Theme:Week Two

The bell rang at 8:50 AM and biology class was over for the day. My friend PJ and I got up and gathered our backpacks. Following our daily routine, we began walking to our next class. We were both excited for the first game of the season; PJ played football and I cheered, and our enthusiasm was exacerbated because this was our first regular-season Friday night game ever, our debut. We were finally sophomores. PJ was thirsty so we stopped at the water fountain by the boy’s bathroom. I was leaning against the cement wall when our friend Bailey appeared out of nowhere, overcome with excitement. “My mom’s having the baby today!” she squealed, beaming. “I’m being picked up right now to go to the hospital!”

We were mid-hug when the principal’s grave voice echoed from the loud speaker. “The World Trade Center has been struck by a plane. Please go straight to your next class where you will remain for the rest of the day. You may go home if you like. Your teachers will give you the opportunity to contact your parents.”

My stomach sank, the confusion was overwhelming. PJ’s tan face went white and Bailey hugged me tighter as she softly repeated the words, “My mom’s having the baby today….”

PJ and I didn’t speak one word to each other as we walked up the ramp to Mr. Wingard’s human geography class. When we entered the room, the television was on and I saw the horrific images of smoke polluting the air, the chaos. The reporter was visibly shaken as she repeated, “Oh my God” and regrettably informed the American public that nobody knew exactly what happened. A few minutes later we found out another plane hit the World Trade Center and it was later confirmed the country was being attacked by terrorists.  On September 11, 2001 between nine and ten AM, my naïve perspective of the world was challenged as I questioned everything I believed to be good and just. This was the country I loved, the country that allowed me to believe in my dreams; to me, it was the greatest country in the world and we were being attacked. For the first time I realized that other people didn’t have the same love for the United States, that some people hated Americans.  My eyes couldn’t leave the screen and the more I watched reporters struggling to control their emotions as they recounted the events of the day, the more I realized the magnitude of what was going on. It had to be bad if we could go home, if we were expected to stay in one room for the remainder of the day to watch it.

As the day went on and pieces of information about the attacks were revealed, another plane hit the Pentagon. A final plane appearing to be targeting Washington DC crashed to the ground in Pennsylvania, as the heroes on board tried to overthrow the hijackers. My classmates sat together, our mouths agape, as we learned how evil humans can be.

My carefree attitude was gone; the football game didn’t matter anymore or any of the other trivial priorities in my life. I grew up a little bit that day; I became empathetic to strangers as I realized we are all connected; for the first time I was aware of danger and felt unsafe. I thought about other people’s rights and stopped taking mine for granted. I realized you could wake up in the morning, the sun could be shining and you could have everything you ever wanted in life but that it could all be taken away in a second.

High school came and went. There were countless Friday night games and four homecomings. I went to prom, was a yearbook editor and graduated with honors.  The lessons learned on September 11 stayed with me throughout. Hell-bent on getting out of Maine, I was off the Halifax, Nova Scotia to study….something. Halifax was a beautiful, progressive city; environmentally friendly, liberal, and culturally rich. I saw it as the perfect place to grow and start my new, independent life. Dalhousie had a beautiful campus with historic stone buildings that look like castles. It was spread out and large, I could see the Atlantic Ocean from my dorm window, the waves crashing on the stone beach. It felt good to be part of something bigger.

Back in the States (after only two months, I had adopted the Canadian way referring to America), it was an election year but more importantly, it was the first year I was old enough to vote. I was disappointed I wasn’t able to get to experience going to the polls but I submitted my absentee ballot before I left for school. To my surprise, everybody in my dorm was excited about the election as well. Even better, they all wanted Bush out of office as much as I did. It wasn’t uncommon for people to marvel, “Wait…you’re American? You really don’t seem like you are….” I always laughed and defended my country, while being secretly happy I didn’t fit the stereotype of superficiality and self-importance.

