Tonight is one of those nights...

Tonight is one of those "now or never" kind of nights. You either go to bed now, or you won't get any sleep before dawn. Tonight is one of those nights when you are so tired, but your brain won't shut the hell up. You make to do lists in your head, resolutions you'll start tomorrow, phone calls and bills you will follow up on the next day; it's one of those nights, that as it progresses, your thoughts and lists melt and mold into one solitary, run on sentence. It's as if your brain retaliating for reading craptastic novels, or wasting two hours of your life watching movies you've already seen before: your brain tries to tell you: ZORRO STILL WINS, SO GO TO BED! But you don't. And then hours later, your brain wants to talk to you about all the shit you have to get done the next day. It also reminds you, in a menacing way, how little sleep you are going to have. It makes you already dread work and the fight you'll have with your eyelids to stay open.
Argh!!!! Just the thought of pounding back one mocha after another makes you want to scream at the approaching agony. But no matter the dreadful sleepiness you face the next day, you can't help but shift this way and that. First I was too hot, then too cold; so I changed my pjs twice in one half hour. Then it's your partner's snoring, your cat's nudging and purring, your mind that still won't shut the hell up... it's amazing your hair follicles aren't bleeding from where you just ripped out all your hair.
What else is amazing, is that this is my first blog that I've ever done that wasn't for school. And of course, I'm bitching. So I'd like to close with something positive: even though I'm awake right now, I'm going to bed knowing that despite my mind's incessant bitching at me; I am still a very blessed woman to have a cat that purrs at me, a man who loves me (even though his nostrils don't) and great coworkers to share my silly, sleepy stupor with tomorrow.

Good night and God bless!
Stephanie Ann

I loved reading Persepolis

Persepolis, for me, was beautifully moving. I felt like there were two main characters to follow: Marji and Iran. Iran and the revolution was a character in itself. It broke hearts and affected Marji so much, the country came to life in the story. I felt like I was watching both grow into beings niether were familiar with. It was moving to read a character I couldn't really relate to.
Sometimes it gets really tiring reading a character I already know, whether it be because I relate to them or because author's aren't branching out. But Marji and her culture are people and places I have not aquainted myself with. I have felt loss and similiar pains Marji has felt, but other than that I didn't know her or Iran. It was refreshing to learn new things about Iran and about a girl I probably would have never met in real life.
Something else that really surprised me was I enjoyed reading this graphic novel. Truthfully, I am only like reading "Zits" from the Sunday comics. I'll dabble, but never dedicate myself to comics or graphic novels. However, I didn't just need the deadline of school to make me read this book. I got into it. Instead of the pictures bugging me, they drew me in. The way God looked, the veils... I am not sure I would have read it the same without the pictures to accompany the words. In general, I was moved and I actually want to read the rest of the series.

Guest Teacher Inspired Poems

So, these are the poems I wrote when the guest teacher came to teach. I thought this class was interesting and even though the poetry may not be rockin’, I enjoyed the process.

Poem one:
A river of icy-snow death, at least that’s what my friends and I call it, is beneath the windows. Ice covers the walk ways with off white and gray colors I don’t want to see anymore. Bare trees extend their naked branches over (where I’m sure) I’ll fall on my ass.

Poem two:
There is a river of icy snow death,
At least that’s what my friends and I call it.
And it is beneath the windows.
Snow and ice cover the walk ways with
Off white and gray colors I don’t want to see anymore.
Bare trees extend their naked branches over where I’ve fallen.
But today, I don’t care.

(I know I didn’t change much, but I feel the attitude at the end of the poem is little different.)

Poem three:
There is a river of icy snow death,
At least that’s what my friends and I call it.
And it is beneath the windows.
Snow and ice cover the walk ways with
Off white and gray colors I don’t want to see anymore.
Bare trees extend their naked branches over where I’ve fallen.
But today, I don’t care.

Today, winter doesn’t prevail.
No matter the storm that flickers light,
There is enough light to see that God hasn’t forgotten me.

