When I was in 1st or 2nd grade, I wrote the following composition on a piece of 1st or 2nd grade practice paper (you know, that tissue-thin stuff with the blue and red lines designed so that every laboriously-created letter could have a guiding mark?):
What is once loved.
You will find.
Is always yours.
Take it home.
In your mind.
And nothing ever can take it away.
I still have that piece of paper with the above words printed upon it, and while at times I've felt proud of those strangely poetic words, mostly, I've had the sneaking suspicious that I stole them.
Not on purpose, of course, but at that age, everything is about recitation and imitation. That's the only way to learn, really.
So today of all days I decided to do a Google hunt and see if I could find "my" poem under someone else's name.
Here's what I found, at the bottom of a chapter of Harry Potter fanfic, of all places:
"What is once loved, you will find, is always yours from that day.
Take it home, in your mind, and nothing ever can take it away."
- Elizabeth Coatsworth
And then I did a search for Elizabeth Coatsworth, and found this:
http://www.oldchildrensbooks.com/collectors-corner/authors/elizabeth-coatsworth
She was a children's book author, which of course makes sense; If I had stolen that verse from somewhere, it would have been from a book. Even back then, I was a ridiculous reader.
It also occurs to me, however, that maybe I didn't steal this verse on my own; one of my teachers could have printed it on the board for everyone to copy.
But then again, what if that wasn't it? What if it wasn't even an assigned, or an unconscious theft? What if we were asked to write something, and I, well aware that my composition was unoriginal, scrawled it out anyway? Holly Gruntner: violating copyrights since 1998.
The world may never know.
I guess I'm glad this mystery is finally (mostly) solved, but I'm a little sad at the same time.
I would have liked to have been a child prodigy.
Showing posts with label The Internet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Internet. Show all posts
Saturday, October 8, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
A Pretty Great Jacket
Sorry for the double dose of C.S. Lewis as my Person of the Week. But he's my 50th person, and if there's anyone who deserves to be my 50th person, and who deserves to have two quotes instead of one and two weeks instead of one, it's C.S. Lewis.
Today was a shopping day.
I got, among other things, a Nike jacket. I was not looking for a Nike jacket, but boy, did I find one. It's purple with orange trim and white stripes down the sides. It makes me look a lot sportier than I actually am. It's a pretty great jacket.
I also read quite a bit of Hemingway, attempted the Friday crossword, attempted to absorb some sun, watched a large quantity of Brotherhood 2.0, and drank a large quantity of orange juice.
Tonight we go to see a production of The Music Man, which is my favorite musical of all time. It also happens to be many people's least favorite musical of all time. And while I understand why people dislike it, I love it nonetheless, and will quite probably be singing along tonight. (To the despair of all those sitting near me.)
Stay gold.
Today was a shopping day.
I got, among other things, a Nike jacket. I was not looking for a Nike jacket, but boy, did I find one. It's purple with orange trim and white stripes down the sides. It makes me look a lot sportier than I actually am. It's a pretty great jacket.
I also read quite a bit of Hemingway, attempted the Friday crossword, attempted to absorb some sun, watched a large quantity of Brotherhood 2.0, and drank a large quantity of orange juice.
Tonight we go to see a production of The Music Man, which is my favorite musical of all time. It also happens to be many people's least favorite musical of all time. And while I understand why people dislike it, I love it nonetheless, and will quite probably be singing along tonight. (To the despair of all those sitting near me.)
Stay gold.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A Few Things
A few things:
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
One and a Half Naps, and Then a Revelation
A warning before I begin: This will probably be a very personal post. And not that people who don't know me really read this blog anyway, but if you don't know me, maybe you should stop now. That's not an order, as this is the internet, (and therefore anything I post here is pretty much fair game) but it is a suggestion.
