Do you ever have those moments where you realize you're a total blonde and idiot? It's like after 21 years of existence I have yet to realize what the eff is going on around me.
I tend to pride myself on picking up on subtle emotions, reactions, and thoughts from those around me. I know, I'm arrogant but I can't help it, damn it. It's a side affect of my ridiculously incurable fear of talking in front of people and turning into a shuddering ball of shyness in a corner while a crowd of people drinks, laughs, and parties around me. I learned to shut up and listen more than talk.
Anyway, I finally realized today that I'm an idiot. When it comes to guys, I have zero tact. What I thought was a playful offer for coffee in the a.m. turned out to be a date offer I think.
Let's start from the beginning with a few of the fail relationships I've had in my life.
1) Stephen- My first year at school was in fifth grade. I instantly fell in love with a kid named Stephen. At the time I thought he was the best. When I look back now and remember him, it dawns on me that Stephen was a nerd. He had glasses. Big ones. He had buckteeth. He was short and stocky. But to my unschooled fifth grade heart, he was a the Justin Beiber of his time. We fell in love on the playground and after a few weeks of dating -which consisted of swinging where I always beat him because, let's face it, I am a tad competitive and I let me wild side- he asked me to marry him. Unfortunately, I was unready for this leap in relationship seriousness and refused to. With my grade school BFF Bryce, I assaulted Stephen. I actually stuck playground rocks in his mouth, told him no, and ran off to 'date' Bryce on the swings for about one day. I'm pretty sure if Stephen had emotional issues later in life, I was the root of them.
2) Jimmy- In 6th or 7th grade, Jimmy was a hellion. Everyone hated him. The teachers possibly vomited into their trash cans when they saw he was on their roster. Students rolled their eyes and sighed at him. He was the kind of kid that shot spit wads and cursed at teachers. I absolutely despised this kid. We had to sit next to each other in technology class and that was just when I was beginning to write. It was a very angst-ridden time in my life because my current BFF and I got in a fight over something grammatical and stopped talking...Life as a 6/7th grader was serious. Anyway, Jimmy would always pester me and poke me and giggle incessantly whenever he got a rise out of me. He wrote on my book notebook one day and I snapped. I stood on my chair, pointed down at him, and shouted about how he was a horrible person. I then ran to the bathroom to cry. Now that I look back, I realize Jimmy probably had a crush on me and was just being a pain in the ass. He was always nice to me for the rest of my school life even though he hated a lot of other people.
3) Rick- He was a grade or two older than me. We were in middle school when we dated for about a week. When he finally got annoying, I turned and punched him in a hallway. From there, our friendship fizzled. Who would have thought assaulting a boyfriend would end things so harshly? You'd think I'd learned things from my past...
4) Eric- We dated for two weeks Sophomore year. It was over Christmas break though and it didn't last long because he wanted more attention and I was too busy writing and gallivanting around the world exploring life.
5) Tyler- I had a crush on him for the longest time. I thought up this awesome scheme where I would get him to notice me and fall in love. It happened in movies so it would happen to me, right? So the plan went like this; when Valentine's day came, I bought him a secret admirer carnation from our school fundraiser thing and sent it to him. It was so funny to see his face turn red in homeroom when he got it. Everyone started asking him who he thought it was. Even I asked him. Eventually, he caved in and answered my question with a very straight face. Unfortunately, it wasn't me. He thought it was a whole other girl. I got so mad that I shouted it was really me and refused to every date him. Like I said, zero tact.
We'll skip a few here because when I got to college, the two boys I really liked turned out to be serious relationships that were fairly difficult to get over. However, I've been in class with this one boy for a few weeks now and we've been chatting. He lives two houses down from me on my block. Yesterday, he suggested that I come over and have coffee and breakfast with him on his front porch. I said I would think about it.
Everyone whose mother said that to them when they asked for candy knows what that really means. I did not get up early for breakfast with him. I did get up earlier though but only by 3 minutes so I could make a poptart. When I left at the buttcrack of dawn for class, I glanced down the street and saw him sitting on his bench. That's when it dawned on me. My tactless curse with guys had once again come through for me. I felt as if I had stood him up. I lowered my head and hurried across campus hoping he wouldn't see me.
One of these days, I really need to practice my man-attracting skills and get married so he can make me wealthy while I bring home strays and cats and write books I'll never get famous for because no one in my life has time to read them. One day, I will marry a hot rich man.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Pretense
Sometimes, when I'm laying in bed preparing to fall asleep, I'll turn off all the lights, curl up under my covers, and pretend I'm elsewhere. I read my books before going to bed and sometimes I get so wrapped up in the story that I forget that I live in good old Anderson, Indiana. I live elsewhere. I live in a warm house with big windows, pottery barn furniture, tile and wooden floors, big granite countertops, steel appliances, three spacious bedrooms, and a drive-in garage. I let myself think there's a happy dog sleeping on the foot of the bed because he's so exhausted after we visited my sister and played all day. The yard is big and trees rattle around me with their healthy green leaves moving in the wind. Tree frogs croak outside the window while crickets merrily chirp away. The sheets of my bed are cool and relaxing after a long day of teaching and seeing family. Tomorrow, I'm getting up to drink cider and read the daily newspaper while sitting at a dark brown table with four chairs for when I have guests over. I'm so caught up in this pretense that, for a moment, I'm in love with my life. I'm content.
