Decisions, Decisions


Julia stood on the cold tile of her bathroom floor. She placed her hands on the sink and lurched forward at her reflection in the mirror. Her face turned side to side as she examined every detail: the excess hair around her eyebrows, the scar left behind by that notorious pimple last year, and her lack of thick eyelashes. People often commented to Julia that she was an attractive young lady, but she couldn’t get past her minor flaws, as most young girls don’t. Her skin looked particularly moist this morning. It gave her a marvelous glow that Julia only thought of as oily. She stood on her tip toes to try and see her breasts. She couldn’t notice any immediate changes. She took a deep breath and turned to the toilet.
“This time,” she exclaimed, “I’m going to see something.”
Julia turned and did a side step over and nervously pulled her panties to the floor. She sat and thought about the last month. January was over with, and she had picked up her old habit of smoking again. February was always a short month. It would rain, and then Valentine’s Day would come, and then it would rain again. It was March now. Her sister’s birthday was on the fourth, and that was last week. She counted again in her head: “33, 34, 35, 36…” She let out a deep sigh as she wiped and looked down at the particularly white piece of toilet paper.
“They just get whiter every day,” she proclaimed, as she threw the paper into the toilet and her head into her hands. “God, I feel so stupid,” Julia whimpered.
********
Julia headed for the bus stop at noon. It was windy outside and small pieces of dirt were adhering to her lips by her lip balm. The bus came a minute late. Julia nervously got on the bus, gave her dollar, and headed towards the back as the people watched her with their judging eyes.
“God, everyone knows,” she thought as she plopped herself down next to a window. She watched as the people outside passed by in their cars, thinking all of them had lives and had things to do, fun things, and here was Julia on a bus, worried about the rest of her life.
********
The office was small. There wasn’t much to it but a chair, a desk, a computer, and a couple of cheesy mountain range pictures on the walls. A chipper old woman came into the room. Her peach cardigan was buttoned top to bottom. Her red turtleneck hugged her neck and her double chin; a tacky gold crucifix hung to the fourth button down. She extended a wrinkled hand towards Julia.
“Hi, my name is Ruth, welcome to our office! How can I help you today?” said the older lady.
Julia looked through her purse and pulled out an ad from a newspaper, “I hear that you do free pregnancy tests here. I’d just like to have, or, do one today,” Julia nervously licked her lips and put the paper back into her purse.
“Of course we can do that,” Ruth said, as she took Julia’s hand, placed her free hand on Julia’s shoulder and moved her towards a chair near the desk. “We just need to create a file for you so we have a record that you received services from our office, is that okay?” Ruth turned a tilted head towards Julia, her smile revealed a smug of lipstick on a front tooth, which made Julia lick her teeth.
“Yes of course, that’s fine,” Julia said, but truly wished to remain anonymous.
Julia answered Ruth’s mundane questions as her mind began to lose interest. Julia turned to see the adjacent rooms to the office, filled with couches and shelves with books. Julia saw a picture of a mother holding her baby as it played with its feet.
“My god,” Julia whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Ruth replied.
“Huh, oh no, I mean, nineteen, I’m nineteen years old,” Julia replied as she rubbed her moist hands together.
“Are you cold, dear?” Ruth asked.
“No,” Julia replied, “just a little nervous.”
“Oh, well, most young mothers are,” Ruth replied. Julia tried not to find the hidden meaning in her words.
********
“Once you are done, just give the cup to me, I’ll take it from there,” Ruth said as she closed the bathroom door. Julia squatted and rushed to get her cup full, so she can finally sleep at night, knowing the truth once and for all. As Julia wiped, she noticed the immaculate whiteness of the toilet paper. She let out a sigh as she flushed it down the toilet.
“Now just have a seat, I’ll be back in a minute,” Ruth told Julia, as she held the cup in her gloved hand.
Julia entered her new room, the one with the books on the shelves and the “mommy” pictures on the wall. She noticed a closet full of clothes, a shelf full of diapers, and also a box in the corner marked “donations.” There were videos about conception, breast feeding, adoption, but nothing about…
