Here we go 'round the prickly pear

At 5 o'clock in the morning

Melon Arbor Mist

=greatest thing everrrrrrrrrrrrrr
+ desperate housewives = even BETTER


Also, fuck you. Who do you think you are?

Definitely, Maybe

I absolutely LOVE this movie.

PS:
Dear B,
I'm soooooooooooooooooooo glad you're okay. For now. Keep your chin up. <3

Daddy

Come back, okay? I really need someone to talk to right now, and you're not here. Who am I supposed to turn to? This isn't fair.

You are loved.

Don't give up
It's just the weight of the world
When you're heart's heavy
I, I will lift it for you

I got some terrible news today. One of the most important people in my life is not doing so well. I don't pray, but I'm crossing my fingers for you buddy. Don't give up. <3

There's a place for us

Somewhere, a place for us.

No work today. Well, let me rephrase that. I only work 2 of my 3 jobs (if you count tutoring). Hyvee didn't schedule me today, so I get to eat dinner. Yessssss. Tutored this morning. Midnight to 3 at the desk.

Maybe if I write this in my blog, I'll stick with it.

Starting up my diet again. Plus exercise routine. I lost 14 pounds over the summer and then gained it all back. Dang. Hoping to lose it again (plus another 5 or so) and then keep it off. Wish me luck.

This is the way the world ends.

Brewner, thank you for introducing me to this poem many years ago. It is one of my absolute favorites.

"The Hollow Men"
T S Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
. For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
. Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
. For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

This class will be the death of me.

Bio test wasn't too difficult at all. Which makes me want to kick myself, because had I studied I probably could've pulled at least a B. Instead, I'll be lucky to get a C. Time to buckle down, Wilson.

Biology

Dear Kathleen,
Why did you not study more for this bio exam? You know you need at least a B in this class if you want to get into pharmacy school. For a smart girl, you do some stupid stupid things. Quit worrying about everyone else's problems and get your shit together.
Yours truly,
You

Thorndike

Dear Thorndike,
Your theories on cognitive development and learning blow. Seriously, they're totally shitty. There are some parts that I think are sort of interesting and maybe even a little bit accurate at times, but then I read them again and realize that they are in fact totally shitty, as I previously stated. What the fuck were you thinking? Situation-response pairing? REALLY? If you could go back in time to about 1913 and NOT theorize all that bullshit so that I don't have to read about it in 2008 and construct a poorly written response to it at 1:30am the day it's due, that would be glorious. Thanks.
-Kathleen

Kevin

Dear little brother,
You're totally cooler than I thought you were. I wish I'd gotten to know you earlier. Let's keep hanging out.
Love,
Kate

Refreshing.

Dear lady that I met today at Hyvee,
Thank you for reminding me why I wanted to be a part of this field in the first place. I hope to see you often.
Sincerely,
Kathleen

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-chem

I feel pretty confident about that exam. Maybe a little too confident. Thank goodness I studied those functional groups...although that was probably still the most difficult part of the test for me. The nomenclature was CAKE. But what the fuck was that Br doing hanging out to the bottom right of the hexane?? I wrote that it was acyl bromide, but I'm almost positive that's incorrect.

I hope a lot of non-science majors read this so they can feel our painnnnnnn

Story time.

One time, when I was 10 or so, I decided it would be HILARIOUS to hide behind the corner and jump out to scare my brother when he came down the stairs. So I did it. As a reflex, he punched me right in the face. He broke my glasses and my nose bled for like 9832498203 hours.

The end.

Delti i pi

Last night was definitely the best night yet at Drake. Also the most drunken. Maybe there's a connection there.

Jen and Andy and I decided that since it's rush weekend, we should probably get dressed up in semi-Greek clothing (Andy wore a headpiece for a while) and go on an adventure. Delta i pi would be the name of our frorority, and we would act like skanks and make bitchy faces. I can't really talk about our adventure, because I don't want Andy to get arrested. But some things happened at Herriott, and we ended up locked in a room with Darrius and his roommate pretending to be asleep. Then we did some other things, and ended up at Jewett, actually asleep. This photo pretty much sums up the night:

I can't wait forever

Is all that you said
Before you stood up
You won't disappoint me
I can do that myself
But I'm glad that you've come

Now, if you don't mind, leave
Leave
Free yourself,
At the same time, leave
Leave
You don't understand
You've already gone

Dreams last for so long

Even after you're gone
I know, you love me
And soon, I know you will see
You were meant for me
And I was meant for you


I should never EVER think about you when I'm drunk. EVER.

