Thoughts.
1. Community College = LAME. (...no offense..)
2. I want to start using the phrase "right??" like they do on How I Met Your Mother.
3. Today when I was watching a YouTube video someone linked to of an 1983 MJ performance, I realized that I've never really watched Michael Jackson perform from his earlier days. I've only heard the songs and seen the music videos. Hm. I kind of feel like I missed out by like 10 years. Bring on the next prodigy, society. We're ready.
4. This Sunday I was a little mad at God because I feel like He never talks to me. He never gives me a definitive answer. I know, I know. It's because I'm not listening, right? I've heard that all before. But seriously. I felt (and still do a little) that he speaks clearly to other people and not me. Or either they are making it all up, and they don't really know the difference between their own wishes/the "right" thing to do vs. God's voice telling them what to do. I was extremely frustrated. I mean, really. SPEAK IN AUDIBLE WORDS PLEASE. Maybe it was because I was being honest with Him in my head, or maybe I just needed to wait it out (although I feel like I wait out a lot of things and then just end up doing what I think I should do without any definitive "DO THIS." from God)...but I feel like He gave me closure that day. I feel good about my decision. And whether that is His voice or not, maybe I'll never be 100% sure. But I am reassured. And that's what I needed.
5. If you haven't heard Derek Webb's new album, Stockholm Syndrome, go to derekwebb.com and buy it. You get an immediate download even if you buy the physical cd. It is bold and thought-provoking. Listen closely.
6. I want to discover my passions in life and figure out what I am good at. Right now I don't know, but I'm trying.
7. I have one year of college left. AHH. I will try to make the absolute most of it!
8. Maybe I should write a collection of short stories. I know they would probably have little to no literary value as far as utilizing rhetorical devices go...but I would enjoy it. The first will be Captain Planet's awkward high school years, co-written by Edwin.
9....And I want a Sham-Wow.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
0058.
A Fictional Story.
By: Laura Fagan
It's not like I think about him every day, y'know. I mean, I have a life. I do yoga. My dog loves to watch The View with me every morning. Mr. Ramirez, the mailman, and I have actually formed a substantial acquaintance. And besides, it's not as if I haven't tried to forget. Maybe I should just pour myself into my work like those cocktail-drinking business women in the movies. At least then I wouldn't have time to consider the important things in life, which, for me, would be an improvement.
If it weren't for that damn MyBook.com, I would never have had to see his face again after college. How does social networking manage to sound so appealing yet make my life miserable? I mean, having all the details about a person they choose to share with the internet world (which admittedly is often far too much) at your fingertips? It's fascinating! It fulfills my inner child's lifelong dream of becoming the next Harriet the Spy. But therein lies the danger. My vice. I don't WANT to look. But there he is. Just standing there, the gleam of the camera flash reflecting off the mirror just enough to give the picture that amateur glow. As if he isn't brilliant at everything. But I digress.
I suppose it doesn't help that I still frequent the same gym in which he is currently employed. So what, I'm just supposed to abandon all regard for physical fitness because of a little undying, unrequited love for Get Fit's employee of the month? Uh, I don't think so. That would be a crime against my very flesh. And I don't condone propitiating future pain by simply refusing to embrace a few challenges...
I still have his t-shirt, you know. I mean, the fact that it is even in my possession in the first place is somewhat of a mishap. But is it my fault that people leave things lying around in the laundromat dryer while they go make change for a dollar? I've been planning the return of the shirt for the last two weeks, and I think I've come up with a brilliant solution to fill the pit of longing in my very soul. Closure, that is. Upon casually returning the shirt, ("oh, hi, i believe you dropped this the other day...") he will either confess his feelings for me in a dramatic scene of unleashed hidden passion... or walk away, t-shirt in hand. And in that serendipitous moment I will know in my heart whether or not it is meant to be.
THEN I will pour myself into my work.
The manager of the kitchen appliances department will be thrilled.
By: Laura Fagan
It's not like I think about him every day, y'know. I mean, I have a life. I do yoga. My dog loves to watch The View with me every morning. Mr. Ramirez, the mailman, and I have actually formed a substantial acquaintance. And besides, it's not as if I haven't tried to forget. Maybe I should just pour myself into my work like those cocktail-drinking business women in the movies. At least then I wouldn't have time to consider the important things in life, which, for me, would be an improvement.
If it weren't for that damn MyBook.com, I would never have had to see his face again after college. How does social networking manage to sound so appealing yet make my life miserable? I mean, having all the details about a person they choose to share with the internet world (which admittedly is often far too much) at your fingertips? It's fascinating! It fulfills my inner child's lifelong dream of becoming the next Harriet the Spy. But therein lies the danger. My vice. I don't WANT to look. But there he is. Just standing there, the gleam of the camera flash reflecting off the mirror just enough to give the picture that amateur glow. As if he isn't brilliant at everything. But I digress.
I suppose it doesn't help that I still frequent the same gym in which he is currently employed. So what, I'm just supposed to abandon all regard for physical fitness because of a little undying, unrequited love for Get Fit's employee of the month? Uh, I don't think so. That would be a crime against my very flesh. And I don't condone propitiating future pain by simply refusing to embrace a few challenges...
I still have his t-shirt, you know. I mean, the fact that it is even in my possession in the first place is somewhat of a mishap. But is it my fault that people leave things lying around in the laundromat dryer while they go make change for a dollar? I've been planning the return of the shirt for the last two weeks, and I think I've come up with a brilliant solution to fill the pit of longing in my very soul. Closure, that is. Upon casually returning the shirt, ("oh, hi, i believe you dropped this the other day...") he will either confess his feelings for me in a dramatic scene of unleashed hidden passion... or walk away, t-shirt in hand. And in that serendipitous moment I will know in my heart whether or not it is meant to be.
THEN I will pour myself into my work.
The manager of the kitchen appliances department will be thrilled.
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