6/Feb/2013
It Can Wait....Needless to say, I am a horrible procrastinator. I am really only able to get things accomplished once I reach a state of panic, which I achieved this morning in realizing I am a full week behind in journal entries. I am actually writing this on the 12th of February, but to keep myself straight and make sure I fulfill the 25 entries, I will date them for when they were supposed to be written. I may be awfully lazy sometimes, but at least I am an organized procrastinator. For example: yesterday, instead of actually catching up on all the journal entries, I spent probably a good hour, hour and a half, trying to figure out how to create a separate section on my blog for the journals (that, yes, did not yet exist). I did succeed, though. :)
Perhaps it is not so much that I need to work on my procrastination (which I am at the point now where I am tired of how many times I have used that word and all of its conjugations and I wish there was an appropriate synonym I could use), but that my time-management skills are what is lacking. I'm not lazy; in fact, I'm always busy doing something, just not necessarily what is the most important thing that is needing to be done at that moment. I have no problem keeping up with, even ahead of, my homework in my Medical Terminology and College Algebra classes, but my Anatomy and English classes have definitely been suffering. Which is strange, since English is probably my favorite of those four, so it is not due to level of interest and/or disinterest. Maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind I have an over-confidence issue--believing that English is easy so thus I can put it off and get it done in little time later. I wouldn't put it past myself; that actually sounds rather probable. So maybe then, if I can change my mindset about my capabilities, and work on not only creating lists of things that need to be done, but giving them priority levels, I won't have to wait until tomorrow. Or the next day...
7/Feb/2013
Epic TitleWell, I came up against some formatting issues, but I think I have a plan now. What I do not have a plan for, however, is this journal entry. I suppose, when all else fails, I can fall back on some of my previous writings. Now I just have to pick something. That may not sound like such a big deal, but I assure you: I am horrible at making decisions. It can take me forever to even pick something as simple as what to share on my blog. I over think, I know. I am pretty sure I over think with everything, which is a pretty broad statement to make so definite, but that just emphasizes how confident I am about it (trust me, I thought about it). I couldn't even decide between the various ideas I had for a title, so I chose something to mock myself, in that I always want something epic, but by calling a thing epic directly, it actually somewhat lessens its...epicness. (Made up word alert!)
In the time that it took me to write that, though, I have actually made a decision: my short story "The Turn of the Key". I wrote it last year, in my Creative Writing class, and won first place with it in a writing competition. I had a lot of fun writing it, and maybe if I went back I could make it more, although I am pretty happy with it the way it is. Adding to it would just erase some of the holes that I left on purpose, since I believe that a good piece of literature or writing has the balance between having details and explanations that are necessary, and places where the reader can interact with the text and use their own mind and personal perceptions to fill in the gaps. That way, a book could be different for not only each person, but every time you read it, you will have become a different person since the last time, and the text will mean something different to you as well. I love being able to take a book or movie or any story, and, after reading it, create my own story from it, tweaking some details maybe, but keeping the body of it the same. (I hope that made sense.) Well, here we are, and I'm not sure what else to say besides here it is:
The Turn of the Key
He opened His eyes. His eyes immediately rebelled as they were blinded by the piercing red light filling the room. Even though every ounce of His body was aching to roll over and bury Himself under the blankets, His responsibilities awaited. With one hand He flung off the thin sheet and equally thin blanket, while with the other He instinctively patted the lump under his pillow, making sure they were still there. That bundle of keys was His whole life; from the day He was born and handled His first key, when every other babe cried in horror. He was the Key Man. As a result, the compound celebrated his birth; it had been many years since a Key Man was born, and life would flow much easier now. For Him, though, even His love of keys could not dispel the burden of His duties and the life He must live. In His mind He tried to remember the last time He had slept in the same apartment twice. The time was far back in His childhood, and in thinking of it, His mind wandered to His sister, Aria. There was nothing extraordinary about her, except Her voice. It warmed His soul, and when She sang the sound changed the color of the surrounding ten apartments, at least. He always wished He would find Himself working in an apartment near Her. With His hand on the doorknob, the right key already in place, He paused for ten more seconds to relish a memory of His sister singing above His crib, no more than six years old Herself. Then He was done, and it was time to go.
He opened the door. His eyes took another few moments to adjust to the yellow light, but He breathed a sigh of relief to see the family turn to see Him with friendly smiles on their faces. Even the newly born child, a girl, looked pleased to meet Him. That is, until Her skin brushed the cold metal of the silver key He held outstretched to Her, at which moment Her face contorted into a shriek. The mother instantly moved to comfort Her child, while He mumbled something about being grateful for the time and He stepped back towards the door. He flipped through the keys on the ring, and found the right one.
He opened the door. This room was a light blue, which wasn’t so hard on his eyes. His patient was laying limp in His bed, and one arm flopped weakly towards His entrance. The man opened His mouth, but He stepped quickly to the side of the bed, shaking His head gently. Reaching into His pocket, He pulled out both a kerchief to dab the man’s forehead and His keys. Finding the right one, He left the man, who already seemed more relaxed, and approached the small key hole in the wall by the door. He was glad to turn that key, and to watch as the room transitioned to a healthy green, and the man on the bed visibly grew stronger. When the task was done, He simply raised His hand to discourage the predictable stream of thanks that would ensue, and instead turned to the door with the next right key in hand. Two more blue rooms followed, for which His eyes were grateful, and another yellow afterwards. Then, one more, the instinctually last for the day.
He hesitated this time after hearing the click.
He opened the door, and His heart sunk. His eyes closed, as if to reject the reality of the dull red. When He found the strength to open them, He instantly collapsed to His knees. There, in a chair directly facing the door, was His sister, sitting patiently but with restrained panic etched into Her face. Neither of them spoke; He could not—His mind reeled, desperately struggling with how it could be Her time already. In gaping at Her, though, he realized She was nothing like His fond memories of Her, but she rather looked so very tired and old, though surely She was still naught but a few years older. Their eyes met next, and at least those reflected the same Aria of His dreams, notwithstanding the terror that screamed out at Him. Minutes passed with the same kind of agony that burned in His chest, but as He brought a finger up to brush away the tear irritating His nose, He remembered the keys still clutched in that hand, and with them, His duty. His lungs strained as He struggled to His feet. Aria raised Her hand to Him, briefly, in a last gesture of pleading, but His back was already turned. He did not look at Her again, but focused entirely on the task of fitting the right key into the small oval panel on the wall. It took Him fully a minute to turn the lock, and as the red faded into black, His mind retreated back to how He remembered Her. As He replayed a lullaby She had once comforted Him with, it blocked out the awful screeching that was now emitting from the woman He no longer knew. The right key was now in the door, and when He opened that door, He breathed a sigh of relief to have that horrible screaming full of pain and sorrow behind Him. Calmly, he observed His surroundings and found the room empty save for a bed and something for Him to make a meal of. When the door finally clicked behind Him, though, and that horrid sound was silenced, the thought occurred to Him which brought a momentary concern: who would turn the key of His end when His time came?
