for the love of cheese

Yeah, yeah. Weirdest title ever. I needed something eye popping and- OH MY GOD, my little brother and sister are so freaking LOUD they never SHUT UP and I am TRYING to write here and *grits teeth in obvious irritation*
Oh thank god for bedtimes.
Anyway, now that my ears are beginning to stop ringing, I have to say, I really am not a normal twelve-year-old girl.
There are a number of reasons for this.
Instead of failing English or Civics like a normal seventh grader, I'm flunking math. And my dad puts so much pressure on me to be like exactly perfect at everything and I'm not. The only things I'm actually sorta good at would be writing, music, songwriting and art. which in my dad's mind are "no source of a good career" and "how do you expect to make a living for your family off your hobbies?"
Well, news flash, I'm not good at anything else.
Actually, not true. I'm fine at Science and Civics. It's just that my passion lies in sixteenth notes and in quotation marks, not in beakers. And he doesn't understand it at all!
I also have dreams about flying.
Soaring above the clouds, my tiny town giving way to the empty, clear, beautiful, free sky.
Suddenly my dream turns into a nightmare. I try to stretch my wings, but I feel no pull. I look back, see no black wings blocking out the sky behind me and feel icy fear stab my naturally fast heart.
I start spiraling downwards, the ground zooming in at an alarmingly fast rate. I scream, but no one can hear me. Besides, who would care if I died?
Then, when I'm about sixty feet from the ground, I see a face. Nick's face.
Normally after that I wake up, screaming and crying into my pillow. I think I have some issues. So lately, I've been staying up till five, just so I don't have that dream. I suffer from painful insomnia. Nick, if you're reading this, it's true. Every bit of it. And yeah, it's me. Rachael.
And love SUCKS.
And I really want to fly.