began, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111938513888510502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111938513888510502&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111938513888510502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111938513888510502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/i-looked-him-straight-in-eyes-as-he.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111847615711278082</id><published>2005-06-11T02:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-11T03:04:17.260-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Dreams and Delusions of Granduer,a short short storyby Samuel L. VanGeison."Where am I?" "In a boxing ring, you nitwit.""Who are you?""I'm you. I'm the rational voice inside your head.""What am I doing in a boxing ring?""Take one wild guess and two shots in the dark as to why, numbskull.""Why would I be fighting?""Well the rent is 2 weeks overdue and the purse of this fight is two hundred dollars</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111847615711278082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111847615711278082&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111847615711278082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111847615711278082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/dreams-and-delusions-of-granduer-short.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111825542835877090</id><published>2005-06-08T13:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-08T13:40:45.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A man once told me that if you're going to live life, live it to its fullest. A life unlived is a not life at all, he said to me, his deep blue eyes trembling as he took a sip from a glass of water held up by me. The world isn't fair, I say as I place the glass back onto the hospital tray. What do you expect it to be? It's been this way for about two thousand years. And as stubborn as it is, I </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111825542835877090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111825542835877090&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111825542835877090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111825542835877090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/man-once-told-me-that-if-youre-going.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111820927970347440</id><published>2005-06-08T00:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-08T00:41:19.706-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I sit and stare at my desk, littered with books like Bird by Bird and Fight Club and a plethora of notebooks. Quotes and notes of encouragement are tacked to my bulletin board. Confucius and Ferris Bueller rooting me on to write.It's funny how many notebooks you have when you write like me. It's not that I've gone through all the paper in them. It's just that I need to have a lot of notebooks for</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111820927970347440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111820927970347440&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111820927970347440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111820927970347440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/i-sit-and-stare-at-my-desk-littered.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111786439481061855</id><published>2005-06-04T00:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-06-04T00:53:14.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A moment is all a person can expect from perfection.Chuck Palahniuk knew what he was talking about when he wrote these words. And I have a moment that fits the description.Writing is hand-in-hand a blessing and a curse. Now you might wonder how in the world is writing a curse? Well imagine endless hours just spent staring at nothing. Staring at the computer screen waiting for the words to write </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111786439481061855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111786439481061855&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111786439481061855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111786439481061855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/06/moment-is-all-person-can-expect-from.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111744173666346061</id><published>2005-05-30T02:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-30T03:28:56.740-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Dear Reader,Any road that is short and free of obstacles will take you someplace that you really don't want to be.   This road I'm traveling must lead to someplace great.  I can feel it in the turn of the wheel, the rumble of the engine, the rhythm of the wiperblades.   I know there is something at end of this road, my destination, someone great, someone who will put a smile on my face and lend </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111744173666346061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111744173666346061&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111744173666346061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111744173666346061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/dear-reader-any-road-that-is-short-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111739057428146114</id><published>2005-05-29T13:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-29T13:16:14.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'> Simplicity, sometimes the best.The theory for Friday holds true again this week. I could probably go into the most minute detail about delightful and charming this night was , but I think I will stave off that want, for now. I just simply say it was great and leave it at that.The reason this post is so late is because I have been pondering whether or not to tell you faithful readers the details </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111739057428146114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111739057428146114&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111739057428146114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111739057428146114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/simplicity-sometimes-best.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111680835097172138</id><published>2005-05-22T19:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-22T19:34:12.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Strange yet glorious things happen on Friday nights and some of Saturday morning. You may never know how I am feeling at this instance. The words fail to form, the memories remain, and a smile lights up my face. I spend this Sunday afternoon recalling this weekend's events. I sit on my back porch, the wind playing with my hair and Doyle, my foster cat for the moment, wrestling with my bare feet. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111680835097172138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111680835097172138&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111680835097172138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111680835097172138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/strange-yet-glorious-things-happen-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111655809973366623</id><published>2005-05-19T20:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T02:23:25.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Some poetry for you.Lightning-dedicated to Spencer WhiteAn electric fork stabs at the nightA drunken dance through the twilight skyA skewed, sharp dagger ripping throught the canvas of a masterpieceTearing that calm dream of silence into shreds of paperSome godly thrown javelin from the heavensThe fastest stitching of silver across that blanket of horizonA vehicle of electricity racing down the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111655809973366623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111655809973366623&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111655809973366623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111655809973366623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/some-poetry-for-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111637657981808458</id><published>2005-05-17T19:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-17T19:36:19.823-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Ever wake up and feel so content and happy that the crappiest day could not bring you down no matter how bad it got?Monday and today felt like that.For the longest time, I tried to figure out why I was in this so content, so happy, nothing going to bring me down attitude. The answers fled me.Then I realized something.For 2 consecutive weekends, I spent Saturday night over at someone's house.For 2</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111637657981808458/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111637657981808458&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111637657981808458'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111637657981808458'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/ever-wake-up-and-feel-so-content-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111594266023122770</id><published>2005-05-12T18:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-12T19:04:20.286-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What the word Veteran means to me?   &lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt; &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;               The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language defines the word veteran as follows: 1. One who has a long record of service in a given activity or capacity. 2. One who has been a member of the armed forces. These words may encompass the basic principle of the word veteran, but they fall </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111594266023122770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111594266023122770&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111594266023122770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111594266023122770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/what-word-veteran-means-to-me-american.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111586414213548831</id><published>2005-05-11T19:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-05-11T21:15:42.176-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Convertible Weekends  So this weekend was practically one of the best weekends of my life.  Top down, AC/DC on the stereo, sunglasses on, the world could not get better than this.  I can't describe the feeling of power I got while hauling ass down the highway with no place in particular to be at a certain time. My disheveled hair looked amazing, glorious in the rearview mirror. Me, I'm just a red</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111586414213548831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111586414213548831&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111586414213548831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111586414213548831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/05/convertible-weekends-so-this-weekend.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111489415099239197</id><published>2005-04-30T14:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-04-30T16:38:12.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Diary of A Madman     &lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Mondays. They creep by slower than a senior citizen taking a Sunday afternoon drive through the countryside. &lt;!--[if !supportEmptyParas]--&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;The computer is gone, for now. The new drives are being installed, so I am writing in my Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas-esque notebook. Paper is my refuge, where I retreat to gather up my thoughts. &lt;!--[endif]-</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111489415099239197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111489415099239197&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111489415099239197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111489415099239197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/04/diary-of-madman-mondays.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111423872570932731</id><published>2005-04-23T01:07:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2005-04-23T01:45:25.713-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The frigid air seems to seep through my truck's exterior. The heat turned up to maximum fan setting, set to Vent, just the way I like it. Numbness in my toes starts to ebb away, which makes driving an easier task.  The music blares as my truck goes hurtling down the road. I pass through a town in about 5 seconds, a string of red lights blur on my passenger side window.  I look in the mirror and </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111423872570932731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111423872570932731&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111423872570932731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111423872570932731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/04/frigid-air-seems-to-seep-t_111423872570932731.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111371693595588758</id><published>2005-04-16T23:56:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-04-17T00:48:55.956-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>If nothing else, accomplish something with this second, this day, this month, this short period of time of our lives. I'm not saying go out and live the Carpe Diem lifestyle. What I'm saying is that cherish and savor the sweet seconds that we have on this Earth. Who knows what'll happen after I die? But that isn't what I concern myself with. The journey between here and there is definitely a long</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111371693595588758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111371693595588758&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111371693595588758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111371693595588758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/04/if-nothing-else-accomplish-something.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111276023141080640</id><published>2005-04-05T22:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T02:26:22.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Diary of a Madman  I was somewhere in between Stonington and Taylorville when the Mountain Dew kicked in and slingshot me forward to the sweet oblivion of hyperactivity.               I remember saying to myself: I feel a bit light-headed. I could tell the caffeine was working its magic: my thoughts were coming to me quicker than before, as if they were speeding down some express lane on the </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111276023141080640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111276023141080640&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111276023141080640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111276023141080640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/04/diary-of-madman-i-was-somewhere-in.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-111163582141499539</id><published>2005-03-23T20:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-03-23T21:56:13.223-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>   "Man is free at the moment he wishes to be."-Voltaire"As I sit here, I can honestly tell you I want to be free, free from these bonds.That vixen with key to these cuffs keeps running away outside of my grasp.All the while, I have looked for that key in the wrong places.I am the key, I have been able to go free whenever I wanted, yet I was blind up until now.Time to break these chains and fly </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/111163582141499539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=111163582141499539&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111163582141499539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/111163582141499539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/03/man-is-free-at-moment-he-wishes-to-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-110940309804595268</id><published>2005-02-26T00:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-26T02:03:21.516-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The moon has enlightened me and I feel running through the fields like the wolverine I really am. I don't know what that was about, but seriously I don't care.A Home in The StarsMoonlight o so bright, Wearing my sunglasses tonight, Take me to the sea, And I will fly away on those waves o so sweet, to my true home in the sky and in the stars, come charioteer and carry me away, let us burn rubber </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/110940309804595268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=110940309804595268&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110940309804595268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110940309804595268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/02/moon-has-enlightened-me-and-i-feel.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-110888152862910085</id><published>2005-02-19T23:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-07-22T02:27:55.