Books over toys

Day 7: Your favorite childhood toys

I honestly don't remember having any favorite toys. I remember having barbies, but they were always put away. I remember having Polly Pockets, but they were always in my bottom desk drawer. My favorite toys were books. I loved my books. Dictionaries, encyclopedias, fiction, anything I could get my hands on.

Yes, I was a very strange child indeed.

I still am very strange. Half my moving out and moving back in when we were recarpeting involved books. I had more books than anything else. I was too ashamed to count how many boxes of books I actually had. Not to mention binders and notebooks...

I write. I read. I love words. I can't remember a time when this wasn't true. I knew how to spell hippopotamus in kindergarten. I was exempt from a spelling test in 4th grade because I was the only person in the class to spell chlorophyll correctly. I took pride in spelling acetylsalicylic acid correctly in the 6th grade, antidisestablishmentarianism in the 5th. In high school, I almost made it to state, but rendezvous kicked my butt, although I got flibbertigibbet, among other words (we didn't get those back). I've taken pride in learning hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia and pneunonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.

I continue to search. My bookshelf hasn't stopped growing. My love for books hasn't, either. Even when college textbooks were abound, there was always an astray fiction book...I couldn't let go.

In that way, I'm still a child. I still play with my toys. In a way, I'm becoming more of a child, because I love stuffed animals so much more now. I'm attached to my sock monkey- he's even been featured here a few times. As for actual toys...I still haven't come up with any really. Are rollerblades toys? I went rollerblading when I was a tween, with my friend. I'd never go back there, though. Or maybe we could consider my laptop a toy.

OK, I'm sounding way too geeky now.

Deuces!!

Home sweet....homework

We've arrived back at home and I've already begun digging in the pile of excrement the profs assign every semester thinking theirs is the only class a student is taking (ha! That is almost never the case!).

Since we're speaking of homework, here's a thought- what amount of homework is proper and beneficial, and at what point does it become a sadomasochistic nightmare that is detrimental to a student's career and grades? Where is that line?

I have no problem with homework- actually, the more structure an environment such as a class has, the more comfortable I am, the better I perform. Classes with little to no structure really bother me, and I find myself having a difficult time keeping up with everything.

I've had some good profs, then I've also had the ones that shouldn't even have a degree, muh less lecture a class. This semester, I ended up win a load of hard-ass profs that wouldn't care if I was in the hospital, they'd still take points off my grade for it. I could wreck, but they wouldn't care.

I'm having enough troubles this semester- spraining both my ankle and my knee, depression getting worse, tight on money, groups in class that aren't really cohesive so I'm having to pick up the slack when I'm already taking a heavier class load than I ever have (and ever will, hopefully). I take the weight of the world on my shoulders.....I guess that's supposed to make me strong, but I'm not. I feel guilty about being out of state all weekend without my jump drive and wifi...and all my groups know I feel like I'm not doing enough, but they aren't letting me do more...so I'm really worried about this stuff, especially after the group paper I had to turn in last week.

Well, at least I'm in (kinda) the home stretch for the semester. I wonder how much I can handle. Some nights, I find myself fearing for my own safety (and I'm sure my therapist isn't too enthused with this episode). All I can do for now is keep trying my best, even though my best is never good enough- but it's all I can do.

Ciao for now ♪♫♪♫