In other news, its been a while since I wrote anything in here. I've started my Fall Semester. Full course load of 5 classes. One of them being College Student Success. Such a boring, inane class that the college requires every student to take.
I'm also taking Public Speaking. I shuddered at the thought of the class when I signed up for it. But I have to have at least one communications class. So, I thought that I might as well get it over with. I've already given my first speech. I wasn't half as nervous as I thought I would be. However, I wasn't the picture of calm either. I could hear my voice shaking sometimes.
But, to my surprise, everyone thought it was a wonderful speech. I got many compliments. The topic was my proudest moment. My proudest moment being when I received the scholarships that I did to go to college here.
I've also begun tutoring again. I've expanded my repertoire of subjects I can tutor in. I now tutor not only math students, but one english student, and a computer student as well. I've been thinking about being a history tutor since that's what my major is. But, much to my surprise, no one seems to need a history tutor.
What's wrong with these people? Don't they know that history is hard for them?
:) The other three classes I'm taking are: Western Civ. I, Expos. Writing, and Intro. Psych. The psychology class being the easiest because I've already taken the class once (well, half anyway) and I know his style of teaching. I knwo the kinds of tests he gives. So, I know how to study, and most days I know what he'll say before he even gets a word out.
I've started a new story. Its always puzzled me when I read a book or hear about a person who thinks they're bad because their parents were. Like it runs in the blood or something. The idea that because someone's mother or father was "evil" or just junkies or lived on the streets and peddled drugs, that the child is bad. That this character "trait" runs in the blood.
Where this idea comes from, I don't know. But its absolutely ludicrous.
I was thinking about this. And how when a person thinks like this, that it can affect their entire life, and all the decisions they make. So, I decided to write a story about a young woman who was born into poverty. Whose mother had to do whatever she could to survive. And because her mother had to do these things, this young woman believes that she is stuck in this way of life forever. A smart, beautiful young woman who doesn't believe in much of anything. That's she trash, and cannot be loved.
And then there's the choices she makes. And, in the middle of all this, is the man who loves this young woman.
This is the general idea for the story. I hope I finish it because I love the idea and it intrigues me. And I wonder what will happen. I'm still not sure exactly what's going to happen. I know my characters, but I don't know what they're going to do. You'd figure I'd be able to predict. But words have a way of taking on a life of their own and writing your story for you.
Usually it's a poem I write. I write for many reasons. One of the biggest is the feeling I get sometimes that I have to put a particular idea on paper. And these are personal feelings. And often the need to get the idea expressed on paper is very urgent. Which is one reason that I don't write alot of stories. Another reason is that I hardly ever finish the stories I begin. But poetry doesn't take a month or two.
And I never put my stories on computer. For one thing, I don't like the idea that the computer can crash and my story will be lost. Or that I might this small disk the size of my palm. Trust me, a notebook is much easier to keep up with.
The other reason is that, my muse seems to die the minute I bring up the word processor program. I type faster than I write. And this is not a good thing. Not when I think slower than I type.
Writing on paper gives me a certain satisfaction that I just can't acheive on paper.
Now, that isn't the reason that I write so infrequently in this journal. The reason for that is that I'm just too damned lazy. lol I love to write though. But often I don't really feel that anything has happened that is worthy of being put up here.
I met somebody.
Well, I didn't just meet him. Not exactly.
We've actually been kind of casual friends for about four or five months now.
But, last Friday I talked to him for about a half an hour. And now, of all the inconvenient things, I cannot get this guy out of my head. I'm consumed with wanting to go out with him and talk to him again. Not to mention the uncontrollable lust I experience everytime I see him.
We've always flirted. And not just smiling and laughing and the such. Heavy flirting. So I have no doubt the guy likes me. Or that he wants me. And he's asked me out before. But I always said some other time, because I was interested in another guy.
His name is Marc. He's 25. Dark hair - which I've always liked in a guy. Very nice body. Intelligent, interesting, and damn sexy. A musician. With some beautiful words.
We've been talking sometimes, and I'll suddenly feel like I have one of those boxes people talk about. The ones where you could open it up, and you're suddenly bombarded with praise. They aren't real, of course, but every woman wants one. I feel like that when I talk to him. Only the words are pretty and poetic. All there'd have to be were candles, moonlight and some good Italian food and I'd definitely feel the seduction.
I like this guy. Quite a bit, in fact.