Do I really want to dig that deep?

I am taking a break from essay writing to write a little post. It has been FOREVER.

School is going fabulous. Thanks for asking. ;)

It's crazy how much reading is required when you are enrolled in 4 English classes and one History class. But, I do love it.

For my Writing a Personal History for an Audience class we were asked to come up with five events  from our childhood that we could write a five-ten page, SINGLE spaced, story about. The trick is that these stories have to be interesting to readers and you have to invoke all five senses in the writing. After we post our ideas the class picks what story they want you to write.

 At first I thought, sure, no big deal. Then, as I started actually brainstorming I realized how difficult this was going to be. thinking of a story from my childhood that is interesting, one that I am willing to share in depth, is not easy. I

I have spend weeks meditating. No seriously, I just sit on my sofa and try to remember my childhood in as much detail as I can. Man, how my brain hurts. I have been racking my brain trying to remember what happened that long ago.

A little over a week ago I dropped my two sons off with their cousin at a football game at my old high school, (GO JACKRABBITS!!!) Holy Moly. Driving down Southern Ave, seeing all of that purple and gold, (horrible school colors, BTW), I got the strongest sense of nostalgia. Yeah, I grew up in the hood, but man, did I love it. With the school song running through my mind "Carry on. . ." I stopped by good old Nielson's Custard, that got my taste buds reminiscing. I would not go back for anything, I was a shy teenager who was not the most comfortable in her own skin, but I do appreciate how lucky I was to have the teenage years that I did.

Later I got out the old photo albums. That was interesting, and remembered things that had long been forgotten.

Then...

My twenty year high school reunion is coming up. Yes, I am that old.  I have been inundated on Facebook by different posts/ and pics from my high school days. Great timing, because I needed the added inspiration.

After this last week of purple and gold, the stories seemed to write themselves. They are all documented and submitted. Now I am crossing my fingers, hoping for the story I want to write to be the story others want to hear. You never know.

Okay now, back to my essay on The Scarlet Letter, Can This Book Be More Melodramatic? Seriously, Hester should have ditched that town in chapter one and told Dimmsdale to stop being such a self obsessed weenie.

My Brother and I

High School 

Always a Princess