This past month has kind of been a blur. I’ve done my work for the project: collected data, created a spreadsheet template, and entered it onto the spreadsheet. I had some exams and passed them. I do need to keep my GPA up to keep my scholarship, so I need to do some of the extra credit work the professors offered. Continue reading
While I hope my former students are pursuing and achieving their dreams, I did have selfish motives when I taught and I let them know it. Whether it was reasoning, writing, or even the quadratic equation, my reason why they needed to learn each one of those skills was so that there would be skilled professionals to take care of me as I get older. Continue reading
The nightmares are coming more fast and readily. It’s getting harder to distinguish what is true and what’s a dream. I end up running down the halls here at Gardiner, across Erasmus campus, in my classes, hearing the gun, seeing the blood, then seeing the banister crack, the living room, the halls, I don’t want to sleep and yet it seems to be all that I do.
I want to call David because he knows what happened and can fill in the gaps, but he’ll tell my parents and I don’t want them to know that it still haunts me. Continue reading
Holidays are the only times when I can count on pleasantness and enjoyment. I’m looking forward to the turkey and the mashed potatoes–I love mashed potatoes. It will be nice to have real potatoes instead of those boxed flakes I make in my dorm. My mouth waters in anticipation.
BANG! Crap. I hope this little plumbing exercise doesn’t spoil anything. At least I have some reading and a paper to write if I need to go off by myself. I can’t believe that I’m thinking about schoolwork, but anything to keep my mind busy.
Ellen is walking by as I get to the bottom of the stairs. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, okay, you know.”. Ellen’s really nice and doesn’t really make sense amongst our family. She’s a middle-classed, down-to-earth, “salt-of-the-earth” type person–definitely not our norm. But I’m glad David met her. He deserves to be happy and deserves so much more than… this. Continue reading
Pranja and her daughter, Ciara, were mocked and bullied by the townspeople. While most people considered them witches, many also knew of Pranja’s insight and healing arts and would venture out to her house for help when they were in desperate need, and Pranja would help them, for a price, of course.
This history and knowledge did not stop the spread of tales of the wicked witch who lived in the woods who devoured children whole for sustenance. Other stories were told
that claimed the witches killed family members who never returned from journeys in the woods or who returned with some foreign pox that caused the family member’s death almost instantaneously upon return from their journey. This explanation was considered plausible and then seen as truth since superstition still abounded in the kingdom and if these witches could cure people, they could certainly kill people as well. Continue reading
Is it a “normal” thing for an artist to carry longing and to have a sense of being on the verge of explosion in the need to create–something–anything before all three energy goes to waste? It makes sense to me, but I’m anything far from normal. I really don’t even understand it. The closest I’ve seen is some sensual, sexual acts, but everyone isn’t me, and I think that a large portion of people in the world don’t see things the way I do and I don’t know how my vision fits, bit it sometimes does. But how? How do we move from a state of emotion to a bigger picture? How do we translate that into life? How do we move without breathing? How do we connect without touching? There’s so much in the way and try so much freedom. A breath and then I die, bit now to think and try. I’m going. I’m going. Bouncing off the walls the words will not stay still. How do I talk when sounds are made of shapes? Blast part what’s known to what’s here right now. Maybe I’ll start to understand. Maybe someday.