I am a writer

Last night, my theater arts class put on an evening of monologues for the Deans and for anyone else who wanted to come. The turnout was actually amazing, especially considering what we were expecting it to be. Among the audience members was one Professor Hardspeech. Her name is not actually Professor Hardspeech, but she teaches speech class and her class is supposedly extremely difficult so, therefore, she is Professor Hardspeech. I, however, had never met Professor Hardspeech before last night. I had never even seen her before. So when she showed up to the evening of monologues, I had no idea it was her. Well, okay, I had an inkling of an idea, but I didn't really know. Besides, someone's grandmother had come, as well, and I kept getting the two mixed up. So after the performance, Professor Hardspeech (though I still did not know it was her) came over to me and asked me what it was that sparked the idea for my monologue.

"Why did I decide to write my monologue about writing?" I repeated, a bit hesitant. "Er...well, we were told to write about something meaningful to us and...I'm a..."

Say it. Just say it. Say 'I am a writer.' SAY IT!

"...and I am a writer, so..."

*sheepish grin*

Why? Why the sheepish grin? Wasn't I proud of being a writer? Shouldn't it have filled me with joy to say such words? Why was I feeling out of place?

Moments later, when I learned that the woman was, indeed, Professor Hardspeech, I felt even more out of place.

But why? Why should I be embarrassed about telling people I'm a writer? It's the truth...isn't it? Why should it be so difficult for those words to come out of my mouth? I. Am. A. Writer. Three one-syllable words and one with, gasp, two syllables. So why did the words feel so foreign on my tongue?

Is it really so difficult for me to define myself? Is that what it is? I guess it might have something to do with the fact that by speaking the words I am a writer, I am effectively giving myself the title of, well, Writer, and I guess I just feel rather pretentious doing so. Because I'm not really a writer. I have nothing to show for being a writer. Its more like I fancy myself a writer. And by speaking the words out loud to another human being - and to a professor, no less - I am publicizing my very personal, inner fantasies. The secret is out. I am revealing a part of my soul.
But yet, I want to be thought of as a writer. Why does it have to be so difficult to say four simple words?

I am a writer.

Well, aren't I?

Princess Bride Chicken Jokes

I decided these are jokes I just have to share with all my readers. They are not mine. They come from this site and this one, so check them out on their actual sites if you want! Also, just a tip for making these extra funny - read them out loud in the voices from the movie. (and no, I did not proofread these or anything, I just copy and pasted, so any and all mistakes are theirs! Hee!)

Why Did The Chicken Cross The Road? - Princess Bride Style

Vizzini - He didn’t get run over? Inconceivable!
Inigo Montoya - Chicken, I do no’ mean to pry, but before you cross the road, you don’ by any chance happen to have six feathers on your right han’
Westley - This is a chicken crossing the road - do you think this happens every day?
Count Rugen - Chicken, how does crossing the road make you feel? And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest.
Prince Humperdink - Chicken tracks! I’d bet my life on it. The chicken is alive, or was an hour ago.
Yellin - Chicken? I see no chicken. (Fezzik, tear his arms off.) Oh, you mean THIS chicken.
Max and Valerie - Bye chicken! Have fun crossing the road! You think he’ll make it? It would take a miracle. B-bye!
King - The chicken’s going to cross the road? Won’t that be nice. Hee hee-she kissed me!
Albino - The road. Don’t even think about crossing. The cars are far too thick.
Fezzik - Don’t go chicken, I mean it. Will you stay and have a peaunut?
Buttercup - He will never cross again.

Some New Additions: From Robert W: Vizzini: Do you know what that sound is, Highness? It is the sound of shrieking chickens. If you don't believe me, just wait, they always scream louder when they are about to cross the road. From ts9: Chicken to Fezzik: Are there cars ahead? Fezzik to Chicken: If there are then you'll be dead! Inigo: Let me 'splain...no there is too much. Let me sumup. There is a car coming in little less than half an hour. All we have to do is cross the road and get to the other side, after I kill count Rugen of course.

Westley: Death cannot prevent crossing the road, all it can do is delay it for a while. (~Andjam)

Westley: It keeps crossing the road! I do not think it should where it thinks it should.

Fezzik: My way's not very chicken-like.

Westley: You seem to be a chicken. I hate to eat you. Inigo: You seem to be a chicken. I hate to fry.

Westley: Hear this now: Chicken's will always cross roads.

Guess: Where are the chicken eggs? I have no chicken eggs. Fezzik, tear its wings off. Oh, you mean these chicken eggs.

