Sadness is not a state of the heart. It is a state of the mind. We seem to define sadness as an emotion or a feeling, not as what it really is - the price of ignorance. This sounds very strange; perhaps you have never heard of such an absurd definition. But listen. People seem to think that human feelings are what make human beings. We can feel anger, fear, despair, boredom (perhaps this very moment) - but can animals? In the same degree, no. Therefore, man illogically reasons that his emotions make him different than mice, panda bears and moose. This is but one step away from the truth.
Animals have emotions (anyone with a happy dog or a melancholy cat can testify to this), but they are confined in 'animal nature.' Our emotions are guided by a rational nature. We have intellect and will. Animal's don't. This brings the circle of discourse back to my definition of sadness, the price of ignorance. Every sad event always has a "Why?" hidden behind it, to which we have no answer. We just do not understand.
Strange Definition
A Little Bit of Love Poetry
So... here's a little something I wanted to share :) I think it is beautiful.
Resembles the wind blowing through the sea;
Your calm, soft words come to me through the water
The moonlight casts shadows of love on the beach.
-by Someone at the Beach
One Quarter Too Much
This previous Monday night was the first night of Nutcracker practice. In Ballet, we worked on “Waltz of the Flowers” for about one and a half hours. Then I went downstairs to the small back studio with three other girls and Mrs. V.
I put on my dead pointe shoes, worked on an impossible dance for an hour and 15 minutes and went back to the dressing room.
I forgot my water.
Parched, I went outside to the cool fall air, and immediately my mother shows up.
Good for her.
I hopped in the car, looked around for a drink. Anything at all that could solve this problem I had.
Nothing.
I asked her if she wouldn’t mind stopping at the next gas station, just really quickly, so I could get a drink.
We passed about 5 of them, before she pulled in at one. I got twelve quarters, and ran in as she pumped the gas.
It took me about 10 minutes, unable to decide whether I wanted a huge bottle of water or sweet tea.
I went for the tea. Which was One Dollar and Sixty Nine cents.
I got in line, with three people in front of me. It was the only cashier open.
The woman who was checking out finished up, and started walking away. She was probably about mid or late 20’s, and as she walked away this older man whispered something to her, giggled and continued to check her out. She completely ignored him.
Then the second person, a very short man who didn’t know an inch of English, went up to the counter. The man who had whispered something to the young girl went and stood next to the non-english speaker and began talking to him.
“Hello, how are you doing?”
“…uhh… good”
“Working hard?”
“Uhh, yes”
“Barely any jobs around lately… I was just laid off. They told me they didn’t need me anymore.. I was mad. Very mad. They told me I was too old. Which I am… I am too old. Around 64, or something… yeah, 64”
At this point, the young cashier (who… if I may say so, was very, very good looking) who I could tell was listening in on the conversation, looked up at the two men, smiled and then looked over at me… smile still on his face.
The older man went on as the short man started to walk away
“I’m Claude, by the way! Have a nice evening”
He was next… and handed over the 6 pack of beer to the cashier.
“Will that be it for you?” he said, smiling still.
“Well, I want ten dollars on pump… oh, damn… I’ve forgotten what pump! pump… 8, I think”
The cashier looked at him for a long while
“Oh, fine… I’ll go check. But, for now, I want a pack of Ultra Lites” he said, pointing back to the rack of cigarettes.
Claude turned to me and smiled “I’m really sorry about this” as he turned to go check what pump number he was
I smiled and said it was “fine, I really don’t mind”
At this, the cashier turned around with the cigarettes and a huge smile. I smiled back, naturally.
The old, workless man came back in.
“I told you… it was pump eight, see? Now… ten dollars please”
“Alright… is that it?” the cashier said, still smiling, and still glancing over at me with amusement on his face.
“Nope, that’ll be it.”
After paying, Claude began to walk out, turned back to me and said “Have a nice evening” and smiled.
I was next. I put my sweet tea down on the counter… the cashier asked me if that was it, still smiling.
“Nope, that’s all” I said, of course smiling back.
“One Seventy Four”
I fumbled around with my quarters… unable to count for some reason.
I grabbed a handful, slammed them down on the counter and slid them over.
“Uhh… that should be it.. maybe not. I’m not really sure”
He chuckled, counted them, and handed one back.
He then grabbed a penny, looked up at me again, smiling.
“You want the penny?”
“Oh… no, I don’t think so. You can have it”
I smiled and left.