Four Score and Pickle Juice
There are some days where all you can really do is sit back and take it all in. These past two days have been that exact way. I can't even really remember what I did because I was so busy. I had a few major projects due this week that I had to scramble to finish so everything else is already a blur. However, there are a couple stories I remember with ease.
For example, while at work yesterday I heard a great story from my coworker. Apparently, he and his roommate were in the mood for partying so they hiked up their big boy pants and headed out into their apartment. They walked by each door and listened for any loud music. When they found an apartment that had music playing within, they took a deep breath and barged right in without knocking. Into a stranger's home. Without knowing the person. Or knocking. Turns out the major party they thought was going to be inside was really just a group of six or so people playing cards sitting on the floor. How embarrassing is that? And like, who in their right mind seriously barges in on an apartment without knowing anyone? Were they drunk? Can we hope so or should we just leave it at the fact that they're idiots? I think I'll just leave it.
We have a professor here at AU who is the only female in the history department. She's epic. She's badass. She's amazing. Her name is Miss Rogers and she's a ferocious feminist, loves organic food, hates modified food, hates destroying the earth, and loves cursing like a sailor. She's renowned around the history department. Well, I think I'm more like her than I thought I was. In all my classes, my fellow students have been calling me Rogers. It's sticking to me and there is no way I can get away from it. Whenever I say something against norms, go on a rant about the earth, or say something feminist, my classmates sigh rather sarcastically and go, "Okay, Rogers". It's spread. Now other people around campus are calling me it. I think I'll just make that my new name.
I have one class where everyone refers to me as Rogers. It's my once a week evening class on Wednesdays. I gave my history lecture today in that class and it went relatively well considering I put it together an hour before the class began. I need to be even more organized. Anyway, one student did his lecture over the assembly line. As an activity, he set up a table with bread, lunch meat, mayo, pickles, and cheese slices on it. He asked for an activity and because I was making eye contact with him -damn me for trying to be a good student!- he picked me. I had to go up to the table and rush to make the sandwiches as fast as I could. It was DISGUSTING!!! The first time I only made one sandwich in a minute. the second time I got two and a half. After that he had the whole class -all five of us- go and take up position in the assembly line. I had to put the pickles on the sandwiches.
Now if you have never worked an assembly line then let me tell you now that it's not all that great. At least not when you're making sandwiches as a germaphobe. We were rushing so fast that I soon couldn't just pick the pickles off the top of the pickle jar. I had into the stinging pickle juice to get them. Soon enough, I was reaching MY ENTIRE HAND into the jar to pull out the pickles. Let me tell you this; pickle juice is like lemon juice. If you have cuts on your hand, it hurts. A LOT!
Pictures and video of this experience are soon to come.
Anyway, it was a fun activity and I enjoyed it. The class had fun as well and we had a good laugh about it. Afterwards, me and a couple others students went to the Haven and had a fun dinner before going to Mocha Joe's, our coffee shop. Also, while walking from the restroom to the coffee shop, I passed by a guy who walked up to one of the computers in the hall and announced, "Four score and seven years ago!" before working on it. I was the only one in the hallway besides him. It was totally awkward.
Let me just add that after washing and scrubbing my hands four different times, I still have pickle scent wafting off of them....Ew....
For example, while at work yesterday I heard a great story from my coworker. Apparently, he and his roommate were in the mood for partying so they hiked up their big boy pants and headed out into their apartment. They walked by each door and listened for any loud music. When they found an apartment that had music playing within, they took a deep breath and barged right in without knocking. Into a stranger's home. Without knowing the person. Or knocking. Turns out the major party they thought was going to be inside was really just a group of six or so people playing cards sitting on the floor. How embarrassing is that? And like, who in their right mind seriously barges in on an apartment without knowing anyone? Were they drunk? Can we hope so or should we just leave it at the fact that they're idiots? I think I'll just leave it.
We have a professor here at AU who is the only female in the history department. She's epic. She's badass. She's amazing. Her name is Miss Rogers and she's a ferocious feminist, loves organic food, hates modified food, hates destroying the earth, and loves cursing like a sailor. She's renowned around the history department. Well, I think I'm more like her than I thought I was. In all my classes, my fellow students have been calling me Rogers. It's sticking to me and there is no way I can get away from it. Whenever I say something against norms, go on a rant about the earth, or say something feminist, my classmates sigh rather sarcastically and go, "Okay, Rogers". It's spread. Now other people around campus are calling me it. I think I'll just make that my new name.