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>It seems every time I come here to write, my mind goes completely blank. I sit here, looking at the screen, expecting the words to type themselves. Yet they do not come when I want them to. I sit here, wondering why I can't articulate what I want to say. The page is blank, and the cursor, the little blinking line, is mocking me. Each blink saying Write! Write! Write! You have written before, why </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/110888152862910085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=110888152862910085&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110888152862910085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110888152862910085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2005/02/it-seems-every-time-i-come-here-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-110326003796930127</id><published>2004-12-16T22:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-18T00:28:34.310-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>  12/14/04 2:45 P.M. Psychology 8th hour&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Recently, I just went back and read my archives. One word: Wow. As I read through the ninety-eight posts, it was so enlightening yet embarrassing. There is an obvious yet wonderful arch there. I think I started my blog somewhere around my freshmen year. The entries were rather short and choppy, a couple of misspelled words, and missing words. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/110326003796930127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=110326003796930127&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110326003796930127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/110326003796930127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/12/121404-245-p.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109651095833878835</id><published>2004-09-29T20:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-12-08T23:36:00.843-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"Do not go where the path may lead, go instead where there is no path and leave a trail." -Ralph Waldo Emerson  I am sure I have made my own path and have seen a great many sights.   I have thought a handful of grandiose ideas and thoughts.   I have watched the sun rise and the sun set an astronomical amount of times.  I have walked down a million miles of endless streets in my dreams.  </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109651095833878835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109651095833878835&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109651095833878835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109651095833878835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/09/do-not-go-where-path-may-lead-go.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109590389183492582</id><published>2004-09-22T19:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-22T20:44:51.833-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>My name. Your name. And everyone's name. They all have a story behind them, whether you think about it or not. Whenever you sign something like a form or a homework assignment. There amongst all the trivial things is a story. My name is like a book to me. My last name is a story in self. The beginning would be in a small town named Giessen in Holland. My name ever reminds me from where my blood </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109590389183492582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109590389183492582&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109590389183492582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109590389183492582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/09/my-name.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109461672928181040</id><published>2004-09-07T22:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-08T22:41:15.793-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." -ConfuciusOn the night before school started, I laid in my bed,wondering whether stepping into the high school  would be different from any other time I have passed through the thresholds of our school, if would have some relevance or significance. I have to say for me, it held some subtle significance, but then again doesn't every step</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109461672928181040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109461672928181040&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109461672928181040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109461672928181040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/09/journey-of-thousand-miles-begins-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109364205076727938</id><published>2004-08-27T15:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-09-02T23:39:43.613-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>After staying up all night, I take these walks in the morning, before the sun has even started to peek over the horizon. I can't recall why I started doing it at first, but I came to the conclusion that seemed natural, like a cap-off to the night.I would walk around, just musing really. Looking at stuff, occasionally taking a picture, and thinking about things. I used to walk around, just </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109364205076727938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109364205076727938&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109364205076727938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109364205076727938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/08/after-staying-up-all-night-i-take.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109298355097197200</id><published>2004-08-19T23:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-20T01:32:30.970-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The Beginning of Something AbsurdI have problem with staying still, it seems. I can't do it. I'm very figdety. I just have to be moving some part of my body, no matter what. It's just an age old habit of mine. I don't know why I do it. I just do.Maybe it's from all the Mountain Dew I've drank in my lifetime, creating an ever constant wave of hyperactivity. Or maybe it's just natural. Who </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109298355097197200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109298355097197200&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109298355097197200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109298355097197200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/08/beginning-of-something-absurd-i-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109211750531109198</id><published>2004-08-09T23:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-10T01:01:14.620-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>"If a picture is worth a thousand words, then are a thousand words worth a picture?"As the summer is coming to end, I realize just how passive I am. I sit around and think about things rather than taking action. I think about my future, that I'll go to college, learn many things, and start my career as a writer. But the thing is I don't know if I could make it as a writer. I write for myself, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109211750531109198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109211750531109198&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109211750531109198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109211750531109198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/08/if-picture-is-worth-thousand-words.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-109203239141085647</id><published>2004-08-08T23:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-08-09T01:19:51.410-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I look around this room and I see...utter chaos.Blankets and pillows thrown haphazardly all throughout the room. The disheveled mattress making its way towards the floor. A mosaic of Doritos lays on the carpet just waiting to be admired. Empty soda cans litter all my shelves, tables, or anything with a flat surface including the floor. All of the pictures on my walls are crooked. And I think 12</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/109203239141085647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=109203239141085647&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109203239141085647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/109203239141085647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/08/i-look-around-this-room-and-i-see.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-108692916742229800</id><published>2004-06-10T22:40:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2004-06-10T23:46:07.423-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This is supposed to be a play script. Pardon any spelling or grammar errors, but I am writing this as I speak. It shouldn't be all that long.Man Versus BlogA red-haired green-eyed kid walks into a halfway finished office/shop. A dusty red Mustang is parked in the garage part of the building. In the office area, there is a computer. Sitting on the desk, there is a identical looking person with </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/108692916742229800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=108692916742229800&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108692916742229800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108692916742229800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/06/this-is-supposed-to-be-play-script.