8/Feb/2013
Word: Escape
What does escape look like?
I admit I was rather disappointed when I typed escape into
Google images. It came up with way too many pictures of the Ford Escape
SUV. I had pictured something like a bird just spreading its wings to
take off in flight; endless rows of green trees before you with leaves
of brown, red, and orange laying down a faint path through the wood; a
door open just enough to see the blurry colors that lay beyond or a few
rays of light breaking in (in an Alice in Wonderland fashion); or even an old favorite novel with a cracked, ridged spine sitting invitingly in a cozy reading space.
What does escape smell like?
For
some, the smell of salt and a cool, fresh wind blowing off the water.
For others, popcorn, setting up to relax and watch a good adventure
movie. Since my escape is usually less of a physical adventure and more of a mental one, my escape
smells like a book; not when you first open the cover and it is a
little musty and possibly needs a dusting, but after I've curled up with
a blanket and coffee, and can smell the smells of the scene. If it's Frankenstein, then it varies between burnt flesh and pine woods. In The Poisonwood Bible,
there's the heat rising from the scorched earth. If I pause reading,
and I'm sitting outside on my porch railing, leaning against the corner
post, then I can raise my head and close my eyes and bring the
real-world scents into my imagination.
What does escape feel like?
Like every weight, every pain, every stress, and every worry has been lifted off and escaped itself.
Like flight is possible. Like safety; not in a little hiding place that
could still be found out and destroyed, but the ability to walk tall
wherever your feet carry you and absorb every moment. Like breathing
deeply, slowly, the freshest air. Like focusing inward and noticing the
slightest heartbeat at the places where your skin is thin, the blush of
warmth from your core out to every hair and fingertip and toe, and
knowing you are alive.
9/Feb/2013
Les Misérables
I went and saw the new Les Misérables with my boyfriend, and I did really enjoy it. However, I was much more impressed with Russell Crowe's singing abilities than Hugh Jackman's. For my senior year in high school, our mid-term paper was an extensive look at the life and influences and writings of a particular author; I chose Victor Hugo (the author of Les Misérables). I read his Notre-Dame de Paris (The Hunchback of Notre-Dame), and got about 1000 pages into Les Misérables. I'm glad that they were able to keep the plot moving much, much faster than the book. I laughed when I realized that the movie accomplished in 10 or 15 minutes what I had read in 1000 pages.
Regardless! If nothing else, the movie made me remember how much I loved what I had read of Les Misérables, and that I would very much like to finish it (when, I have no idea, but I would like to). I thought I might make a list of the books that are currently on my to-read list, so here I go:
Books 2-4 of the Mistborn series-Brandon Sanderson
Books 2-5 of the Game of Thrones series-George Martin
Gone With the Wind (which is more at the end, if not the very end, of my list)-Margaret Mitchell
The Name of the Rose-Umberto Eco
Great Expectations (all Dickens I haven't read yet)-Charles Dickens
All Ray Bradbury
Persuasion-Jane Austen
Hyperion-Dan Simmons
Books 1,3, and 4 of the Ender's Saga series-Orson Scott Card
The Memory Keeper's Daughter-Kim Edwards
The Solitary House-Lynn Shepherd
Three Comrades-Erich Remarque
Beowulf
All Shakespeare I have not read yet
The Three Musketeers-Alexandre Dumas
War and Peace and Anna Karenina-Leo Tolstoy
The Map of Time-Felix Palma
The Club Dumas-Perez Reverte
Finish The Canterbury Tales-Chaucer
A Once and Future King-White
Crime and Punishment-Dostoyevsky
The Tenant of Wild Fell Hall-Bronte
The Night Circus-Morgenstern
The Way of Kings-Brandon Sanderson
The Dante Club-Pearl
Catch 22-Heller
10/Feb/2013
I'm at 299....One of the readings for my English class was an article entitled "How to Say Nothing in 500 Words". (Yet again, it does not wish to show up, but the title is a link for the article.) At the moment, I have a dilemma: I want so badly to write about it and share its revelations with the world, but I can't stop laughing long enough to get my thoughts in order.
***
Ok, I'm good. I was laughing because I definitely do some of the things he talks about: the constant check on my running word count, subtracted from the total I'm supposed to have; picking the more abstract topic to write about while crossing my fingers that it will be enough to inspire something, anything, from my mind; padding sentences with passive tenses and needless adverbs; and attempting to find the balance using colorful words, colored words, and colorless words.Let's face it, even though length isn't supposed to be as important as content anymore, it's still the number one thing on our minds. When you hit that word count button and it's at 299, it's a mixed blessing. Your target is 300, and you're basically there, but if you don't add that extra 50-100 words, it'll be obvious that you were only shooting for the 300 and that is the limit to the effort you're willing to put forth. Then, you have to make sure you're not pushing the delicate balance of level of content versus amount. If you're going to add that extra 100, it better be something good, or else you're going to have to go back to what you're already written and stuff it with that useless padding.
Even though Paul Roberts gave very good advice at what to do and what to avoid when writing, it's still easier said than done (oops, there's a "pat expression" - which, why didn't he just call them clichés?). There's still the issue of coming up with the genuine content to add instead of all the stuff that will get you a D (which seems a bit extreme, but then I've never gotten anything less than a B on a paper).
I can't believe I almost forgot to comment on how Roberts put Hamlet in the article! Needless to say, I love Shakespeare, and Hamlet is one of my favorites. So when he wrote that 'had Shakespeare been confronted with psychology, "To be or not to be" might have come out, "To continue as a social unit or not to do so. That is the personality problem. Where ‘tis a better sign of integration at the conscious level to display a psychic tolerance toward the maladjustments and repressions induced by one’s lack of orientation in one’s environment or—" But Hamlet would never have finished the soliloquy', I laughed so hard. The sarcasm is great. Well, I'd say I have appropriately satisfied the requirements for length and content, so this is the end. :)
11/Feb/2013
Who Knew a Dress Would be Such a Big DealI got the pattern for my wedding dress today!I decided to buy a pattern and the material instead of buying a dress and having it fitted. I'm not terribly hard to fit, but it will be better to have something I know will fit how I want it to. This way, too, I can have it look exactly what I want, and it is cheaper. I won't be making the dress myself, though. My grandmother is a seamstress; she made my mother's dress as well as my aunt's. Having that sentimental factor was definitely a plus.