I have one class where everyone refers to me as Rogers. It's my once a week evening class on Wednesdays. I gave my history lecture today in that class and it went relatively well considering I put it together an hour before the class began. I need to be even more organized. Anyway, one student did his lecture over the assembly line. As an activity, he set up a table with bread, lunch meat, mayo, pickles, and cheese slices on it. He asked for an activity and because I was making eye contact with him -damn me for trying to be a good student!- he picked me. I had to go up to the table and rush to make the sandwiches as fast as I could. It was DISGUSTING!!! The first time I only made one sandwich in a minute. the second time I got two and a half. After that he had the whole class -all five of us- go and take up position in the assembly line. I had to put the pickles on the sandwiches.
Now if you have never worked an assembly line then let me tell you now that it's not all that great. At least not when you're making sandwiches as a germaphobe. We were rushing so fast that I soon couldn't just pick the pickles off the top of the pickle jar. I had into the stinging pickle juice to get them. Soon enough, I was reaching MY ENTIRE HAND into the jar to pull out the pickles. Let me tell you this; pickle juice is like lemon juice. If you have cuts on your hand, it hurts. A LOT!
Pictures and video of this experience are soon to come.
Anyway, it was a fun activity and I enjoyed it. The class had fun as well and we had a good laugh about it. Afterwards, me and a couple others students went to the Haven and had a fun dinner before going to Mocha Joe's, our coffee shop. Also, while walking from the restroom to the coffee shop, I passed by a guy who walked up to one of the computers in the hall and announced, "Four score and seven years ago!" before working on it. I was the only one in the hallway besides him. It was totally awkward.
Let me just add that after washing and scrubbing my hands four different times, I still have pickle scent wafting off of them....Ew....
Monday, September 27, 2010
Self-Evaluation
I've come to a conclusion. It's not a very extreme one or even a life-changing one. Heck, it isn't really a conclusion. It's more a realization. I was driving on Scatterfield- check here if you don't know about my Scatterfield obsession- when it dawned on me that I've been trying to hide that I was unhappy with my life lately. I'm a real passive-aggressive person. When I'm pissed at someone, I don't say anything but I give them dirty looks and sometimes talk bad behind their backs. I hate confrontation. It gets way too serious and my upbringing has taught me to avoid serious conversation because it's too serious and serious is bad. Well, I guess I'm passive aggressive about life as well. When I'm unhappy I don't tell many people. I keep in it. It remains private and unseen for quite a while until it explodes like an angry beast.
Well, I'm unhappy. I've said it. I finally admitted it. I'm tired of life. Not the suicidal tired-of-life, mind you. Nor is it the depressed tired-of-life. It's more the I'm-tired-of-constant-problems-and-issues tired. I hate change and I get easily overwhelmed. So now that school is different than before and I'm working too much, I'm overwhelmed and upset. The smallest things piss me off. I hit my foot on a thingy in the front room today and got mad. My roommate looked at me like my mom used to when I was in trouble and I got mad. A bird shit on my car and I got mad. Life stinks when you aren't happy.
That also brings me to another aspect of my life that I'm unhappy with. For several years now, I have been agnostic. Four years, to be exact. I think people became so used to the fact that I was agnostic that they kind of gave up on the idea that I would be anything else. Well, this summer things happened in life and I came to realize that I could no longer deny the presence of one great being. I now believe, and I do so fervently! I think people need to realize this too. They need to realize that they can give me religious advice. I still have a lot to figure out about my beliefs but there isn't much I love more right now than to delve into the world of religion and faith. I love my new faith in God and I love the way it makes me feel.
Anyway, away from that tangent! While I am tired of life and at a low point in it, I came to realize on Scatterfield that I need to take a different view of things. I look back on this summer and remember those priceless and indescribable moments where I was in such awe and speechless at the beauty of the world and want nothing more than to go back to those moments. So I made a quick and simple list of things I needed to do from now on. I want to try to find God in the smallest things. I want to see the beauty in the ugly, the light in the cloudy sky. I want to see the simple things around me and value them like I did over the summer. I want to be thankful for what I do have and have faith that what I'm not content with will change one day.
I know this is nothing that I can change overnight. It's not just stuff I want to do. It's stuff I need to work on. Things I want to polish and develop. Like all things, it's a journey and I need to start walking the path there even if it is hard and against everything I'm feeling. I need to make more of an effort to be understanding. I need to remember what it is I love so much about life. I mean, without a goal and without joy in the things around you, how are you supposed to live?
That's exactly what I want to do. I want to live fully and passionately, pursuing my goals and striving for the unknown that rests before me. Today starts a new day and this day will be the first of many.
Well, I'm unhappy. I've said it. I finally admitted it. I'm tired of life. Not the suicidal tired-of-life, mind you. Nor is it the depressed tired-of-life. It's more the I'm-tired-of-constant-problems-and-issues tired. I hate change and I get easily overwhelmed. So now that school is different than before and I'm working too much, I'm overwhelmed and upset. The smallest things piss me off. I hit my foot on a thingy in the front room today and got mad. My roommate looked at me like my mom used to when I was in trouble and I got mad. A bird shit on my car and I got mad. Life stinks when you aren't happy.
