day 6

August 3, 2008 at 2:19 am (Uncategorized)

Today is number 6. This week has been the longest week of my life. When you shape your life around someone and then they are gone – well, it hurts like nothing I have ever felt before. I am experiencing pain in its rawest form, and how it hurts! For the first time, I think I’m experiencing what the death of another person is (although he is absent, not dead) – it is the deepest pain in the world. I wonder when it is going to end. When am I going to feel whole again?

 

            I went to see him yesterday, in the suicide ward of the hospital. He had a nurse on guard all day and all night. He was doing much better – he no longer had any tubes running through him, and was eating whole foods and he no longer needed a catheter.  His tongue was still strangely white, but his color was back and his voice sounded much better, it was still raspy, but not as severe as the other day. He was already talking about business and clients again. His mind was working as it always did — there was no apparent brain damage or memory loss. He said that he is going to be there until Sunday and then he was going 10 days somewhere else to be evaluated. So, it would be a total of 16 days.

            I stayed with him until the night shed its darkness over the world. I hate to drive in the dark, but I had to—I had an hour drive ahead of me….And then he wanted me to come up again today, but a part of me did want to go and another part of me didn’t want to go. First of all, I was running out of gas money and then the outpour of rain, just kept me indoors. But, there was a part of me that said HE DID THIS AND NOW HE HAS TO PAY THE CONSEQUENCES. He put himself in that hospital and I suffer enough. And I am tired and don’t feel like driving 2 hours every day? Am I being selfish? I can’t stand the thought of him in a hospital bed upon his own accord – it irks me. I end up driving 2 hours and paying for parking – being sick is expensive, and I can’t afford it, and the worst part is that I can’t even talk to him.

            I am pulling my hair out because I don’t know what to do about this situation. After seeing him yesterday, I realized that I couldn’t just pick up and leave, that was wrong – I needed to wait until he gets the help he needs.

 

            A week ago we were celebrating his 23rd birthday. Oh, how much one’s life can change in a week –

            And I only have a few more weeks before I really have to get to work and school and he had to ruin my entire vacation – I can’t stand him. I hate him. I can’t stand him. I hate him.

            Do you know what I mean when I say that nothing is the same anymore? I can no longer view anything in life as I once did. Everything is sad and sour. Even writing. I no longer care. I’ve lost the desire to do everything I once loved.

I hope this feeling is just temporary.  

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the end of something that was so great.

July 31, 2008 at 4:06 am (Uncategorized)

          I have always wondered why people are given the lives that they are born with. Why are some people born poor and others born rich? Why do some children have two parents and others only  have one? Why do some of us have the power to attain our dreams and others lack the means? Why do some people suffer so much more than others?

 

          Why? Why? Why? No particular reason that I can name.

 

It is just that something enfolded in the past few days that I would like to share. Share because it gives me comfort and security to know that someone is listening. Please listen and don’t judge.

 

          I have known him for about 7 months now. He has taught me about the world in a new untrammeled way. For the first time, I have been exposed to the utmost greed and corruption, to the degree that I want to scream and pull out my hair.

          His mother. Black widow. Thief. Uneducated. Schizophrenic. Recovered addict. (I never knew one could possibly be all these things at once). She’s on a sleeping medication that could knock me out for at least 3 days. She has dyed blonde hair and dirty teeth. Her face seems misshaped, as though the drugs had deformed her face. D told me that she was the beauty queen when she was younger. She was always told that she could make it through with her good looks. D said that how she managed to get only 2 years in jail instead of 12 or 20.

          His grandfather. M.D. Ever since his wife passed, he has been dead. He is the modern day Scrooge. I wish the ghost of Christmas past would show up at his doorstep and do something about him. Antique connoisseur. He rather buy grenades from World War II than buy dinner for his family. Too thrifty to be nice. Angry. Expressionless. He disowned D from his family for some stupid reason. He is a child.

          His Aunt. Crazy. Manipulating. She turned everyone against me. She tried to commit suicide a few years back, so anything she says goes and must be the truth, right? Death-bearer.