Oooh. This is crazy! A little terrifying, but exciting all at the same time. Maybe a lot terrifying... I can't believe this is really happening! I am getting married. I'm an only child, and I have the feeling my parents thought (or at least, hoped) I would have been single for many more years, and even though I had somewhat hoped to be able to be single for a little while longer to develop my personality and accomplish some goals on my own, I've known for a while that I probably would not make it to 25 still single. Here I am, now, not even making it to 20! Oops (haha). I just function so much better when I have someone by my side who supports me and takes the lead and gives me some direction, and Charlton is more than I knew I needed. I hope that makes sense - I mean that I had an idea of what I was looking for and what I need, but in dating him, I realized that there were other things (that he is) that I had overlooked; tenderness, for example. Then again, I never believed I would actually find someone as good as he is, and certainly not someone I would be this happy with and could make equally as happy.
Yet, here I am. Happier than I've ever been, taking huge steps in my life, and with a positive confidence toward what is yet to come.
12/Feb/2013
Heroes and VillainsIn the book The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Lisbeth (the girl with the dragon tattoo), is a highly-introverted, slightly disturbed, yet extremely talented hacker. She uses her "talent" in a legal job for a company called Milton Security, preforming extremely thorough background checks. However, the only way she is able to be so thorough is illegally. Lisbeth finds every little dirty secret her target could possibly have, but only uses it against them if she is pushed into a corner and forced to play her cards. One more thing about Lisbeth: she has a photographic memory, able to recall an entire page of information after reading it once.
Lisbeth is somewhat like a modern Robin Hood, in that she does not use her hacking skills with the intent to destroy lives, yet the basic fact is that what she does is illegal. She still does have the power to be able to destroy lives, regardless of if she does or not. There are countless examples of this throughout literature and film; for example, superheroes, even though they are on the side of "justice" and "upholding the law", they often take the law into their own hands and make their own rules. Batman is probably the best example I can think of. Since he took things into his own hands, the law (the police force) was forced to pursue him as though he was the real bad guy. What if Batman didn't have the personal moral of not killing? Would that still be ok? I suppose that depends on what justice means. Is justice punishing the criminal and giving him time to live in restriction and (hopefully) regret his actions? Or does justice mean permanently removing him from society?
Is what Lisbeth does acceptable? The fact that we have so many examples in fiction would suggest that we are alright with the existence of these vigilantes who do illegal things with good purposes. However, they are just that - fiction. Normally, in the real world, when a person takes the law into their own hands, they are labeled as extremists or criminals themselves, and are rapidly condemned. My theory is that Batman only works in Gotham; there is no Batman for the whole of the United States, and there cannot be one. All of the people of one country could not unanimously decide what makes a criminal. We can't even decide state to state on the law, for example, whether the death penalty is acceptable. I was going to originally ask where is the line on permitting certain behaviors, but I think now that it is a moot point. It's not possible in our society, so why worry about it? ...Or is it possible?
13/Feb/2013
Inspiration for HopeI lost the page, but on one of these prompt generator sites, there was a prompt that said to write about a time when you were inspired to write.
The first time I remember writing of my own volition, I had just gotten out of school for the day, and I was sitting in my dad's car, waiting for him to finish with work. I was in 6th grade, and had just moved to Branson from northern Illinois a few months previously. My dad worked in excavation then, so I'm not sure how or why I was inspired by the mounds of dirt and backhoes that were spaced around me, but in any case, something moved me to get out my notebook and a pencil and write this:
Hope
Watching the world go spinning 'round
As everything comes falling down
An earth clothed in darkness and hate
A want to destroy and need to create
Shall we go down shining in the light?
No, for night is not that bright
But we have trapped ourselves in all this gloom
And so, do not know what to do
Help us, save us from our violence!
Responding kindly is Dead Silence
Watching the world fall apart
As babies are born with a loss of heart
Locked in rooms weeping, crying
Laughing as our heroes are dying
Loss of care for Planet Earth
Not enough love and too much hurt
Darkness creeps in shadows, lost
Selfishness at any cost
How are people expected to cope
Trapped in a world without any hope
Watching the world turn around
As everything flips upside-down
Bad turns to good
People love as they should
No more crying, no more pain
No more loss, but all gain
A future bright for all to see
This is what I pray to be
Of an earth beautiful with no pollution
And people with minds with no dilution
Watching the world grow afresh
As children breathe new, clean breaths
A new generation with a new chance
At taking life with a point to enhance
Beautiful colors all around
Birds filling the air with pretty sounds
Crystal stars scattered through the sky
The moon sings to itself a lullaby
Of joy, kindness, love, peace
A Paradise for you and me.
14/Feb/2013
Here We Go Again"When does the day first go bad?" (link for website)
This is a pretty typical day for me:
Sleep through the first 10 minutes or so of the alarm clock / The alarm clock doesn't go off at all
Wake up in panic thinking I'm crazy late
Get my mind in order
Realize I'm not quite as late as I thought
Convince myself I have time for 5 more minutes of planning what I will wear in the warm comfy cozy bed that is my friend
Wake up 15 minutes later
Really late
Still don't know what I'm going to wear
Decide to skip coffee-I'll deal with the inevitable headache later
Still running late
Decide to skip makeup
Finally pick something out of the closet
Scramble to put it on
No good
Forget that I decided to skip makeup - Decide to put makeup on while deciding what to wear
10 minutes later, put something on that I'm not really happy with
Decide to grab protein bar instead of actual breakfast
Still late
Realize I need to bring a change of clothes for the potential event of going to the gym
Hold in some choice language when I can't find my running shoes
Very late
For some reason that endlessly baffles me - takes me 5 whole minutes to get from my house to my car
Finally on the road, but stuck behind someone going a minimum of 15 mph less than I would
Have to follow Slowpoke all the way to the highway
Get to the highway - have to sit there waiting for a space in traffic
Arrive at destination (late)
Utterly embarrassed
Even better: When I take a shower in the morning:
Decide that no, I can't make it one more day without taking a shower
Drag myself out of bed
Almost fall asleep standing up in the shower
Shower takes 5-10 minutes longer than I thought it would (probably mostly from the sleeping)
Very, very late
Needless to say, I'm late a lot. I hate it, but so far my efforts to change have been pretty fruitless. :(
15/Feb/2013
Nothing to Fear
Fear is a powerful emotion. It works in big and small ways, from completely paralyzing you to being a deep, subconscious reason for some outward action.