That also brings me to another aspect of my life that I'm unhappy with. For several years now, I have been agnostic. Four years, to be exact. I think people became so used to the fact that I was agnostic that they kind of gave up on the idea that I would be anything else. Well, this summer things happened in life and I came to realize that I could no longer deny the presence of one great being. I now believe, and I do so fervently! I think people need to realize this too. They need to realize that they can give me religious advice. I still have a lot to figure out about my beliefs but there isn't much I love more right now than to delve into the world of religion and faith. I love my new faith in God and I love the way it makes me feel.
Anyway, away from that tangent! While I am tired of life and at a low point in it, I came to realize on Scatterfield that I need to take a different view of things. I look back on this summer and remember those priceless and indescribable moments where I was in such awe and speechless at the beauty of the world and want nothing more than to go back to those moments. So I made a quick and simple list of things I needed to do from now on. I want to try to find God in the smallest things. I want to see the beauty in the ugly, the light in the cloudy sky. I want to see the simple things around me and value them like I did over the summer. I want to be thankful for what I do have and have faith that what I'm not content with will change one day.
I know this is nothing that I can change overnight. It's not just stuff I want to do. It's stuff I need to work on. Things I want to polish and develop. Like all things, it's a journey and I need to start walking the path there even if it is hard and against everything I'm feeling. I need to make more of an effort to be understanding. I need to remember what it is I love so much about life. I mean, without a goal and without joy in the things around you, how are you supposed to live?
That's exactly what I want to do. I want to live fully and passionately, pursuing my goals and striving for the unknown that rests before me. Today starts a new day and this day will be the first of many.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Memories
Isn't it strange how the human mind can connect a certain area, scent, taste, or item to something in its past? As a slightly impulsive, overly OCD (I'm getting better at touching door handles!!) person, I connect everything from apples to colors to certain things.
For example...
1) Lavender soap- When I was eighteen (I think) I climbed a tree in the woods and jumped off with this grand plan of soaring over the treetops on wings of grandeur and adolescent invincibility. Instead, I crash landed on the logs below and slipped on slow, cracking my forehead open. I had to get stitches -HELL YEAH, STITCHES, I'M NOW BADASS- and it took weeks of healing. The entire time we used lavender soap to clean my head. EVERY DAY. Whenever I smell lavender now I instantly think of agony, blood, and ADOLESCENT ANGST (Strangely enough, the soap at work is blackberry bliss something or other and it brings back the same memory so maybe that soap wasn't lavender).
2) Titanic- The soundtrack, not the movie. When I was young, I used to go south to ride horses with my older sister in the country. I remember hearing the soundtrack for the first time on that trip down to the ranch. Everyone knows that as a child, car rides are extremely long. An hour feels like light-years. Well, hearing that soundtrack for such a long trip imprinted on my mind. Now when I hear the music from the movie, I remember that GIANT hill at the ranch and the long trip down there. Titanic was also the first CD I owned. I blame my sister for instilling this obsessive love for soundtracks in me.
3) My brown comforter- I had a cat for ten years. She was my BFF. At a very angry (and stupid) time of my life, I stayed at my sister's house for a few days only to get a call that my cat was dead. When I came home, she was lying on my brown comforter. We had to wash her blood from that comforter. After that, I bought a new one but when I pulled the brown one out today while the other was in the wash, I still recalled that fateful day that my life began to turn around.
4) Dandelions- When I was little, I used to pretend with my sister that we were dogs, cats, dinosaurs, and Jedi knights. One day, we were adventuring in the backyard. I think our skit that day was something with either dogs or lions and I had crossed her somehow (I probably ate her deer or stepped on the swingset- ENEMY TERRITORY, BABY!!!). She jumped on my and broke my baby tooth. All I remember were bright dandelions around me and HORRIBLE AGONY! Now when I see dandelions for the first time each year I shudder.
For example...
1) Lavender soap- When I was eighteen (I think) I climbed a tree in the woods and jumped off with this grand plan of soaring over the treetops on wings of grandeur and adolescent invincibility. Instead, I crash landed on the logs below and slipped on slow, cracking my forehead open. I had to get stitches -HELL YEAH, STITCHES, I'M NOW BADASS- and it took weeks of healing. The entire time we used lavender soap to clean my head. EVERY DAY. Whenever I smell lavender now I instantly think of agony, blood, and ADOLESCENT ANGST (Strangely enough, the soap at work is blackberry bliss something or other and it brings back the same memory so maybe that soap wasn't lavender).
2) Titanic- The soundtrack, not the movie. When I was young, I used to go south to ride horses with my older sister in the country. I remember hearing the soundtrack for the first time on that trip down to the ranch. Everyone knows that as a child, car rides are extremely long. An hour feels like light-years. Well, hearing that soundtrack for such a long trip imprinted on my mind. Now when I hear the music from the movie, I remember that GIANT hill at the ranch and the long trip down there. Titanic was also the first CD I owned. I blame my sister for instilling this obsessive love for soundtracks in me.