          D. Broken. Lonely. Horrified. Penniless. Desperate. Alone. On the verge of something I would never expect.

 

          Last night, he called me after he had swallowed his mother’s sleeping pills. “I’m OK Angela, I’ll just sleep it off,” but his voice was too sedated and relaxed to be him. Seconds later, I hear his mother rat-like scream–WHERE’s MY MEDICATION!!?? And then hysteria followed. Hysteria like I never heard before. Then the phone went dead.

          Something in my heart broke into the sky. And I didn’t know how to collect the pieces that had fallen into the clouds – for the sky was so wide and infinite – how would I ever be able to pick all of these pieces?

          I lost all my faith in this man. He was a disgrace to me. He was an embarrassment. I could never tell my parents because then they would think I was psycho for going out with a suicidal man. But all I hear is STAY AWAY, Angela, YOU DESERVE BETTER. Not to mention my little sister won’t stop pestering me about how she hates him. But, I could never tell any of them about this.

          First, I cried. Then I was angry. Then I felt bad again. Angry. Bad. Angry. Bad.

Then, I felt the stinging. There was a stinging in my heart that wouldn’t go away. A night went by and I didn’t know whether he was alive or dead. I had no contact with his mother and I knew she wouldn’t talk to me even if I did.

          I called his best friend, and we went together to the hospital. B couldn’t believe that he was in the Intensive Care Unit.

          When I first saw D I couldn’t help it that tears with falling from my eyes. I was told to put on this cape like blue suit and a pair of plastic gloves. I couldn’t control my pulsating heart anymore than I could control my tears. The only thing that was keeping D alive was a breathing tube. Otherwise he was drifting between life and death. The nurses said that he was awake earlier, but that he was too angry — he was punching them and throwing things, and so they sedated him again. For the rest of the night he was sedated.

          D looked the peculiarly the same. His hair surprisingly still looked the way I had seen him last. His eyes were plastered shut and so was his mouth. His face looked a little paler than usual. His finger had a red blinking light on it. He was hooked up to all these different machines that I didn’t want to know anything about. This man had brought this hell upon himself. HOW COULD HE?? He is lying on his deadbed at 23. The day after I spent his 23rd birthday with him. He told me that he always goes through a stint of depression every birthday. I understood, sometimes I am depressed on my birthday, but his depression was different from mine in that it was so real that I could see it in his eyes — like an animal that was fighting to get out of a trap.

          I realized for the first time in my life that I needed to get out of this. It took me a while to see it, but by God this man is mentally unstable and I can never feel whole when I’m with him, because I feel too bad. I need to do what’s best for me and what’s best for me is to move on. And let him go. It’s time for me to go. As it hard it is. I need to move on and be a teacher and live out my dream. Some people will only pull you along with them, pull them along so much that you can no longer breathe, but wonder how you got there in the first place.

          Oh, D, where have you gone?

          I still don’t know where he is now. Maybe he’s in Intensive care, I don’t know. The mother doesn’t care to let me know. I’m the reason for his breakdown.  I made a vow to God that I never want to see that woman again. Never.

As B and I were walking out the Intensive care unit, she said Hello to B with a smile and then looked at me as though I was worse than the Satan. I smiled and kind of waved with my hand. But that denigrating glare will be forever seared in my mind. Let her have him, I thought. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.

Go take care of your son, who you haven’t spoken, a kind word to in months. God sees what you do when no one else does. God sees everything.

Let it go, Angela, let it go. I still have to learn to do this.

Right there I knew it was the end for us. It had to be. I wasn’t in the right place. I was hated immensely – by a crazy person — for no reason. But that memory will always be etched in my mind. This instance will always leave me feeling sick. I will never be able to stomach anything when I think about it. Never.

          I don’t know what I will do when I see him again. If I do, I don’t know. But, if you could say a prayer for this man, I would be forever grateful.

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welcome back

May 20, 2008 at 6:58 pm (Uncategorized)

How can the beauty of language not be connected to the beauty of life?

