Thursday, November 10, 2011


Lord knows I haven't been on here in quite some time but I felt reminiscent; like a mother fawning through winter's window at the plot where her garden once lay.
This blog, after reading it, gives me a comfortable warm feeling that spread from the depths of my rib cage and out. I can't deny that I didn't swell with a bit of pride at the past me's way of words.
It's undeniable that I've probably and almost certainly lost my touch. College will do that to you.
If there's anything that college has taught me it is that you are never right, in the English department's world that is.
Creativity within the English major is all but diminished. The memory of it nothing but masonry, now encased between the bricks of scholastic academia. It's an inevitable wall I've found myself beating my head against.
Apart from being screwed by my advisers and the entire college curriculum as a whole, I am more than disappointed with myself when I said that I am changing majors.
I never wanted to be that type of person who flopped between what they wanted. I'm a very set person in choices and once I choose a direction I am more than reluctant to leave it.
Take note of the way I walk to class. It's routine to follow the path of the sidewalk but for me, I make a bee line. If the paths even so much as flits to the right or left, I continue to steamroll my way straight on. I've been known to trample shrubs, take down bushes, and limbo my way under "caution tapes."
It never fail that when I catch myself doing this, I get a case of instant paranoia. I always think that there is a psychology major observing me making note of my behavior and analyzing my demeanor. You can tell a lot by the way the body speaks and I'm sure mine usually screams "get the hell out of my way."

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