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-108469024760015983</id><published>2004-05-16T01:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-05-16T01:50:47.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This week and this weekend have been horrible. Horrible might be an understatement.In between the night of Prom and Sunday, my great-aunt Florence passed away. I wish I could tell you all the great stories about her. Like her name implies, she was a delicate and beautiful, positively radiant. She was probably one of the most caring, compassionate, and loving people I have ever met to date. If </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/108469024760015983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=108469024760015983&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108469024760015983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108469024760015983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/05/this-week-and-this-weekend-have-been.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-108352191469808429</id><published>2004-05-02T13:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-05-02T13:23:44.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Fifth day into this strange world without Mountain Dew. Everything seems a lot slower. Time seems to go by a pace of snail. I think I consumed my last Mountain Dew on Tuesday before I took on this fast. So far, it has been interesting. I have tried to substitute Mountain Dew with other sodas like Coca-Cola or Crush. That didn't work at all. I tried drinking Red Bulls and SoBe, but those things </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/108352191469808429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=108352191469808429&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108352191469808429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108352191469808429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/05/fifth-day-into-this-strange-world.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-108320554846022184</id><published>2004-04-28T21:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-04-28T21:29:58.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I, Samuel Levi Van Geison, do hereby solemnly swear that I will not consume any amount of Mountain Dew starting now and lasting until the day after prom. If I fail to meet this oath, I will admit that I have no will power whatsoever and that I have a problem, but until then I will do no such thing. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/108320554846022184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=108320554846022184&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108320554846022184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108320554846022184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/04/i-samuel-levi-van-geison-do-hereby.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-108268210796374839</id><published>2004-04-22T20:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-04-22T20:21:06.106-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>         I could sit here and tell you that my absence from blog was from tennis matches or writing my short story in creative writing, but I'm not going to. When I am busy, it is hard to get away and blog.         I just am glad that the week is basically over. I'm so ready to see Meg outside of school. With 3 matches this week and the short story, I've had little time to actually relax. I've </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/108268210796374839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=108268210796374839&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108268210796374839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/108268210796374839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/04/i-could-sit-here-and-tell-you-that-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107871449299963094</id><published>2004-03-07T20:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-03-07T20:57:53.420-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I warn you this is an incredibly long blog entry. These are just some of the poems I turned in for my poetry notebook along with my comments below them.Odyssey of the EliteUnbreakable dedication to warNetworks of mass volumeAn orchid undergroundChalky giantsin their criminal environmentA marvelous ghettoQuest for man splitThe wrong battle for truthThe demolition of revolutionNaturally</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107871449299963094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107871449299963094&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107871449299963094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107871449299963094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/03/i-warn-you-this-is-incredibly-long.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107699050137043212</id><published>2004-02-16T22:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-16T22:04:16.140-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This weekend was an incredible weekend. It just plain kicked ass. No other words could suffice for it. It has been just awesome. For me, it was a much needed vacation really. Each night was pretty damn cool in its own special way. Friday, the 13th, was great. We watched Pet Semetary and I think I will never look at little kids the same nor give them sharp objects such as scalpel, but with Meg in </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107699050137043212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107699050137043212&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107699050137043212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107699050137043212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/02/this-weekend-was-incredible-weekend.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107629295731602190</id><published>2004-02-08T20:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-08T20:21:50.983-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The sparkling conversation while on a ski lift gives one just a small glance in some stranger's life. Usually people don't talk to each other on a ski lift if they don't know each other, but occasionally you'll have a kind soul talking to you. I say a kind soul because what else could I think of them. I only get to talk to them for a couple of minutes. The conversations are mostly about skiing, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107629295731602190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107629295731602190&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107629295731602190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107629295731602190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/02/sparkling-conversation-while-on-ski.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107578470233670388</id><published>2004-02-02T23:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-02-02T23:07:18.513-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Missing someone while they're gone is a natural thing. You love someone so much when only after 5 hours since they left, you feel that undenialable feeling. You just can't help but miss someone whom you love while they are gone for almost a week. This past couple of days, I haven't got a lot of sleep. It seems that every day has been a battle for me. Every class, every hour, every assignment. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107578470233670388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107578470233670388&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107578470233670388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107578470233670388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/02/missing-someone-while-theyre-gone-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107413211155947372</id><published>2004-01-14T20:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T21:02:22.186-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Hmmm. Why did I change this? I don't I felt like it needed to be. I'm sorru that comments aren't up. Britt will have them working in no time. I'm also sorry that I lost the comments of the last couple of entries, that thought passed my mind before I changed this. There were some great comments on there. I think I'll probably feel happy and blog on Friday, for some reason or other. Some person </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107413211155947372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107413211155947372&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107413211155947372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107413211155947372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/01/hmmm.