WTF???

Ok so today is like the worst day of my life...

...Well not really, but pretty close.

Did anyone who is reading this know that there is a limit on the amount of financial aid you can receive?? That is the dumbest thing, right? If you earned it, it's yours, right? Ugh, wrong I guess. Apparently I was overawarded, which is the University's fault if you ask me. They figured out my refund check amounts, not me. So, now I OWE money. It's like they gave me the money and now they are taking it back. OOOkay, and I spent it. So, that's really great. And the only way I can get around it is prove I have medical bills, or rent, or something equal or more than the amount they are asking me to give back---which I don't. But that is the only way they can raise my "financial aid limit".

I am so pissed I can't even think. Like I have holds on my grades and I can't register until I pay this money back. Or I can fill out some form giving them permission to take the amount out of my refund for next semester, which I will probably HAVE to do. But I still think it's bull shit. I mean how do they expect to tell me this when the semester is almost over. And couldn't they have figured out that my award amount was over the limit before they sent me the refund in the first place. It makes no sense. But I have calles TSAC and I have been to Wilder to talk to someone. I don't have any other options. And this is really something they do. I didn't even know they could limit your aid. I mean, who can decide how much aid I need?? And if it was awarded to me, who gets to decide it's too much?? Just because it's not going to the school??

It's ludicrous. And I am outraged. And we are out of chocolate ice-cream. ugh!! All I can say is "What the fuck???"

Chocolate Ice-Cream and Cinnamon Rolls

It is amazing how something as simple as a favorite food can make you feel so good...

My little sister (she's 12) just finished making some cinnamon rolls. Well I was already eating chocolate ice-cream. But then I figured "What the hell?". So now I am staring at this big ass bowl of chocolate ice-cream (my favorite) and a plate with three cinnamon rolls. Does that make me sound greedy?? Oh well, I don't care. I have always been a big eater, ever since I was a little kid. And I have always been hella skinny regardless. Plus, I am pregnant. I'm allowed to endulge, right? LoL.

Ok. So I am still eating. Alternating between spoonfuls of ice-cream and big bites of cinnamon rolls. Am I really gonna eat all of this?? You could bet your bottom dollar!!!

It just feels so good to relax sometimes. This is like the perfect night. I just had like an hour bubble bath, and now this. I don't have to be at my first class tomorrow until like 12:40, so I don't have to wake up early. If every night was like this, I would never have a single complaint again. But since every night is not like this I better enjoy it while it lasts. So, I am going to put this stupid laptop away and concentrate on the task at hand...

...enjoying my chocolate ice-cream and my now one cinnamon roll.

And He Shall Hear My Voice (My Expansion of Sam's "Joy Comes in the Morning" which was an expansion of Lauren's essay)

As the rain began to fall harder and faster, Annie attempted to pull herself together in order to make the long journey home. She knew that she would have to face her problems head on if she ever wanted to accomplish anything. But, as she slowly turned around, she was surprised to be stopped by a familiar face—William’s.

“What are you doing here?” Annie asked in the steadiest voice she could manage.

“I come up here to clear my head. Even with the rain, this has always been the place I could come and really think.”

It had been months since they had seen each other. This was all too surreal for Annie. As she gazed into his almond-shaped eyes and watched his lips open and close, memories began to rush into her head. She remembered gazing into those dark eyes and kissing those soft lips. She remembered how those same arms he now used to pull his jacket off and put it around her used to hold her close for hours at a time.

Annie thankfully took William’s jacket and threw the hood over her head. William did not seem to be bothered at all by the large drops of water that fell and rolled down his kindly face and soaked his tan, striped shirt.

They walked silently back toward her car. William did not ask what was wrong, and Annie was grateful for that. She did not want to talk. She just wanted to walk in his arms and occasionally look his way as he offered that casual grin that she had fallen in love with so long ago. He always knew what to say, or, in this case, what not to say.

When the two reached Annie’s car, they stood there for a minute and looked at each other. Then, they both looked down at the sun-baked sand beneath them. Each attempted to speak simultaneously. “Look,” William endeavored to say. “I know that,” Annie managed at that same moment. The two looked up at each other. A couple of minutes passed. “I’m sorry,” William said.