“I’m back,” Ruth said in a perky voice, “and congratulations, you’re pregnant!” Julia felt her heart race, as she faked a smile. “Don’t worry,” Ruth said as she placed one hand on each of Julia’s shoulders. “Nineteen is a great age to have a baby, that’s when I had my first child,” Ruth exclaimed as she pointed to a picture on the desk. Julia turned to see a shiny metal frame containing a small Polaroid. A young girl sat in a hospital bed draped in white, skin glistening, eyes tormented with exhaustion as a crying baby sits wrapped in her arms. A man with glasses stood in the background wiping a pair of rather large forceps.
“What is that man doing?” Julia asked, grabbing the frame to take a closer look.
“Well, my little one was a breach baby. Do you know what that means? It means she came out feet first, they needed a little extra room, and…”
“Oh, okay, I get it,” Julia said, placing the picture so it faced away from her, regretting that she had asked. “What fun,” Julia thought as Ruth handed her papers with her estimated due date, and instructions on how to receive proper prenatal care.
“So, how about we set up your next appointment with us, that way we can talk about this some more,” Ruth asked as she pulled out an appointment book from the desk. “How is next month, say the fourteenth?”
“Oh, really? Well, I’m busy all day with school, so I really don’t have time during the day to schedule these kind of appointments, I mean, I had to skip class today just to come here,” Julia rambled.
“Well, we are open on the weekends, if that’s a better time for you. Here we have an opening on the seventeenth. Does that work?” Ruth wondered.
“I work. I can’t miss work, they’ll fire me. I need my job,” Julia said. Ruth ran her hand down the page, took a deep breath, and then closed the book.
“Well, how about you figure out something that works best for you, and you can call us, I’ll give you a card,” Ruth turned around and pulled a card from the table. “Don’t be shy. We’re here to help.”
********
Julia walked home that day. As the cold air blew from all sides, her hair flapped furiously against her face as if it were saying, “how stupid could you be?” Large pieces of dust were being thrown against her bare legs, into her eyes, her mouth. Not much was left to think about except that eighteen years is a long time. How much worse could this day get?
********
Julia arrived at her apartment to find that her roommates were not home. The living room was dreary; all the windows were closed. What little bit of sun shining through the clouds that day was blocked by the metal blinds. Julia threw her bag to the floor and relaxed in the hand-me-down recliner her grandmother had given her. She reached over to her purse and pulled out her phone. Nervously she scrolled down the list of names: Aaron, Alicia, Amber, Bank, Crystal, and so on. Old friends, good friends, judging acquaintances; she struggles to find the right person to call.
“Push send, Julia, make it short and sweet,” her mind insisted of her. “You’ll feel better by the end of this call.” Julia pulled the phone to her ear, hit the send button, and walked to her room at the end of the hall.
A phone rang on the other end. Four hundred miles away an older, shorter woman heard a familiar noise over her roaring vacuum. Moments later she heard the voice of her oldest daughter; Julia.
“Hi, mom, what are you up to?” Julia said with a sigh.
“Not a lot. I’m just cleaning up a bit. Your dad is having some company over after work, so the house has to be clean, you?” she asked Julia.
Julia sucked her teeth, “Oh, not much, mom, just had a long day.”
“Long day, Julia it’s only two in the afternoon,” her mother said with a gasp. “Are you still going to your classes?”
“Yes, mom,” Julia replied.
“Well, at least you do what you’re supposed to do. I can’t even get your sister out of bed for school. She’s so lazy lately, sleeps all day. I’m starting to believe that she’s pregnant,” Julia’s mom said in a lowered voice, as she pulled the vacuum cord from the wall.
Julia’s heart started to race again. “Why would you say that, mom?” Julia asked.
“Well, there are no pads and tampons in this house, and you know I don’t need any of that anymore, she hasn’t asked me to buy her any, so I’m sure she’s pregnant,” said Julia’s mom, wrapping the cord loosely around the vacuum.
Julia grows frustrated and asked, “So, what would be so wrong with that, mom, having a baby, bringing a life into this world?”
“Julia,” her mother replied, “it’s not about that. You know your sister; she’s too young for that; too irresponsible. She wouldn’t know how to handle that. I would just spend another eighteen years raising my own grandchild. I have a life too you know,” she said as she pushed the vacuum into the hall closet and slammed the door.