Election night came and we all corralled in the basement of our dorm to watch the events unfold. Cliff, one of the RA’s, was passionate about politics and eager to learn about the American system of voting. I was bombarded with questions about delegates and no matter how I explained it; they didn’t understand why the system is in place. The convoluted rules and confusing system made no sense to them, why didn’t we just count the votes? Aren’t the votes what it’s supposed to come down to?

We sat up all night as the results poured in. The race between Bush and his opponent John Kerry appeared to be tight and I was hopeful that by morning my country would have a new leader. I was happy to spend my first election with my Canadian family. The eagerness they exhibited for something that didn’t directly involve them was refreshing and I couldn’t think of a time in my life where anyone I knew invested emotionally in an event that didn’t directly concern them or their country. In fact, nobody at home ever got riled up over anything except how much money we’re spending on the war and the attacks on us. Everything was always about “us.” We certainly didn’t pay attention to the Canadian elections. For the first time, I saw why people in other countries dislike Americans and that as a whole; the country is self-absorbed.

I was sad to leave Halifax when school ended in April 2005. I couldn’t get enough student loans to cover the cost of tuition and couldn’t make enough money to cover the difference myself. I knew I wouldn’t be returning as I went over the steel bridge leaving the city. Tears filled my eyes as Coldplay crooned an appropriately sad song. I was a different person than the cheerleader I was when I arrived nine months before. At that moment, I would have done anything to stay in Canada where everybody recycled, homeless people didn’t sleep on the streets, and life wasn’t driven by money.

Three years later, I was working sixty hours a week at two jobs, and money controlled my life. I was broke. Exhausted all the time and discouraged, I was waiting to turn twenty-three and be considered and independent student by the United States government so I could receive financial aid without my parent’s tax information. I needed to finish my education. I knew I wouldn’t be happy unless I returned to school and I was slowly biding my time, working jobs I hated.

Thankfully, there were other things to focus on and the winter of 2008 had an exciting start. Two Democratic Presidential candidates came to Bangor for the primaries, Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama. My mother and I stood in line for two hours in the wintery cold to hear Obama speak. We bundled up and chatted with people outside of the Bangor Auditorium. Once inside, the wait was worth it. His words were spoken with confidence and he offered solutions to real problems. He had an uncanny way of connecting with the audience. People were smiling, excited and empowered.   For the first time in a long time, I saw people unite over something positive and it was like the whole mood of the country changed. People on both sides were passionate and interested in the election. Once it became clear Obama would be the Democratic presidential candidate, the real excitement began. He was motivating and calm; to me, he was everything the country needed to move forward and put the last eight years behind us.  There was hope.

A record-number of people voted in the presidential election of 2008, showing a sense of urgency within the public. More people were clued in, more people wanted to get involved in how their lives were run on a larger level.

Unlike the last election when I reluctantly went to bed without knowing who won, the results were in by ten PM. Obama had won the presidency and things were going to change. My best friend Shane, one of the few high school friends that survived the transition into adulthood, was a passionate Republican (and huge Sarah Palin fan). We did everything together and shared every aspect of our lives except our political views. He called me and said, “We shouldn’t discuss this if we still want to be friends” and I agreed. After all, we had already decided not to watch any political debates together after the first one when Shane stormed out of my living room, so angry he went home. My friendship intact and my candidate in office, I was a happy girl. Twenty-three, I was going back to school in the fall. I had a sense of inner-peace and was excited in a way I hadn’t been in years.

It is now 2012, another election year but the excitement is gone. Hope for change has died and the Republican primaries are underway. Either way, the general consensus is that things are worse than ever, people are back to believing everybody lies and promises are always broken. They’re angry, joined together as the 99% by their dissatisfaction and distrust in the government. Quite the contrast from four years ago when Obama’s approval ratings were through the roof. People are upset with Obama’s performance, their impatience clouding reason; they forget that it takes a long time to create a problem and it takes a long time to fix a problem. They don’t acknowledge if people in office aren’t willing to work with him, to compromise and flex, they can’t accomplish anything.