“I know; it’s not your fault,” Annie replied while tracing circles in the sand with the toe of her shoe.

“I miss talking to you. I miss spending time with you. Lately, so many things have been happening in my life that I have wanted to call and tell you about.”

“Me, too. I mean. . .with my mom. . . and my dog. . .and Hannah. . .and. . .of course, you. . .” Annie’s words trailed off; she had begun to weep again. William grabbed her and held her and told her it would be okay. He said that one day it would all make sense. He told her that it could not have been anything less than God that brought them together again at that moment. He said that seeing her on the edge of that plateau against the backdrop of the warmly painted sky, he realized she was the most important person in his life. And, even though, they had to be a part for right now because he just could not fight with his parents anymore, he knew that one day they would be together again.

Annie looked up at William with reddened eyes and teardrop stains visible on her flushed cheeks. She had never known anyone as kind or as compassionate. She had never loved anyone so much. Just looking at him, she knew things would eventually work out. She trusted his judgment, and she knew that God had heard her cries and sent William to answer them. “Evening and morning and at noon I will pray, and cry aloud, and He shall hear my voice,” (Psalms 55:17).

Almost Saved (My Expansion on Sarah Lord's "Fire and Snow"

At first I thought it was just my imagination. People hardly ever travel these roads that late at night. But through the red and orange glow, I saw the car stop on the side of the road. My heart leapt with joy, but my body could not move. I ached—horribly.

It was my legs mostly. When I say the roof crashing down it was so surreal to me. But the pain I felt as the bars of wood added pressure to my throbbing legs could not feel any more real. But now, I thought, all I had to do was wait for this person who had pulled over in front of my house to come save me.

So I waited, and I thought to myself. People had told me it was crazy to live so far out by myself. I loved the privacy though. The serene surroundings of the large oak trees and the vast fields of snow capped grass blades provided a beautiful backdrop for my small country home.

Still waiting, I watched as the flames consumed most of my country home. I watched as wall hangings melted and disappeared down to nothingness and my wooden chair provided fast fuel for the rising flames.

The flames got closer and closer, and it seemed that they should have reached me by this point. Miraculously, though, they hadn’t. So I waited. I waited for whoever was in the car parked on the old dirt road in front of my home to run up and let me know that help was on the way. I waited for them to see me lying halfway out of my side door with this wooden ledge crushing my legs. I waited for them to free me from that trap and pull me away from the smoky haze which was filling my lungs and sending me into intense coughing fits at this point.

I finally looked again toward the road. The car was gone. The help that I had so desperately waited for had dissolved. Had it been my imagination? No, I knew I had seen that car. I had seen someone looking up toward my house and the blazing fire that was slowly consuming it. But where did they go? Did they assume the house was empty? Or did they even care?

Luckily, help finally did come eventually. Apparently, someone else a while later witnessed the flames and called the fire department. I was eventually rescued, but not in my entirety, not before I was badly burned. The fire fighter that saved me did not come soon enough to save my legs from being paralyzed and or to save my body and face from being distorted. Now, every day I look at myself in the mirror I always wonder about that first car I saw. I wonder how they could pull over and stare at my home ablaze and never help or even seek help. I wonder how much more of me could have been saved. I wonder if I would be able to walk today or if my face would still look normal. But I wasn’t completely saved and my face sparks horrible stares and compulsive screams from little children. All I can think is that I was almost saved, but almost doesn’t count.

And So the Journey Ends (My Original Creative Essay)

The doctors had told us that she wouldn’t even last a year. But my mother had surprised us all with three additional years of home-cooked meals, bright smiles, and immeasurable wisdom even through the pain. So as I sat near her hospital bed every evening last week, I prayed it was just another scare and that the doctors were wrong again. But I knew better. We all knew—my father and my sister and I.

My mother was so pale and weak. Lying there, she looked so helpless and so old. It was like all the life had been drained from her body before it really was. She was the living, breathing dead. She was a cancer skeleton with her bald head and frail body. If I hadn’t felt like I was dreaming at the time, I am pretty sure I would have been crying.

