A Very Lucky Girl

Successfully completed the first week of the 2013 spring semester--HOLLA ATCHUR GURL. 15 weeks to go. It's like I'm counting down a pregnancy, except you know, not at all. 2013 is turning out to be a bit more challenging than I originally bargained for. My life seems to be spinning out of control; but I recently realized that I completely control my academic success. So, long story short, my classes aren't going to know what hit them when I'm done in May. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Friday I kick off the morning with a nice dose of Introduction to Logic at 9:30 AM. This is the class that I had to take the math placement exam in order to get permission to solve word problems at the University of Oklahoma. Professor Dan Cheon seems nice enough. He doesn't bother with an attendance policy and all of his quizzes are announced and clearly assigned on the syllabus. The downside is that logic is still in the math family, just heavier on the words side. I saw "proofs...

I complained and complained about reading Beowulf last the weekend. And complained. To anyone and everyone that would listen. Or maybe they didn't listen. I'm not a Beowulf kind of girl. It felt like reading the Lord of the Rings in poetry form. I barely made it through the Hobbit with the my love of reading intact. Conner teased me about the love lost between me and the story about dragons. (seriously, dragons? My favorite book is Little Women...)  Boys are stupid. Except for this next one. He knew how much I was HATING my sojourn through the thin pages of the Norton Anthology of English Literature and brought me sour patch kids and an ice cold water (these are a few of my favorite things...Sound of Music reference anyone?) on his way home from work on Sunday night. Life, in general, is better with an orange or green sour patch kid in your mouth. The reds are still in my room. Any takers? Even after discussing the text in class, Beowulf is still not a hero I will plast...

"Writers don't make any money at all. We make about a dollar. It is terrible. But then again we don't work either. We sit around in our underwear until noon then go downstairs and make coffee, fry some eggs, read the paper, read part of a book, smell the book, wonder if perhaps we ourselves should work on our book, smell the book again, throw the book across the room because we are quite jealous that any other person wrote a book, feel terribly guilty about throwing the schmuck's book across the room because we secretly wonder if God in heaven noticed our evil jealousy, or worse, our laziness. We then lie across the couch face down and mumble to God to forgive us because we are secretly afraid He is going to dry up all our words because we envied another man's stupid words. And for this, as I said before, we are paid a dollar. We are worth so much more."--Blue Like Jazz (Donald Miller) This is my life. What I love about writing is the freedom of expression. ...