I was about to take a nap just now. I finished reading Paper Towns (magnificent) on the couch in the sun room, and then I started to doze off. The thing is, my left earring was pressing into my skull, and I was still wearing my Target red and khaki, and I was worried about the dog sneaking over while I slept and eating the pear core I had laying on the rug beside me and getting sick and dying or something while I slept on like a masochistic infant. So I abandoned the couch, locked the dog in the kitchen, threw away the core, changed into sweats, and got into bed.
I was so tired that I didn't even bother to set my cell phone alarm (I usually do when I take naps or else I will pretty much sleep for the next 2 days). I was so tired that when my knee nudged against paper under the covers, and when I remembered that the paper was the Sunday crossword that I had hidden from my sister this morning (Sunday crosswords are sacred to me, and she has bad handwriting. Don't tell her I said that.), I didn't even bother to set the paper on my nightstand. I decided to sleep with it nudged against my knee.
The thing was, as I was drifting off to sleep for the second time, I started to think about the guy I like (Don't be scared; I'm not going to go middle school on you. Promise). I was thinking about how cute he is, and how smart, and how funny, and I was imagining us hanging out together. And then I started to worry, the way I often do when I think about a guy that I like (and I don't think I'm alone in this). I started to wonder why he would ever like me. I'm not a supermodel, I'm not outgoing, I'm not bubbly, I'm not chill or calm or neutral, I have a big nose, sometimes I can be a major space cadet, I can't dance, I'm not graceful in any way, and I make mistakes constantly. Why would he ever, ever like me back, I thought.
And then, suddenly, like someone was shouting it in my ear, I heard this:
You're perfect.
I'm perfect.
The more I thought about this, the more of a revelation it became. I actually started crying, and as I stared at my turquoise bedroom wall, black mascara tears on my cheeks, I realized that I am perfect. That someone (namely, God) took the time to make me the way I am. He didn't make one mistake with me. He didn't make one mistake with anyone. Every bit of me, inside and out, is deliberate. Everything I am has a purpose, and everything I strive to be will only add clarity to that purpose.
And while I generally view myself as a pretty confidant person, I don't know if I really am. I think in the past, when I've embraced myself, I've done it one-handedly; I've left the flaws out. I haven't liked to think about them much because they're flaws. They're bad. But now I don't know if I believe in the flaws at all. They're really only bits of sin and lint and doubt that I've created for myself, that I've let hang around me because, well, this is Earth and I am human. And I wanted that crossword for myself, darn it!
Do you see yet? As a being I am perfect because, lucky me, I was made in God's image (that's right, I'm one of those). As a human, things get a little shady. But these things shouldn't stop me. If I create the shade, then surely I can be the one to wave it away. I know that I can't save myself completely without help, but I also know that I can save myself a little bit just by realizing how lovely the essence of me really is. (P.S. Your essence is quite beautiful as well).
I think I went around in a circle, you guys. I don't know if I ended up where I intended to, or if you were able to follow my tracks, or if I even left clear enough tracks to follow. I hope I did. I also hope that I didn't come off as some sort of motivational speaker. (There's that self-doubt again. Hello.) I didn't mean to. I just tried to take a nap about a half hour ago, and ended up not wanting to sleep after all. I hope you understand why.
I was about to take a nap just now. I finished reading Paper Towns (magnificent) on the couch in the sun room, and then I started to doze off. The thing is, my left earring was pressing into my skull, and I was still wearing my Target red and khaki, and I was worried about the dog sneaking over while I slept and eating the pear core I had laying on the rug beside me and getting sick and dying or something while I slept on like a masochistic infant. So I abandoned the couch, locked the dog in the kitchen, threw away the core, changed into sweats, and got into bed.
I was so tired that I didn't even bother to set my cell phone alarm (I usually do when I take naps or else I will pretty much sleep for the next 2 days). I was so tired that when my knee nudged against paper under the covers, and when I remembered that the paper was the Sunday crossword that I had hidden from my sister this morning (Sunday crosswords are sacred to me, and she has bad handwriting. Don't tell her I said that.), I didn't even bother to set the paper on my nightstand. I decided to sleep with it nudged against my knee.
