A Great Feat

Who knew such a sluggish morning would begin this parade of a day? Dreaming about John deserting me for another woman wasn't the ideal thing to awaken from. Although, as opposed to most mornings, I was happy to wake up that my dreams were not reality.
After the morning hygiene routine, I sat down contently in front of my laptop and completed my daily analysis of Facebook, Blogger, and Blackboard. About that time, my stomach became demanding and I grabbed an apple to satisfy it's orders. Whilst munching this fruit, I came upon a Japanese horror flick being shown on Netflix and watched only half before vowing not to eat during this movie ever again.
Then it was time for Mrs. Barbara Reeves, my savior, I mean psychiatrist, and I to have a meeting. Not much came from the meeting this time, seeing as I haven't been committed to the progressive muscle or breathing relaxation exercises she recommended I do. On the other hand, the meeting did give me confidence to go to the grocery store, Mainely Music, and the Hancock Library. I did this all on my own without a twitch in the neck or one shortened breath. The parade that I had written of earlier stems from the comfort and bliss I feel to realize recovery is possible!

Ashamed and Unchanged

I'm being extremely patient right now. I'm waiting til my parents go to bed, so I can sneak outside and smoke a cigarette. Obviously, they still think I quit. It's been a month since I started up again.
I do need to break the habit because I know its disappointing to my husband. He called from Iraq two days ago and the conversation was light and cheerful, until that one measly cough. He asked if I'd been smoking still, after I'd told him so long ago I quit. I responded nervously, "No, I don't still smoke." Knowing how blatent the lie was, I went on to confess, where then his tone dropped and so did my chest. It may not seem like a gigantic deal to most, but this is my husband, who reluctantly lives the structured military life in Iraq. And furthermore, we both know he enlisted for my sake. So to disappoint him is a major offense and a reason that talk that day turned sour.
Nevertheless, I am still ready to tiptoe out the front door to selfishly grant my own wish.

Journal Entry #4 or 5

It wasn't so bad, the trip home. The truth is I was completely distracted from my normal anxious thoughts by thinking more about what I wanted to write next for the course. Especially how to write the next thing including all the suggestions made.
It was a nice change not to be worrying the whole ride back. I listened to some music, put my hand out the window (only for a second though) and fell into a dream land of literary possibilities.
At the moment, I thought I might take a aimless drive and listen to my new stress-relieving CD. However, I've a time limit, which goes hand in hand with relaxation, don't you know? My mom will be home soon from working at KidsPeace all day. I need to be on time for my lectures about smelling like cigarettes, and using her computer without permission. That said, what am I doing wasting my time? Ursula will slime across the floor any second.

Journal Entry #3 or 4

I must admit; I feel like I've just made it to Hollywood on American Idol for writers. I've been successful with some entries in this course, but the criticism makes me think twice about how much more wonderfully I could write. It's a shame we can't write poems, because I have this neverending rhythm in my head. Iambic pantameter, kill me now please.
Not too much description, definitely no rhyming, don't alienate the reader, and don't be too direct. I think that's it for now. What's really difficult is not being able to describe every nook and cranny, because I figure the reading should get a genuine feel to every situation.
Anyways, I must be leaving shortly or I'll never build up enough courage to make the hour ride home to Hancock. It's best to leave before the sun really starts making its appearance; that way, its more unlikely to be noticed.

Journal Entry One Thousand

I must write again, I must, I must! I wonder if anyone has ever become addicted to writing. That might be scary, considering I am addicted to everything else under the sun. (Except the nagging of "Motherdear".)
I ordered a pizza to keep me company while my best friend works at the University of Maine. He's bartending tonight, which means I REALLY shouldn't show up or I might cost him his job.
I admit, I am a little lonely. My husband is in Iraq. No, I don't need your pity. I just need a damn taco. Sorry, phrases are bad habits.
Who knew, man? Seriously, I kept a blog when I was 16. I actually just erased everything once I started this class. But who knew that at 16 years old, I was preparing for a college class?
Buddha, I am just so lucky. I better make my face if I want to be presentable for the pizza man or lady. They might just throw it in my face!

Journal Entry #2 - Third Person Autobiography

"Who's she?" she asked. She liked to say the phrase her once living grandmother used when insulted. "I am not just a 'she'. In fact, guess what," she said as she scowled. "I am a person." Her teacher who was a strong feminist and shopped at Anthropologie grinned menacingly at the boys who chose to debate her star student.

Alexandra was entirely a different girl this year. She accepted the term "she" and felt it was impossible to be just a person instead of something related to a gender. "Why, I'll make my own posse. My own commune, in fact." And so she did.

She was entering her first year in the college known as one just beside the great almighty University of Maine. With her joined five young men just graduated from nearby high schools and lacking a mother figure. Yes, of course, she was only nineteen, but she knew she could make them her own.