Tears wouldn’t come, though. All I could do was picture all the memories we shared. I kept thinking about how weird it was helping her pick out a wig in the morning when I used to help her pick out a hairstyle and how she tried to hide her weariness when she came back from chemotherapy. I could see her take a deep breath and put on a big smile for us kids to try and hide the pain and sadness we all knew she felt. She held on so long. We thought she would never burn out . . . until last Sunday.

Last Sunday we ended up in the hospital, where the whole journey started in the first place, where we first learned she had cancer. At that same hospital is where her journey ended and she died. When she closed her eyes and her monitor flat-lined, I was finally able to cry. I felt like I was crying for her as well, because she never felt comfortable enough to cry around us. I doubt she even frowned. I cried twice as hard.

Work on the Weekend

This weekend it seems like I have been doing things at an alarmingly fast pace. It is like I have so much work to do. And since I have no idea when this baby could come--she could be days early or days late--I want to get it all out of the way. So I have written a resume, a cover letter, three-page paper, and done a poster for ACAD.

And all that I did yesterday. And now I have been trying to start on this self-reflection essay for English. Going into it, I thought, this will be the easiest paper I do. It is actually difficult for me to come up with what I want to say. I mean I don't know how I have changed as a writer. I still use my same technique for the most part, and I just get the assignment done because I know it has to be done. Then I know it is supposed to be written like a letter. So do I say, "Dear Wendy" or "Dear Mrs. Sumner" or "Dear Mrs. Sumner-Winter" or "Dear Instructor" or what?? I can't even get past that part! It's frustrating. Everything else I have had to do for my other classes is so specific or so mindless that it did not take so much thought or so much time. But this thing is like a monster that keeps growing in the back of my mind. Then we have to cite specifics from our writing. It is hard to decide what is good and what is bad in your own writing. If I didn't feel like it was good, I wouldn't have included it in an essay in the first place. Oh well, I don't know. I will get it done eventually, I guess. But right now I just need to breathe!!

The Young and the Restless... Rapist

the story

Above is a link to only one of the craziest events in recent news. So how did I come across it? I was just browsing for local news, because I really did not have anything to blog about. And this story is just so backwards that I had to include it.

So if you haven't already clicked the link, click it.
Okay so now you know why I say this is so backwards. Who in the world would want somebody that is so old, so bad that they have to rape them? If you still didn't read the article, here's the jist...

A 17-year-old teen is accused of raping an 87-year-old woman. Just reading the headline made my skin crawl.
I wonder if this guy really went through this lady's window with the intent to rape her. It says he was taken in for robbery too. So maybe that was his original plan. But what about this old woman could have intrigued him so much that he felt the sudden desire to sexually assault her?? It is just so wierd. I really want to see what this guy looks like. He's probably some lonely desperate teen who thought he'd get a kick out of overpowering someone weaker than him. But then again he could be someone I wouldn't expect like the football team captain or something. Hopefully there will be an update though, because I have got to see this guy. I wonder what the lady looks like too. Maybe she is surprisingly attractive to be so old. Maybe not. But the site said that the identity of rape victims is kept secret, so I will probably never get to see her.
I know there is a lot of crime going on, but this is just really bizarre. It jumped out at me.

Listening to Maynard

Last night I went to the reading featuring Joyce Maynard as apart of the River City Writers program. It was a really interesting experience...not as boring as I expected. I have to say that she really compelled me to go and get her book At Home in the World.

The most interesting thing that Maynard talked about, though, was her relationship with writer J.D. Salinger. I was really shocked when she revealed the fact that she was only eighteen and Salinger was 53 when they began their relationship--a sexual one at that. I could never even imagine being attracted to someone so much older than me. I mean Salinger was nearly old enough to be her grandfather. It was so wierd. But the way she talked about how they wrote to each other and how he was so supportive, I guess she fell for him before they even met in person. It was also a shock to hear about what an ass he ended up being. Their relationship only lasted a year, Joyce said, and then Salinger dismissed her very coldly telling her she would never amount to anything. It is crazy how a person can seem so loving and supportive at one point and then turn out to be this bitter, hateful person not long after.