After retelling the story to my mother, she decided we’ll be stopping at that particular gas station more often.
I agreed whole-heartedly.
Decisions
Two things happened to me on Sunday morning. Both of them happened directly after mass. One was very small, and really had nothing extraordinary about it at all. The second event was incredibly surprising; something that was entirely interconnected with the first. Neither of them would have happened if I hadn’t made those previous and very small decisions. Little decisions that I never looked back at or really even thought about at all when making them.
The decision-making started the night before, when I decided to watch a suspenseful movie with my parents. It wasn’t all that scary, but I had moved my bed around recently, therefore uncovering my OCD-ness, and I haven’t been sleeping well anyways. The movie didn’t help all that much. It was a great movie, but a little thing happened in it that had to do with a bed. Therefore I couldn’t sleep. I decided to read Sense and Sensibility, which made me crave the movie. My mom was awake, unable to sleep either, so we decided to watch it. Which made us stay up late.
The next morning was Sunday, and since we stayed up late, we woke up late – naturally.
So, it takes my mom a great while to get ready for church. My dad and I were ready in about 10 minutes, and she had just gotten out of the shower. She told us to go ahead, come back straight afterwords, and she’ll take the car to the later mass. After mass, I wanted to talk with friends, so I made another decision – to ride home with my grandma, instead of my dad, so I could chat a bit.
While chatting, we made these slight and last minute decisions to take these random turns around the church. That’s when I saw my grandma and uncle, talking with my friend’s mother (who could very well be my mother) and they were talking to these two people from my church.
This is where the little events took place.
-I was greeted in a way I have never been before.
-I was introduced to someone, and I had a feeling that they will change my life forever.
I just don’t know how.
I feel as if… if I hadn’t made the decision to watch the movies, my mother and I would have woken up in time, I wouldn’t have decided to ride with my grandmother, I wouldn’t have run up to her after church, and I wouldn’t have met these people.
Have you ever made a decision, just a simple one… but after it leading to an event that never could have happen without that decision- you realize that your life isn’t going to be the same…
Tip: Trust God – He works in the most amazing and unexpected ways imaginable.
Hope, Life and Growing Older
There are few places in this world that I really and truly love. Most of which are places I will probably never see again, because they’re thousands of miles away. Even so, I keep them in my heart, and I continually find myself dreaming of them, pretending I’m there.
You know those songs that you love so much, but you listen to them over and over and over again, and eventually you get so tired of them you never want to hear them again? I admit, I do that… except for two songs.
Viva la Vida by Coldplay and
Hope Vol. II by Apocalyptica.
I love those songs too much to constantly listen to them, because I never want to be tired of them.
I also have a place like that, only a few feet outside my house. I rarely go there, because I want it to remain special forever, just like those places in Ireland, Italy and so forth. I like for it to remain special, so that every time I sit there it’s like a whole new experience.
It’s my front porch swing.
Silly, I know. But it has so many memories. So many memories of when I was younger, where my brothers and I would try to flip each other on it, where my parents would swing me to sleep. But now I’m too old to sit on their laps, and my brothers are too busy with being Fire Fighters and Flying Planes… (sounds like they’re 4 or 5, but truth is… they’re 20 and 21)
My younger brother’s moving out sometime early next year, and these past few months, I feel like I’ve grown closer to him then I have ever been. Even closer than we were when he’d flip me on the swing.
That’s why I only visit my favorite place rarely, even if it is only a few feet away.
It’s too special to get tired of.
Tip: Never forget
Blowing With the Wind
...and her lithe form reached the summit of the hill but a moment after the sun was caught within the trap of twilight. Yet, the sky retained it's summer blue and the wind had no inclination of arresting. She stood there beneath the clouds in the midst of a lofty field of hay. All three objects together moved in synchronization. It was a symphony of quivering violins ordering their movement, not the wind....
The Day That Lied
The Day That Lied
I woke up at five for the sunrise. The house was silent, and peaceful - very rare. The sun rose at about 5:45, and brought with it the golden glorious light of morning. The birds were singing their heads off; the trees were that vivid shade of green that lasts for about a week before it subsides to the sober dark green of summer. It was the perfect temperature, slightly chilly with a tinge of the young sun’s new rays. I studied Theology joyfully thinking what a wonderful day it would be. The day promised so much with all its sweet crispness. Everything would be perfect.