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107378521365945047</id><published>2004-01-10T22:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-01-10T23:59:38.466-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>This week was torture for me. My schedule has been crazy. I no longer have lunch with Meg, or the rest of the table. I mean the table I sit at now is great. All the guys. But there's something missing. Every lunch in the first semester was just kickass because it was so god damn funny. The level of weirdness at that table just plain blew my mind. I don't know about this new lunch setting. It's </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107378521365945047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107378521365945047&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107378521365945047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107378521365945047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/01/this-week-was-torture-for-me.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107321553507065931</id><published>2004-01-04T06:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-01-04T06:16:10.233-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>                                        The Story of Meg and MeHave you ever met someone and this feeling comes up? That instantaneous liking of the person. I really met Meg back at the start of school in lunch. Yeah, of course I knew who she was, but I really didn't know too much about her. Through the course of school and out of school, I got to know Meg better and she got to know me.If </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107321553507065931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107321553507065931&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107321553507065931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107321553507065931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/01/story-of-meg-and-me-have-you-ever-met.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107319728133392374</id><published>2004-01-04T00:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-01-04T00:44:45.593-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Massage therapy is the most natural medicine known to mankind. Think about it. You hit your elbow on something, what do you do besides cuss up a storm? You rub your elbow. You ate too much, what do you do? Rub your stomach. It's quite natural.Along with Val, I, too, want to become a massage therapist. I haven't thought about what college I want to go to, but then again I haven't really </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107319728133392374/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107319728133392374&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107319728133392374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107319728133392374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2004/01/massage-therapy-is-most-natural.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-107092594957287677</id><published>2003-12-08T17:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2003-12-08T17:26:51.310-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You make me smile You make me laughYou give me the warmest heart attack"The Warmest Heart Attack"--by GamefaceI remember when I first heard this song, I liked it because it was an awesome song, but now I like it even more. I listen to it for the first time in a long time and I was like,"Whoa, this is how I feel exactly right now." I know it sounds mushy, but my feelings are my feelings, </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/107092594957287677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=107092594957287677&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107092594957287677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/107092594957287677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/12/you-make-me-smile-you-make-me-laugh.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106957738102121202</id><published>2003-11-23T02:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2003-11-23T03:02:41.733-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Warning: This is a long blog. Be prepared. Strap in. Make sure you have food near by. You are in for long read. Days have gone byTime has always toldInfant trees cry Their parents cut and soldThey weep for their ownLeaves glistening goldNew seeds will be sownBut still they shed their tearsGone is all they have knownOn and on, grow their fearsOf dry and dismal daysOnly when saplings </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106957738102121202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106957738102121202&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106957738102121202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106957738102121202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/11/warning-this-is-long-blog.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106809552298925412</id><published>2003-11-05T23:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2003-11-05T23:14:57.170-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>My birthday was today. Even though I didn't get much for presents, it rocked. I had originally planned to skip the whole day to go see The Matrix: Revolutions. I didn't skip and I'm glad I didn't. I had no homework, basically. I got my modern novels reading done during school. So yeah, I ended up going to see the Matrix after all. I went with my cousin, Morgan. It was awesome. The theater was </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106809552298925412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106809552298925412&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106809552298925412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106809552298925412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/11/my-birthday-was-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106688847229695405</id><published>2003-10-23T00:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-10-23T00:54:31.736-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Let's see. What to say, what to say?I'm going to be an uncle. My brother and his wife are having a baby. How cool is that? Uncle Sam, eh? I think it's so awesome. A little kid with the similar DNA makeup running around in a year. It's not confirmed by a doctor, but they are pretty sure. Unbelievable, eh? I'm so happy for them both.Ok, so I was reading for Modern Novels and at the moment it </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106688847229695405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106688847229695405&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106688847229695405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106688847229695405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/10/lets-see.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106602110539602018</id><published>2003-10-12T23:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-10-12T23:58:25.570-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>So yeah, I'm no longer failing Spanish. In fact, I think I'm getting a B-. How did I go from a F to B-? I don't know and I don't care. As long I'm not failing, I'm satisified. That and with my birthday 24 days away, life is good. Check that. Life is freakin awesome again. This weekend has been a really nice vacation for me really. I kind of lost track of the days. But alas I have homework. I have</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106602110539602018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106602110539602018&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106602110539602018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106602110539602018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/10/so-yeah-im-no-longer-failing-spanish.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106504909794785230</id><published>2003-10-01T17:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-10-01T17:59:14.790-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>School sucks. Right now I'm not all that fond of it. I got a midterm for Spanish. I was getting a F. Talk about a wake-up call. Yeah. If I had it my way, I'd just drop it at the end of the semester.  But, no, I have to stick with it and bust my ass over it. So yeah. On a happier note, my birthday is in 35 days. I know it is a month away, but still I'll be 17 years old soon. Scary, eh? I want a </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106504909794785230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106504909794785230&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106504909794785230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106504909794785230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/10/school-sucks.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106403913489389725</id><published>2003-09-20T01:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-09-20T01:58:16.