Sorry If I Misspell Something . . .

Estoy triste. Yo hice mi tarea, pues most of it, . . . pero estot triste. Hoy, you vi un hombre que yo pense fue hermoso. Yo pense que el tiene ojos azules y pelo negro. En realidad, el tiene ojos marron. A cierta distencia, el fue hermoso y unico. Cuando yo veo lo up close, el fue ordinario. Estoy triste. Necesito estudiar mas espanol. Y frances . . . que es la palabra for "anyways . . ."

~Jessica

Procrastination At Its Worst

2 Five Page Essay Due Tommorrow. Ones about video games and the other is about scupltures from Egypt. Kill me now. I can't seem to get either of them going. Curses. I am frustrada. Necesito ayuda. Que voy a hacer? I think I'm going to doddle for the next hour or two then rush to get them done. I'm supposed to be writing about the addictiveness of video games, but right now I'd rather be playing them. SIMS!!!!! Je ne suis pas loca. Now I don't even know what to write. I want the essay to go well, but I can't get it going if I don't concur the intro.

I should go . . .

~Jessica

Turkey and Stuff . . . ing

For the record I hate stuffing or dressing or whatever you call it. That bread crap you stick into a turkey. But I would never let that ruin a perfectly good Thanksgiving. Afterall, there's always cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, and turkey to make up for it. Now I'm hungry. Well, now I have nothing to discuss. My hands are freezing. I don't know why but they are always cold. It sucked because at Thanksgiving we said grace hand in hand with the people sitting next to us and when my sister held my hand she exclaimed, "Hey, you're hands are really cold!" It was sort of embarrassing. Anyway, I'm watching Scrubs right now. T'is funny. Now my kitten is sitting in my lap. He's so cute. Anyways, I don't know what to say now. I guess between the television and the cat my focus has sort of disintegrated. Well I just felt like writing a blog.

~Jessica

Again and Never Again

I know I made a post yesterday, but I feel like talking. I'm told my mother is going downhill. I don't know who will read this or what they will think of it, but I feel like telling someone. It's not exactly healthy to keep all this "bottled up inside" as I've been told many times before. Anyway, I was reading a "diary" of mine yesterday and I came upon something . . . weird. Maybe weird isn't the right word, but I don't know how to put what I felt when I read it. It was sort of a shock. I was flipping through, seeing my writing of yore, and I was somewhat amused by it. I had made mini paragraphs about subjects I felt were sort of important. I found things about various subjects including nature, science v. God, -mostly stuff about life. Then I came upon the sentence. It came off as almost fake. I actually questioned whether I had written it. It said, "I'm worried about my mom". I think when I wrote it I was conserned, but lying to myself. It's hard to explain. I know my mom has problems. Her health is declining (for reasons that are obvious to me and my sisters, but apparently not to her) and she has been acting . . . well, I guess you just have to know her to understand the way she's acting now, but she's acting Worse. Anyway, I read the script and thought, really? I was worried enough about her to confess my concerns to paper? I worry about mom, but I wouldn't say I was concerned per se. It's hard to explain. A child never really worries about the condition of his parent. If the parent has a cold, then maybe you show some interest or sympathy or worry, . . . but my mom doesn't have a cold. She has issues. To see me write "I'm worried about my mom" was a disturbing shock to my system. Right now if I were to write, I'd say I was worried about my sister. Emily is in the same situation I was when I was her age, but now it's worse and she's all alone in it. I try to help as much as I can, but I'm hours away and I can't reach that far. I wish I could be there to tell her I went through it too and it may seem hard and dark at times, but you can get through it. You have to have a sense of courage and independence about you during those times, which is difficult when you are scared and use to being trapped and confined. I don't know if writing this will help at all. I only worry that my mom never reads this. I pray my sister does.

