Monday, September 7, 2009

Free the Crawfish!

Labor Day weekend, 2009 has turned out to be one of the top three favorite times of my life. I'm not generally a big fan of being outside for prolonged periods of time, and for as much love and respect for the earth as I have, I am by no means any sort of wilderness girl.
When I heard that my family was going to be having a HUGE family camping trip on my cousin's land in Wisconsin this year I was pretty excited because my family functions are a hilarious great time but I had zero intention on actually camping. Actually, where they camped was so close to my home town on the Illinois/Iowa border that I figured I would go hang out during the day, then head to a friend's and crash that night so I wasn't technically camping.
Friday night I had a cousin's bachelorette party to go to, and things got a bit wild. It was an amazing time, everything went great and everyone got along swimmingly, but I stayed out too late, had too much to drink, and woke up entirely too early on Saturday morning to go hang out with my family. It also doesn't help that when I woke up I had a sore throat, allergies flared up and severe congestion in my chest and brain that I couldn't think straight (but I did not have a hangover!)
I ended up going out and hanging out anyhow, and as horrible as I felt I know that seeing my nieces and nephews will ALWAYS make me smile and forget that I just don't feel that well. Also, since I use my parent's address for everything, they brought me my mail, and included amongst said mail was a survey from PETA with some return address labels and some little stickers in there. As soon as my two year old nephew saw those stickers he was on a mission to have those stickers, and even more enthusiastic about sharing these stickers.
My family is absolutely enormous and Haden was sticking PETA stickers to everyone, and everyone was so happy to have them on, and he was patrolling to make sure that nobody removed their stickers. I stuck the big blue I <3 PETA sticker to his back, and had to take pictures of him! He's so adorable, and I fall madly in love with this little man every time I see him!

Photobucket Hahaha, he was pretty proud!

Photobucket Here he is putting PETA stickers on Gramma while rocking his pretty sweet fanny pack. Isn't he a stud?!

I was wildly proud of my nephew for insisting that everyone be a PETA supporter, and not a single person made a stupid remark about it!

Saturday was probably the best day out there, I came back pretty early in the morning and since I slept in my clothes for some reason, I still had my pretty darn cute, and favorite, green capri pajama pants clean and in my car, otherwise I only packed jeans since it was pretty chilly. Since I wasn't feeling that great still, I ended up feeling hot, and sticky and kinda crabby, so I changed into my capris and a tank top and stole my little cousin's crocs and went gallivanting about the creek for nearly the next 6 hours. I had a GREAT time, the water was freezing but it was so peaceful out there I didn't want to go back to the chaos. I knew my younger cousins were hunting crawdads, and they were intending on boiling them up and eating them (ugh), so I was finding and many as I could and moving them further upstream than the kids were searching trying to spare the poor things' lives. I also ended up finding this little wild vine plant on the bank of the creek, and I sat around there weaving vine bracelets and putting them on my arms, they looked pretty cool actually.
After a while I was frozen solid so I made my way back, did a little socializing with the family, played with the kids and slipped off into the trails in the woods that just out the other way, and ran into the most beautiful yellow wild daisy patch ever, and went wild myself picking flowers! I suddenly got this great idea that I was going to weave daisies into my bracelets. When I finally got back to the campsite, every little girl (about 12 of them) had to have a daisy bracelet like mine, so I took them out to the little vines, then to the flower patch and me sat around weaving bracelets and talking about the boys, it was a great time!
By this time, every one of these girls thinks I'm about the coolest thing ever and will pretty much do whatever I suggest at this point, so I convinced them to rescue all the crawdads and chubs that the boys had in their buckets and free them back into the creek. It actually became quite the game for the girls, and I kept reminding them how we had to be sneaky so nobody would stop us from dumping them back in!
All night long, the girls were slowly taking all the crawdads and putting them back in the creek, I was so happy!
I wish I had pictures of us making the daisy bracelets, but I'm fairly certain that some family member of mine has photos of it somewhere because I distinctly remember the sounds of shutter lenses all over the place, pretty much all weekend long.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

I hate.

