Done!

Once again I am exulted to be one with one of my semesters at school. This means that I am done with my second year at college, and I'm planning on going to university next school year. Unfortunately, I won't be able to get into the program I want at one university, and I was too late to apply to even get into another university, so I'll be sitting out for a semester. But that's okay, I'll just work my butt off to earn enough money so I won't have to take out student loans until hopefully next year, maybe even later. I'll have to get a second job though...

Anyway, some good news! I got an A- in my speculative fiction class, which is better than I expected. I don't generally talk much, and I admit, I didn't real all the stories, either because I was sick and didn't pick them up, or because I had way to much else to do, or for some reason I seem to have lost the last bunch of them... They're wandering around my room somewhere... I just don't know where. Either way, I was pleasantly surprised. Then I got a B+ in my introduction to writing children's literature class, which is still fairly good. I don't know my percentage, but I feel like it would have been very close to an A-, considering my picture book is being submitted to the school's anthology to be looked at for publication. I also got an A- on my history paper, so I think I'm in a pretty good standing for that class, and I think I did fairly well on my final.

Then there is the bad news... Apparently I am not cut out for writing essays on American Literature books. Of course, it all depends on the professor. I'm sure if I had handed it to one of my old professors, I would have at least gotten a B-. As it is... I don't want to admit my grade. I passed, but I'm not happy. But there isn't much I can do. I think I'll pass the class, as long as I got at least 40% on the final, and I think I managed that. But we'll see!

And I'm tired now, and I have a long summer of working and being lazy to look forward to. maybe I'll even continue working on some short stories to get published.

Even More Good News (Maybe)

I'm not sure if I mentioned it here, but it ends up my Personal Narrative piece actually did get published in my college's anthology. I didn't get paid, but it's still pretty amazing. Now I've just finished three more creative writing classes, Speculative Fiction, Advanced Poetry Writing and Writing for Children's Literature. I don't think any speculative fiction is every submitted to the anthology, since it's not considered a serious genre (bullshit in my opinion), and I have not heard anything from my poetry professor. But my children's literature professor is interested in submitting my picture book to the anthology! I'm not sure how that works, as I've never seen a section for children's literature in the anthology, but I'll trust that she knows what she's doing. If it is supposed to be incorporated in the fiction section, that means it's going up against all fiction, not just children literature, in which case it doesn't seem like I would have much of a chance, as I doubt people would rather read a picture book over more mature fiction. But I'm still hopeful.

In other news, I'm almost done with my second year at college. This semester as been the easiest one I've had, with three creative writing classes. I only have two finals, one of which is only on the stuff we learned since the midterm, so that should make it much easier. The second final is for American Literature, an the books we read for that class were all pretty boring. I'm kind of worried, because it's so difficult to study for english classes. The best I could do is re-read all the books but considering the first one we read was so bad that I never actually finished it... I don't think I can get through even one book by Friday. I guess I'll just Sparknote as many as I can so I can refresh my memory, and after that I'll just have to rely on luck.

So Close!

I have only one more final left! These exams have been dragged out over a whole week, and although that doesn't sound too bad, after four exams, it feels like it's been a month, and there's still two more days left. Anyway, just a quick post before I head off to bed. I guess you might want to know how I feel about each exam... Though probably not. Either way, that's what you're getting.

1) British Literature: Early to Renaissance.
   This one I didn't really know how to study for. We were told what the questions might be like, but not what they were, so we just had to hope that we knew the poems. There were two n King Lear, one of which we had to do. That wasn't too bad, though I can't remember what exactly I had written about. Then there were several other options, ten, I think. We only had to pick five to write about, but it was harder than you would think. Unfortunately, quite a bit of importance was put on metaphysical poetry, and quite honestly, I cannot see it as more than just gibberish. It jumps from metaphor to metaphor with no easily apparent reason, and by the end kind of sounds like it was written by a mad man... But other than that, I think I might have done decently. I think my Lear paragraph might have saved me.

2) World Societies
   This is the one I'm most confident about. We were given the questions ahead of time, so there was plenty to prepare for and study. It was, however, the most writing I've done. I finished two whole booklets and a couple pages from a third, which I think should equal twenty two pages, not back to back. By the every time I touched my thumb, it tingled, and I thought my pinky was about to start bleeding. If fact, I think that was the reason why I finished when I did. It was about two hour in, but I think I could have written a couple more lines, had my hand not hurt so much. But hey, it's okay now, even after my second english exam.

