Week 1 Pt: Friday

Today I finally went back to work. My boredom and complaining have ceased and my boyfriend is thanking his lucky stars. I have a conflicting relationship with work, regardless of the location of my job. I hate being bored and having "nothing to do", but when I'm at work I hate that I am stuck there for hours and I feel like I am missing out on events. This never ending struggle is wearing me thin. When I worked two jobs I had no days off, and I yearned for a moment of peace and tranquility. Now that I am working one job, and I have 3 days off in a row, I am bored, listless, and anxious to feel useful. I am even considering a picking up a 2nd job, silly me! Hopefully, I will be able to volunteer somewhere and expand my skills, but also contribute to bettering others.

Week 1 Pt 2: Thursday

Today is my sister's 13th birthday. Thirteen is a tender age where most kids are excited about having the word "teen" in their age and where their attitude automatically changes to disdainful and dripping with sarcasm. A simple request from a parent can turn into a long overdrawn fight. At this age, boys and girls begin to discover that cooties do not exist, and having a boyfriend, nice clothes, and make-up make you popular. My sister will never experience any of those things. My mother will never tell her that she needs to go change out of that short skirt, or that her makeup is too dark. My sister will never have her first kiss, first boyfriend, get married, or buy a house. Her and I will never stay up all night at sleepovers and discuss boys. I will never get to take her shopping or do her hair for prom. Today is my sister's birthday, instead of celebrating with candles, cake, and family; I decorate her headstone with flowers, and tell her that I love her.

Week 1 Pt 2: Wednesday

Today I wrote my autobiography works for English. I feel sad and melancholy. I kind of miss the little girl that I was and wish that I could still find time to write and create novels. I have romanticized this novel idea. Sure, it sounds good in my head, but if I were to actually put pen to paper I would get about a page done before I would grow tired of the direction of the story. I have never finished any novel that I started. Today, even when I pick one up and begin to read it, I can't create an ending. I have always felt like I have a creative bone, I mean my grandmother is an artist. Perhaps I have not found my niche? Writing when your forced to for english seems so much easier. You know that you have to have something done by a certain time/day and you create time and get the project done. Maybe, I should put thought like that into my novel writing? Either way, it's time for me to rediscover my creative side. I miss her.

Week 1 Pt 1: 3rd Person Autobiography

She was always buried in a book, using it as her escape from the things in her life that upset her. Books became her way to explore the world, make connections, and experience things through the words she read on the page. Eventually, reading the words were not enough for her, she began to write. A dream grew in her heart, she wanted to write for millions and have everyone read her work. She worked hard on novels, but she was never able to finish one. Perhaps, the finality of finishing a novel scared and terrified her being. Eventually, she grew up and the unfinished novels were thrown into storage and began to collect dust. Sadly, her mother talks wistfully of the vibrant, little girl with all the great and wonderful ideas. However, the imaginative girl grew tamed by the reality of life, but she still hides within her soul waiting for her moment to be released. 

Week 1 Pt 1: 2nd Person Autobiography

You have always loved to read, even from an early age you used it as an escape from life around you. When something in life upset you, you could be seen buried in a book. You used books and reading as an outside connection, to escape the reality that was surrounding you. You felt like you had the soul of a 50 year old trapped in your 12 year old body. Eventually, you grew older and you began to write. At first, your stories were short novelettes and you were so proud of your work. Inspired by other great writers, you began to attempt novels. Many a great novel was started, but you were never able to finish a single one. You even flirted with the idea of becoming a writer and inspiring millions. As you began high school, you grew distracted with life and you stopped writing, calling it childish and apart of your past. That imaginative girl still harbors within your soul, but she rarely escapes. You have been jaded by life and the realities that adulthood have brought upon you.

Week 1 Pt1: 1st Person Autobiography

I have always loved to read, even from a young age. Books have always been my escape, my outside connection to the world, even when I was to young to participate in the comings and goings of adult life. I used books as an escape, and liked to consider myself this wise, old soul trapped in a young girl's body. As I grew, I began to write. At first, they were short stories inspired by my musings of boys and love. As I grew older, the stories began to elongate and change in depth. I dreamed of being a writer, inspiring millions with my poignant thoughts and comical stories. However, for some reason, I have never been able to successfully complete a novel. Eventually, the dream died and I moved on in life to more "practical" and "adult" behaviors. My brain still races with imaginative ideas. Actually, my mother still references my vibrant childhood dreams and thoughts I would share with her, and I grow sad that I have lost some of that spark. Secretly, that imaginative girl still lurks deep within me, but she has been tamed by this disappointing thing called "adult-hood".