3) My brown comforter- I had a cat for ten years. She was my BFF. At a very angry (and stupid) time of my life, I stayed at my sister's house for a few days only to get a call that my cat was dead. When I came home, she was lying on my brown comforter. We had to wash her blood from that comforter. After that, I bought a new one but when I pulled the brown one out today while the other was in the wash, I still recalled that fateful day that my life began to turn around.
4) Dandelions- When I was little, I used to pretend with my sister that we were dogs, cats, dinosaurs, and Jedi knights. One day, we were adventuring in the backyard. I think our skit that day was something with either dogs or lions and I had crossed her somehow (I probably ate her deer or stepped on the swingset- ENEMY TERRITORY, BABY!!!). She jumped on my and broke my baby tooth. All I remember were bright dandelions around me and HORRIBLE AGONY! Now when I see dandelions for the first time each year I shudder.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Who needs human godsons when you have a face like this to love? This is Abu. He's two close friends' cat and while they're gone for the weekend, he's staying with me in my room. He's adorable, crazy, playful, and soooooo cuddly. I'm now his godmom and he brightens up my world. It's been over a year since I've had a pet and just having a temporary one makes me remember how much I love them. Cats are so happy and goofy. I love having something to be responsible for and worry over besides myself. Now if only he could stay quiet during the night so I could get some sleep :)
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Negative Nancy
I'm picking up on a pattern here. For a couple days, I don't have homework or financial worries or deadlines to make. It seems I get a break and I start to think that maybe life is slowing down. Then WHAM! A dozen things pop up and I'm running around town like a chicken with its head cut off. I realized today that in my four years of college I've never been as busy and exhausted as I have this semester and I'm still not even a month into the year. No matter how much sleep, I get I'm still drained by the end of the day. No matter how much homework I finish, there's still a ton left. There's always something to do. It's never just 'sit down, relax, laugh, and enjoy things'.
I can almost say that I genuinely despise my life. I may not act like it but I am overall pleased with my life. I love my job, my lessons, my hobbies, and my family. I'm a resilient person and it takes a lot for me to say I'm unhappy. Right now, I can say that. I don't like things. I don't like the fact that work is full of backstabbing, classes are uninteresting, I don't get to see my family or watch my new niece learn to smile and laugh, or that there's no time to just sit down and relax. I absolutely hate that I barely have enough time to read, let alone write. I haven't typed a word of Book 3 even after 3 weeks of waiting to. I get home and I don't have enough energy to create a story. I have the ideas. They're all in my head. I just don't have the means to put them to paper and that is what frustrates me.
I got like this last year around February when I got promoted to manager. I completely fell into a downward spiral. I remember lacking motivation for homework, writing, and life in general. I had to entirely cut writing from the schedule just so I could get homework done. I was so overwhelmed with working full time while also going to school full time that I could barely stay above water. That's how I feel now; like I'm drowning under a giant river. I'm being strangled by everything I'm responsible for and not at all letting up.
However, when I got promoted it took well over a month, maybe even two, before I had adjusted and settled into a new pattern. I'm praying that it's the same this semester. I need the confidence to get over this hurdle and somehow stay on top of things. I just keep reminding myself to be patient and things will eventually fall into place.
I can almost say that I genuinely despise my life. I may not act like it but I am overall pleased with my life. I love my job, my lessons, my hobbies, and my family. I'm a resilient person and it takes a lot for me to say I'm unhappy. Right now, I can say that. I don't like things. I don't like the fact that work is full of backstabbing, classes are uninteresting, I don't get to see my family or watch my new niece learn to smile and laugh, or that there's no time to just sit down and relax. I absolutely hate that I barely have enough time to read, let alone write. I haven't typed a word of Book 3 even after 3 weeks of waiting to. I get home and I don't have enough energy to create a story. I have the ideas. They're all in my head. I just don't have the means to put them to paper and that is what frustrates me.
I got like this last year around February when I got promoted to manager. I completely fell into a downward spiral. I remember lacking motivation for homework, writing, and life in general. I had to entirely cut writing from the schedule just so I could get homework done. I was so overwhelmed with working full time while also going to school full time that I could barely stay above water. That's how I feel now; like I'm drowning under a giant river. I'm being strangled by everything I'm responsible for and not at all letting up.
However, when I got promoted it took well over a month, maybe even two, before I had adjusted and settled into a new pattern. I'm praying that it's the same this semester. I need the confidence to get over this hurdle and somehow stay on top of things. I just keep reminding myself to be patient and things will eventually fall into place.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Tidbits
Well, the slow first half of my week was, as usual, deceptive. I got an email today saying my student teaching interview was moved from November to the next 2 weeks. I'm now panicking as I rush through the paperwork and struggle to collect everything I need to prepare for it. On the bright side, yesterday I got a free map of Civil War battles, a book about the builders and founders of America, and a history and social issues book from my evening class. I'm definitely excited about the builders of America book but I'm ecstatic about the map! I absolutely love maps and this one is amazing.
