{ Not about her.
Just to clear things up.
Just me...breathing.
I suppose.}
Portrait of an unknown woman.
Left torn,
forgotten and dashed upon blooded rocks.
She’s sitting,
waiting and singing
her own tragedy.
Oh soft voice,
oh sad songs,
oh sorrow…
Brows creased,
her knees shake.
Cross-legged portrait
of wanted,
craved,
redemption.
The stars are crisscrossing
across her fogged window
and her
clouded eyes.
Fogged and clouded
by love and anger.
Hate.
She lost herself
somewhere along the way
of her
begging for redemption.
Always lost and lonely,
always sinning and singing.
Singing her temper
out, into the brisk breeze
of another cloudless night.
The bulb’s burning,
it’s almost midnight.
Her hand scratches against scratches
long lost to months of re-grown skin
and days of re-grown
self.
Lost,
in this sea-breeze of anger,
this
ballad of tragedy of fogged hearts
and eyes
and tears.
I hope
you can forgive me.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Friday, August 3, 2007
Thursday, August 3rd, 2007 -- "Accept it" (About Pro-Choice, beware.)
Written yesterday.
Thursday, August 3rd, 2007.
(Like the last one, it was written during an interlude of cataloging)
Am I the only one these days that is still passionately pro-choice?
I mean here I am, working away at the church’s mess of a library and I’ve come across multiple “Jesus wants you to have your baby!” books.
Now, I was born and raised Catholic (although I have “opted” out of it) and I understand how and why the church views abortion the way it does, it’s just…things have to change and evolve. Religions have to change and evolve. The things preached in the 16th century were not necessarily planned to make sense in 2007, and really, many of the teachings don’t “fit” anymore.
I understand the church’s view on abortion. But must it be so absolute?
The book I’m looking at right now is telling me, outright, that if I have an abortion for any reason, I’m a weak, coward of a woman and am going to hell. No questions asked. No leeway. No nothing. There must be change. Maybe that’s why I opted out of religion. I can’t take the absolute truths religions preach.
If I was, say, walking home from class one night after missing the bus and some drunken man grabs my from a shadowy corner, rips off my clothing and rapes me, leaves me in a bloody and hurting mess behind the empty building, and I happen to get pregnant…well, according to my parent’s religion and this book, I was asking for it and I have to suffer the consequences.
I can not accept that.
There are far too many women going through literal hell in order to avoid a supposed after-life hell.
I can not accept that.
I know far too many women like that. And it hurts me to watch them suffer, knowing I can’t do anything. Knowing her child’s husband still comes around, once a year, and demands full custody. Knowing she has to fill out OSAP forms for the Catholic school she goes to, how she cringes and squirms as she fills out the sheets asking for monetary assistance for school. Watching her hide the sheets as she writes out “We live in student housing. He’s 4. He’s still in diapers. He eats. a lot.” To laugh along with her when she asks me if I think putting in that his birthday is in 2 months would make a difference to the mean men at the office.
It hurts to hear them go on about how much it hurt.
How he used his fists. How he drugged her. Raped her. Left her in the backyard. How the police would do nothing and how she hadn’t been on the pill.
To hear how fucking afraid she was, and still is. She knew her parents would never understand…or help.
I can not accept that.
I am a feminist.
I am pro-choice. Not anti-life.
I do have my limits, though.
I believe in the freedom to abort a conceived child, under drastic circumstances, not just willy-nilly.
My “rules,” as I seem to be calling them, are not absolute. Maybe one day I’ll decide abortion is bad. Maybe one day I’ll decide abortion is okay, not matter the circumstances. I don’t know. But I do know that my life “rules” are not absolute.
This is my religion. A combined mess of twists and turns. A muddles crowd of shouting women in my head. A fear of repercussion and a need to step out. A list of religion-induced morals that, even though I no longer follow the religion, have been so ingrained, nay, so infused into my being that I will not give them up.
But these absolutes? This “You are woman. You are weak. You are going to hell.” attitude? No. I can not accept that.
This is my religion, or so it seems. And I think, maybe, I can accept that.
Thursday, August 3rd, 2007.
(Like the last one, it was written during an interlude of cataloging)
Am I the only one these days that is still passionately pro-choice?
I mean here I am, working away at the church’s mess of a library and I’ve come across multiple “Jesus wants you to have your baby!” books.
Now, I was born and raised Catholic (although I have “opted” out of it) and I understand how and why the church views abortion the way it does, it’s just…things have to change and evolve. Religions have to change and evolve. The things preached in the 16th century were not necessarily planned to make sense in 2007, and really, many of the teachings don’t “fit” anymore.
