Whatever it is that I had, it's not mono. For which I am eternally grateful.
I've felt like I'm physically deteriorating. But I'm feeling much better now.
I got new headphones so I can work on my Rosetta Stone more thoroughly. I crave knowledge of the spanish language. To me, it's just such a fun thing to do. I'm a dork, I know it. But for once in my life, schoolwork interests me, and i'm excelling. Thus, I'm embracing it.
I'm writing all my letters to Julio in spanish.
Hopefully i'll hear from him soon. WorldVision is investigating things for me.
My mom comes home tomorrow. Not looking forward to that.
Because honestly, I'm still mad.
I'm still hurt.
I'm still damaged.
And "i'm sorry" doesn't undo years or pain and deprevity.
I finally convinced my dad to come to Mexico with me this summer.
I can't wait. I love mission work. I love feeling like i'm making a difference.
I can't wait to be a nurse so I can just.. help people.
I'd love to be a crisis relief nurse and travel the world.
Which brings me to school. I finished off my first college semester with straight A's. Ok, sort of. I got a "D" in Dining Room. But in all fairness, I didn't even attend the final, so that's pretty fabulous. And I wasn't even supposed to be in that class, so, I don't care one bit. Everyone's allowed a "whoops... it was my first semester of college!" mistake. In my mind, I got straight A's. And it feels awesome.
Hopefully I can finish off this semester with good marks so I can get into a nursing program in the spring.
Well, I'm on an organizing/cleaning spree, which is pretty uncharacteristic of me, so i'm going to take full advantage of it.
adios!
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
A Lesson in Logic
I suppose it's wrong to be angry.
In fact, I'm quite sure it is.
She is, after all, my mother.
But am I a jerk because I refuse to fall victim to the collosal "Alcohol is a disease," lie?
Sure, tell the victims of families who lost loved ones who were killed by a drunk driver that the staggering drunk owner of the shiny sportscar that took away someone's life is not at fault. Oh no, they had a disease that flung them to the liquor store, and forced them to buy alcohol, and then, by god, forced the stuff down their throats. Oh, and THEN, it strapped them into a car and put their foot to the petal.
How about taking responsibilities for you actions. In the end, you choose. You CHOOSE to buy alcohol. You choose to consume alcohol. You choose to physically pick up a drink and empty its contents down your throat.
The so-called "disease," is no Catholic School nun that smacks you with a ruler and forces you to throw back drinks.
It's you. Accept it.
My entire life, I've pictured addicts.
I imagine what kind of broken homes they most grow up in, and what awful family conditions they are subject to.
In my mind, addicts didn't bake cookies on their kids' first day of school or take their sons to sports practice and help their kids with homework.
They didn't smile, or laugh, or walk the planet like normal people.
Until I realized that addiction has no face.
And that the same "perfect" suburban mom that heads my family was just a skein of yarn, rapidly unraveling.
And now, there is little left.
No happiness, no activity, no will to live.
No discipline, no willpower.
No maternal instinct, no first-day of school cookies.
Just an empty shell, that stumbles around the house, talking to the cat, that occasionally reminds me what a failure I am.
But of course, I'm the bad person.
I'm wrong for being angry and hating her.
I'm wrong for thinking that she's damaging me, and is responsible for taking about my youth and innocence.
You know what I say?
Talk to me when you've had to pick your mother up, half naked off the floor, while she asks you if you need directions to work.
In fact, I'm quite sure it is.
She is, after all, my mother.
But am I a jerk because I refuse to fall victim to the collosal "Alcohol is a disease," lie?
Sure, tell the victims of families who lost loved ones who were killed by a drunk driver that the staggering drunk owner of the shiny sportscar that took away someone's life is not at fault. Oh no, they had a disease that flung them to the liquor store, and forced them to buy alcohol, and then, by god, forced the stuff down their throats. Oh, and THEN, it strapped them into a car and put their foot to the petal.
How about taking responsibilities for you actions. In the end, you choose. You CHOOSE to buy alcohol. You choose to consume alcohol. You choose to physically pick up a drink and empty its contents down your throat.
The so-called "disease," is no Catholic School nun that smacks you with a ruler and forces you to throw back drinks.
It's you. Accept it.
My entire life, I've pictured addicts.
I imagine what kind of broken homes they most grow up in, and what awful family conditions they are subject to.
In my mind, addicts didn't bake cookies on their kids' first day of school or take their sons to sports practice and help their kids with homework.
They didn't smile, or laugh, or walk the planet like normal people.
Until I realized that addiction has no face.
And that the same "perfect" suburban mom that heads my family was just a skein of yarn, rapidly unraveling.
And now, there is little left.
No happiness, no activity, no will to live.
No discipline, no willpower.
No maternal instinct, no first-day of school cookies.
Just an empty shell, that stumbles around the house, talking to the cat, that occasionally reminds me what a failure I am.
But of course, I'm the bad person.
I'm wrong for being angry and hating her.
I'm wrong for thinking that she's damaging me, and is responsible for taking about my youth and innocence.
You know what I say?
Talk to me when you've had to pick your mother up, half naked off the floor, while she asks you if you need directions to work.
I need to write. Not writing just is not an option for me.
This became increasingly apparent after my first semester of College English. Sure, I'm no Joan Didion. But I suppose I write for myself, and my sanity, more so than for an entourage of fans.
This blogs merely contains my thoughts about life and this world.
I'm opinionated, but I'm a person who dreams of making an impact on the world.
These diatribes, anecdotes, and random thoughts are accounts of the challenges I face regularily.
I hope you enjoy them, at least a little, if not as much as I do.
This became increasingly apparent after my first semester of College English. Sure, I'm no Joan Didion. But I suppose I write for myself, and my sanity, more so than for an entourage of fans.
This blogs merely contains my thoughts about life and this world.
I'm opinionated, but I'm a person who dreams of making an impact on the world.
These diatribes, anecdotes, and random thoughts are accounts of the challenges I face regularily.
I hope you enjoy them, at least a little, if not as much as I do.
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