Reaction

I know my writing is my own, its not always great, a lot of time I hold back in other classes because I don't like others knowing too much about me, or my writing. It takes time for me to think of some thing that is worth submitting. The inventory assignment took an hour and half; deleting and rewriting hoping that the next line would come out better, this may also translate into a little bit of OCD. My thoughts turn to the worst, when I think that others will find my writing less than appealing. I'm a little dyslexic and forgetful when typing, always having to write out drafts before I type them to find the errors. When I can find the right words and put everything together my writings are a work of art, at least I think so! That is when I know I have created something that a teacher would be proud to read and others would enjoy reading time and time again. I have a mind that likes to wounder while I write and think of new things while typing if I was writing a graf on cats I would have a great story because mine is running around like a maniac and that is what would pop in my head and stay there while typing. I am a writer, everyone will like my writings as long as I work hard, and the only one I have to prove some thing to and show that I can do my best at the end of the day, is MYSELF.

Inventory

Inventory

3x3 Table and the Clutter that is on top and beside:

• Boyfriends Jeans
• A floral top and jean shorts ( Not Boyfriends, they are Mine)
• Make up case with 30 different pieces of make up
• A Sweet Tea from Mcdonalds, half gone since 1pm
• Under the sweet tea is a bill and writing paper with the first assignment on it
• Chap stick 
• Ritz Crackers that I am eating
• Cell phone 
• Tweezers and Notebook paper underneath
• Car keys
• Kmart coupon ad
• Rusk Shampoo and Conditioner
• Binder paper for classes
• White coat hanger
• The lap top that I am typing on

Oh and can't forget the change around the table (about $1.00 worth), and the bobbi pins that are thrown everywhere by the cats that run the house.


This is definitely a couples house! Normally harsh, insulting words would be thrown out like pigs, or hoarders about the mess covering this table. She has make up and hair care products everywhere, and he has clothes two chairs. She is most likely addicted to sweet tea and ritz crackers, you could see that; not by just looking at her table but the wrapper and straw that are hanging out of trash in the kitchen that you can see clearly. The change can buy her another sweet tea, just needs 7 more cents, maybe its underneath the paper or around the floor. That would make her night! To the right of the lap top school paperwork, they both are in school, there is a surmount of binder paper around the table and a bank statement about class payments. The table must act as more than a dinner table for this couple, it must serve as a shelf, computer table, make up vanity and storage threw out the week, changing daily to fit his or her needs. It doesn't look bad to her, more of a organized throw table that is very multi-functional for their small two person family.

Worst Teacher

She turns and walks away, not wanting to notice or deal with the pain and suffering that was taking place in her classroom, play ground, and on the bus. In the middle of lunch boxes sits a girl, only nine, wondering why this happening to her and why her teacher won't listen. Bruises and red marks appear where the others have teased, pinched, and hit. the teacher does nothing, the tears don't bring any questions. She is angry when I say anything about the marks, saying "I don't want to hear it" and "grow up and clean your self up, come back to class." I always thought "Is this my fault, am I creating a problem." One day, as a third grader, I had a realization, "I am not the problem." The problem was a teacher who was not wanting to deal with problems and troubles in her own classroom, a person who didn't care about her students, only her paychecks. Her actions only cause more problems as the issues don't get solved, and Problems become larger with time. After that year, I was never able to forget that teacher or those students. This time in my life changed for the better, I help who needs it, and those who don't want to admit it. I stop bullying that I see, and speak of my experiences to encourage others to stand up, and fight to stop the bullying, and open the eyes of students, teachers, and adults in my life, so no one ever has to go through what I did, because no one should sit in the middle of a playground next to lunch boxes crying.

Hands

Beauty is the hands you have to work with all your life. My hands work and draw a brilliant picture, not on paper but on faces. A beautiful look made from my hands; that are small, soft, and always called gentle and light. Scars are small and very few, but one sticks out as I look at them, on my right hand there is an indentation, with a half moon scar. This is from cutting glass in art class with an Exacto Knife, combined with the glass I was cutting, though only noticeable when bending my fingers, it still brings memories of high school and classes back to me. The abrasions on my hand tell the story of my life, and continue to grow more stories as I grow, and my life changes with every day. My hands are my own, designed just for me, and no one else.

HI

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