Busy Bee!

Hey everyone!

So it's been awhile since I've been on here... between school ending for the year and transitioning into my summer job, it's been crazy. Right now I'm battling with the allergy gods, which has not been a winning battle on my part. Today is the first day I've felt pretty good, besides waking up with allergic conjunctivitis, but I'm completely better now that I have drops for my eyes! So cross your fingers it stays that way!

I'm working at Elizabethtown this summer and am having a blast so far. Shh, don't tell, but I feel like I'm getting paid to have fun. It's not a stressful job, at least not for me. I know it will get busier, but that means more hours! And on top of that, I'll be walking a Boston Terrier this summer. She's such a sweetie, and that pays pretty well. I'm pretty happy about how the money situation looks this summer.

For next school year, I'm going to have a lot to do, but I know it will be worth it. I'll be a full time student, working on finishing up my business minor and putting in some creds for my English degree. God, I can't say it enough: I LOVE the English Department. I feel like I've really found what I'm meant to do and I LOVE it. I feel like I'm gushing about a lover! But really, it's been great so far. I'll be writing consulting still, but I'll also be interning with the Learning Services Department to actually implement and design a Writing Center, and I am SO excited! On top of that, I'll be a Peer Mentor again, and this year, I'll be officially the Lead Reporter for our school newspaper, which I'm pretty stoked about. In my spare time (ha), I'll be a Resident Assistant for our Growing to Empower a Multicultural Society floor, which I'm really excited about. I get a single room, so you know what that means (no, not sex, drugs, or alchy): writing <3.

Sh, don't tell (I'm trying not to tell a lot of people, so I figured my blog would be a good place to just say this) but I'm working on my book...I won't tell you how many words I have done, but let's just say so far it's going well :). And with my job this summer, I'll have plenty of time to write. I even got to crack out my paints and easel the other day. Set it up, drank some coffee, and started a work. We'll see how it turns out.

Ahh, summertime... I love it :)

Enough is enough.

Bullying. When this word is brought into discussions, I have heard the following responses: "Kids will be kids." "We all went through it; suck it up." "I was just picking."

If you believe those above statements, I want you to walk up to the family of Jon Carmichael, the family who weeps because their young 13 year old committed suicide because he was bullied to his breaking point. An article by Vivian Kuo for CNN (http://www.cnn.com/2011/CRIME/03/29/texas.bullying.suit/index.html) states the boy was repeatedly bullied, and "just prior to his death he was stripped nude, tied up and again placed into a trashcan."

Jon Carmichael hung himself in a barn near to his family's home.

Even if you don't read the article from CNN - it includes horrific details of his bullying, enough to bring tears to one's eyes - please click the link to atleast see the face of this boy, a sandy-haired, blue eyed child who could be your son, your child's playmate, your nephew...

Bullying needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. Too many children and adolescents are pushed to the edge through actions done by their peers, peers who do not think of the repercussions of their actions before it is too late.

Recently, many suicides have been occurring due to the bullying of LGBT students. Children of any sexuality, but especially those who reside outside of the "normativity" of heterosexuality are trying to figure out WHO they are as people, which is hard enough to do without having people bashing them all of the time.

The time in a child's life when he or she is being bullied is the time when he or she needs support the most. Please, talk to your children, your cousins, your nieces and nephews. Bullying is not normal, it is not just kids being kids.

Our school systems need to take Bullying Prevention Programs seriously. Where was an adult when all of these horrific events were occurring AT SCHOOL to this child? We send our children to school thinking they are in safe hands and in a healthy environment where they can learn; we never expect to find our child hanging in a barn because the school system turned a blind eye. And parents. Dear, dear parents. Please educate your children. Whatever happened to the Golden Rule? "Do unto others as you'd have done unto you." Your child probably would not want their head shoved into a toilet - another disgusting act of bullying which occurred to Jon Carmichael before his death - so tell them it's not right to do it to others. And if your child says they are being bullied, please, please, please take it seriously. A death of a child is always traumatic, especially one which could have been prevented. One death like Jon Carmichael's is one too many.

Out of the box.

It is 7:31, and I am sitting at my computer attempting to work on my accounting project, and yet I find typing a blog while drinking coffee and eating Death By Chocolate Cake a bit more exciting (although, surprisingly, accounting has been fun!).