I miss

being happy.

I mean, I'm not UNhappy. I'm just not happy, you know? I'm just okay. Everything seems really monotonous in my life. I need to meet new people. Try new things. I need more hours in my day.

I know I keep you amused, but I feel I'm being used.

Oh Maggie I couldn't have tried, anymore
You lead me away from home
'Cause you didn't wanna be alone
You stole my heart, I couldn't leave you if I tried


Nap time.

My teeth

are KILLING me. I might just pull these fuckers out myself. AKJDFIAMSCKLDAFLKDJSFKJADLFKJSD

She has the daylight at her command.

I feel inexplicably good right now.

Jambi

Here from the king's mountain view
Here from the wild dream come true
Feast like a sultan I do
On treasures and flesh never few

But I...I would
Wish it...all away
If I...thought I'd
Lose you...just one day

If they asked me, I could write a book

About the way you walk and whisper, and look
I could write a preface on how we met
So the world would never forget

<3

Poem.

In the other blog.
http://www.betweensupposedlovers.blogspot.com

Freire

I can't even bring myself to START this paper. We've beaten the topic to death in class and I have no desire to vomit what has already been said back onto my page. Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

I won't let you fall apart.

I've been feeling lately that what I have to say is not worthwhile. Don't get me wrong, I love listening. Most of the time I'd prefer it. But sometimes I have input, and nobody likes being ignored.

Sometimes I wish you showed half as much interest in my life as I show in yours.

I'll bet you think this post is about you, don't you?

You don't have to say it.

I know you're glad too.

Finished.

Kathleen Wilson

Math Tutoring

Baker

September 3, 2008

My Professor is an Alien
Dictionary.com defines mathematics as “the study of the measurement, properties, and relationships of quantities and sets, using numbers and symbols.” By age 15, I had come up with my own definition for math: “waste of time.” I had always excelled in math, which probably contributed to my lack of interest. I learned concepts very quickly and needed much less practice than the other students to master them. During the second half of math class, after the lesson had been taught and the other children were doing practice problems, I was sitting at my desk writing notes or doodling. In addition to not being challenged, I honestly saw little use for mathematics in my daily life. Sure, simple arithmetic was a necessary skill, but when would I ever need to calculate the sine of 30 degrees? I was certainly not anticipating a career in carpentry, so most of what I’d learned so far in high school math seemed utterly useless.

Upon completion of Honors Geometry my freshman year, I was introduced to the new and exciting world of Algebra 2. And by “exciting,” I of course mean “incredibly boring and intolerably pointless.” To me, Algebra was nothing but another class to endure if one wanted to get into a good college. Little did I know what awaited me inside room 115.

Ms. Wegner was a stout older woman with thick glasses and an unfortunate dye-job. Equally as unfortunate was her wardrobe. My 10th grade math teacher alternated her attire between brightly-colored pant suits with thick, square shoulder-pads and pastel flower-patterned skirts with Jesus-style sandals. Every once in a while she’d mix and match her suit jacket with one of her skirts. The resulting clash of colors and patterns was a seizure waiting to happen.

The only thing more disappointing than Ms. Wegner’s physical appearance was her teaching ability (or lack thereof). Not only was her lesson-planning poor and her style hard to follow, but much of the time what she wrote on the board was just downright incorrect. Despite her degree, I was convinced that the only matrix Ms. Wegner knew anything about was the one starring Keanu Reeves. While I think we can all agree that that Matrix would be a far more interesting topic to explore, most of the class was a bit concerned at our teacher’s apparent ignorance in algebraic concepts. They needed someone more competent to take initiative and lead the way to better mathematical understanding. I became their Morpheus.

To be fair, there were a few of us. About four, I would say, who stepped up in this time of need to help our fellow classmates. We understood the material despite the obvious obstacles, and were practically worshiped by the other students. This felt good. This felt very good. Each day we would sit through Ms. Wegner’s lecture while the rest of the class basically ignored everything she said. Once she’d finished babbling, we would re-teach the lesson to the other students in a way that was much more comprehensible, and correct.

The entire experience was incredibly rewarding, especially when test time rolled around. I’d never felt more appreciated in my life. It was then that I began to develop a true passion for mathematics in a way I never would’ve imagined. I looked forward to difficult chapters not only so that I could be challenged, but because I knew my classmates would come to me for help. I’d found my calling, and have been finding ways to help other students in math ever since.