I understand the church’s view on abortion. But must it be so absolute?
The book I’m looking at right now is telling me, outright, that if I have an abortion for any reason, I’m a weak, coward of a woman and am going to hell. No questions asked. No leeway. No nothing. There must be change. Maybe that’s why I opted out of religion. I can’t take the absolute truths religions preach.
If I was, say, walking home from class one night after missing the bus and some drunken man grabs my from a shadowy corner, rips off my clothing and rapes me, leaves me in a bloody and hurting mess behind the empty building, and I happen to get pregnant…well, according to my parent’s religion and this book, I was asking for it and I have to suffer the consequences.
I can not accept that.
There are far too many women going through literal hell in order to avoid a supposed after-life hell.
I can not accept that.
I know far too many women like that. And it hurts me to watch them suffer, knowing I can’t do anything. Knowing her child’s husband still comes around, once a year, and demands full custody. Knowing she has to fill out OSAP forms for the Catholic school she goes to, how she cringes and squirms as she fills out the sheets asking for monetary assistance for school. Watching her hide the sheets as she writes out “We live in student housing. He’s 4. He’s still in diapers. He eats. a lot.” To laugh along with her when she asks me if I think putting in that his birthday is in 2 months would make a difference to the mean men at the office.
It hurts to hear them go on about how much it hurt.
How he used his fists. How he drugged her. Raped her. Left her in the backyard. How the police would do nothing and how she hadn’t been on the pill.
To hear how fucking afraid she was, and still is. She knew her parents would never understand…or help.
I can not accept that.
I am a feminist.
I am pro-choice. Not anti-life.
I do have my limits, though.
I believe in the freedom to abort a conceived child, under drastic circumstances, not just willy-nilly.
My “rules,” as I seem to be calling them, are not absolute. Maybe one day I’ll decide abortion is bad. Maybe one day I’ll decide abortion is okay, not matter the circumstances. I don’t know. But I do know that my life “rules” are not absolute.
This is my religion. A combined mess of twists and turns. A muddles crowd of shouting women in my head. A fear of repercussion and a need to step out. A list of religion-induced morals that, even though I no longer follow the religion, have been so ingrained, nay, so infused into my being that I will not give them up.
But these absolutes? This “You are woman. You are weak. You are going to hell.” attitude? No. I can not accept that.
This is my religion, or so it seems. And I think, maybe, I can accept that.
Tuesday, July 31st, 2007 -- Oh, Charles!
Written this past Tuesday.
Tuesday, July 31st, 2007
Kay, so my dad has me “working” at the church, right?
I’m re-organizing their mess of a “library.”
By “mess” I mean there’s no logical system here. Someone went around and put little stickers on the books they thought were Marian, Sacrament, Jesus related, etc. It’s a mess.
Anyway, so it’s my “job” to put all the book into a computer program I’ve got so we can make a huge-ass list, and then we (father and I) will have to put the books in order by Dewy Decimal Number.
My dad and the old(ish) priest (Father Mike…he scared me) went through the books and weeded out all the really bad, right-wing, horrid stuff and it’s all in boxes in the hall outside to be sold/gotten rid of.
Fine, dandy, neat-o.
But I’m still finding some…odd ones.
I just found a book called “African Triumph”. There’s a brown and red and white picture on the front of African Tribesmen. The book itself is about how awesome the missionaries in Africa were. Chapters include: “Mysterious Continent,” “Early Mission Days,” (here comes the fun) “First Blood,” “The Drama Begins,” “The Gathering Storm,” “African Triumph,” “Fire of Love,” and “God’s Heroes.”
”Fire of Love”? Sheesh! One sided much?
The main, African, character is a Tribesman named “Charles”…apparently he “loved to wrestle.”
Spolier! Charles is whipped like mad by the Tribe’s “king” because he converted. Bad Africans.
Then the king demands complete loyalty from his tribesmen and, quote, “one of the guards named Bruno, threw down his spear and joined Charles and his brave group.” Go Bruno!
Then Charles and his buddies were condemned to death. But somehow escaped, and became “God’s Heroes,” huzzah!
Really. REALLY. I thought they went THROUGH these books.
The pictures are horrid, too.
Well, I really should get back to cataloging these things. Maybe I should put Charles’ heroic tale in the boxes of books to sell. Meh. Maybe not. I mean, I always love reading one-sided stories of slavery, persecution, forced converts and evil evil African kings! YAY!
*gag*
It was written by a “Charles,” I wonder if he’s the hero?