Joyce not only talked about her relationship with Salinger, but she also did a reading from her book. Well, actually, the part she read from her book dealt with Salinger also. It depicted a scene of Joyce some years later, after she had grown and had children of her own, going back to visit J.D. Salinger again. She showed up at his door and asked him what was her purpose in his life when they were together. Basically, Salinger proceeded to tear her down and never answered her question. The way Joyce read the scene made it so interesting. She read with so much feeling and emphasis. My eyes and ears were really focused on her the whole evening. She probably thought I was crazy because I was staring at her so hard. But that is just how intriguing and interesting the whole thing was to me.

Well my experience was a good one. And it makes me eager to go to other readings featuring other authors that may come up in the future. I never thought I would be so interested in something like that. But I guess you never know until you see for yourself...

"N---er, what?"

x
^ So I was reading an article about Nas on yahoo (the above "x" is a link to that article), and apparently the rapper is naming his new album after the "N-word". This has to be the STUPIDEST thing I have heard in a long time. It is bad enough that rappers even use the word at all, but to name your whole album after it?? What the hell is he thinking?? Well, he tells us what he was thinking. He says he wants to take the power out of the word. How in the world does he think that that is going to take any of the power of the word. As a matter of fact it seems like he is uplifting it. And who wants to say "Hey I'm about to go get that new CD" "What CD?" "N---er!" It doesn't even sound appealing, or like anything worth buying.

Then again this may just be another stunt for shock value. I mean I haven't been hearing much about Nas lately. So this could just be a bold attempt to get some attention again. You know what they say, "Any publicity is good publicity."

Can I at least get a refill??

I just got back from Buffalo Wild Wings on Airways, and I am like soooo tired but soooo mad also. My waitress was sooo freaking rude. She had an attitude from the beginning. First of all, when she came to our table she just stood there. She didn't say "Are you ready to order?" or anything. I didnt even know she was there until my friend nudged me. So that was the first thing; I let that slide. I know she may have had bad night. But, she took forever doing everything. She just handed us stuff, very rudely may I say. She had just a real "stank" attitude. It was horrible.

Okay and there was six of us, and how about she forgot to put in one of my friend's order. So on top of it taking forever just for us to get our food, then we had to wait that amount of time--again--just for my friend to get her food. I was soooo tired of this lady by now.

Last was paying. Oh we all were so tempted just to walk out of that place without getting our checks. That is how long it took her!! It would seem like if she disliked waiting on us so much she would be trying to get us out of there as quickly as possible--not!!!

She was too busy flirting with the guy at the table next to us. She kept sitting her big fat self down at his table like we weren't even waiting on shit!!

So did we leave a tip?? Hell no! Yea, she could have been having a bad night. But that doesnt explain her leaving out an entire order, which she wrote down, and never apologized about. Or her wasting our time flirting with the dude at the next table. Or her being so rude before we even got the chance to make her mad. I think she just had a stick up her butt. But whatever.

And it seems like everytime I go to a "sit-down" restaurant now, me and my friends get the waiter with the problems! Like I went to Olive Garden last night and our waitress came to the table wiping her nose and shit. So I was like "Are you sick?" and she said "No, I have been crying. I don't wanna talk about it." So she was all depressed and stuff, disappearing for long periods of time. I could hardly get one refill. And like a week ago we went to O'Charley's and our waitress kept bringing us like 3 rolls at a time for us (There was three of us). But we finished them in like 2 minutes, so we kept needing more. But no matter how we kept asking her could she please bring out more rolls, she would only bring 3 at a time. Plus, we were sitting right by the kitchen and she kept rushing out past our table like she didnt want us to be able to ask her for anything else...