Today was a lazy day in my part of Pennsylvania. Rain, movies, and books pretty much made up my entire day. I'm reading a book entitled "The Swan Thieves" by Elizabeth Kostova; it truly is one of the most beautifully written books I have ever read. She has such a voice. If you are an artist, this book might be a tremendous read for you, and even if you aren't, there is much to be appreciated in her effortless prose that I'm sure while the book was in progress was not so effortless to write. Her description and characterizations are magnificent.
My parents, on a whim or perhaps off their rockers, purchased a 3-D television, so of course, I watched "Alice in Wonderland" today. It took a bit getting used to the glasses (way oversized for my head; kind of makes me wonder if I have a brain), and the motion from the 3-D forms popping out was enough to make me sick until I got used to it. My parents are more high tech than me; I'll keep my regular TV for now, although I basically never watch TV anyways.

School-wise, everything is bloody perfect now that I've dropped Exporting & Importing. And I'd like to say what I withheld from the professor while he basically berated me for dropping his class: go $%&@ yourself. Learn to teach, and maybe I'll take your class.
Accounting is surprisingly fun, if I dare say so... The professor is an amazingly humorous man who makes the hour and ten minutes fly, and I have to admit I am learning a plethora of information which is interesting.
Professional writing is going well; I'm excited to attend Lavonne Mueller's writing workshop once I get back from Spring Break; unfortunately, I have not seen any of her plays, but she is a world-renowned playwright and is very prolific. I'm writing my feature piece for my professional writing class on the writing workshop with her, so I'm hoping the event goes well, which I am sure it will.
Sex and Gender in Society is an intense class due to the information presented, but I love it. The professor is so open minded and completely nontraditional that it makes the class impossible not to love.
And last, but certainly not least: Creative Writing. Ahhh. I have come to the conclusion that I am the biggest nerd ever. I had a meeting with my professor on Friday before I left for Spring Break to discuss ideas for my dialogue piece which was only supposed to last 10 mins, and I spent almost an hour there. Apparently, I am an overachiever, seeing as I brought five pages of characterization and dialogue that I had written. I feel as if I'm pushing the envelope with this one, which makes me uncomfortable and exhilarated all at the same time. But hey, what is life if you don't step outside of the box?

check up.

First, let me say it is great to be back. I have missed writing so much. With my schedule this semester, between trying to do all of my school work and getting some rest in for me, writing has taken a backseat to classes like Accounting and Exporting and Importing.

Luckily for me, accounting is actually interesting, despite the fact I have to use a calucaltor for the simplest computations. Exporting and Importing...well, let's just say, I'm not planning on doing anything with that, so I've just decided that since it is a two credit class, I'm blowing it off. As long as I pass, I'm okay with it. Writing is my thing, and I need to make time for it. Damn exporting and importing to Hell.

This semester, along with my two business courses also has two writing courses. SO EXCITED. Professional writing is amazing, but creative writing...ah. It is my baby. If only I could write for hours each day...

Right now, I'm struggling with finding material to write about. I've abandoned my one project so I could start another one. The idea of the last one was too much of a copy-cat from another book, although I did like bits and pieces of my ideas. I'll set it aside and see if anything comes from it.

Check back soon. I'm hoping to have a creative post up, or a reflection, in a day. My brainwaves just are not working at the moment (I haven't had my coffee).

P.S- what is with this weather!? Weather God, you are such a filthy tease....

The gym is trying to kill me (by embarrassment).