I love a lot. I love hard. I love deeply. I love passionately. I don't mind sharing this with people, because I have so many things in my life worth loving. Loving people can be a downfall, so I try not to confuse love with trust. I don't trust often, but I love much.

If this sounds familiar it's probably because I took it from my very first blogspot post. I had to take a look at it because as much as I try to remind myself to love and smile and laugh and giggle, I've been filled up with many other emotions lately and I've been having a heck of a time dealing with them.

I know hate is a strong word, and I really dislike using it regularly but it seems to be the only one that fit well with me today.

I hate myself
I hate my life
I hate my ear infection
I hate that I can barely pay my bills

I'm not a big fan of myself, which everyone I think feels that way about themselves so I don't think I'm all that unique in having that mindset. I say that I hate my life, but my life has so many wonderful qualities that I can't seem to figure out why I just can't make myself appreciate them all the time.

Who doesn't hate an ear infection, but what I hate worse is that I don't have medical insurance to go do anything about it, so I'm just toughing it out being miserable and hoping it will just go away.

Money is always a huge issue, I just don't have enough of it and with the economy the way it is, I feel discouraged about that ever changing.

I hate my face, I hate my body, I hate my heart, I hate my ugliness inside and out, but most of all...I hate hurting.

Have you ever heard anybody running around estatic screaming "WOOHOO I HURT! I HAVE A BROKEN HEART AND IT IS AMAAAAAZING!!!"? Yeah, me either.

I do know that things will get better with time, and eventually it won't hurt to exist, and actually I thought that I had just started to reach that point where I wasn't donating all of my spare thoughts to the very reason I was having a hard time focusing in the first place. It's everywhere I go, random catchy tunes in my head that lead my thoughts back where I am trying so hard to avoid.

I want really badly to just erase the hurt and the pain and not have to mask it. I almost think it's hazardous for me to be alone right now, and what sucks even worse is that I haven't told ANYBODY about anything that is going on. So not only am I in a world of hurt, I'm dealing with it completely by myself, which is fine I suppose, I'm grown.

Today in class we got into some pretty heated discussions regarding ethical decision making and abortion and a word was tossed out that kind of hit home with me. I want to expand on it, but I don't really have the time right now so I'll do it later, but I wrote the word on my had because it's the third time I've heard it and wanted to write about it but I kept forgetting what it was. VICARIOUS TRAUMA! (LOL I wrote it on my hand!)

Friday, January 30, 2009

Supporting KFC

So I was driving around in a mindstate of deep(ish) thoughts, and as I drove past an area where there is Taco Bell and Pizza Hut across the street from each other. I was taken back to my high school days and I remembered helping some friends move, one of which worked at KFC, so a lot of the boxes he had taken from work.

While I was moving the boxes I noticed on the sides of the KFC boxes there were the logos of KFC, Pizza Hut, and Taco Bell all next to each other. I questioned my friend about this, and he responded that they were all under the same corporation or something. I tucked that away in my thoughts, under "research later", but I tucked it away better than I knew because I never again gave it consideration until just the other night.

In the years that have passed since seeing the three business logos together, there has been a merging of KFC and Taco Bell to the point where they are together under one roof, sharing one menu.
I have done a little bit of research, unfortunately I came up empty handed thus far, and would like to know what other people think about this.
I have seen on the peta2 website where it lists what you can get from taco bell and pizza hut, but we are advised to avoid KFC altogether.
The ultimate question is 'If KFC is owned by the same corporation as Pizza Hut and Taco Bell, then by eating at both of these places aren't I essentially supporting KFC?"

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Cute...

I'm visiting my parents house during winter break from school, and went grocery shopping with my mother yesterday (I'm slowly wearing her down!). I was able to get an entire meat-free shopping trip out of this, and made sure I got everything I needed to cook some tasty meals for her (She loves vegetarian food!)

My mother has told me, on several occasions, that since I was a little girl she has had a difficult time trying to get me to eat meat. It was different this time though, on our ride home from the grocery store, my mom was telling me about her pregnancy with me and how she was basically a vegetarian since the sheer thought of meat would send her running nauseous to the bathroom.