…………
…FUCK!
Did someone slip these books in just to piss me off?
“The Real Holocaust: The Attack on Unborn Children and Life Itself”
Back of book: “We are being conditioned to accept abortion!!
The insistence that all women have the right to abortions on demand did not evolve form our Christian heritage and love of freedom, nor from the legitimate struggle from women’s rights; but was thrust upon our society by a powerful anti-god force which hates and fears our race, our civilization, and most of all, the religion of Christ.
The first “Holocaust,” with its alleged mass slaughter, has been used to create a false sense of guilt in Christian nations by making them feel their Christian heritage did nothing, really, to keep them from committing acts of vicious cruelty. This has been called, a “sneak attack on Christianity.”
The abortion holocaust is no sneak attack on Christianity, but rather a full-scale frontal assault on western civilization.”
I really….I…….I don’t know what to say.
Other than, as soon as I read the first line about hating and fear “our race,” I shouted out “WHAT?!” in the church library.
It’s just like Doctor Bickford says, the “problem” of abortion is a COMPLETE race, gender and class struggle!!
Think about it!
THINK!
What image comes to mind when you think of “western civilization”? White, middle class, male. It’s the “norm.” “Christian” seems to equal white, and the word “God” means (in biblical text) a man. Who is most always depicted/seen as being white. So, if abortion is threatening western, Christian civilization (which is also a predominately “white” word, ‘cause who’s more civilized than the white world?), it’s threatening white, middle class, men. Abortion threatens North America’s desire to stay a “pure” entity. Hence lynching back post-American civil war. “perfect Family” competitions in the States in the 20’s, 40’s etc. We, the Western world, were trying to preserve the white, middle class, race.
Do you ever see pro-life picket lines in front of family planning centers or abortion clinics in predominantly African-American communities? No. Why? ‘Cause the mentality (not MY mentality, but “white, western america”) is “They’re more primitive anyways, let them kill each other/themselves off.” But as soon as a white woman decided to not have the child conceived by, say, an abusive boyfriend/husband or a rape, then the entire community is up in arms because she’s killing off a potential “perfect, white child.”
This book, written in the 1980’s, fosters white ideals and, really, it’s white ideals that are to blame for almost all wars.
The American “perfect Family” competitions, the reformatories, the lynching’s, the still present hate crimes and discrimination can be likened to Hitler’s Germany. Yes, not the same, but the entire world was anti-Hitler because he was bold and did what he did out in the open. It’s similar, just more evasive, more subtle. Less “in your face”. More “it’s their fault.”
Just because it’s not obvious and/or not being thrown in our faces doesn’t mean it’s not happening.
We can’t ignore it.
This started as a journal about stereotypes and discrimination, segwayed into abortion and then went into societal problems.
Bravo me.
Tuesday, July 31st, 2007
Kay, so my dad has me “working” at the church, right?
I’m re-organizing their mess of a “library.”
By “mess” I mean there’s no logical system here. Someone went around and put little stickers on the books they thought were Marian, Sacrament, Jesus related, etc. It’s a mess.
Anyway, so it’s my “job” to put all the book into a computer program I’ve got so we can make a huge-ass list, and then we (father and I) will have to put the books in order by Dewy Decimal Number.
My dad and the old(ish) priest (Father Mike…he scared me) went through the books and weeded out all the really bad, right-wing, horrid stuff and it’s all in boxes in the hall outside to be sold/gotten rid of.
Fine, dandy, neat-o.
But I’m still finding some…odd ones.
I just found a book called “African Triumph”. There’s a brown and red and white picture on the front of African Tribesmen. The book itself is about how awesome the missionaries in Africa were. Chapters include: “Mysterious Continent,” “Early Mission Days,” (here comes the fun) “First Blood,” “The Drama Begins,” “The Gathering Storm,” “African Triumph,” “Fire of Love,” and “God’s Heroes.”
”Fire of Love”? Sheesh! One sided much?
The main, African, character is a Tribesman named “Charles”…apparently he “loved to wrestle.”
Spolier! Charles is whipped like mad by the Tribe’s “king” because he converted. Bad Africans.
Then the king demands complete loyalty from his tribesmen and, quote, “one of the guards named Bruno, threw down his spear and joined Charles and his brave group.” Go Bruno!
Then Charles and his buddies were condemned to death. But somehow escaped, and became “God’s Heroes,” huzzah!
Really. REALLY. I thought they went THROUGH these books.
The pictures are horrid, too.