My scholarly experience in writing happened over a much broader period of time. I began at a very young age, and perfected the art of writing through the feedback of teachers and fellow students. By second grade I had developed a successful and seemingly creative writing style: plagiarism.

My favorite series of books at this time was a science-fiction set by Bruce Coville. The first of the four books in this series was called “My Teacher is an Alien.” When it came time to write our own stories, I naturally adopted this idea and titled my first masterpiece “My Mother is an Alien.” To my credit, the title was slightly altered from that of my favorite children’s book, and the plot was drastically different. Plus, mine rhymed! It was brilliant. My classmates loved it, and my teacher encouraged me to continue writing. The next time we were asked to write a story, I decided to do as the great Bruce Coville did and started my own series. My second work was titled “My Father is an Alien,” and was an even greater success than the first. I continued on to produce many more ingenious pieces of writing, including “My Brother is an Alien,” “My Sister is an Alien” (though I did not have a sister), and “My Dog is an Alien.”

When third grade rolled around, I was eager for my first writing assignment. I’d waited all summer to spew my creativity onto paper, and I had some wonderful ideas. Unfortunately, third grade came and went without a single creative writing assignment. In fourth grade, the only writing we did was restricted to personal narratives and expository essays. My creative tendencies suppressed, they began to atrophy. My writing through elementary school and junior high became dry and boring, and I feared nothing could resurrect my artistic style.

Then, sophomore year of high school, something amazing happened. Someone amazing, I should say. Mr. Anderson was the best thing to happen to me in years. His assignments had hardly any guidelines at all and encouraged his students to write about anything they wanted. Anything.

Our first assignment was to write a letter. A letter about anything to anyone we wanted. It took me a while to come up with something to write. It’d been so long since I’d had such an open assignment. Other students wrote to their friends or their favorite celebrities. I wrote to my father, who’d passed away two years earlier. The paper I turned in had more emotion built into it than anything I’d ever written, and my love for writing had returned. I haven’t gone more than a few days without writing something since then, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Sorry, Wegner.

For my math tutoring class, I was asked to write a short essay describing an event (or series of events) that shaped my education in math and writing. This is the half of my essay pertaining to math. The ending is weak, but give me a break. It's 3am. Enjoy.

Dictionary.com defines mathematics as “the study of the measurement, properties, and relationships of quantities and sets, using numbers and symbols.” By age 15, I had come up with my own definition for math: “waste of time.” I had always excelled in math, which probably contributed to my lack of interest. I learned concepts very quickly and needed much less practice than the other students to master them. During the second half of math class, after the lesson had been taught and the other children were doing practice problems, I was sitting at my desk writing notes or doodling. In addition to not being challenged, I honestly saw little use for mathematics in my daily life. Sure, simple arithmetic was a necessary skill, but when would I ever need to calculate the sine of 30 degrees? I was certainly not anticipating a career in carpentry, so most of what I’d learned so far in high school math seemed utterly useless.

Upon completion of Honors Geometry my freshman year, I was introduced to the new and exciting world of Algebra 2. And by “exciting,” I of course mean “incredibly boring and intolerably pointless.” To me, Algebra was nothing but another class to endure if one wanted to get into a good college. Little did I know what awaited me inside room 115.

Ms. Wegner was a stout older woman with thick glasses and an unfortunate dye-job. Equally as unfortunate was her wardrobe. My 10th grade math teacher alternated her attire between brightly-colored pant suits with thick, square shoulder-pads and pastel flower-patterned skirts with Jesus-style sandals. Every once in a while she’d mix and match her suit jacket with one of her skirts. The resulting clash of colors and patterns was a seizure waiting to happen.

The only thing more disappointing than Ms. Wegner’s physical appearance was her teaching ability (or lack thereof). Not only was her lesson-planning poor and her style hard to follow, but much of the time what she wrote on the board was just downright incorrect. Despite her degree, I was convinced that the only matrix Ms. Wegner knew anything about was the one starring Keanu Reeves. While I think we can all agree that that Matrix would be a far more interesting topic to explore, most of the class was a bit concerned at our teacher’s apparent ignorance in algebraic concepts. They needed someone more competent to take initiative and lead the way to better mathematical understanding. I became their Morpheus.