Now that school is out I will have plenty of time to write and reflect and perhaps that is all I will do today on this cold, rainy May afternoon. I wanted to take a walk, but not in this ugly weather. So, I woke really late – really late—around 1 o’clock and now I wonder what to do with the day. When my mother hates me. When my cell phone is lost. When I can’t see my boyfriend.

 

This is a fictional piece…

 A mother’s love for her child is unconditional, right? I mean I don’t have children but I assume this to be true. I thought that my mother understood me better than anyone, but I have to come to realize that she doesn’t understand much. I hate, absolutely hate, when we fight, just because she has so much to worry about already – leave me alone! But the truth of the matter is a simple: I AM NOT A CHILD ANYMORE. I hate when she treats me like a little kid and refuses to recognize the fact that I am 22 years old and I am 7 years away from 30 (middle age!). And meanwhile in the back of my mind I think, mom at this time you were married and you were almost pregnant with me!

 

When parents hinder their children from experience, you deny them from a part of their humanity. I wish she had a greater capacity for empathy, but she has none — I sometimes think. I think  my mother’s refusal to read has really limited her ability to see the struggles of others. It’s sad to say, but one who doesn’t read or refuses to read, will never understand the world in the same way as an avid reader does. I have lived another life in those pages and I have developed at new way of thinking and perceiving the world – one that no one could have taught me except through books. The world is so different to me now. Everything I see is like a poem, I see a story with each new experience, and metaphors come spilling out of my mouth. How can the beauty of language not be connected to the beauty of life?

 

Although there is a type of detached comfort in being home, I hate being stuck amid these walls again. School is out, and so is my life, it seems. I never knew how restrictive these walls were until I experienced LIFE. I never knew what existed outside, until I let myself open up like a flower in the cool months of April. Whenever that flower has blossomed it never does close up – it only spends its time sulking and wilting….It always turns its head toward the sunlight. It always smiles in the summer rain. It loves being around all other types of flowers and it doesn’t like when night comes.  Flowers are a lot like humans.

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a few scary cats

May 18, 2008 at 3:01 am (Uncategorized)

          “Can you do Angela’s hair?” D asked in a polite voice, one that I fell in love with. I could hear his aunt’s raspy voice on the other end. She didn’t sound too excited.

“Yeah, alright.” I nodded unsure of whether this was a good idea or not. I didn’t know his Aunt J too well, but she seemed nice, just a little off, but I wasn’t sure why. D told me stories about her, stories that would make you cringe and want to cry. But, whenever meeting people I try not to judge from preconceived notions, and I try to see the full human being without judgment.

          I had a dance later on that day and my hair was too frizzy, curly, and not just the way I wanted it. I imagined that I would somehow turn the straighter on extra heat in order to flatten out my waves. I was excited and I wanted to feel good and look different.

          D’s grandfather lives in a large Victorian style home, he told me that a Colonel lived there during world war. I really loved the high ceilings, the long, elaborate windows, and the arched doorways. His aunt lived upstairs.

          Upon our way up the bare stairs, we reached a small space which was cluttered with too many things to name. I don’t remember much other than I couldn’t breath. The air was heavy with smoke and animals. I remember that a skinny grey cat scampered past me and went into the nearby room which was lit by a dim, yellow light. We followed the cat in.

          In the corner of the room, there was a shaggy black and white dog on a leash barking. A few cats fled in and out. I wondered how many animals lived here.

          The room could have looked wonderful. The walls were painted a creamy peach, and the windows were stapled shut with a similar color curtains. The furniture was old and yet full of color, covered in dust. The bed was in the center of the room, it looked like a cloud. There was a fireplace with a wonderful mantle, but it was filled with so many trinkets – a cross, pictures of Jesus, candles, and old socks.

          I took a seat on the bed and waited for her to come with her beauty supplies. D sat down next to me and started to type on his laptop. Aunt J soon came back with a strange concoction of hair gels—one that looked like suntan oil.  Aunt J was a simple woman. She wore a pink t-shirt and jeans. She looked a lot like D with the dove-shaped eyes and Roman nose. Her hair was brown and streaked with gold.

          “You know this stuff is really heavy, it’s good for your hair, and it should keep the curls down,” she showed me the bottle and began to drench my hair with this “heavy” lotion. I could feel my hair becoming curlier.