By 2:00 I was inundated. There was so much to do, and so little time. The relentless radiant sun soared across the sky without a second thought about what little time it left in its stead. The Geometry Ch. 8 Test by 2:15 had to be done. As well as three chapters of fabulous Philosophy that I had managed to mindlessly put off. Oh, and that blasted Biology test due Tuesday, which I hadn’t even read the chapter for. Not to mention the 4 weeks of backed up Latin. How it lingered without my realization… I’ll never know. Did I mention the essay due Friday which I haven’t even commenced? Or the Geometry quiz and Algebra homework both due tomorrow? What abut all those sorry Humanities quizzes that keep slipping by?
The day didn’t listen when I told it. It was heartless, and ignored my pressing pleas. The birds still sang their contented song, lacking nothing in their perfect lives. The fair trees stayed green, they wouldn’t even fall a leaf for me. The sky remained cloudless, retaining its broken promise: The promise now smashed to glittering pieces, and flung far amid the heavens. The shards made it ever more splendid.
It ought have been, a grey, dismal, cloudy, day. Silent birds, brown trees, and a drizzly day. A furious tornado would have been fitting. Instead, it was the converse. How very strange and cruel of a day to break its steadfast promise.
Do not doubt me, I won’t forget it.
Tip: Don't trust days.
Tristia
C.M. Esperanza
If there was a whisper, it could not be heard,
If there was a doubt, hoping was absurd....
If there was a raindrop, it fell not from the sky;
If it were a silent night, you just might hear a sigh.
The Master Plan
Plans are but figments of your imagination. Yes, they appear perfect and wholesome in the minds eye, but like all other figments, pink elephants per exemple, they can never take shape in reality. (Ty, Sarah! *g*) No matter how perfectly you plan a day, how impeccable your To Do list might be, something inevitably goes wrong. The lines of causualty are far to dense and intricate for one to account for in a plan. No matter if the plan is for an hour, a day, or the rest of one's life, there are variables for every possible decision. From experience, I know this. Each morning, I write a list. Perhaps it has five items, maybe fifteen. Once it had thirty. By the end of the day, I have crossed out two. What happened? I worked as hard as I could, yet it wasn't enough. What changed? Several people I know have their lives sublimely planned out. After highschool thus will happen, then such and such. It seems flawless, ja?
How many plans come to the ultimate end? But then again, how shall we define this "ultimate end"? Take the example of the long list. Is the ultimate end having all 30 items gleefully checked off? Or is it something more? Do we cross the item off for the sake of doing so, or for the sake of doing the the thing, per se? Obviously the latter. (Perhaps I may be a single exception: I ruefully admit to occasionally adding items to my list for only the pleasure of checking them off. It gets horribly discouraging when you work so hard and seem to have accomplished nothing.) We have concluded that it is for the sake of the act that we make plans. And so, if the plan is thwarted, and the act is not successfully done, do we call it a FAIL? No. The list can be crumpled and burned, but there is a second act in place of the one which was lost. This is the act which conflicted with the planned one. It is possible, though not always easy, to transform all these anomalous mistakes into worthwhile things. Things, as such, which could be counted among the planned items. Is this clear?
In short, we can plan our lives away, and lament our distress when we don't clear the hedge on the first jump, or we can make the best of the situtation no matter how drastic it is. It can be regarded as the Omnipotent Master Plan - we write down half of the items which we wish to accomplish, and God provides the other half for us, as He sees fit.
“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.”
-Woody Allen
TIP: Climb the ladder to the sun! Keep writing lists, and making plans, but don't let them guide your life. They will never suffice.
Men and Mountains
My dearest Jane,
You once exclaimed to me: "Oh, what are men to rocks and mountains!" May I have the pleasure of informing you? Men are exceedingly akin to rocks and mountains, from my point of view. Perhaps it will become your point of view in a moment as well. Men are strong, steadfast, durable, and cunningly unobtrusive, if they wish to be. This is as rocks. As mountains, they are somewhat similar in a different nature. They, most, are tall. (Yet, even those that are not of exceeding height may be intelligent and good natured. This has nothing to do with mountains, and I include unheightly men in my analogy. But it is far from me to leave possible the assumption that I retain a position biased against those of average height. I speak from my own experience. Proceeding-) Tallness, however is not a vital aspect of man. Rather, this mountainous altitude is analogous to their levels of mens' complexity. Nay, I do not claim that the taller the subject the more confusing he is. Men are undoubtedly quite simple, but it is this simplicity which reflects from unassuming ignorant, young ladies as an intricate pattern of intended mystifying bewilderingness. Mountains are tall, beautiful and simple. Men are tall, handsome and simple. Let us leave it at that. I thank you for you time, my dear Jane.
