Day 3

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Haphazard, hasty, written and scanned. Who said a blog has to be just typed words? 

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New Summer

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It's a new summer and I've come to terms with becoming an adult and knowing that I am going to be living on my own again soon, hopefully, so I'm going to start adventuring into a few cookbooks that I have. I need to start gathering my own recipes for when I live on my own, and I need to become more adequate with reducing amounts and just cooking in general. Rules for myself: Once a week, I will pick a new recipe from the few that I own. Most of them will probably be vegetarian. Just for funsies. I haven't picked one yet.
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Procreate.

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It's just about midnight and I should be going to bed soon. I put the kids down around nine and wrote my article for the UNEWS this week. I am not cut out to be a journalist. Good thing I'm an English Lit major. Babysitting these five little hooligans has made me think a bit about children. I enjoy being around them but they're so exhausting. My stance on children of my own: I would really like to know what it's like to be pregnant. Also, I'd like to be a mother, raise someone who depends on me completely at all times. Watch them grow and mature, develop from little alien babies to real living humans. That has been the strangest thing for me to watch in my nieces and nephews, seeing them become real living humans. I feel like I'm watching the future, and really I am. The way some of them have turned out so far is confusing, I guess I just don't expect them to have complex thoughts yet but they really do. I would really like to have at least one child. I hope...
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Regret it

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You're fourteen and sitting, lost in a strangers car at 2 a.m. Surrounded by pasture cornfields, cattle grazing, a dark barn patches of moon and stars. You don't understand the moment- the loss, life full of experiences. Sudden regret. A lake full of tears. You run away from this choice, parked-jump from the passenger seat. trees scratching and grabbing like greedy hungry monsters, into the safety of the barn. Sweet crunch and snap of hay under your bare feet your face puffy, eyesight obscured by clouding tears, face glistening your stuffy nose. The car drives by, slowly, looking for your false promises. This is a mimic poem based on the syntax and format of  "Deer Hit" by Jon Loomis . We use mimicry in class to provide a "template" or guideline for students to get through that writers block that often keeps kids from delving into poetry on their own. More about mimic poems  here . For this assignment I had students think of somethin...
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