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well, well, well. I'm back. It is hard to keep this up. School is going awesome. Somehow I must have been hypnotized because I'm reading three books at once. Two for school and one for myself. Oh well. Tonight was pretty fun. I hung out with Heather, Erica, and some other kids. During this time I kind of acted like a monkey. I was climbing stuff and I really can't remember why.  Then I got see </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106403913489389725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106403913489389725&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106403913489389725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106403913489389725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/09/well-well-well.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106238468332821355</id><published>2003-08-31T21:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-08-31T21:51:23.163-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today I basically just have been a bum. I haven't really done anything and I don't feel like doing anything. I'm tired and my ears are hot. I don't really want to go to bed. On a side note, any energy supplement drink only takes the energy from the near future. I've been thinking lately and I want to be a relationship with a girl so bad that I'm going about it the wrong way. I try to force myself</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106238468332821355/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106238468332821355&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106238468332821355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106238468332821355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/08/today-i-basically-just-have-been-bum.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106131429363999644</id><published>2003-08-19T12:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-08-19T12:31:33.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I've said this before and I say it again. I'm not all that great at poetry. So this is really just an attempt. blood and sweat i know them wellthey haven't abandoned me yeti kind of smelli've known them for days on endbruises, scrapes, and suchto my family, it isn't muchi ride to livei live to rideanything i would giveto be outsideright now as i writeto stay right heretakes all of </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106131429363999644/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106131429363999644&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106131429363999644'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106131429363999644'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/08/ive-said-this-before-and-i-say-it.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106084351393086384</id><published>2003-08-14T01:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-08-14T01:51:27.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>As it rains lightly and Mr. Osbourne provides some background music, I reflect on Tuesday. What an awesome day. That's an understatement, really. Tuesday, Austin Phelps and I headed up to this skatepark in Decatur. The drive there went nice and smooth. We got to Decatur and we couldn't find the park. We took to driving around trying to find it. We're definitely not in the ghetto. With huge houses</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106084351393086384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106084351393086384&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106084351393086384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106084351393086384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/08/as-it-rains-lightly-and-mr.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-106057488006389739</id><published>2003-08-10T23:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-08-10T23:08:00.053-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well I'm back on my bike, so I'm happy. All summer, I was pissed off at myself for not riding. Too busy working. But now I'm back on it. Funny how a little bike can make me content. I don't expect many people to understand this. It's like an addiction for me. I have to ride every day for at least a couple of hours. I have been hurt from riding, but does that keep me from riding? No. I live for it</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/106057488006389739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=106057488006389739&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106057488006389739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/106057488006389739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/08/well-im-back-on-my-bike-so-im-happy.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105962334843578495</id><published>2003-07-30T22:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-30T22:49:08.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>So yes, today was rather good. Just a little hot, but good. It was just so tranquil. I worked today, but somehow it seemed still and quiet. Nothing really happened. Just a regular day at work. I can't wait for it to be over though. Every time I close my eyes, I see corn and feel like I'm still on the rig. Kind of like, after you ridden a lot of roller coasters, you still feel like you're on one. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105962334843578495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105962334843578495&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105962334843578495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105962334843578495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/so-yes-today-was-rather-good.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105961854638912970</id><published>2003-07-30T21:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-30T21:29:06.306-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You are "Welcome to the Caribbean, love."You're more than a little world-weary, but alsointelligent and you keep your head when thingsget dodgy.  You're everybody's favoritedrinking buddy, but your stubbornness does getin the way sometimes. Which one of Captain Jack Sparrow's bizarre sayings from Pirates of the Caribbean are you? brought to you by Quizilla</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105961854638912970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105961854638912970&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105961854638912970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105961854638912970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/you-are-welcome-to-caribbean-love.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105953593798938235</id><published>2003-07-29T22:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-29T22:32:17.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well it's been a long time, but you'll have to wait another day. I'll be back tomorrow with a blog, I promise.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105953593798938235/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105953593798938235&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105953593798938235'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105953593798938235'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/well-its-been-long-time-but-youll-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105867390594645793</id><published>2003-07-19T23:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-19T23:05:05.870-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I should have stayed in bed today. I asked my mom to cash my paycheck, all of it. Obviously, she didn't want me to do this, but I told to do it anyways. I mean I asked as nicely as I could and she got angry. I left for work. We went a field and finished it. Then we went another one and two kids decided to throw tassels at me. Ok, I'll tell you now, I don't just take shit like that and do nothing </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105867390594645793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105867390594645793&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105867390594645793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105867390594645793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/i-should-have-stayed-in-bed-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105806957030715547</id><published>2003-07-12T23:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-12T23:12:50.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Why do I act so stupid at times? You would think that I'd have gained some knowledge down this road called life. But, no, I don't know think at times and stuff blows up in my face. The stuff I've done has only pushed this dream away. I mean I like this girl a lot and if I could sit down and actually talk to her about it, instead of getting no answers. I want this to work out, but my actions </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105806957030715547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105806957030715547&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105806957030715547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105806957030715547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/why-do-i-act-so-stupid-at-times-you.