My number one fear is not of a physical thing, but of forgetting. It makes me infinitely sad to think that I could forget some moment in time, some memory that was once special to me. Even then, it doesn't have to be a special moment - the ordinary ones are precious to me, too. I try to keep journals, but a lack of time and sleep usually ends up crowding out my journal vigilance. Mostly this fear makes me something of a hoarder. Well, that's partly not true. I don't endlessly collect items, but I do have a hard time parting with the things I already have. Most things in my room are very dear to me, like stuffed animals or pictures, or small silly trinkets I played with with I was little. Looking at them brings back the memory, and even if it's a not-so-pleasant one, I would still rather remember the bad with the good than not at all. This applies to other people as well. I absolutely hate to think that I will be forgotten by others, so I am constantly making attempts to give them some reason to always remember me. This has back-fired in the past, so I have had to force-train myself to let go, whether or not I'm sure they will not forget me. I wish I knew where this fear came from. Maybe then it would be easier to repress and change. Lately, it's gotten better, but it is still exceedingly hard.
I have other lesser fears, too, like my almost-constant fear that I smell bad, or the little panic I have when dogs jump up on me. I know where those come from, though, and they are certainly more easily calmed. The smelling bad fear is just a self-conscious thing I have, since I have in the past been told so by people I care very much about. Their opinion means a lot to me, so it's just deathly embarrassing, even when they mean it as a joke. I suppose I just need to wear perfume or drink more water, since I don't think it's possible for me to shower or wash my clothes more. The fear of dogs is even less important, since it's a very slight, momentary panic that's based on a large dog jumping on me when I was very little. I know Charlton would like to get a dog, so I'm sure I will just have to deal with it eventually.
On a website provided by Ms. A, there is a list of lists. Simply, one of them says to make a list of "favorite book characters". I might have more least favorite than most favorite, but either way.
Favorite book characters
17/Feb/2013
18/Feb/2013
"The Road Not Taken"
by Robert Frost
20/Feb/2013
How Incredible is Average?My number one fear is not of a physical thing, but of forgetting. It makes me infinitely sad to think that I could forget some moment in time, some memory that was once special to me. Even then, it doesn't have to be a special moment - the ordinary ones are precious to me, too. I try to keep journals, but a lack of time and sleep usually ends up crowding out my journal vigilance. Mostly this fear makes me something of a hoarder. Well, that's partly not true. I don't endlessly collect items, but I do have a hard time parting with the things I already have. Most things in my room are very dear to me, like stuffed animals or pictures, or small silly trinkets I played with with I was little. Looking at them brings back the memory, and even if it's a not-so-pleasant one, I would still rather remember the bad with the good than not at all. This applies to other people as well. I absolutely hate to think that I will be forgotten by others, so I am constantly making attempts to give them some reason to always remember me. This has back-fired in the past, so I have had to force-train myself to let go, whether or not I'm sure they will not forget me. I wish I knew where this fear came from. Maybe then it would be easier to repress and change. Lately, it's gotten better, but it is still exceedingly hard.
I have other lesser fears, too, like my almost-constant fear that I smell bad, or the little panic I have when dogs jump up on me. I know where those come from, though, and they are certainly more easily calmed. The smelling bad fear is just a self-conscious thing I have, since I have in the past been told so by people I care very much about. Their opinion means a lot to me, so it's just deathly embarrassing, even when they mean it as a joke. I suppose I just need to wear perfume or drink more water, since I don't think it's possible for me to shower or wash my clothes more. The fear of dogs is even less important, since it's a very slight, momentary panic that's based on a large dog jumping on me when I was very little. I know Charlton would like to get a dog, so I'm sure I will just have to deal with it eventually.
16/Feb/2013
The Best and the Worst
Favorite book characters
- Jane Eyre: (Jane Eyre) She is very firm in what she believes in, which is still a work in progress throughout the novel. She is independent, and even though she's not that pretty, she shows Mr. Rochester that it is what's on the inside that counts. Then, even though she loves him, she won't have anything to do with him because he is already married. My favorite part about her, though, is probably at the end, when Mr. Rochester's house burned and he is left mostly blind, she returns (after he thought she was lost forever) to take care of him and love him.
- Mr. Darcy: (Pride and Prejudice) Oh my. He may be rude and prideful and arrogant, but he is wonderful. I loved him from the very beginning, even if it does take him quite some time to be humbled. He is justified in his actions, and becomes a better person because of Elizabeth. Or, rather, she comes to see the better side of him. His character goes much deeper than the typical cocky rich man, but he is caring and tender, too.
- Lord Henry: (The Picture of Dorian Gray) Lord Henry is typically disliked, I would imagine, and not without reason. He is the antagonist of the novel, and he leads young, beautiful, and innocent Dorian Gray into a life of selfish pleasure, risks, and even murder. Yet, I like him. Well, it's not as much like I like him as I am entertained by the random theories and philosophies he spews out. They are so extreme and sexist and biased that they are simply ridiculous, but still have a strand of truth to them that make you laugh and shake your head, but then pause and consider what exactly is he trying to say.
- Owen Meany: I hated this book, and especially Owen himself, with a passion. He is...unbelievably believable. Everything that you would say to yourself, "No way that will ever happen," happens. Owen was insufferable, and the the book (unfortunately) dragged on and on about him, when the entire book could have been reduced to the last chapter and have lost nothing. I only want to put Owen on here to state to the world how much I hate him. When I was reading this book (not of my own will, mind you; this was a class reading), I physically threw the book on many occasions.
17/Feb/2013
Just One Thing
"If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?"
I choose to take this in a physical sense, since internal things I consider to be in my power to change. One thing I would change physically, though, would be my voice. Most especially, my singing voice. I love to sing, and I do often (when others aren't around or aren't paying particular attention to me), yet I know I do not have the best voice. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not asking for the best voice in the world, and I know I don't have the worst, but I would like for it to be just a little better. I know when my voice is having a bad day, then my voice is borderline-bad and I need to just stop while I'm ahead.
My everyday talking voice could use a little help, too. It's rather low for a woman, which I think is in part to the fact that my mother is almost completely deaf, but she hears low tones better. It's a little far-fetched, but I think I subconsciously lowered my voice so Mom could hear me better. My voice is also extremely quiet, which you would think would not fit into that theory about Mom, but it actually does since most of the time she lip-reads and I am not required to be audible. It would be nice if I didn't have to constantly repeat myself because others didn't hear me. One thing I've noticed that is peculiar about my voice is that I can't really scream or yell; believe me, I've tried. My voice must have a volume limit much lower than most. I imagine being able to yell and scream could come in handy at some point, so that would be useful (especially around my boyfriend's family). It's a small thing that doesn't matter a whole lot, but it would make me just a little bit happier with myself.
