Personally, I believe adulthood is overrated. Being respectful of people, doing the right thing, eating healthy, having money, who needs it! However, no matter how I feel about it, it is inevitable. It’s coming no matter what and all you can do is suck it up and act like an adult. Unfortunately, at 26 years old, I still don’t think I’ve got it and here’s a few reasons why.
Seriously, what is this?
Here’s what I know:
- You’re supposed to do your taxes every year.
- There’s both federal and state.
- It’s no fun.
Here’s what I don’t know:
- What the hell I’m doing.
- What I’m supposed to save. (Receipts I think right? I bought a hot dog at a gas station today and saved the receipt. I’m getting there)
- When they’re due.
- Who to give them to. I assume some guy just comes to my house on tax day…
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Tuesday funny: All The Things You Must Have Said To Your Children, In Poster Form. We ran across these absolutely hilarious masterpieces on DesignTaxi and felt obligated to share such comical pieces.
Iowa-based artist Nathan Ripperger has come up with a series of humorous yet adorable posters expressing the things he has said to his children. At the time, they may have been some serious situations, but looking back now, things that you might have said to your children seem pretty comical now.
If your words are still not going down well with your kids, perhaps these posters would be more effective? Then again, maybe not.
No would-be taglines or themes, no attempts to be cute or quirky or deep today. Just a regular old post. About a regular old problem.
Willpower. The lack thereof.
Some people might not believe this about me, but I am, at my core, an immensely undisciplined person. “Not Sarah! No way!” After all, I can be very conscientious. I can be such a slave to my self-mandated routines and rituals that it’s like I have OCD. I can be a perfectionist, especially when it comes to details like grammar and punctuation. And when I’m really concentrating on a project at work, especially if there is a deadline, I can become so absorbed in what I’m doing that I become blind to everything—and everyone—else (sorry, everybody!) I tend to get downright rude when I’m working. (I was like that in college too…sorry, former roommates!) My absorption in…
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The universe inside my head is infinitely larger than the one outside. Sometimes I feel downright overwhelmed by everything going on in there. Being a writer I constantly feel driven to get all these thoughts and ideas out on paper.
This may sound like a groovy way of life. However, I continuously find it frustrating.
I don’t feel like I have the ability to express myself. No matter how much I write and rewrite, my words pale in comparison to the vivid world that I want to share with people. Every sentence I write seems weak and pointless. No matter how many words I know, I never seem to have the vocabulary I need to project my thoughts effectively. I get these ideas, and I get so excited about them that I get restless and have trouble concentrating on anything else, and I get irritable with anyone or anything that distracts me from thinking. But then when I go to write, everything just fizzles out like rain on a fire.
I think the biggest problem is that I don’t think in words, I think in images. I don’t think, “The girl walked down the street.” I see a moving image of a girl walking down a street, as detailed and complete as if I were standing there watching her. I see her face, her hair, her clothes, the street, the houses, the trees, the weeds growing thru the cracks in the sidewalk, I hear her voice and the sound of cars driving by and birds chirping in the trees. My stories don’t form in my head as words. It’s like watching a movie playing in my mind. I just can’t seem to translate the images into words. Do all writers do this? Or is it just me? Or do I just suck that much?
Sometimes I wonder if I should try a more visual medium, like film. But that still requires writing a script, which I know nothing about, and making a film, which I don’t know how to do, or have the means to finance. Or perhaps a graphic novel. I used to draw very well, however I know nothing about creating commercial/graphic arts.
I do know how to write tho. I do. I’ve done it. I’ve written very good stuff. Sometimes I read over what I’ve written and every word seems perfect, every description and piece of dialogue portrays exactly what I want the reader to see and feel. I just feel like those moments are so few and far between. 99% of the time I feel like I’m just banging my head against a brick wall when I sit down to write. When I was younger I would write until I passed out, altho for all the quantity, I dunno if the quality was as good. I think I am a better writer now, even if I can’t write as much.
But sometimes I think I would trade the quality to be able to feel like that again, even for just a few days, to feel that endless, tireless flow of words. I was much less of a perfectionist, the OCD hadn’t taken hold yet. I didn’t agonize over every word. I just wrote, and whatever came out was good enough. I knew I could always go back and edit later. Now it takes me half an hour just to write a status update on Facebook. And, yes, the reason I only post on my blog once a week is because weekends are the only days I have enough time for all the writing and rewriting a do just to create a simple blog post. It’s currently Sunday at 11pm. It took me three hours to write this. I will schedule this to post tomorrow during the day tho, when it will hopefully get more traffic then it will late on a Sunday night.
I spoze some people might read my blog and think, wow, if this is any indication of her writing skill, no wonder she is failing as a writer. But no, what you read here is similar to what you would hear if you were talking to me in person. Altho here I can edit. Unfortunately there is no such ability to filter the things that come out of my mouth sometimes (Saggitarians aren’t exactly known for their tact). My writing is much different. It’s still me, but its different.