~Jessica

Incentive

Well, I tried writing a blog earlier and it didn't work so that doesn't give me much reason to think this one will work either. I have a question. Is 54 music videos too many for a VH1 favorites list? If you go to their website and click on a video it is automatically added to a favorites list. I was bored so I went through all my favorite artists and just kept adding their videos. What does that say about me? Am I obsessed with music? Probably . . . this isn't what I wanted to talk about though. I've been reading some pretty heavy stuff lately. I've been carrying the weight of the words from the books with me. Deep, imperative thoughts have been coerced from the recesses of my mind. This is what I live for. School hands you books that you eat, digest, and forget. It's when you read something of your own will or by accident that it ever means anything. It's been a while since I read freely for my own enjoyent and well being. I thought I could get by with Sudoku games, but I kept thinking about something more meaningful to take up my extra time. I don't know, reading for myself somehow manages to awaken me and I start to feel alive. My thoughts begin to take on a new, reflective form. Suddenly eating food, listening to music, being myself, . . . it all takes on more meaning.
I'm still listening to my top 54 favorite list on VH1, even as I write this. "It's a beautiful day, I heard everybody say, sun shines down on all of us, just the same, you know I like the rain, that ain't so obvious, it's a beautiful sight, I guess everybody's right, this day belongs to all of us, even still I like mine with a chill, that ain't so obvious, . . . we are the normal, we live and we die for no reason why, we are the normal, we live and we die with no reason why . . ." God bless the Goo Goo Dolls. Well, if you want to know what I've been reading you can ask me . . . but I suggest you go out and find something that you can enjoy without worrying about what others think. The same goes for your music. Find something that your ears or your mind will thank you for later.

~Jessica

Sprench

Well, I'm going to have to focus my attention back to my homework again in a couple of minutes. I haven't done anything but my homework all day. I just finished my French homework and now I have Art History and English. I have to read in both. I've decided that after I take a couple more years of French, I'm giong to find a way to combine the Spanish and French languages. I'll call it Sprench. They're close enough to where I can get the point across half way using both languages. J'ai hambre. Je suis un estudiante. Quiero aller a la biblioteca. Necisito un livre de Sprench. T'will be the greatest languge on earth! If an English speaking person like me can learn both languages, why not everyone else. It's all about translation. The point of having a conversation in any language is to get the point acroos and make ideas understood. If combining French and Spanish makes that easier to do, than why not combine them? It will be a hybrid language. Maybe then we can combine Irish and Arabic. Alright, maybe not those two because I'm pretty sure they're not close at all, but you get the idea. You watch, one day someone will use Sprench and now you'll know who came up with it. Es un bon idea, verdad?

~Jessica

Postageness

Je suis . . . Yo soy . . . that I am. Alright, about half of the people reading this should be confuzzled right now. Sorry. Didn't mean to cause a state of confusion. Hmmm . . . what to talk about. Don't worry I won't waste half a page thinking about what I should be writing like I did in the last post. I watched America's Next Top Model last night. I'm not into the fashion as much as I am into the pictures they create. I'm an artist and I have to say a lot of the photos they take turn out awesome. I was sort of depressed from last night's episode though. There was a girl and, she wasn't "perfect", but she usually photographed well. The main problem was her lack of confidence. She lacked the courage and the energy neccessary to make it in the fashion world. It was empathy I felt for her. Heck, that's me about every hour of the day. I don't feel sorry for myself because of my lack of confidence. I just wish it were different sometimes. Those other girls make it look so easy. They're outgoing and confident and I wonder what's wrong with me? Being quiet and an introvert isn't all that bad though. I actually listen when people talk. There's a saying that goes, 'It is better to be quiet and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt". I thought that was pretty funny. I don't think I'm a fool, but I worry about saying something stupid every once in a while. There are people out there who are fools and speak openly and I don't want to be that person. Then again, right now it would be nice to have that confidence to speak up because being an introvert is sort of an inconveniece right now.