Well, I really should get back to cataloging these things. Maybe I should put Charles’ heroic tale in the boxes of books to sell. Meh. Maybe not. I mean, I always love reading one-sided stories of slavery, persecution, forced converts and evil evil African kings! YAY!
*gag*
It was written by a “Charles,” I wonder if he’s the hero?
…………
…FUCK!
Did someone slip these books in just to piss me off?
“The Real Holocaust: The Attack on Unborn Children and Life Itself”
Back of book: “We are being conditioned to accept abortion!!
The insistence that all women have the right to abortions on demand did not evolve form our Christian heritage and love of freedom, nor from the legitimate struggle from women’s rights; but was thrust upon our society by a powerful anti-god force which hates and fears our race, our civilization, and most of all, the religion of Christ.
The first “Holocaust,” with its alleged mass slaughter, has been used to create a false sense of guilt in Christian nations by making them feel their Christian heritage did nothing, really, to keep them from committing acts of vicious cruelty. This has been called, a “sneak attack on Christianity.”
The abortion holocaust is no sneak attack on Christianity, but rather a full-scale frontal assault on western civilization.”
I really….I…….I don’t know what to say.
Other than, as soon as I read the first line about hating and fear “our race,” I shouted out “WHAT?!” in the church library.
It’s just like Doctor Bickford says, the “problem” of abortion is a COMPLETE race, gender and class struggle!!
Think about it!
THINK!
What image comes to mind when you think of “western civilization”? White, middle class, male. It’s the “norm.” “Christian” seems to equal white, and the word “God” means (in biblical text) a man. Who is most always depicted/seen as being white. So, if abortion is threatening western, Christian civilization (which is also a predominately “white” word, ‘cause who’s more civilized than the white world?), it’s threatening white, middle class, men. Abortion threatens North America’s desire to stay a “pure” entity. Hence lynching back post-American civil war. “perfect Family” competitions in the States in the 20’s, 40’s etc. We, the Western world, were trying to preserve the white, middle class, race.
Do you ever see pro-life picket lines in front of family planning centers or abortion clinics in predominantly African-American communities? No. Why? ‘Cause the mentality (not MY mentality, but “white, western america”) is “They’re more primitive anyways, let them kill each other/themselves off.” But as soon as a white woman decided to not have the child conceived by, say, an abusive boyfriend/husband or a rape, then the entire community is up in arms because she’s killing off a potential “perfect, white child.”
This book, written in the 1980’s, fosters white ideals and, really, it’s white ideals that are to blame for almost all wars.
The American “perfect Family” competitions, the reformatories, the lynching’s, the still present hate crimes and discrimination can be likened to Hitler’s Germany. Yes, not the same, but the entire world was anti-Hitler because he was bold and did what he did out in the open. It’s similar, just more evasive, more subtle. Less “in your face”. More “it’s their fault.”
Just because it’s not obvious and/or not being thrown in our faces doesn’t mean it’s not happening.
We can’t ignore it.
This started as a journal about stereotypes and discrimination, segwayed into abortion and then went into societal problems.
Bravo me.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Annoyance
Some annoying relatives just stopped by.
And by “just” I mean, like, 5 mintues ago.
I am quite pissed off now. Simply because they pulled up milliseconds before my mother and I were heading out the door to go down to the beach and swim.
See, I crave swimming. I haven’t gone in, maybe, 5 days and it pains me. Why? Well, simply because I am fat. Fat fat fat fat fat. And when I go down to the beach I don’t lounge around the shore, slathered in sunscreen, begging to become bacon (like some of the bleached blonde tourists here), nor do I gouge on icecream etc. No, I swim. Not only because that’s what a bathing suit is for, but because in that hour and a half of swimming…I feel…weightless and for me, that’s a very big thing.
It’s just…
I dunno.
No one wants to go swimming with me, or no ones around to ask when I want to go. I feel I need someone with me to…justify this large mass of flesh taking up space in the lake. So when I finally get to go, I’m so freakin’ elated and overjoyed that almost nothing can get me down from cloud 9, or 10, or even 11.
So when these relatives showed up (now) 20 minutes ago, I felt…betrayed and extra fat.
Hell, I don’t even know how they’re related to us!
No one tells me anything around here!
All I know is that they vacation in our hick-town every summer and every summer the entire family unit is on the lookout for them so we can avoid all contact with them. Mostly because the father, or son, or whatever the hell he is is CRAZY loud!
And whenever we do end up running into them, we always invite them over and they never come to visit our house!
So, of course, the year we have yet to see them at the beach, they decide to come over, unannounced and unwanted (in my opinion) to visit.