Every afternoon, they would meet in the corridor of the English department looking to her for answers of the female species, the ones who rare in their miserable lives.

One day, Alexandra "the Greatest", they would call her, realized the solution to these problems of the so-called castaways. She would write a whole-length rule book for them. No halitosis for one, she wrote. Definitely, no sexist remarks, she typed as she thought of her own pet peeve of the evil word "she". She continued the paper until it was an entire ten pages long, detailing the horror of every wrong mistake a male could make towards a girl. By the end of the list, any man reading would be too frightened to let their lips mouth a "she", for she was through.

Journal Entry for the Masses

Once again, I am aloof. Online classes, you make me weep. Is there some tissue in my brain I am missing? I already know I have an abnormally small amygdala. Yikes, what next.
By the way, my favorite word for the past year has been "tacos" or more like "TACOOOOS" if we want to be politically correct. I never really understood the meaning of politically correct. Although, I know this joke has been used many-a-time, politics are not correct. Fair to say the least. Wait, that's an incomplete sentence.
I want to write another poem. Poems are fun to write because most the time you don't even know what you mean. I mean, what do I mean?
Oh, Mr. Goldfine, you don't know how much this assignment means to me.
I've been writing all day and yet, I can't manage to become tired.
Okay, okay. It's time to be serious. I will let those concerned who I am and what I'm "all about". I am agoraphobic for one. Whoo, didn't see that one coming! I am from California and moved to Maine when I was 17, one month after graduating from high school. I went to University of Maine, took advantage of the freedom from parents, and did the old-fashioned Animal House bit of criticizing the sober and raising thee havoc. Yes, thee havoc. After this, I moved to Hancock to live with my dear old folks and started working at the Hannaford in Ellsworth as the "drug lady", or so my soon-to-be husband called me. In other words, I was a Pharmacy Technician. (He was actually working in the Deli, my "Meat Man"). Let's not get into that.

So after working for several months in this cage of narcotics, I enlisted in the Air Force and was to become (get ready for it) an Airborne Linguistics Cryptologist. Yes, that is someone who interprets the evil plans of the enemy into plain English. I called it "playing Sudoku with sister planes". However, without explanation, I write simply that I was discharged and soon married to my husband, John Wayne. Okay, his name is actually John Wayne Carpenter II. Oy vey, my fingers are arthritic and I must save some room on this simulation of paper for some more rambling about my putrid existence. Til we meet again.

Journal Entry #2 - Second Person Autobiography

Hours drift by like snow past the window. Wandering and revising, your mind lingers on that perfect idea. What's interests is interesting, you mouth silently. Oh, this treacherous assignment, you think. Don't they understand you need sleep tonight? How can you possibly write an alternate ending to such a well-known book without getting chastised? It was named a Tale of Two Cities, not the Tale You Should End Yourself.

Journal Entry #2 - First Person Autobiography

I always wondered why my high school yearbook was only worth one glance. I'd skim through the captions and stories of winning sports teams, the supposedly inspiration student of the year, and mediocre statements of fellow classmates. Bland and low brow, all these words wasted all this space in the so-called book of memories. Yet, it was I who was not chosen for the position of copy editor. After all the creative and smirk-provoking descriptions I bestowed last year's book. What about the captions I worked so hard on, making sure no adjective or adverb was ever used twice? What about the headlines I'd used comparing the men's water polo and orchestra page to well-known songs of the year? Someone had been bribed; there was just no other way I shouldn't have been the first choice for the job. Even Jessica, a fellow writer I'd concocted entire stories and completely clever captions, was named one of the editors. To make this foolishness worse, I was offered a simple job as the newspaper editor. Newspaper? The junk that nobody read in my high school was not about to be part of my resume. In addition, my focus would be lost to the Doldrums, with the knowledge my beloved Christopher would be in the same room as me. Distraught and feeling cheated, I put the keyboard aside, and all those fantastically colorful words went along. If I couldn't be editor and share my passion with the droll of the earth, a free period was my revenge.

Journal Entry #1

Hello, journalpants. I deem you this name because I think pants are necessary for such a delightful assignment. I choose to write in a way that erasing is not a choice and that my fingers move as quickly across the keys as the thoughts enter my mind. I believe this is the truest way to be genuine, or the most genuine way to be true.
At the moment, I am phsyically shaking due to the realization that I was late on perhaps my first two assignments. I've been spending the past weekend at my almost 40 year old friend's, Dan, house in Brewer, calling and harassing the EMCC employees with my questions about online classes and how they work. You'd think that knowledge of these things comes with growing up in this generation, a generation where the inane amount of time spent texting, instant messaging, and blogging prevails over any other activity.
I suppose I should be talking about my schedule but if it's of no interest to me, I'd imagine it wouldn't be much enjoyment for your skimming eyes.
I will say, however, that I am stranded in Brewer an hour away from my actual residence in Hancock, until the snow plows come around.
And now I am concluding. Let us all cheer!