I am almost certain the gym is trying to kill me. Slowly but surely, whenever I walk into the basement of Elizabethtown College's "gym" (it's a basement), I feel the ellipticals bristle, calculating their next move if I am to select one. Not only is the cardio equipment against me, but the weight machines as well.
One of my worst nightmares is looking like a complete idiot in the gym. I mean, here are all these lean, buff guys and here I stand, an out-of-shape girl in her mesh shorts attempting to work the ab crunch machine without losing my finger to the snapping mechanisms.
I have not had good experiences at the gym. On my first trip to this deplorable place, I wanted to weight lift (over-eager, I know). It were as if the equipment sensed my hesitation and pounced on my weakness (no pun intended). I took a deep breath before I selected the Hamstring Curl machine, chose my weight, and locked myself in for the ride of my life. This machine required the user to lower a pad against one's shins so that the motion of the user was maximized. There I sat, feeling knots in muscles that I never knew existed (probably because they barely exist on my frail frame), and I felt glorious! God, what a rush. After my sweaty session that left my hamstrings feeling numb, I leaned forward to unlock the shin pad. Damn me to Hell if the stupid thing would not budge. I glanced around, taking notice of everyone in the gym. Ah, we have lacrosse players, baseball players, and just overall buff guys. Great, just great: the athletes of the school to watch me flounder while locked in Hell's contraption. Using my feeble arm muscles, I pulled with all my might on the knob to release the mechanism. In the end, I wound up asking some guy to pull the knob for me, but even his ripped arms couldn't. Perhaps he was telling the truth when he said, "Oh, don't feel bad, I got stuck in it last week. I just slid out of it." Well, there is an idea: I contorted my body and felt the pads slip from my calves. Voila. Simple as cake. Fortunately, this wasn't too embarrassing. Maybe that's why the gym felt it needed to get revenge.
Another eventful session in the gym also involved weight lifting; I decided I needed to work on my arm muscle tone, so I situated myself on the seated row machine. All of the machines have weights that you select with a pin, and each weight has a number ranging from 1 to 20. So, I'm thinking, "Ok, I'm going to do 50 lb rows, 25 lbs for each arm", so I select the number 5. My skills of observation apparently are not my strong point: after attempting to do one rep, I gave up. I'm thinking to myself, "Oh my GOD. I never knew 50 lbs could be so heavy!" Luckily for me, my one friend was in the gym. Prefacing myself with, "I've never weightlifted before in this gym" (big lie. I'd been a number of times.), I explained my dilemma. My friend looked at me and then proceeded to burst into a violent fit of laughter. Apparently, the numbers are just numbers, meant to confused unobservant people like myself. The actual weight is listed beside the numbers in tiny white print. So really, when I thought I was lifting 50 lbs, I was doing 105. Ah. That explains why my biceps would not budge the weight.
The most recent embarrassing workout took place a few days ago. I decided that interval training, like sprinting for 30 seconds, resting for a minute and a half, was a good idea because it depletes some g-word thing in your muscles...basically, you burn fat. My boyfriend has the bio degree, not muah. Anywho... So, there I sat on the stationary bike, which I don't like to begin with because I feel like the handles are too far away from the seat. I'm warming up, getting ready to complete my first set. When the timer hit five minutes, I started pedaling my little heart out. First set, check. By this point, I was dying. I am so out of shape, that is almost a fourth embarrassing thing to add. I rested my minute and a half, which let me tell you felt like two seconds and brace myself for the next 30 seconds of Hell. I am about half way through my sprint when all of a sudden, my right foot couldn't pedal anymore. I glanced down and about freaked: somehow, my shoelace had become entangled in the mechanism of the system, leaving me with a shoelace mangled by the turning gears and other thingamabobs inside the blasted bike. I glanced over at the girl on the elliptical who was so engrossed in her work out, she had not noticed my dilemma. I looked back down at my shoe and decided the only thing to do was fix it myself, considering 1) I was not about to ask someone to help me and 2) I couldn't get up to ask anyone to help even if I was less prideful. I tugged with all of my might on the shoelace, but it wouldn't budge. I discarded that strategy, and went to attempting to unravel the jumbled mess. After a few good minutes, my shoelace emerged from the inner workings of the bike. I did a double check around the gym to make sure no one was laughing, pointing, or videotaping, and I restarted my workout. But not before I acted on my valuable life lesson that I will take to the grave: always tuck in your shoelaces.

Writing and Beach Season do not mix.