I can’t wait for them to leave, since then my father will do his world famous “you girls were rude and unsociable” speech to my little sis and I, ‘cause we’ve sealed ourselves in our rooms and haven’t even said ‘hello’ yet. In fact, I’ve sworn not to take off my bathing suit. As I see it: since they stole my weight-free time from me, then they get to see me and all of my pounds and curves and bulges, uncensored (well, except for the bathing suit itself). That is, if I ever leave my room.
And mom and I are going out of town tomorrow, so no swimming then either. Out of town to visit that hellish older sister of mine whom hates me and is hated by me. Lovely.
Fat, useless and hated. Man, I feel like a million bucks!
Monday, July 23, 2007
To You/Finally clearing some things up/poem/rant
{ I wrote this two days ago at 
Also, it’ll probably have no effect, since it's pretty clear that she's not on here anymore. I have yet to accumulate the proverbial guts to talk to her/send this to her directly. }
I was stalking posts again, and realized it’s con-time in some people’s worlds.
That got me
to thinking…
and semi-crying.
This is for you, 
/ 
I’m going to take
and humongous step.
A ‘jump,’
if you will.
See, it’s time to soundly clear some things up.
I hate false fronts
and those tiny bees that aren’t really bees.
I hate when I feel used,
abused and left on the curb.
Oh,
and I hate most, if not all, girl ‘bands’.
Did I mention I’m sorry?
I’m pretty sure I did,
countless times,
and yet it seems you’ve chosen to ignore.
I’m still sort of mad,
but when am I not?
And, really, it is justifiable,
but apparently still not good enough.
Did I mention it wasn’t how it seemed?
I could have sworn I did,
but when I hear the story
from people who heard it from people
who heard it from people…
it’s like playing ‘Telephone,’
and I was never very good at that game.
Did I mention, or even hint, at what really happened?
I think I might have hinted,
but see? Being bold was never really my strong suit.
I tend to skirt around issues in poems/rants.
Issues like feeling abandoned.
Like how I felt abandoned for some number of days
when you and your chums would leave me
in your common-room-type-dealie
and not come back.
Issues of misplaced anger,
because it happened every single day in high school
and I had convinced myself I would never let it happen again.
I gave up.
I gave up on you and your friends abandoning me.
Now, see, I don’t even really know what happened on your end,
but that one day you were half and hour late,
I sighed and left for good.
I was going to be late for my Women’s Studies class,
and we couldn’t have that.
But I skirted around the issue
and slowly cut you out
and now I regret it so so much.
But, see, I was so fed up
with high school-like situations.
Did I mention that I wouldn’t mind making up?
I thought I had,
but my pleas seem to have gone unnoticed and,
even though it feels like
the more I apologize for it, the more I say it,
that I’m apologizing for something I shouldn’t be
apologizing for.
But, see? Notice,
I keep trying.
Did I mention how much it hurts, to see/hear/read you discussing things only we used to discuss?
I’m not sure if I’ve said it loudly enough.
Did I mention that, even though my mind is confused as to who was/is in the wrong, I still tend to get chocked up/teary eyed/cry when I see you not involving me or...trying?
I don’t think I have.
How many times must I say it?
It was my fault.
It was me being stupid.
(As per usual).
And I’m so goddamned sorry about it
that I’m not able to be sorry about
anything else.
I’m using up far too much time
and energy
and tears
on apologizing and admitting defeat/fault
when you won’t even bother to look up
from your newest graphic novel.
Did you know that this started off as a poem/rant about how angry I was, and how all that anger was directed at you?
‘Cause it’s not anymore,
and if you’d care to notice,
it’s me I’m angry at now
and yet you still don’t seem to care.
I’m
still
sorry.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Keira Knightley is SO gorgeous!
{Can-not-get-over-her-gorgeous-ness!}I forgot to mention, I'm starting something.
Now, see, unlike the last post which was also posted on my deviantART page, this one will be read by no one but those who happen across this thing. Mostly because it will probably seem like a stupid thing, or something "dangerous" in some way.
I'm going through some fashion magazines I have.
I'm going to be cutting out images of...perfection.
I'm going to put them in one of the numerous empty notebooks/journals I own.
Beside them, I will be chicken-scratching why I think they are perfection.
I know.
I shouldn't compare myself to them. They're, almost, not real. But still.
When a young woman, that's almost 21 years old, who has never been kissed, never been asked out, never had her hand held, never had any real interaction with men, who is about 120 pounds too heavy, who is so shy she feel physically sick before she heads to class, who fears rejection and failure so much she's convinced herself that she can do nothing right, who already thinks so damned lowly of herself is bombarded with these images of feminine perfection, she almost has no choice but to compare herself to the images and wonder that, maybe, if only she looked like this surreal perfection, then maybe she'd be a tad happier.
