I love my English class.

We write, creatively...a lot. It's so much fun.

Creative writing is the cheese to my macaroni. I write profiles, poetry, novels, stories (some of these I do on my own).

I believe I have found my calling in life.

Indeed, as I knew in 8th grade, I want to write.

But hear is my so-called plan: publish novels, produce one or two of my plays. I will have income from this. Then, become a journalist for Amnesty International. I want to make a difference, and change journalism. I will write news that needs to get an audience. I will make a difference.

Change

I am ready for change. Not just change that will come on November 4th, when we elect a new president. But change in general. I am ready to try something new. Something really, really different. I'm just not sure what it is yet.

If I get the job at P.F. Chang's it will be my first real job. You could say that my stint as a paper carrier was a job, but I beg to differ. That was just something to do on Thursday afternoons, so to speak. I barely made any money. However, getting a paycheck in the mail was very exciting. I really want the job at P.F. Chang's. I would be a hostess. My parents think I'd be a good one, and so do I. I'm people friendly, I tend to get along with everyone. Also, it doesn't hurt that they job would pay well. It's also in walking distance from my college.

I just hope that I can manage my studies AND a job. Having a job would force me to become better with time management. I really hope I become better at that. I know I am a good student, and I try to manage a lot of things. Yet I have missed a few meetings, and been a little late to appointments. I have barely been late to class, however. I take my studies VERY seriously.

Change for me also comes in the form of pre-registration. I pick my classes for Spring Semester. Next semester will be at the same school, but with a completely different course schedule. I find that exciting. It's also a little strange, too. In high school, I would have had the same class for a year, not a semester. So studying in college is more important than it was in high school, you could say. There is more information to process. I am lucky, however. My school is known to have small class sizes. And teachers are always willing to work with you outside of class.

Change could represent my writing life. Next semester I will (probably) take my first creative writing class. I am ecstatic. Writing is my life. When I am not writing, I do not exactly mope around, but writing is how I express myself. I do, however, express myself in other ways, such as acting and drawing. My drawings are getting better.

Change will (hopefully) come this Summer in the form of a trip to Berlin. There is a three week study abroad course there. The program is called "Film in Berlin". I looked into the "Multicultural London" trip, but fell head over heels in love with the Berlin trip. I saw the word Film, and I was sold. I was leaning toward the London trip because I thought I'd have to know German in order to go to Berlin. Luckily, the entire trip is in English. The most awesome part about it, is that each student gets a $1200 voucher toward their study abroad trip, one that they can use a trip of their choice. This voucher takes care of nearly half the tuition. Also, if I get the job at P.F. Changs, I can help pay for my airfare, and can also take care of most of the spending money that I will take to Germany with me.

I think I will get accepted into the trip. I am doing well in school. I have a 75 in Math, and that is my lowest grade. I know I have at least an A- in English and my other classes. Perhaps a B in Spanish. I am doing well, however. There isn't really anything for me to worry about.

Just Breathe

So, this is a PostSecret (sorry, Melanie. I know this was your idea, but I really liked this one.) This one has a lot of emotions in it, at least for me.  There are memories in this image. The fact that someone actually made it means that I am not alone. It exudes hope.

No, I was not raped.

But I did go through a rather traumatic experience my Junior year.  "Being able to survive it", as the image proclaims, "doesn't mean that it was ever ok..."

I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder.  I know I am lucky. I do get that.  Some go to hell and back to sort things out, to get on the right meds or make their lives livable.  Bipolar disorder, when not under control, is not a pretty thing.  It can get ugly.

Imagine: your mind, which normally runs fast, seems to be faster than a speeding bullet. Faster than Superman, if that's even possible. You are normally a fast thinker.  But now, you can barely live with your own thoughts because they won't let you be.  You start one projects, then three pop up, and a fourth.  There are so many things that you have to do.

Imagine: You have so much energy that you go to bed at 12 and wake up 3.  You aren't even tired.  In fact, you feel as if you have had 8 full hours of sleep.  You are like the Energizer Bunny.

Imagine: You have hallucinations.  You haven't done drugs at all, not even once in your lifetime.  And yet you trip.  You see your favorite actor in the Er (not that I am complaining much about this.)  There are other actors in the ER, too.  Some of them I like, others, not so much.  There is music playing.  You begin to dance.  No one around you can hear what you hear.  It is like you have a special gift to hear this rock and roll.  God made this rock music just for you.

Imagine: You have more hallucinations, these ones are not so nice.  There is no God-given music.  In fact, it is as if God has turned on you.  You hear the voice of Hitler blaming you for the Holocaust.  "Why'd you make me do it, you little bitch?"  I sit there, frozen with fear.  I hadn't done anything.  I was your average American teenager, going to school everyday, counting down the days until graduation. I didn't deserve this. What had I ever done?  Sure, I had my mishaps: everyone does.

Being able to survive doesn't mean that it was okay.  What I mean by that, is...that, sometimes, it still hurts. I wonder what happened.  I wonder if the story is complete. What else happened? Does anyone think I am crazy? For the most part, I have gotten over it. I have gotten help.

Help. This could mean a lot of things. It could mean, to some, that I've been committed to a Psychiatric Hospital. I did stay in an adolescent Psych ward for a little while.  But I came back to my senses sooner than they thought I would.

Usually, I tell myself to just breathe.  Things normally turn out okay.  The Apocalypse is not about to happen, so there is time.

What do you talk about, when you've got nothing to say?

This title will most likely make absolutely no sense in a few minutes.

I am sure that I have something to say.  I have something about to say about Darfur. We need to stop the genocide. The UN needs to do something. They promised 20,000 peace troops. What happened to those troops? Did they even get there? Or have they not even left yet?

We need to get a move on: we haven't got forever.  This is a genocide.  We ought to start acting like it's not a TV show.  Jack Bauer is not over there, it's not another episode of 24.  It's real.  Write to your senators.  Write to the future president.  Tell them that they cannot ignore the people of Darfur.

I have something to say about John McCain (sorry, Melanie). Why, oh why? Why Sarah Palin?  She cannot stand up there thanking the "Hockey Moms" and go on about being a mayor forever.  First, why would McCain pick someone with less experience than Barack Obama?  McCain attacks Obama all the time about how little experience he has, and then his VP is the governor of Alaska?  Oh, and why pick someone who made rape victims buy THEIR OWN rape kits? WTF?

I have something to say about college.  It's fun, it's stressful...its college.  Math class and Spanish class are going okay.  I got a 74 on my Spanish test, so I have to go to SI (supplemental instruction) once a week now.  I may even go twice.  I want to do well in Spanish class. I want to do well in Math class.

English class is a no-brainer. I love that class. I love writing. English class and me are like peas in a pod.  Writing is the cheese to my macaroni.

I suppose I would have more to say, but I have some homework.