I love Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It is absolutely my favorite childhood book, and even as an adult I love to read it. I can’t count how many times I’ve read it now.
I read so many good books as a child. Too many to count or even remember. Some I remember the stories but not the titles and have spent hours searching data bases and libraries for them, doing searches based on a character name or even just a genre or topic. And a lot of books are out of print and take a lot of searching to find copies of them for sale even if I do remember the names.
Books have been such an important part of my life for as long as I can remember. My parents always made sure I had books to read, and books were always given to me for birthdays, Christmas or any other occasion that included gifts. I loved my books more than dolls or any other toys that I had. I tried so hard to interest all my children in reading. Out of five, only one, the daughter I just had the baby shower for, truly inherited my love of books and reading. Of the other four, two have a very few select books that they like and will read over and over again, one will only read books because they are assigned for school, and one wont read at all.
I have so many happy memories of a childhood spent reading. Pretty much the only happy memories in a childhood that was primarily lonely and friendless. I looked forward to the hours I could spend away from my real life and the bullies that humiliated me every day. Often I would take my books and hide in my closet in with a flashlight or under my bed so my parents couldn’t find me and bother me, or I would go into the woods behind my house. I also spent many weekends and summer days at the library, my home away from home.
As much as I loved to read as a child, however, I hated reading classes in school. I hated, hated, HATED writing book reports or having to read assigned chapters or a specific number of pages, or even being assigned a book not of my choosing. If anything is designed to make a child hate reading, its book reports. Theres nothing like taking something that is spozed to be enjoyable and making it into a tedious work assignment. Despite having a college level reading ability by the time I left elementary school, I consistently failed reading in school simply because I could not write a good book report, even if it was for a book I liked.
Fortunately, tho, I did read a few books as school assignments that I really liked. Two that stick out in my memory are Killing Mr. Griffin by Lois Duncan in 6th grade and The Secret of the Seven Crows by Wylly Folk St. John in 5th grade. I remember reading Secret of the Seven Crows. The reading teacher would have us taking turns reading out loud from one chapter, then we would discuss it, then we would have to hand our books in at the end of class because she didn’t want us reading ahead. I fell in love with the book from the very first chapter and considering we only had reading once a week there was no way I was going to wait and read one chapter a week. So after school that day I went to the library and borrowed it and read the whole book that night. How any of the other kids managed to read this book in the way the teacher planned, I have no idea. By the time the week passed and it was time for reading class again, most of them had forgotten everything they had read in the previous chapter.
And while we are on the topic of having students reading out loud: Why? That is the worst thing ever. Having to sit there and follow along while some poor kid stutters and stumbles along an endless passage of words in a monotone with no attention paid to punctuation or paragraphs or quotation marks is just painful. Nobody wants to read out loud. Nobody wants to listen to anybody read out loud. Nobody reads well out loud. So, please, Teachers, stop torturing your students with this excercise in frustration and humiliation.
I did have a (very) few teachers that used books for enjoyment rather than just school work. When I was in 2nd grade my teacher would read us poems from Shel Silverstein’s Where the Sidewalk Ends in the afternoons if we had a good day. Santa Claus brought me that book for Christmas that year because I loved it so much. I still have it (missing its dust jacket and a little warped from water damage) over thirty years later. My daughter uses it to read poems to her unborn child.
And my 5th grade teacher (not the reading teacher, my regular teacher) who was one of the few teachers I ever really liked. He was a hippy back in the 60s (this was now the early 80s) and every Friday afternoon we would get our carpet squares and sit on the floor by the bookshelves and he would play guitar and sing folk songs or read to us. I wish I could remember the name of the book he read us that year. I can remember the story but not the title. *sigh*
Books were my companions, my best friends and I loved them all. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The House with a Clock in Its Walls, The Witches’ Bridge, The Chronicles of Narnia, Pippi Longstocking, Oscar Lobster’s Fair Exchange, Bunnicula, Dorrie the Witch, The Runaway Squash, Gus was a Friendly Ghost, Green Eggs and Ham, and many, many more. And so many books I’ve yet to read.
More than I’ll ever have time for in a single life time.
In the interest of finishing the baby blanket I’m crocheting in time for my daughter’s shower next weekend, I won’t have time to compose a full blog post this weekend. So I will just take the time to say
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DR. SEUSS!!
The beloved children’s author and Springfield, MA native would have been 108 years old on March 2nd. As you can imagine his birthday is a very big deal here in Springfield. If anyone is interested in learing more about Dr. Seuss and the Dr. Seuss National Memorial Sculpture Garden in Springfield you can visit http://www.catinthehat.org/