~Jessica

A Defining Memory

Right now I'm supposed to be writing an english essay about memory. I decided the best way to introduce my essay would be to open with a memory of my own that was significant and revealed something about myself I did not realize. Unfortuantely I'm having problems picking that specific memory. Severl defining memories come to mind, but they deal with issues and events I'd rather not bring up in my essay. I can't seem to think of a memory that summs me up or shows who I am. It's like memory block or something. And it's not like I can consult anybody on the subject. Hey Jen, can you think of a memory from my past that defines me? Yah, . . . problemo. Errrrg, stupid memories, why won't you work?!!! There there every other time of the day when I need them, or don't need them. Let's see a defining memory . . . this isn't helping me. Now I'm writing and not thinking about my memories. Let's see an event that affects me deeply that shows who i am as a preson or has had some geat affect on me over the years . . . nope still not coming. Hang on, I need to reflect . . . maybe yoga will help. How do you do yoga? That's stupid, never mind. I just need to find my center or quiet spot. Alllmmmm, alllmmmm, . . . zzzzennnessssss . . . perhaps the best way to think about a defining moment from my past is to reflect on an aspect of myself now and see if any memories come up explaining why I act a certain way. Alright I think I found a good memory. I always bite my nails. I always have and I probably always will. i remember one time when i was about ten, my mom tried to bribe me from biting my nails. She said, "If you stop biting your nails for a week I'll give you this". The "this" was a book that I really wanted, so I decided to stop biting my nails. A couple days went by and soon i startde biting them again. I didn't do it on purpose, i would be sitting in class taking notes and suddenly I would just start biting my nails. By the time I noticed what I was doing it was too late. A couple a week went by and my mother showed me the book again, just to reafirm her bribe, and said, "You can't have this until you stop chewing your nails." So once again I stopped biting them for a few days, and then I wouls forget the book and start biting. After a month my mother came to me and said, "Fine, I'll give you the book because I don't want it, but you better stop biting your nails o.k.?" I still bite my nails to this day. I find that I tend to do this most often when I'm watching an intense movie and I don't know what will happen next, or when I'm really nervous and stressed out. I think the biting is just a way for me to releave the tension I feel inside or subconsciously show it on my outside. Well anyway, that's my memory. Hope the essay goes well . . .


~Jessica

So Many Things

I have so much to talk about. However I think I'll stick to one subject for now. Last weekend, which started about three days ago, actually it was last Friday. Anyway, I decided to go with my dad and Kari to pick up Emily (my 15 year old sister) from high school. Em's school, also my old high school, is two hours away. It's always hard trying to explain my family situation with people I meet for the first time . . . The important thing is the reason I spent two hours in a car to see my sister when I could have waited at home. I missed her. It's strange because I saw her quiet often over the summer and she comes to dad's every other weekend, but I still missed her. Ever since we were little Emily and I always went everywhere together. This usually wasn't by choice, but we were always near by. I can't even recall a time when I was away from her for more than a week. When I moved out of my mom's house and into my dad's, my mom told me I would miss Em a lot. I didn't really believe her because for the past couple of years we haven't spent that much time together, that I noticed. Now looking back, I spent almost every lunchtime of my senior year with Emily and our friend Chelsie. I guess I spent more time with her than I thuoght. Last Friday I knew Em was coming and I was excited. I was sort of feeling lonely and I realized how much I miss her being around. There's a recurring memory I have of the way things use to be between us and it has been haunting me now for about a week. I'll tell you about it in my next blog, but because of the memory's ferquency I just can't help but feel bad about the way I use to act around Em. I just really needed her to be there to confirm that everything was alright between us and that she's still going to be there when I need her. I hate that fact that I can't talk to her everyday. Well, maybe hates too strong a word. It bothers me that I can't talk to Em more frequently. I feel like I'm missing what's happening in her life and fifteen is a scary age to be alone. I wish I could be there for her more to help her through these times of uncertainty and confussion. At least I was there for her freshman year. That was a hard transitionn for her, as it was for me too when I was a feshman, so it was nice that I could help Emily out and watch over how she was doing. I think i sound a little over- protective. I guess I'm just trying to compensate for all the years I was never there for her and gave her a hard time.
(Picture: Mi Hermana, Ma Soeur)

~Jessica