Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Moments of me

I rarely take a moment to enjoy the fruits of my labor, let alone be happy about my accomplishments. This way of doing things has been the result of numerous social conditionings — either telling me I'm not good enough still or saying that its not nice to gloat.

And this is the single reason I struggle when writing personal essays highlighting my accomplishments, to me its wrong. Going into an interview is like death to me. "What are your strengths? What are your weaknesses?"

Sometimes I just want to be like can u read my resume to find that out, it's got the goods on it. It's not that I don't have confidence in my abilities, it's the whole feeling that the person thinks I'm gloating, even if they asked me the question.

Just last week a couple friends made a comment about how they wouldn't be friends with me if I talked about my accomplishments. It was said in a joking complimentary way — is that even possible? It's okay for others to commend me on an effort or poke fun at my accomplishment, but I'm only allowed to humble. I can't enjoy my own work.

It's frustrating. I don't intend to make you feel inferior you asked me a question. Am I supposed to decline to answer? Am I not supposed to be me. This really became an issue for me when I started college. A 'friend' complained about me to a high school teacher, and he told me I shouldn't discuss my grades with her.

She asked me how my grades were, what was I suppose to do lie? Mind you, this is the same person who asked me what I got on my ACT test, and then didn't tell me their score. So this coupled with numerous amounts of people telling my efforts aren't good enough has led me to not disclose my happiness in my accomplishments.

However, I am going to step beyond the threshold — well sort of. I can type my joy.

So for the past four years of my life I've been involved in my school newspaper (The Varsity News). It has been a highly time consuming part of my life. Heck some might say it has been my life. The paper has taken a lot out of me, but I am very proud of how far its come and very grateful that I could be apart of its rebirth/growth.

How I got involved in the paper was random. I was young sophomore talked into joining the staff by a boy. However, it changed my life. I switched majors from a lucrative nursing career to a communication studies major. And yes, I had no idea what that meant at the time, just new it felt right (and then my ambition decided to do a dual degree in English with a minor in Women's and Gender Studies).

I learned so much from my professor (i.e. Craig) — and I value being able to learn from him. And then one day he couldn't stay and the editor was working and the paper needed to be done. Since that day I've been doing the paper's layout. So, at my current state of trying to step down it's a little hard. It's like watching your child go off to college. You think of all the things you could have done to help them grow up just a little bit better. But at the end you realize you've done all you could do and you wish the best and move on (I'm working on it, still have a little more time with my baby).

And this 600 odd word explanation is just for me to say I'm happy. My hard work was recognized, and I am thrilled.

UDM's Honors Convocation ceremony is March 28, and I new I would be receiving the Dean's List award. And I hoped/expected that I would receive the Communications Excellence Award.

I didn't not expect to receive the Edmund Miller, S.J. Service Award. I'm honored to receive the award. It makes me feel like all my hard work paid off. Someone noticed my efforts. I've dedicated so to the paper and it's being recognized! More so, I'm getting my name on a plaque.

My name will be in CLAE because of all the time I've put in my college career. I'm super thrilled, and trying to enjoy this nice little high.

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Lists of Me

I wake up, usually just before my alarm goes off.
Walk down to the bathroom.
Then take Liam for his morning walk.
Come back in and get dressed for school.
Come back down, brush my teeth and all that jazz.
Call Kalece to let her know I'm on my way.
Drive to her, drive to school.
Stop off at the Mc Donald's for a little breakfast.
Go to class.
Somehow trip multiple times.
Also, be really nice to people that I sohuldn't be nice too.
Get a headache from the VN.
Leave and drive to work.
Learn something new.
Chat with my co-workers.
Come home.
Walk the dog.
Do homework.
Chat with the most interesting people.
Go to sleep.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Crazies: A Poem

The smell of fresh clean cut grass before a basketball game
is one of the best that can be smelt.
The thrill of watching the first pitch spin past the batter,
the yell of strike being called.
Oh wait, what's that yonder in midfield?
Why its the old drunkard Rory with his rifle,
swiftly Sheriff Dutton is out to check on the matter.
Dutton sure does have spot on aim to deal with crazy old men.
Dutton mulls over his recent actions,
while is pregnant wife is visited by an out of it patient.
Later that night Bill torches his family home, killing his wife and child.
Dutton figures out the contamination is in the water,
but the mayor fails to shut it down.
Suits comes in the night separating families,
sorting the sick from the well.
Sheriff is well and off to the trains,
but makes a u-turn to save his pregnant wife.
He shows up at just the right time,
with wicked accurate aim to save his wife
before she is stabbed with a pitchfork.
Onward they journey with the deputy and the nurse,
to reach the buses to take them to a safe haven.
They stop at the Duttons to get some fresh clothes and a car,
and Rory's family does not wish to see them go.
Rory's family won't be bothering anyone anymore though.
Avoiding a jet plane leads or group to car wash,
one that the nurse gets hung up in.
Fortunately her friends get out to attempt to save her,
or they'd be dust like the old cruiser.
They manage to tackle an agent to learn about the biological weapon
that was lost into the water supply.
However, the deputy is getting a little trigger happy and kills him
too soon to find out any more.
The deputy makes amends by playing victim,
allowing the sherif and his wife to make it the train station.
Unfortunately they release the survivors were torched as well.
The sherif and his wife find a tanker,
and as the drive off their hometown blows up atomically.
They walk to the next city in hope of shelter.

(I apologize for this horrible attempt at poetry, it was our prompt...)