          “You know before we really start. I was wondering if I could use your bathroom?” She smiled and led me down the hall, and I followed, trying to avoid a cord that was obstructing my path. She led me to the doorway, and I paused when I saw two cats sitting near the white tub staring right at me!

          “Are those cats OK? They look sick,” She looked at me in disbelief. The two white cats looked sat each other and continued to gaze at me with piercing eyes. I wanted to runaway. They looked like they were going to attack.

          “Of course not!” But her smile was skeptical and I didn’t know her well enough to know whether she was telling the truth. I suddenly didn’t have to go anymore and I left the bathroom.

          When I reentered the bedroom, D was still on his computer. “What’s the matter with those cats?” He shrugged and didn’t look up from what he was doing.

          For the next hour, Aunt J continued to straighten my hair and lather it with different gels and oils. By the time she exclaimed that she was “all finished!” I left with my hair looking curlier than it was went I got in. More curls, more curls, more atrocious curls!

          Why! Why! Why! I asked myself again and again. How do I get myself in these messes? With scary beady-eyed cats and smoky rooms and places with no sunlight?

          I think Aunt J was a nice lady, but I don’t think she was paying any attention to my hair. She continued to chat about this and that, and she was easy to talk to, but still I wanted my hair to look straight!

“How many dogs and cats do you have?” I asked when the silence became overbearing.

“I have two dogs and six cats,” I nodded. “I just love animals, you know. I would love to breed them, but the recession…” I didn’t know what to say, so I just kept quiet.

When she asked me how she thought my hair looked, I smiled and I told her that it looked really nice.

          “How does it look D?” He looked up from his computer.

          “Nice,” D said with a smile. “It looks nice.”

It was a relief when D asked if I was ready to leave. I gave him my pleading look and he knew. My throat ached. The heaviness of the air had left my feelings of thirst insatiable. The animals watched as I gathered together my things and headed out the door, down the stairs.

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a sad awakening

May 12, 2008 at 12:21 am (Uncategorized)

 

It’s been awhile again…Hasn’t it? I don’t know why I just can’t manage to post on a regular basis like I used to? I think a lot of it stems from the fact that I just don’t have time or I always choose to forgo writing time during the day….But, now that summer is approaching,  I will try to pick this back up again. Those who need to write, should write…it is part of our humanity to express and grapple with the thoughts on our minds…

 

Today is Mother’s Day!!! Happy Mother’s Day!! With the little money that my sisters and I scrapped together, we managed to buy my mom purple flowers and my little sister and I bought a wooden plaque and wrote Best Mom! in all different paint colors – blues, pinks, oranges, and greens. Although every year my mom insists that she DOES NOT WANT anything – we continually buy/make her things each and every year…Who, may I ask, does not like receiving gifts? My point exactly. J

 

 

What’s new with your life? Nothing really here. I don’t know what to say. For the first time I am at loss for words!!! What to do! What to say! Let’s see….Ummm….

 

The other day D and I were driving to dinner and we passed the cemetery in which his Nonna was buried. “Angela take a left here,” he said and left no question about it. My stomach was growling but when I realized I was entering a cemetery it suddenly dropped. I drove through the empty little roads, and I felt as though I was breaking in on holy ground…

 

“Stop the car here!” I made a stop under the most beautiful dogwood tree that was just coming to full blossom. When I got out of my car and looked up into the umbrella of pinkness I smiled in relief. If could end up buried anywhere in the entire world, it would be here, under this tree… “Angela, come on! It’s over here.”

 

I followed him past scores of graves, some that were magnificent crosses and others that were tiny and almost hidden in the grass…For some reason I was scared, and my heart started to race. I wanted to leave. I didn’t like this place.

As D walked further and further in the cemetery, I was struck by a feeling of loss that I didn’t know what to do with. I didn’t know what to do with that feeling, the feeling that someday none of us – none of my family would exist…that we would be buried underground and never eat another meal together or take another vacation or go pumpkin picking or go hunting for Christmas trees in Silvermine’s farm….

