What did you learn in this course? I learned that using the work I in your writing is ok, and i am not going to be arrested by the english department for doing so.
About the form of CNF? There are many different forms. In the beggining of class when we were just writing about us, almost like free writing, it was easy. But as we went on and introduced writing in epsiodes, or focusing on an object it got increasingly difficult.
What did you learn about how to write CNF? I learned that i could simply be creative. There were guidelines that i had to follow, but for the most part it is enjoyable. I learned that I love it.
About where to publish/find publishing venues for your creative writing? There is an array of places that I can use to send my writing. The list that was given in class, may it only be a small percentage, was a great help.
Did you change anything /try anything different in your writing process? Please describe. As mentioned before I got to write about me. I loved that, and i also got to really explore my psyche and try and figure out why i felt the way i did about certain things.
Which class assignments/class experiences helped you learn whatever you learned? The first two essays, and the journal writings. the journals helped me take apart my thoughts and really spend some time to reflect about situations that i have not really talked about.
What do you wish the course spent more time on?What do you wish we'd spent less time on?
I wish we spent less time writing about what we did to revise, i liked talking about it but not writing about it on my blog. I would have liked to spend more time journaling.
Right pace/schedule? yes
Coherence of material? yes
Workload => Too much, too little, just right? What would you change? Besides some of the blogs, everything was great.
Cover material appropriate to course goals? yes
Enough feedback for grades? most certainly
Which form of feedback was most helpful? sitting down and having conferences was a huge help!
Which did you enjoy most? class discussions
Any which you felt was unproductive? no
What would you do more of? journaling
What would you do less of? blogging
Did you feel the grading system was fair? yes
Did the grades/grading system contribute to learning? yes
Is there anything you could tell me that would help me teach a better/more engaging course? I would possibly have more class discussion and less blogging.
Anything you want to say about your experience of the course? it was great. i really enjoyed the class and am very happy that i was the only one left to sign up for. i would have been missing out.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Blog 22 ( revised essay)
Her laugh resembles mine, the way she speaks is just like me, and we both have the same smile. We share the need to wear our hearts on our sleeves; we speak our minds almost too much, and have blond moments just as often. We are smart, we are daddy’s girls, and share a bond that is unbreakable.
Several pictures a year are taken of the two of us together and they change drastically every time. There were pictures of us when she was little and I was looking at her with disgust, because now she was the baby and I was jealous, and as the years went on they changed again as we got closer. A picture can say so much about a person but it cannot tell you of their past. The picture above is the two of us at my Aunt Beth and Brandy’s baby shower. We were sitting in wooden chairs at the end of the dance floor watching them open their gifts. She was sitting a couple of inches in front of me because she was taking pictures to make a scrap book for our aunts. I remember looking at her, studying the way she moved, laughing because she placed her feet on the ground just like I did, even though she didn’t have the injury that cause me to do it. She held the pencil the same way as me, and when she stood up she wiggled her hips, as I always do because my pants never stay on. She seemed to pick up on the little things that I do, and made them her own little quirks; I wonder if she even realizes where she got them from.
Sometimes I wonder how it is that we are so alike. You see, I do not live with her; she lives with my father and her mother. When I was younger, we spent every other weekend and the summers together until I was about 14. Being that she is five years younger than me, there was not much that happened to us at the same time. Meaning I liked boys when she still thought they had cooties, and as I went through my teenage years, she was playing with her dolls still. I also was a different person whenever I was at the house in Pennsylvania. I never showed my true colors this only happened when I was in Jersey. So how do two people who are not around each other all the time become two peas in a pod?
Could it be the one undeniable factor that we share that makes us so similar? Something inside of us is the identical, science can prove it to be true, we share DNA. May it only be partial, it is there. Nature and science tells us that with in both of our bodies we possess the DNA of Stephen Quinn. It is the determining factor that seals the bond that we have; the law tells me that it is so. Yet “Blood”, whether it is half, full or none is not what makes us what we are. It is experiences, talks, hugs, fights, Christmas mornings, secrets, make-up, late night movie nights, and talks on the phone that last for hours.
Watching her at the party, realizing all the things that made us so similar, I decided I wanted to take a picture to document this time in our lives. I reached into my mess of a purse and looked around for my pink camera, which had silver marks all over it because of the chipped paint. I pulled it out, turned it on, and tapped my sister on the shoulder. When she turned around and saw the camera I did not even have to ask. She scooted her chair towards me and leaned up against my shoulder, this was our usual pose. Next she asked what she always does, “Funny or smiling?”; just another part of our routine. I replied with "smile nice." In a matter of 15 seconds there we were on the screen; two young women smiling just like each other, making a memory of that day.