Politics aren’t fun without Shane here to banter with, one more thing that’s changed. On 9/11 I learned that life changes in a second, something I didn’t truly understand until it happened to me on July 17, 2010 and I lost my best friend. Waking up that morning and learning of the deepest loss of my life, my world stopped. It seemed that nothing matters without the ones you love but you have to move forward, persevere through the dark times, both personally and in a larger sense.

I couldn’t do it right away. Shane’s death made me re-think everything I thought I wanted in life. I dropped out of Husson after a dismal fall 2010 semester; my motivation was gone. I moved to Colorado, hoping the change would rejuvenate me. I harbored hope I would find something in the snowcapped mountains I had lost; maybe something I never had before. The only thing I learned was that you can’t run away and was more miserable than ever. I came home. Went back to school to finish what I started and began living my life again, the life I always envisioned for myself. Still, the end goal isn't as important as it used to be. Now, it's about the journey.

Shane would be fired up this election year; he’d be working tirelessly to convince others that his candidate was the best. He’d volunteer for their campaign and work for free, doing his part. His dedication has stayed with me, the commitment he gave to everyone he loved, the passion he had for life and his country.  His favorite song was “God Bless the USA.” Throughout the years, it had become a joke between us to randomly sing it in front of strangers; we’d barely get through it because we were laughing so hard. It didn’t matter our voices were off key, or that people thought we were crazy. Often times, people would start to sing along, wide smiles spread across their faces. Those were the best times.

Journal: Day Eight

Final day of journaling. Not gonna lie, I'm not sad for this assignment to end, though it did get me in the habit of writing daily. I also feel I am more aware of what is going on in my life because of this exercise.

Got an email about my financial aid and it's nice to know I'll get my check faster this semester than I did last. It couldn't come at a more perfect time! Still no word from Jess about the rent situation and it's becoming even more awkward to bring it up as time goes by. I would like to know one way or another, get it out of my mind. He was even here when I came home from work the other day but she wasn't home. They go out to eat every other day. On Sunday she told me they spent fifty dollars on lunch and then later that night they ordered Dominos. It is absolutely fine for them to spend their money any way they want, but if he can spend money to go out to eat, he can pay rent at the place he lives. I go to school so I only work like twelve or fifteen hours a week and I still pay my part of the rent as well as my other bills. I just don't go out to eat all the time. I have to stop here or I'm going to go off about how neither of them ever cleans the floors or bathroom, takes out the trash, or picks up after themselves. Oops. I couldn't hold it in.

Made the best soup ever tonight. I got the idea from the Olive Garden. They have this potato soup there that I love so I made a creamy potato, spinach and spicy sausage soup. Instead of real sausage I used chicken sausage and while I was weary it wouldn't be as good at first, it didn't make that big of a difference. Though it wasn't as good as the Olive Garden's, it was a very satisfying dinner. I am also happy that I'm getting better at making sauces and soups the right consistency, lots of times I make them too thick or watery and can't figure out how to fix it, but tonight the soup was perfectly creamy!

Week Two Prompts: Those Who Forget History....

She stares at his truck as he drives away, a cloud of exhaust blowing in her face. Numb, she slowly ascends steep stairs into her empty apartment, scared to cry because she knows she’ll never stop once she starts. So many things race through her mind as she tries to pretend this isn’t really happening and wonders what is wrong with her. How come it never lasts?

She thought he was perfect, exactly her type. He fit all the requirements; funny and artistic, free-spirited and open, gorgeous blue eyes made bluer by his thick brown hair. Everything about him reminded her of all the things she missed about her first love and soon after they met she was dreaming about their future together.  It took longer for the problems to start; for disagreements about his poor time management and broken promises to pop up. It slowly unraveled until they fought daily and even then, she needed more time before she accepted they weren't in love anymore.

So she’s sitting on her cold kitchen floor again and just like the last time, her heart is broken. Reflecting on what went wrong, she realizes she despises the qualities that made her fall for him in the first place. The familiar feeling is more than she can take and she vows she won’t do it again, promising herself she will find the love she deserves.