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105755012761384768</id><published>2003-07-06T22:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-06T22:55:27.593-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Why it is that when I sit here in this place, I come with no ideas to write about. I sit here in this shop because my dad has finally moved his office out to his shop. By doing so, he has moved the computer out with him. I look around and what's there? Tons of empty cigarette packs and millions more sucked dried beer cans. and it. What's it, you ask? The stupid thing that might allow me to go to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105755012761384768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105755012761384768&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105755012761384768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105755012761384768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/why-it-is-that-when-i-sit-here-in-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105718541290237408</id><published>2003-07-02T17:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-07-02T17:36:52.813-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>So I sit here wondering what to do. Do I take the plunge or do I back away in fear from it? Sooner or later I'll figure this out, but as of now I don't know what to do.  I could, but there are the consequences for it. But aren't consequences for everything you say and do? So provided that should I just do it? Yes there could be loss or there could be gain. If I back away does that make me coward </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105718541290237408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105718541290237408&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105718541290237408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105718541290237408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/07/so-i-sit-here-wondering-what-to-do.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105693001461038705</id><published>2003-06-29T18:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-29T18:40:14.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Well as I sat here for 15 minutes, I got tired of this stupid line staying in the upper left hand corner of the page. So I decided it's time to move it around a little.  Someone wanted me to blog about my feelings, but I don't think there is enough words to describe my feelings. I do have feelings. For some reason, some people think I'm cold hearted or some like that. Just because I don't speak. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105693001461038705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105693001461038705&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105693001461038705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105693001461038705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/well-as-i-sat-here-for-15-minutes-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105684237872747579</id><published>2003-06-28T18:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-28T18:19:38.693-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I was thinking today " Wouldn't it be cool to have a twin?" I mean somebody that just thought the same as you. I always thought that would be cool. I don't know if I would get tired and annoyed with him. Probably not. It seems that my brother is pissed off every time I see him these last couple of days. I don't know what's wrong with him. He asked me a question and I simply answered with no </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105684237872747579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105684237872747579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105684237872747579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105684237872747579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/i-was-thinking-today-wouldnt-it-be.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105678023105410381</id><published>2003-06-28T01:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-28T17:43:29.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today I went bowling twice. Once during the day by myself at north lanes and another time at night with my cousins at old bowl. I have to say this... I SUCK AT BOWLING. I really need to improve my form. I don't even think I broke 100. So if I play anyone from the bowling team, I'm screwed. By the end of the night, I was just screwing around. I tried bowling with my left hand and did two </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105678023105410381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105678023105410381&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105678023105410381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105678023105410381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/today-i-went-bowling-twice.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-105672956062748638</id><published>2003-06-27T10:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-27T11:05:19.876-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>         I tried posting last night, but this new blogger version is pretty weird. My dream last night was pretty weird as well. I was a federal agent investigating a gang of illegal sock makers. I don't know how socks could be illegal. Anyways, I was driving down a highway and I get pulled over by a police officer. She tells me that I'm in direct violation of fine butt law. So I get arrested and</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/105672956062748638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=105672956062748638&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105672956062748638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/105672956062748638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/i-tried-posting-last-night-but-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-96002557</id><published>2003-06-24T22:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-24T22:27:33.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>What's up with rascist people? I can't think of a worst way to spend your life. You basically spend it being pissed off at something that doesn't really matter. It doesn't really matter what race you are. It all depends if you are a good person. You think blaming your problems on someone else is going to help? It hasn't before, so why will it now?I can't wait to get my first paycheck. I need to </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/96002557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=96002557&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/96002557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/96002557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/whats-up-with-rascist-people-i-cant.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95964722</id><published>2003-06-23T20:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-23T20:22:38.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today I started work at garwood's. It's pretty easy, but it's also boring. All you have to do is walk up and down the field and cut down taller than usual corn. I get paid 6.25 per hour and my lunch hour is from 11:15 to 1:00 so it's pretty good. Basically I'm getting to get some exercise and a tan. I don't know. I was planning on using the money I earn this summer to do some stuff to my car, but</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95964722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95964722&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95964722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95964722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/today-i-started-work-at-garwoods.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95908675</id><published>2003-06-21T23:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-21T23:40:33.620-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Heather Grundy is one crazy mofo.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95908675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95908675&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95908675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95908675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/heather-grundy-is-one-crazy-mofo.