The thing was, as I was drifting off to sleep for the second time, I started to think about the guy I like (Don't be scared; I'm not going to go middle school on you. Promise). I was thinking about how cute he is, and how smart, and how funny, and I was imagining us hanging out together. And then I started to worry, the way I often do when I think about a guy that I like (and I don't think I'm alone in this). I started to wonder why he would ever like me. I'm not a supermodel, I'm not outgoing, I'm not bubbly, I'm not chill or calm or neutral, I have a big nose, sometimes I can be a major space cadet, I can't dance, I'm not graceful in any way, and I make mistakes constantly. Why would he ever, ever like me back, I thought.
And then, suddenly, like someone was shouting it in my ear, I heard this:
You're perfect.
I'm perfect.
The more I thought about this, the more of a revelation it became. I actually started crying, and as I stared at my turquoise bedroom wall, black mascara tears on my cheeks, I realized that I am perfect. That someone (namely, God) took the time to make me the way I am. He didn't make one mistake with me. He didn't make one mistake with anyone. Every bit of me, inside and out, is deliberate. Everything I am has a purpose, and everything I strive to be will only add clarity to that purpose.
And while I generally view myself as a pretty confidant person, I don't know if I really am. I think in the past, when I've embraced myself, I've done it one-handedly; I've left the flaws out. I haven't liked to think about them much because they're flaws. They're bad. But now I don't know if I believe in the flaws at all. They're really only bits of sin and lint and doubt that I've created for myself, that I've let hang around me because, well, this is Earth and I am human. And I wanted that crossword for myself, darn it!
Do you see yet? As a being I am perfect because, lucky me, I was made in God's image (that's right, I'm one of those). As a human, things get a little shady. But these things shouldn't stop me. If I create the shade, then surely I can be the one to wave it away. I know that I can't save myself completely without help, but I also know that I can save myself a little bit just by realizing how lovely the essence of me really is. (P.S. Your essence is quite beautiful as well).
I think I went around in a circle, you guys. I don't know if I ended up where I intended to, or if you were able to follow my tracks, or if I even left clear enough tracks to follow. I hope I did. I also hope that I didn't come off as some sort of motivational speaker. (There's that self-doubt again. Hello.) I didn't mean to. I just tried to take a nap about a half hour ago, and ended up not wanting to sleep after all. I hope you understand why.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Anatomy of a Novel
I think there's a novel in me somewhere. I'm not sure how it got there exactly. I mean, both of my parents are science-y, math-y people. Even my sister mostly dislikes English, although she is a far more dedicated journaler than I.
Maybe the novel nestled up against my rib cage, crushing my left lung a tad, is just buildup. You know, a bunch of leftovers mashed together into a convenient manuscript shape. A bit of This Side of Paradise here, some Harry Potter over there...and I think I can also feel pieces from some of the books I was forced to read: Nathaniel Hawthorne and Ralph Ellison are represented in that part.
Unfortunately, however, this inner Nobel winner of mine is not easily accessible. Sometimes when I'm in the shower or driving or sleeping or staring dumbly out of a window I get flashes of it, but they're never much. A conversation, maybe, or a glimpse of some character's face. They never seem to fit together, these flashes of mine. Most of the time I don't even write them down. I just continue to carry them with me, hoping for more.
Someday, I hope, my slowly emerging novel will be solid and promising on the table in front of me. I will be able to open the cover and smile at the dedication (because arrogant and sappy as I am, I already know who's name will be there). One day I will be at a Barnes and Noble, trying my best not to dash over to the fiction section and browse, and I will be signing copies of my book, handing them shyly back to people I have never met in my life. I will live in New York City (although I'll secretly miss Minnesota terribly), and I will dance (badly, because that's the only way I know how to dance) on Youtube with Libba Bray and John Green and Scott Westerfeld. And someday, when I'm old, and have written many many books, all of them precious to me, I will look a young, ambitious reporter full in the face, and answer a question. "My first novel was my most precious. Because I carried it around next to my heart*** for twenty years."