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?
This question is such a simple question for me to answer because it is innately programed into my brain: write a book!
If I knew I could sit down at a computer and just start typing a continuous stream of consciousness without exerting much effort, bang it out in a few days induced with caffeine, and take it to a publisher only to have them swoon and become smitten with my characters... Ah, what a dream.
But not really. Who wants to write a book in only a few days because it's so easy? Oh, don't get me wrong, I know a lot of author's out there can write a full novel in a month, but the prolific track is not really the track I'm set to be on, at least for now. I'm so caught up in perfection, and although I've learned to allow myself just to write without thinking, it still is very difficult for me not to go back and edit. I have learned the trick of half closing my laptop, or closing my eyes in order to keep myself from twitching due to a typo back in paragraph three. I don't want to write a book because it's easy; I want to do it because it's difficult. You're talking to the girl who took Honors Trig because she "wanted to get into a good college". Yeah...like honors would make or break the bank...What I wouldn't give to go back three years and smack myself for what I put myself through. (Word to the wise: If you suck at math [aka ME], just don't. Don't.)
I'm itching to get back to school so I'll be forced to time manage because unfortunately, my laptop gets this evil thing called the Internet which is the bane of my existence. F you, Facebook and Email. And I've given up on my Panera visits: way too expensive for my poor wallet, and I don't get shit done anyways because I run into a bajillion people I know.
Also, the cell phone is HUGE distraction. Text messages, however nice they are to receive, are these pins to my thought balloons. Poof! There goes my idea for a scene/character/subplot. So, celly is going on silent under my pillow during my writing period, thus forgive me if I don't answer for a few hours/days/weekends.
Until I get back to school, I've given up on exercising. Hell, they have a full gym up there, so Lauren as of right now is just focusing on writing and getting her stuff in order (packing for college is a bitch, and those boxes ain't light, so that should burn a few extra calories). My schedule is beautiful this semester, with MWF having classes begin at 12:30; no folks, this does not mean I will be sleeping in until 11:55. I'm actually waking my groggy self up at 8 AM every morning while I am at school so I can work out these three days in the gym, pumping some iron. Beach season, you also fit into the F you category with Facebook and Email. So, if you're from E-town College and you don't see me in the gym by 9, I live in Schlosser. Come find my dorm room, there will be an airhorn hanging outside with a sign that reads PLEASE USE IN CASE OF EMERGENCY (AKA Lauren didn't get her lazy ass out of bed). Although I may greet you with a punch in the face, it just means I love you, I promise.

Here goes nothing....yeah right, get real.

Back to college in a week, and although it's going to be a really tough semester, I'm looking forward to the challenge. (I also said this about my British Literature final paper, having chose the hardest topic because I "wanted a challenge"....ooooo that was stupiddddd. Tip to all college students: work hard, but take the easy road when you can, AKA, don't be Lauren...but anways...) Being home in Spring Grove does not suit me well, apparently. I just get restless, having very little at my fingertips to dive into; for those of you who don't live in Spring Grove, there is nothing to do. Yes, I know this sounds cliche, but there is not even a decent coffeeshop in the area for a girl to pop into to write! This is a sin; one day, maybe I'll open one here. It's odd; one would think that with all of this time on my hands, I should be getting some superb writing done, but I have found that a hectic schedule yields my greatest works, or so I think.
Where some people hate being stressed out, I love the feeling of frazzled nerves and coffee highs. Well... I don't love it. But I sure as hell do notice a huge difference in me when I am not jacked up on caffeine or have three bajillion pages to read for classes. Stress suits me well. I love schedules, and I love when I have to make time for downtime, not when my whole day is downtime and I have to fill it with something meaningful. I need a purpose to my life. Hence why, in my discussion with a friend, I am not trophy wife material (thank you very much for a hit to my self-esteem). No, but really, I understood what he was saying even as he stuck his foot in his mouth in attempt to redeem himself, which was hilarious; I can't just sit at home all day! I GO CRAZY. Arm candy for her husband, this girl is NOT. I will work for my money, thank you very much, while maintaining my sanity.
I'm really excited because I just received two amazing books as a gift that have to deal with writing! One teaches you how to brainstorm characters, because really folks, writing is some hard shit. I read this quote once that said that writers are basically people with multiple personalities but not as crazy because they are able to call forth a characteristic of themselves but then add traits that they don't necessarily possess. It's some hard work making up people; can you say brain workout?
The other book is a really awesome interactive one that helps you plan out a novel. It is called "Book in a Month", and although this might sound overly ambitious especially for a newbie like myself, I'm hoping that maybe at least I'll have some good ideas in a month. Although self-motivation and dedication are important, I've found that for me, my issues really lie in expecting too much of myself in the beginning. Perfectionism is a blessing, but with writing, it can be a real pain in the arse, too. No one sits down to write the first time and walks away with every page being perfect, just as no musician practices a piece for the first time and walks away with it being perfect. There is always room for improvement.
I also received a writing magazine for Christmas, and I am so excited to use some of the ideas to help fuel my pursuit toward putting words on the page.
So friends, I'm off to do some research and to brainstorm because my inner nerd thinks writing is more fun than getting shitfaced. God, I am not normal in comparison to other college students.

P.S- it's the weekend! Get off of the Internet and go do something fun :)

Doggie, Doggie!