 

I tried to push these thoughts out of my mind as I wandered around and admired the bright, sunny afternoon. D lead me to the grave of his Nonna, and when he reached it, he knelt and touched the gravestone – the side that was his Nonna’s (his Nonna has his place ready next to her)…and he murmured some words that only I could hear. A tear slowly fell down my cheek and then another followed. I tried to hide my sadness and when he looked up at me, I only smiled. I could tell his eyes were wet.

 

“Come on, Angela, let’s go,” but the strange part was that I wanted to stay and listen for just a little longer. There was something that Nonna was trying to tell us, and I wanted to sit and listen to her for awhile longer. He continued to plead as though there was a wild dog after us or something. “Let’s go!”

 

“Alright…” I examined her grave on last time before we headed off to the dogwood tree and the car.

 

 

 

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i’m done

May 5, 2008 at 1:45 am (Uncategorized)

I moved out of my apartment today. Not because I wanted to but simply because I had to. There was no other choice then to leave that place and this phase in my life. I need to get away from my school before I burst and explode. Beside a few friends and my professors (including hobgoblin, of courseJ), I desperately want to leave and get away from all this drama. I have been interrogated for the past couple of weeks and I can’t take it anymore, I can’t take the pain and torment and depression that it fills my heart. Because this is such an unnecessary nuisance in my life. There are helpless people dying in Darfur and yet these people are concerned about a stupid no-trespassing warrant that should never had been issued in the first place. I stand for justice and what I am facing is UNJUST, yet I am being punished by the university and my peers for it. My mother told me WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS? I have always been good to other people and what in the world did I do to deserve such spite from others?

 

I hated going back there. I hated the dim lighting and how my roommate’s blonde hair would always cling to my things.  I hated her bouts her silence and how that angry glare of hers that made my insides shiver and cold. I hated that way she spoke to me as though she knew and I didn’t. Maybe that’s why I was never around. Maybe that’s why I purposely slept in other’s people’s places just to get away. Away from that hell. Away from that dark chamber that was always so cold that I needed a heavy sweater. Away from the blank walls and her perfect way of things. Away – faraway from all that mess!!!  

 

Last night, I broke the rules, probably for the first time in my life, and I decided to resign from my position as an RA at my school. But, I take responsibility for my own actions and I will take whatever punishment there may in front of me. The thing is that the whole issue is pathetic – pathetic!!! And I don’t think it is justifiable and so I guess you could say that I am rebelling against what society claims is right and true. For the first time in my life – I realize now more than ever—I finally ACTED. There are no more Joe Christmas’s in my closet (sorry I could think of no better representation)—I am not running in circles – I am free. It’s a hard world and we hard fragile creatures – so freedom is there but it always overshadowed by our minds and other people who try to snatch it away.

 

So, I called my mom last night and she was surprisingly sympathetic, there was no yelling and screaming but only a quiet calmness.

“Mom, I’m in trouble,” silence ensued for what seemed like minutes.

“What happened?” And I began telling her my saga and she said nothing just that she had enough of this and that I was leaving in the morning. “I’ll be there at 8,” I felt so relived. Finally someone had an answer!!! I thought I would be the happiest person in the world once I set foot out of that horrible, dreary place that I could never quite call home.

 

So while my evil roommate was sleeping or pretending to sleep my mom cleared out my apartment. As I took down all my posters and paintings, I realized that the walls were consumed by an overwhelming sense of whiteness – what hell might look like, I though. Her life was plain and simple and nothing on the walls was hers. By the time all my stuff – including my bookcase, my reading chair, and my flowers — was moved out, the room was bare and empty. Nothing remained but blue tacky stuff on the walls and lone tacks, but I felt sorry for her. I could never live in such an empty, lonely place in which not even the windows shed light. A place without books – oh what a dismal place! My mom suggested that I leave a note, but I didn’t want to. “She’ll figure it out,” I said. Someone who betrays you like that doesn’t deserve any goodbye.

 

After we loaded the car to maximum capacity, we sped away as we listened to the things in cardboard boxes ringing in the backseat. I enjoyed the silence and I didn’t want to disrupt it with anything. I had peace again. It felt good.