For now, though, I'll continue to blog. I'll continue to labor into the wee hours over papers whose topics I don't especially care about. I'll devour other people's stories in hopes that they will stick and become part of my own.
Someday, though (and it'll probably take a nasty case of hiccups), I will pour this entire novel onto paper (because it's so very uneloquent to say 'word document'). And I'll dance on Youtube with Libba Bray to celebrate.
Believe it.
***Don't worry, I Googled it: the heart is actually between the lungs. And the left lung, actually, is on the left side of your body if you look down at yourself. There! I did get a partial science gene after all!
Maybe the novel nestled up against my rib cage, crushing my left lung a tad, is just buildup. You know, a bunch of leftovers mashed together into a convenient manuscript shape. A bit of This Side of Paradise here, some Harry Potter over there...and I think I can also feel pieces from some of the books I was forced to read: Nathaniel Hawthorne and Ralph Ellison are represented in that part.
Unfortunately, however, this inner Nobel winner of mine is not easily accessible. Sometimes when I'm in the shower or driving or sleeping or staring dumbly out of a window I get flashes of it, but they're never much. A conversation, maybe, or a glimpse of some character's face. They never seem to fit together, these flashes of mine. Most of the time I don't even write them down. I just continue to carry them with me, hoping for more.
Someday, I hope, my slowly emerging novel will be solid and promising on the table in front of me. I will be able to open the cover and smile at the dedication (because arrogant and sappy as I am, I already know who's name will be there). One day I will be at a Barnes and Noble, trying my best not to dash over to the fiction section and browse, and I will be signing copies of my book, handing them shyly back to people I have never met in my life. I will live in New York City (although I'll secretly miss Minnesota terribly), and I will dance (badly, because that's the only way I know how to dance) on Youtube with Libba Bray and John Green and Scott Westerfeld. And someday, when I'm old, and have written many many books, all of them precious to me, I will look a young, ambitious reporter full in the face, and answer a question. "My first novel was my most precious. Because I carried it around next to my heart*** for twenty years."
For now, though, I'll continue to blog. I'll continue to labor into the wee hours over papers whose topics I don't especially care about. I'll devour other people's stories in hopes that they will stick and become part of my own.
Someday, though (and it'll probably take a nasty case of hiccups), I will pour this entire novel onto paper (because it's so very uneloquent to say 'word document'). And I'll dance on Youtube with Libba Bray to celebrate.
Believe it.
***Don't worry, I Googled it: the heart is actually between the lungs. And the left lung, actually, is on the left side of your body if you look down at yourself. There! I did get a partial science gene after all!
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Cinderella
Right now I sort of feel like Cinderella, for the following reasons:
1. There's a ball going on, and I'm not going.
2. Because I have to do work.
3. And I'm sitting here watching the girls on my floor get dressed up.
4. And I wish I were going with them.
I'm unlike Cinderella for the following reasons:
1. I have no adorable rodent friends.
2. It's a not a prince's ball in the palace; it's a Yule Ball (that's right-Harry Potter style) in the Student Center.
3. There are no hideous step-relatives preventing me from going.
4. My 'work' consists of papers, and presentations, and general studying, not chores and laundry.
You know, Cinderella used to be my favorite story growing up. According to my parents, I used to beg them to read it to me. Unfortunately for them, it was quite a long read, for a picture book.
Nowadays, I'm not such a fan of old Cinderella. We still own the Disney version on VHS, and whenever I watch it I'm struck by what a weak character Cinderella is.
First of all, she's not very proactive. Instead of fighting to improve her own life, she relies on mice, and a dog, and a horse, and a fairy godmother to help her win her prince. She's constantly singing about the importance of dreams, but does she ever really take any risks to make her dreams come true? Nope. She goes to a ball and dances one dance with an incredibly shallow prince, who doesn't speak two words to her, and probably only likes her for her beauty.