I thought it was kind of cool that I've pretty much been vegetarian since in the womb, even though I have meat-eating parents.

When we got home, I quizzed my dad on the stories she told me, and he looked like a light bulb went off in his head and said "That's right! I remember, (turned to my mom) so she's YOUR fault." He was only teasing though. He is always trying to blame my mom for all of the silly things.

He even tried to tell her that I'm "weird" because of her, and that he should have known naming me Angel would make me turn out to be a hippie (lots of tree hugger jokes (comedians I tell you)).

Even though it has taken some time, my parents have both accepted me for who I am and what I believe in. My mom is fascinated by my will power and thinks I'm one of the coolest people she'll ever encounter (what's a mother if she isn't your number one fan?)!

Monday, October 20, 2008

The Ways We Lie


"We lie. We all do. We exaggerate, we minimize, we avoid confrontation, we spare people's feelings, we conveniently forget, we keep secrets, we justify lying to the big-guy institutions. Like most people, I indulge in small falsehoods and still think of myself as an honest person. Sure I lie, but it doesn't hurt anything. Or does it?"


I recently read this essay in my book for my composition class, and something about it stuck out in my head, I went crazy with the pen, underlining and scribbling notes in the margins. Unfortunately, recent events in my life made me think directly back to this essay. It's funny how something can stick out in your head so much, and then it has a direct connection with an upcoming event, like it was a warning sign or a red-flag or something.


Have you ever tried going an extended period of time, without telling a single lie? Maybe you weren't aware that you were lying to start with, maybe you don't consider lies to be what they are...lies. If you had to stop and catch yourself at every single little lie you told, it could be utterly paralyzing. If you have never tried to consciously be nothing but 100% truthful, I urge you to give it a try, just for a week.


"What far-reaching consequences will I, or others, pay as a result of my lie? Will someone's trust be destroyed? Will someone else pay... We must consider the meaning of our actions."


If you can't get yourself to not lie for an entire week, then perhaps you could try justifying every lie you tell. Step back and ask yourself some questions to see if your justifications are actually valid reasons for telling an untruth. If justifying lying is acceptable, does that make you any different from politicians telling you what you want to hear, I mean, they want your vote, isn't that justified?


"Saying it's ok to lie one way and not another is hedging. I cannot seem to escape the voice deep inside me that tells me: When someone lies, someone loses."


I had this notion in my head that whatever possible reason anyone could give me for telling a lie, whatever justification they could muster up, I could always come back at it with "Bottom line, lie."


Deception, lies, capital crimes, and misdemeanors all carry meanings. Webster's definition of lie is specific:



1: a false statement or action especially made with the intent to decieve; 2: anything that gives or is meant to give a false impression.


A definition like this implies that there are many, many ways to tell a lie. Here are few of my favorites from this essay.


And I guess for copyright or plaguerism reasons I will tell you now that anything from this essay is either a direct qupte, paraphrased, my reaction, or my personal story, which may or may not pertain to Stephanie Ericsson's The Ways We Lie.




The White Lie


A man who won't lie to a woman has very little consideration for her feelings.


--Bergen Evans



The white lie assumes that the truth will cause more damage than a simple, harmless untruth. Telling a friend he looks great when he looks like hell can be based on a decision that the friend needs a compliment more than a frank opinion. But, in effect, it is the liar deciding what is best for the lied to. Ultimately, it is a vote of no confidence. It is an act of subtle arrogance for anyong to decide what is best for someone else.


Yet not all circumstances are quite so cut-and-dried. Take, for instance, the sergeant in Vietnam who knew one of his men was killed in action but listed him as missing so that the man's family would recieve indefinite compensation instead of the lump-sum pittance the military gives widows and children. His intent was honorable. Yet for twenty years this family kept their hopes alive, unable to move on to a new life.




Facades


Et tu, Brute?


-- Ceasar


This writing about facades was pretty interesting, but the writer used personal experiences to make her points. Basically it's stating that putting on a facade is the same as pretending to be something we aren't, to fool somebody into thinking that we are more professional than we are. Like when a writer puts on a suit to go see a client, in order to obey the expectations that serious businesspeople wear suits rather than hanging out in sweatpants or pajamas all day long.