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i’m back! read me

April 27, 2008 at 4:37 am (Uncategorized)

I’m not going to write too much here because I’m tired. But tonight I felt a compulsion to write and so I simply am.

 

There’s a lot to what goes into a life. There’s betrayal. There’s backstabbing people who see you in the hallway and nod as though they know. There’s administration who thinks they know you but they really don’t. And then there’s the people who try to understand and try to give me the right advice, when in fact they don’t know me or my FRIENDS at all. I hate people who try and ACT like they KNOW – I’m sorry if this sounds like an obnoxious rant, but I honestly feel so twisted inside, and I have to get this out somehow. So many things have happened to me this semester, so many things that I can never reveal here and to the world.

 

Let’s just say that I have experienced a new type of life. One in which includes love and yet so much fighting and arguing. What is love anyway? I wonder. How do you know for sure what love is? I discovered this love for the first time in my life last night.

 

All of a sudden D seemed to go cold. I touched his face and called his name but he didn’t respond. I tried to push him to wake him up but he only fell over the mattress helplessly, as though he was paralyzed. I was so shocked and scared. I didn’t know what to do. So I did what my instincts told me to. I scooped him up from the ground and rocked him in my arms. “D! D!” I shouted. “Come back! Come back!” And in a few moments I had nursed him back to life. His eyes slowly opened and he looked at me with those dove-shaped eyes of his, and I started to cry. I knew what love meant at that precise moment. All of our memories together came flooding through my mind. Those long, cold nights on the phone at home. That day eating past with his Nonno. That time we made chicken cutlet and tomato salad with too much garlic. That time we went wrote our names in gigantic letters in the sand. That time he picked a flower from a Dogwood tree and gently stuck it behind my ear. That time he wanted to draw me. That time we danced in my little apartment to Eric Clapton’s “You look wonderful tonight.” That time I first met him – all of these memories were all racing through my mind and though I tried to control them, I realized that I didn’t want to try. I wanted them to linger there, because I didn’t want to lose what we had created.

 

What is love? I ask myself now. Love is just Love. It can only be explained through memory and precise moments which bring us closest to another person. So close that we only want to breathe their air, and we only want to hear their voice, and smell their skin. What do you think?

 

 

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a day too long

March 29, 2008 at 3:52 am (Uncategorized)

Let’s see what happened today. I worked for so many hours it seems. I had to get up early to do my observations and I spent the day a school nearby, in a fifth grade class. The day was so LONG, and drawn out, that I though I would soon cry out in exhaustion and frustration. The teacher, Ms. J, was sweet and yet determined, but all she did was REPRIMAND. Please sit down, stop talking, stop talking, pay attention, listen! and on and on she went with this and that.

By the end of the day all I wanted to do was cry out and  surrender. For this is the reason that I CANNOT and WILL NOT teach any grade but older students. I can’t imagine standing up there yelling and screaming all day. How can that be satisfying? There was no learning taking place in that classroom, nothing but waiting for this and that. Waiting for class to begin and for everyone to be quiet, waiting for the bathroom and for the water fountain, and for this and that…… I left the class with an aching head and an empty stomach. Even though I was given a hot lunch, I forced it down my throat. It was pizza packaged in plastic, and it was half frozen and half cooked, and the pepperoni tasted like it had been sitting there for years. Even the chocolate milk was too warm to drink. But, the students acted as if it was Thanksgiving dinner or something! They devoured the food, and left nothing on their lunch trays.  So, that was my long and strenuous day at W Elementary School. I was tired of smiling, I’ll tell you honestly. My face muscles are exhausted and tired of the act. They really are.

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a lot to say

March 26, 2008 at 1:50 am (Uncategorized)

I had about a week off again for vacation, and tomorrow I begin the rush of school/hw/classes again, but I don’t want to go back just yet. Apart of me misses the social scene, eating lunch and dinner with my friends, and tutoring and mentoring — but the other part of me just wants to stay home and let the world pass me by. I keep forgetting that I am graduating in May. Yes, this May! 