UGH!! I am just so upset right now. I understand that people have outside issues to deal with and that people have bad days sometimes. I work in retail with stupid people all the time, so I can relate. But please don't play with my food!! That is one of the things I am most serious about--food and money. I don't like to be mean to people who are handling my food, because it is something going into my body and I get paranoid about people doing stuff to customers' food that are rude. This is why I am always polite...but the people that have been waiting on me lately have made me come out of that polite stage more than once. What is it?? I don't know. But now the sleepiness is outweighing the anger so I will leave it at that...

Freewrite...Subject:Bottles...(shortened version)

Scott was haunted by his father's bottles. He would find bottles under his workbench, in his toolbox, under the hay in the ban. It was from these bottles that an alcoholic found his "refuge". But if they were truly a refuge, a good thing, why must they be kept hidden? Bottles were hidden as if no one else knew they existed. But everyone in the family knew they were a haunting part of Scott's father's life. Scott's father's tendency to take gulp after gulp form these bottles caused nothing but pain and anguish.

The bottles represent the father's alcoholism as a whole. Their secretiveness is parallel to the fact that Scott's family would not talk about the problem with anyone outside the family. Both the bottles, and Scott's father's alcoholism, were two not-so-well-kept secrets. Everyone knew they existed, but no one wanted to openly acknowledge them.

The bottle is a concrete object, as well as a symbolic one. Scott's father actually did drink form actual, physical bottles. However, the bottles also represent his alcohol problem and the changes it caused in him. The bottle coincides with his metamorphosis from a sober man to a drunken one, form rational to irrational, and from a living man to a dying one.

Bottles are a very important image. They go with the whole theme. They provide a concrete connection to an abstract thought. They provide an image for the reader to clearly see the extent to which alcohol affected the father. The bottles were so important to him that he bought them in "secret", attempted to hide them, and lied about them. The father would never acknowledge the bottles themselves, or his problem, in front of his children. The bottles were like his "mistresses". He ignored his wife and his children to be with his "mistress", his secret pleasure, but, also, is inevitable downfall.

The bottles were his life, which is ironic, because they caused his death. The father's loyalty to the bottles was so much stronger than his loyalty to his family, and even himself, that he threw away years of being sober and gambled with death. Eventually, he lost, and death won. This happened all because of his love for a bottle filled with poison, basically. He poisoned himself, refusing to release his grip on the bottle. He would leave at times, but then he always returned, to his mistress...

The Funeral Scene (in reference to "The Rake")

At David's mother's funeral, a family secret is finally revealed. David and his sister finally learn the truth about their mother's childhood. Everyone but them had known about it, but everyone remained silent. It takes a death for the truth to finally come out. Because of this, the two children probably always wondered how their mother could be so accepting of such a violent man (their stepfather).

Through learning about the fact that their mother was beaten when she was little by their grandfather, a whole new world of understanding is opened up. However, it would have probably been better if they would have learned about this fact before she died. They probably had a lot of resentment toward their mother for allowing their stepfather to act so violently toward them and to be so abusive to David's sister. I know I would have a lot of resentment if it was me.

This scene reminds me of the saying "to take something to the grave". David's mother took her secret to the grave with her and left it up to someone else (the kids' aunt) to tell her story. She may have been ashamed, or maybe she was so hurt by it that she just refused to talk about it. This makes me think of women who are beaten by their spouses but refuse to report it. They walk around hiding ovious black eyes and making excuses, because they do not know how to handle it. Either they are afraid or ashamed. Or they really want to believe that the abuser really loves them and they only do it because of "this" or "that". David's mother wanted to believe that her father loved her. How could someone who helped bring her into the world not love her??

All of this brings me back to the scened where David's mother is in the closet crying and David's stepfather is begging David's mother's father to tell David's mother that he loves her. For some reason, he just can't say it. This is really sad to me. How can you stand up in front of your own child and be unable to tell them you love them, especially when they have broken down into tears? This must have really hurt David's mother, so she took her secret to the grave.

The Cycle of Violence/Frustrations (in reference to "The Rake")

The whole cycle of violence thing in "The Rake" always seems to stem from the family's different frustrations. The grandfather is frustrated because his wife will not ever have sex with him. He in turn takes his frustration out on his daugher (David's mother). David's mother then marries a violent husband who may be frustrated with the fact that David's mother can not get over her past with her father. He takes his frustration out on his daughter (David's sister). David is frustrated with everything--the violence, the silence, the dysfunction--and one day finally explodes with anger and ends up hurting his own sister.