18/Feb/2013
I'll Take That Road
"What's your favorite poem?"
by Robert Frost
To start, I love how Frost wrote this poem. It's a very lazy poem, even though the action in it is powerful. I mean to say that his rhythm is rather lazy and calming, as though it really matters not which road he takes. In reality, it does matter, but this poem teaches to not look back at what might have been - the road has been chosen, and it is the one you are walking; "way leads on to way". I think, too, that the poem brings out the point that we cannot always depend on our past experience to guide us. Both paths appeared somewhat traveled, and both led into the unknown. Another lesson: let it go. Life is not a thing to be controlled by we mere humans. Take the path that seems less traveled, and enjoy it.
19/Feb/2013
My Kaye
"Who inspires you?"
I don't know if it's so much that Kaye Maza inspires me in the typical sense (like a sort of muse or something similar), but that she inspires me in the way she has lived her life. She is loving, she is strong, and she is zealous for the things important to her.
My most powerful memory of her that displays this is from 2004. Kaye is old enough to be my grandmother, and when she met me I was 3 years old, she decided to "adopt" me as her granddaughter since she did not have any from her actual children yet. (Note: not a real adoption, just an emotional one.) She spoiled me endlessly, and needless to say, I loved it. I loved her. 8 years later (2004), Kaye's youngest son was killed in a car accident while he was living in the Dominican Republic doing a missionary preaching work. It was a tragedy that completely uprooted our lives. Kaye was devastated, and I was so distressed that I couldn't do anything else to help besides let Kaye hold me, and be by her side. I had to learn to live without Kaye for a while, as it took her almost a year to recuperate. Then, she got back into the preaching work she had been very involved in as well. I still love Kaye, of course, but now I can appreciate more how hard it must have been. She did not let it destroy her, though. Her faith carried her through to be able to do the things most important to her. I wish I could explain her better, but I wish more that I could be a tenth of the person she is.
20/Feb/2013
Yet again I was watching a movie - this time The Incredibles, with my parents. Several times throughout the movie, the statement is made that if everyone's super, no one will be (or, if everyone's special, no one is). I am personally having a hard time deciding whether I agree with that or not. Surely, if everyone is blue, or if everyone has a cat, it doesn't apply in those circumstances - everyone is actually still blue. But being "super" or being "special" is a different kind of quality; it's something more than the shallow, physical attribute.
I compare it to being gifted. What would happen if everyone was "gifted"? (I shouldn't get started on that; I could go on forever on the vague term "gifted" and what it does or does not mean, not to mention what it should or should not mean.) Since gifted is traditionally marked by an IQ score of (typically) 125 or higher, then that would simply be the average. Possibly more importantly, though, the need for the IQ range would cease to exist. No more specialized classes, no more No Child Left Behind programs. It sounds wonderful, I think.
However, then I think about why we are different in the first place. Our IQ is such a fundamental part of who we are, that for it to be the same in everyone would be to eliminate an incredibly large range for variety. Is it worth it to not have any failures, if it means not having any above-and-beyond's either? When everyone succeeds, it doesn't mean anything. Impressive factor = 0. Right now, I'm at about 25/75, more so on the side of difference. That could just be me being selfish, though, since I fall into that category of what psychologists and specialists have deemed as special enough to be more than average. Would having this theoretically utopian world produce even more great inventions and wonders, or would it stalemate creativity and the desire to do better? What desire to do better could you have, if you already knew everyone else would do just as well? This might just be one of those that I need to step back and let it simmer for a little bit, before I can really draw a conclusion. Or, maybe there just isn't a right answer. Can average be incredible? I really don't know.
21/Feb/2013
Prompt #136 I found on a site provided by Ms. A for creative writing prompts (that's a link, even though it doesn't want to show up). "Write a pure dialogue story. Make your story move along by using dialogues *only*. No narration, no description...just dialogues." Challenge accepted. (The dialogue goes back and forth between two characters, one on the left and the other on the right.)
Suicide is Painless
Here we are, the last day. After all this time we’re
finally going to get out of this prison, both of us.
What a (sad) coincidence that it should be the same day…
A prison? What an odd choice of words. I see it
not as a prison but even, rather, a home.
I suppose…yes, it will be sad to leave, but even
though your bed is comfortable to you, I can’t
imagine you haven’t wanted to escape. This place
is no good. Only rotting, dying bodies that will
never make it out of here. Everything is so sad,
too sad for me.
Are you implying me to be a rotting and dying
corpse? As I am the one which will never leave.
These sheets, one way or another, will be the
layers of my deathbed.
How do you stand this? Every single day, the white
washed walls, the cold, blank tiles, the immortal
and bitter machines. (Ugh.)
To each its own purpose.
But! We shouldn’t be so down and depressed, for
tomorrow! Tomorrow is our day, honey. By tonight
I’ll be at my new job, and you…Well, you’ll be out
of here, too, honey, don’t worry.
No, no! Don’t you see?? I don’t want to leave--
please don’t make me go! You’re my only friend;
beg someone for me, so that they won’t do this to
me…I can’t leave.
There’s nothing anyone can do. I keep telling myself
that. I’ve tried, begged even, to talk the doctors out
of this, believe you me. But the decision is made.
No, no, no…
I am so sorry, honey. I remember the first time I
walked in here; something drew me to this room…
Our first conversation was about my first
granddaughter, born just a few days before, do you
remember? I’ll miss talking to you, I will.
…I will miss you more than you could ever know,
though I suppose for not as long…
You have such a gentle face. Even the scars across
your head, they make you beautiful. You know, I’ve
always imagined your voice to be kind and soft, the
sort that you know would be beautiful to listen to
sing. I hope now that you can be at peace, darling,
instead of just looking peaceful.
I am not at peace! My voice would not be so calm
if only I could use it. Eyes, open! Mouth, work!
Please, this is our last chance…I want to live.
I don’t know your name, and I won’t now, but
I want to live.
it’s time for me to go. I guess this means I have
to say goodbye.
22/Feb/2013
The Poisonwood Bible"The book I'm reading right now is teaching me..."
A slight glimpse of what it might be like to live in a foreign country
To keep my mind open with talking or teaching someone who has a different background than I do
To not judge people by their appearances
A person who appears to be handicapped could actually be much smarter than I am
War can destroy people without killing them
Youth means innocence, and that needs to be left alone to grow in its own way
You cannot change the earth to be what it will not be
Money does not bring happiness
If you manipulate others, then it means you have the power to manipulate yourself into believing untrue things
To see the beauty in nature
To appreciate every single day of life
23/Feb/2013
Good vs. Bad"Do you think we need to have badness in order to have goodness? Why?"
