Abuse

*These are all words from a writing handbook on punctuation .


Commas help communicate,
internal,
revisions,
it’s acceptable to omit
there’s no possibility of misreading,

do not set off a restrictive element,
although,
it’s not wrong to omit the comma
before the final conjunction in a series,
mild interjections,
between parts of a compound predicate.

Commas help communicate.

TGIF

I'm run down and burnt out. I just had my first session with my new counselor. He seems pretty qualified, and I am much more articulate than I used to be, so I think I make things easy. We seemed to jump right in and talk about realistic goals for the future. I told him about my project and he was really impressed and excited.

From what I understood, he seemed to think I was doing a good job at taking care of my mental health. He emphasized the fact that there is a lot of family history with mental health problems. He pointed out how it seems like I am constantly pounding into my friends head the fact that they can have biological depression, but I don't really believe that I have a Biological problem, and I just blame myself and feel like I am making myself depressed. I am doing that in some sick way, though. However, I'm still I'm open to the Biological theory. I'm a lot more accepting of my friends' shortcomings than my own.

I lost my five subject notebook with all of my class notes and information in it. These things happen when I am stressed and a little bit crazy; I lose things...A LOT. I have a lot of homework this weekend, and I need to catch up on sleep. Work is going well, but it's exhausting. I've started drinking a lot more caffeine, because I have to be alert to sit and listen to other people's papers, which is difficult when I haven't slept much.

I'm getting bad at blogging. There are so many more things I should blog about, but I'm tired and I just feel a little bit apathetic about expressing myself this morning.

Fall

Fall is my favorite season. It is also the season when I feel the worst. I get horrible headaches with all of the change in weather, my mood takes a nose dive due to lack of sunshine, and I get cold and lonely a lot. So why do I love it? I love the colors and smells, I love feeling like I have a purpose and being back in classes. However, the stress from being back in classes is usually what sends my mood spiraling a bit. I honestly feel like I can't win sometimes. 

I'm at the library right now, and gave up on a practice exam, which makes me feel guilty. It's not worth any points it's just for us to see how he grades. I feel like I should take advantage of this, since he didn't like my first paper (he really liked the second one, though). However, the essay question has made my head spin and I find myself giving up, tempted to go home and type out the two versions of the parable I picked to do my paper on for my Jesus class. That class is soooo interesting. There's so much about the Bible they never taught me in Catechism.

Today we learned that Luke left out things from Mark (that's not all that scandalous), but one of the passages he chose not to include was one where Jesus made some type of "racial slur" to a Psyro-Phoenician woman. It is speculated this was included in Mark, because Mark was writing for a Jewish audience, but it was left out of Luke, because he was writing for Gentiles, and this might have offended them. Crazy, isn't it?

My poetry class is getting harder. We are starting to work on all of this technical stuff that is frustrating. I think it is really good for me, but who knew there were all different types of rhyme and alliteration, and that I'd have to try to use them? I think out next assignment is to write a sonnet. I'm terrible at formal poetry. I don't even know where to begin. I'm disappointed with my last poem too. That one was lame, so I don't think I will post that on here anytime soon--unless it has some miracle turn-around soon.

Little Glass Bluebird

This is a work in progress

Draft #2

Little Glass Bluebird

I run my thumb
over scars from a crooked
price tag and fingerprint bruises
across your breast,
remembering when I burnt
my feet on the pavement,
dropped the newspaper,
and ripped open
your yellow envelope.

You slid into my hand
with a mix CD
and a letter from a friend
scribbled with smiling
stick figures, trees,
and the sun in black
pen at the bottom.
It read, “I bought this
seven years ago,” and “crazy
how time flies.”
Didn’t mention
how she was doing or explain
why she wanted you to be mine.

I rambled a two-minute
thank you on her voicemail.
Didn’t mention
how I was doing or explain
what you meant
because I know
she knows--
we’re too fragile to carry
happiness alone,
yet you’d make me believe
I could support its weight,
knowing in the end
happiness might break us.

I'm supposed to be studying for my Spanish exam. To ease the guilt this has to be fast. I just haven't been able to blog, and it makes me feel like life is slipping away. I've been writing one poem a week lately for my poetry class. It's draining, and usually results in me hating the poem, but loving it again when it's a complete draft. I have one due tomorrow that I'm still hating.

Today my first publication came out in print. It was so exciting to see my name and writing in fancy print. They really do a nice job at making this look legit. 

I feel behind and like a slacker in all of my classes right now, but I think I'm doing okay. It's always so hard to tell this early on. It will be nice to have a weekend up here to relax and catch up on homework. 

I will be on campus all day tomorrow because of work. I should start conferencing with students tomorrow. I think I will have to pack a lunch and possibly a dinner? It's not sounding exciting.

Wheatland was a blast, as always. It was a weekend of good people, good weather, good yoga classes every morning, and good music. It really doesn't get much better, although, more sleep would have been nice.

I feel like I have so much more to write about. I should dig deeper into my feelings, but there is just not time.