I had an interview last week at high school nearby which I didn’t get. I was really disappointed after I found out. It was one of those interviews that you didn’t really know what to say afterward. It just felt weird. I was interviewed by two older men who looked at me skeptically from the beginning. I tried my best in the interview, and I threw in my knowledge of books and such, but still I could tell they weren’t interested in all that. They hadn’t even looked at my resume and all my accomplishments either. So…that’s that I guess. But, I have another interview next week at a middle school. AHHH!!! I might have to teach middle school!!! This thought really leaves me feeling a little upset, just because I really don’t want to teach a bunch of hormone-raging adolescents….I don’t want to teach grammar/punctuation/etc…I want to teach actual literature. I don’t know. I really don’t know. AHHHH!!!  

But, I went to the library tonight to see one of my favorite librarians and we talked as she worked for about an hour. I miss working there! But, apart of me is over it, I think. I need to get over things sometimes that I just don’t want to. I was telling my sister the other day that I had more friends in that library than I did in my entire high school. There are so many memories there. I met so many people and I miss it.  

I told S all about Ireland and I even pulled up some pictures from the computer, and she really admired the beautiful scenery…It’s just nice to feel connected to the world again. After being very reclusive the past couple of days, it feels good to get out and talk to people again, besides my family anyway. Some people just make you feel happy to be alive and S is one of those people. I could talk to her about whatever for hours. I used to love working with her at the circulation desk for this very reason. We would talk and sometimes get in trouble by our supervisor because of it. But we would only laugh it off and continue to chat. Libraries were made for conversation, weren’t they?  

For my modern novel class I have to read The Sound and the Fury, and I just began it the other day – yes on my VACATION! I never read it before but I feel as though I will really need to go back and reread soon. I am almost done with the first section, and things are very hazy in my mind. All the action seems disconnected and it is really hard to follow what exactly is going on. I think its steam of consciousness maybe? But, I have learned that as a reader, we aren’t supposed to connect every single detail that we read. So I learned to be patient and calm and just keep reading in the hope that the pieces will soon come together. But still – this story is insane! It’s insane and yet so intriguing.  

During the break, I wrote and illustrated (with the help of my sister and mom) my very own children’s book! It’s my final project for my education class and I decided to do a book on the life of Langston Hughes. All I can say about my book is that it’s very beautiful, colorful, and full of life – it screams READ ME!!! I think I will reflect on the book later though because I should get some more reading done before bed. Good night!

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the egg boy

March 25, 2008 at 2:20 am (Uncategorized)

Okay, so I am putting in a valiant effort everyday to write, even if it is just for a little while. First, I hope everyone had a nice relaxing Easter. I spent the day relaxing, talking, and eating mostly.  

Anyway, I want to share a story that the priest shared during his homely. It really struck me and I want to share it with you. Please listen if you have the time. During CCD (after school religious program) the teacher

gave each 2nd grade student a colorful plastic egg. She then instructed them to go outside and find something

 that symbolized rebirth inside – so the students did as they were told and scampered around the small pieceof land in search of the most beautiful flower or leaf. When they scuttled back into the classroom, they proudly placed their eggs into a wicker basket. As the teacher opened each egg she found many flowers, leafs, berries, petals, but she frowned when she opened one egg and found nothing inside.   

“Who’s egg is this?” The teacher asked.

“It’s mine!” The boy shouted without hesitation from the back of the classroom. This boy was always picked on. He had Down Syndrome. The other students always berated him for this reason or that and said things like “You never do anything right.”

“You didn’t do the assignment,” the teacher said.

“BUT, I did do the assignment,” he countered. The teacher and the students turned to face him. “There is nothing in the egg, because there was nothing in the tomb.”  The class remained silent and the teacher smiled. ***         

This boy died a few weeks later. He was truly a boy from another place. All I could think was the Romantics and how only the children can truly see the truth of life and meaning and purpose. During his funeral service, each student from his class brought an egg and placed it in a basket near his grave.  

Now I look at Easter in such a different way. I think of this child. This child who spoke the truth before he left this world in hopes of a better one.

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