Like Keira Knightley. She's in the magazine. And, no, I'm not going to say that her thin-ness is detrimental to my health, it's just who she is. Yes, she's thin, but that's not her entire self. She's gorgeous in so many ways, so many ways that I cannot compare to.
So she'll be in my journal.
Not in a "She's so pretty and thin! It's not fair!!" kind of way. More like a "I simply wish I could be lucky enough to share in, at least, one of her attributes. She's such a gorgeous woman." kind of way. (And for those who think she's "gone the way of the skinny models/actresses," no, please don't. Because she hasn't. That's just how her body is. I'm a sociology student, I've studied society in reaction to/creation of this whole "skinny model/actress," and what's being said about her is unfair.)
And I still can't get over how insanely gorgeous she is. :)
Like I said, many will find this stupid or dangerous. My mother would find it foolish and silly. But I think I need this.
I tell people that I'm okay with my body, but my only recently obtained higher sense of self-worth is, for reasons unknown, sinking at a rapid pace and I just...I need to explore why this is.
I'm sure, no, positive, that this is not the way to go about it, but when my family doesn't really see my side of things and thinks all I need to do is walk some more, that my emotions are foolish and my reactions to things are silly, and when there's nothing else to do in my minuscule town to help figure this all out, well, then I turn to semi-dangerous to my own health methods (I suppose).
Thank god I'm a teetotaler, else-wise I'd be stoned to high heavens and drunken to infinity.
Lovely.
Once again, thank whatever god(s) is/are out there that any and all real dangerous ways to feel sorry myself make me cringe/scared silly.
Haha.
Anyways, yes, this is what I'm going to be doing. I'm pretty damn positive that it won't help my self esteem, but maybe if, when I've filled a book (for example) I can re-read what I've written and come to some sort of conclusion.
Or take it to a psychiatrist back in the city when I head back to school.
I'm sure I could find some help there. I go to a women's college that's connected to the main university, so Body Image Counseling is pretty widely advertised in the halls of my college. I hope.
I'll just plug through it.
Time to be hilarious!
So I think it’s time for a hilarious update. Why hilarious? Well, why not? So, simply read the following with a semi-laugh in the back of your throat and it will either be immensely painful and leave you with a sore throat tomorrow, or it’ll be hilarious hilarious hilarious.
So, let me begin:
On a very serious note: I am applying to various classes tomorrow morning for my third year of uni-ser-vity fun. And by “tomorrow,” I mean the 5th. I started writing this at 11:20PM, but who knows how long it’ll take me to complete and then submit. And by “tomorrow” I mean we are assigned dates and times that we’re allowed to sign up for classes, so the system’s not overloaded. Mine’s the 5th at 10:30AM, so my alarm's set. YAY!
Anyway, by “various” classes I mean the following:
And the Advertising one is only a maybe because I have friend’s who have taken it and am asking if they suggest it. Also, it’s taught by Pakvis, you know, my Methodology professor. The class I only got 50% in. Haha!
Out of all of these classes, the European history one will, most undoubtedly, be the hardest. Charlene took it last year. It’s a huge class, think some 350+ students, and the essay is, apparently, a KILLER. But it’s a required course for History majors, so I’ve gotta grin and bear it. But think: King Henry the 8th! SCORE! I love him soooo much! In a completely historical-orgasm kind of way…heh heh…
Like you TOTALLY wanted to hear that…
Don’t ask me to explain it. Please. It’s a tad embarrassing.
Anyway!
On another, slightly more serious note: The voice of the students seems to have failed.
As I scanned through Brescia’s Sociology classes for next year I came across some that were clearly Doctor Bickford’s. They’ve been allocated to other professors. It sort of… pained me. The girl that was compiling the letters never emailed us, so I was sort of in hopeful limbo. It was an…unfair feeling that I felt when I noticed that Sociology of Deviance was being taught by Professor Pakvis. It was sort of like “Wait, that’s Doctor Bi…oh. So it didn’t work.” I mean, I spilled my heart and guts out in that letter and I was so hopeful. I was left in a naive fog that had me convinced that if, say, all those in my deviance class wrote the same kind of letters (and, in this fog, I was convinced they had) that the committee must see the error in their decision.
The fog’s lifted, it’s gone. She’s gone.
I know that she teaches at York University, and I’m glad, because they’re not stick in the mud-idiots there. She’s better there. But, still.