3) Astronomy
   This one is kind of iffy. Since it is a science course, the final was factual, rather than interpretive, so I cannot get marks for having an interesting or well written reply. The math was multiple choice though, so I'm hoping that the answers I got are actually the right answers. The rest wasn't too bad, except for the fact that I completely forgot what Black Matter and Black Energy were... Each of which was worth six marks... Then there was the constellations. I think I got most of them, but we weren't given a word bank, so I probably spelled a couple wrong. Not to mention I'm pretty sure they weren't where they were supposed to be. Cygus was off in the top right corner, and Pegasus was on the opposite side of the page... And I might have read this wrong, but I thought it said that I get one mark for every two constellations I name correctly, and I could get a max of 24 points... But there wasn't even 24 constellations on the map... So maybe it actually said two points for every one named right.

4) British Literature: Restoration to WWII
   This is the one I had tonight. I probably should have prepared more for it, since we were given the essay topic a head of time. But I got a little lazy, and the most I did was pick the poems I would write about, and started formulating stuff in my mind. While I was writing it, I was thinking, "This is amazing!" Then I started reading it over when I finished, and I started to think, "This is utter crap..." But I wasn't able to change it, unless I wanted to re-write the whole thing. So we'll see what happens...

5) Coming Soon!

Cheese

((Since I'm still 'studying' for my finals, I don't have anything new to write. Nothing exciting has happened, except for the fact that we got out Christmas Tree on Saturday. We did a bit of decorating today, but I think we'll finished it throughout the week. Anyway, here is something that I had written for my Personal Narrative class.))

The first attack must have happened when I was in the eleventh grade. At some point in the early morning, my mom woke me up to say that my dad was in a lot of pain, and that my sister had to drive him to the hospital. Because my mom’s seizure less than a year ago, she had been forbidden from driving until a whole year had passed. We were just lucky that my sister was decent enough at driving by this point to be able to brave the freeways in the dark.

                I stayed home with our dog. She wined and cried, and waited near the window, her ears perked for any sound of a car returning, and her eyes never leaving the driveway. Despite how tired I was, I couldn’t get back to sleep. It almost felt disrespectful to try. While my parents and sister were forced to remain awake, sleeping felt like a luxury. I must have gone to bed at some point, however, because I don’t remember when they came home.

                The next morning I was told it was a gall stone. Nothing too severe or life threatening, as long as he worked to cut fat out of his diet. For a Swede, reducing the amount of cheese he ate was nearly impossible.

                Although it sounds cruel, my dad and I like to joke about such things as this, and if someone wipes out on a bike, we’ll wince, and then start laughing. It’s my theory that is you cannot laugh at the pain of others, you cannot deal with that pain yourself. And so that’s how it went in our house. When my mom asked what we should have for dinner, the first thing I would say is ‘macaroni and cheese, with extra cheese, with some cheese melts on the side.” After all, melted cheese is a nightmare for someone with a bad gall bladder.

                But despite the jests and laughing, we knew it was serious. No more pizza, no more mac n’ cheese, no more cheese melts or cheesecake or grilled cheese or lasagna or tacos. Sometimes I would catch him in the morning with several slices of cheese, and he would argue that it’s only once a week. It’s odd, how easily someone can get addicted to cheese, and even stranger how it seemed to be doing more damage to him than his smoking.

Of course, that once-a-week luxury would always catch up to him. Apparently one time in the mall, around Christmas time, he had a small attack while waiting in line at London Drugs.

I can’t exactly remember when, but it was sunny out and I don’t recall a need for a sweater. During the day, he had an attack. As far as I know, it was the first one during the day that had incapacitated him. My sister and I politely tried to ignore the groans of pain coming from his room. Only when it began to die down did I go to check on him. He sent us out to buy some bubbly water, and when we came back, he was beginning to feel better. As he walked around, looking as if he had not slept in days, he gave me a smile and said that he finally knew how much pain a woman went through when they gave birth. That night we had reservations at a formal restaurant for dinner, but due to my dad’s condition, we had to cancel, instead having a light, fat-free dinner at home.

But out of all those times, one of the latest ones was the worst. Like any diligent and hardworking student, I had been up at one thirty in the morning, working on a paper in between checking Facebook. It didn’t feel that late, because my mom was still walking around downstairs, her heels making a constant annoying clicking sound, and I could hear my dad’s heavy footsteps in their bedroom. Although he always went to bed no later than nine thirty on a weekday, it had become normal to hear him stomping from bed to bathroom and back, even in the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn’t long before he was in too much pain, and an ambulance was called. A few minutes passed, and I heard the sirens. It’s odd, how we can dismiss them as just another sound in the night, but the moment it’s coming for someone you love, each second it gets closer and gets louder, feels like an eternity. Suddenly the sound is sharper, as if everything else has been muted, and the only stirring is that wailing sound. The fire truck came first. And another. The ambulance only arrived after one of the fire fighters had concluded that, yes, my dad was in fact having a gall stone attack. As if we couldn’t have figured that out on our own.