Julia paused for a moment. Her mother was right; her sister was young and irresponsible. “So, what about me?” Julia asked boldly.
“What about you, Julia?” said her mother, as she grabbed a feather duster and began to dust the family pictures on the mantle.
Julia felt anxious to have to clarify herself, “What if I was pregnant?”
“That’s different,” her mom replied, “you’re older, more mature.” Julia sat for a minute, contemplating just what to say.
“Hello?” her mother asked, plopping herself down on the couch.
“Yes, mom, I’m here,” Julia said, “I’m pregnant.” There was a short silence that filled the air. Julia wanted to ask if her mother was still there.
Julia’s mom sat for a moment staring at a picture of Julia in her eighth grade softball uniform. A time release air freshener shot a burst of cinnamon apple into the air and brought Julia’s mom back to the present moment. Her mom quickly replied, “No you’re not, Julia! You’re not pregnant! You’re too smart for that,” ending with a nervous chuckle. She glanced back at the photo.
Julia’s mind became blank, not wanting to let her mother down she replied, “You’re right, mom, I’m not.”
“Of course you’re not. Well, I have to finish with this house, it’s a complete mess. Call me again if you need anything, okay?” said Julia’s mom as she opened the screen door, letting the cat out for an afternoon walk.
“Okay, mom, I’ll do that,” Julia said, holding her breath.
“All right, talk to you later, bye,”
“Bye.”
********
Julia sat in bed for the next four and a half hours. The sun was slowly descended into the horizon, leaving a pink glow in the sky. There still wasn’t anyone home. Julia thought about the options that were available to her: vanishing to Mexico to live on a farm, the people that were and were not in her life, yet, and if she would ever make it out of her bed again. Her eyes grew heavy as she laid her head on her pillow and began to fall asleep. Thirty minutes later, she heard the front door close. Someone was home. Julia took a deep breath and let out a loud sigh as she pulled the covers from under her body and over her head. Footsteps came towards the door, and Julia tensed up. Suddenly, a knock, Julia held her eyes closed tight and pulled to covers tighter. Another knock came, and without an invite, one of her roommates entered the room.
“Julia, are you up? Let’s order in,” a voice said, as the lights turned on. Julia opened her eyes and was instantly blinded. “Are you going to get up, or are you gonna spend another evening in bed?” the voice asked.
Julia let out another deep sigh, threw off her blankets, and got up. “I was sleeping, I had a rough day,” Julia said, as she got up and lurched towards the window, shutting the blinds.
“Well, if you want to go back to sleep I can leave, no big deal,” the voice said.
Julia lay back down. “My life sucks,” she said huffed. She placed her head on her pillow and felt the weight of another person being placed on her bed. A hand came toward her face and swept her hair behind her ear. It was soft and warm. It found its way down Julia’s arm and to her hand, where it embraced it and pulled it away from her body.
“Please come out and let’s eat, you’ve been in here too long,” the voice said and pulled her hand closer, kissed it gently, and placed it back on the bed. The roommate walked towards the door, turned off the light, and walked down the hallway, fading into the distance.
********
A week later, Julia reluctantly ditched her classes again and headed towards a clinic near St. Sebastian’s. The hospital had clearly made its stance on her decision, stating it had no board certified physicians who were qualified for those kinds of procedures, and directed her to another agency that may be able to provide her further assistance. Once off the bus, Julia knew immediately that this was yet another day where she would have to prove herself to her adversaries. The sidewalk was lined with stern older woman, all in sweatshirts and jeans. Julia immediately caught their attention as she walked slowly towards them. They huddled for a moment and came towards Julia, pleading with her to think about the baby. Julia walked past them and onto the sidewalk leading through the lawn of the clinic towards the front door.
“You’ll be sorry,” one of them yelled. Julia turned around and saw the face of a woman she had just met a week ago. Ruth stood with her eyes glaring. Julia turned back around, held her head up and looked at the glass double doors in front of her. Her reflection came closer to her. She entered the double doors and was again brought back to the silence. She sat in the office lobby and wept, as a nurse came to her side and offered her a tissue.