I can’t imagine living in a house without at least one dog. How boring it would be! In the photo albums that pollute our home, there are numerous pictures of me clinging to a hairy beast about eight times my size, my pacifier dangling precariously from my lip, dangerously close to being dropped, upon which I probably would have just shoved the dootsie back in my mouth and thought nothing of the germs crawling all over the floor…or the dog hair. I shudder to think.

Even through all of the hair that they produce, I still love dogs. Granted, it does get old having to lint roll your clothes every five minutes, using an extra strength adhesive one to pull off the lingering hair…but I STILL love dogs.

When I went to college, my family owned three dogs, but two were getting up there in age; unfortunately in the last two years, the two older ones have passed, but Sidney, the youngest at only five years old, is my baby. My parents got him for me for a birthday present, which my mom would swear was the worst decision of her life, especially because of the fact he is Newfoundland and Collie mixed, which yields major hairball. But truly, he is the most intriguing dog I have owned; he weighs about ninety-five pounds yet still thinks he is a lapdog.

Once Newton passed away later in 2010, Sidney was left alone at home all day by himself. Although I was at college, I could picture his depression, wandering from room to room looking for a friend to play. My parents told me he was becoming quite depressed, and so, as any good parent would, they bought him a friend. My mom was absolutely furious at her decision of buying the tiny teddy-bear like creature that greeted me at the door when I came home from college one night. Although she wanted to kick herself, she will admit now that buying Rocky was a good decision, not only to cheer up Sidney, but also for her and my dad.

If you’ve never had a dog, you probably won’t understand my seemingly-like madness over the furry creatures, but if you have owned at least one at some point in your life, I’m sure you can grasp what I’m saying. Dogs aren’t pets; they’re a part of the family. I know when I was having a hard time going through a breakup, Sidney lay in bed with me for at least an hour, just lying there, letting me pet him. The phrase “stupid dog” is such bull, at least for the dogs I have had; they are far, far from being stupid, probably higher on the emotional intelligence scale than most people who go to college, from what I’ve seen so far.

My roommate and I up at Elizabethtown have both grown up with dogs, so our freshman year, we were really feeling the absence of a puppy in our tiny dorm room. Of course, sneaking a dog into your dorm is not the easiest thing to do, but we were not about to settle for not having some type of furry creature in our presence. Elizabethtown has a Saturday Market (which, if you ever have time, I would recommend going; you can find so many things for very cheap prices. Of course some of the stuff is junk, but there are some good finds), and one weekend my roommate and I along with a few friends went.

Fate lead us to the outside portion of the market, where we lay eyes on five tiny rabbits curled up in a ball so tightly, it was hard to distinguish where one rabbit ended and the other ones began. We could feel the pity creeping in for the tiny, helpless creatures that were housed in a cardboard box without any blanket.

DISCLAIMER: ** Do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT get a rabbit for a dorm room. There is a reason why the college tells you that you can only have non-carnivorous fishes. Although Jet (he was a pure black rabbit) was an adorable little thing when we got him, he didn’t stay tiny for long. And when we discovered that he liked to chew electrical cords (not by discovering him fried, thank God), my roommate and I both knew we had to get rid of him.

The idea of going back to college without a dog depresses me. As much as I’d love to steal Sidney for next year when I might be getting an apartment, I feel like my parents would somehow notice the lack of long black tumbleweeds rolling along the kitchen floor and the warm spot on the couch where he “knows he’s not allowed to lay”. Good dog.

A Christmas Gift for the Future

If you're close to me, it's not an unknown fact that one day, I'd love to open my own coffeeshop. Only me working behind the counter, maybe my lover (second to coffee, that is) too, the aroma of espresso, and my customers to entertain me during the day, which would be fine by me. God, I'd give anything for the next five Christmases to be filled with bean grinders and coffeeclub memberships. I know how odd this might sound to some of you. But really, since I was a child, I always dreamed of doing just this. I distinctly recall sitting at our island in our kitchen, drawing the corner coffeeshop with the arched doorway and stoop that would sit in the city. The door was a blue tint with a heavy brass knob. I still have the drawing in my sketch book. I always thought of having a roof garden for patrons to get away from the bustle of the city streets, to enjoy trees and flowers while having their coffee. God, it would be perfect...

My boyfriend bought me two books this Christmas that dealt with opening your own coffeeshop. And, although it was a gift most people wouldn't have enjoyed as thoroughly as I did, I had to choke back tears. How strange, that a book concerning coffee could bring me to wipe my eyes! And yet, it was not about the coffee. It was that someone was giving to me books that would help me to accomplish my goals, my dreams, without a hint of sarcasm or doubt hidden in the meaning of the giving. That is what meant the world to me.

