Mid-Terms

This has been me for the last couple of weeks. Especially the last three days. I'm (finally) finishing my Bachelor of Arts degree in April and my mid-term exam was today.

It's kind of funny really. The last semester of my University career (at least until I see if I get accepted to the Masters program) and I finally figure out that studying actually makes taking an exam so much less stressful. I mean I always knew that was the going theory but who knew that it was actually credible. I studied my ass off for this test- since it's worth 50% of my final grade- and although my hand cramped a little from writing so much and I temporarily forgot what Weber's theory on Alienation in a Heterogeneous social group was, it went well.

In fact, I almost feel like saying I kicked exam ass. You know what? I will say it, I kicked that exams ass. Now I just have to wait for an ungodly amount of time for my Professor to mark the paper and give it back.

Hopefully I'll have more time to post now.

Current Playlist Track: Save the Last Dance For Me ~ Michael Bublé

The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deny'st me is;

It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;

Thou know'st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;

Yet this enjoys before it woo,

And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

Where we almost, yea, more than married are.

This flea is you and I, and this

Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;

Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,

And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

Though use make you apt to kill me,

Let not to that, self-murder added be,

And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?

Wherein could this flea guilty be,

Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

Yet thou triumph'st and say'st that thou

Find'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now;

'Tis true, then learn how false fears be:

Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me,

Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

~John Donne

Dancers Feet

Since I posted last week about The Road Not Taken and reading Dr. Paul’s blog last week, I’ve started thinking about paths my life hasn’t taken.

I’m not usually one to talk about things that could have been, or ‘what ifs’. I like my feet firmly planted in the today and what I’m going to do tomorrow. I don’t like to dwell on the things I didn’t do, rather look toward the things that I’m going to do.

However, lately I’ve been thinking about my younger years (haha) of when I dreamed of becoming a Prima Ballerina, or at least maybe starring on Broadway. For about ten years I studied Classical Ballet and Jazz and I was quite good. My dance group traveled to Ireland one summer and performed for the Ambassador at Trinity College and we received a letter from the head of the Marino Institute of Dance saying that we were very good and showed ‘promise’. I knew in my heart though that I would never become a professional dancer. I didn’t have the right body type and more often than not my turn-out wasn’t as good as it should have been but I had the heart. I LOVED to dance. I’ll never forget my first class. There was about fifty us is this huge studio and I was right in the back, terrified of drawing attention to myself. We were on the floor, on our side and doing scissor kicks when the teacher called out. “You there in the back, with the dancers feet. Good work!” It took me several moments to realize she was talking to me, but when I did I was hooked.

Up to that point I don’t remember ever being ‘good’ at something. I didn’t have a niche. By the end of that year I was known throughout my school as the dancer. Ballet wasn’t something that was extremely common as a hobby in my hometown so I was something of an oddity I thought. I loved it though. Dancing is the best feeling in the world; you get to be somebody else.

The year before I graduated High school my parents informed me that we were moving. I was devastated. When we finally got situated in our new town my Mother convinced me to take a ballet class. I went once and decided that I didn’t want to study dance anymore. Because really, where was it going to lead? It never once occurred to me that I could study dance for fun and not have ‘lead’ anywhere.

I guess the point of this entry is to encourage people to stick with what makes them happy. No matter if it’s actually going to lead somewhere, as long as it makes you happy you should hold on to that feeling as much as you can.

I wonder… are we ever to old to revisit old hobbies? I think I might go see if I have one more pirouette left in me. ;-)

Lost Post

I had a post but lost it when I tried to add a second picture. Some days I want to throw this computer out the window.... I'll try again later damnit.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

~ Robert Frost

Teenage Literacy.

So, the question came up today about whether or not it mattered what your child was reading as long as he/she was reading. My answer? No! A resounding No! I work in the Public Library system and it shocks me that when kids come to the library it's for one of two reasons: A. They need a book reference for an assignment, or B. Their computer at home isn't working and they HAVE to check their e-mail now in case someone sent them a message since they last saw them at 3:00 when the school bell rang.

Literacy among teens is woefully inadequate. Many of these kids scoff at the idea of picking up a book. Their fingers are more used to flying across the keys of their cell phone or the latest MSN messenger, etc. etc. It's a sad, sad time when the only authors teens know about are J.K. Rowling or Stephanie Meyer (with Rowling being the MUCH more talented of the two). That's not to say that either of these authors aren't excellent storytellers in their own right but seriously? There are so many great writers out there that teens could read a book a week and still never even skim the depths of fabulous writers.

I know I must seem horribly hypocritical sitting here banging away on my keyboard and lamenting the inadequate education of teens these days. There are a few exceptions to this rule and some kids come in and seem to actually enjoy reading and looking for books.

The point of this post was to talk about whether or not it mattered what your kids were reading as long as their reading. I believe this whole heartedly. I don't mean you should give your ten year old son the latest issue of Penthouse and consider your parenting duties done. Take your kid to the library, don't rush them into picking something up. Don't stand there tapping your foot and glancing pointedly at the clock. Let them soak up the wonderful world of books. Don't look at a book and tell them it's too long, they'll never finish it. Let them try. I'm not a parent so I probably shouldn't be standing on my soapbox preaching to those of you who are. I'm not calling anyone a bad parent. I'm just stating my point from behind the circulation desk.

Consider this, there are worse things then being stuck in the library for thirty minutes while your child looks for something to read. Be patient, pick up a book for yourself. It wont hurt, I promise. :D

My Birthday!

No. My birthday is not today. But it is rapidly approaching. I know I'm not what anyone (unless you're ten) would consider old but I wonder what that certain age is when you're supposed to start hating your birthday? Women of, shall we say, a certain age group look upon their birthday's as that most dreadful day of the year. They are perpetually 29 and refuse to succumb to truth that they are turning older.

With my birthday drawing nearer and friend asked me the other day what I had planned to do in celebration. I drew a blank. I had/have no desire to go out and party or get drunk or whatever. Nothing. In a last ditch attempt to plan something I sent out a mass Facebook event message to several of my friends to meet me at a restaurant. When all else fails, plan food.

I can't help but wonder. When did this transition begin? Am I becoming one of those people who hates their birthday or is this ambivalent feeling just a part of growing up?