To be fair, there were a few of us. About four, I would say, who stepped up in this time of need to help our fellow classmates. We understood the material despite the obvious obstacles, and were practically worshiped by the other students. This felt good. This felt very good. Each day we would sit through Ms. Wegner’s lecture while the rest of the class basically ignored everything she said. Once she’d finished babbling, we would re-teach the lesson to the other students in a way that was much more comprehensible, and correct.

The entire experience was incredibly rewarding, especially when test time rolled around. I’d never felt more appreciated in my life. It was then that I began to develop a true passion for mathematics in a way I never would’ve imagined. I looked forward to difficult chapters not only so that I could be challenged, but because I knew my classmates would come to me for help. I’d found my calling, and have been finding ways to help other students in math ever since.

The sharks are gonna have their day, tonight...

The second hand on my clock sounds a lot like fingers snapping, and I imagine the cast of West Side Story battling it out in my hallway.

I need sleep.

That's how I drink Captain Crunch.

One intoxicated evening last year, we decided to record the amusing things said among members of our group. By "we" I mean Andy, and by "members of our group" I mean me. Enjoy.

"I had 2/3 of a shot, so if I have another 2/3 of a shot I will have had 3 shots. And since it’s Everclear, that’s 9 shots."

"This is going to break my soft teeth"

"That’s how I drink captain crunch"

"Joey, they’re pretending that I’m really drunk and I’m not"

"They’re going to… cut their face"

"I need a noun…'Andy’s wiener'!!"

"Joey, show me your wiener"

"I think I can… I think I can….I think I can" (while making train motions)

"Fucking… crunch berries"

"That was Clinton" (regarding the bill concerning your mama’s sweet titties)

"I’m a counselor in a semen camp"

"Fucking side to side… shit."

"The chair hit me in the face."

"You did not even feel that go in…. He didn’t even feel my finger in his butt…. You didn’t even react."

"The doorknob attacked me."

I wasn't the only drunk one. Observe:

"Are you done with your sodomistic tendancies?" - Andy

"Never EVER punch anyone in the weiner!" -Joey

"I like semen." -Andy

"I was just updating software" -Joey (after we woke him up...he'd fallen asleep on his laptop)

"I'm going to go pee alone" -Andy

Tear.

A friend of mine just got engaged this weekend. I literally cried when she told me about how he asked. She was absolutely glowing.

I want to be that happy someday.

Talkin' trash to the garbage around you.

Remember that time we spent 5 hours on a stats assignment and then DIDN'T HAVE TO TURN IT IN?? Fuck me.

Also

I had to re-pierce my nose tonight. SOOOO incredibly painful. Everything right now is bad.

The last five minutes,

have been a COMPLETE disaster for me, emotionally. This is ridiculous. I have absolutely no right to wonder who she is or what you're doing with her. Why do I care?

Maybe this is normal after all??

Now I'll never get to sleep.

A response to Cameron's story.

My buddy Cameron also has a blog. I told him I had been writing a bunch of old stories on mine, and he decided to do the same. His first post was about his puppy named Midnight who he had to give away when he was really young. Very touching. My response reminded me of my own story. Enjoy.

Cameron-
Do you ever see a dog with fur like the night sky and think that maybe it's Midnight? Funny story about that. Stop me if you've heard it. Psych!! You can't.

When my brother (Kevin) was about the age you were when your dog was given away, we had a pet rabbit named Lightning. He was grey with a little bit of brown on his belly. Totally cute. We loved him.

Then we got Dudley. Dudley, as you know, is a cocker spaniel. Natural hunting dog. He wanted desperately to eat Lightning. I can't blame him--that was one delicious-looking bunny. Anyway, we decided that for Lightning's sake we should let him go. Kevin cried, but we assured him that Lightning (who had been a house rabbit since birth and had absolutely NO experience outdoors) would survive. Surely he could fight off coyotes and other predators in the wild!

Anyway, for about 10 or so years after that, every time we saw a grey or brown rabbit, Kevin would get all excited. He was always POSITIVE that it was Lightning. Knowing that it probably wasn't, I always played along. That is, until last year, when my mother shared a little story with me. Apparently THE DAY after we let Lightning go, she accidentally ran him over right by our driveway. Never told Kevin. I'm pretty sure he still doesn't know.Sooooo if you see a grey rabbit and Kevin claims it's Lightning, just play along. And if you see a dog with white spots, hope that it's Midnight and that your mom didn't run him over when you were 5. The end.