Two months later she’s at a party and locks eyes with a man across the room. He’s gorgeous; shaggy brown hair, pale blue eyes and a casual cool about himself. He crosses the room and confidently introduces himself. “So what do you do?” she curiously asks with a flip of her long, curly hair. He tells her about his passion for the arts, his love for playing the guitar and writing music. At the end of the night she gives him her number as they make loose plans to get together. When she goes to bed, she’s unable to sleep as she thinks about what to wear on their first date.

Prompts Week Two: When You Open a Photo Album You See....

As I open the cover of my green, leather and cloth photo album, I see a wallet-sized photo of my grandmother as a young teenager, smiling, with short, light-brown hair in curls. There is an excited sparkle in her brown eyes as she innocently grins for her school picture. I turn the pages and stop at a photo of my grandmother playfully posing for the camera while a bright smile adorns her porcelain face.  Her legs are wrapped underneath her as she sits on a bright red couch and her beauty is effortless, like a movie star. I see her playing with my brother at the beach on an overcast summer day, laughing like she’s never had more fun. Her joy brightens the faded picture, makes it like new. In the next picture, her smile is gone, the sparkle in her eyes is replaced with a weary sadness. The album continues without her smile and I, a wiry eight year old girl, begin to smile brighter to compensate for the loss of my grandmother’s happiness until the photo album ends, the last ten pages empty.

Journal: Day Seven

Went with Jess and her mother today while she got evaluated for her upcoming hip replacement. It is hard to see her in so much pain and I’m proud of her for finally going to the hospital and getting it checked out. I can only imagine how terrifying it is to have something physically wrong with you and knowing the only way to fix it includes months of painful recovery. Makes me grateful for my health and also makes me want to do everything I can to stay healthy and in shape.

I’m getting kind of freaked out over this book I’m reading for my True Crime class. It is called The Monster of Florence and it’s about a serial killer who preys couples in their cars at night. It is so creepy and now I feel nervous when I’m out at night if I’m walking by myself. I actually locked the door while I’m home sitting at the kitchen table doing homework right now, something I never would have done before. I barely remember to lock the door before I go to bed. I am seriously hoping the other books in this class aren’t as graphic and the stories aren’t as disturbing or it’s going to be a long semester of reading material that makes me want to puke.

Week Two Prompts: The Things I've Kept.....

Underneath two boxes of summer clothes, a printer that doesn’t work, and a Play-station there is a box in my closet.  The box tells the story of my life; it holds my hopes and dreams, my heartache and fears. Filled with poorly taken pictures on disposable cameras, journals, and school yearbooks, the evolution of my life is crammed into a sturdy tomato box. It contains love letters I never sent and tear spattered pages, evidence of a broken heart. Love letters I've received from boys I thought I loved before I knew what love was. The box reminds me of memories I wish I could forget and conjures up regrets of losing the person I used to be. It makes me proud of the woman I am today and is a source of strength, always there to remind me where I came from and who I wanted to be.

Alone in a Quiet Room....What Do You See?

Alone in a quiet room you notice the cracks in the white walls. There is dirt embedded in the walls, there usually is in old houses, and only bleach and patience will get it out. You see the hole in the plaster from when the door swung open too hard causing the door handle to go through the wall and the dried roses hanging underneath a yellow slate flower. There is a handmade wooden stand that displays your growing ivy in its white, ceramic pot. In the corner you see your rocking chair made from the same blonde wood as the stand. The chair is covered in a pink and baby blue hand-woken blanket from Mexico and has a blue cushion in its seat. There are two orange, deflated pillows you made a few years ago on top of the cushion, making it impossible to sit in the chair.

The bed is a mess, it hasn’t been made today and the white and blue blankets are bunched up in the middle, revealing your grey cotton sheets. Your pillows are staring at you invitingly as you look at the bed from the table five feet away and you look away, turning to the new 2012 calendar hanging on the wall next to the huge radiator heater behind the door. Above the heater you see the dark brown wooden shelf hanging on the wall and a rainbow of assorted sweaters haphazardly folded and thrown on top of each other. A hook on the door holds sweaters and coats, too many because your emerald green pea coat has fallen onto the hardwood floor.