This bond that we have is due partially because of what is written in the laws of science, but the largest contributing factor is choice. I do not live with her, have never gone to the same school, never had the same friends, and have not always followed the same rules. I could very easily just give her a hug and a kiss at holiday parties just to say hello, and have the occasional conversations when advice is needed; but we both made the choice to not go down that road. We chose to love each other unconditionally, to talk all the time, share our thoughts, hopes, fears, moments of excitement. She whether she realizes it or not made a choice somewhere along the road that she wanted to be like me in way; some of these choices she realized and some she did not. I chose to be there for her, and to try and be a good example. We are as close as we are because we want to be, not because we share some measly DNA. There are many people out there who do not feel the need to make this sincere connection in our situations, but we did.
I look back at this picture today as I am writing and I am proud; proud that we made the choices that we did and that she so much like me. I think about how much she has become her own person since this picture was taken is amazing; how strong she has become and how her talents have flourished. While there are many resemblances and shared characteristics between the two of us, she is one in a million and adds her own little tweaks to what we share. A picture can sometimes be deceiving, leading you to believe there is love when there is not; this will never be the case with us. Our smiles will always be genuine and our love will always be true. As we age and life changes our picture are bound to change, but one thing will always remain the same between her and I, we are Sisters by blood, and Best Friends by choice.
( there is a really good picture that goes with this esasy but stupid Kean computers will not let me post it, booooooo! )
Several pictures a year are taken of the two of us together and they change drastically every time. There were pictures of us when she was little and I was looking at her with disgust, because now she was the baby and I was jealous, and as the years went on they changed again as we got closer. A picture can say so much about a person but it cannot tell you of their past. The picture above is the two of us at my Aunt Beth and Brandy’s baby shower. We were sitting in wooden chairs at the end of the dance floor watching them open their gifts. She was sitting a couple of inches in front of me because she was taking pictures to make a scrap book for our aunts. I remember looking at her, studying the way she moved, laughing because she placed her feet on the ground just like I did, even though she didn’t have the injury that cause me to do it. She held the pencil the same way as me, and when she stood up she wiggled her hips, as I always do because my pants never stay on. She seemed to pick up on the little things that I do, and made them her own little quirks; I wonder if she even realizes where she got them from.
Sometimes I wonder how it is that we are so alike. You see, I do not live with her; she lives with my father and her mother. When I was younger, we spent every other weekend and the summers together until I was about 14. Being that she is five years younger than me, there was not much that happened to us at the same time. Meaning I liked boys when she still thought they had cooties, and as I went through my teenage years, she was playing with her dolls still. I also was a different person whenever I was at the house in Pennsylvania. I never showed my true colors this only happened when I was in Jersey. So how do two people who are not around each other all the time become two peas in a pod?
Could it be the one undeniable factor that we share that makes us so similar? Something inside of us is the identical, science can prove it to be true, we share DNA. May it only be partial, it is there. Nature and science tells us that with in both of our bodies we possess the DNA of Stephen Quinn. It is the determining factor that seals the bond that we have; the law tells me that it is so. Yet “Blood”, whether it is half, full or none is not what makes us what we are. It is experiences, talks, hugs, fights, Christmas mornings, secrets, make-up, late night movie nights, and talks on the phone that last for hours.
Watching her at the party, realizing all the things that made us so similar, I decided I wanted to take a picture to document this time in our lives. I reached into my mess of a purse and looked around for my pink camera, which had silver marks all over it because of the chipped paint. I pulled it out, turned it on, and tapped my sister on the shoulder. When she turned around and saw the camera I did not even have to ask. She scooted her chair towards me and leaned up against my shoulder, this was our usual pose. Next she asked what she always does, “Funny or smiling?”; just another part of our routine. I replied with "smile nice." In a matter of 15 seconds there we were on the screen; two young women smiling just like each other, making a memory of that day.
This bond that we have is due partially because of what is written in the laws of science, but the largest contributing factor is choice. I do not live with her, have never gone to the same school, never had the same friends, and have not always followed the same rules. I could very easily just give her a hug and a kiss at holiday parties just to say hello, and have the occasional conversations when advice is needed; but we both made the choice to not go down that road. We chose to love each other unconditionally, to talk all the time, share our thoughts, hopes, fears, moments of excitement. She whether she realizes it or not made a choice somewhere along the road that she wanted to be like me in way; some of these choices she realized and some she did not. I chose to be there for her, and to try and be a good example. We are as close as we are because we want to be, not because we share some measly DNA. There are many people out there who do not feel the need to make this sincere connection in our situations, but we did.
