FRUSTRATED

I am really frustrated with these classes I am taking. Both professors gave us TONS of homework, knowing it was an accelerated class, where they squeeze everything in the four weeks. They both gave us work to do that's due even tomorrow! So now I have to go to class all day until 4, come home and do homework until bedtime.

But what I am really upset about was I had this goal for myself to workout and lose weight. when I signed up for these two classes, I had 2 hours in between classes to eat and do whatever else. So I went to the Y, which is 5 mins. away and signed up for a summer membership. Paid $112 for three months. Then I get to my afternoon class, all happy and ready because I was able to go the Y and get a long workout in, and our Professor asks if he can move the class up to start 45 mins earlier. I spoke up and explained what I had planned and I had dropped over a hundred dollars on a Y membership that's nonrefundable. Still, he said, "See if you can be here at 12:30." The class isn't supposed to start till 1:15. HIs argument is that if he starts earlier, we would get out of class earlier. But the reason I wanted to do it at lunch was to get my energy up for the afternoon (I am sleepy after lunch) and so that I didn't have to worry about rush hour traffic and the rush of people going to the Y after work. I also don't think I can workout after class because of the amount of homework he and the other teacher gave. I will not have a moment of free time.

I am seriously thinking about dropping the class so that I can still do my workout after my morning class. But then I will just have another class to take during the school year, which is even more of a pain!

Also, and maybe I am just emotional right now, I think I made a mistake in getting the hedgehog. He's not friendly at all. Hisses at me when I get near the cage. Won't come out at all. He stinks, and he poops A LOT. I know it's a new pet, and I just got him and all that, but I really don't know if I can deal with trying to bond while I have this class madness going on. And I don't want to admit to anyone else (like Derek) that I made a mistake. I spent $120 on him, and I really don't feel like he's the right pet.
So of course that makes me want to cry.

Sorry, I know in the grand scheme of life, these things aren't that big of deals. I know I am probably dramatizing a bit. but thanks for asking and listening. If you have any comments/advice/suggestions, by all means, give it to me!

Favorite Book

Today's question: What is your favorite book and why?

Let me first day that it is impossible to pick just ONE favorite book. I am an avid reader; my favorite pasttime is reading. I even recently got an ereader for Christmas. I think many books are great, and it just depends on my mood and what I feel like reading.

I just finished a book this week that I would say now tops my list. It has become my favorite book (if I have to pick a favorite). It's called "Redeeming Love" by Francine Rivers. It's a Christian fiction book about a girl named Angel who endured much abuse when she was young and fell into prostitution as her only way to make a living. She is rescued by a man named Michael, who comes and takes her out of the brothel and slowly earns her trust and her love.

It is an incredible love story. But what makes it unique is that the story focuses on God's love and his will for her life. She finds God in the story, and realizes that it's His love for her that has saved her.

I highly recommend it. I could not put it down when I was reading it- it's a real page turner!

The start of it all

I love the sound of my keyboard as I pound away on the keys, writing down some of my deepest thoughts and life stories. I don't know if anyone will ever read these musings, but to be honest, I don't really care. Writing was always an outlet for me. When I was a child, I carried around a bag filled with paper supplies, pencils, crayons, sparkly pens, journals, etc. I took them with me everywhere, wanting to write even before I knew how. Then when I was in second grade, I "published" my first story, and I'll never forget the thrill I felt when my teacher handed me the book, bound together by one of those plastic combs. It was about my first cat, Tippy, and his death, and it was so profound to have written those feelings at the tender age of 8. When I was in fourth grade, my teacher pulled me aside for a private writing conference and told me that she knew I was going to be a famous author someday. I think I knew she was just saying that to build my confidence, but it fueled my desire to write, nonetheless.

I carried on through my school years, notebook in hand, writing hundreds of stories, some short, some long, some good, some terrible. I didn't really write so that people would read. I wrote because it passed the time. I wrote because I had millions of creative ideas. I wrote because it was a way for me to escape from my childhood.

