Here am I
Here I lie
Cold in the lamplight
Left
Only my faithful dog for company
Here am I
Awaiting the words of others desperately
Aching to laugh
Begging to be touched
my only kiss from a bottle
Here am I
The confident one
The effervescent one
The courageous one
The shoulder to cry on
Here am I
In need
2.8.09
20.7.09
I love the English language, but I do not envy anyone that has to learn it as their second language. All of the Homonyms and Synonyms and everything would make your head spin, and that is just our books and books of grammatical rules. That does not even begin to account for the slang and the misuse ( oh the DREADFUL, DREADFUL misuse) of the language by its native speakers.
For instance, I was driving home from downtown last night and my mother and her boyfriend were in the car and Josh, my mother’s boyfriend, turns to my mom and says, “ Congratulations Claire. She drives really good.” Oh how I ached to correct him. Poor English grates on my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
At the end of each school day I consider investing in flesh colored earplugs. That may seem comical or harsh depending on whether you are the one that requires or are the reason for requiring said earplugs, respectfully. This brings me to another point. An extremely sad point. I could function perfectly with the earplugs at school. My point being that American ‘High Schoolers’ talk about the same old crap in the same predictable format each and every day. There is rarely a stimulating conversation to enjoy.
For the last three weeks of June Josh’s daughter Maria came to visit from Tyler, Texas. (He lives in Round Rock and we live in Austin.) Meanwhile back at the ranch***… My mom kidnapped me so that she and Josh could play house with the kids. I was in a word: Bored. I did not even realize how bored I was. In my opinion this is one of the downers of human existence. We get used to things, and our standards get raised or lowered accordingly.
While Maria was staying the two of us were attending Driver’s Ed. We drove with four different instructors within seven different hours. My favorite instructor BY FAR was Mr. Ferrier. I thought it was ironic how his name is Ferrier and her teaches people to drive or “ferry” themselves from place to place. (unless it was Ferrier as in the ferry that comes to change your horses shoes and tend to their hooves in general.) Mr. Ferrier made me realize how mundane the conversations that I had been having over the past couple of weeks had been. He fascinated me.
We talked about travel, the differences in culture, religion, food and literature. It was so nice to talk to someone that read again.(Claire, Josh, and Maria won’t read to save their lives.) We talked about all different kinds of literature: Classic, Contemporary, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Horror. Both of us really appreciate horror but agreed that even the worst horror novels can not come close to touching what man is capable of inflicting upon his fellows in reality. This then turned into a discussion about historical events in which human cruelty was showcased.
I have so much more to say, but it is two fifteen in the morning and I have a date with the stair master in the morning. I bid you good morrow and send myself to bed.
***I love this expression. When you are a kid you are extremely impressionable. (We live in a child centered culture and I am sure that you have heard all of Dr. Spock’s “Permissive” bullshit about child rearing and the impressionable-ism of young minds.) One phrase that I picked up while in the neighborhood of the 7,8,9(and all of the halves in between) was “Meanwhile back at the ranch…” I loyally read every Hank the Cowdog and this phrase was one of the author’s favorites as well, I would assume because of the frequency of it’s appearance. Here is your golden nuggett of reminisence for the day. Enjoy No Refunds.
For instance, I was driving home from downtown last night and my mother and her boyfriend were in the car and Josh, my mother’s boyfriend, turns to my mom and says, “ Congratulations Claire. She drives really good.” Oh how I ached to correct him. Poor English grates on my ears like nails on a chalkboard.
At the end of each school day I consider investing in flesh colored earplugs. That may seem comical or harsh depending on whether you are the one that requires or are the reason for requiring said earplugs, respectfully. This brings me to another point. An extremely sad point. I could function perfectly with the earplugs at school. My point being that American ‘High Schoolers’ talk about the same old crap in the same predictable format each and every day. There is rarely a stimulating conversation to enjoy.
For the last three weeks of June Josh’s daughter Maria came to visit from Tyler, Texas. (He lives in Round Rock and we live in Austin.) Meanwhile back at the ranch***… My mom kidnapped me so that she and Josh could play house with the kids. I was in a word: Bored. I did not even realize how bored I was. In my opinion this is one of the downers of human existence. We get used to things, and our standards get raised or lowered accordingly.
While Maria was staying the two of us were attending Driver’s Ed. We drove with four different instructors within seven different hours. My favorite instructor BY FAR was Mr. Ferrier. I thought it was ironic how his name is Ferrier and her teaches people to drive or “ferry” themselves from place to place. (unless it was Ferrier as in the ferry that comes to change your horses shoes and tend to their hooves in general.) Mr. Ferrier made me realize how mundane the conversations that I had been having over the past couple of weeks had been. He fascinated me.
We talked about travel, the differences in culture, religion, food and literature. It was so nice to talk to someone that read again.(Claire, Josh, and Maria won’t read to save their lives.) We talked about all different kinds of literature: Classic, Contemporary, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Horror. Both of us really appreciate horror but agreed that even the worst horror novels can not come close to touching what man is capable of inflicting upon his fellows in reality. This then turned into a discussion about historical events in which human cruelty was showcased.
I have so much more to say, but it is two fifteen in the morning and I have a date with the stair master in the morning. I bid you good morrow and send myself to bed.
***I love this expression. When you are a kid you are extremely impressionable. (We live in a child centered culture and I am sure that you have heard all of Dr. Spock’s “Permissive” bullshit about child rearing and the impressionable-ism of young minds.) One phrase that I picked up while in the neighborhood of the 7,8,9(and all of the halves in between) was “Meanwhile back at the ranch…” I loyally read every Hank the Cowdog and this phrase was one of the author’s favorites as well, I would assume because of the frequency of it’s appearance. Here is your golden nuggett of reminisence for the day. Enjoy No Refunds.
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