Pissed Off Ferret

“Let’s go to Cancun, “she said. “It’s a free trip, it will be fun, margaritas, beach, and sun,” she said. “We’ll never have to see this fucker again,” she said. Oh, promises, promises, promises. And will you take a look at where I am now. Actually, I really don’t even know where the hell I am. I haven’t found any readable signs and no one speaks my language. But I do know that I am absolutely alone now. This was supposed to be the last time that I ever saw that sweaty, foul smelling, ferret kicking maniac. Little did I know that it was all a trick to leave me stranded in the middle of nowhere. Now I’ve got the sun beating down on my back, I feel like I’m overheating with all this fur, and don’t even ask about the smell. I haven’t eaten anything descent in three days; my stomach feels like it’s shrinking with every step I take. My coat is all knotted up; my tail covered in feces. And just an hour ago I almost got eaten by a group of rabid Chihuahuas. So now it’s just me; fearless ferret against the world. Who knew they would come here and resuscitate their dead, rotting love and forget all about me? They were never in love, they hated each other! They would have ripped each other to shreds if it weren’t for me. I am so incredibly pissed. I offered comfort to this lady when she would pathetically cry over that whorish devil of a man. I even allowed her to dress me up in the most ridiculous dresses, paint my nails hot pink, and tie bows on my tail, when she knows that I am a male ferret! She even gets drunk and carries me around and shoves me in her friend’s faces, but did I ever object to any of that demeaning treatment? NEVER! And now she wants to abandon me forever for that loser? What a two faced bitch. That’s the last time I be anyone’s lap ferret. Never again. I hope their happy when they get back to their stuff and see that it is completely ravaged. Ripped up purses with shredded straps and torn, urine soaked traveler’s checks and pesos. Passports exchanged to the cleaning lady for my escape and her promise to not ever come back to the room. I hope the stench of my horribly rotting crap turns their colons to mush and makes then defecate for days like I did. And what was the moral of my story? First of all, never trust anyone, no matter how much you truly believe they have your best interests in mind. And as for their moral? Never, ever, turn your back on a ferret. Or else, you know what, you’ll find yourself stranded in a foreign country, no papers, no money, and no cute, adorable ferret to lay your head on and cry. She just lost the best thing she ever had.

Love Letter

So this is something that I know you could care less about. It's been so long since we last agreed to be friends, but then somehow ended up going our seperate ways. Though I absolutlely feel like I am in the best possible place I could be at in my life, I can't help but always have you on my mind. It just seems like you are always there. The worst part of it is that I still have you as a constant character in my dreams. Then I wake up and realize that you are no longer a character in my real life. That tends to hurt sometimes when I realize that you have a new life that no longer includes me. I am a mere referrence to your past, a footnote. But I have realized the importance of that. I've changed you, or at least I would like to think that I did. And you in turn have given me a better attitude about life and how not to make mistakes. I feel like I am betraying so many people and so much of myself when I write this, so from now on, I'll try not to think about this subject anymore. It's so hard to deny this part of my life because it shaped me into the person that I am today, but there is also a part of me that is so desperate to not let go. God I'm pathetic.

Worst Work Day-Everyday

Of course it's a day like any other day. A miserable, horrible day, where I see the same faces, attached to the same bodies with the smallest brains on the planet. God I hate this ploace. Of course I can hear them now, "oh, well, if she doesn't like it here anymore, why doesn't she just leave?" Oh and I wish my decision was that easy. It's the money versus the eight hours of misery. Good money versus opinionated cliques. Good money versus 50-year-olds with grade school mentalities. An eye for an eye every single day. So now, I keep my distance. I'm here solely for money. But it wasn't always like this. I did actually use to like my job. But now there's too much favoritism. Too many people who know this person, or "oh my kids grew up with her kids," or "that's my daughter." And I am the outsider. I'm glad not to be associated with anyone here. Glad that I didn't come from the same neighborhoods or families. And so glad that everyone doesn't know all of my business.
Every so often, I'll get those cranky old people who can't wait more than thirty seconds for service. And I don't need to hear anyone's opnions right now, just do your part of the job and things would run so much smoother. But something so simple could never be that easy. At least not here. But thank god for these guests and their money, I mean their smiles, and optimistic attitudes about everything. Makes the time go by faster. Makes me forget about the people I'd like to mow over in the parking lot. One day I'll probably leave, walk out and never come back. Hopefully it will be because of an economic crisis, and not because my will was broken down to that point.

Where I'm From

I've climbed all of those mountains.
I would ride my bike out to the farthest reaches of my tiny town and would climb through the sandstone canyons. And if I couldn't ride there, I would ask my dad if he could drive me out there and we could both climb. I know all the best ways to get up. I know the hardest routes to climb. I know the trails down or the smoothest spots to slide down on. That's where we took lunch, built our play homes, spent our play money. Even venturing to the top of the arched rocks to look across the small town. Wind threatening to blow you down, hundreds of feet to the soft, thick, red sand below. There was a stone bridge left in the wilderness, a bridge I never crossed but always sat on as I watched the sun go down between the trees.