I look back at this picture today as I am writing and I am proud; proud that we made the choices that we did and that she so much like me. I think about how much she has become her own person since this picture was taken is amazing; how strong she has become and how her talents have flourished. While there are many resemblances and shared characteristics between the two of us, she is one in a million and adds her own little tweaks to what we share. A picture can sometimes be deceiving, leading you to believe there is love when there is not; this will never be the case with us. Our smiles will always be genuine and our love will always be true. As we age and life changes our picture are bound to change, but one thing will always remain the same between her and I, we are Sisters by blood, and Best Friends by choice.
( there is a really good picture that goes with this esasy but stupid Kean computers will not let me post it, booooooo! )
Monday, December 7, 2009
Blog 22
The Teacher's Voice, A Literary Journal for Poets and writers in Education, is the publication venue that I chose. At first I chose it because it seemed to be one of the only ones left, but after reading over what they are all about and the type of writing that is published, it was a perfect choice. Being a student who is going to into education I have always had very strong opinions on how the education world is being handled; and this journal allowed me to realize that I am not alone in how I am feeling.
The journal it self is a non profit organization. They have private funding and everyone who is working towards making it are all volunteers. The individuals who work together to compile this journal are all educators or grad students who are going to be headed into an education field. The whole magazine its self is online, due to high printing costs, and you can subscribe online by just giving them your e-mail. ( it took me less than a minute to do) Since they are all volunteers and their funds are limited there is no real publishing schedule, but they are looking to expand in the new year. Their mission statement or their reason for creating this journal is as follows:
( read allow, computer will not let me copy and paste)
On the website it self there are several headings that are posted. One being, is there a war on public education? If clicked on it will lead you to articles that have been posted by educators that are voicing their opinions towards the changes being made in education. One article that caught my eye was The Business of Education: Teachers Missing at the top, written by Helen Zelon. It is an article that explains the "changes" that Mayor Bloomberg is making for schools in the city.
( read a small excerpt of this allowed to the class)
Other headings read, A Genesis Poem ( will be read aloud to the class) , Vol.3 #1, which links you to other postings that have been made by educators show casing poetry, creative non fiction, short stories and essays. Back issues, links you to other volumes; and resource links which is self explanitory.
The publication venue is looking for writers who want to voice their opinions about the ever changing education world. Most of them share similar views that the teacher is not being aloud to do thier job, and that government needs to take a step back. This is a place where teachers can unite, and come up with solutions to all of the problems that are arising everyday. For as long as I can remember I have been taught that the government has tried to have its hands in everything, and these individuals are voicing their reasons as to why this needs to stop. It is a journal that is meant for teachers, parents, and students. You as an individual are asked to submit your work, thoughts and feelings. hopefully it will get published in one of the volumes, but if not any feed back helps out those who are constucting the venue. Education, with out it what hope can we have for america, is changing and not for the better; it is time for change, this is the voice of the magazine. It is a wonderful place for anyone who is connected to education and should be shared with everyone.
The journal it self is a non profit organization. They have private funding and everyone who is working towards making it are all volunteers. The individuals who work together to compile this journal are all educators or grad students who are going to be headed into an education field. The whole magazine its self is online, due to high printing costs, and you can subscribe online by just giving them your e-mail. ( it took me less than a minute to do) Since they are all volunteers and their funds are limited there is no real publishing schedule, but they are looking to expand in the new year. Their mission statement or their reason for creating this journal is as follows:
( read allow, computer will not let me copy and paste)
On the website it self there are several headings that are posted. One being, is there a war on public education? If clicked on it will lead you to articles that have been posted by educators that are voicing their opinions towards the changes being made in education. One article that caught my eye was The Business of Education: Teachers Missing at the top, written by Helen Zelon. It is an article that explains the "changes" that Mayor Bloomberg is making for schools in the city.
( read a small excerpt of this allowed to the class)
Other headings read, A Genesis Poem ( will be read aloud to the class) , Vol.3 #1, which links you to other postings that have been made by educators show casing poetry, creative non fiction, short stories and essays. Back issues, links you to other volumes; and resource links which is self explanitory.