No. Two reasons: badness is not necessary to balance out goodness, and we do not need badness to appreciate goodness. I've heard it said before that there cannot be good without bad, just as there is hot and cold or light and dark. This is slightly misconstrued, however, since cold is not an entity by itself, but rather the absence of heat; likewise, darkness is the absence of light. Badness is the absence of goodness, not something that exists by itself.
Secondly, saying that we have to have badness to be able to appreciate the goodness is like saying we have to eat a rotten apple to know that a ripe one tastes good. If there were no badness, it's not like we would ever say things are too good. That's silly. Goodness does not need a comparison to be appreciated. We inherently know and value the nice things. Yes, in our current state there is abundant badness, and so it can be said that having a bad experience makes you appreciate a good one. However, this by no means entails that badness must exist.
24/Feb/2013
My 10 Favorite Sounds
"What are your 10 favorite sounds?"
- Charlton praying for the two of us in a quieter, lower voice
- The static from a cassette tape that has finished what was on it, but is still playing
- A cardinal somewhere across the snow
- The sounds of the forest breathing around me
- The rain delicately echoing down the the metal stove pipe
- Super Mario Brothers theme song
- A small child breathing lightly as they sleep
- A flute playing a slow piece
- Bacon (or any food, really) sizzling
- A cute little car horn that I can't help laughing at, even if the driver is really upset
25/Feb/2013
Panic!
Oh, dear. It seems that my procrastination and self-(over)confidence is catching up with me. This week, I have two midterm finals, and I am most definitely not prepared. I fell into the trap of online classes, of being able to briefly skim information for a test or assignment, and not really reading the chapter or doing all of the practice worksheets. I thought it might help me to make a list of study strategies I have, to make sure I'm doing all I can.
1. Before a test, free write for 10-15 minutes about all the things that are going through your mind at the moment. It could be about the test, or anything else that's stressing you out or keeping you from being focused. On PBS, a woman had done a study about this strategy, and she found that if both your emotional and logical centers of the brain are active during a test, the emotional side will only distract your brain from being efficient in extracting the information it needs to answer a question. The students in the study that did this free write averaged a whole letter grade better than those that didn't.
2. Give yourself breaks. I've always done much better in actually retaining the information if I sit for an hour or so and study one subject, and then either take a food break or switch subjects. Plus, it’s a much better way of being able to see what you don’t know yet; if you just reviewed a name of a muscle five minutes ago, you’ll probably remember it no problem, but make your brain think about something else for a little bit, and you’ll realize you didn't really learn it at all.
1. Before a test, free write for 10-15 minutes about all the things that are going through your mind at the moment. It could be about the test, or anything else that's stressing you out or keeping you from being focused. On PBS, a woman had done a study about this strategy, and she found that if both your emotional and logical centers of the brain are active during a test, the emotional side will only distract your brain from being efficient in extracting the information it needs to answer a question. The students in the study that did this free write averaged a whole letter grade better than those that didn't.
2. Give yourself breaks. I've always done much better in actually retaining the information if I sit for an hour or so and study one subject, and then either take a food break or switch subjects. Plus, it’s a much better way of being able to see what you don’t know yet; if you just reviewed a name of a muscle five minutes ago, you’ll probably remember it no problem, but make your brain think about something else for a little bit, and you’ll realize you didn't really learn it at all.
3. STAY SUPER ORGANIZED! I think I have a total of three different calendars and planners to keep everything straight. I have different colors of pens for each class, and instead of writing what I need to do or work on each day (which can be extremely overwhelming), I write the assignment down on the day that it is due. It makes me have to look ahead instead of only the one current day, and I've found this helps me keep a better idea of the big picture (especially larger assignments or incoming tests).
4. Make a notes outline. This more applies to online classes, unless you don't take notes in your seated classes. But go back through the information and make a separate, brief outline of the important things, and especially the things you don't already know or you think you might have a harder time remembering. It helps me a lot to physically write things instead of repeatedly reading it in my mind.
Now, to follow my own advice!
26/Feb/2013
I just really wanted to share this; I wrote last year in my Creative Writing class for the assignment of taking a well-known fairy tale and...tweaking it a little. Oh, and I based it off of the original Grimms' Snow White, not the Disney version.
Ebony and…Snow?
My name is Prince Humperdinck. No, I’m not the same as the bad guy from Princess Bride; that’s my older brother. Our names are actually Donald (my brother) and Frederick (me), but “Prince Humperdinck” sounds so much better than “Prince Frederick”. As a side note, I’m not a war-crazy narcissist like my brother, so don’t worry.
But see, here’s the deal. No one knows me because in all the books and movies I’m just “Prince Charming”. Now, don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind being called charming (I’ve certainly perfected that sparkle when I smile--it only took me a year, too), but it’s not fair that people only know me as my wife’s prince. Who is my wife, you ask? Well, I guess I’m going to have to tell you so we can at least be on the same page here: Snow White. And she’s a nut case.
When I first met her, she was singing into a well about how she wished her prince would come. I got so caught up in the moment that I started singing with her and didn’t notice some birds that were singing with Snow White. That should have been my first clue that something was a little off with her. But she was certainly beautiful, with the whole “skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony” deal. (You would think the least they could do is make that rhyme.) I’m still not quite sure how she stays so pale with all the time she spends outside.
Anyway, after our little song was finished, and I convinced her I really wasn’t stalking her or anything but that I was stopping by to see if I could sleep at her castle for the night (and then heard the singing), we really hit it off. She liked animals, I liked animals, she liked singing, I liked singing—we seemed to have a ton in common. When it was time for dinner, I was eager to speak with her stepmother about how available Snow White was, but the Queen pulled me aside and told me it might be in my best interest if I waited until I knew Snow White better before settling to a commitment with her. That should have been my second clue. While I didn’t really understand what the Queen meant, I took her advice and continued on my way the next morning. I travelled around; I met Cinderella, but she was a little too homey for me. Jasmine, too, was incredibly gorgeous, but her palace wasn’t exactly geographically desirable. In the end, I came back to Florin for Westley and Buttercup’s wedding and to say hi to the family. Of course, Mother asked if I had found a nice princess yet, and I had to confess that, yes, there was one, a pretty girl named Snow White. Mother was positively ecstatic. When she found out I hadn’t made any plans to marry Snow White, though, she absolutely insisted on my leaving the very next morning. And who can argue with Mother?
I admit I rode a little fast; I was eager to see her again...or maybe just sing with her. When I arrived, though, the palace was in absolute chaos. The Queen was evidently on vacation (visiting some cousin—Jafar, I think), but the even more astonishing news was that Snow White had been missing almost since my last visit—nearly a year! The servants were overjoyed to see me, since apparently what had happened was Snow White was so distraught over my sudden leave that she went out into the woods on her own after me (which, really, should have been my third clue something was not normal with this girl). But now I, a prince, had come and I could go and find her. Immediately, I set out.