Dialogue Between two Lovers

Amanda sat in the dark room as the rain beat heavily against the window. It was three o'clock in the afternoon and Robert was not home yet.
"Oh, Robert, not home yet?" she said as she stared blankly into the closet.
"Did you get caught in the rain, couldn't find a ride home and decided not to walk?"
A crash of lightning shook Amanda as she wrapped the blankets around her shoulders. Just then she heard the lock unlatch and heard the front door open. The rain got slightly louder, then bang, the door closed. Robert walked into the room, threw down his keys and his wet trench coat and let out an annoyed sigh.
"Yes, I'm awake, " says Amanda, "and, no, I didn't clean today."
"Well, I can see that, Amanda, so when exactlty are you going to get out of bed?" asked Robert.
"Never. I'm never, ever, ever, ever going to leave this bed, not untill you apologize," Amanda cried.
"Apologize? Apologize for what?" said Robert.
Amanda could feel her heart breaking again.
"Splenda was a good cat!"Amanda says sniffling.
"She was, but she ran away," Robert huffed.
"You locked her out! Someone took her or she's dead!" screamed Amanda.
"You don't know that," said Robert.
"It's been raining for an entire week! She probably drowned in a sewer by now!"
Robert sighs again and says, "Well if she did then she's in a better place."
Amanda rips off her covers and throws a pillow at Robert's head and then yells, "Oh, and this is just a joke to you, well it's not funny! You didn't love that cat the way I did, that cat was my baby!"
Amanda threw her face into her pillows and began to sob uncontrollably as she yelled Splenda's name.
Robert looked at the ceiling, scratched his head, and looked at his watch.
"Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't know she wasn't in the house, okay?"

Writing about place

I had been looking forward to this day for a whole semester. My background had been checked and my shot records updated. The only hurdle I had left to conquer was the perplexing maze of hallways that weren't conveniently connected by a central corridor. Most of the walls are white. Some have huge windows that display large patios clustered with plants, fountains, and benches. The air inside is sterile, crisp, and cold. I find my way to the 600 wing of the hospital and the charge nurse there wants to know exactly why I'm there. "I'm a FACES student," I say with a quivering voice as the charge nurse inspects my badge. "Oh, right, FACES, what exactly does that stand for again?" I don't recall exactly what I mumbled, because I never really knew what it stood for. Without hesitation she reached for a phone and paged a nurse. Once my nurse arrived, I was introduced and shuffled off to a room towards the end of the hall. We passed several other nurses, all writing in thick binders on the tops of fold out desks connected to the wall. My nurse stopped me short of a room and told me she needed help changing a wound dressing. She handed me gloves and said, "this man is very sick." In the dimly lit room stood a family. The old man lay in the crisp white linens wheezing loudly, trying to pull air into his lungs. My nurse begins to unravel his face from the enormous amount of gauze. One by one the bandages come off. I fight with the latex gloves on my hands as i try to open a package of gauze. A mixture of ointment and puss loft in the air as we pass used gauze and new gauze back and forth. People are crying in the background, and all I can think about is sunscreen.

Common Ideas from http://samrocs0212.blogspot.com/

So, the last time we met in class we were asked to write a narrative of one of three characters from "How to Tell a True War Story." I chose to wrtie from the perpsective of Lemon's sister, as did some of the people who read aloud in class. After hearing the stories they wrote, I thought it was probably horrible that I thought that Lemon was a huge idiot. Now, I don't feel so bad because it seems that Samantha has the same views that I did, wonderful, check it out.

Interesting insights from http://ihavenoidea206.blogspot.com/

After have read some of the classes blogs, I found this one particularly interesting, mainly, because it made me laugh out loud! Daniel talks about how he received books from distant family members for Chirstmas about how to write fiction. I am that relative! Not his relative, but I am the relative that will spend the entire day at a book store looking for books I think would make great gifts for my family members. I always would think "this is the worst gift a kid can get for christmas" but would often write that thought off as I thought to myself: "they'll love this book one day." I just thought it was so funny to have some insight!

Hello, I'm Lemon's Sister

It doesn't surprise me. I'm just not shocked at all. I mean, it's a war; people die. People come home whole or in pieces. I'm not for the war but it's what he wanted to do. Lemon was always stupid. He would just never listen or forget something important you told him five minutes ago. Always goofing around. He took nothing seriously. He just didn't care. Maybe that's why he left; to make something meaningful of his life, become a new person, or just so he could come home and brag about all the stuff he did. But now he's gone. Goofing off again, not paying attention at all. I told him every chance I could before he left: "Take this serious, please, and come home. Be safe. Write to me." But nothing. No letters ever came. Doesn't surprise me. But I do get a letter from some other wise ass that was probably just like him. Stupid, obnoxious. A wise ass telling ME about MY brother and what he was doing there. Talking about how noble and brave he was. He was never like that here. He had to go half way around the world to prove what kind of man he could be. Now nothing. Nothing because he was so stupid. I'm angry that I'll never see him again, but what can I do? Keep reading this letter and imagine the face and the voice of some other idoit that helped him get to where he is now? I just wait now. For him. To come home. He can rest and we can take him flowers on his birthday. Maybe a cake, sing a song. He would like that.