As I got older, and my thoughts became deeper, I turned to fiction writing as an escape. I will not tell you that my writing was good, or award winning, or even entertaining. But at that time, it was the only way I could get away from my father. I could always go to my room and write my feelings down in a story, using fictional characters, with a happy ending. I saw myself in every character I used. I pretended that life always had a happy ending. See, because my home life wasn't anywhere near happy.

I grew up in a household where everyday I feared my father. His temper would boil at the drop of a hat. We never knew what he'd be like when we got home from work. We never knew if he would be in a good mood, or if he would come in the house yelling and screaming because we left the bathroom light on. I never got less than an A on a report card, simply for fear of the punishment from my father. I tried to stay out of his way as much as possible. Sometimes, often I guess, I was not successful. I lived a childhood full of bruises and feelings of inadequacy, and somehow that has transferred into my adult life.

Sometime in my teenage years, I lost the will to write. I think it came with the newfound freedom of getting a job and a car. I could finally leave the house (with my dad's permission, of course) and escape his rage. I always felt guilty leaving, though, because my younger brother was left to fend for himself. My father was always harder on him when he punished him. As the older sister, I always felt it was my duty to protect him. But my brother, C, always found a way to relate to my father. He would go out into the garage and help him fix engines and rebuild transmissions, and they would work side by side, my brother soaking up all the knowledge and expertise my dad had. To this day, they remain close, although I would have surely died in that house had I lived there as long as he has.

Today I rarely pick up the pen to jot down stories or thoughts. My writing happens in school, when I am teaching my students how to write. Even then, it's not heartfelt. And writing happens to be my least favorite subject to teach. I am not sure why I let my gift go to waste. I haven't written a story since high school. And now that I am ten years out, I know that my style is stagnant, and unmoving. I know that my technique needs to be polished and refined. Certainly that will come with time. All I know is that while I was on vacation last week, in a moment of alone time with God, I was asking him what I should do with my life- what His purpose and will for me was. The answer I got was "write". Nothing more. And in the car ride home, my thoughts were peppered with ideas and subjects to write about. Little snippets and moments that I just felt I had to jot down.

And since I already had this blog, and I type much faster than I can write, I figured, why not?

I have been thinking a lot about my life. I'm so Blessed to have so many wonderful things in my life. I have a wonderful, kind, caring husband, a cute doggie, a great house, a job that puts food on the table, and a family and friends that always support me no matter what.

Many people would love to have the life I have. Yet, I am still not satified.

I am so unsatified with how I look. I was the pretty girl in college. You know, the one that guys were always wanting to date. And I know that doesn't really matter now, because I am married and off the market. But I miss feeling pretty and attractive. I miss having people look at me when I am walking down the street. I miss the attention. There, I said it.

I know why I allowed myself to get fat. I allowed myself to gain the weight because when I was seventeen my next door neighbor tried to rape me. He came into my house when my parents weren't home, pinned me against the wall, and told me how pretty I was and that I owed him a favor...all while touching me and trying to take my clothes off. By the Grace of God, I got out of my house and my dad beat the shit out of him. I took him to court, where he spent like one day in jail, and that was the end of it. For him.

For me, though, it was the start of many dark nights. I never really admitted this to my family or close friends, but I was afraid to go to sleep at night. I was afraid he would crawl through my window and attack me. I was fearful that I would see him out in public somewhere and have to face him all over again. I was terrified. Then as time went on, I decided that if I wasn't pretty, no one would try to hurt me.

I'm messed up.

I can't blame all my weight gain on him. But I do blame the start of the terrible cycle on him. I finally lost weight a few years ago for my wedding, but I was getting so much positive attention that it scared me again, and I decided it would be better being invisible.

Now I am trapped. I don't want to live like this anymore- I don't want to be overweight and unhappy. I want to look in the mirror and like what I see. I want to want to have my picture taken. I want to love myself. However, I don't want the attention from strangers. I don't want to worry about someone trying to hurt me again. I don't want guys to lust after me when I am already married....

I suppose I should go seek some counselling for this. I suppose that someone could help get me through this. I am not going to be happy until I lose the weight.