The first thing that struck me was that, all in all, it was a very charming wood. Nothing like our Thieves’ Forest back home in Florin, of course, but it did have lots of bright flowers and cute animals, and a fair amount of sunlight for having all those trees and things. Soon, though, I came upon a very unpleasant scene: a dead beggar woman lying at the bottom of a small rock cliff, who had evidently fallen to her death. My duty to her as a prince pulled at me (or at least the desire to pick up one of the apples strewn from her basket), but it was more important I rescue Snow White from whatever danger she had gotten herself into. It was a good thing I did keep going, too, for when I went a little further I came across an abandoned miniature-sized cottage, almost like she didn’t have enough materials to make it full size (which should have been my fourth clue if I had stopped and wondered why she would make a house for herself she obviously did not fit in). Hurriedly I searched for her, calling out her name, and in going around the outside of the house I found a curious object: a human-sized box that was rather ornate, with gold and diamonds and other jewels all over it. Lying next to the box was a shape that appeared to fit on top of the box, and it was seemingly made of diamond as well, transparent but extremely hard. I remembered my mission and decided to leave the strange box, but one last thing caught my eye: a gold plate on the side of the box engraved “Snow White”. I really didn’t give it much thought at the time, since it encouraged me to keep going because I knew she had to be there, but it definitely, most certainly should have been my fifth clue, since what sane person builds their own coffin?
I rushed inside (bumping my head on the ridiculously low ceiling), and found her, collapsed across seven tiny beds all pushed together. I was severely alarmed, but on touching her I realized she was alive and warm, though not breathing. A half-eaten apple lay on the floor, and so, concluding she must have choked, promptly administered the Heimlich maneuver on her. After a few seconds, a piece of apple flew from her mouth and she coughed, awakening. For me, it was certainly a sigh of relief. Snow White was still not entirely coherent, however (she was muttering something about the Queen over and over), and so I just calmed her down like a good prince charming and put her up on my horse to go back home.
Now, sadly, it was too late for me. We were married almost immediately after our return, she being hailed as the new Queen (since some unknown tragedy had befallen Snow White’s stepmother), and I as both the rescuer and now King. Since Mother insisted on meeting Snow White, we went home to Florin for a long honeymoon, but it was after we came back that I finally could put the pieces together about Snow White. She told me the most ridiculous and unbelievable story I had ever heard, about how she hadn’t really left in a desperate search for me, but rather it was the Queen who was chasing her into the woods, in a jealous rage! I could accept a little misunderstanding there, though, and so I calmly nodded my head and said my “oh no’s”, and asked her why she built that cottage so small. At first she just looked at me with confusion, but eventually she laughed and said, “Oh, no, I didn’t build that! The dwarves did.” I stared at her blankly, but she had a great happy smile on her face.
“The...dwarves.”
“Yes! Doc, Grumpy, Happy, Sleepy, Bashful, Sneezy, and Dopey.”
It was this moment, while I was utterly speechless, that I realized exactly what I was dealing with here. My wife was crazy. Mistakenly being paranoid about her stepmother being out to get her, I could deal with, but this? Imagining seven little dwarves not only existed, but had taken care of her?! Built all those things! She was schizophrenic or something, and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I hadn’t taken the Queen’s advice, and I jumped into something, and someone, I did not know everything about.
*****
Shortly after Prince Humperdinck published “Ebony...and Snow?”, the seven dwarves promptly entered a complaint against him for the incorrect attribution of the cottage and diamond coffin being built by Snow White, denying the work and skill of the dwarves. The case is still in progress, but it appears the dwarves are winning, as the Prince has been rendered speechless since the first day.
27/Feb/2013
UtopiaI'm excited that I found this, because I never finished it, and I would love some feedback on where to go from here.
Number of current residents in my building, Apartment 24
True, every now and again, an overflow would happen when one of their questions was too broad and they received more information than their brain could physically handle, or they tried to link to too many other persons at a time, and that would cause their brain to go into a coma which we could do nothing about. Sometimes, too, one of the Children would get overexcited and begin to physically shake and twitch uncontrollably in their cell, also requiring termination. That was extremely rare, though; nothing excited them really anymore. DreamLoop had excited them, briefly, when it was first introduced to the mass public, before the dull constant of adrenaline and activity set in, but that was too long ago. Too many hours, days, years of the continuous flood of emotions and conversations, and unlimited information at the very start of the formation of a question, all connected, downloaded (linked, I suppose, is the proper term) directly to their minds.
I personally don’t think I could stand it. My first action every morning after waking up is to kneel down and clasp my hands together, laying them on my bed in the Old fashion, before praying and thanking God that I was one of the few selected to be an Elder, to not have been submitted to the Childish life. It can’t even really be called a “life”; how could it? They spent their entire lives in 9 by 1 meter cold, metal cells, but they are never even aware of it because of the unconscious state DreamLoop keeps them in. Endless numbers of equally cold tubes and wires attached to their skin and organs fed them or got rid of waste or ran water through their bodies to maintain a level of cleanliness. The one, minute chip embedded in the base of their brain stem enabled DreamLoop. It transmitted every thought passing through the brain out into the hive, strength or weakness of thought depending on the number of other minds it reached. The chip translated emotion and feeling instead of clear words, and it picked up on questions before they could even really be formed, responding with a flood of information that could possibly be related. It was not a life. It was nowhere near to how we were made to live. But, it was what they chose. They chose to live their lives as machines, with childish intelligence the sum of the real possibilities of their very real brains and minds; intelligence was perceived as unlimited with computers, but a machine, a collection of energy and wires and codes and metal and plastic, cannot be intelligent. They chose to have their lives ended at the age of 32; 33 was decided as being “too old”, and they would rather die in perceived youth than with the imagined difficulties of old age. I look around at some of the older Elders, some of whom are reaching into their 120s, and I cannot imagine wanting to cut life off purposefully at any moment before that.
The second thing I pause to pray for every morning and every night is that God forgive the Children for their selfish ways. Of course, I am too young to remember the time when they accepted DreamLoop wholeheartedly, but some of the very old Elders do. They are almost horror stories, to hear of starving children that looked like walking skeletons, men and women and children forced to rot in filthy streets because they had no means to survive or a place to live, or the gory, unending wars that occurred and the number of innocent people slaughtered without hesitation (never mind the soldiers that were sacrificed for the “greater good” of one nation dominating another). It makes me shudder to try to imagine it. I very nearly cannot.