Nicole at 25

At first glance, Nicole seems not to be particularly interested in anything at all. She can stand around, sit around, or even walk around with no expression. No interest in the day, the time, especially no interest in what may be passing her by. There are many people who have said that “she’s rude,” “she’s conceited,” or “she has no manners,” but these people don’t seem to know the real Nicole. If people would just put their feelings aside they would notice that Nicole isn’t much of a snob at all; she prefers to be called shy, which is a lot less critical. Shy or not, Nicole can move past this rigid exterior and be overly nice to a whole lot of people.
Picking and choosing isn’t the norm for most people, or is it? Nicole actually doesn’t like to play favorites, but it is only part of her daily routine. If you care to know, Nicole is a server at a casino restaurant and no matter how rude, indecisive, or impatient some guests can be, Nicole goes way beyond her own expectations to make sure that every guest is content beyond their own justifications. This of course means that anyone that gets in the way of her good service had better look out. It is also certainly true that her attitude can’t go on for days, her cooks can’t always get the orders right, her customers can’t always be pleased, her supervisor can’t always cut the shift short, and her feet can’t always remain pain free. But it’s good money, it’s good benefits, and it’s her job until she can earn a degree.
Besides worrying about school and what hours she can actually afford to work, Nicole often worries about her health, but not in a normal way. Nicole is a self proclaimed hypochondriac. Her family may not know very much about her obsessions, but her friends
certainly have a clue. Nicole has told many stories in the past about how a spider bite in eighth grade gave her flesh eating bacteria, or about the time she accidentally mixed Benadryl with an energy drink and swears she had a minor stroke, even though the doctor told her it was only an optical migraine. Nicole knows better to trust the doctors who know far more about the human body than Nicole’s BIO 201 and 202 could explain.
This brings us to Nicole’s rekindled love for science. Nicole wishes to become a nurse one day, if all goes well, but if not who knows that will happen to all those biology, chemistry and microbiology credits when she changes her major. But like every young Native American college student, one day Nicole would like to return to her reservation and serve her tribe, in a much different way than she serves people now. It’s true that Nicole has a warm heart and a sincere yearning for positive outcomes; and this is the part of her that she wishes to be seen.

Letter to my Friends

So, having learned very little about me in these first few sessions of our writing class, I’m sure everyone would like to know more. It is true that most of my schooling up to this point has been very science oriented, but don’t let that throw you off; I am very much a writer. In the beginning of my Pima education I have always wanted to dive into this course, but unfortunately my scholarship restricted me to only certain classes that pertain to my major. Luckily for me, I decided to transfer to the U of A to continue my education and can now include this class on my transcripts. My love of writing started to show itself when I was in middle school. I always had a journal to write in, and although it was all cheesy girl stuff, it let my mind wonder and make up all sorts of situations and dialogues that I knew would probably never happen. From here I started to write poetry, and then eventually moved on to short story writing. Writing has always been a path that I wanted to take as a career, but the starving-artist lifestyle has never been appealing to me. I have always been praised, and very embarrassed, by teachers who would decide to read my stories out loud in class as an example to everyone else. Boastful, I know, but deep down inside I would always feel a sense of pride at how well I could write fiction. My other writing classes, though, were a different story. I could not write an analytical paper for history or English classes, but I could always make stuff up. I read a lot more back then, when I had the time, but I’ve moved very far from the reader and writer I used to be. I can’t really say that I didn’t have the time; I guess I kind of just got lazy. That, or maybe my writing was making me depressed, it seemed like all I would write about before I stopped writing was incredible heartbreak about stuff people should just never go through, decisions that should never have to be made, those kind of things sort of turned me away for awhile. I’m hoping that I can turn writing back into a positive experience, bring back my imagination and make my writing my favorite thing to do once more.

List for Living

Family

Believe

Metal

Cumbersome

Stinky

Coagulate

perpendicular

touch

sass

together

baby

satisfy

juxtapose

create

journey

universe

destiny

forgiveness

happiness

faith

fulfillment

laughter

love