The doors to the closet are open and you see shoes littering the floor and piles of boxes you never bothered to unpack piled high in the corner. Though it looks like a disorganized mess, it’s not. Your clothes are color-coded from darkest colors to lightest colors and you know exactly where to find any pair of boots, heels, or sneakers you need. You shut the closet doors to hide the mess and the room instantly appears cleaner.

Journal: Day Six

Had so much fun last night at Zack's. It was exactly what I needed to put me in a better mood. Super tired today with so much to do but a nap is really looking good to me right now. The game is on, Patriots losing and Jess and Bennie are heatedly arguing about it due to their intense loyalty to different teams. I don't really care about either of the teams and the only reason I like football is because of the weekly pools Ryan runs at the store and the chance to win a hundred bucks so I find their fighting humorous.

At this point I'll take any reason to procrastinate. I have algebra on the agenda today and it is already so hard for me. I don't get it and I think I should have taken intermediate algebra even though I tested into college algebra, especially since it has been six years since I've taken a math class. I don't like math, I'm not good at math but I can't go on any longer without taking it or I'll never graduate. I wish I could take the math class the early childhood development people take where they play with toys and learn how to teach small children to count. I am really worried because this is the first section and I am already lost. I'm sure there are a lot of concepts in intermediate algebra I am expected to know for this class that I don't. I'd drop it but my software is non-returnable because I've already opened it and downloaded it. I guess I'll get a tutor.

Journal: Day Five

I'm beginning to think I need to add more excitement to my life. Every day seems the same to me and this journal exercise is making that fact all the more clear to me. Let me see...today, I woke up, went to work, came home from work, and am doing a litte bit of homework. We're going over to a friend's house around ten and that's it.

Unfortunately, I can't think of ways to make my daily routine more interesting. I am stuck in this rut and everything is very blah to me. Starting tomorrow, I am going to do one thing each day that I don't normally do. None of these things will be huge, life- altering experiences but simple things like trying a new food, going to new stores, or talking to random people I don't normally talk to. Maybe I'll try out a new hobby like making jewerly or something. Even wearing my hair in a different way might help. All of this sounds so insignificant to me but since I don't have money hidden away to go on an adventure, these small changes will have to do.

I looked at wedding dresses for like two hours today and was mentally planning my wedding, even though I'm not even engaged. I picked out a dress and thought about the sparkling jewerly I would wear, the venue and reception. I never thought marriage was that important to me. I was the person who feels that as long as your relationship is happy and works for you, that's all that matters. I think this is why I'm in this mood, because I realized that is the direction I want my life to go in and now I'm just sitting around planning a wedding when I don't even have a ring on my finger. Things were easier when I believed love was all that matters...I'm sure it's nothing new ethnic food and hair can't fix.

Journal: Day Four

Today was the perfect, lazy day. Slept in and watched re-runs of 90210 all afternoon before a nice three and a half hour shift at work. Work was slow and I worked with my boss for the second time and was relieved when he seemed to be more relaxed tonight. Last time I saw him he was critical of almost everything I did which is understandable because I had only worked there for a week so it’s definitely nice to know I’ve improved.

Lately, we’ve really been into healthy eating. At first it was super hard to stick with it but now it is actually fun to cook creative, healthy meals. I never realized how yummy eating healthy could be and it’s a fun challenge to learn how to cook in a different way. This afternoon I made a roasted vegetable and brie sandwich on focaccia and it was one of the most satisfying meals I’ve at in a long time. I roasted yellow peppers, red onions, and summer squash in olive oil seasoned with salt, pepper, and a little bit of garlic. Popped the veggies on the bread with garlic hummus, baby spinach, and tomatoes. Topped it with slivers of brie and melted it in the oven while the bread toasted. Amazing!