Facades can be destructive though, because they are used to seduce others into an illusion, and the simple fact that facades work very well, is what is keeping con-artists in the market.




Ignoring the Plain Facts


Well you must understand that Father Porter is only human...


--A Massechusetts priest



In the '60s, the Catholic Church in Massechusetts began hearing complaints that Father James Porter was sexually molesting children. Rather than relieving him of his duties, the ecclesiastical authorities simply moved him from one parish to another between 1960 and 1967, actually providing him with a fresh supply of unsuspecting families and innocent children to abuse. After treatment in 1967 for pedophilia, he went back to work, this time in Minnesota. The new diocese was aware of Father Porter's obsession with children, but they needed priests and recklessly believed treatment had cured him. More children were abused until he was relieved of his duties a year later. By his own admission, Porter may have abused as many as a hundred children.


Ignoring the facts may not in and of itself be a form of lying, but consider the context of this situation. If a lie is a false action done with the intent to deceive, then the Catholic Church's conscious covering for Porter created irreparable consequences. The church became a co-perpetrator with Porter.




Deflecting


When you have no basis for an argument, abuse the plaintiff.


--Cicero



I am guilty of a form of deflection to an extent. I deflect my feelings as a way to keep people at a certain distance. It isn't fair because they end up feeling a lot closer to me than I do them, because they think I have let them in, when all I've really done was figured out a way to get them to quit questioning me.


I've discovered that I can keep anyone from seeing the true me by being selectively blatant. I set a precedent of being up-front about intimate issues, but I never bring up the things I truly want to hide; I just let people assume I'm revealing everything. It's an effective way of hiding.


Any good liar knows that the way to perpetuate an untruth is to deflect attention from it. When Clarence Thomas exploded with accusations that the Senate hearing were a "high-tech lynching," he simply switched the focus from a highly charged subject to a radioactive subject. Rather than defending himself, he took the offensive and accused the country of racism. It was a brilliant maneuver. Racism is now politically incorrect in official circles--unlike sexual harassment, which still rewards those who can get away with it.


Some of the most skillful deflectors are passive-aggressive people who, when accused of inappropriate behavior, refuse to respond to the accusations. This you-don't-exist stance infuriates the accuser, who, understandably, screams something obscene out of frustration. The trap is sprung and the act of deflection successful, because no the passive-aggressive person can indignantly say, "Who can talk to someone as unreasonable as you?" The real issue is forgotten and the sins of the original victim become the focus. Feeling guilty of namecalling, the victim is fully tamed and crawls into a hole, ashamed. I have watched this fighting technique work thousands of times in disputes between men and women, and what I've learned is that the real culprit is not necessarily the one who swears the loudest.




Omission


The cruelest lies are often told in silence.


--R. L. Stevensen



I think that everyone has a pretty good grasp on what omission is. I think this is the easiest form of lying to actually justify, because technically there wasn't an actual lie being told. The lie comes from the fact that aspects of the truth were actually left out, in order to make the person on the recieving end of the explanation believe something that is indeed, an untruth.


Omission involves telling most of the truth minus one or two key facts whose absence changes the story completely. You break a pair of glasses that are guaranteed under normal use and get a new pair, without mentioning that the first pair broke during a rowdy game of basketball. Who hasn't tried something like that?


What about an omission of information that could make a difference in how a person lives his or her life? What about an omission that could change somebody's perception of you? What about an omission that leaves someone feeling betrayed because they left out the truth out of fear of losing their current relationship with you?




Stereotypes and Cliches


Where opinion does not exist, the status quo becomes stereotyped and all originality is discouraged.


--Bertrand Russell



Stereotypes and cliche serve a purpose as a form of shorthand. Our need for vast amounts of information in nanoseconds has made the stereotype vital to modern communication. Unfortunately, if often shuts down original thinking, giving those hungry for truth a candy bar of misinformation instead of a balanced meal. The stereotype explains a situation with just enough truth to seem unquestionable.