The publication venue is looking for writers who want to voice their opinions about the ever changing education world. Most of them share similar views that the teacher is not being aloud to do thier job, and that government needs to take a step back. This is a place where teachers can unite, and come up with solutions to all of the problems that are arising everyday. For as long as I can remember I have been taught that the government has tried to have its hands in everything, and these individuals are voicing their reasons as to why this needs to stop. It is a journal that is meant for teachers, parents, and students. You as an individual are asked to submit your work, thoughts and feelings. hopefully it will get published in one of the volumes, but if not any feed back helps out those who are constucting the venue. Education, with out it what hope can we have for america, is changing and not for the better; it is time for change, this is the voice of the magazine. It is a wonderful place for anyone who is connected to education and should be shared with everyone.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Blog number 21
Going through Theils idea's for revision I decided to chose number one on page 90 which reads: Look at a short piece of your nonfiction. What details are most crucial to creating the tone of the piece? Are there any important details you can identify that need further elaboration?
I chose a piece of writing that we worked on September 14Th, I believe the prompt was to write about scars that we have on our bodies. I wrote to following
Left leg, to the right of my shin, lies a large circle that is a dim, pinkish, purple bruise. It is there every day of my life and has been for the past two years. When I get cold its color resembles that of a child who's lips turn blue because the refuse to get out of the pool. This scar on my body is more than an ugly marking that needs to be covered up every time i wear a skirt or dress. Looking down at my damaged leg is like an automatic flashback to the most frightening night of my life. The accident. This abnormality invokes fear into my bones, visions of terror, but also a feeling of safety; my friend may even call it a life saver.
The tone of this piece is a disgust with a scar on my body. I feel that this comes across by the way it is explained and the words that are used. Such as ugly, abnormality, and the fact that it needs to be covered up. These details are needed so the audience can truly understand that it is not supposed to be there, and I do not want it to be there.
To make this into a longer piece and to elaborate on the scar its self I would need an insane amount of details added. The description of the scar itself would need to be more elaborate, I could add what happens to it when I am hot, or right after the shower. Showing that when i change so does my scar. Also because I stated that it invokes fear, i would need to give examples of what i see when i have my flashback of that night. I could talk about what it looked like when it first happened, a couple days after, once it really began to heal, and other peoples reactions to it. I did an essay about scars for the first part of the semester, but now that I am looking at this piece and exploring how i could revise it; i think this would make an excellent essay choice for essay number four, or something along those lines.
I chose a piece of writing that we worked on September 14Th, I believe the prompt was to write about scars that we have on our bodies. I wrote to following
Left leg, to the right of my shin, lies a large circle that is a dim, pinkish, purple bruise. It is there every day of my life and has been for the past two years. When I get cold its color resembles that of a child who's lips turn blue because the refuse to get out of the pool. This scar on my body is more than an ugly marking that needs to be covered up every time i wear a skirt or dress. Looking down at my damaged leg is like an automatic flashback to the most frightening night of my life. The accident. This abnormality invokes fear into my bones, visions of terror, but also a feeling of safety; my friend may even call it a life saver.
The tone of this piece is a disgust with a scar on my body. I feel that this comes across by the way it is explained and the words that are used. Such as ugly, abnormality, and the fact that it needs to be covered up. These details are needed so the audience can truly understand that it is not supposed to be there, and I do not want it to be there.
To make this into a longer piece and to elaborate on the scar its self I would need an insane amount of details added. The description of the scar itself would need to be more elaborate, I could add what happens to it when I am hot, or right after the shower. Showing that when i change so does my scar. Also because I stated that it invokes fear, i would need to give examples of what i see when i have my flashback of that night. I could talk about what it looked like when it first happened, a couple days after, once it really began to heal, and other peoples reactions to it. I did an essay about scars for the first part of the semester, but now that I am looking at this piece and exploring how i could revise it; i think this would make an excellent essay choice for essay number four, or something along those lines.