I guess you know you're a history major and teacher when you get really giddy about maps and free books :)
I was rifling through some belongings I brought from home when I came across my old notebooks again. I glanced through them and saw ones from Book 2. They are approximately 9 years old! You can tell too...The writing is horrid! In the second paragraph, I spelled leisurely as lesurely. I also used lingo and not in the way that writer's license allows me to. I used it nonchalantly. THE HORROR!!! The pen markings on it were made when I went back after I wrote the book and reread it. It wasn't from now. Oh, and I'm pretty sure I've taken out almost every idea from that page. So much for young writing!
This weekend I'm taking a break from school and going home to hang out with my sisters and madre. I'm pretty excited to just take time and relax but I'm not sure if I'll actually relax. I'm sure I'll sit down to watch television (something I haven't done since Sunday) and feel horrible for not doing something school related. But thus is the life of a college senior and it's back to that life I go!
I guess you know you're a history major and teacher when you get really giddy about maps and free books :)
I was rifling through some belongings I brought from home when I came across my old notebooks again. I glanced through them and saw ones from Book 2. They are approximately 9 years old! You can tell too...The writing is horrid! In the second paragraph, I spelled leisurely as lesurely. I also used lingo and not in the way that writer's license allows me to. I used it nonchalantly. THE HORROR!!! The pen markings on it were made when I went back after I wrote the book and reread it. It wasn't from now. Oh, and I'm pretty sure I've taken out almost every idea from that page. So much for young writing!
This weekend I'm taking a break from school and going home to hang out with my sisters and madre. I'm pretty excited to just take time and relax but I'm not sure if I'll actually relax. I'm sure I'll sit down to watch television (something I haven't done since Sunday) and feel horrible for not doing something school related. But thus is the life of a college senior and it's back to that life I go!
Monday, September 13, 2010
School
There's something eerily satisfying about writing up my first lesson plan for my classroom. Well, it's not really a lesson plan. It's an early assessment for a social studies or geography class. It outlines the curriculum the class will be following throughout the semester and quickly assesses what the students already know about the subject matter. While I'm a senior in college, this is my first lesson plan. That's kind of sad considering I have yet to be in a classroom in secondary school within my content area and I'm about to graduate. I think that's why I like finishing my lesson plan so much. I'm finally getting a chance to be a teacher and not the student. If only I could finish up the student part right now and jump into the classroom.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Distance
After staying away from Book 2 for a while I returned to it today to read a bit more. As soon as I got to this part, I got wrapped up in the story again. I absolutely love how one part of a book can pull you into the story so you feel like you're actually there, as if you can truly feel the suspense and fear of the characters. Perhaps I like this part because it centers almost entirely around religion. I'm not sure but I know I never get bored of it.
It's the part in Book 2 where the main character Roan comes across the prophet who has the power to change the views and ideals of the religious fanatics he's surrounded by. The prophet throws a curve-ball though. Instead of promoting god, she denounces the god the people worship and accuse them of being heathens who have turned their backs on god.
It's the part in Book 2 where the main character Roan comes across the prophet who has the power to change the views and ideals of the religious fanatics he's surrounded by. The prophet throws a curve-ball though. Instead of promoting god, she denounces the god the people worship and accuse them of being heathens who have turned their backs on god.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Game On
If you're bored stiff by my writing rants and pointless rambles, I'd advise you to stop reading while you're still ahead here.
A few weeks back when I was working on the end to Book 2, I came to a part I've been planning for months. It was a really important part for me and I absolutely loved the preparation that went into it. It was a brief chapter than brought the themes of chances and coincidences to an end after discussing them throughout the book. It basically brought the main character to a battle of life or death through a board game. This is a brief glimpse of part of the chapter still in the works.
I spent a month preparing for this one part alone. I read about multiple games played in ancient Rome, Greece, Sparta, and other regions. I played some of these games with history professors and fellow students and read as much as I could about the rest. From there, I went to stores around town and found games that were traditional ones played throughout history. I spent a week examining Mancala and Memory. When it finally came time for my game, I created it with an aspect of those two games in it. It had the turning of cards aspect of memory in it and the chance of Mancala. The game was to be entirely unpredictable and relied only on chance. There was absolutely no skill in it. You couldn't practice and get better at it. You had only to trust chance. I absolutely fell in love with it. I even play it in my free time now. The game was made even more interesting by throwing a Spartan aspect to it by playing by high stakes. In Book 2, the stakes were nations' futures. In my games, it's usually dessert or extra homework time.
Perhaps when I have more time and feel less inclined to stop blogging and instead read or write, I'll share the game and write out a step by step game-plan to it. Until then, I'll just spend my time playing the game and listening to my new favorite artist, Two Steps From Hell.