With love,
C. Esperanza
P. S. I must not conclude without giving you this one note of advice, don't assume because men are simple in nature, they are simple in mind. You, of all people ought to know this.
Oh, brother! My conclusion (or is it the begining?) on the subject of brothers.
C: I think she meant to do that.
Unseen Doorway
Beyond the Unseen doorway,
Over the black marble wall
Along the path, cracked and grey,
Into the clear crystal hall.
Treading the aisle of glass
Approaching a Brilliant Light
Blinded by the sought at last
He foolishly fled in fright.
[Reference to my Catholic interpretation of Plato's Cave)
Tip: It is worse to be blinded by darkness, than by light.
An Ode to Tim
[Ultra-Exaggeration based on a true story]
Alas, my Timothy, I am carried away,
5 states from thou, my sweet love will stay.
I shall never forget the day that we spent,
Dost thou remember my English accent?
Alas, for your dark haired and rumpled toupee...
And when away you gracefully glide
Only to stop when this gift you spied,
My heart! My heart! Oh, how it sings,
It carries me off upon golden wings.
For days ever after I sat down and sighed....
O, my Sweet Timothy, your dearest gift to me,
Was the ravenest of jet, and darkest of ebony,
Smoother and sweeter than sugar or satin,
and utterly impossible more to blacken.
O, how thoughtful and kind, my dear Timothy!
[Written only to give you a laugh, dear Gabrielle! ;)]
Tip: Buy Molasses!
With Liberty and Justice
"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the Republic for which it stands: One Nation, Under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all."
Ja, I'm ranting again - sorry. It's just that I've never cared about an election so much before; maybe never so much was held at stake. After thinking it over, I realized why this election is so important. Whatever choice Americans make today, will affect so much more than is plainly visible. The next generation - yes, that's us - will have to live with the consequences made today. Whatever they are. Here's what the American Flag stands for (or used to):
Red - Valor and bravery
White - Purity and innocence
Blue - Vigilance, perseverance, and justice
Purity, and justice, eh? I think a couple politicians forgot about that. Americans hang flags a lot more than other countries. Stores, cars, houses... nearly everything is adorned with them. That's because we're so proud of our country! This pride, in thousands and thousands of cases, is on the edge of the well sharpened knife. Why would we be glad to hang a symbol of the right to innocents' destruction? I wouldn't.
As a matter of fact, I'd be ashamed to.
TIP: Vote for life, so we'll have a real reason to be proud of America.
On Echoes
Echos, she says. Echos. I've heard the best way to overcome Writers Block is to write about the most common, random thing you can think of- as much as possible. ...but echoes?! What do I know about echoes, except they echo?
From the most distant shadows of my mind (In a disorderly heap of thousands of proofs, infinitums, basidiospores, ablatives of separation, Demosthenes, and Macedonians...), I hear the whisper of an echo... Somewhere in this past week, I've heard the word "echo". All I can remember is that it struck me in a peculiar way.
--Later.--
I won't bother telling how I happened upon this- it would take up a whole post... but it is undoubtedly where my whispered echo came from. One of the most admirable poems I've ever read.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
Winter Perfomances
Ballet for me is more than exercise. More than attention and fame. Ballet is a piece of me that I could never let go. Getting ready for winter performances. Slipping on leg warmers while chatting and trading with friends. Finding a shrug that matches, and freezing as you take off your jeans. Slipping on one worn out shoe after another and stretching your “never perfect enough” arches. Picking out your specific place at “your” barre. Working on plies and relevés. Then moving on to developpés. Back to the bar, and both hands on it. You move your leg higher and higher than before. Past your nose. Then, you let go with the right hand and move it to third position. A tiny wiggle, but you keep your leg strong. You take the left hand, and move it slightly. A little more of a wiggle, but, you still stay strong. You get both hands to third, with your back straight, and no bent knees. You bring your leg to the side, still above your ear. And with a détourné bring it to arabesque with arms in fourth. You bring the leg down slowly. After enough warm-ups at the barre, you move it to the side of the room, and prepare to do a single, then double Piqué turn, bring your leg out and do four fouettés, then a soutenu and repeat, but with an arabesque at the end. Then clapping at the end of warm ups. The instructor gives instructions on how to wait before going on stage, how to hang the costumes, and where the head pieces are. The show starts within an hour, and the doors are about to open. We all go our different ways to touch up make up and hair. By the time the auditorium is nearly full, every one is ready for their first dance, and are peeking out to see if their family has arrived. The music starts, the curtains open. You are out in the lights, you can barely see the crowd, the sweat is already dripping. The music is deafening and the crowd’s clapping makes your heart pound more than ever. They all have their eyes on you. You start the dance you have been working on for months now. Making sure you smile. You are one with the music, one with the stage, one with the lights, and one with the dance. You finish your dance and walk to the front. A smile of relief as you curtsy spreads across your face. You run off stage to get dressed for your next dance.