Westley: There's a shortage of chicken breasts in this world, t'would be a pity to run over yours.

Man in black: Alright, where is the chicken? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide which side the chicken's really on and we both look... and find out if you're right, or if we feed you to the chicken. Vizzini: I am not a chicken farmer, so I can clearly not choose the other side. But it must have known I was not a chicken farmer, it would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the side in front of me.

Westley: I do not envy you of the headache you will have from eating it, but in the mean time, rest well, and dream of fried chicken.

Inigo: Why did the chicken cross the rooaaad? Fezzik: Perhaps the the other side... erode.

Inigo: What is that you're fluffing? Vizzini: It's a chicken-feather pillow slept on by an an army officer of Guilder.

Grandson: Can't you tell the chicken I'm sick? It'll bite my hand. I hate that.

Grandson: It's past that, Grandpa. It crossed it already.

Westley: Road-crossing chickens??? I don't think they exist. Chicken: BkAAGCK!!!

Vizzini: Ha ha! You fool! It wasn't a chicken. It was a penguin! I switched birds while your back was turned.

Vizzini: But it's so simple. All I have to do is divine it from its inner chicken. Now, a clever chicken would cross the road to get to the other side.

Vizzini: What happens to the chicken is not truly your concern!

Vizzini: It's obviously seen us with the chicken feed and must therefore die!

Fezzik: Road, road. I think it called to get it's car towed.

Inigo: Don't bother me with trifles. After 20 years at last the chicken's soul will be at peace.

Humperdinck: Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Guilder.

Count Rugen: Come chicken, we must get you to your coop.

Albino: It survived the road, it must be very brave. But no one crosses the machine.

Yellin: My chicken patrol has reported no such news.

Clergyman: That bwessed awangement. An egg within a jicken.

Buttercup: I've fried eggs more deeply than a chicken-killer like yourself could ever dream.

Buttercup: It'll never get to the other side. Westley: Nonsense, you're only saying that because not one ever has.

Max and Valerie: You promised me you'd never eat that bird. What chicken? Fish! Chicken? Fish! Chicken, chicken, chicken. Nobody's eating chicken! Chicken's crossing roads, and you don't have the decency to tell them why you eat fish.

Grandfather: The chicken is not run over by a car at this time.

Kid: Are you trying to trick me? Is this a chicken joke?

Kid: Hold it! It doesn't cross the road. After all Westley did for it, it wouldn't be fair. ...you're messing up the joke, now get it right!

Mother: Maybe it won't.

(...is this a kissing movie?)

Paper-induced insomnia

I can't sleep.

I've been lying awake in my bed for who knows how long trying to fall asleep but it's no use. I have too many papers looming over my head. I can't keep them all straight anymore. I keep forgetting what is due when. Too many things are happening all at once and I can't keep them straight! This is one of those times where I feel like I'm losing control over the outside world.

Okay, let's make a list:

1. Tomorrow, I'm going to finish/hand in my theatre critique and my nidda paper. I was really, really, really behind in my nidda paper until I got the smart idea to look up sources on the bar-ilan responsa project thing. Now I feel a bit more confident about finishing the paper on time. It actually really helped. I found nearly every single source I need aside from the sub-topic part.

2. I have to send in my third Dr. Peters reading response! I never did this! I also really want to revise whichever of the other two responses I'm not turning into my paper (since the paper one counts as a revision anyway). Which reminds me, I have to write my Peters paper.

3. I have to write my Development of the English Novel paper. I'm not sure when this is due. I don't think it's due yet, but I don't know! I have to check when I'm more awake. For some reason, this paper is really stressing me out. I think because I'm not as into it as my other English classes when I really know what I'm writing for all their papers, even though I haven't actually written them yet.

4. Kiddie Lit. paper, but that's really my last priority right now, seeing as it won't take me very long. It's only supposed to be four pages, anyway.

5. Email Beckman about the mock-up. Then, if I need to, do the mock-up. I'm also not stressed at all about this because doing mocks-ups is FUN.

Why does it feel like so much is going on? There are only five things on my list! Except that really a few of those numbers has more than one thing going on. And this is all separate from studying for my finals. Oh, FINALS.

GRRRRRRRRR.

I need to go adventurising and relieve myself of all this stress, but how can I go adventurising when I have SO MUCH TO DO????

Okay, after tomorrow I'll really be better. It's this nidda paper that's really stressing me out the most. I feel like I have the least handle on it. But once that's handed in, I'll be fine, I'll be happy, I'll be gleeful, and I'll be quite in the mood for ADVENTURISING. (okay, SJ?)