Blog 19
Essay number four:
“Why do we have to go to another store today? We have gone into about ten already and the only thing that anyone has found are shells and candles, I am hungry” This was a typical statement from my brother whenever the girls had a shopping day on vacation, and I never quite understood why he still came along every time we went. Usually shopping days occurred after at least half of the family had got sun burnt and needed a day away from the sun. I was usually the starter of this, for I somehow always forgot to re-apply around the second day and had to spend time lying on a couch in severe pain. Yet this was how it went, long drive, food, play, burn then shop. Besides fishing shopping was one of my favorite things to do when we were all together. I found it amusing when the men would get angry, and when my step mom would get all worked up and frantic when one of us went missing, even though we were just on the other side of the store. This was my family, crazy lunatics all coming together to look at little nick-knacks that were thrown about the store attempting to find the best deal. At this point in the day it was getting to be about one so everyone was getting hungry and the boys were done, done, done and for them it was time for beach and beer. Now although I was leading towards their thinking I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that brought be back. There it was shoved behind a coffee mug that had some silly statement on it; it had twelve sides, four letters, and an engraving that probably took a mere twenty minutes to carve. It was a little larger than the size of my palm and shared my pale complexion, although I had a red tint due to the burn. It was simple and elegant; there was just something about it that spoke to me, so I bought it. It was 3.95, cost less than the McDonald’s breakfast that I had earlier that day. I showed it to my younger sister and she said it was pretty, my step mom also had the same reaction, but I knew to them it was just another object that could be collected from our vacations. To me though it was special, I knew it would serve more of a purpose then just a memory of shopping with the family that year.
The remainder of vacation went like this. I slowly began to heal so I managed to venture out into the sun again, but with heavy duty protection, and always had a t-shirt on hand. My siblings and I all just hung out, laughed, ate A LOT, watched movies, drank, and tried to put out of our minds the ending of this vacation and returning to work. No one ever wants to leave, not just because we aren’t working, but because there are seven of us in our family so to get us all together in one place takes a lot of effort, but means the world when it happens. Our last day arrived, we packed, doubled checked the house and headed back to reality. We all had something to bring home with us, shells, pictures, some scars from falling while intoxicated, and in the bottom of my purse wrapped in tissue paper was my souvenir.
As we rode home and I got tired of listening to music and playing games with the family, I rolled over and un-wrapped the gift I bought myself. Now in my possession it still held so much beauty I was not able to look at it and not smile. I felt calm holding it, this was a help specially the way my father happened to be driving at the moment, and it seemed to have a power that only I could feel. I could hold it in one hand, but chose to use two because I could not imagine dropping it, I held it close to me for awhile just thinking about the trip and feel asleep with it in my arms.
After a total of around eleven hours we finally returned home, I packed up the remainder of my things and got into my car to travel back to Jersey. I took a lot away from the trip but most importantly I had my special souvenir. I threw I pack into my purse to make my journey home and took it out once I was all settled in. I took a moment just sitting there on my bed looking at it, studying the detail, even though as I mentioned it probably did not take too long, and I envied who ever did the engravings. Then I took my pointer finger and traced the four letters that were written down the front. First two parallel lines with a small horizontal line in the middle, then a perfect oval with no mistakes, next a straight line with a moon half full attached to it, and the last one I traced went left, down, right, left, down, right. Four letters that were the main reason why I looked at this knick knack, they spelled out the word H O P E. A word that is very important in my life. For I have taught myself that no matter what has gone wrong in my life that the only thing that I can do is to never give up hope. Sitting there on my bed, sad to be home, this word and this artifact left me with a feeling of security. All that was left to do was the find a place to put it. All around my room there were items of sentimental value that I was sure to save, but most of the time I just threw around my room without care. I could not do that with this item, I needed it to be in a place that could always be seen, a place that was close to me, and a place that my cats could not get to. I peered around for a while and decided that my night stand would be the best place, so every night before I went to bed I would be able to look over at it.
For what felt like the 100th time I was sick again. I couldn’t breathe, my fever was spiking, and my whole body was in pain. It was a part of my yearly routine being sick all the time, but this year it was just too much. No one seemed to care anymore, because it happened so often, I was like the girl who cried sick. I felt like I had nothing and nothing could get better, until I rolled over and saw it. I had changed its surroundings a bit now there was a candle and a plastic flower that went around the base of the. Those four little letters again were there, and I started to feel better. Of course my insides were not magically getting better, but my spirit was lifting at I was at least able to sleep. From this point I am stumped! I do not know if because I have been out of it lately so I have writers block but I cannot figure out where to go from here. As always I have trouble with my focus, I know that it has to deal with , what in people lives keeps them going when things are bad. Other than that I am lost. HELP!