42 Seconds to Spare
I got caught doing one of my habits the other day. Not biting nails, or saying 'like'. This one is far more eccentric for this day and age. I was thinking. Not "penny for your thought" kind of thinking, but million dollar thinking. It was deep- prodigiously deep. I was sunk in this reverie is for at least an hour, during which passers regarded me with superciliously raised eyebrows. I was far too busy to notice- or care. I was trying to figure out the answer to life, the universe and everything. Douglas Adams was quite right in his book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: it is 42. In a sense. 42 what? 42 mountains, 42 smiles, 42 cups of PG Tips? (Well, that latter one... it could be pretty close.) 42 seconds. This would be a short time to be doing anything, right? The world is so hasty these days....
We're all so impatient. We want every thing done --now--. Waiting in lines at the grocery and airport is exasperating. Driving home at 6pm is a nightmare. Listening to that horrible holding music on the telephone is torture. Why cook your own food? Fast food is widely available. Don't bother messing up your nicely manicured hands writing a letter: e-mail one! It's such a bother to order stuff online because it takes to long to deliver. Click the "express" button.
What's wrong with 42 seconds of thought? Nowadays most people waste 42 seconds doing pointless things, straightening clothes, looking for shoes, swearing at bad drivers. The point is made. How many people set aside 42 seconds precisely for the purpose of thinking? Not thoughts like, "Where the heck is my Greek homework?", "Man, these gas prices are so high..." and "Gee, it's cold today. I wonder how cold it is."
...No. A thought is an idea, created through the process of ideogenesis, and based completely on the senses. Imagination, memory, cogitative sense, agent intellect, and possible intellect act upon the percept and phantasm creating an idea.
This idea comes into play when you do most anything in life. Now, back to 42.
Scenario I.
Jade Artica is coming home from school. It was a thoroughly exasperating day. She's sick of the world, which seems to be sick of her. As she approaches the front door of her house, a cute, hyper, four-year-old brother comes running. He's terribly excited to see his big sister whom he adores, because he just made some fabulous playdoh cookies to share with her. Nearly bowling her over with a loving hug he slams into her. In shock, Jade drops her books, backpack, and lab culture (which nearly breaks). "Gee whiz," she rashly exclaims, "get away from me you little bothering blunder!" Backing off timidly, Jonah tiptoes back into the house and bursts into tears. Jade feels more miserable than ever and storms into the kitchen demanding her real cookies, finds they're still in the oven, grabs one anyway, get's scorched by the 400° chocolate chips, drops her culture, which smashes, and slips on it... Etc. It could go on interminably, but you get the point.
Scenario II.
Sheila Rowlin has a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon when she walks home from school. What a horrible day. She's had a row with her best friend, Jade, and they both D's in Biology. World History has far too much reading to do, and Frank McCollough didn't so much as glance her way. She forces her feet to carry her dejectedly homeward, and just as she's about to enter the threshold of 487 Holly Lane, Rhalph Jr. bangs into her with a bear hug. The little midget is 4 and a half and had picked a bunch of dandelions expressly for Sheila. Deep down inside her a straw slowly fluttered upon the back of a camel. The back broke. Rage gnawed inside her. "Why, why, why me?" she thought. "All I want is a quiet room and some hardcore Dragonforce music to cool me down..." As this Fury boiled, she remembered a ridiculous quote her Lit. teacher told class today. "Think before you speak." Now, how stupid can that be, she had thought, it's impossible to speak unless you have something to think about. But in these four words her anger found vent. She was like a flood threatening to go over a dike, but finds respite in a tiny hole. The hole eroded, and soon the entire dike fell crashing to pieces; she breathed a deeeeeep sigh. Exactly 42 seconds had passed. (Yes, quite a while.) Sheila realized that there was no foundation for her madness- no donkey to pin her wrath on. She experiences a delightful feeling inside, and a peculiar one under her chin. Rhalph tickles her with his present; and Sheila swoops him up grinning-tickling him like crazy. They go inside, eat cookies and do Shelia's lab together, which gives Sheila a hundred social points, and a B+ in Biology. She calls Frank and chatters sparrow-like for half an hour, and finishes her World History for the week. Thus,she is in the best mood imaginable.