A few weeks back when I was working on the end to Book 2, I came to a part I've been planning for months. It was a really important part for me and I absolutely loved the preparation that went into it. It was a brief chapter than brought the themes of chances and coincidences to an end after discussing them throughout the book. It basically brought the main character to a battle of life or death through a board game. This is a brief glimpse of part of the chapter still in the works.
I spent a month preparing for this one part alone. I read about multiple games played in ancient Rome, Greece, Sparta, and other regions. I played some of these games with history professors and fellow students and read as much as I could about the rest. From there, I went to stores around town and found games that were traditional ones played throughout history. I spent a week examining Mancala and Memory. When it finally came time for my game, I created it with an aspect of those two games in it. It had the turning of cards aspect of memory in it and the chance of Mancala. The game was to be entirely unpredictable and relied only on chance. There was absolutely no skill in it. You couldn't practice and get better at it. You had only to trust chance. I absolutely fell in love with it. I even play it in my free time now. The game was made even more interesting by throwing a Spartan aspect to it by playing by high stakes. In Book 2, the stakes were nations' futures. In my games, it's usually dessert or extra homework time.
Perhaps when I have more time and feel less inclined to stop blogging and instead read or write, I'll share the game and write out a step by step game-plan to it. Until then, I'll just spend my time playing the game and listening to my new favorite artist, Two Steps From Hell.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Signs
Since I finished Book 2, I've stayed away from my books as much as possible. I even stopped reading them so I could take a break. I had a vague idea of how I wanted to do Book 3 but it's going to take a lot of work to connect the dots after removing a decent amount of the plot in editing. The good news is the last few days I've been daydreaming in my free time. I think up little plots and interesting situations for my characters. Today at work I spaced out long enough to come up with a few ways to work the plot for Book 3!
This is a sure sign that it's nearly time to write again. I'll give it a couple more weeks so I can concentrate on class and getting enough rest for this transition over to the school year but I'm very excited to start this book! I really hope it'll be time to begin soon and this will be another fast and fun one like Book 2 was :)
This is a sure sign that it's nearly time to write again. I'll give it a couple more weeks so I can concentrate on class and getting enough rest for this transition over to the school year but I'm very excited to start this book! I really hope it'll be time to begin soon and this will be another fast and fun one like Book 2 was :)
Settling In
I'm about to wrap up week 2 of classes this semester and I'm already in a schedule. I get 1-2 hour breaks between classes and spend that time doing homework, reading, and catching up on research. Then I head off to work for 4-9 hours and fit homework in where I can there. As soon as I get home, I print off assignments or wrap up any last minute homework before getting to sleep by 12, preferably 11.
My goal is to be able to have the time after work for me and reading or writing. So far, it's working out. The only problem is that I'm the kind of person who works best in the evening and slacks off best in the afternoon. So this new schedule is a lot more difficult than I first thought.
On the bright side, I'm now making it to sleep before 11:30 this week. I'm already turning into a grandma with a teacher's bed time. It's kind of sad but I guess when you're working two jobs (Full time work and full time school in my opinion are two jobs) you have to head to sleep early!
My goal is to be able to have the time after work for me and reading or writing. So far, it's working out. The only problem is that I'm the kind of person who works best in the evening and slacks off best in the afternoon. So this new schedule is a lot more difficult than I first thought.
On the bright side, I'm now making it to sleep before 11:30 this week. I'm already turning into a grandma with a teacher's bed time. It's kind of sad but I guess when you're working two jobs (Full time work and full time school in my opinion are two jobs) you have to head to sleep early!
Sunday, September 5, 2010
The Elite
So a couple weeks ago I was driving home for a fun-filled evening with the family. I incidentally got stuck behind a biker couple and was quickly reminded of the secret language they shared with fellow bikers. Every time we passed another biker, they would lower their left hands and do that infamous, secretive gesture with their hand. It didn't matter if the biker they were passing was young or old, male or female, parked or driving. They consistently greeted them.
I always envied bikers for this secret little club as a child. Whenever I saw them make that gesture, I desired to one day be one of them. I wanted to be able to have a connection with those around me that gave me the secretive prestige that something like the Masons or Crusaders had. It would place me in a realm above all others, making me invaluable.
When I got my two tattoos, I finally had that connection. Whenever you see someone else with tattoos and they notice yours, your eyes meet for a moment and things click. You acknowledge each other with a faint nod of the head or something else subtle like that. I was part of a minority and proud of it. I never once doubted my choice in getting tattoos.
Then I started classes. I didn't think much of it beforehand. I knew that there would be some judgment on the part of teachers because of the older generations. I knew that for my teaching job, I would have to hide the tattoos. But what I was shocked at was the judgment I found in the eyes of my classmates. When they saw my tattoos, they would shake their heads, sigh quietly, or just eye them with disdain. Professors, strangely enough, were indifferent compared to students. Perhaps it's from years of learning and growing.