What else is amazing is how much BETTER I feel now that I’ve changed my eating habits. I didn’t think I felt bad before but I now realize I wasn’t  my best. I love the energy I have now and how my skin glows. It is easy to keep it up when it’s a choice to do it, not because I have to. I didn’t make a resolution I probably won’t keep. There’s no pressure or reason to do it and now that I’ve  experienced  all the benefits of it, there is no way I want to stop. It’s also easier because I don’t see it as a bad thing when I eat cheese or have nachos. I don’t beat myself up over it. I’m not angry or feel like a failure. I think the lack of pressure is the very reason this is successful. It also helps to have someone to do it with, my own personal cheerleader!

Journal: Day Three

Uneventful day. Woke up, got my paycheck, cashed it, went to class, came home, went to work, got cut from work after only three hours because it was slow, came home, bored. It was just one of those days where you can’t wait for tomorrow because tomorrow is bound to be better. I’m not used to this new schedule and I’m working now, unlike last semester when I didn’t work so it’s hard to get in the swing of things. I never see Ryan anymore. Our schedules are so opposite that I haven’t seen him since our lunch yesterday even though we live together. It’s kind of making me sad and I realize now we have to work on making time or it’s not going to happen, something we’ve never had to deal with before because our schedules have always been synchronized. I hope we can figure it out soon….

On a happier note, Sasha has lost one pound and back in a healthy weight range! She has lost some of her butt and tummy and no longer begs for food incessantly like she used to. She also plays for more than thirty seconds and is awake more. She seems to be more adventurous and curious than before, all good things. It’s amazing what a big different one pound makes, but I suppose on a 7-10 pound animal, it’s a lot. So happy my princess is looking good!

Alone in a Quiet Room....What's Really Going On?

I’m grateful to be alone in a quiet room. In my room I have a heater that works and a comfortable bed. I have a place to relax, unwind and reflect after a busy day. Outside of my window I can see the park and kids ice skating on a pond of ice they made out of melted snow. I can see them jokingly compete against each other as they enjoy the joyful innocence of childhood. My ivy is thriving next to the window and every morning the sun pours in and coaxes me awake. Each day, I wake up with a sense of security, feeling excited about what the day will bring. I have everything I need. I’m fortunate.

The children in the park are fortunate, too. They are able to enjoy their childhoods, unlike children whose families live in one room and share the same bed. Maybe they know that parents struggle to feed their children or their own families may even rely on outside assistance to fund food, but I am willing to bet that one way or another, the junior hockey players have enough to eat. Unfortunately, low-income children in large cities have a tougher time receiving the necessary assistance to ensure proper nutrition. In addition to dealing with easily preventable health issues, they may be sent to schools with lackluster standards of education or have parents who don’t advocate for them.  Many of these children will be lucky if they graduate high school and in the article, High School Dropout Rates For Minority and Poor Students Disproportionately High, the Huffington Post reports that even though the NCES revealed in October 2011 that the number of high school dropouts has decreased five percent in the past decade, children from low-income families are five times more likely to drop out than their middle-class peers.

Young girls from impoverished homes are also more likely to get pregnant than females from middle or upper-class families. National data posted on The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unplanned Pregnancy website, one-third of women will be pregnant at least once by age twenty. It’s sad when innocent children are immediately disadvantaged if they are born into low-income families but it is a crime that they often never receive the necessary resources to fulfill their potential. It is reasons like these, the things that are really going on in the United States, that I feel blessed as I sit in my large, comfortable room.

References

High School Dropout Rates For Minority and Poor Students Disproportionately High. Huffington Post. 20 Oct. 2011. Web. 19 Jan. 2012.

National Data. The National Campaign to Prevent Teen and Unwanted Pregnancy.  Web. 19 Jan. 2012.

Alone in a Quiet Room....What Do You Hear?

Sitting alone in silence, surrounded by four, vanilla walls every slight noise is loud. The trickle of the kitchen faucet hitting the dull ceramic sink never ceases. The dripping is so loud even the hum of the refrigerator running does nothing to silence it. Downstairs, my neighbor, Nastashia, is clicking around in her high-heeled boots and outside my heavy living room door, artfully adorned with four locks I don't have keys for, my other neighbors are loudly discussing their video game.