Why the difference? The 42 seconds. The possibilities are endless. What if everyone thought for 42 seconds before they rashly spoke out? Maybe they would realize something really was their fault. Perhaps words had been interpreted wrongly... perhaps the senses had deceived them, and the percept had a flaw. If all the world had 42 seconds to spare, what would it be like?
TIP: Consider. each. word. before you speak. Examine them like a jeweler would analyze the Hope Diamond. Or how a biologist would disect the only remainder of near-extinct Catfish.
Life depends on thought, make sure you know how to think. (Logic: Systematic study of thinking, check it out.)
The Normal Loaf of Bread
B: Ah, ha! What a lovely loaf a bread that is. All golden brown, and crusty on top. In a rather nice braid too. Why, I don’t think I’ve seen such a lovely loaf as this. I’ll bet that baking-queen sister of mine made it. Hey, sis! Is that a normal loaf of bread over there? And did you make it?
S: Yep, I made it!
B: Well, ye know.
S: In what sense? What kind of bread isn’t normal?
B: Sourdough, French baguettes, that kind.
S: Well, this one isn’t either of those, so I guess it’s normal.
B: It doesn’t look normal though. Is it the kind Mum always makes?
S: She makes different types… Well. One basis with a bunch of variations.
B: And is this starting from this basis? Does it have all that leftover stuff in it, like, oatmeal, rye flour, corn flower, rice, stuff that makes it not normal?
S: Yeah, it’s basic. Flour and water. (nods) No, none of those things.
B: Bah, no. That’s too normal. You’re saying this is only flour and water?
S: No. That’s the foundation for all breads. Both normal and abnormal.
B: Okay, let’s put it this way. What type of bread would you name that mound of delicious looking substance over there? (points)
S: Challah.
B: Hala? Whatsat?
S: A Jewish type of bread.
B: Jewish, eh? Why’d you make Jewish bread?
S: ‘cus it sounded good.
B: I wonder if that would be considered normal…
S: Huh? What? You’re not getting racist towards Jewish, are you? It’s only a loaf of bread after all.
B: No way, I’m just trying to figure out why it looks so tasty.
S: Looks? Don’t be deceived by looks.
B: Fine! Can I eat it?
S: S’long as you don’t care if it’s normal or not. Go ahead!
On Procrastination
"Why put off 'till tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow just as well?" ~ Mark Twain
Well, Mr. Twain I will tell you why. The paper is due tonight. Or it was anyway...I'll admit it, I have a problem with procrastination as well. If it is due in a week, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in two weeks, I'll do it the night before. If it's due in a month, guess when I'll do it? Did you guess the night before? Wrong- two nights before. *sigh* One day I will learn (I just hope it's not the hard way). So, I started writing this essay on The Epic of Gilgamesh just a couple days ago. Not a great idea, by any means. Sure I *thought* about writing it about everyday but the idea never appealed to me much so I put it off. And I put it off again. And then some more. Till Wednesday when I completely freaked out and started writing. Today I put the finishing touches on it..after I had written most of it this morning. Thanks to my great friend Miss B. I did not turn in a jumble of words, but a somewhat coherent essay *g*. Thank heaven for friends who can write and proofread beautifully. Now the terror has subsided. We await the grade...but hey, I got it in. Next time I'll start earlier...next time...
~Sarah
Tip: Do not put it off anymore. Yes you! What are you waiting for?...go get 'em.
September 11th
Such was the breeze seven years ago...
such was the sky.
Such was the silence before it came,
preceding the defining cry.
Following shortly after, the second
relentlessly broke through.
Flames and bloody smoke appeared,
and from the gash it grew.
And along with a thousand prayers,
those who stood below, watching, froze
faces uplifted towards the ruin
the devastating smoke then rose.
Along with a three thousand cries
they fell
broken. burning. murdered.
into fiery Hell.
Into a heap the crumbled
like a clot of sand grasped-
And scattered through the wind
Forget not this evil past.
How many children were lost that day?
How many babies to orphanages thrown?
How many brides left wedded?
How many fathers never came home?
TIP: Don't forget.