Random Top-Five Rant.

Today's not even over yet and I've already got several things to get off my chest. I think, perhaps, a little ranting list will help keep the issues in check...sort of.

1. Some oddly shaped girl, who probably drives a Prius (Prius owners always seemed to be as oddly shaped as their cars), who happens to also be a drama teacher at another school, was presenting along with her group today in my creative writing class. When I raised my hand to comment, she listened to me for all 10 seconds (maybe 15, tops) and then stopped me and continued onward.

She didn't even hear me out nor did she let anyone else in her group say/do anything, except for what she had planned, most of which was only her talking. She even stopped some of her group members during the presentation because it wasn't what she wanted. It pissed me off to the point of almost walking out of the class and cussing her out. Bitch!

2. Just found out that Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows Part 1 doesn't come out in theaters until November 19, 2010! I knew it would be a while before it came out, but I didn't think it would be that long! Although it's quite trivial I still hate waiting between movies. Sure, the books are a fantastic read, but I like the movies too. I'm from New Jersey, so I'm allowed to be a little impatient at times.

The Untitled Facebook Project = A+

I received my 3rd paper back today in my creative writing class and to my astonishment, I earned an A+.

I wasn't sure what kind of grade I would earn on because I didn't feel nearly as passionate about it as I had with my previous paper (which earned an A). I felt like there was no possible way that I was going to top the work of my lyric essay. After all, the paper was framed around drugs, alcohol, and addiction.

What I ended up writing was an essay about writing an essay, which according to the teacher is very hard to do. Included were personal photography and screen shots of a Facebook status that I had posted asking for suggestions on the topic at hand. I wrote it like I was sitting there considering the idea of writing about the one and only really good story I had to tell, a personal experience of my own.

How I posted the Facebook status and with each response and the accompany screen of the response, I replied in depth to each person in which ever way seemed fit. There was so much content than just the responses, but you get the gist. In the end, it was a 13 page paper and it earned me an A+.

Should I be complaining? Absolutely not.

I've been looking back on old journal entries between here and my blogger, laughing about how foolish I once was (and still am for that matter) and how I used to hate the fact that I couldn't write a paper to save my life. Now I yearn to write. I get so much pleasure out of writing that it's almost surreal to know that just a few short years ago I was once hiding behind my own fear of ability, blinded by the constant bad grades and internal feelings of stupidity.

Comparing myself to the next person, who could write a decent paper with trouble, was probably the dumbest thing I'd ever done. It didn't solve anything. It didn't improve my writing skills. It only weighed me down to an unspeakable level of humiliation.

Out of fairness and complete truth, I contribute a lot of my writing ability to blogging. It helped me develop and organize my thoughts, thats for sure. But I also attribute my ability to the old fashion practice makes perfect mantra.

What really meant the most was the teacher's comment, which said:

"You've written an essay about writing an essay (meta discourse). That's really hard to do. Excellent job, Lauren. I was riveted throughout. You truly do have a very creative mind and you are a superb writer."

If anyone wants to read the essay, let me know and I'll email you a copy.

054.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour, which doth in it live: The canker blooms have full as deep a dye, As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwooed, and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so, Of their sweet deaths, are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall vade, by verse distills your truth.

Number 004.

Unthrifty loveliness why dost thou spend, Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy? Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend, And being frank she lends to those are free: Then beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse, The bounteous largess given thee to give? Profitless usurer why dost thou use So great a sum of sums yet canst not live? For having traffic with thy self alone, Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive, Then how when nature calls thee to be gone, What acceptable audit canst thou leave? Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee, Which used lives th' executor to be. -Shakespeare's Sonnet 004.