All of the "isms"--racism, sexism, ageism, et al.--are founded on and fueled by the stereotype and the cliche, which are lies of exaggeration, omission, and ignorance. They are always dangerous. They take a single tree and make it a landscape. They destroy curiosity. They close minds and separate people. The single mother on welfare is assumed to be cheating. Any black male could tell you how much of his identity is obliterated daily by stereotypes. Fat people, ugly people, beautiful people, old people, large-breasted women, short men, the mentally ill, and the homeless all could tell you how much more they are like us than we want to think.




Groupthink


Who is more foolish, the child afraid of the dark, of the man afraid of the flight?


--Maurice Freehill



Irving Janis, in Victims of Group Think, defines this sort of lie as a psychological phenomenon within decision-making groupes in which loyalty to the group has become more important than any other value, with the result that dissent and the appraisal of alternatives are suppressed. If you've ever worked on a committee of in a corporation, you've encountered groupthink. It requires a combination of other forms of lying--ignoring facts, selective memory, omission, and denial, to name a few.




Out-and-Out Lies


The only form of lying that is beyond reproach is lying for its own sake.


--Oscar Wilde



Of all ways to lie, this is the easiest to see through. Sometimes you just get tired of trying to figure out the real meanings behind things, and it's easy to just give a simple answer that you can't argue.


At least when this sort of lie is told it can be easily confronted. And as the person being lied to, I know where I stand with the liar. The bald-faced lie doesn't toy with my perceptions--it argues with them. It doesn't refashion reality, it tries to refute it.




Dismissal


Pay no attention to the man behind that curtain! I am the Great Oz!


--The Wizard of Oz



Dismissal is perhaps the slipperiest of all lies. Dismissing feelings, perceptions, or even the raw facts of a situation ranks as a kind of lie that can do as much damage to a person as any other kind of lie.


The roots of many mental disprders can be traced back to the dismissal of reality. Have you ever considered the idea that madness is actually a sane reaction to an insane world? Psychologist R. D. Laing supports this hypothosis in Sanity, Madness and the Family, an account of his investigations into the families of the studied was a deliberate, staunch dismissal of the patient's perceptions from a very early age. Each of the patients started out with an accurate grasp of reality, which, through meticulous and methodical dismissal, was demolished until the only reality the patient could trust was catatonia.


Dismissal is a dangerous tool, because it's nothing less than a lie.




Delusion


We lie the loudest when we lie to ourselves.


--Eric Hoffer



Delusion, a cousin of dismissal, is the tendency to see excuses as facts. It's a powerful lying tool because it filters out information that contradicts what we want to believe. Alcoholics who believe that the problems in thier lives are legitimate reasons for drinking rather than results of the drinking offer the classic example of deluded thinking. Delusion uses the mind's ability to see things in myriad ways to support what it wants to be the truth.


Delusion is a survival method, we all use it. If we really thought about the consequences to what we do as a precaution, we would be so stricken that we wouldn't be able to function on a day-to-day level without a multitude of side effects. We cut reality from our lifes because too much would be too paralyzing. I tend to differ on this one in the same way that I am similar. I can't watch the news or read the paper, because I get so affected from the media, and worry myself into such a frenzy that I can't focus on the things I need to do at hand. I have extreme emotional reactions to things, but I kind of like it that way. I can't imagine being desensitized to the emotions that I feel, and to try an decrease that level runs the risk of emotional desensitation.


Delusion acts as an adhesive to keep the status quo intact. It shamelessly employs dismissal, omission, and amnesia, among other sorts of lies.


It's most cunning defense is that it cannot see itself.






These are only a few of the ways that we lie, or are lied to for that matter. It isn't easy to eliminate lying entirely from our lives. No matter how hard we try, we will still embellish, hedge, and omit to lubricate the daily machinery of living. But there is a world of difference between telling functional lies and living a lie.


When we get to the point where we accept lies, it becomes a type of cancer that eventually distorts our perception of reality to the point that our morals start slipping out the window.