There is a sense of sympathetic pity that I feel when I think about either the things we humans had done to ourselves in our own history, or too the methodical, mechanical lives the Children under my care lived. Our world, the real world, outside of DreamLoop and outside of the cells, is beautiful—a real paradise. The words that spring to my mind cannot truly encompass the crisp, pure air I breathe, or the soft, clean grass I brush my feet over in walking. Every leaf and fruit on a tree and vegetable on a plant and flower on a bush are the brightest, sharpest colors; I cannot imagine any more vivid or beautiful. Surely I could spend every moment of my day just looking, breathing in every aspect of the splendor around me, the peace.
28/Feb/2013
Five Minutes to Countdown
"What kind of things can you do in five minutes?"
- Write a sloppy, rushed blog-journal
- Eat a bowl of cereal
- Remove old nail polish and paint a new color
- Write and hide about 10 sticky notes around Charlton's room
- Drink a third of a can of soda
- Get dressed (provided I had at least a vague idea of what I wanted to wear)
- Free write about 300 words
- Beat an easy level on Super Mario Brothers
1/March/2013
I have seen more movies in the actual theater in the last three months than I have in my entire life put together, I'm pretty sure. Mostly that was due to the fact that my Mom is almost completely deaf, so to go to the theater which doesn't have subtitles means she won't get anything out of the movie. The last few months, however, I have been going with my boyfriend, Charlton. He says he's not a movie person, but I'm coming to realize he actually really does like movies, he just prefers to watch them once and be done, instead of buying them and watching the same movie over and over. This may be hard for me, since I've grown up with a personal movie collection of something close to 300 movies. Charlton owns (maybe) 10. :(
Oh well. To the topic at hand, which is that the last movie we saw together was a zombie/comedy/romance called Warm Bodies. I was not super excited about it while driving to the theater. Typically, I don't like romance comedies, since I have an abnormal sense of humor and those kind of romances are usually choke-yourself-on-cheese cheesy. And now we're adding zombies to this? I didn't see it. What is our society's big deal with zombies, anyway? Now that I actually ask that, though, I realize that they are 1. scary, 2. easy to make fun of, and 3. easily pitiable. That makes them pretty good subjects for a movie, since they can fit into several genres.
There were a couple of things about this specific movie that bothered my logic (one of my top reasons to not like a movie), but I guess I can't be too picky, since it is (after all) a movie about zombies. Hmm, I suppose I should put something in here about *spoilers*. There. Anyway, in the beginning, R (the zombie who is just R because he can't remember his name, just that it began with R) explains that zombies can't really talk. They can try really hard and get one or two distorted words out, but that's about it. When R meets Julie, though (the human girl who happens to be the daughter of the head of the army), he suddenly gains the ability to talk better and better with each scene. Yes, I understand, he's coming back to life, but still. It was not explained well enough. That was another thing I didn't understand. The zombies' hearts start beating again by the end, yet they are still zombies. They still can't move quickly, and they generally still look like zombies. A minor thing, though. (Oh, there was also an extremely loud narrator in the theater, who insisted on repeating anything a zombie was trying to say, and then making some comment on it. She was asked be to quiet by the staff, thankfully. If you want to talk during a movie, stay at home. It's a pretty common courtesy that the movie theater with movie on = as quiet as possible.) The thing that probably irked me the most was the blatant references to Romeo and Juliet. I mean, R and Romeo - Julie and Juliet? Come on. I can appreciate the writing of Romeo and Juliet, but the actual plot line is just ridiculous, and it is way too over-used. It is not a romance! It is a tragedy! Yet it seems like people have in their minds that it is the greatest romance ever. The balcony scene was the worst for me. I couldn't believe my eyes. Julie's friend coming out and seeing R was nice, though. It made it a little better.
Don't get me wrong, now. I did like the movie quite a bit. The dialogue was pretty funny, especially when R is talking in his head. Of course, I'm sure having Charlton next to me laughing greatly improved my opinion of the humor. There was next to zero gore, with the exception of a zombie peeling his skin off and the occasional eating of brains and other various human parts. There was a little bit of language, but it was sporadic enough to not make either my boyfriend or I uncomfortable. I don't think it's one we're going to want to own (not even me), but I think it was a good movie for the money.
2/March/2013
Charlton"10 things I really like about my best friend, sibling, parent, or relative."
My best friend: Charlton
- He is compassionate when thinking about what others might need
- He is sincere, in all he says and does
- He's silly, and always making me laugh
- He's responsible
- He's optimistic (generally), yet balanced
- He loves Spanish as I do, and has the same goal of living in a Spanish country
- He's intelligent, and able to be reasoned with
- He's humble in realizing his mistakes
- He's kind in pointing out my mistakes
- He loves Jehovah God, and he loves me, and he has us in the right order
3/March/2013
I admit this assignment proved to be more difficult than I had thought, for several reasons. I was counting on my years of writing experience (and journaling experience) to make this a simple and easy, something that wouldn't take very much of my time. However, I was more self-confident than I should have been. It was much more difficult than I would have thought to pick a prompt all on my own. I've never had problems in the past writing journal responses, but in those cases, the prompt was always given to me. I turned out to be extremely picky with my prompts, wanting something more profound and philosophical than "my favorite movies". If anything, what took the most time was picking the prompt. I laughed when I read on one of the sites that Ms. A gave us for prompts: "When you utilize these free creative writing prompts , it is advised that you just start writing whatever comes into your brain. Too much thinking is what got you searching for prompts in the first place, so you might as well get rid of that crap right now :)." Who would have thought too much thinking could prove to be a detrimental thing? It was nice that I was able to share some of my previous pieces of writing, but I could only use that so many times. Then, too, it was hard to fight the tendency to just write about what happened that day, like an actual, normal journal.
Also, my procrastination got the best of me, I fear, and caused me to have several journals left with little time, so the last few were rather sloppy and I did not get to be as choosy with the prompts as I had before. I shouldn't have written that in the passive tense; it was my fault and my fault alone that I procrastinated. There's that arrogance in my own abilities again. I really should work on that. When I wasn't stressing over how far behind I was, though, I did have a lot of fun with this. There are a few journals that I hope others see, because I would love to get some other minds' feedback and opinions. I had forgotten a little how much I love to write.
I never know how to end these things. Before, in class, we had a specific amount of time to write in, and if you were cut off mid-sentence even, it didn't matter. The important part was that you were writing the whole time. Now, though, I have to give these journals an actual structure, beginning, middle, and end. I found myself repeatedly reaching the end of a journal and writing something silly like, "Well, that's what I think" or "Hopefully now I can do this too". So, here I am again, at the end. Am I supposed to tie this up like an essay? Or is it acceptable that I leave it a little less formal? I think I did a little of both in my past journals, so one way or another I hope I'm covered.
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