“Why do we have to go to another store today? We have gone into about ten already and the only thing that anyone has found are shells and candles, I am hungry” This was a typical statement from my brother whenever the girls had a shopping day on vacation, and I never quite understood why he still came along every time we went. Usually shopping days occurred after at least half of the family had got sun burnt and needed a day away from the sun. I was usually the starter of this, for I somehow always forgot to re-apply around the second day and had to spend time lying on a couch in severe pain. Yet this was how it went, long drive, food, play, burn then shop. Besides fishing shopping was one of my favorite things to do when we were all together. I found it amusing when the men would get angry, and when my step mom would get all worked up and frantic when one of us went missing, even though we were just on the other side of the store. This was my family, crazy lunatics all coming together to look at little nick-knacks that were thrown about the store attempting to find the best deal. At this point in the day it was getting to be about one so everyone was getting hungry and the boys were done, done, done and for them it was time for beach and beer. Now although I was leading towards their thinking I spotted something out of the corner of my eye that brought be back. There it was shoved behind a coffee mug that had some silly statement on it; it had twelve sides, four letters, and an engraving that probably took a mere twenty minutes to carve. It was a little larger than the size of my palm and shared my pale complexion, although I had a red tint due to the burn. It was simple and elegant; there was just something about it that spoke to me, so I bought it. It was 3.95, cost less than the McDonald’s breakfast that I had earlier that day. I showed it to my younger sister and she said it was pretty, my step mom also had the same reaction, but I knew to them it was just another object that could be collected from our vacations. To me though it was special, I knew it would serve more of a purpose then just a memory of shopping with the family that year.
The remainder of vacation went like this. I slowly began to heal so I managed to venture out into the sun again, but with heavy duty protection, and always had a t-shirt on hand. My siblings and I all just hung out, laughed, ate A LOT, watched movies, drank, and tried to put out of our minds the ending of this vacation and returning to work. No one ever wants to leave, not just because we aren’t working, but because there are seven of us in our family so to get us all together in one place takes a lot of effort, but means the world when it happens. Our last day arrived, we packed, doubled checked the house and headed back to reality. We all had something to bring home with us, shells, pictures, some scars from falling while intoxicated, and in the bottom of my purse wrapped in tissue paper was my souvenir.
As we rode home and I got tired of listening to music and playing games with the family, I rolled over and un-wrapped the gift I bought myself. Now in my possession it still held so much beauty I was not able to look at it and not smile. I felt calm holding it, this was a help specially the way my father happened to be driving at the moment, and it seemed to have a power that only I could feel. I could hold it in one hand, but chose to use two because I could not imagine dropping it, I held it close to me for awhile just thinking about the trip and feel asleep with it in my arms.
After a total of around eleven hours we finally returned home, I packed up the remainder of my things and got into my car to travel back to Jersey. I took a lot away from the trip but most importantly I had my special souvenir. I threw I pack into my purse to make my journey home and took it out once I was all settled in. I took a moment just sitting there on my bed looking at it, studying the detail, even though as I mentioned it probably did not take too long, and I envied who ever did the engravings. Then I took my pointer finger and traced the four letters that were written down the front. First two parallel lines with a small horizontal line in the middle, then a perfect oval with no mistakes, next a straight line with a moon half full attached to it, and the last one I traced went left, down, right, left, down, right. Four letters that were the main reason why I looked at this knick knack, they spelled out the word H O P E. A word that is very important in my life. For I have taught myself that no matter what has gone wrong in my life that the only thing that I can do is to never give up hope. Sitting there on my bed, sad to be home, this word and this artifact left me with a feeling of security. All that was left to do was the find a place to put it. All around my room there were items of sentimental value that I was sure to save, but most of the time I just threw around my room without care. I could not do that with this item, I needed it to be in a place that could always be seen, a place that was close to me, and a place that my cats could not get to. I peered around for a while and decided that my night stand would be the best place, so every night before I went to bed I would be able to look over at it.
For what felt like the 100th time I was sick again. I couldn’t breathe, my fever was spiking, and my whole body was in pain. It was a part of my yearly routine being sick all the time, but this year it was just too much. No one seemed to care anymore, because it happened so often, I was like the girl who cried sick. I felt like I had nothing and nothing could get better, until I rolled over and saw it. I had changed its surroundings a bit now there was a candle and a plastic flower that went around the base of the. Those four little letters again were there, and I started to feel better. Of course my insides were not magically getting better, but my spirit was lifting at I was at least able to sleep. From this point I am stumped! I do not know if because I have been out of it lately so I have writers block but I cannot figure out where to go from here. As always I have trouble with my focus, I know that it has to deal with , what in people lives keeps them going when things are bad. Other than that I am lost. HELP!
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