I recently had somebody very close to me tell me a series of flat out lies, and I feel betrayed, confused, flustered and hurt. I don't know at this current point in time, if this person's justifications for lying will be an effective excuse for me. I'm not sure if forgiveness is in the cards at this point in time, and I even wonder if I do decide to forgive this person, am I going to doubt or question everything that is said to me by this person?


I blame myself because I feel like I set up the situation, and I created the environment around us where this person feels like they are unable to be truthful with me for one reason or another. Afraid of my reaction, afraid of damaging our relationship beyond repair, or just plain not wanting to deal with it.


I have a lot of thoughts shooting around my brain about this one. I'm not sure what I should think or what I should be feeling. I'm still trying to see from both aspects of things, but I don't know that I posess the mindset to even begin to understand.

Monday, September 8, 2008

Trying to Hide

Trying to Hide

Everybody goes through a time in their lives where they face insecurities, and feel held back by their own personal demons. Some even feel repressed by their own silence, even though inside they are screaming, fighting, and kicking to feel as welcomed and accepted as everyone else around them appears to be.

I spent many years of my life trying to find myself, trying to figure out exactly where I belonged in this world around me. I didn't think it was realistic for me to ever find that place where I could just let everything go, and express myself freely without feeling like every set of judging eyes were aimed in my general direction. Throughout my early adolescence I spent a large quantity of time drowning myself in music and trying to creatively express myself through a paintbrush or a lump of clay. It wasn't until my freshman year of high school that I discovered an additional outlet that seemed to be the best remedy for anything that ails you, as well as the most fulfilling friend when I needed to share whatever high school secret seemed so important at the time.

Around the time that high school began, I wasn't a very diligent student, I also spent more time trying to remain invisible than I spent trying to actually hold on to the few friends that I already did have. In an attempt to stay out of the way of those vengeful eyes and out of the line of fire from the tongues quipped with tasteless remarks, I decided to join the clubs that the school had to offer, and as a pathetic attempt to keep even more invisible, I opted for the clubs that met during lunch and homeroom. I guess I just found comfort in the structured environment, and slightly more protected from the jeers and unkind remarks that seem to freely fly out of the cruel mouths of teenagers trying to show off for their friends.

I dabbled in keeping diaries and writing in journals throughout my entire life, but I was always afraid to really open up and run the risk of one of my three snooping siblings unveiling a secret or an opinion of mine that surely would have brought an end to the world and sent the sky crashing down around me. I never actually gave any realistic thought into writing as an art form, even though I thoroughly enjoyed reading. I still considered writing as some form of work, and what high school student enjoys doing anything that is expected out of them?

I joined the school newspaper staff without any intention of making any sort of a contribution to the content of the newspaper itself; however, eventually my body being in the room wasn't acceptable and I was informed that I either needed to give some input and pull my weight as a member of the staff, or I needed to withdraw from the club altogether. At first, I started out by taking on small tasks, such as calling businesses and verifying their placement of an advertisement, but inevitably it happened, and I was asked to write an article concerning the new foreign exchange student that was currently living with my family. The article turned out pretty well and I was asked to write more and more as time went on. Unfortunately, I was not an academic overachiever and I slacked on my studies, thus ensuring that I was no longer eligible to continue writing for the newspaper.

Spending time writing for the newspaper didn't quite open up my eyes to how rewarding it can be to create a masterpiece, how great it feels to write something you are so proud of that you can't wait until you run into somebody and are finally able to share your work with another set of eyes. I decided that I did enjoy my time on the paper staff, and I needed to raise my grades in order to be eligible to rejoin, and vowed to dedicate myself to my studies. My English and Literature classes really caught my interest and I began putting a lot of work into the essays and written assignments that I was handing in. I discovered the ability to take myself away and get lost in a new world, similar to that feeling you get when you fall into a captivating book, except you create your own imagery and you control which direction your story goes. I discovered that with a pen I could take every situation or strain that I wanted to get off my chest, and write them into my journal using my imagination to disguise my words so that the average person wouldn't be able to directly decipher my ramblings, had he or she happened to stumble upon my compilation of random ruminations.