The cycle of violence of violence things reminds me of two sayings or philosophies: that every generation repeats the same things from the previous one (as far as families are concerned) and that if we do not learn about our past then we are doomed to repeat it. David's family's cycle of violence is passed down to each generation of men from his grandfather to his father and to him. Not only that, but maybe if the family's issues would have been talked about instead of being suppressed for so long then the cycle could have been broken. But the family remained silent, and the cycle continued until David ends up hitting his little sister in the face with the rake.

Basically, this teaches us that people should not remain silent about things that are so crucial. Silence does not solve anything, it only makes things worth. The problem gets bigger and never goes away. Past mistakes are repeated and no one ever learns from them.

The Model Home (in reference to "The Rake")

The image of the model home sticks out to me more than any other object in the story. The irony of it, is just so compelling, I guess. When I think of "model home", in the literal sense, I think of the example home. It is the basis for how the other homes will be constructed and how they will look. It is the home that builders show off when they are trying to get a homebuyer to buy a home from a certain neighborhood. So, of course, it is the best looking and most well-kept home. It has the perfect little yard and the nice well arranged furniture on the inside.

In the figurative sense, the "model home" reminds me of the "model family"--the "perfect family". This is the family that everyone wants to be like, the family that everyone envies. This is the family that is always smiling and is always involved in everything. The parents are in the PTA, and the kids make great grades and play every sport. This is the family that everyone looks at and says how happy they must be.

When you think of the model home in either sense, you can see the irony in the fact that this is the home that David and his family live in. David's family may appear perfect to outsiders, but they are so far from perfect in reality. They are dysfunctional and violent, as a matter of fact. The father can not keep his anger under control, and the mother just goes along with it. The kids are anything but happy-go-lucky. And even though they might be involved in outside activities, when they finally get a big break, their parents do something to take that away.

Even though, things are so bad at home, everyone remains silent--to keep up appearances. It is all about how people perceive them. It doesn't matter how bad things get, they never let their anger or their pain leak out to the outside world. A "model home" could be built the same way. It could be thrust up in just a couple weeksn and have the weakest structure then made to look so good that you could never tell. The yard would be so well made, and the inside would be so fabulously decorated that you would never guess that it could be knocked down by the slightest wind. But then again, it's all about appearances.

A Matter of Life and Death

Is it just me, or are there an alarming number people dying lately?? It is crazy. Like every day you hear about yet another death. And what makes it worse is that a lot of those people are young people who should have had their whole lives ahead of them.

Well these deaths, though they may not be close to me, have got me to thinking. What is my purpose in life?? I mean I could die tomorrow. I don't think too many people wake up on their last day and say, "Okay, I am going to die today." A lot of times, they never suspect it. I mean if you are not old or sick, you are not going to spend too many days anticipating your last moment. (Unless you are just dark and depressed like that.)

So, like I said, these deaths have made me think. If I died tomorrow, what would I be remembered for?? Would I just be "that pregnant girl from my English class". I don't know what I could do at this point to be remembered. What big, great thing I can do so my legacy lives on. I just hope I live long enough to figure it out. There is so much that I have planned for my life. And so much that I want to see and experience. I haven't even reached my 21st birthday!! That's the most important one.

Well I guess all I can do is live each day to the fullest, work toward my goals, and roll with whatever may come in my life. This has just been on my mind, so I decided to convert it into a blog...

Shake Them Hatas Off???

So I was reading this article and the comments posted on The Commercial Appeal's site about Herenton and his 5th term. Ohhh... it was very negative. A lot of criticism, I think, from people who just have a lot of hot breathe to blow, but who will inevitably do anything to help solve Memphis problems. I do not agree with Herenton the least bit. I believe he is concerned about the wrong things, and he adds flame to the already blazing fire of racial tension in the city. And he is a pretty cocky fellow. He would not even debate any of the other candidates. He was too sure he was going to win, but I do have to hand it to him---he did win.

