What?

It's very late.

I can barely believe it all.

"No longer do I reside where I was most comfortable."

Actually, I am more happy now than I've been in a long time.



The Foam Cabinet is getting old and worn. The Foam Cabinet is not as inviting as the Foam Cabinet used to be. With a hardened heart, I had been wandering about the city I spent half my life in. Once I found out that I was moving away, I did not cry. Instead, it was as if someone hit a "pause" button within me. I felt like I didn't care anymore. I went around telling people of my soon-to-be departure, and the surprise of my loved ones washed over me, wave after wave. I could do nothing but laugh. I didn't want to carry the burden of a broken heart again.

Saying goodbye... not knowing exactly when my last day was... familiarity ripped from my tight grasp... none of it hurt. It was almost as if I didn't think I would miss anyone. I felt heartless, and I tried so hard to cry, but I couldn't! I would simply stare into the darkness, embracing it with no friction.


When I opened the Foam Cabinet, my best friend; my longest relationship with a girl who was not a member of my family; my first Christian influence... her picture was there, resting expectantly in the corner of the Foam Cabinet. She had written me a simple, heart-felt letter.

Besides the love God sent me directly through His word, I had never before been so touched by the text of anyone. The tears finally came as she revealed her feelings; feelings I had always guessed that she had, but never mustered the courage to ask about. I know she sees this, and I know she loves me dearly. Too often I would take this wonderous child for granted! I felt so stupid and selfish when I thought back to the times when I had left her as the least of my priorities. It is a great and sorrowful shame that we grew so distant, but I feel closer to her now than anyone else.

I'll be everyone's pen-pal, if they're so willing to let me write to them. But this girl that the Foam Cabinet so graciously reminded me of shall receive the first letter. Not even the great Soccer Boy #13 will have his letter before this magnificent woman I am blessed to call my friend! 




And what will the Lord do with me now? What will the Foam Cabinet always tell me?

"You are loved, Cale. It is high time that you share this love with everyone else. Fear not... love all."

What? Yeah, I have a job to do--one that is more important than school; more important than work; more important than music, writing, art, soccer, television watching... more important than the Foam Cabinet. Above all else, love.

So I shall.

Remember...

Welcome! (I like this greeting much more than "Hey", because it's not often used, and it's more polite.)



Oddly enough, the Foam Cabinet surprised me. AGAIN.
(Seriously, Cale? Hasn't the Foam Cabinet surprised you enough to nullify all future attempts at surprise?)

Yeah, no. The Foam Cabinet surprised me yet again.



With what?


The Foam Cabinet, upon being opened, revealed... The Foam Cabinet.

I have the urge to laugh histerically for no reason.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! 

Anyway, to clear things up, I opened up the Foam Cabinet that the Foam Cabinet had revealed to me. (If you're not confused by this point, by Joe and Frank you are a BRILLIANT reader.)

As I read my previous exploits, my non-Cale part of my brain asked: "What happened to Carlos?"

Here is the answer:

After posting "Creepers.", I understand that I have not yet mentioned this mysterious Carlos, right? Well, here's how it went down.

First of all, Carlos is real. I've had a crush on him in eigth, most of ninth, and a small part of tenth grade. During the summer, I crushed my infatuation, but it was replaced with that much stronger feeling: fear. Possibly love, but I'm not sure at this point. 

Shortly after posting "Creepers.", I stopped thinking about Carlos altogether. Almost as if I don't care for him at all. But my worries have been re-ignited. Just yesterday, I expected to see him, but didn't. And I may never see him again. I'm not sure about his salvation, and that is why I'm afraid.

I have more to say, but the Foam Cabinet showed me a mother demanding work to be done. Until next time...

Appetizers

Hello Everyone!

Walter J. Scott here. Miss Josten (For reasons I cannot explain) has made me a co-author of her amazing blog. So, for today, you all get to listen to me ramble!

If you have been following the Foam Cabinet as religiously as I have, you will have heard about Cale's seemingly overwhelming desire to tell us something about cats. Regrettably, her camera has been infected by an alien pathogen, and she has been unable to do anything of the sort.

So, today I'm going to put all our minds at ease with a small tidbit about our fine feline friends. To all those who actually own a member of the genus Felis Catus (Yes, I said Catus. Look it up.), I'm sure you will agree whole-heartedly with every point made in the following.

*Please note that no animals were harmed in the making of this film*

Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ef3gzn5vMoo

Wide Open

"In the event that the Foam Cabinet should self-destruct, please keep your distance."




Such a strange instruction... I mean, if the Foam Cabinet (or anything for that matter) was to explode into a billion piecelets, who WOULDN'T back off?








Guess what. Every time we are about to make the wrong decision...






Boom!




We are clearly told: "THIS IS A BAD IDEA. PLEASE STOP IMMEDIATELY."






And we act so surprised if our lame decision-making skills blow up in our faces...








Anyway, I'm pretty sure I had something entirely different to say. Upon openeing the Foam Cabinet today, I found expanse.









There is are "proper" definitions of expanse... such as "a wide extent of uninterrupted space" or "a big place with nothing in it".


I have found an expanse in my mind. My perspective has zoomed out a little bit, and I now understand more than I did prior to this week. 