Week 1 Pt3: Alone in a quiet room. But what's really happening?

Alone in a quiet room. But what's really happening? 

This is a loaded question. I sit alone in my room, while the world is in turmoil. Overseas, people are in an uproar, we may start a war with Syria, and our economy is plummeting. Our President blatantly ignores our God-given rights and constitutional rights. The attempt to remove our right to bear arms, our only way to protect ourselves from conscienceless people who are determined to do evil. Meanwhile, our government takes nearly 30% of hard working American's money, and gives it to people that are not willing to support themselves. Our system is majorly flawed when people on welfare make more "per hour" then the required minimum wage determined by the federal government. And while this is all going on, the whole world is in an uproar about Miley Cyrus? Really? We may start World War III with Syria and their ally Russia and the mainstream media is discussing the overly sexual display Miley Cyrus gave during a concert?.... Obviously, my generation is oblivious to the issues in the world, if that is the focus of the media. 

Week 1 Pt 3: Alone in a quiet room. What do you see?

Alone in a quiet room. What do you see?

Directly out of my window, I see trees and forest. My deck with its pitiful grill and faded beach umbrella interrupt the green landscape. The deck is hardly used and is covered with pine needles, none of which I feel compelled to sweep up. Behind the languid outdoor furniture, is a dead tree on my neighbor's property line. This tree is a source of contention, since a woodpecker hollows it out each morning at the crack of dawn. I wish to remove the tree or the woodpecker, either would solve my sleep issues. As I continue to sit here and stare out of my window, the sun begins to peek through the trees, the grey sky is replaced with a burning glow and bright piercing sun shines amongst the branches. My puppy must have noticed the sunshine, she is quietly begging to go outside, I can't resist her face. 

Week 1 Pt 3: Alone in a quiet room. Listen. What do you hear?

Alone in a quiet room. Listen. What do you hear? 

I hear my dog breathing, the quiet rise and fall of her chest. The slight snore escaping from her lips as she sometime inhales too deeply and must force the extra air out. I hear the rustling of the wildlife out of the window, a woodpecker taps noisily at a tree. I cringe and curse at the woodpecker daily, he always begins his work at the crack of dawn. I hear my cat walking across the wooden floor of my house. His double paws and double claws click off the wood. Faintly, I hear the sound of traffic as they quickly whiz by, with no heed to the traffic signs. The sound of my leg interrupts me, I have restless leg syndrome and the tapping against my desk in distracting to my thoughts. No my cat is scratching at my door. Even though most cats are predominately independent, I think I got stuck with the most clingy. 

Week 1 Pt 2: Tuesday

Week 1 Part 2

A Journal of My Week

I woke up this morning with a terrible headache, watching TV all day yesterday definitely had something to do with that. Today is my 2nd day off, and the week feels so long and stretched out before me that I don't know what I am going to do with myself. The prospect of having another day off, with nothing to do, frightens me. Sure, I have class later, but a 3 hour class will not sufficiently fill up my time, so that I will feel like a productive citizen. Every time I feel bored, I try to remind myself that I will work all weekend and they are night shifts, so I should enjoy my relaxation while I am able. However, for some reason I am not able to take my own advice, and here I sit at a computer, leg jiggling as I stare at my screen, trying to make this blog post last, and take up time. 

Week 1 Pt 2: Monday

Week 1 Part 2

A Journal of My Week

Today is Monday, the first day that I have had off in over two months. I find myself relishing in the freedom. I wake when I want, get dressed when I want, and meander slowly through the house with no intention of lifting a finger to the housework that surrounds me. This all lasted until about mid-afternoon. I sat on the couch, bored out of my brains waiting for something of interest to flicker across the TV screen. It didn't. So instead, I cleaned, the.whole.house. Needless to say, the house is spotless, and I am still bored...

English 162