Outside, I hear the cars driving the streets, coming home from work and the crunch of the ice underneath their tires makes me happy I am sitting in my warm living room. I can hear Peekah hissing at Sasha and envision the two of them in a standoff somewhere near the litter box or the food dish, paws up and ready to swipe at any second. The dog up the road is howling to be let inside on this bitterly cold evening and his misery echoes through the drafty window. I hear myself breathing and the dog stops barking. Cars fly by, going faster than they should, in a hurry to get somewhere and I hear myself think. What’s my schedule tomorrow? Do I work? I have a gift card to Macy’s. What should I buy? I need to get Ryan a birthday present. I’d really like to go on a vacation. Where? Key West? Aspen was nice. But it’s so cold here, I should go somewhere warm and douse myself in sunscreen. Key West it is. But Colorado was by far the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen…I hear myself wonder why I am thinking about vacations when I am broke and then my thoughts turn to bills. Two more paychecks until rent is due, the cable is late...

Sitting alone in a silent room, I hear what I miss throughout the day. Small things that don’t catch my attention because the television is playing a repeat of Friends or music is playing.  Things I don’t notice because I am too busy with my life, too busy coming and going and getting things done to notice the sounds Nastashia’s shoes make or how loud the ice is when it breaks in the night. Sitting alone in silence I hear my mind race and my thoughts turn to how difficult it is to take a minute to be alone without technology and people so I get up, walk across the wide-panel hardwood floors in my socks and grab the remote. I turn the television on and flip the channel to CNN and alone in a room, my mind is finally silenced by the voice of a news anchor dissecting Mitt Romney’s politics.

Journal: Day Two

Productive day. Woke up bright and early and only hit the snooze button twice. Went to the doctor and the grocery store, finally got fed up enough with my Open Office word processor and bought Microsoft Office. Great lunch with Ryan. Yummy, healthy wraps and lots of laughs. Perfect. Ran into Jess this morning for the first time since our conversation. Last night, Ryan and I avoided the situation (mature, I know) and went to a friend’s house. We stayed out just late enough that she was sleeping when we came home. Anyways, this morning was awkward. She was hostile, just as I expected. We passed each other in the hall for a second before she quickly walked into her room and shut the door.

Also, my heart broke today when the sole of my two month old, $100, perfect heather grey suede boots broke. The thing is, I searched forever for these boots. I had a picture of them in my mind: slouchy, soft and the perfect light grey that coordinates with every color. It was like Christmas morning when I found them and I bought them even though I would never spend that much on one pair of shoes. Ever. Apparently, spending more didn’t make a difference. I should have just gone to Target.

Journal: Day One

Stressful day. It was an hour and a half wait in line at the bookstore only to find out they didn't have the books I needed for two classes. Went to class, came home, and had an uncomfortable discussion about whether or not my roommate Jess's boyfriend should pay rent or not. I think he should, he spends every night, takes two showers a day, he gave up his apartment and “moved back in” with his parents. In spite of all this, Jess doesn't see it the same way as I do. We shall see how this unfolds when it comes to pay February rent...although I'm hoping this will resolve soon. Talking about money is awkward and I don't want it to get in the way of our friendship.

I come from an artistic family. My brother is an unbelievable artist. He can sketch lifelike scenes and paint colorful, abstract paintings. Without a doubt, most four year old children can draw stick figures better than me. He can also play music. Without lessons. My own musical abilities peaked in the fourth grade after I learned “Hot Cross Buns” on the recorder and I promise you, nobody wants to hear me sing. Needless to say, I was thrilled when I found my own artistic niche in writing.

Still, I find it strange to write about myself as a writer because I don't view myself as a writer. Yet. Someday I hope people will read my articles and books but today I am still learning. To obtain success as a writer, I plan to finish my Associates degree in Liberal Studies at EMCC and transfer to the University of Maine for Journalism.