I sort of feel, now, that I should do something on a personal level. Like, I know that this past year I slacked off in areas (hence the 50%, I suppose), so this coming year instead of saying “I’m going to do my readings AHEAD of time!” and then fall behind in the second week, I’m going to do my damndest to stick to it. It’s not like I can say “I’m going to give up partying every weekend!” ‘cause as we all know I’m sort of more a stick in the mud than the committee’s at Western. Har har!
I think I’m going to push myself to various breaking points and do more than my best. Try to obtain that imaginary A++ or work that imagined 110% harder. I’m going to do it!
And dedicate it all to Doctor Bickford.
On a silly silly note: GESS WAT GAIZ?! AIM GOIN’ 2 BAS CREAK!
In English: I’m going to Bass Creek this year. Wowza! And we all thought it had died and all! Nope! Not a damn chance!
Okay okay okay, I’ll admit that I’m semi-excited. As in, since I’ve sort of recovered a bit vis-à-vis writer’s block, this could be a great week-long-chance to write some stuff. But it’s only semi-excitement because of two things: 1. The bugs. 2. The fact that I’ll be heading up this Saturday morning with my Flabergasted Father (Remember? “Flabergasted” is the new F-word { http://blue2draconian.deviantart.com/journal/8432660/#comments } and not necessarily in a “swear word” kind of way, so NO! I’M NOT CALLING MY DAD AN F’ING FATHER! Let’s not jump to conclusions here, family-internet-stalkers, I’m just going to be using the word Flabergasted more often in intense situations.)
And I’ll only be with my Flabbergasted Father, driving up to Tobermory to wait, like, 5 hours to get on the Chi Chi Mon (boat) and mom and Juli won’t be down ‘till, like, a later date. SO! That means hours, nay, DAYS with just my father and Italian relatives.
Oh noooo! I’m surely going to be wallowing in some insane pressure and cuttlefish. (C-word).
I’m surely Flabbergasted!
But, still, it’s Bass Creek. Think of all the really odd stuff I can write there! Think…backwards towns with murderers running rampant with a mysical frog that breaths life into…dead… perch that rise and ATTACK!! HAR HAR! Maaaaaybe not.
On a hilariously hilarious note: I’m writing another silly and confusing story that is currently entitled “Willowcrest Woods”. I might re-name it “Grey and Sad and Scared and Proud.” It’s fun. Ms. Towell inspires me.
On another hilarious note: I’m rocking out to Justin Timberlake on Limewire right now….HAHAHAHA! So much for my music snobbery! But Juli and I have thoroughly established that he’s hot, so it all works out.
On an even more hilarious hilarious note: Mom finally coerced dad into ordering stuff off the internet for Juli and I. So Juli’s getting that CD that she’s been literally dying for! And me? Oh, you know… I may or may not be getting Jamie Kilstien’s spoken word CD and Jeanann Verlee’s book “Scratch Marks”!!!
And by “may or may not,” I mean “may or may not,” mostly because dad never told me if he actually got around to it. So we’ll see. :3
I’m hoping!
Anyway! I suppose that’s the end. And now, yup, it’s 1:00AM on the 5th. Silly silly me! And Justin Timberlake’s gone, now it’s The Cranberries. Man, I listen to almost everything!
Well then, time to try try try to sleep! TOODLES!
And don’t forget those mailing addresses!!
So, let me begin:
On a very serious note: I am applying to various classes tomorrow morning for my third year of uni-ser-vity fun. And by “tomorrow,” I mean the 5th. I started writing this at 11:20PM, but who knows how long it’ll take me to complete and then submit. And by “tomorrow” I mean we are assigned dates and times that we’re allowed to sign up for classes, so the system’s not overloaded. Mine’s the 5th at 10:30AM, so my alarm's set. YAY!
Anyway, by “various” classes I mean the following:
-Social Inequality (Sociology)
-Problems in Mass Society (Sociology, half-credit, so I’ll only have it second term)
-English and European History from the 16th to the 17th Century (History)
-Social History (History)
-Women in History (History)
-And maaaaybeeee Advertising in Society (Sociology, also half-credit, but this time first term)
And the Advertising one is only a maybe because I have friend’s who have taken it and am asking if they suggest it. Also, it’s taught by Pakvis, you know, my Methodology professor. The class I only got 50% in. Haha!