                I remained in my room the whole time, though my mind had wandered too far to be able to properly concentrate on my paper anymore. With a house full of fire fighters and paramedics, someone might have expected me to at least peak out my door. But I didn’t want to see my dad in this state.

I could hear them talking, asking questions.

“How are you feeling?”

“Can you stand?”

“Is the pain gone?”

“We will have to ask you to come to the emergency.”

The fire men and paramedics marched past my door, down the stairs, and out the door. Among them was my dad, shuffling along. My mom, now flustered, scampered around the house, talking to herself to make sure she didn’t forget anything.

“Keys, jacket, scarf, purse, wallet, phone, keys… Where are my keys.”

                Only when my mom was the last one in the house did I dare leave my room. She told me that she had to follow the ambulance to the hospital, and would hopefully be back in a few hours. I silently nodded and returned to my room to get ready for bed.

                But who can sleep when their dad is in the hospital, and their mom is tired enough to possibly get in an accident on the way there or back. As I always do when emotions run rampant in my mind, I began to think. Those thoughts turned to writing, and eventually to poetry. It seems it’s the only time I can truly write about feelings; when they are enhanced by an event such as this. So I turned my light on and picked up my notebook to empty those words from my head;

Oh please, please

Let the sirens pass

Just move, move

To let them go.

It comes close,

The call of the Reaper,

The song of the Angels,

And stops.

Silent as death,

The Last breath

That escapes the quivering lips.

And breathes again.

Oh please, please,

Silence the sirens.

Fall quiet, quiet,

As the sleeping babe.

Pounding steps.

The march of an army.

One by one,

They file by.

Go up, up,

To the resting man.

We wait, wait,

For word of hope.

Faceless, nameless,

The army passes,

The beat of his heart.

Keep walking, keep beating.

Oh please, please,

Let the Sirens pass.

Just move, move,

To let them go.

I placed the notebook down, and succumbed to my leaden eyes.

Like the first time, my dog kept watch, ever vigilant for the car to return. By four in the morning I jolted away to the sound of her happy barking. It must have been adrenalin that made me jump out of bed and rush downstairs, because on any other day, if I was woken at that ungodly hour, I would have just groaned and rolled over. They were both home, looking haggard from the ordeal, but they were most definitely alive. I exchanged a few words before exhaustion crashed down again. As I returned to bed, all I thought was that I was thankful my first class started at four thirty that night, and that I would have plenty of time to sleep in.

He’s getting the gall bladder removed soon, sometime in March. We’re all looking forward to being able to make a cheesy dinner without feeling like we’re taunting him. But once it’s gone, we’ll have to worry about heart attacks. I think I would rather be deprived of cheese, than deprived of a father.

Two Down, Three to Go

Like the title says, I've finished two of my finals, and I have three more to go. Unfortunately, the three I have left are going to be the hardest. In astronomy there will be a ton of math, and I'm pretty bad when it comes to that. I'm hoping there will be a lot on the planets, and not so much on the starts... Then I have nothing planned for my English final. I'm thinking of comparing a Victorian Age poem and an early 20th century poem, but I have to find two at are similar... Then there is my Canada Before Confederation final... Which I can't bring myself to hope to do well in. Pass, maybe, but there are so many dates and things to remember.

But anyway, my hand hurts from writing about twenty two pages worth of essays and short answers today... I think so, at least. It was two packages and two pages of a third, and I think each package is made of ten pages. Either way, it was a ton. Every time I touch my thumb, it tingles, and it felt like my pinky was about to start bleeding as I wrote it. Not to mention there's a small spot on my middle finger where the fingerprint has been worn away... Ah, the woes of an english/creative writing student. Too many in class essays...

So I think I'll let my hand rest tonight, and any studying will be just going over notes, not writing anything new. I was kind of hoping to watch a movie though... I shouldn't, but I really want to...

One More Week

Okay guys, I'm good. Just had a moment of weakness on Monday. However, I am still pretty bummed about my story. I'm going to try and find some writing contests, and see if I can enter any. Unfortunately, the site I have that has a ton of contests, I cannot remember the password for my account, and no e-mails from it are getting through for some reason. I've been looking around on Google, but I'm a little hesitant about any contests asking for an entry fee. But, I'll try harder when my exams are done.

Which brings up the subject of finals. I have my first final tomorrow, so I really should be studying now... But it's an English final, so really, what can you study for? I'm more worried about my history final on Friday, but luckily my professor gave us a guideline for everything we have to study, so all I have to do is actually study... But it's me, and I hate studying. Then on Monday I have my Astronomy final, so I'll be studying all weekend for that. On Tuesday I have my other English final, so i should finish reading the book for that one... Then lastly I have my other History final on Thursday, which I know I'm going to do poorly on, simply because I cannot for the life of me remember dates.

Well, back to my work now. Good luck to anyone else who has finals too.