Then my other job, the one putting me through college, decided to have us cover up tattoos. Now there is judgment both at school and at work. For the first time all summer, I am ashamed of my tattoos. The words not so much. The scarab, yes. It's bright, obnoxious, a blinding symbol on my wrist of defiance, youthful rebellion, and zero consideration. It's no longer sacred. It isn't a part of my being. It's a stamp of shame. I hate seeing it. I cover it up whenever I have the chance. When I'm laying in bed and notice it out of the corner of my eye, I hide it under the covers. I chastise myself for being so reckless that I actually got a tattoo on a noticeable spot of my body. There was once a time where I was proud of my body art. It was a symbol of my spirituality and beliefs. Now I'm ashamed.
The only support I have are the few other students at AU who also have tattoos. We discuss them in secrecy, out of the hearing of those who would ridicule us. We share our beliefs, the meanings behind our scarlet A's. It is then that I feel at home with my body. When I'm away from campus, I steal a moment here and there to run my fingers over the painted flesh and remember what it means. But now the words are hollow. There seems to be no meaning behind beliefs when those around you do not spare a moment to consider your viewpoint.
To quote the words of one of my favorite books and shows, Children of Dune, "My skin is not my own." Leto Atreides said that when he felt that he was destined for something more and yet could not discover it. When I look at my skin and see those obstinate greens, yellows, and black of drawings forever stamped into it, I feel the same way. My skin is not my own. I hate it. I despise it. It's a vile part of my body, disgusting for all it stands for and how it sets me apart from the world I once loved. The elite are no longer elite. That secretive club is no longer a powerful symbol.
Yet, these stamps are not temporary. They will not vanish if I ignore them. They will not blend into something else if I attempt to hide them. They will be here for my entire life. I must learn to overcome my fears, embrace my scarlet A, and learn to see a new life within it. Just as Leto Atreides did with his unfamiliar skin, I must pursue a new life and understand my body as destiny has determined for me. In Leto's own words, fear is the mind killer. I will face my fears. I will let it pass through me. In time, I hope to find normalcy within my skin and see it not as a determiner of my future but a part of my reality.
I always envied bikers for this secret little club as a child. Whenever I saw them make that gesture, I desired to one day be one of them. I wanted to be able to have a connection with those around me that gave me the secretive prestige that something like the Masons or Crusaders had. It would place me in a realm above all others, making me invaluable.
When I got my two tattoos, I finally had that connection. Whenever you see someone else with tattoos and they notice yours, your eyes meet for a moment and things click. You acknowledge each other with a faint nod of the head or something else subtle like that. I was part of a minority and proud of it. I never once doubted my choice in getting tattoos.
Then I started classes. I didn't think much of it beforehand. I knew that there would be some judgment on the part of teachers because of the older generations. I knew that for my teaching job, I would have to hide the tattoos. But what I was shocked at was the judgment I found in the eyes of my classmates. When they saw my tattoos, they would shake their heads, sigh quietly, or just eye them with disdain. Professors, strangely enough, were indifferent compared to students. Perhaps it's from years of learning and growing.
Then my other job, the one putting me through college, decided to have us cover up tattoos. Now there is judgment both at school and at work. For the first time all summer, I am ashamed of my tattoos. The words not so much. The scarab, yes. It's bright, obnoxious, a blinding symbol on my wrist of defiance, youthful rebellion, and zero consideration. It's no longer sacred. It isn't a part of my being. It's a stamp of shame. I hate seeing it. I cover it up whenever I have the chance. When I'm laying in bed and notice it out of the corner of my eye, I hide it under the covers. I chastise myself for being so reckless that I actually got a tattoo on a noticeable spot of my body. There was once a time where I was proud of my body art. It was a symbol of my spirituality and beliefs. Now I'm ashamed.
The only support I have are the few other students at AU who also have tattoos. We discuss them in secrecy, out of the hearing of those who would ridicule us. We share our beliefs, the meanings behind our scarlet A's. It is then that I feel at home with my body. When I'm away from campus, I steal a moment here and there to run my fingers over the painted flesh and remember what it means. But now the words are hollow. There seems to be no meaning behind beliefs when those around you do not spare a moment to consider your viewpoint.
To quote the words of one of my favorite books and shows, Children of Dune, "My skin is not my own." Leto Atreides said that when he felt that he was destined for something more and yet could not discover it. When I look at my skin and see those obstinate greens, yellows, and black of drawings forever stamped into it, I feel the same way. My skin is not my own. I hate it. I despise it. It's a vile part of my body, disgusting for all it stands for and how it sets me apart from the world I once loved. The elite are no longer elite. That secretive club is no longer a powerful symbol.
Yet, these stamps are not temporary. They will not vanish if I ignore them. They will not blend into something else if I attempt to hide them. They will be here for my entire life. I must learn to overcome my fears, embrace my scarlet A, and learn to see a new life within it. Just as Leto Atreides did with his unfamiliar skin, I must pursue a new life and understand my body as destiny has determined for me. In Leto's own words, fear is the mind killer. I will face my fears. I will let it pass through me. In time, I hope to find normalcy within my skin and see it not as a determiner of my future but a part of my reality.
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