Ironically enough, he does not know that I wrote these exact words in my senior year book: "I plan to attend a private university for international business/entrepreneurship. I will travel throughout Europe, meet an amazing man, and eventually open my own coffee shop in which I will stock the novels I'll write."

Well, I go to Elizabethtown. Check.
I was International Business. Check. (Scratch that off of the list).
Switched to English to better write the novels. Check.

And met an amazing man, whom I'm hoping I can one day travel with in Europe and that he will one day be there when I buy my own place to open my dream coffee shop. <3

Funny the way things work out...

A blurb on Christmas. :)

So I've been away from blogging for a little while; sometimes, unfortunately, college gets the best of me, and it is difficult to find time to write. It's especially hard when I do writing in all of my other classes, and by the time I get to the computer to write what I actually WANT to write, I'm exhausted.
Has anyone noticed all the Christmas Cheer going around? I know here at Elizabethtown, it is everywhere: people writing Christmas Cards in the Blue Bean, Christmas music being played all over campus, Christmas-themed parties being thrown in the quads. My boyfriend made me an amazing Christmas drink a few weeks ago, his own concoction: delicious!
I seriously wish every month could have the same cheer. Maybe it's just me, but from the end of November to the beginning of January, people are just nicer. I know I feel much more alive. The only thing that upsets me is the commercialism that has occurred with Christmas. Somewhere along the generations, I think the true meaning and feelings have been buried under the obligations and stress of shopping for people you barely know, spending money you don't need to spend.
I know as a college student, I really don't have much money to spend. So, time to get creative with gifts. I'd give some ideas, but I don't want to spill the beans because some people might be reading this post. I love thinking of personal gifts that have an intimate meaning behind them; from the time when I gave my mom shadow boxes of my brother and me when we were little, she loved it more than any purchased gift could ever mean. So, this Christmas, show your love in a different way. Create things for the person you love, give meaningful gifts to your parents, maybe something from your childhood.
Also, I attend a college with a motto "Educate for Service", and I was thinking about this today; I've been so wrapped up in myself and school that I haven't had time to go out and do anything for people. I remember in high school, I volunteered for a soup kitchen, and it was freezing outside, but the feeling of goodwill warmed me up a bit. Last year, I drove to a mall to buy Legos for an underprivileged child (and wrecked my car in the process, but that's beyond the point; I MAKE SACRIFICES), and (besides the car wreck), I felt pretty good about myself (it was raining and my windows were really foggy, ok. No women driver jokes).
But anywayssss... So instead of buying, give of yourself. I honestly think that giving a part of yourself to another person, whether it be through volunteering or making a gift for them that has a true meaning means the world to the receiver. I know it does to me.

Sometimes when I am alone, I get the overwhelming feeling that I will not make it to thirty. Talk about a scary thought. It's as if Death sits down bedside me casually, as if he wants to light up a cigarette and sip scotch while saying, "You know, you really don't have that much longer to live. Just thought I'd let you know." With a careless smirk, he would sidle out of the room, his trail of cigarette smoke lingering in the room.
It's not that I'm necessarily scared of death. I'm sure if you've thought about it, which I think most people have, it is not a pleasant thought, but to me, it is natural. And it's not like no one has done it before.
I just don't like the idea of not being able to accomplish things. My list of goals and dreams could supply all of California with toilet paper for a month. And yet I can't stop adding to it: travel to all 50 states, publish a book, watch all Lord of the Rings movies in marathon setting.
Maybe all these thoughts of where my life is going are stemming from the fact I am now twenty. If I live until I'm eighty, I've already lived a quarter of my life. It gives me chills to think about.
So many people complain about their good fortune, myself included. I know sometimes when college gets crazy and all I want to do is go home, it's hard to be thankful for just the opportunity to go to school. Today has been one of those days. But, when I really think about it, I am happy for the stress and pressure. It wills me to accomplish things that otherwise might sit around and never get done. The pressure motivates me to be all I can be, to reach that top level of self-actualization. It's nice to hope that in the end, it might just all pay off. I hope that through my hard work, some day I might just be able to publish that book. Some day, if I save enough money, I might be able to travel the world. I'd rather die with my dreams unanswered then never have dreams at all.