Work, Work, Work

I just finished school yesterday. I took my three finals and I'm done for a few weeks until my summer classes start. I had a few hours to celebrate by sleeping before I started a new job today. It was a lot of fun and I absolutely love it. I'm not going to be blogging about anything about it though because I don't want to loose it, ever. I want to stay where I am until I find something better.

Anyway, I got home around 4:30 and I've been sitting around my house wondering what to do the rest of the night. I keep feeling like I should be doing homework or something. Maybe I'll start writing a memoir or something. I really want to work on one. Maybe I'll read a book. I have time now. I don't know. But, I'm gonna relax when I'm not working for the next two weeks before my next semester starts.

Finals

I have three finals today. Which happens to be all of them since my other three classes don't have any finals. I'm so tired from studying the past two days. I just want to curl up and sleep. But, no. I have to go take a final at 10:30 which means yay last minute cramming! 

I'm gonna fall over. 

I hope you guys have a good day though! Don't work too hard.

Baker Baker Trouble Maker

I've been so busy that I haven't said anything about the new puppy!

We decided on Baker as his name. There are three reasons for this.

1. My mom has a Baker's Cyst on the back of her leg. We went to the ER for it the night before we got him. She was given pain killers for the pain. We believe she was on drugs when she agreed to another dog. So he is named Baker after the cyst that brought him in our life.

2. He is all white. We are calling him Baker because he reminds us of white frosting, powdered sugar, and creme. Yum.

3. I named him Baker because I can call him Baker Baker Trouble Maker. My dad is now calling him Baker Baker Poopy Maker.

We love him to death. He likes to get into trouble, but he is a sweetheart. I'm so glad we have him in our lives.

Here are some pictures from the last few weeks...

Bringing him home the first day. My mom and sister.

Sleeping with Dad

Chewing on some string. He is still teething. 

Sleeping. What a tired puppy!

Chewing on my Spanish Book.

Getting his head stuck in one of his toys

He jumped in the dryer! I was laughing.

Happy Anniversary

Today marks the 36th year since my parent's said "I do."

I find that really exciting. All anyone hears about anymore are all the divorces. Celebrities getting divorced. Politicians getting divorced. Everyone is getting divorced. It makes me think, if everyone just gets divorced, why get married? Well, my parents answer that question for me time and time again. 

Sure, their marriage isn't perfect. But, be honest. What marriage is? Their marriage has had bumps in the road. I'm not naive enough to think it hasn't. They've fought. They've yelled at each other. They've even both spent the night on a couch in a fight. The thing is though, 36 years later and they are still together. They've gotten through those bad times and those bad nights. They've kept going. They've worked at their marriage. 

Marriage isn't something that just happens and it's happily ever after. Marriage requires work.

I'm very proud to say that my parent's are still together. I'm even happier to say that they are out today spending the day with each other. Things may not always be perfect, but today it is. 

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!

I'm writing a research paper about Transcendentalism and came across this quote. I really like it.

"Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with. He cannot inflame the minds of his audience." -Thoreau

Hearing vs. Listening

Do you ever feel like no body is listening to what you are saying? Or that they are hearing it they just don't understand what you are saying? 

I'm so frustrated lately with the people around me. I feel isolated. Like I'm in a sound proof room shouting at the people around me and no body sees me, no body is listening. I can't take it anymore.

The worst part is that I have no body to talk to about it. I feel like all my friends are away at college doing bigger and better things. I feel like they all have these new awesome friends, and I'm stuck at home, going to a local campus with one person that I actually talk to. I just feel alone. I feel like no one cares about me anymore. Maybe that's not true. Maybe it's kinda self centered. I don't know, but I know it's how I'm feeling.

Tonight, I tried to talk to my mom about the diet I'm on with this super expensive doctor. It costs almost $100 dollars every time I go, which is usually every week. I'm on this diet where I can't eat anything but meat, eggs, and vegtables. It's not that bad actually, but I'm not losing a lot of weight. I'm frustrated. I just don't see the point of going to see him every week when it's not helping me. I can diet by myself. 

The thing is, I'm happy the way I am right now. Sure, I'm overweight and it sucks. Sure, I do look in the mirror and wish I was a size six. But, I'm not. I've accepted this. I just wish she would. All she ever talks about is me being too fat and how I need to lose weight. I don't think she even thinks about how that makes me feel. Sometimes it just makes me want to eat a whole cake just so I don't lose weight to piss her off some more. 

I just want people to listen to me even just once. I want my mom to try and understand. I want her to shut the hell up and leave me alone. I want to move away.

I just...I want someone to listen to my rambles.

If you read this, thank you.

"We are all searching for purpose in a land of nothingness..."