A Letter

Dear Blogger,

I understand that you want to do everything you can to enhance the experience those using Blogger have and I appreciate that effort, but I fail to see how the little Blogger symbol next to all our names when we comment enhances anything. In fact, it detracts from the overall blogging experience. It is distracting and unpleasant, glaring rudely up at us and taking our attention away from the words of the comment itself and, Blogger, you must seriously ask yourself which is more important - our words or your failed attempts at asceticism?

Sincerely,

A Disgruntled Blogger

Bad habit

I have a bad habit. I am super lazy.

Some people are lazy and they can get away with it. I can get away with it to an extent, but my GPA has suffered greatly because of it. I don't have a photographic memory. I can write a paper at the last minute and get an A, but unless it's an English test, I can't study for a test at the last minute and get the grade I want. But, of course, I study at the last minute anyway. Why? Well, there are zillions of reasons. Pure laziness, for one thing. Sometimes, like what happened with one of my midterms, I had a paper due the day before and stayed up until ungodly hours in the morning writing it, leaving me much too exhausted to even think about studying for a test. But my laziness has been getting increasingly worse the more time I spend away from home and away from people being on my back about getting up on time, getting places on time, doing my homework on time, etc. Even my papers, though I can get an A without trying, sometimes I don't and sometimes I make the stupidest mistakes that I never would have made if I'd given myself time to edit my paper even just once.

So if I know my laziness is hurting me, why don't I stop? You may well wonder, but it's like any bad habit. It needs to be broken and boy, is it hard to break! I am not just analyzing myself here, I'm asking for advice. If anyone knows a way to cure me of this awful habit of laziness, please, please, please let me know! I've had enough of letting it be the boss over me!

No more Miss Nice Girl!

It is a bit embarrassing to have been concerned with the human problem all one's life and find at the end that one has no more to offer by way of advice than 'try to be a little kinder.'

--Aldous Huxley

This idea dates back to my heroism post. I just feel like there's got to be a bigger purpose for me and for everyone else out there aside from "be nice and kind and good because you never know who you'll effect." That just doesn't work for me. I don't feel like I'm doing anything productive. I mean, it's good advice as a way to conduct yourself, but it doesn't work for me in terms of a purpose. Do you see what I mean? A few hundred years from now, I don't want to look back on my life and smile and say, "Gee, what a nice girl I was."

Nice. It's such a condescending word to use for someone, if you think about it. It means you don't know any better way of describing that person. It means you don't understand a person's subtleties and intricacies. It means you don't actually know the person. It is my belief that everyone is more than just nice or sweet or cute. And I guess I'm just struggling to find my place and purpose in this world where I'll be known as more than just nice and a good girl. And where I'll have actually done something of value.

For example, today in one of my classes, I decided to raise my hand instead of call out. I usually do call out, just like everyone else, but yes, I admit I have, on occasion, raised my hand (this is cue for you all to gasp). This has gotten me the reputation of good student.

I am sick and tired of being a good student! I want to be bad! I want to be rebellious! And no matter how bad of a student I am, no matter how many times I miss class or don't do the reading or am late handing in an assignment, I am always, always, always the good girl of the class!

That is IT. I have HAD IT. From here on in, I, bli neder, will NEVER raise my hand AGAIN in that class!

Humph.

(Don't ask me how this was all connected. I'm going to pull a Virginia Woolf and just call it stream of consciousness. And I know it isn't really but this is me being a bad student and misusing a term. Hoorah!)

P.S. On the whole, human beings want to be good, but not too good, and not quite all the time.

--George Orwell (I knew I liked him!)

Man as an island

Do you ever feel like you're an island? That you exist in a world entirely of your own and while other people flit around it, no one else truly enters inside? I feel that way sometimes. Sometimes it's like no one else truly understands me or has faith in who I am. Sometimes it's like no one else really cares, but only acts like they do because that's what people are supposed to act like. Sometimes it's like there are two worlds: the external world in which everyone exists and the internal world, the one inside your head, where the only inhabitant is you. And isn't it so frustrating when you know something about yourself that others misunderstand? And isn't it even more frustrating when others assume things about you that just aren't true? And the absolute worst - when someone you consider a good friend suddenly doesn't act like one (and no, I'm not talking about any of my blog readers that I know about, don't worry!). That's when you feel most like an island, because you invited that person into your world and then they betrayed that relationship and now you are alone again, back to your isolated self, because maybe that's what we all are, at the end of the day. Islands.