Around my junior or senior year of high school I was under the impression that I had found myself as a writer, and even considered the possibility of pursuing a career in journalism, but because I was so terribly shy, I never allowed myself to fully open up and give everything I had to a work that was going to be seen by a multitude of people, and even though a few of my teachers tried to coax me into submitting or writing as essay for some local contest that was being held, I could never convince myself that it was all that brilliant of an idea. I also had a teacher that assigned an essay, and allowed the class a couple of weeks to complete the few pages that it had to be in length. I worked diligently on the essay, using the thesaurus and having it proofread until I was sure that it had reached its maximum potential. I then proceeded to enlist my mother as an additional and fresh set of eyes, to read my paper and give me her unbiased opinion. I was confident about my essay and I was certain I would receive a rather good grade; my mother was also impressed and enthusiastically commended me, assuring me that this was the best of my papers that she had read so far.

I worked so hard, and finally for the first time in my life I was finally sure that I had accomplished something worthwhile, something that, being my own worst critic, I deemed worthy enough for other eyes to view. When the teacher came around to collect our assignments I had already taken mine out of my folder and had it ready to hand to her. Barely able to contain my excitement, I gave the teacher a smile as I passed my paper forward to the front of the row. She grinned back, just a small grin. Her forced smile seemed almost painful.

As I look back on that day, my memory distorts the teacher's reaction to my animation as I enthusiastically handed in that assignment. I know she kind of smiled and I interpreted that "kind of" smile as her acknowledging my excitement and her silent understanding of the work that I put into this essay. Those last few events, however, do not replay in my head in that such manner. Now when I think back on the last day that I even slightly considered writing as a career, I can see her forced fake smile, and I can see the pain in her eyes from forcing that fake smile. I clearly see the edges of her evil leather face cracking like plaster as her demon horns broke the surface on the top of her head.

Holding my head up high, I walked into the class the next day secretly hoping to be revered for my amazing essay. I swear she put mine at the end of the pile, just to torture me while I waited to see the grade given to such a brilliant paper. I saw her slightly smiling when she laid that paper upside down on my desk, and without even making eye contact she turned and walked away. My stomach had butterflies in it as I reached for the paper and quickly snapped it around to see the highest grade in the class. The entire room went silent and I sat there. My stomach sunk as I remembered her little smile, that evil smirk she had just moments before she knowingly destroyed every ounce of confidence that I had. She didn't say anything as I got up and calmly walked out of her class, struggling to hold my composure in front of the many sets of eyes staring at me, as if they were just waiting for me to give them a show.

The last day that I was sure I was going to be a journalist will always play on a loop in my head, and it will always be a devastatingly emotional day in the history of my life. It's amazing the impact that one little letter can have on your self-esteem, and how it can make you so discouraged that you second guess everything you do for the rest of your life.

Wednesday, May 7, 2008

My Many Many Dreams

There is nothing wrong with dreaming, but I think sometimes we get lost in these dreams, and sometimes we get stuck on just one dream, spending entirely too much time dwelling on what we want, instead of working on how to get it.

It might be a little tough to pull yourself out of a dream, but it's necessary to remind yourself that there are many dreams to dream, so why spend so much time and focus on only one dream? Why put your happiness on hold for something when you are perfectly capable of being just as happy, if not happier by choosing another route, or fulfilling a different dream.

I think it could be kind of fun to create a sort of dream time-capsule. It could be something simple, like a decorated up shoe box that you hide under your bed, or stash away in your closet. I don't mean your dreams that come to you as you sleep (although that would be fun too). When I say dreams, I'm talking about your aspirations, your hopes. When you think of something new you want to do with your life just jot it down on a little slip of paper, with no limitations on how long or short they can be. Simple, quick scribbles or long, elaborate plans with steps on how to get there included.

I'm not sure if referring to it as a time-capsule is the right way to describe it, because you can feel free to look through it as often as you would like, as a matter of fact I encourage you to take the time every once in a while to reread, change or edit your dreams, but don't throw anything out. Make sure that you date them, just so you know that as you dream and envision how you want things, you are somewhat tracking your growth as you take the steps to persevere and make your dreams come true.