Out of all of these classes, the European history one will, most undoubtedly, be the hardest. Charlene took it last year. It’s a huge class, think some 350+ students, and the essay is, apparently, a KILLER. But it’s a required course for History majors, so I’ve gotta grin and bear it. But think: King Henry the 8th! SCORE! I love him soooo much! In a completely historical-orgasm kind of way…heh heh…
Like you TOTALLY wanted to hear that…
Don’t ask me to explain it. Please. It’s a tad embarrassing.
Anyway!
On another, slightly more serious note: The voice of the students seems to have failed.
As I scanned through Brescia’s Sociology classes for next year I came across some that were clearly Doctor Bickford’s. They’ve been allocated to other professors. It sort of… pained me. The girl that was compiling the letters never emailed us, so I was sort of in hopeful limbo. It was an…unfair feeling that I felt when I noticed that Sociology of Deviance was being taught by Professor Pakvis. It was sort of like “Wait, that’s Doctor Bi…oh. So it didn’t work.” I mean, I spilled my heart and guts out in that letter and I was so hopeful. I was left in a naive fog that had me convinced that if, say, all those in my deviance class wrote the same kind of letters (and, in this fog, I was convinced they had) that the committee must see the error in their decision.
The fog’s lifted, it’s gone. She’s gone.
I know that she teaches at York University, and I’m glad, because they’re not stick in the mud-idiots there. She’s better there. But, still.
I sort of feel, now, that I should do something on a personal level. Like, I know that this past year I slacked off in areas (hence the 50%, I suppose), so this coming year instead of saying “I’m going to do my readings AHEAD of time!” and then fall behind in the second week, I’m going to do my damndest to stick to it. It’s not like I can say “I’m going to give up partying every weekend!” ‘cause as we all know I’m sort of more a stick in the mud than the committee’s at Western. Har har!
I think I’m going to push myself to various breaking points and do more than my best. Try to obtain that imaginary A++ or work that imagined 110% harder. I’m going to do it!
And dedicate it all to Doctor Bickford.
On a silly silly note: GESS WAT GAIZ?! AIM GOIN’ 2 BAS CREAK!
In English: I’m going to Bass Creek this year. Wowza! And we all thought it had died and all! Nope! Not a damn chance!
Okay okay okay, I’ll admit that I’m semi-excited. As in, since I’ve sort of recovered a bit vis-à-vis writer’s block, this could be a great week-long-chance to write some stuff. But it’s only semi-excitement because of two things: 1. The bugs. 2. The fact that I’ll be heading up this Saturday morning with my Flabergasted Father (Remember? “Flabergasted” is the new F-word { http://blue2draconian.deviantart.com/journal/8432660/#comments } and not necessarily in a “swear word” kind of way, so NO! I’M NOT CALLING MY DAD AN F’ING FATHER! Let’s not jump to conclusions here, family-internet-stalkers, I’m just going to be using the word Flabergasted more often in intense situations.)
And I’ll only be with my Flabbergasted Father, driving up to Tobermory to wait, like, 5 hours to get on the Chi Chi Mon (boat) and mom and Juli won’t be down ‘till, like, a later date. SO! That means hours, nay, DAYS with just my father and Italian relatives.
Oh noooo! I’m surely going to be wallowing in some insane pressure and cuttlefish. (C-word).
I’m surely Flabbergasted!
But, still, it’s Bass Creek. Think of all the really odd stuff I can write there! Think…backwards towns with murderers running rampant with a mysical frog that breaths life into…dead… perch that rise and ATTACK!! HAR HAR! Maaaaaybe not.
On a hilariously hilarious note: I’m writing another silly and confusing story that is currently entitled “Willowcrest Woods”. I might re-name it “Grey and Sad and Scared and Proud.” It’s fun. Ms. Towell inspires me.
On another hilarious note: I’m rocking out to Justin Timberlake on Limewire right now….HAHAHAHA! So much for my music snobbery! But Juli and I have thoroughly established that he’s hot, so it all works out.
On an even more hilarious hilarious note: Mom finally coerced dad into ordering stuff off the internet for Juli and I. So Juli’s getting that CD that she’s been literally dying for! And me? Oh, you know… I may or may not be getting Jamie Kilstien’s spoken word CD and Jeanann Verlee’s book “Scratch Marks”!!!
And by “may or may not,” I mean “may or may not,” mostly because dad never told me if he actually got around to it. So we’ll see. :3
I’m hoping!
Anyway! I suppose that’s the end. And now, yup, it’s 1:00AM on the 5th. Silly silly me! And Justin Timberlake’s gone, now it’s The Cranberries. Man, I listen to almost everything!
Well then, time to try try try to sleep! TOODLES!
And don’t forget those mailing addresses!!
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