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95885749</id><published>2003-06-21T00:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-21T00:48:50.990-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today was okay. I woke up at 9, went back to sleep, and woke up again at 12. I had to set up this mini-golf course at the stonington summerfest. After that, I pretty much did nothing. I remember when the summerfest was awesome and really fun, but now it sort of sucks. It used have really good rides and awesome food. Now we're stuck with these shitty rides and ok food. Today I worked at a ring </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95885749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95885749&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95885749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95885749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/today-was-okay.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95852881</id><published>2003-06-20T00:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-20T11:03:52.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I made a collage today. I like it and so does my sister. That's pretty cool coming from awesome artistic person as herself. I told some people that I haven't got my poems done yet. I lied.it seems people don't understandwhat life is really aboutsometimes you to take a standnot taking the easy way outthat you don't run when shit gets scaryyou say there and in sighteven if you escape with </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95852881/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95852881&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95852881'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95852881'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/i-made-collage-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95616111</id><published>2003-06-12T22:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-12T22:59:42.280-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I have been writing some poems. They're not done yet. I don't where they came from.You know I'll post them on here. On another subject, I realized today that I haven't been on date in long time. I just want to go on one date with this girl I like. The probelm is that I don't see her all that much. I don't know. I need to get out of this house more often. I am going to try and get to the bowling </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95616111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95616111&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95616111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95616111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/i-have-been-writing-some-poems.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95536731</id><published>2003-06-11T00:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-11T00:09:38.000-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Let me start off with the canoeing trip. The trip was awesome. I got to hang out with a lot of cool people. I had the chance to soak in the beauty of nature and how it sometimes is overlooked. How everything seems so simple when you are surrounded by trees, water, and rocks. Where it no longer matters who has the fastest car or hottest girl. A place in which you can find yourself spiritually. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95536731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95536731&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95536731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95536731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/let-me-start-off-with-canoeing-trip.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95396091</id><published>2003-06-06T22:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-06T22:48:40.303-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>" Welcome to a new world where anything and everything is possible. A world without boundaries, limits, and rules. A world full of possibilities. Endless and forever it dreams... " About this saying, it is weird where it came from. It came from my head, yes, but from one of my dreams. A man by the name of Marx Tithe told me this. I'll type about this later.</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95396091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95396091&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95396091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95396091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/welcome-to-new-world-where-anything.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95343061</id><published>2003-06-05T16:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-05T16:05:23.886-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Today has been my be a bum day. I haven't done anything. I think I woke up around noon. I watched cribcrashers and punkd. I am going to Indiana soon. I am going with my youth group to Turkey Run river to canoe. It should be fun. Before I go, I am going to try and go see The Matrix: Reloaded and 2Fast 2Furious. Last weekend, I saw Bruce Almighty, Jackass, and 8 mile. They all are great movies. </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95343061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95343061&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95343061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95343061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/today-has-been-my-be-bum-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95268236</id><published>2003-06-03T22:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-03T22:58:09.283-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>You are Tank, from "The Matrix." Loyaltill the end, you spare no expense in ensuringthe well-being of others. What Matrix Persona Are You? brought to you by Quizilla</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95268236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95268236&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95268236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95268236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/you-are-tank-from-matrix.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95267973</id><published>2003-06-03T22:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-06-03T22:50:38.653-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>So I've decided to try and be creative this summer. I have been trying write stories. Some stuff comes and goes.  About work, I have been working with my dad.It's bearable. About the dreams, I have lost them. It seems as soon as I wake up, I find myself chasing after the details and getting nothing. It seems most dreams are lost to the subconscious level. I spent a good hour trying to remember my</summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95267973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95267973&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95267973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95267973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/06/so-ive-decided-to-try-and-be-creative.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-95110504</id><published>2003-05-31T00:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-05-31T00:15:51.316-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I don't how got sick. Thursday, I woke with a terrible cough. Today, it was still there. I also had a really painful headache. I didn't do much today. I basically just lounged around my house all day. I signed up for a job at Garwood's. This will be my first year ever working there. I expect to be very tan and tired by the end of summer. I am sort of sad that school is over. I never get to do </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/95110504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=95110504&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95110504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/95110504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/05/i-dont-how-got-sick.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4094938.post-94922105</id><published>2003-05-26T22:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-05-26T22:01:09.770-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>With school basically at an end, I sit here thinking where did it all go? I mean seems like yesterday when I was running about trying to find my classes freshmen year. Somehow I can't think of a reason why this year seemed so short. Oh well, summer is basically here. I am going to be working a lot this summer. I hope get out a little bit more than I did last year. I have been studying for </summary><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/feeds/94922105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4094938&amp;postID=94922105&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/94922105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4094938/posts/default/94922105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://samuelson.blogspot.com/2003/05/with-school-basically-at-end-i-sit.html' title=''/><author><name>Sam</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