-Unknown

Awards and Blog Blow Ups

I've wanted to be a writer since I was 16. Before that, I wanted to be an artist. I used to draw all the time. During school, I would draw on my notebooks and my hands. At home, I had sketch books and pencils galore. I loved drawing. I loved taking lead or chalk or paint and creating beautiful pictures out of them, even if they were only beautiful to me. In eighth grade, I wanted to be a fashion designer. I drew all these pictures of clothes and shoes that my sister thought were ugly or stupid. Now, I look at the things people are wearing in Hollywood and I see my designs in some of them. It's weird.

When I decided that I wanted to make art when I grew up, my mother wasn't very happy. She had always supported me and saved all my drawings but she didn't want me to be an artist. "There's no money in art," she would say to me. "Do something else. Be great."

So, I stopped drawing. I just quit. Instead, I focused on my sciences and maths. I was smart enough to be a doctor. I even thought I would love to be a doctor. I turned to reading. I read books upon books. Soon, I got my first job. I spent 150 dollars of my paychecks on books every two weeks. My collection soon grew to encompass every space I had for books. My mom made me box some up. That summer, I read all my books over again because I didn't have money for new books. I read them over and over again. Soon, I wanted new things to read, but I didn't have any other books.

I sat down with my laptop one night and just began writing. These authors can create amazing fantasies with just words. I couldn't I. Within a year, I had written my first novel. I thought it was the best thing ever. Looking back at it now, it was ridden with mistakes and plot holes.

I went to college Pre-med originally. I wanted to be a Psychiatrist. I took two semesters of classes and hated them. I still think Chemistry and Biology are fascinating, but my teachers sucked. I transferred schools and moved closer to home. Actually, my commute is five minutes. I am now a English Writing major and I'm double majoring with Psychology. My writing teach told me, "Writing is a craft. You have to work at it. You aren't just instantly amazing at it. It takes time."

She was right. I'm not the best writer, and to be honest, I never will be. I will make mistakes. I'm sure I already made a mistake writing this post. But, I am so much better then where I started. The passion that I once felt for drawing, I now feel for writing. I can't draw anymore. My scribbles are almost unidentifiable. But, I can write. I can spend hours sitting in my room in front of a computer to create stories that are purely fiction or to create stories of my life through the years. I can spend days writing a novel about kidnapped teens, or I can work on a memoir of my time struggling with PCOS, DDD, three herniated discs, and hypothyroidism. I can write. I love to write.

Recently, I've been awarded an award for writing a blog at my school. The blog is called Gadgets and Gizmos A Plenty and it's a blog I started for class. I was so excited about the award. It made me feel that my time trying to perfect my craft hadn't gone to waste. Then my excitement dwindled when I realized it wasn't like I had gotten published. But, it doesn't matter. I won something. I achieved something. I'm getting better.

Wednesday night, I got to meet my favorite blogger, Virginia Montanez. She's writes the blog That's Church. Some in the Pittsburgh area may know her as PittGirl. I know her as a kick ass writer who I look up to for her blog and her courage to say what she feels so publicly. I got to speak with her and show her my blog I made for class. She really liked it, and I couldn't stop smiling. This lady whose blog I read religiously liked my blog. Holy shit! Then, after almost everyone left, I showed her my other blog. She liked it too! She said she would probably even read it! I couldn't even handle that information. I was amazed. Yesterday, she mentioned both of my blogs, and my fellow bloggers blogs in a post on her website. I was so completely honored by this. I still can't believe that my name and my blogs were on her blog. I'm amazed. I'm honored. I feel truly blessed.

I am very thankful for the amazing things happening in my life right now. Today I get to walk across a small stage and receive my award for my blog. It's very overwhelming to finally feel like everything is right in the world. I feel like I'm finally on the right track. I feel very blessed, and I hope things only go up from here!

That's my story of self realization, or at least the sparknotes. I hope that you have already found what makes you happy in life and are pursing it. If not, sometimes it takes some wrong choices to find the right one. I hope you find yours soon.

Buttercups

I grew up in a small little house about a mile from where I live now (if you walk). It was a small tan brick house with a big tree in the middle of the yard that I used to swing on. There was a porch that started on the side of the house and wrapped around to the back of the house. If you went down some steps, there was another, smaller porch that held a hot tub. I miss this house. In the back of the house was a little patio with a wooden swing. Two small pine trees stood on either side of the yard where my sister and I had planted them when we were young. In the very back of the yard, a taller pine tree stood from my parent's first Christmas in the house.

I hadn't really thought about how much I missed that house until I was walking across campus the other day. I was walking past this wooded area where the sun was shinning down. In the middle of the ray of light, little buttercups were reaching for the light. They were so bright and beautiful in the brown crispy leaves from the fall.

 They made me think of this first home and the buttercups that used to blossom by our neighbors pool. My sister and I used to pick them. I would hold a blossom up to my chin and say, "Do I like butter?"

A yellow light would shine on my chin and my sister would say, "Yup, you definitely like butter." She would pick her own flower and hold it to her chin. She would say, "How about me? Do I like butter?"

"Oh yea," I would say, "You love butter!"