I understand the concept of opposites in people's understanding: How someone can seem almost perfect, but then have that one weak spot where they never fail to struggle in the understanding of others. That one paarticular spot happens to be opposite to what their strength is. (That probably sounds a little confusing...)


I understand estimation as a convenient alternate to exactness, as being so precise causes headache and computer crashes. (This mainly applies to fractal and infinite sums in math, but also in feelings, communication, interpretation, and so on.)


I understand that love is not linked with fear, and vice versa. So, if I fear that my "love" will be lost, it must be something smaller (like infatuation, attraction, or temporary admiration).


I understand that it is pointless to complain about anything. Complaining NEVER fixes problems.


I understand that I am not the center of the universe (either because they say the universe has no center, or because I'm not the most important being in existence...). Sadly, I have to be reminded of this repeatedly. To put others first is easy to talk about, but hard as mess to do. But, practice makes perfect! 






As a brilliant rabbit-trail:


My brothers have succeeded in putting a photo of a nearly-naked young lady (anyone with nothing but a bikini on is practically naked) from our cereal box through the shredder. I am SO proud.






Anyways... expanse. I think I'll take a stroll in it to get a better picture of what God has placed in this life. Maybe I'll find a friend! Maybe I'll find a strawberry flavored breadstick! Maybe I'll find the cure to cancer! Maybe I'll find a dying man... Who knows? Whatever the case, I can't just sit here.


Ciao for now!

Might As Well

Because today is the first day of school, the Foam Cabinet thought it to be brilliant to give me a recap of the first day of school. How very dull.


So I'll make it interesting! =D






My alarm blares at five thirty in the morning. Thinking it's an important text, my heart rate shoots up to a few zillion beats per minute. I look at my phone to see:




Get up. NOW. Oh, and God says, "Hello!"




This will be my text message from God every morning, unless someone is a brilliant ninja and changes my alarm note each day.


So, I got up after around fifteen minutes of "stupid" time. This time is where I lay in bed, but with my eyes open, not closed. I should probably do this sitting up, though. I have a sinking feeling that my body will sleep whenever it is in the horizontal position in the near future...




Eventually, my feet hit the ground. I grab my Bible and read about peace and joy and being unashamed. Then I get out of bed and put my art projects into my Really Useful Box. (That thing is almost as awesome as the Foam Cabinet, to be honest. It lives up to its name...)


After dressing in my red "J stands for teleportation" shirt, black skinny jeans, black Polo boots, and my pimpin' yellow jacket, I head off to find breakfast and the like.






My mom ends up taking me to school, so I didn't end up riding the bus at all today. I had too much stuff to carry. (Thank you, AP 3D Art!) We get to the school, and it's not even seven. I proceed to obtain my schedule and explore the campus.




This is my schedule:


1st - AP Art 
2nd - AP Art
3rd - Physics
4th - AC Math 3 (Basically Math 4)
5th - Honors US History


LUNCH WITH ALMOST EVERYONE I KNOW.


6th - Honors British Literature
7th - PERCUSSION!! (Followed by a few hours of marching band practice...)




Thus my days shall align similarly. 


First and second period blended together quite smoothly. Nothing interesting happened.


Physics consisted of Coach Way talking our heads off about stuff we've heard at least twenty times, and an observation activity. The observation activity seemed to expect us to be Canadian...


Math contains 13 students; the golden number of love--something like that. This is a fairly small number for a classroom in a school of well over 2000 students. I really like the teacher; he explains stuff in a simple, logical way. Morning Time says he's boring. I say he's awesome. Because I can actually take decent notes in that class.


Speaking of notes, I've got four special books for note-taking. They are as follows:


The Notebook of Love (Math)


The Notebook of Joy (Literature)


The Notebook of Peace (Social Studies/History)


The Notebook of Wonder (Science)


I love math, reading gives me joy, learning of the past makes my mind at peace for understanding, and science is math put into a complecated application of wonderous qualities. 




I'm such a nerd!




Anyway, I walk into US History (which has the same rockin' teacher as last year's history class), and the room is split. Most of the students sit at the side closest to the door. J-LO and Trixie sit on the complete opposite side of everyone else. Where do I sit? 


In the red seat located in the very center of the room, of course! Duh...


I'm obsessed with that single red chair. 




Lunch was a new experience. I ate with sophomores, instead of my usual band-junior-friend-people. And, instead of snaking and yaking inside, I ate out of doors. My Really Useful Box was a really useful table...


When I walk into BritLit, nearly all the seats are taken. The whole class is quiet, though, aside from the teacher's lecturing. As I sit down, I smile slyly to myself thinking, "Yes! A strict teacher who KNOWS what she's doing!" She's cool. I like her already. She's the kind of person you don't want to mess with. Odd... I'm a generally rebellious kid--in a good way. 


She establishes that a few of us (including me) are nerds, and that it is impolite to stretch. 




Percussion is the biggest class; probably because it's also for color guard. We sit. We listen. We change clothes. We go outside. We reherse for a few hours.






Day one: complete.






The End.


Or should I say... The Beginning...






That's the gist of it, I suppose. I apologize again about the absence of kitties. My camera's being absolutely retarded. 


All my papers are signed; my supper has been eaten; we're not allowed to play computer games or watch television except on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays; Walter Scott (Soccer Boy #13's real fake name) has yet to tell me about his day... It's nearly eight-o-clock. What a day in the life of Cale Josten.