Ultimately, I want to be a journalist for a food magazine, like Bon Appetite. I would love to write a cookbook geared towards people on a budget, offering great-tasting, healthy recipes for them and their families. I would jump at the chance to work for any paper or publication willing to bless me with the opportunity to research stories, conduct interviews, and travel. My particular areas of interest are the environment and animals rights. I would love to write on a forum that enabled me to help those who suffer from low self-esteem or eating disorders (psychology used to be my major). I want my writing to be important, helpful, and memorable. Hefty (highly improbable) goals, but I can't picture myself doing anything else for the rest of my life. The great thing is, I have my whole life to learn, improve, and fine-tune my art. That alone, is highly rewarding, though money and fame would be nice too....

If you were to ask me what might get in the way of achieving my goals, I would say it is my self-doubt. I am a reserved person and dislike controversy; therefore, if my opinion is too off-the-wall for others, I usually keep it to myself rather than cause conflict. Unfortunately, this is what successful writers DON'T do and in order to write anything with meaning, I need to get past this. My hope is that this course will force me to be more confident in my opinions and write freely from my heart. The online forum is the perfect platform for me to work on my fears because of the anonymity it provides.

She was resting her head against the palm as she gazed out the dirty, mud-splashed window. Outside, the sun was shining high in the sky and the warm late September breeze made her miss the long days of summer. Instead, she was here, sitting in an uncomfortable, hard desk at a new school surrounded by people she didn't know. She was shy and school was long and lonely now that she had moved. She spent her time in class quiet, trying to go unnoticed in the large, unfamiliar school. Life was rough.

Re-focusing her thoughts, the girl realized her English teacher, Mrs. Jones, was handing back the first big assignment of the school year. It had been difficult, quite different from anything she had done before. The assignment was to re-tell a specific part of Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God from the point of view of a different character, using imagery and dialogue to explain the situation. Prior to this assignment, she had not written many creative pieces and was nervous about her grade, especially after struggling to write the dialogue in the same southern voice Hurston did. A perfectionist, she waited impatiently for her grade.

The teacher placed her thick story face down on her desk and she opened it, hoping for an A but prepared for the worst. “Astounding! Superb! Interesting!” were the words scrawled over the pages of her paper. She received a ninety-nine and a large confidence boost.

The bell rang and the girl walked past her teacher's desk out the door. “Samantha," Mrs. Jones said. “I was beginning to wonder if anything was going on up there, but you really proved yourself to me. You are an exceptional writer.” The girl blushed, unsure how to respond to the insulting compliment, muttered a “Thank you,” and walked out the door, a prideful smile spread across her face. That paper changed the girl's life forever. For the first time she dared to admit she was talented and began to dream about her future.

You sit on the edge of a wooden chair at the table in your bedroom. Its back, left leg is detached from the rung and every movement must be slow and deliberate or the chair will break beneath your weight. You rest you forearms on the cluttured table and place your cold fingertips on the keyboard, ready to write.

Just kidding. If only you knew what to write about, what point you wanted to make. If only you could write about something YOU wanted to write about instead of spending an endless number of hours writing about sixteenth century poetry you don't understand and its form. You're tired of writing about long, drawn-out books by historic authors such as Charlotte Bronte and what the color gray symbolizes in the novel-of-the-week.

If you could write what you wanted, you'd write about anything but this. You'd write about animals or shoes. You'd write about things that matter to people today, not a fictional story in history. You'd write about trends, movies, fashion or fitness. You'd write about food, travel and culture. You'd write about psychology, music and what other people are writing about. You'd write about crime and mystery. You'd write about love.

Too bad there's not enough time to write about the things you want to write about. You work. You have too much homework. You have family and friends. A boyfriend. Then it dawns on you as you sit still, staring blankly at the computer screen. You might have time to write what you want if you stopped spending so many hours resting your hands on the keyboard and more time writing about poets and old literature. The chair creakily shifts beneath you and you have one final epiphany. A stable chair with four, securely attached legs will help you focus too....the less time spent subconsciously terrorized over the prospect of potential injuries, the better.