I have two samples that accurately depict my daily life. The first sampling was a crumpled note found on the cafeteria floor. The second was given to me because I told one of my girls that I liked her poetry. Despite my own tendencies to punctuate incorrectly (which drives Amy up the wall), all of the spelling or punctuation errors belong to the original writers.
Hey. Hi. What up.
This longggg note is for youuu! heeheeheehahahahohoho :) How was your homework today yayaya? Mine was/is okayyayay :) I'm in health. We're talking about cheesecake, cup noodles, pizza, chips, OH YUM! When I give this to youu, it'd be lunch timeeee. haha. Now we're talking about sugar now. And how it's chemically made. I think you're in science; RIGHT?! Whatta stalker I ammm heeee :) fat heart filled with fat love. WE'RE TALKING ABOUT FAT; fat people, fat foods, fat sugar?! Corn Syrup? I'm so randomomom. hahahahaha. "Dicks Sporting Goods" i'm such a pervert :) lalalalala What do you want for Christmas?! i can't believe Michelle and Mike are going out :( haha, jkay :) I don't like Mike anymore. But i might change my mind when they break up. more than halfway there! Woot! Gahhh, I'm hungry. Jeez, i need to EAT! LALALALA gotta go! Wait no. nevermind! wait bye.
love,
Gina
****
Open You'r Eyes
Please, open you'r eyes...
turn on you'r tv and tell me
what you see
do you see happiness
do you see beauty
do you see sunshine
Please open you'r eyes
open you'r blinds and tell me
what you see
do you see the feauture
do you see happy kids
do you see sunshine
or not or not or not or not or not or not or not
well wake up
open you'r eyes
nothing above, thats for sure!
our lives are made of our fears!
12.14.2010
12.09.2010
By Monday I'll be Gone
Growing up I had a premonition that I would die at 18. I think this was because the last semi known point of my existence was graduating high school. After high school I could not envision what would happen next, so I figured nothing would.
The one thing I did anticipate, if I managed to live through graduation and on through college to a point where I had no more educational hoops to jump through and had acquired my long-pined-for independence, was that I would grab life by the balls, so to speak. I would skate on my independence, travel to different countries, and live where I knew nobody. I couldn’t wait to do something on my own that was, for the first time, not a scripted track of “The Things White Middle-Class American Youths are Supposed to Do.”
And here I am. Bachelors degree. Living with Mitch. Still in Spokane.
I’ve been looking into Teaching English as a Foreign Language programs. Ideally, if you have your TEFL you can teach English in a lot of countries. Problem is, I’ve researched these programs and they seem to be either A) a little spendy and not worth the time or B) too spendy. Then if you get your certificate you have to get hired and if you get hired you have to figure out how to get a VISA. All the while, I’d be paying rent and loans and… I know this sounds like whining. Getting over seas is probably worth it – and it wouldn’t be much of an adventure if there weren’t risks and sacrifices involved.
What I’ve been wondering lately is if moving to another country is missing the point. Even though I’m not groping life like I thought I would be, I’m not bored. There are books to read, people to hang out with, mini dramas, and beautiful if brief images. And there are eggs to cook and flowers to plant and paintings and people saying things. There would be those things in any country, and whether Americans, Germans, or Costa Ricans, I’d be alternately astonished by their complexity and wishing to banish their existence.
And what if a meaningful and interesting life is more of a sitcom, with four cameras and three sets, than a Peter Jackson film? The point being to get to know those characters in my life while experiencing very little plot? But of course that could be the reasoning of someone settling for a quiet ride down monotony lane. I’m not sure yet.
The one thing I did anticipate, if I managed to live through graduation and on through college to a point where I had no more educational hoops to jump through and had acquired my long-pined-for independence, was that I would grab life by the balls, so to speak. I would skate on my independence, travel to different countries, and live where I knew nobody. I couldn’t wait to do something on my own that was, for the first time, not a scripted track of “The Things White Middle-Class American Youths are Supposed to Do.”
And here I am. Bachelors degree. Living with Mitch. Still in Spokane.
I’ve been looking into Teaching English as a Foreign Language programs. Ideally, if you have your TEFL you can teach English in a lot of countries. Problem is, I’ve researched these programs and they seem to be either A) a little spendy and not worth the time or B) too spendy. Then if you get your certificate you have to get hired and if you get hired you have to figure out how to get a VISA. All the while, I’d be paying rent and loans and… I know this sounds like whining. Getting over seas is probably worth it – and it wouldn’t be much of an adventure if there weren’t risks and sacrifices involved.
What I’ve been wondering lately is if moving to another country is missing the point. Even though I’m not groping life like I thought I would be, I’m not bored. There are books to read, people to hang out with, mini dramas, and beautiful if brief images. And there are eggs to cook and flowers to plant and paintings and people saying things. There would be those things in any country, and whether Americans, Germans, or Costa Ricans, I’d be alternately astonished by their complexity and wishing to banish their existence.
And what if a meaningful and interesting life is more of a sitcom, with four cameras and three sets, than a Peter Jackson film? The point being to get to know those characters in my life while experiencing very little plot? But of course that could be the reasoning of someone settling for a quiet ride down monotony lane. I’m not sure yet.
12.01.2010
Today at the Bus Stop
There was a couple, a white man and a black woman. They were older and wore assorted layers to keep out the slush. They brought toilet paper, paper towels, a crock pot and a green bag from Yokes into the bus stop, which was cubed in with glass and had metal benches that froze my butt. The man produced a pouch of tobacco and rolled himself a cigarette, and the woman's voice was low and murmuring. When he stood up she said something I couldn't hear.
"Because you can't smoke in here," he said, perfectly audible.
"I can," she said, like a come-on.
With the cigarette between he his teeth he pointed above me and said, "Read that sign. It says NO SHMOKING."
Then they stood outside together and left me with their groceries.
"Because you can't smoke in here," he said, perfectly audible.
"I can," she said, like a come-on.
With the cigarette between he his teeth he pointed above me and said, "Read that sign. It says NO SHMOKING."
Then they stood outside together and left me with their groceries.
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