Furthermore, what were her dreams in the first place? To fall in love? I mean, this girl has pretty much been locked up in a manor scrubbing floors her entire life. Doesn't she want to see a bit of the world? Get an education? Make some friends? Actually live a normal life for a bit? Apparently not.
To be completely fair to Cinderella, however, I decided to google her. See if she's really just all fluff. Here's what I found out:
The story of Cinderella is actually thought to have originated around the 1st Century B.C., when a Greek history named Strabo recorded this story about an Egyptian girl:
They tell the fabulous story that, when she was bathing, an eagle snatched one of her sandals from her maid and carried it to Memphis. While the king was administering justice in the open air, the eagle, when it arrived above his head, flung the sandal into his lap. The king, having been stirred both by the beautiful shape of the sandal and by the strangeness of the occurrence, sent men in all directions into the country in quest of the woman who wore the sandal. When she was found in the city of Naucratis, she was brought up to Memphis and became the wife of the king...[3][4]
Nothing else I found led me to believe Cinderella has any depth, although I do admire her longevity. I guess everyone likes a little blind romance.
And she does have some good qualities, I'll admit. What do they call her? "Ever gentle and kind." Certainly admirable, but not exactly my kind of heroine these days.
1. There's a ball going on, and I'm not going.
2. Because I have to do work.
3. And I'm sitting here watching the girls on my floor get dressed up.
4. And I wish I were going with them.
I'm unlike Cinderella for the following reasons:
1. I have no adorable rodent friends.
2. It's a not a prince's ball in the palace; it's a Yule Ball (that's right-Harry Potter style) in the Student Center.
3. There are no hideous step-relatives preventing me from going.
4. My 'work' consists of papers, and presentations, and general studying, not chores and laundry.
You know, Cinderella used to be my favorite story growing up. According to my parents, I used to beg them to read it to me. Unfortunately for them, it was quite a long read, for a picture book.
Nowadays, I'm not such a fan of old Cinderella. We still own the Disney version on VHS, and whenever I watch it I'm struck by what a weak character Cinderella is.
First of all, she's not very proactive. Instead of fighting to improve her own life, she relies on mice, and a dog, and a horse, and a fairy godmother to help her win her prince. She's constantly singing about the importance of dreams, but does she ever really take any risks to make her dreams come true? Nope. She goes to a ball and dances one dance with an incredibly shallow prince, who doesn't speak two words to her, and probably only likes her for her beauty.
Furthermore, what were her dreams in the first place? To fall in love? I mean, this girl has pretty much been locked up in a manor scrubbing floors her entire life. Doesn't she want to see a bit of the world? Get an education? Make some friends? Actually live a normal life for a bit? Apparently not.
To be completely fair to Cinderella, however, I decided to google her. See if she's really just all fluff. Here's what I found out:
The story of Cinderella is actually thought to have originated around the 1st Century B.C., when a Greek history named Strabo recorded this story about an Egyptian girl:
They tell the fabulous story that, when she was bathing, an eagle snatched one of her sandals from her maid and carried it to Memphis. While the king was administering justice in the open air, the eagle, when it arrived above his head, flung the sandal into his lap. The king, having been stirred both by the beautiful shape of the sandal and by the strangeness of the occurrence, sent men in all directions into the country in quest of the woman who wore the sandal. When she was found in the city of Naucratis, she was brought up to Memphis and became the wife of the king...[3][4]
Nothing else I found led me to believe Cinderella has any depth, although I do admire her longevity. I guess everyone likes a little blind romance.
And she does have some good qualities, I'll admit. What do they call her? "Ever gentle and kind." Certainly admirable, but not exactly my kind of heroine these days.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
In Which my Blog is Blogged
This is funny. I'm at a library computer, and I search engined my name like I always do to get to my blog quickly on public computers.
Guess what came up?
On this website: http://kevinrenick.com/News.php
(which is the website of musician Kevin Renick), my blog was mentioned! Why? Oh, because a while back I quoted the lyrics to his song, "Up in the Air," saying that they pretty much described my life. Well, whoever runs his website must have googled his name and my blog must have popped up!