Thoughts on Poetry

Honestly, after last Wednesday, I can’t say I know what poetry is. For me poetry is a series of words strung together in some form or another, which usually mean something to either the poet or the reader, or both. Also, said words should be creative and original. At least I think that is what poetry should be like. Some people think advertisements are poetic, others think only poets like Poe and Shakespeare knew what they were doing. Frankly, I think the concept of poetry is rather fluid and I wish it didn’t always have a “snooty” connotation to it. Actually, I wish I could just understand what some poets are trying to convey in their poems. Poets have all the creative freedom in the world and still I feel like I am reading the same confusion.
I feel writing has the capability of accomplishing most anything, this includes poetry. Beautiful images of being by the sea, what it is to be in love, endless metaphors and similes showing and creating emotions are a big success in poetry. Poetry has done well with being secretive and confusing as well. Poetry isn’t always my favorite thing to read simply because it is capable of so much, but often I don’t even know what I am reading. Poetry also isn’t easy. Actually, that is an understatement. Poetry is really complicated and sometime annoying. I do like poetry but I like to keep it simple.
Simple or not, poetry often has value and meaning to the poet and the reader. Its meaning is often insight into love, life, woes and other such topics pertaining to life and its surroundings. With that said, I still don’t know what poetry means. Does poetry simply mean that the author couldn’t write a story or a novel? Does poetry mean that we are a little shallow because we don’t pay attention to it? Who really knows what poetry means? All I know is that poetry is tricky but sometimes worth reading.

A Story About a Most Unfortunate Animal Named Pepper

Pepper was a skunk who ran away from his adopted family of possums. He ran away because his adopted dad used to hit him and blame him, instead of his punk possums kids. Pepper was a sweet skunk but rarely smelled like one since his vulgar older brothers scared him on a daily basis. It was no wonder he left: constant beatings and practical jokes at his expense wasn’t how he wanted to spend his youth.

Pepper had lost his mother to a truck driver speeding down his old pond view drive. His dad died a year earlier from spraying the wrong Texan on his ranch. Losing his mother and then living with ugly possums was more than he could bear.

Upon his first day of being an official runaway, he came across a Baptist Church. The minister found him sitting in the shade among the steps and the minister lifted his left boot and gave him a righteous kick to the curb. Pepper had only wanted shade but the minister only cared about what he was, not who he was. It was there Pepper decided to make his pilgrimage back home.

But rejection was all Pepper saw along the way home. Each time he sought refuge among a church, ministers and priest would throw Bibles and burning candles at him. Was it so much to ask to sit in the shade and talk it out with Jesus? It was tough being a skunk in the Bible belt of Texas.

Finally, Pepper made it back to where his furrow had been, but there wasn’t anything left of his home. After crying for endless hours, Pepper was spotted by Animal Control. Poor Pepper had never made any moral mistakes or poor judgments. He simply was always in the wrong place at the wrong time and truly down on his luck. It was there at the empty furrow he made peace with the life he was given and the death he didn’t choose. At least he would see his true parents again.

Why I read what I read...

When I was younger I believed in the tooth fairy. I thought that the tooth fairy was capable of more than just taking my tooth for a good price. I figured that I could bargain with this woman and so I did. Instead of giving me money, I would leave her a polite note asking for a book. So when I woke up, the “tooth fairy” would have a book for me. Alice in Wonderland was one of my first books given to me and to this day, I still love the story of Alice falling into a wonderland.
I am a slower reader. I’m not saying it takes me four hours to get through one chapter, but I am in between a medium and slow pace of reading. I used to be in advanced reading classes as a kid, but somewhere along the way I got too lazy or leisurely with reading. But I figure that I still read for pleasure and at least I am reading. Anyhow, I read because it took me away into places, magical lands and the wonders of Disney. You could say I was hooked in at a young age.
For a period of time, I was reading to escape. I liked that there were characters in all these different books that I related to. They understood me. Such as Margaret from Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret by Judy Blume. Call me cliché, but I loved that book. There was also this book I read when my parents were getting divorced that I adored titled P.S. Longer Letter Later. Those two books got me through my awkward stages of youth.
But mostly, I read because I love stories. I like reading them, telling them and being apart of them. It doesn’t matter what kind of story; truthfully, I don’t have a favorite genre (at least not yet). Reading is an adventure and often inspires ideas and adventures of my own. It’s just remarkable what books contribute to my life. I probably sound mildly psychotic but that happens when you are a freak for books. Or when you start our reading because the “tooth fairy” aided you in your quest for the written word…