And now he is in office...again. The people who cared voted; and this is the result. But just because Herenton is in office does not mean that Memphis can not grow as a city. Change takes collective action. Everything can not be left up to one person to make change. We have to work together as a city.

And most of those comments on the site, I noticed were pretty racial. That is the problem. Race has nothing to do with the rising crime rate, the taxes, or anything else these people are bitching about. Everyone needs someone to blame, though. The blacks blame the whites for not supporting Herenton. And the whites blame the blacks for putting him back in office. Well the fact is that he is back in office, so we might as well support him. He is our mayor for another term. And as long as we stand divided, we will never be able to see the change everyone wants so badly----whether they are BLACK or WHITE...

I hate the fact that people are just sitting around complaining about how Herenton was reelected. How Memphis is going to go down hill from here. How everyone who voted for him is a complete idiot. How they want to move away. How bad a job Herenton has done. Blah blah blah. But what are they going to do about it? Herenton won; nothing can reverse that now. If you say things are going to go down hill, you're negative thinking just adds to the problem. Everyone who voted for him is not an idiot; what made the other candidates so great? People just voted for who they thought would do well. If you want to move---move! Herenton is not all bad, and maybe he would do better if more people took action and supported him.

I don't know what, if anything, Herenton will do to improve Memphis. With that being said, what is Memphis doing to improve Memphis??

WHAT A LOSER???

It seems like all of my friends are having guy problems. Like ALL of them, including myself. Well, I am not so much having problems; things are just not where I want them to be right now. But, the rest of my friends are having serious problems. I mean "break-down-and-cry-til-your-eyes-swell" problems. And I don't know why. Sometimes, I think we may have settled on dudes that are really not worth our time. I mean I love my guy to death, but I wonder all the time if I could have done better. But we have been together for so many years that I think we are sort of used to each other. Is that why I can't see myself with anyone else?

Who knows?

All I know is that it seems like once you are with a guy for so long, he just begins to get careless. I mean, when you first start dating, a guy can be so sweet and so romantic. Then, the sparkle wears off, and I think that years of being together is a signal for guys to drop all that "mushy" stuff which made us fall for them in the first place. And you can tell a guy over and over how you feel, and they can promise you the world. But nothing ever changes! I am just really frustrated right now. Between trying to console my friends and dealing with things with me and my guy, it is just toooo much. I'll be fine. I know everything will work out in the end. I just felt like this would be a good way to release some of this tension.

And I will be in Baskin Robbins Saturday with my friend Shan so we can vent and talk about her "no-good" boyfriend. (Well he is "no-good" for now anyway. Tomorrow he may be the greatest love of her life. LOL :)

Unintentionally Disconnected

When I first thought about it, I could not see many ways in which the death of Memphis football player Taylor Bradford affected me. Now I realize that my inability to see how I was affected is an effect in itself. That would be an effect of all the Memphis violence. I mean, you hear about things like this happening so much in Memphis that you become numb to it in a way unless it happens someone close to you.

Taylor Bradford was not close to me, but he was close to a couple of my friends. So, I feel bad about my inability to relate to how they feel right now. And it is not just me who feels somewhat numb to the whole situation. We had a class discussion in English about how we each felt the death affected us. Pretty much everyone felt disconnected from it. Of course, there was some sympathy and remorse, but not an overwhelming amount. It is just an all too common occurrence, which makes the situation even more heart-breaking. The fact that a University of Memphis student was killed and an entire class full of University of Memphis students can just shrug it off as just another statistic shows just how bad crime in Memphis has gotten.

To be honest, I have no idea how the tremendous amount of crime and violence can be minimized in Memphis. I just know that it is a problem that can not be ignored. I hate that I have become so disconnected from such tragedy, and I hate that so many tragic events are occurring so often. There have been so many people dying lately, and what makes it worse is the fact that it is mostly young people who should have so much life ahead of them. Like I said I don’t know what the solution is, but you must address the problem before you can come up with a solution. So, now that the problem has been addressed, what's next?