Why am I excited about this? Because it's the first bit of publicity for my blog! Not that I want it to become famous or anything (Julie & Julia style), it's just neat to see that people are actually looking at it.
Here's what was actually said about my blog on the website, in case you don't want to scroll down that far. It's not much, really, but it's something:
--Two more blogs feature the lyrics to "Up in the Air" and the author's favorable comment. First up is Holly Gruntner's personal take: http://staygoldponyboy88.blogspot.com/2010/06/up-in-air.html You rule, Holly!
Guess what came up?
On this website: http://kevinrenick.com/News.php
(which is the website of musician Kevin Renick), my blog was mentioned! Why? Oh, because a while back I quoted the lyrics to his song, "Up in the Air," saying that they pretty much described my life. Well, whoever runs his website must have googled his name and my blog must have popped up!
Why am I excited about this? Because it's the first bit of publicity for my blog! Not that I want it to become famous or anything (Julie & Julia style), it's just neat to see that people are actually looking at it.
Here's what was actually said about my blog on the website, in case you don't want to scroll down that far. It's not much, really, but it's something:
--Two more blogs feature the lyrics to "Up in the Air" and the author's favorable comment. First up is Holly Gruntner's personal take: http://staygoldponyboy88.blogspot.com/2010/06/up-in-air.html You rule, Holly!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Procrastination
It happens to all of us.
There you sit. Your feet are firmly on the floor, your back is straight, your fingers arched gracefully above the keyboard. But nothing is happening, really. So here comes Facebook, MLIA, YouTube, BBC. Homework can wait a few hours, or at least until desperation sets in.
What am I currently procrastinating on?
Writing an article for the University Register. It's going to be about the aftermath of the Fort Hood shootings, which is actually a fairly interesting topic, but I just don't feel like writing at the moment. It doesn't help that I started rereading Gone With The Wind a few days ago, and am now having trouble putting it down.
My deadline is tomorrow at noon, so I do have time, I suppose.
What else is going on?
5:30 p.m. My dorm floor is having a pizza party/meeting
7:00 p.m. College Bowl meeting
9:13 p.m. Community Council meeting
10:00 p.m. Pirates of the Caribbean, the Musical meeting
Bed will hopefully follow shortly after Pirates.
Hmm what else?
I memorized an Emily Dickinson poem the other night. Memorizing poetry is something that is strangely easy for me. My grandpa gave me his book of poetry shortly before he died, and every so often I take it out and learn a poem or two. It usually only takes me about fifteen minutes, depending on the length of the poem. Anyway, here's the Emily Dickinson. It's short, but quite powerful, I think:
Not in Vain
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
There you sit. Your feet are firmly on the floor, your back is straight, your fingers arched gracefully above the keyboard. But nothing is happening, really. So here comes Facebook, MLIA, YouTube, BBC. Homework can wait a few hours, or at least until desperation sets in.
What am I currently procrastinating on?
Writing an article for the University Register. It's going to be about the aftermath of the Fort Hood shootings, which is actually a fairly interesting topic, but I just don't feel like writing at the moment. It doesn't help that I started rereading Gone With The Wind a few days ago, and am now having trouble putting it down.
My deadline is tomorrow at noon, so I do have time, I suppose.
What else is going on?
5:30 p.m. My dorm floor is having a pizza party/meeting
7:00 p.m. College Bowl meeting
9:13 p.m. Community Council meeting
10:00 p.m. Pirates of the Caribbean, the Musical meeting
Bed will hopefully follow shortly after Pirates.
Hmm what else?
I memorized an Emily Dickinson poem the other night. Memorizing poetry is something that is strangely easy for me. My grandpa gave me his book of poetry shortly before he died, and every so often I take it out and learn a poem or two. It usually only takes me about fifteen minutes, depending on the length of the poem. Anyway, here's the Emily Dickinson. It's short, but quite powerful, I think:
Not in Vain
If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain:
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
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